once upon a time we used to grow our hair long...
not because we were reviving
some Merovingian trend...
       we were meat-heads who would hurls ourselves
into pits of maggot...
into mosh-pits at concerts...
who would trash out our heads against
the air within the confines of the drums....
to the music of all that's better settled and forgotten
within youth...
once upon a time...
          there's no need to read tabloid newspapers...
herr sputnik of the gingerbread man itching
for a canary song / a broccoli entity that might talk...
there's all this madness of:
trans- this that and other...
    and i was once deemed clinically mad...
eh... as ever... the world catches up...
i just stood my ground...

człowiek człowiekowi: zgotował ten los...
man unto man: cooked up this fate...

mostly in relation to Auschwitz...
i've never been... perhaps i should...
perhaps that would be...
well... as children we could run around
and be children in the tunnels and trenches
of the site of world war I near Ypres...
you could climb the pyramids...
child-like free...
    not so much fun among the chimneys...
what pretend game?

i still put the current debate climate to...
something the church should have put their authority on...
a early as the 1960s...
a Scottish psychiatrist...
R. D. Laing...

the gnostic gospel according to doubting thomas...
when you make the one two(,) and
when you make the inner as the outer
and the outer as the inner and the above
as the below(,) and when you make
the male and female into a single one,
so that the male will not be male and
the female not be female, when you make
eyes in the place of an eye(,) and a hand
in the place of a hand(,) and a foot in the place
of a foot(,) and an image in the place of an image,
then you shall enter the Kingdom...

o.k... **** this "kingdom" of Baphomet...
ever since the unearthing of the dead sea scrolls
and the nag hammadi library
after... wow... "coincidentally"... the end of world war II...
the church was... perhaps awake:
i assume... sleeping...
rotten in their marble their gold...
their spoilt garbs of cardinal red
and bishop purple...

where was the church to take authority
of these text... why did they allow these texts
to simply pass to the seculars?
not so much the dead sea scrolls...
no... the other texts...
of note the gospel of thomas?!

now no construct for ego & the egg...
chickens strapped to parachutes... falling with
a buckling clucking: clocks also invited...
no matter: what came first...
there's always that release in continuity...
although: might as well ask: the ego or the egg?
why?
because it's no longer a question
of the egg or the chicken... is it?

  you must have seen how it used to be done
in the countryside...
you'd chase a chicken in the courtyard...
you'd bring it to a stump...
you'd most probably forget to sharpen
the axe...
and off the head went...
and as the eyes in the head rolled over
and as the tongue protruded from within
the beak...
all the other chickens would jump
onto the stump... and...
eh... drink up the blood...
peck at the head...
while you brought the torso in...
pulled out the feathers
and poached the whole body for a chicken
soup... with an addition of the usual
suspects of root vegetables:
carrots, celeriac, parsley... garlic... leek...

we used to grow our hair long...
come to think of it...
we were Merovingians once;
we also had eclectic tastes...
notably... jazz was a welcome antithesis for...
say... Prokofiev...
           we never bothered to scoop up
    rap: as ever needing to be appreciated;
and so the world went on.