Shifting the gear, clutching at nostrils. Eight hours; of undulating, pedalled pleasure. Communally imbibing Christ’s blood, like, twelve apostles. Resurrection; found in a spirit’s – double measure…
A snifter of hope – blown into a smoky bottle. Three graveyard shifts later, the zombie’s bottleneck is throttled. Followed by – three days of manic, forsaken terror. The fear imprisoned mind; crucified; by pedantic Aristotle…
Painting the frown; Dread. A beer-goggled gaze – locks onto a clown’s ruby-red smile. Brushstrokes of panic, turn the landscape; a greyer shade of lead. Judah’s lion, and, lioness; have already been defiled. The fledgling doves; have found heavenly peace – as; vertically, they have fled…
But, for, we – desolate few; escape is futile. Eden has gone. From, ethereal garden, to, shed. All trees, plants, flowers, bushes, and, wooden panels, have been collectively burnt, and, shred. By pasty, secateur-ing devils – that beguile. Who ask for details, to stop, and, search, the saintly, for a while…
Cuff, beat, confine, and, brutalise, without proving need; the “lowerbred”. In their eyes, a twinkling morning star, cast us down. But, righteous children; always rise. Ascending high above – Babylon’s screaming, burning lies. Losing blueish, busied noses, to spite; in the face of systematic – destruction, and, denial.
You are only as old as you feel. And, also, somewhat, making a meal, when fashionable disguises, are, unpalatably real. An all too familiar; appetite for deception, or, destruction; boiling down to mutton, dressed as veal.
A diseased droplet of poisonous, septic bile, will contaminate the entire, antidoted vial. As the Janus’ faces; wear smiling frowns of guile. A frothing dribble at, each corner, of their mouths. Ready to kiss naïveté’s; unknowing, apathetic child.
The cancerous bacon rashers flash their cache of rinds. Whilst the purveyor, and, punters talk; porky pies. The subject of the, price of peace, creates porcupines; of prickly words. That make religion; a sin. The spieler’s prayers are; devilshly; delivered, sealed, and, signed.
Nightmares of vomit ridden delicatessens; regurgitating the meek, and, innocent’s; delicate essence. A force fed; growing up, for the poor, adolescents. “You can’t miss what you never knew.” A shallow consolation from maternal lessons.
Bursting guts of gluttonous swine; litter the landscape. Amid the landfill site where shifty, crooked, hands shake. Rats, bugs, gadflies, wasps, vermin, and, snakes. All feasting upon the remnants of the good. Meanwhile, ‘the future’, confesses sins; for the damned’s sake.
Can you not see? How the eye of Providence; took; taking the knee, from, a; symbol against racial oppression, and, turned it, into; a token gesture, of; clichéd ubiquity? Sensing, that; triviality breeds contempt.
Can you not hear? Those talking heads; happily regurgitating; the party line; year, after year, after year. And, no matter, the party bag, of; manifestos, debates, campaigns, pledges, and, “fresh ideas”, your suffrage, still, just, became; party games, of; pass-the-parcel, and, musical chairs.
Can you not smell? that manure, from; elected bulls, and, horses, that; democratic excrement, upheld, spread by empty hearts, and, heads, sheafed; by empty hands, unto; empty mouths, fed on; empty rhetoric; impelled, combined, and, harvested, in fields of constituent disappointment.
Can you not feel? a world, of; incarcerated prisoners; suffering, spiralling; their spirits squeal, their jail, is; bipolar, under; stars, and, sun, and, howling moon, a populi, shackled, to; terrafirma’s wheel, unspoken; their grief, is, always; roundabout.
Can you not taste? the air, of; uncompassionate attitudes, the sea of hypocritical platitudes; disgraced, their inability to empathise, or, attempt – to wear, the shoe, of, those; souls unsaved, an acerbic, acrid, acetic land awaits.
The false prophet, reveals; the aromatic secrets, you long to hear; as, long, as; they occur, after… nosing – your terminal diagnoses.
The mediocre medium, always has, a; cup half-full approach, snooting distastefully, when it comes to, client’s custom, for: spirits, sessions, seances, and, simony.
The blinkered seer, scorns; all other, visionaries, and, spits out; spiteful premonitions, whilst, feeling; unhappily-everafter.
And, all three zealots, in hindsight; look back, universally, due to, forever, being; seen, as the epitome, of; irony.
Those noxious xenophobic; fanatics, politicians, zealots, and, pharisees spurning; taking and/or giving; a pledge are overseen by untaken offered branches, yet, still, and, always, bereaved; stoic olive trees.
Yearning for breaking and dipping; of bread.
Alas, half-baked premonitions by zionists, jihadis, mossad, nor, hamas; saw the ironies of burning mediterranean bridges; dead, or, those that, viciously, cleave to; war, are eventually; cleaved by; the ubiquitous sword of damocles.
Turning Jordanian rivers; red.
Warring factions spill blood, over sand, soil, and, sewing of seed digging up dirt with a trowel’s thick stab permeating; rhetoric, culpable of affliction germinating; ethnic and cultural extinction irrigated by a perpetually picked scab.
Carving up over a century of cuts that weep, keen, and, systematically, do, bleed.
The steely glares of janus’ faced, power, know of irony, all too well. And, all too easily, are lead.
As a silver-tongued talking head, talks, of a, spurious, plan for peace.
Whilst the other’s, iron fist, orders strikes on those burying their dead.
There is a grave disease, that has impregnated, and, perpetually attacks, the homo-sapien mentality. Far superior, in ailing humanity, than any pandemic.
That disease, is; an inflated sense of self.
Egocentrism.
A diseased religion; of the self. Symptomatic of, a human valuing only itself, as the God of self-governance, within its own, myopic, dogma of ego. A distinct regression has occurred, from, a psyche, looking outward, via empathy, to glean, an understanding, of one another. Instead, there is a; reductive, skewed, inhumane view, looking solely inward, through a selfish, blinkered, and, uncharitable lens. Used purely, to, aggrandise; self-worth, self-gain, and, self-achievement.
Human pride, and, arrogance, have erupted. Risen, to such a towering height, that they now pose, a daunting, grandiose cliff-face, from which, mankind is destined to, regrettably, tumble. For too long, societal; apathy, indifference, and, disillusionment, have been the leash, which has guided, the distracted masses, toward humanity’s fateful plummet.
Where once there was humility, now, there is conceit. Where once there was kindness, now, there is avarice. Where once there was compassion, now, there is callousness. The time has come, for mankind to, finish it’s freefall, from the lofty cliffs of narcissism. And, finally, be strewn, across the jagged rocks, of cosmic justice.
Human-beings, have taken it upon themselves, to, place their material, carnal, and, gluttonous desires, above all else. Above their fellow kin, above the sanctity of the planet, and, above, even, the Creator of the universe. Only, in the destruction, and, rebirth of, the sapient’s; feeble, corrupted, disconnected mind, can the Creator, and, the cosmos, begin to impart: true knowledge. Restoring, in the process; the nurturing nature of mother Earth, and, humanity’s, capability for; community, compassion, empathy, and, philanthropy.
Zero mercy, or, sympathy, should be alotted, to anybody, complicit, in the detriment of; society, the planet, and, the cosmos. The establishment’s system of finances, greed, and, promotion of hoarding worldly possessions, as well as, the spineless, ignorant silence of the masses, have become; tainted, golden, toxic tokens. Poisonous ducats, which have paid, for our doom, via; mortal, collective, and, deceptive hubris. We, humans, deserve, nothing less, than to pay, the ultimate price, for our cowardice, and, complicity, when faced with the forces of; wanton, globalist, and, dominative evil.
As a sentient being, doing nothing at all, allows; the lie to become the truth, the struggle to become the status quo, and, hatred to become the usurper of love.
A drastic change, needs to occur within our own, collective consciousness. We must, realise, these material trappings, for what they are. A temptation; a bribe; to tame the spirit, and, suppress the soul. We must obliterate them, along with, the divide, and, conquer tactics, which, only, serve to subjugate, and, seperate us.
Only, then, can we, collectively; restore, and, channel, the force of good, and, ruefully, dismantle, the force of evil.
the puppeteer; has scaly, reptilious skin, a charming, colourful, cataclysmic chameleon, with eyes of, devouring, gluttonous jealousy, like glowing, bite-sized, emeralds, the puppet-strings, that are pulled, are made of, flaccid human backbones, spineless, and, apathetic, docile, and, weak, always easy, to bend, shape, and manipulate,
the puppets; are twisted, in a daily spin, forever unfurling, and, falling from favour; like disgraced comedians, or, top-storey, tumbling clerics, guilty of heresy, their shelf-lives, are; fugitive; ephemeral, the pre-packaged, chicken-y cattle, are; disjointed, culled, mooing, clucking; moo-ucking; those unrelaxed tones, soundbites of; tinned laughter, canned speech, eager to unoffend, a sterile escapade, veiled by a fake-crusader’s cape,
the audience; never looks up, from their, feeding troughs, staring, ravenous eyes, and, mawing, myopic mouths, transfixed on; oven-ready propaganda, an amuse-bouche, of; punch, and, judy politics, succulent headlines, curried scapegoats, a diet of; regurgitated news cycles, each garden-variety brain, is, washed, boiled, and, mashed, then, cannibalised, and, ingested, by the, frenzied, factory-fed,
the puppeteer’s; plotlines are misleading oft, making polar norths, into, cancerous tropic souths, teaching true-falsehoods, that reveal, and, cover, the lingua franca, with, tongued wands, that cast, polyglottal tricks, selling ice, to; Inuits, and, Amazigh; Saharan raincoats, making a play, of religion, and, a cat’s paw; the idol, the final act is here, box office takings, are; sealed, and, stashed, as, the audience; counts sheep, daydreaming, of lying in fantasy’s bed,
but, ostensibly…
the outcome is always the same, the outcome is always the same, the outcome is always the same, the outcome is always the same, the outcome is always the same, the outcome is always the same, the outcome is always the same, the show is, almost, finished,
and, inevitably, before, the final curtain, you beg for…
Inevitably, your moments of; heartache, and, jubilation, sorrow, and, raucous laughter, will be momentary brushstrokes, of humanising colour, on an eternal, universal, canvas. It does not matter, if, post-use, your sapient, vehicular, corpus is; burnt, buried, or, embalmed. Every; thought, behaviour, and, action, made, in all conscience, must be accounted for, on your soul’s departure, from Gaia.
Just as, an ancient, Egyptian heart, must weigh, equal to, or, less than, the sacred feather of Ma’at. And, St. Peter’s keys, will only allow entrance, to the righteous, at the pearly gates, of the kingdom of heaven. The bearer of the soul, has, not only the mystical responsibility, but, the metaphysical obligation, and, duty, to be; morally and intrinsically: good.
Goodness is paramount to a clean conscience, and, more importantly, a clean soul. Spiritual; cleanliness, wholesomeness, and, goodness, are imperative, in order for the soul to continue, peacefully, on it’s supranatural journey, along the Milky Way, and, onto, the perpetual realms of yonder.
And, when, all is said, and, done, as your life, in all it’s ubiquity, magically, propels before you – like a feature film, or, flip-book, composed of; your natural essence, transfigured by, the shifting sands of time – will you be pleased with, how you; formed opinions, treated others, and, lived your life?
Or, will your soul, be burdened by; sin, loathing, and, regret? Forced to recount, every; hateful decision, every misinformed opinion, and, every missed opportunity, to form healthy human, and, spiritual bonds?
Your familial bloodline, and, genetics, may carry forth, or, they may not – that is, ultimately, out of your control. Yet, your opportunity to contribute, as many beautiful brushstrokes, to this; galactic masterpiece, as your life permits, is perfectly, within your grasp. And, in contributing with good; heart, mind, and, conscience, you enable your soul’s interstellar travel, to the stars; smooth, succinct, and, better yet, truly astounding.
All bonds, of virtue, that bind, righteously, will endure armageddon – not only, sororal, and, fraternal. Your body, will grow, languid, and, old, but, if wholesome, your soul, will spring eternal. And, while your body, may be, lost at sea, cremated in flames, or buried within Earth’s crust. Your before, your presence, and, your beyond, are, permanently crafted, by the moulded creation, of life, in stardust.
I often ponder, fishing, for that ever, evasive, iridescent salmon, called, Knowledge, and, though, my line, hook and rod, are true, the truth, I yearn for, is, always.. over yonder, because.. the victors on this planet, always, hold the pen, that scripts the present, and, their school of thought, is not, an Ichthyological college, but, rather, a pseudohistory, a fallacy, regurgitated, from evil minds, by ignorant mouths, to innocent pods.
I smell something fishy, don’t you?
You learn thoroughly, to hold your tongue, to earn only currency, do right, not wrong, do not question, ignorance enlarged, leave circumspection, to those in charge, believe the lies, believe the truths, believe those, that deny, your own abuse, you have a choice, you have your freedom, you have a voice, you can go and see them..
The knowledge, you now, so desperately, seek, has, finally, been unredacted..
And, when, “too little”, arrives, that, little bit, “too late”.. You come to realise..
You had a choice. You had your freedom. You had a voice. Look.. there they are.. in the mausoleum.
I, Myself. Constantine. A trailblazer. Making my mark, until tremors, quaking, and, a long lived aftershock. Got trapped, got sick, now, making my way home; to Torment. Manifested; off-track, lost, unfound, raging, bitter, twisted. And, sick. Obviously.
Disorientated, tranquil tornadoes, of, marauding memories, revolve statically; sarcastically whirling, with the sincerest, of all, ironies; like a Dervish, riding a languid carousel, a Dervish, named; ‘Constantine’. The inert twisters, carry, and, cast – concealed emotions, that are; born to seek death, that are; created to destroy.
The camouflaged saliences, are;
re -visited, re -worn, re -vealed;
‘In the stitching – a khirqa of shame, whispers, “guilt survives, long after, the dead, have been mourned.” As sorrow seeps, from, a blood-soaked; hood, cuffs, and, sleeves – where cloying, bloodthirsty tarmac, bore it’s teeth, causing shudders. Devouring all escapes, to salvation. And, after grasping, deep-down, in those, endless, cloak pockets, Mercy, was found slain. Smothered, by iniquity, concrete, rocks and rubble, as compassion is, demolished by dark, anguished, traumatic silences.’
Uncontrollable obedience – stagnantly spins, and, turns, soothing provocations, into, a, swooner’s consciousness. Hushed screeches vomit, teasing and tormenting; to mutilate… To massacre; a begging, bruised, exhausted, inner-sanctum.
A colourless draining. The colour is fading, from psyche’s cheeks, a liquidating; of shady pulp, of soft, once radiant, rainbow spattered, but, now, only; grey matters.
I, Myself. Constantine. A soggy, battered, quivering, hasbeen. An already; blazed trail. Long forgotten. Lying beneath, a superego’s ocean-jungle undergrowth, where there, once was, a long, plumed, dove-white robe. Overgrown, crestfallen, and, un-phren-dly; lying beneath, the forsaken waves, of; lost seas, past shocks and, cruel, convulsive, inclemencies.
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