Let these words embodied in tone slither inside you
like the illuminous snake in the garden,
He who would choose wisdom over blissful ignorance, come forth
Primordially flicking tongues like a fleshy breeze touching the ******** of your heart,
Making your soulgasm explode,
shaking and shattering,
The walls of this mass illusion
That you and I are separate conscious,
two brilliant waves cresting in the same dazzling ocean
Or that words mean anything at all
Follow my sign posts,
they lead to a wooden paddle boat on the muddy shore of a river
Climb inside as we slide with our backs against the dew wet morning grass
Floating in space, staring at the vaulted ceiling of stars
Beyond, behind, infinite light of time, we go as pilgrims
Once across the murky water, shimmering waves, we leave the boat
We put down the girl, whoever and whatever we still carry
We put it down, under the bohdi tree, all the arrows are slung a thousand times;
blotting out the sun,
and darkness covers us in mortal fear
But we speak in music now, we speak in flowers, and symphonies
And dilated eyes see lotus petals unfolding at the center of the arrowhead,
blossoming into divine corruption and ecstacy
so terrible that you must turn away from eternity
for now we have no answer to that magnificent shining face
that turns our hair white
We have no answer for that glowing burning face
that casts us scattered into the deafening void,
that beautiful face so terrible
we turn from truth,
we dance with death, her hair radiant,
we only are permitted to see
the stupendous *** of God on holiday
when we enter the church,
bells ringing, tolling the death of Absolute Primal Man and Woman,
unconditioned individuality, original freedom
Yet we still turn,
some taking the lead in mortal tango,
swinging to keep the beat as best we can,
and when we step on a toe, we throw our heads back and laugh wildly
And passionately tongue kiss the mouth of our defeat
with lust and longing, pressed close against our heaving chests
because nothing really matters,
that is what I say,
because if nothing really matters,
then everything’s okay
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Let these words embodied in tone slither inside you
like the illuminous snake in the garden,
He who would choose wisdom over blissful ignorance, come forth
Primordially flicking tongues like a fleshy breeze touching the ******** of your heart,
Making your soulgasm explode,
shaking and shattering,
The walls of this mass illusion
That you and I are separate conscious,
two brilliant waves cresting in the same dazzling ocean
Or that words mean anything at all
Follow my sign posts,
they lead to a wooden paddle boat on the muddy shore of a river
Climb inside as we slide with our backs against the dew wet morning grass
Floating in space, staring at the vaulted ceiling of stars
Beyond, behind, infinite light of time, we go as pilgrims
Once across the murky water, shimmering waves, we leave the boat
We put down the girl, whoever and whatever we still carry
We put it down, under the bohdi tree, all the arrows are slung a thousand times;
blotting out the sun,
and darkness covers us in mortal fear
But we speak in music now, we speak in flowers, and symphonies
And dilated eyes see lotus petals unfolding at the center of the arrowhead,
blossoming into divine corruption and ecstacy
so terrible that you must turn away from eternity
for now we have no answer to that magnificent shining face
that turns our hair white
We have no answer for that glowing burning face
that casts us scattered into the deafening void,
that beautiful face so terrible
we turn from truth,
we dance with death, her hair radiant,
we only are permitted to see
the stupendous *** of God on holiday
when we enter the church,
bells ringing, tolling the death of Absolute Primal Man and Woman,
unconditioned individuality, original freedom
Yet we still turn,
some taking the lead in mortal tango,
swinging to keep the beat as best we can,
and when we step on a toe, we throw our heads back and laugh wildly
And passionately tongue kiss the mouth of our defeat
with lust and longing, pressed close against our heaving chests
because nothing really matters,
that is what I say,
because if nothing really matters,
then everything’s okay
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