Wednesday, October 20, 2004


Apocolypse: Prophecy? or Theory?
Prophetic theory endorsed by collective guilt?
Self filfilling prophetic theory?
I can run a maze for treats for only so long
before my spirit withers
or ignites
Into passionate bursts of determination
to orent myself as a quantum factor
an awakened being
an updated model of human
being human
That's the gig for me, see
The old paradigm as become to rigid to squeeze much of it
into a future
The time has come to deviate from the historical trajectory
too tight to breathe deep
coiled tight
poised to fly
a mind yearns to break free of it's history
its self conception
. . . o o o () () () O O O () () () o o o . . .
Alice stepped through the Looking Glass
Aladin pulled a Genie from the Lantern
The Lion and the Witch in the Wardrobe
A ripped Van Winkle emerging from the cave of the Little People
Mascalito comes to you through the plant
A ranting man on the street
quentessential speach
reach into the deep
from sleep
. . . : : : [ [ [ 0 ] ] ] : : : . . .
Question the Regestered
the Trade Marked
the Copywritten realities
Spend your time tripping on the corporate rhyme
and climb into bed with the dead
the streilized heads
the federalis of ignorance
The ruling class of the Realm of Thud
have little affinity for divinity
Where does your affinity lie?
What does your eye spy?
Do you see what you wish to see?
What you want to be?
Reality ain't what it used to be
not for you and me navigating this sea of hypocracy
the fever pitch of a century.
Seeking the eye of the storm
the I of my form
a mother warm and a father borne free of dichotomy
within me the two become one
I am their son
as I conceive myself to be
set free of the feudal two
the sticky glue of past incarnations
incarceration in the name of the struggle to be
Can you feel me?
Can you sense the Humanity climbing from the profanity of history:
the myopic lies of the blinded spys that pass up the wise
Living in romantic lore
waiting for armageddon to even the score
to make more less
and to give less more
are we not,
less or more
the archetects of what's in store?
Memory is a Whore
that sells itself to the highest emotion


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