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How does the world feel now
that you are free of illusion?
Now that hate and spite crawl through veins
carrying a pain secretly welcome,
secretly a saviour.

How harsh the waking moment must have been
from the sleep you called upon yourself,
how false the hurt rings in your threats
to empty skies, empty rooms, empty hearts.

Be still and let that poison set in.
Don't move, don't speak, don't fight:
you punch the air, you kick the sand.
Degradation the only reward.

There will be a day when it settles.
A bright sunny day you'll see me again as you have
without your fake eyes and poison loves
and know, as I have, that we are but people
unadorned, devoid of flair, magic and dreams.
People that walk in the sun and rain wingless,
as low as anything that crawls, as high as we get.

We only fly if you throw us up hard enough
and we always have to fall
and break.
it is a low form of narcissism to adorn emptiness by praising postcards from the void,
practicing tasseography with icons some prankster god sent as clues to it's existence.

the empty have no value.

they are lamps someone forgot to shut off,
so they burn in desolate ruins off the same current that keeps incubators running
attracting human moths to a weak light the propaganda said was art.

all is weakness, no power remains here; this neon wake of a plague so horrid
it leaves everything intact and spiritless.
semblance of society projected on liquid crystals,
eyes that devour the unseen like blind bacteria,
devourment the sole function, procreation turned to religious slavery  
of prostitute ideals, more tear eyed grief stricken pictures on a screen
to elevate the sickly and the diseased. no substance. no deed.

welcome to the future where the thinkers are cannibals.

the vagueness of depth can be achieved only with murky water.
no clarity, no truth but what you do not know and someone will explain.
blind rage of plague victims perpetuates the disease, the collective downfall of what the tv calls society.
and who to turn to for salvation, who holds the master plan?
is there a plan?

Sick of this escapist game I return to truths no worshiper of the void
can question. I know them for I loathe them.
I dig out the bones one more time in search of clues
and before I find them I realize
how deep the sickness runs.
There is no alternative to this cycle, only it's acceptance.
Beauty is found in quantums, not paintings.
Peace is here,
in the warm spring breeze, under blades of sweet sunlight, I can hear them ask:
do you know who is the commanding officer?

Abolish every childish time of life, acquire for yourself strength of mind and soul, and intensify the struggle against every folly of the passions of love and base wickedness, and love of praise, and fondness of contention, and tiresome jealousy and wrath, and anger and the desire of avarice. Guard your (pl.) camp and weapons and spears. Arm yourself and all the soldiers, which are the words, and the commanders, which are the counsels, and your mind as a guiding principle.

My son, throw every robber out of your gates. Guard all your gates with torches, which are the words, and you will acquire through all these things a quiet life. But he who will not guard these things will become like a city which is desolate, since it has been captured. All kinds of wild beasts have trampled upon it, for thoughts which are not good are evil wild beasts. And your city will be filled with robbers, and you will not be able to acquire peace, but only all kinds of savage wild beasts. The Wicked One, who is a tyrant, is lord over these. While directing this, he (the Wicked One) is beneath the great mire. The whole city, which is your soul, will perish.

Remove yourself from these things, O wretched soul! Bring your guide and your teacher. The mind is the guide, but reason is the teacher. They will bring you out of destruction and dangers.

Listen, my son, to my advice! Do not show your back to enemies and flee, but rather, pursue them as a strong one. Be not an animal, with men pursuing you; but rather, be a man, with you pursuing the evil wild beasts, lest somehow they become victorious over you and trample upon you as on a dead man, and you perish due to their wickedness.

Oh wretched man, what will you do if you fall into their hands? Protect yourself, lest you be delivered into the hands of your enemies. Entrust yourself to this pair of friends, reason and mind, and no one will be victorious over you. May God dwell in your camp, may his Spirit protect your gates, and may the mind of Divinity protect the walls. Let holy reason become a torch in your mind, burning the wood which is the whole of sin.



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