The words of Urgnd Lichmae as spoken by the prophet

There is no authority but yourself and your mom
Do what thou wilt but be chilled that is the whole of the law
All of my life has been governed by the same principle
Knowledge is all
Reason is the route to knowledge
This is paradoxically countered by the striking realization
That knowledge is unattainable and reason is flawed
I consider myself the master of my reality
Ever knowing that I have No remote control
I am but a particle in the vast swirling mess
Conscious of itself
Ride! Ride! To Armageddon

And lo! He spoke in Tongues

The Young americans win the black parade blues dandy
With Crowley Tilling the endless Time Killing
Flash fried, deep dyed in coliform, and unwilling
And right then Powers said “do I make you randy”
A Flabbergasted basterd Worn Torn for the feeling
Clapper switch on ******* sent a poor boy reeling
Stealing all the ugly bits that still remained handy
Crippled light of the monitor howling **** Forlorn
Torn a sunder under Urgnd’s blundering sojourn

Yay! The beast did appear

Mike myers white Kirk Mask, light flicker
In the mirror stares the face of a devilish creature.
Blatant slander to the depths of existential life crimes
Alexander de Macedoni lost in the stammering story line
Sofie’s Crime was never letting go of her Petty moral fiber
And the First thing that comes to mind is that I’m pretty tired
But too slow was the English Tea drinking grey earl’s mudline
Mortal Corporeal punishment on the philosopher’s Stormy mind
Sold separately from the Cheap plastic **** measuring Gun Club
To The tangible alien televangel flannel laced voice Dub
Hurt, he Squirt the black fish of the drug addled killer kind

Copulation Commenced

“Hard and fast baby hard and fast” hands around my waist
On the darkened eye shadowed lids of emotional teenage angst
Embodied in all that pitiful splendor

Until Reason Beget

In game changing fashion
And delusions of Grandeur
I closed my computer for the fifth time only to reopen it in a flurry wide Side Longed imagination
To right the Wrong words for the Wrong generation
Write the rights of man, only quicker than you can
On the Holy Madonna’s, waist like a ****** Libation
This one Goes out to Baby jesus’ Great Clan

“Sometimes a man is just left with nothing to say for himself, there is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes the gears come loose as the train smashes into the building. Sometimes there is no hope”-Ernest Hemingway

Just keep writing
Mescalito swing
To the Margarittaville ring
Plaintiff Mingus chilling
Round Midnight fling
Or was it Miles Davis.
Stayed puffed with smors
Made with white chocolate.
No great war
No great flame no great pain no great gain
And for all its worth, for all your trouble a penny for your loss
Cost millions of Jews down the Dachau blues
Lifebuoy next clue,
For the literary jury
And a glance out the window yields the Spike of patriotic fury
Killing time Tod killing for Casey Jones locker
Playing the bag pipes off Key
Send a Post Card far away
For Diane sawyers interview
With bizzaro nbc
Done Smash Melee way
Because “I love it” and “I do too”
Even though it’s rough
No rules just right
Died sleeping in the night
Just like the lebouf
None of this is original

And then my words failed me and I slipped into a trance where I met a man holding a snake, a cobra. He held it up to me in a gesture begging my approval. I nodded and he took a pair of scissors and cut the head off the snake. Out of its body came ribbons of color and light. I cannot imagine that this has any significance.

The other day something happened to me that hasn’t happened since High School
A scream audible, loud, but only for me
In my mind
Sustained for mere moments
And then gone
Rousing like a battle cry
But with a hint of anguish
Peeling back my eye lids like banana’s
Rattling its cage
Like a beast that has grown to large for its master
And is dumped down the toilet like a sewer crocodile
As if ready to burst from my skull
And spread its tattered bat wings
Heave the birth breath and swoop down lower Manhattan
To terrorize hipsters
Its fire breath singed my eyebrows
And burned down the walls of my capitols of reason
Biases and assumptions
Forever breaking my ties
And branding my forehead with the name Urgnd

Burning fire death curdling scream because I’m back from the dead *******. Anger is an energy that I cannot ignore.
When I am worn down to a nub it is the soul seed,
Which I can hold onto,
My psychic anchor in my hour of need.
The moment when you have broken through to the other side
And you explode in a thousand fiery shards.
The collapse is imminent.
There is no avoiding the finale.

I washed my hair today with three in one body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.

It has come time for someone to say the facts in blunt and bold terms.
A Cartesian scaling of reality
There are no facts

In a society founded on genocide and warped by decadence,
I find no solace in bitter resentment.

Thriving in ennui, when the real demons come about
I parse together bits of my consciousness in a frantic search of clarity.
No solace,
And I have become the neurotic eye of the mid mind watch dog.
Sailing into Armageddon for want of heroic end,
Plastered to the seat back with sweat.

The carefully constructed outer shell of my being disintegrated in front of me in a mesh of color and light, and they said there is no god.
Enter the Thing

In the desert ****** up the *** by a sordid English poet, religion finds all the seekers, otherwise its madness.
And without truth, Its just a ride, we
play the game, for it is the only thing that we
really have—As  I begin to calm down, two months later,
I realize the folly of my actions.—Actually, **** that nonsense, folly is a lie,
there only Is.

Is there evil in truth? truth in evil?
And is evil not subjective?
For the fathers made the call.
Doth thou do what thou hath
For truth, subjective as well, is an infinite path,
Gödel’s law.

I write with groomed fingernails on a keyboard of obsidian-blocked letters and cadmium laced circuitry.

At our core we are neither inherently evil nor good,
Intelligent or stupid,
Narcissistic, altruistic.
life is Never simple. ‘No secret ingredient’
And pity the swine who clumber over the word nor

If you think you have found the answer to anything, especially in real life, and especially if you can write that answer down in a sentence, you’re Dead Wrong.

So what is there? You think I don’t know where this is going?

Lines written with acid and syrup tapped deep
Is there logic in reason? You know, the what’chamacall
Aren’t we all
Dominated by utopian views
of manifest destiny; the End All be All.

And so what of the fall; the universe that cares not?
No matter how many mushrooms I take,
Reality Still Exists. Then, I almost forgot

And This Beacon of Hope,
Will it save us?
Will we win?
Is there a win?

Where is the end Dark lord of the nether?
Does begging this question get me closer to the truth?
Does it even get me closer to explaining what I mean?
The man selling purses on the corner, patent leather
I cry out to you! For a soul’s desperate answer

But **** that defeatist ******* also, this journey must come to its bitter bite.
And flight from the truth is cowardice divine.

“What reason is there to believe that humanity will not overcome the next world crisis? There is no reason to believe that it won’t. If the universe is infinite isn’t every point the center? Why else does reason even exist, why else do we see ourselves as the masters of the universe?”-Bill Hicks

Here is the closest I have come to any conclusions ever in this Painfully Obvious vision

The universe is chaos,
Our soul is order.

We draw the ductile copper wire through chaotic blackness.
This is our being, it is our tool, take that as you will.
A fiber of a thread on the ocean floor vs. the divine sepulcher

I have lived my life bucking everything that didn’t come from myself, but in vain
Because even these are chains.
I am my own slave master.

In the depths of true evil is the darkest knowledge
Is morality but a thin mask? Fear and Weakness
Is there any difference? Dawn on the killing fields
Dew on the earlobe of a dead man
Drips off and drowns an ant

Back on my so-called Conclusions.
I cannot say I still hold any of them
Even though I typed that sentence not thirty seconds ago.
That man who drew conclusion is now a stranger in the past.
There are no conclusions to draw.

Sometimes I wish I could **** without mercy, if only to know I am really free. Sometimes I wish for suffering, if only to give me some obvious direction. Sometimes I wish for death, if only to clear my skull of all these pesky thoughts.

On the train
A tunnel under New York,
The unseen interlocking teeth
The Filthy steel grating
Narrow shafts of brilliant day shown through
Illuminate the works of unknown artists
Cartoonish letters hastily scrawled and placed
Directly in the light
The only light
Of the tunnel of the New York train
There it passes, and another and another
Each precisely placed
In the thick blackness laced
With light
For your viewing pleasure

And So Spake Urgnd Lichmae The Prophet of anarchic Tremor, Schlock and Paradox. Of the author nothing is known or will be known.