Slaves of Eternity

Slaves of Eternity

Look at the things that we’ve got used too,
Spilled livers and hearts of stone
For the whims of invisible gods,
And the comic fashions of human vanity
Bring out the guns and shoot our darlings,
Tell them, on your knees, proclaim our shit
Tether your cows to your clean wooden doors,
And feed them carrots, cane, and juice
And as your children dance around them,
Pull out their hearts and wipe your brows
With holy ash; wash your feet,
My pious child; but let the sewers loose,
Within the temples of your soul

Pull out our grenades for holy war,
Our prophet speaks from upon his tower
The Earth has come to crusading oblivion,
Here’s to a great leap into the past
The future eludes every dreamer,
Our tears serve prophesy to our accepted demise
From our plastic boxes come sweet noises,
Of decorated ignorance and famished intellect
Come preachers of the dawn,
Steal the minds of our children
Teach them the ways of our wicked fathers,
And feed humanity with drunken destruction
For what, did our mother bless us with conscience?
I see none; I see the calls of hungry cows,
Coming from the mouths of men
Selling their children to broken ideology,
Settling for colored paper, cheap security

I rather starve than eat of this soil,
That fragrant with the blood of crying children,
Tasting of goat’s balls and blood ketchup,
The stench of all humanity’s history
Our severe lies and endless violence,
Seeming to see some glorious future
That never came, never comes,
The final sonata has begun
The end comes not from the sky,
But from the work of our own hands
Maybe, one last breath, we might give,
Our children a little chance
To redeem themselves,
But no, pull out their hearts,
And tie their corpses to stone
Hail that same old wasted ideology,
And blemish the new with the whispers of the dead

All these years of the great revolution,
Have come to waste
Our sweet dreams as one great galactic race,
Reaching out for the most distant stars
Our affections as running children,
Looking at the sand as if it were the whole thing
Our great enchantment at little things,
Our wonder at scratches and fire matches
Ah! The sweet gleeful screeches we made,
Our twinkling eyes for touch and trembling
Our love for breasts, windy mornings, rain,
The smell of paint, the whispers of moving bicycles
Our fear of ghosts, our love of smooth rhyme
Our great wonder at the aches of sport,
The movements of our minds in the deepest of night
Our love of food, all kinds of food,
Our fear of pain, simple pain, great pain,
Nail polish, toe nail décor, talcum powder,
Toothpaste flavor, hair gel, fantasy fiction,
Running through the zoo like a new born retard,
Photography, the sweetness of good pornography
Whatever that is
And all things human, truly human,
And yet we settle for ideology,
For gods and genteel mannerisms in this blood desert

Sweet darling, we must be kisses on the wind,
For none last to be immortal
We are passing windows of the cosmic magic,
Little moments of great elation
For this whole wondrous space to celebrate,
Why stick like dirty shades of paint on a colorless wall?
With all these great ideas of eternal life
Why do you want to live forever?
What have you to establish?
Why even be remembered?
Why can’t you be like the wind? Forever glorious,
Eternal without knowing so
Become a flavor for the skies to cherish,
Food for the soil, you endless thing, you wondrous thing,
Come with me and become a whisper in the silence
We have nothing to lose or gain,
This world is a passing frame with a mysterious background
Come live that background,
And see for yourself,
What moves, what doesn’t, what lasts, what doesn’t
Nothing lasts.
It’s dark, kiss me

 

 

artwork: Paul Schad-Rossa – Into Eternity

 

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The Story of Creation

The Story of Creation

Sometimes too often stuck with papers,
Some moments when two things are interesting
It’s too often that this daytime job,
Gets to become a string of dull choices

Do I want magic or money?
Food of leaves or golden beef,
Sometimes too often,
I’m wandering astray,
Into a maze in which color is non-existent,
Into a maze with no dance and music,
With no enchantment
And I’m lost,
With no inspiration to tickle my neck,
No fire to burn my emotions

Most people, are stuck

Life is this great LSD story,
At the beginning of which,
God had himself a champion dosage
And wandered off into this endless dream,
Of which we are all so sincerely part of
Becoming fragments and fractals of this ancient dream,
That spurted forth like paint on an invisible canvas

It’s true, life is God’s great LSD tale,
A psychedelic dilemma,
Forged into molecular abstraction,
An atomic explosion,
In the non-existent mind,
Of an eternal being
This great psychedelic story,
In which somehow,
Death became a feared antagonist

Somehow, this whole color show,
Turned out to be,
A social drama around death

Where are the champions of the light,
Who lovingly tripped this Earth up to ecstasy?

God’s tale, his color tale, his foolish tale,
His endless tale, his bloody tale his wretched tale,
A psychedelic tale, after all
And it’s still being told,
By that formless champion tripper,
Who’s decided to get sober for a while,
To get drunk with the characters,
Of his own delusional painting,
Of this life story
Who is God you might ask!
Tell me who’s asking the question,
And I’ll tell you,
About God

And after that,
We’ll take a walk through the garden of the void
As two gods clothed in light,
And start for ourselves another great dream,
Like children at dawn
Sewing cosmic works with Lego toys
We’ll create this other whole new world,
This other orderless color spur
And keep on dancing,
Till shit happens again
And change it again,
And again,
Again