nonsensicus: November 2013

Jesus said, "If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you".

A quote from "the Gospel of Thomas"
The Nag Hammadi Library
(Christian Gnosticism)

FOR I AM THE SPAWN OF WILLIAM THE BIRD

Under the red horns of the moon

The seven sisters and black star of the dog

A hiss and a hint of a snake in the grass

Can you hear it?

A herald to the cults of black power

Sere bones sticking in the oil

Between handshakes, red leather and teeth

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Like a vague desolation, indolent and lewd

Alarms prostitute in the dark to the infinite field &

Crowded wooden boxes huddle in their rapturous fears

Endless criminal garlands of video screens drape

Madly across the invisible specter of doom

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Like a dark and murderous Kali

With a shimmering wet necklace of one hundred million

Severed heads, eyeballs swirling and switching and pulsing and flickering

Catching all the withered and dead unborn souls dancing joyously naïve

She comes upon us now

She moans, so crimson and pure, invisibly hanging in Gods unforgotten & luminiferous aether

Repeating the sounds, chanting the sounds, of loves final hour

Hypnotic. Mesmeric. Odylic and Narcotic sirens falling softly into the deep and watery sleep

Into the wire net of this new and unfathomable forgotten abyss

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Like a matchbook of sticks, popping in ice

The pins on the children or the crosses on I-5

A scream splits across John Wayne’s plastic and steel teeth

His televised stupor and hardworking grin of a beer

Tired of searching for the stolen and tailored word

Tired of the imperious & parroted response from the bloodthirsty broken grey man

Tired of trying to wash away the yellow disease of self-deception, gathered to his fathers

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

His head tilts back and a nascent fire pours forth its myriad caustic lamentation to the living dead

To the numerous pestilent, calamitous and cursed skulls littering the land of the hungry ghosts

Decorating the land, decorating the people, the cars, and the clothes

Of the innocent and newly born

To the creeping normality of evil masquerading as the crown of success

Like an adornment of prison death heads brightening the dying fires of our rationalized ground

To the horrible shrieking consecration of involuntary blood and jet-setting tongue of vanity

Black water of eternal sacrifice and graven flesh god of corporeal and physical idolatry

Fucking death heads everywhere

Mind control systems & symbols praying for sublime destruction as the holy words of nothing

Black magic tokens given out to fools who cannot see the flower nor smell the rose

Of life itself, a sacred blade of grass in the infinite deep

He screams, and spittle and mucous and scum mix with vomitous conjuration

Calling forth spirits from the vasty deep

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Standing in the bracken water, palace of putrid filth

He shakes his huge hands like fists of the bear, mitts of rubber and steel

He shakes with impotent fury and meekly brushes away tears piercing the violent air

Sobbing uncontrollably in the new dawn of invisible loss

A lamentation. A mournful wail of mad tears that falls from a boy locked in a box of time

Locked in will and struggle and coping stoic grit

Locked in the forgetting, the futility, and the drudgery of the American hollow. Grist for the mill.

He stands now and knows the blues are sung in a crypt of blue murder

The bird vomits in disgust and yellow robins cry

So here fails and falls another lamentation of tears to this barbaric obsession of media pariah

A momentary somebody flashed on a screen

Another vengeance for the scientifically formulated nihilist

Another token photo in the shadow of a shade

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

In the shadow of a shade, criminal garlands hang across the silver spectacled sky

Raw and mournful, like the bitter dust of another sacrificial post

Wrapping the grime and marl off a thousand bleeding guns

A thousand bleeding freedoms, incrementally stripped, in the Great Big Brand New Success

Of stone cold stupidity, an abiding broken desiderium

Wretched black night of the collective soul, forgotten again

Oh, conjoined rapture of penitent and putrid filth, enjoy your beating

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

For now the bells toll unheard

Tortured by a briar of pain, black metal and obscene exhaust

And spewing its expultant crap through grinning stars and eyes, eagles and teeth

Thorns bent into little bullets and killing

Killing with the zombie drone of the autonomous machine

Self-replicating and beyond our control

All gaudery and abuzz with the live feed of this false and glorious, new ordered dawn

Spewing bullets for oil, a meaner more abrasive machine gun hand

Just one click away

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Here lies destruction and abject depravity masquerading as the helm of Christ

As the necessity of reasonable invention

As a gilded crown of glittering digital lights, floating narcotically over the barren Wasteland

As a wild of sand and blood

Oh hail these smiling willful leaders

Death squad for a cut metal Judas goat

Standard bearer and director general of Non-Belief

Credo of the imperious dirge

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

So down below like a pretty kettle of fish

Down below like stars in a sand made of the sun and the sea

And crushed under the weight of splendiferous golden pyramids

Lay the people

The Beautiful, delicately weak, tagrad people

The masses, rabble and dregs of this Empire of shit

Bent and praying between their dreams, to the infinite and silent dark

Bent and praying to the dawns early light

With the voice of thoughts that breathe and the words that burn like animals

Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh, you are the white hawk of battle

Invisible and born eternal by the ghost in this terrible machine

And thrown aloft to the soft light of new dreams

Where good days are everything and time is the only bride

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Now awaken, fool, and listen to the rupture and groan of all these living years

Like a throbbing requiem to cynical thought wires smashing the black and vigilant spheres

Avatars of a new light, curtly betrayed

Like the crack of the ice, or the fizzle and whirl, of the buzz in the wheel of the heart of the crash

Like a spectacle of meat and sand reverberating over the falling cascade

Like the sound of a passing bell in a broken dirge

And all the while the tragic and calamitous shipwreck goes under the bounding main

In silent and splendid isolation

Slipping into the masterpiece like a beautiful bird or the book fulfilled

Hands outstretched and screaming for a dream of love not a dream of hate

In a song everybody knows

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Oh, slothful indoctrination, you command us all now

A cryptic theater high on sentimental bereavement, mawkish and maudlin

And snorted through straws of plasticized vein

A house not built upon rock, but upon rotten wood blood

False experts dressed in sheets of golden ghost, clamoring to the feed

Dollars bills clutched desperately like shamanistic fetishes

Spinning in the wind of skeletal distortion

And here we rest now on a familiar stone altar

Like a wan bitch wolf of the north, her teats exposed to the ice and smoke of imminent death

Head back and teeth gritted, ready for her water to break

Ready to birth another subversive flame into this pop meme of prison camp mundane

Shooting her wad, shooting it into the wind

Shooting it into the sparkle of sky lit eternal expanse

Shooting it into the glass mind of your new ordered day

Your destruction mass of shiny new weapons & fire & anger

Sung aloud in the silent vestibule of the sewer beneath you

With dark tongues of phallic plastic and bone

“Hands up who wants to die?” shouts the baby crossing the sky

Like a shooting star medicine bundle of pure and miraculous cells

Disgorged across the tundra of horns and meat, flowers and the feathers of owls

The Milky Way a dark blanket of curious light caressing the tempest of human angst

The tempest of innocent and inviolate propriety, unbreakable code of the silent status in quo

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

Like a keeper of dust or the red wings of the whore

We awaken to this new electric church, matrix of narcotic burlesque

A coward’s slave world of formless despair and mindless drones killing people

Real and weak and fragile people like you, everyday

Dying in the background noise of shuffled coffee newspapers and rude espresso jets

With room for cream, car tires and the jingle of keys

Dying between the reasonable words of the unquestionable and oh so guilty authorities

Like a pawn in their game we are the meek waiting for the earth to boil

Dying in the blitzkrieg of robotic cameras swarming your soul

Disarming the pillars of private thought

Dying in the giant moaning doom of it all

Here we are now

We are in the moment

We are present

Presentism

In this, your empire of oozing black shit & the love of power

An oily puddle poisoning the miracle of green life itself

And turning the innocent children to pills of bitter smoke

An empire of new and boundless consumption, a fictive paradise one yard long and counting

Now the owl calls your name in the darkness of the night

And the sound is like a giant wet pyramid of rotting newspapers touching to the moon

And the sound is like chainsaws killing time

And the sound is like hammers beating in the rain between a silence of nothing but lies

Infinite sets of infinite new lies that all agree upon now as a somnolent and greasy new truth

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

The airplane passes slowly overhead

And dark night plays soft notes that fill my always ringing ears

There is no line in the sand

There is no enemy. There never was. Just a mirror in the cave of shadows

We are them & they are us

And for me there is only my truth on a pole

The old and quiet truth, still high on the pole, wrapped in leather rope and furs

And bleeding the setting sun like a fish

Crucified and floating under a bridge of ancient bones that once I wore as beautiful life

Bones that come alive and dance new songs

Bones of bliss that are like a vestibule of extreme umbrage to the living dead

Or a funeral carriage of pure and immaculate nails

The old and quiet truth that is not there but everywhere

Everywhere holding your ghost in the mind like an empty specter, disrobed and flayed

And carried away by some young sweet innocent water

The old truth floats and is bourn away and under and from

This, the carnage of your violent and depraved daze (days)

Your twenty five flat screen Tee-Vees flashing little Nazi tea sets with eagles on them

Flashing, flashing jets of fire, black smoke and flame in some far off distant desert land

While every day the world shrinks and grows smaller

And shipping containers of plastic goods shuffle hesitantly under equatorial stars

Fluorescing powder glows & cards are swiped & plasma swirls

Up against the defense of times unknown and open and black

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

And the rain falls like blood

And we the children

Float away to God

And the rain falls like blood
And we the children
Float away to God

And the rain falls like blood
And we the children
Float away to God