This is your reality, the brave new world;
i just hang out here:
birthed in the Cradle of Elam,
a mourning son of Baal,
smeared and anointed
with the oil from the
***** fingerprints of
countless scores of
sweaty neophytes;
carried, dropped, dented;
brought forth from eons passed,
updated for the 21st century,
gilded Krylon-gold.

This nebulous gift,
made tangible and
whole by blood,
a form fitting sacrifice,
transmogrified kudzu,
rootless, digging
talons' clutch into
our minds' construct,
seeks strength of
conviction, action.

Our ship is now
veering off course.
i must respond in kind.
i will not be led astray.
i will not have my good
intentions commandeered.
i will hijack your purpose,
screaming mutiny,
holding Occam's Razor-knife
to the throat of your jihads.

i issue a fatwa of peace,
as you once did,
before.

i renounce a kingdom of hate,
as you once did,
before.

i seek charity in effort,
as we once did,
before.

Let us rebuild.
Let us move forward.
***** a new Babel,
forsaking the sword.

Let our forks be on roads,
and not on our tongues;
a forging of union,
as we'd once begun:

My sisters, my brothers,
my family,
as one.

For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.

The World's Times* chronicled
Crusades and Fatawas,
Jihads and Inquisitions,
Coups and Genocides.
     Such resourcefulness

The Construct.

Another Cathedral rises
In a destitute country.
     Do-able

We're told
From the leader's lips
     We'll always have the poor.

Uh huh! The poor!
That's what was said.
We can always put them to work,
And there won't always be work.
They'll need membership cards,
And birthings and burials,
Like always.

     See the pyramids along the Nile
     You get up every morning from your alarm clock's warning

Another temple
Will grow from
Rice paddies;
A synagogue,
A mosque will
Cinch tiles
On the backs of peasants.

I've had enough
Laundering by recluse
Single mothers,
By crooks posing as shepherds,
And Holy Wars
     so oxymoronic
     cleanses too

Any Divines
Benefitting from
Our labour and wages;
Our drachma, denarius and shegel,
Aren't worth the worship.
Yet the lenders are good
At getting their pound.

          *Don't drop a coin
          In a wishing well,
          Pay cash for a mass
          Where they'll ring your bell.
          Choose a charity,
          There's so many,
          That need a
          Pauper's Penny.

From the tip of my toes
To the top of my head,
This world
Is suffocating me.

I'm up to my ankles with Jackals;
I'm up to my tibia with Libya;
I'm up to my knees with Refugees;
I'm up to my thighs with Counterspies;
I'm up to my crotch with Iraq;
I'm up to my groin with Muslims;
I'm up to my waist with the Displaced;
I'm up to my belly button with Christians;
I'm up to my hands with Iran and all ...stans;
I'm up to my rib cage with Renegades;
I'm up to my sides with Genocides;
I'm up to my chest with the Oppressed;
I'm up to my neck with Egypt;
I'm up to my nose with Jews;
I'm up to my cheeks with Sheiks;
I'm up to my Irises with Isis;
I'm up to my eyeballs with Jihads;
I'm up to my ears with Syria;
I'm up to my forehead with Baghdad;
I'm up to my cranium with North Koreans.

My Christmas Wish:
Is for them to do
The anatomically impossible:
****** Themselves.

Thugs and tyrants tempting fate?
Fallen kingdoms threatening war?
Hordes of immigrants at the gate?
Hang this placard on your door:
good intentions cannot fail;
liberal smugness must prevail !

Children ***** while cities burn?
Tortured corpses, sudden blasts?
Armies surge, regroup, return…
your gentle snowflake counsel lasts.
Smug and godless never falters;
smug will save your sons and daughters.

Hilarious, this global village.
Flags of doom unfurled on high…
throats are slit as death-squads pillage;
****** madness stains the sky.
What matters most: you’re open-minded
(smug beholds the world unblinded).

Christian faith?  You blow a fuse,
babbling to your New York Times;
crusades with jihads you confuse
apologizing for their crimes.
Hashtag snark will save our day
smug, enlightened, global, gay…

Who is it
That lit the first flame,
On the darkest night,
Of our final day?

Who is it
That committed a heinous sin-
As the destruction of our humanity
Laid curse to all our kin.

What might become of us
As we walk blindly into darkness?

Will we redeem our begotten souls,
Or leave our redemption to the tales of old?

What burdens shall we carry?
How many millenniums will it take?
Will we succumb to our suffrage-
Or fulfill our forgotten fate?

They say it was long ago
That we crafted the glory of the gods
Stripped souls built their thrones
As we lay hollow, and broke

Dante traveled through the echelons of the afterlife
And returned with tragic tales of our irrefutable eternity
Whether we lay to waste in the River Styx
Or exist solemnly in our blissful ignorance

We conceived poetry, and literature
The likes of which the world had never seen
We told stories of prophets and fiends
All to detail our enigmatic intrigue


Unbeknownst to us we betrayed ourselves
Separate stories became separate beliefs
Bearing swords, we wrought bloodshed
Payment for prejudice, collected by grief

We led crusades, and jihads
As death of men reeked in the fields
Children were taught love, and affection
Years later, we sent them armed to the battlefields

Prophets practiced *******
Politicians purged families for power
The poor became mindless and meek
The covetous grew stronger,
as they overpowered the weak

The tales of our dreaded destiny disappeared
As our humanity crumbled before us
Our dilapidated divinity was lost to the ages
And heaven and hell, left quietly at a cusp

Perhaps we should pray, just one final time
And reach out to the heavens
For our humanity is dying...

Our beloved father, are’t thou still in heaven?
Might we still utter thy hallowed name?
Might thy kingdom come-
And your will be done?

The forsaken are many
And the gates of hell are unleashed
The oceans have turned to acid
And the earth crumbles beneath our feet

Will you forgive us our lord?
For the sins we have made?
Are we still redeemable?
Or will we succumb to the shade?

All remained quiet, for so long, we waited on his word
But the stories were stories,
and I suppose that’s all they really were.

Thinking for myself was one of the first things I did.
I had original thoughts.
It was like *******.
Done alone, in silence. Easy and reliable.
If help was necessary,
There was a pictorial in National Geographic;
Last years Christmas Catalogue,
Or Supergirl,
Flying skyward with one knee cocked.
To think was to develop, to grow into maturity.
Best results were achieved by turning off.
That's hard to do, but doable.
Unplug your podcast ears;
Turn down the Foxbits;
Start your own Blog.
We can think for ourselves
To avoid Jihads, insurrections and revolutions,
Unless,
We think them necessary to clear our heads.

all because this world is incomplete,
so much so, that it's governed
less by space, and more by time,
even if mortal men set foot on the moon,
the immortal men might set foot
of the sun...
   but such is our grievance:
that this world is incomplete,
and history must be allowed -
  and yes, theology without the practices
of crusades, jihads, or other such
statements could compete to obstruct
history... yet the greatest peril comes
when theology labours in sloth from
its confines, of already making oath to
being a non-history...
how can the confined spaces of heaven
& hell, be endured in the purgatory of
the time medium: of the now, and present?
i call the "fact" of existence,
by what dante would have said:
   tis but purgatory in every bearing,
thought & vein, and still! we wield the beating
heart!
    i will pour all of my malice
into this work! i'll relieve you of all the scorns
you have against me! i will make you **** me!
but i will also provide an echo chamber
of the feeding! i will eat more than mere flesh,
i will eat each and every third thought of yours!
like a chess-master, i will presume you
the lacklustre gambler of moral oughts,
ensuring i sign each response, with a θ...
     may you only become my counterpart,
and learn to love, that philology,
            that has no feminine deity to attend to;
and yes, the idea of heaven, or hell,
is incompatible, even foolish to comprehend,
since we state this un-comprehensible affair
without the ideal conviction of space...
***** by time, mingling with the titillating morbid
space-time continuum...
the X-convergence...
                      but we exist in a purely temporal
compendium: set aside the trinity -
father time,
       solipsism of heaven &
                                           the **** of hell...
it's not necessary to feel the obligation for
sensible arguments, answers or questions,
after all: modern man is incapable of any worthwhile
diacritical remarks beyond the first sentence:
so much for subjective-contra-objective distinctions
given that emotions always too nearly miss
the possibility of objective demands...
       and there are no sensible arguments to have,
or to have made...
               heaven, and, also hell...
are non-temporal consideration,
and by that i mean: are hyper-geometric...
   just like the universe is...
   even if beginning with the chronology of
a "bang"... ascribing "big"? it's just juvenile;
also "bang": for who can hear anything in a vacuum?