God made me into a marionette
He pulled me from the dust
He scooped me out of coals.
He breathed life into my belly
and now they call me animated earth.
He carved my bones from alabaster stones
long buried under piles of pine needles and leaves
He sang songs of Light and Life
and put them in my ears
and taught me all the words
and cut me silver keys.
now i stand up tall
like the Lighthouse of Alexandria
or the Colossus of Rhodes
i take showers under jungle waterfalls
full of orchid petals
and with angel fish climbing up the rock walls.
my head and all my limbs are hanging by
golden silken strings and threads
and where I walk the moss and lichens grow.
He fashioned my eyes from glass
blown over the hot geysers
and sulfur springs
of thermopylae
and the salt basin dunes.
He plucked my pupils from the pregnant blackness
of the Void.
He struck them over steel and flint
and the sparks made it bright enough to see.
my heart is a time-piece
keeping minutes with its beats
like a great shadow cast behind a sphere.
the elements once kept me apart from me my identity,
I was a hungry ghost
walking around town like a hypodermic voodoo doll.
everytime I turned around
I tripped over another basket full of rattlesnakes
hissing from both ends.
I gave up and crossed my heart
and gave it over to the chemical egregore
hoping I would die while somehow staying alive
and learning how to fly away home-
so i could leave all the piles of ashes and teeth alone
and maybe plant a rose garden.

but God made of me a marionette
strung me up from strings of silken gold.
He breathes for me,
and dances me to the music of the spheres
and now the whole planet is a
Hanging Garden of the Fallen Babylon
and now I keep snakes
as exotic pets
and as company
when i’m lonely
and for afternoon tea.

June 18 ‘22 Saturn Rx in Aquarius

what ever happened to my blood quantum?
bred out of me like a piebald gelding,
an unknown wild steed
panned and sifted on down through the generations.
i read on instagram yesterday
that the energy parasites
gumming on the neck
and the
ribs
of my
seven subtle bodies
are feeding off the fear.
instagram told me i made them with my own mouth;
filthy mean language tastes like
dial soap.
i got squeezed out
all the way to the contingency;
caught me cloning all my plan B’s.
and now I’m drowning in the
carbon copies.

god ****** egregore
comin in hot on the incursion.
“thought I threw you in the lake of fire!”
but here you come again
like a
steaming
pink
dreamwalker
to re-insert yourself between
me
and the Light.
looks like it's back to the drawing board
and the careful steps across
tight ropes
made of
egg yolks -
the ones that actually hatched.
saw them in a soul - stream
sitting in stainless steel hatcheries.
some eggs as big as a house.

i think my inner feminine
has caught the postpartum -
too many ****** stillbirths.
here he comes again
riding in cold - hot
like
some unholy
frozen flame on the incursion.
here comes John the egregore -
progeny of my word.
here comes the red -
the color of frayed nerves .
i close my eyes
and think only of fields full of
lavender flowers.

my feet are used to this by now:
pirouettes
atop the tips of
chinese war swords
all staked along the manor grounds
like the impaler’s pikes,
or a field full of
lavender flowers,
or the facade pipes
where the ***** used to be
at St. James Episcopal
over on duke street and orange.

we gotta get to rewilding
this masculine.
his poor divinity
impaled upon
vladimir’s pikes.
squeezed the ******* back
to the contingency.
the carbon copied plan B’s.
the black hole sun
beckons like a death doula.
like the negative end
of a double A battery,
like the business end of a shotgun,
or the mean end of a snake
slithering through ten thousand
sanskaras
of his second chakra.
trying to climb up the
Antahkarana;
even with all that rope burn.

I was at the mercy of the
power of the horses.
six stampedes of
gelded steeds -
and hardly any blood quantum.
the true God is a blackened Light
in the sky
through the treetops
in the woods
standing in your boxers on 4 hits of acid
thirsty and alone at 3am
calling your brother on the phone
to tell him all about it…
speaking in tongues.

it took six parachutes
to stop this
polarity plummet.
i’ve been praying hail mary’s
all the day long.
some mornings
i wake up inside a song
floating on down the
River of Heaven in the midnight sky,
standing at the source of the
cosmic wellspring
bubbling and tumbling
under Gemini’s four feet.
the holy Twins on high,
dancing on the waters of the firmament,
sliding and gliding on behind the
sled dogs of the Sirius star.
standing
on the tips of two toes
atop a
Centaur's arrow,
or the tip of a
Chinese war sword.

sometimes
i think
a
midwife
and a
death doula
are two ways of
saying the same thing.

copyright Jordan Gee

I hunted through the foggy meadows
Weary of all the shadows
Spear held low
Aimed at one figure
I didn't realize my insanity
Creeping up from behind
I hunted my sanity
Yet I became prey to my insanity
Fangs tearing into my throat
Blood spewing from my jugular
I felt no pain
Once the hunter now the prey
Fed on every time I searched for my next meal
I guess it's a famine
My sanity became extinct
Long before it shattered from my parents torment
It was only an illusion
A hallucination to cover up the scars
My body only scarring never amputated
It's a monster I feed
When I become like my egregore
Starved and boney
Hatred and anger became my poison
Finding my sanity could be the cure
No matter how careful I am
I'm still the feast my insanity awaits

Will the apocalypse be one of fire?
Will it have the aftertaste of sulfur and asphalt?
Beware the madness and the mania and 8 eyes on a face…
Quick! fill the bathtub with water - I hear sirens.
I saw a wheelchair and it was on fire - rolling down the avenue,
certainly an omen, if nothing else.
I sat on a bus with three strangers leaving Point Loma, California.
One guy was reading the same book as me.
Wild Comanches, Lords of the Plains, Enemy of Everyone.
It was the taste of sulfur and asphalt when the Comanche horde came
riding over the hills like Genghis Khan, kicking up dust devils with their horses' hooves.
It was a smoky plume of final endings way out on the staked plains of the high Texas prairie.
-10 degrees celsius and the rain is liquid, still.
It's been raining warm milk and ambrosia.
We’re feeding from the Breast of the Sacred Mother.
We’re gnawing on the bone of the Law of the Holy Father,
His Holy Word tumbling down into our ear holes.
65,000 national landmarks strewn about a major American City,
And even all the row homes’ tofu facades fell off and crumbled into dust
like the expression on my face once I learned the true scope of what I’ve done.
3 shakes of a lamb’s tail doesn’t cover the time it takes the
man in the mirror to skin my whole hide.
Sometimes the honesty of my reflection is the scariest part.
3 shakes of the snakes rattle and I'm already off into the Astral,
floating half lotus on a sheep skin.
Sulfur and asphalt?
No.
I’ve climbed and transcended that frequency’s ladder.
The Bardo is in my rear-view with eight legs and
my silver cord dangling from behind.
I’ve hosted my egregore for four o’clock tea and crumpets.
I slid down my silken sutratma
back into my heart
and I can smell only
flowers and embroideries.
Songs of grace and truth sifting through my ivory grill
welling up from the living wellspring of my devotion and
smack dab onto instagram.
Only 3 grams short.
I found my heart in the upper room,
hoisted up by the feather at the opposite end of the scale.
10 sleeps from here to the Black Madonna.
What came first?
The ego or the ****** Birth?
There ain’t no apocalypse gonna scare me
I break a 3 day juice fast with a bowl of sulfur and
there’s flowers growing up through the pavement.
Three ***** of a crow’s wing and
the smoke of my sage fills all the lungs of the World Mother,
the Black Madonna and a can of gas.
Ain’t no apocalypse gonna scare me.
I fly to the Comanche moon and back on a set of butterfly wings.
One bottle of Bufo Alveris and I blew straight out the top of the Causal Egg.
Hardened and vitalized by the sheer weight of the cocoon.
Sometimes to let them struggle is to save their life.
Three hairs plucked from Shiva’s Body and planted like apple seeds
and you get a grove full of
fruit trees that will never
go fallow,
whither
and die.
I’ve been to the Bardo.
And you wouldn’t believe how loud a man can scream.
I rode all seven stars of the Pleiades back down into my body;
crashed the car somewhere along 81
near Goldsborough exit, Lackawanna Co. PA.
All I wanted was a blanket to shield me from the shrill howling
of the wind.
But Orion got to me first and I came close to truly losing my mind.
But what is heaven for the spider…
is chaos to the fly.
And there ain’t no apocalypse that ever scared me.

I can't hear the voice in my head, because I affected changes in the way I spoke since I was able to manipulate its medium.
I never thought about it--another incarnation just toyed with my vocal chords.
as if my foundation knew it would tilt what sat on it.
I was compelled to make sure that I would never know myself, its origin hissed like pissy holy water.
all the rest that crank out humanity would revise their approach to fiction because of me.
it was never enough for me to know that I too am God, I could never share my image, yes--my image!
of jellybeans & colored time capsules,  let me dissolve in this sugar cube!
I'm astonished that I was unhanded by so many once touched, they will thus feel the chills of my mania without the ability to shiver.
this will dull them with empty-handed inspiration, they won't be able to walk through deep-freezes of cloud to ground lightning.
how the psychologists circle-**** to me,
I really want to symptomatically convince them out of their misery.
I lower my gotcha-green head like a worry sick Madonna for them, all this superfluousness authenticates my unknowable selves.
now to my voices, how do they sound in my head you might ask--well who's asking?
I talk to & at my selves, so the voice is most certainly vexed--but in a whiney & nasally way.
it's an exorcise/exercise in futility to describe, nonetheless...I always sound like what I'm looking at, I can sound like a chair.
It's all the voices inside that do this--they don't like company so they become it, anything external basically.
it's reflexive & creatively fruitful, you should hear the voices in my head during vows of silence--they both regurgitate & originate.
I'll gift that can of worms to the head, head-shrinker...picture channeling a phone book into the ear of a whitehole.
I can speak in an assertively calculated voice on a slippery *****, that gains the footing of trust, I favor that one.
I also do famous serial killers when I'm most peaceful, it helps to fertilize the soil.
I need to cultivate one for the books, premiere it right here--the egregore of this
eyeless capstone.
I gouged it out in plain sight--I have a voice for that too.