When clocks strike twelve and trainings end
— lurk not, they say, in school at night.
Age-old stories tell of how there’re
things that throng in fluorescent light.

In toilets silence screeches loud,
for when school’s empty, they arise:
Ghosts of pregnant girls lie wailing,
with cleaner-uncle poltergeists.

For now I sit on chilling white,
resounding prayers in my mind;
my heart racing with dire wish
a friend of Casper’s I won’t find —

Then eeeeeeek!
Is that a door creaking?
Perhaps it stemmed from my own mind,
Hinges sing as they fly open!
Thou who entered, oh be my kind!

A thud thud thud as shoes traverse
across the glinting marble floor;
and louder,
louder as they get
much nearer to my sacred door!

THEN SILENCE

or so I wish!

But a loud knock takes my breath away.
The unlatched bolt lies there lazing
HOW’D I FORGET TO LOCK TODAY?

A hand thrusts in so hard and swift,
door’s open ‘fore I can react!
I’m facing now a girl my age,
She bawls at me with little tact —

Eyes bloodshot and tummy bloated,
“YOU DISGUSTING PIG! HOW DARE YE?!”
I dash out of the girls’ toilet
before she tries to castrate me.

Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.* - Jorge Guillén

Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.
The train and the woman filling the sky.
Your shy solitude in the hotels
and your pure mask of another sign.
It is the sea's childhood and your silence
where the wise windows were breaking.
It is your stiff ignorance where
my torso was limited by fire.
I gave you the norm of love, man of Apollo,
the lament of a crazed nightingale,
but, pasture of ruin, you sharpened yourself
for brief, indecisive dreams.
Thought head on, light of yesterday,
indices and signs of what may be.
Your waist of restless sand
follows only trails that never rise.
But without you your warm soul
fails to understand. I must search
the corners of a halted Apollo
that I've used to break the mask you wear.
There, lion, fury of heaven,
I will let you graze on my cheeks;
there, blue horse of my madness,
pulse of nebula and minute hand,
I must search for scorpion stones
and your mother's childhood clothes,
midnight lament and torn cloth
that wiped the moon from the dead man's temple.
Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.
Strange soul of the space in my veins,
I must search for you, small and rootless.
Love of always, love of never!
Oh, yes! I want. Love. Let me be.
Don't cover my mouth, you
who search for Saturn's seed in the snow
or castrate animals in the sky,
clinic and jungle of anatomy.
Love, love. Childhood of the sea.
Without you your warm soul fails to understand you.
Love, a doe's flight
through the endless breast of whiteness.
And your childhood, love, and childhood.
The train and the woman filling the sky.
Not you, not I, not air, not leaves.
Yes, your childhood now a fable of fountains.

.so... just because he's copper skinned, and doesn't speak the English language with a continental accent but some brash, canopy of urban slang, he's the superior authority of the dialectical drag of opinion? oh! really?! so we're talking to diacritical aesthetic snobs?! wow! i thought i was bad at that, which i am... but i'm first generation, and i know the courtesy of remaining the voice tracking, a minority... that somehow has enough oil in the cogs of cognition, to leave these isles... i'll stay... blend in... only the more obnoxious english people are bothered by my "accent"... like that one comic in Edinburgh said... you might wonder about my accent... it's educated... my one flaw... i live in Essex but don't fit the Essex boy stereotype... some i'm primarily foreign... not educated.

that's nice, no really...
  back in 1997
   i was an illegal immigrant -
deported from England
with my parents...
aged...
  1986... aged... 11...
about to start
secondary school...
Canon Palmer,
7 kings...
i remember the whole encounter,
happened on Sunday -
the Home Office officers came
plain clothes... knocked
on the door...
my father started running...
jumped a few garden fences...
was caught...
my grandfather was visiting,
kept blaming himself
for the incident....
the day before?
   we were out doing the usual
family stuff -
won a massive red dog doll
for my mother rolling
***** into holes with
camels racing across the
canvas...
   what was that place...
can't remember...
   but sure as hell i remember
the ride...
   started off circular horizontal,
ended up circular vertical...
    but turns out i remember
that Sunday better...
         one of the home office officers
walked into my bedroom with
me sobbing...
   and only said:
you have a nice computer...
i gave him the death stare...
   well... second time round
my parents figured out all the legal
issues of applying for citizenry -
  and managed to get it...
did i sing the national anthem
at the integration ceremony?
like **** it did...
           i speak an english
that transcends national anthem *******,
plus i'm waiting for Charlie...
   who probably going to
become George VIII or something...
    but i know the backbone of
illegal migration,
i was one, aged 11...
seeing my parents get arrested
i started a fist-fight with a wall
that i knew i was going to lose...
      point being...
  whenever some, ******* Somali migrant...
some African migrant in his teens
gets away with illegal migration?
look...
i know what illegal migration
looks like...
   don't tell me no person is illegal
because you're copper-skinned
and bronze when tanned...
and that's your sole excuse!
        ****** me off...
****... didn't you hear that
Bukowski already said?
  the poor are not good unto their fellows
and the rich are likewise...
so why expect economic migrants
to not think less of refugees?
economic migrants at least do
not smuggle in tears and homeland
literary worth regrets...
no-nonsense migration...
  competent roofers -
   competent plumbers...
   but i... kinda love how the middle class
english "lass" will prefer Afro-****
over an unblocked toilet...
            and their children,
Bahamas beauties, all of them...
pretty mongrels outliving pedigrees...
  there is a concept of illegal
immigration,
i was an illegal immigrant...
    but, hey... a white among whites
means i don't have the copper skin
argument to call it: "racism"...
   can people actually file for
a de- citizenship?
               there are still parts of Europe,
that do not have a post-colonial
  present...
  where the Somali, Nigerian argument...
will not, work...
it, will, not, work...
             it's days like these where
i'm like: whatever the U.S.S.R. was,
and what it became...
   i'm about to snuggle up to the current
shadow...
          no... illegal immigration
exists...
             unless you're *******
color blind...
                   hell...
at least i spent 1998 being home schooled -
and watching the World Cup with
my great-grandmother...
   and discovering Metallica...
but no... when some ******* sub-Saharan
tells me about the citizenry of
the world...
          look... head over to Kiev...
  see how happy the Ukrainians will be...
head over to the Warsaw...
   where the signs are in both Polish
and Ukrainian...
                please! please! i implore you!
try assuming that everyone
over those parts is bilingual speaking
English...
i'm waiting to see the Islamic takeover...
on the local and primordial level
of a "peasantry" -
                      but like shaggy said -
wazzin' me...
    i didn't castrate the English...
      to me their testicles are still dangling...
or at least i like to think they are...
    but as an economic migrant...
i abhor what others somehow find
emotional cupcakes of sugary ooze for
in terms of sympathy...
             guess the first line of chess -
collateral - pawns -
       is necessary beside the bishop -
   like what the Palestinians do with their
civilians, according to the Israeli
army...
                     so why bother making
psychedelics legal...
  when you trip on moral relativism?!

women should not
and do not
have to choose
between literacy rates
and basic human rights

if the sight of any part of a woman's body
is too provocative for you
gouge out your eyes, castrate yourself,
and chop off your subhuman hands.

I work for the machine
that bashes bastardized beauty
into the face of the masses

The status quo
of oppressing the Goddess
to some golden ratio
of ***** perfection

"We set the standards, baby"

An arrogance of man,
A battle born in blood
objectifying some sacred symbol,
The cosmic ****
we all crawled out of
as star dust

The holy hole
to heaven on Earth
Gaia taken advantage of
Rejecting the gift of consciousness

We'll de-evolve
like past-life regressions
like we're so self-entitled to 
come back around
Among the cosmos
cradled in the crescent 

Deny yourself the mystique of the feminine
The clashing of the anima and animus
The syzergy of 
the sun 
the moon 
and us
Call on your angels
And submit to the psychosis

My brothers,
These are our 
sisters and mothers
They don't want to castrate
The ******* symbol

Destroy the alpha male
And the omega oppression
The beginning and the end of
**** shaming 

I worked for the 
misogyny machinery of Moloch
My heart no longer beats here
It just bleeds for *her.

I've decided, firmly -
Today, a year later from when I knew you;
A year later from when I cried...
I've decided
That I don't want religious ****.

Now hold on - I know how that sounds.
"This ***** is gonna castrate me!
Or something," is what you probably said.
Don't worry, little altar boy.
I only use my machete for garden snakes
In my two inch back yard.

The nerve, the gall, the gumption,
To tell me in the sweetest way possible
That you'd prefer a subservient house wife.
You couldn't even tell me to my face -
It was second hand knowledge,
Passed along to me by my co-worker.

I bit the pink marker and ****** it dry of ink.
The False god stopped sending you love letters.
Boo hoo,
Poor you.

I'm not entitled to anyone's love, and especially not yours.
You came into my life like a bullet,
Which through the lenses of rose-colored glasses
Looked like a gentle butterfly.
The Cosmos - she was looking out for me.
She's seen too many limp men like you,
And saved me with the gravitational pull of the moon.

So once again,
For those in the back,
Who were too busy wooing Joshua Harris:
******* and your christian *****.

that's a trinity of nouns in that one symbol 0,
that rhombus to a square (omicron) -
zero, nought, oh... and then there's fifteen-love
in tennis, and also nil - so that's more than
a trinity... never mind...

i know why Islam is attacking, a scene from
Hellraiser Hell on Earth, the church scene dialogue:
- my child, what's the matter, what on earth's the matter?
- i have to get back to my apartment, back to the window,
  but they just keep coming, they just keep coming!
- who keeps coming?
- the demons! the demons!
- demons? demons aren't real; they're parables, metaphors.
- then(,) what(,) the(,) ****(,) is(,) that?!

shows you how much people over-read the unearthing
of the Nag Hammadi library in Egypt,
simultaneously with the unearthing of the Isaiah script
after he was cut in half... so i guess this is a competition:
getting crucified (with so many eager Philippine Phillips
eager to address the Olympic record of a day on
the crucifix) - oh wait... didn't the saviour travel to Egypt
in fear of Herod? funny we should find the unorthodox
and therefore more prescriptive writings there...
all hell broke loose in psychiatry in the 1960s...
we had R.D. Laing cite the gospel of St. Thomas...
it's like that Hellraiser narrative... people really took it
seriously... a final testimony of mankind...
the Order of the Templar's Idol: the Bahomet -
that's why Islam is attacking... oh forget the king controlling
the pawns... Iranian women are having none of it...
they're mobilising pawns as we speak, day by day...
every single ******* day... they're mobilising men
against the abomination... supported quiet clearly
by a fear of striking emotion with language...
in Oxford, just recently, there was a ban on denoting
social status of Mr. and Ms., i too would have favoured
the idea of demonic possession, and the joke of the
town is transgender... for whatever feminism does,
it's insulted under the horse's galloping hoof and a
statement by the suffragette: Emily Davison -
she's being insulated... you little ******* are playing
the puppets of Iranian women, that's why you can't see them!
under their niqabs they're playing the boss...
who gives a **** whether they drive their cars!
do i have to be the ******* Greek around here?
ever talk to a woman about homosexuality over a glass of wine?
no, i bet you haven't... prostitution ain't that bad, after all...
but talk to a woman high on ******* about transgender...
see where civilisation ends up at... it won't be chess...
it'll be chess with a blind man, changing the rooks...
you can't be that ******* gullible, but you are, so i'll continue...
these are acts perpetuated by men by argument of women...
they're attacking Christendom (forget western culture,
that's pig ******* deep fried gone and dusted with
Trump as with Ronald Reagan)...
they're attacking because when the library of non-orthodox
Christianity emerged, it was like the Soviet Union
collapsing: a wild west... sure we lost a few good women
to the slavery of the brothel... but in return we learned to
make people obedient in being wrong... can't go
against archaeology... sure... shift the pyramids just a little
to the east and you'll get Auschwitz chimneys puffing...
hell, you might even get the wild idea of the hanging gardens
materialised.
so with that demon story... i'm starting to look at it:
well, thank **** for feminism, but, wait, oh, the insult...
the slap in the face... and then the defence mechanism
of politically correct speech... the transgender movement...
to me that's a perfect safety mechanism for Islam to attack...
this is Christianity 2.0... this is neglecting poetry,
this is the necessary ambiguity of language...
given that people are actually practising trans-gender
ergonomics rather than saying: well, if ambiguity has a case...
i'll just wear a t-shirt... but no! but no! castrate the *******
and send him off to Siberia! you know that Islam
is perpetuating war because of this, Islamic women are
laughing at us... one was noted for the childish example
of tongue-out-of-cheek pointing beneath the veil: hell bound.
the Jews of Europe never made use of political
correctness in the realm of speech - but we don't
have Jews in Europe, America is thriving,
we're stuck with Muslims teaching us German guilt...
i'm not French, nor the mythological Swede kept neutral
even though receiving parts of the Marshall Plan
rejuvenation program of the war torn parts...
the part of me with Mongol just says: well,
Golgotha Pyramid of Baghdad - later known as
the Laughing Cranium Dynamo of Baghdad.
but they really did take the metaphors too literally...
just read the Gospel of Thomas...
it's all there, trans-gender and lubrication -
defending trans-gender rights just insults women,
those in favour of defeating the western cause are obvious...
all that care for feminism gets the cold-salmon fillet slap
across the case... get the **** back into the water!
king in chess a mere cameo extension of pawn -
queen in chess a marooned combination of bishop rook and knight -
or the ****** diversity, mantis and black widow,
the abstract, looking down onto a board...
but in the mammalian realm? the reverse...
oh ****** i'll mobiles... fascism against fascism...
i'm looking up... and what i see i see as what Horace said
to me in the 21st version of the Diverting Comedy -

vivere si recte nescis, decede peritis.
Lusisti satis, edisti satis atque bibisti:
tempus abire tibi est, ne potum lagrius aequo
rideat et pulset lasciva decetius aetas.

                 (you alone bring no bettering of life,
allow others to live, who can beyond your incompetence
to likewise aim at the laurel crown of economic competence
of mortality. you have used enough of allowances:
you ate aplenty, drank aplenty, it's time to go,
so that the hasty youth of what's to be drank, ahead,
for the good per se, not ridicule nor ordained itself better).

well, i'd put Bukowski with Horace as alike...
maybe that's why i chose Horace, above Virgil, Ovid
or Homer... it's the ******* drinking, the honesty of
drunks... as sober men we're nothing more than lost cabarets...
but i am seriously about the above cited Horace...
no matter what feminism does to women right now,
in the economic realm... equal pay and what not...
women are doubly insulted, a frame of mind from
neglecting reading poetry, where poetry could have
incubated words into an internal reality of speaking
about femininity and masculinity, we're talking
real, the Ten Plagues & Transgender... the ****'s that about?
that famous citation found in Spinoza's Theological-Political
Treatise, chapter 14 (faith and philosophy), aphorism
no. 12... god and the trumpets and Mt. Sinai...
concerning? the voice of god gave the Israelite audience no
philosophical or mathematical certainty about
the diabolical "certainty" of the Catholic omni-plus
geometric and quizzical knowing of dates and time differences
between Moscow and the Galapagos islands...
well, never mind that reference... i'm frightened that we're
actually hearing the moaning and groaning from Golgotha
just now... when poetry dies... and people take religiously
indoctrinated language without keen interest in poetry... hell spawns...
at the moment it seems the re-establishment of Israel
is working miracles against the Valley of the Shadow of Death
that Europe represents to the Jew's memory...
and in that Koranic reference, Jesus is the Messiah...
what, with a few of our men attempting metaphysical
acrobatics in the genital region? why not?! added to boot
France tickling the guillotine with its tongue.

have you ever made a spider a Palestinian? i have, today, refreshing the paint-job on the back of my house, a whole family strutting away from fresh paint being applied (poets cure boredom, they simply don't know it), the cardigans erase & rewind, my uncle would be perfect with his age to work out the demographics - my age circuit, 30 and listening to the palette of those in full-throttle of the 1990s - anyway, refreshing the paint on the back of my house, not for dough, but for the sweat of my brow - learning i succumb to acrophobia on the ladder - but i did it anyway... i love phobias, they're not the fear, they're like a box of chocolates... you never know what will make you startle... it's not permanent, phobias shouldn't be considered permanent, they're too reflexive... and we all know that nibbling them in the reflective realm immediately suggests irrationality, not to a reaction, but to a continuum of a reaction: a ladder, a giant spider to boot. but i never watched a spider eat fresh paint... watched the ******* do the nibble on paint... ***** - a getty cardinal spider shooting paint pollutants with its leg, eating the Chernobyl cocktail, the rainbow melt in a puddle of oil spill... junkies everywhere; so that done, a beer and a quick look at the Olympics...

if table tennis was as relevant as table tennis -
i prefer table tennis,
judo is too cool too - classic Greek wrestling
with feet to match the hands -
i think in terms of the Olympics we're in
the Gobi desert - so many sports are shown only
once every 4 years, the once that don't make the dough...
i'd prefer the Olympics without the pop culture
exponents that keep us hungry for spectacles
during the 4 years apart -
hand-ball, Romania thrashed by Angola -
ladies first, of course,
and weight-lifting, weighs in at 48kg and lifts
80+kg... well Jihad John versus G.I. Jane...
a pretty match up... look, i came from a certain background
i won't be making politically correct statements,
if it weren't for my personal initiative i'd be scooping
grub from an industrial flat surface roof like my father...
i don't mind getting paid... i just love the fact that i will
and if ending up homeless, i have enough heart already
to start a religion, or something.
of course i'll miss my personal library of books and albums,
who wouldn't? i'll join the divorcee crew and it'll be
like it always was supposed to be.
but am i really that ridiculous? think about it,
i use ridiculous words in my vocabulary, after all i went
to a catholic school, it was bound to happen -
not true secular cool, sorry -
but is my usage of certain words completely penniless
more ridiculous in the form of an oligarch buying
a pearl entombed in a custard pie? of a yacht for a month
at Monte Carlo? seriously? if i utilise the words
Paraclete or Antichrist after just skimmed rereading of
a psychiatrist's religious venture in Jung's *answer to Job
am i as ridiculous as those barons?
i don't think so... i read that book like Flaubert instructed
concerning all books: read in order to live it -
a book is a transplant, some leave a heart, come a ****,
some a brain, some a pint of blood with a book...
i hope to leave the worm of hell licking your ear for a sloppy
Jim - read Jung... almost atypical German Christian
intelligentsia byproduct, neutral Swiss just after the second
world war... Freud read Nietzsche and so did Mussolini...
****** was very much Jung... it's a strange book...
we all know that the Greeks hijacked Judaism...
the Romans were like: whatever that meant...
shoved it into a cauldron of the prefix omni-
and attributed to the prefix geographies and geometries
all inclusive (herr deutsche came along though) -
but the Greeks hijacked the oddity of Judea at that
special time because they had scientific inclinations
rather than aesthetic inclinations of the Romans,
and they wanted answers... got **** all...
it's not the Jews that thought the Greek involvement
ridiculous, it was the Romans... hence the omni-
and -presence, -potency, etc. - the Greeks just had
those mythical names for ****... Logos, Sophia...
that's the funny thing with mythology and history -
the book of Revelation by the looks of it simply looks
like a redemption of Oedipus... mythology is a logic
of history where either none was recorded on papyrus
since no one required hush-hush intrigue talk and people
spoke to each other face to face rather than to a profile -
mugs and mustard seeds -
you can always buy the book, C. G. Jung answer to Job,
it's peppered with too much Greek, and very little
Roman care... the theological addition of a globalised world
(under monotheism, failed and thriving, whichever)
is bound to play the montage of omni- and simply add -
God = omnivocab - i have my limitations of words -
i had to censor or rather select a vocabulary in order
to process the interchanges to reach a conclusive churning
without an ultimate goal other than to preserve a continuum,
like Balzac boring everybody with the 19th instalment of
the human comedy. so after reading this book on religious
matters by a psychiatrists i'm sorta bothered...
i'm tripping... obviously not seeing any hyper-geometry
of your choice... i just think the Greeks did the most horrid
hoarding and looting know to man... which reflected
the looting of Byzantium and never reaching the Holy Land...
the barbarians never cared to be honest, they only
started caring when they started to castrate the boys
for the "holy" choir rather than circumcise them...
then they went Berserk... the book of revelation can only
mean the quantum mechanics of history, bound to
mythology - Oedipus was very real... the blackened
heart of Greeks even though Aristotle, Socrates, Plato...
that intellectual import and expression didn't help...
after all Eddie Gein gave birth to the latter part of the 20th
century pop culture... Texas Chainsaw... Haemorrhoid Hannibal,
House of a 1000 Corpses.. history and journalism
dismisses mythology, i dismiss journalism as simply
a hyper-sensitivity that keeps dialectics out of the picture,
a monologue of opinions... mythology just doesn't seem
that insensible given our perspective into history with Darwin
and millions of years ago with the sea-turtles... you know
how gossip works... it sooth the reality of it had happened...
because we prefer oysters and chicken thighs to digest than
the tales of Eddie, oh yeah... Fe Maiden... d'uh!
the Greeks looted the Hebrews to purge themselves of
Oedipus... the weakness came by keeping estranged with
Narcissus and iconoclasm... you want an extract?
bombshell blonde at your bidding -
assumptio mariae: mary as the bride is united with the son
in the heavenly-chamber, and as sophia, with the godhead.
basically Mary is a schizophrenic ****-child of lust
for a Roman centurion who makes the story of a ****** birth
her wish to bed-wet her son (Jesus) into joining **** John
and Toe into her ****** (***** *****, like her already)
in heaven - she thinks her body will **** her "******-birth"
son and her wisdom (Sophia is her alias, or nickname)
will **** god in the head. oh hell this is sacrilege -
i'm not afraid of it... boo! ha! caught you mouth dry with the
boogie man. so this is a psychiatrist reasoning his religion...
as i said, the Greeks had no omni- Roman put the **** back
into his boots before he starts river-dancing...
all these quizzical ultra-mythical words that the Greeks
used starting with the Logos and Hippocrates were attached
to the failed Platonism of the unconverted Damocles principle
and the tyrant succumbing to drink and never bound to
a sober wish for anything more - (i'm guessing his intentions
were laid with Nietzsche as source of discipleship) - in short
let's just say that Platonism failed in practice,
and it needed a populist movement, a redemption from
the curse of Oedipus came from Hebrew with the schizoid-birth,
Joseph bin Adam was: better bite that ****** of the cow-fruit
and remind her of the stoning practices around here -
oh it's all pretty much Eastenders around here, it's
not the ******* Vatican marble corridors, we're talking
Gaza dust sneezing while whipping the donkey's *** to
move along... split-mind: beautiful metaphor... premature
dementia, obviously misunderstood... if premature "dementia"
while so much creativity among the split-minded...
it's like all the zodiac signs became jealous of Gemini,
incorporating Gemini-Solipsism... well, i have a neck like a bull
and a *****-count like a charging bull... but the thinking
behind the 3.a.m. is kinda staggering... oh right, you want
more quirky clues from Jung's book:
- silvia loret
- maritza mendez
- aria giovanni             (get a hybrid and i'll believe in Disneyland) -
****, that ain't what i was going to write, never mind,
you get a chance to see the palette of what's fudge for
fucky-fucky sized 16+ and what the Renaissance men
knew would be better than duck-feathers in pillows;
- meister eckhart: gott ist selig in der seele
- puer aeternus: vultu mutabilis albus et ater
    (of changeful countenance, both white and black)
- pius XII's apostolic constitution (munificentissimus dei)
   words like muni-imus really make you train in
    grammatical arithmetic, don't they? playing doctor with
   them as to where to cut them for a aqua format of rivers
   is quiet like reciting a 5x table up to 30 (sometimes)
- oportebat sponsam, quam pater desponsaverat, in θalmis caelestibus habitare (the bride whom the father had espoused had to abide in the heavenly bridal-chambers): st. john damascene (encomium in dormitionem);

summa summarum?
Nietzsche answered Job... this is my answer to Jung as also an answer to Lot - **** your daughters, your wife turns into a pillar of salt... and i equate that as a precursor to the man of sorrows on the ****** crucifix - salt is a metaphor for misery (that's etymology for you); and the Roman phonetic encoding survived over the fates of Egyptian and Babylonian is precisely why the adopted son of Caesar later made his uncle's adopted nephew his successor - as with the four dogma canon gospels, we're replicas of the tetragrammaton... well... i was never confirmed, i'm one short of joining the god-men that came out from catholic school after choosing a name for themselves they could have changed not having wished to be known by the two names given to them by their parents... few did... i just ended up an acronym of Einstein: M C E.

Face                     of MADNESS        , gather your twisted strength
Stench like sadness? (Do)n't                             confuse, its greatness
Sway through the fractures and disjointedness
      Disembodied                      manifestati­on, useless phenomenon
S(cul)p(ture)s hammered into DisFuRme/nt
Castrate salient pieces                     of that body
      Spew inhuman lexicon insinuating         i-n/co\here/nce
Slaughter the (harm)ony                   within cadence
Screech!         H     o      w      l!          Growl!
Rel(easing) murderous miseries within infected entr[ails]
      R A G E, count{less} bullets                              turning fl{ashes} of sanity to CAD(AVE)R(S)
De[generate] ripping throat of conscio(us)ness

They say we exist in rivers of fate
Predetermine pathways we are imprisoned in
Positions we were born for
And to disturb or ignore such strings
Would undermine the order of those things

I say we are free form individuals
With endless paths before and between us
That the reason they want to bind us to fate
Is because they want to blind us
To the weight of our own power
To makes us wait for divine intervention
Instead of having us pay attention
To our intentions and the intention of others

The wealthy and religious classes
Want to politically castrate men and women
Till we are to impotent with diffidence
Unable to make any sort of difference
But that framework doesn’t fit this
World that we seven billion strong have been gifted with
We have more power then we know
And it only grows when we explode
And show it to everyone else