"gnostic" poems
*to further my point, as an eager reader in
a catholic school, reading about
the gnostic heretics, wondering
with my theology tutor upon the question
asked: don't you think the gnostic heretics
influenced mohammad on the sly?
i mean, they too believed a phantom walked
among men, and a phantom was crucified?*
my confirmation didn't take place
in a cathedral, as was due course for all of
us in being schooled, by a bishop
in brentwood cathedral,
i opted out... my confirmation came
in a russian orthodox cathedral,
in st. petersburg, when i watched
people standing for a scrap of iconoclasm,
with the priest mumbling
toward a golden altar, as typical in
the tradition, buttocks towards the people
or as in the western tradition
reciting in latin, before the nationalists
came and spoke the gospel in each
designated tongue so people understood,
a bit like having your back turned
against the people - speaking in latin -
and when i sat i the church
to listen to the choir singing,
some lesser ecclesiastical prompted me
to stand up, and pay respect to the golden
altar... he told me to stand up!
what cheek... what barbarism... only
in russia... i had to stop being bewildered
by the beauty of song and listen to
a priest knock-down-ginger on a palette of
gold... THEN i was confirmed...
donkey's ******** to this **** i'm leaving!
mind the fact that i've seen the greatest
degradation of mysticism take place...
the tetragrammaton was being defiled all along...
in catholic bureaucracy it has been there all along,
the idiots reminded me of it...
you're born: first name, baptismal name, surname...
you're educated: confirmation name...
that takes four spaces of consideration...
so by catholic definition of sharpening pencils,
folding pieces of paper, filing the folded pieces
of paper, bending paper-clips i'm god...
but only in writing... first name, baptismal name,
confirmation name, surname...
a bit like a clone... a clone indeed in writing...
same d.n.a., same bone mandibles of the jaw...
but experience-wise... un-original to the ****
not even a clone... not able to experience major
historical figures... a soul in a twin body by itself...
a twin without twinning, segregated by ulterior
if not auxiliary motives... clone on paper...
clone by experience? i don't think so... impossible...
too many inter-actants along the way
can't possibly replicate thinking in a clone...
different mr. john smith... NEXT!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
O Captain, my Captain
I am sick of being a Pioneer
I am sick of having my body being sung electric
I am sick of these lilacs always blooming in my door-yard
O Captain, my Captain
I don't want to walk along with Him
I don't want to be a Gnostic
I don't want to be divine
O Captain, my Captain
Let me be free of this dreadful uniqueness
Let me plod along life, uninhibited by aspirations to greatness
Let me be the million, not the one
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:46 AM UTC
Α♥Ω
GNOSIS, my friends, is alive and well,
corrupting the hearts of the masses.
They fashion a fable to fit their need until their crisis passes.
An idol from here and a text from there – just a little dabble do…
for a do-it-yourself epiphany as the counterfeit passes through.
They lose themselves in names and mantras,
thinking they’re mining gold –
while the god of this world enhances the shine of spiritual lies retold.
So get out your old Santana records, pass the **** to the left.
Listen to Jimi and Marley and worse; it will leave your soul bereft.
It’s the same old trip – the first century
has seen all of it come and go:
such transcendent explosions of heresy
are worth less than the price of the show.
In the local body of Iesous Moshiach our pastor has faithfully showed us:
nonsensical notions of Gnostic obnoxiousness
fail to enlighten – but load us
with half-truths and fantasies, cosmic conspiracies,
spiritually false revelation;
which turn on the blacklight and dazzle the mind
but maroon you in dark desolation.
So I’d like to prepare you for several short poems
exploring the way of the Gnostics.
Though I love Elaine Pagels and Demian‘s Hesse,
they fail to provide diagnostics…
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
chilly morning wind awakens my skin
her mystical electric blue cat
dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
fire flowers,
light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:40 AM UTC
Well, if my attention is all I own, and may
self generate, in return for
earning,
learning or reacting to mazing devices for
finding why I choose
if my will is surrendered to chemistry,
where is the code
hat keeps time
n chnce missing random keys in random lines?
WHY must I never forget how to ride a bike?
How can I ever forget U, U'
facing front from the first learned cross,
any color works, Mondriaan sub-'tility
be not decieved of the
more than 43 quintillion ways to scramble a Rubik's cube,
of all those,
there is only your definition for the right state to prove, if you wish
there is a perfect mix,
equally tricky,
beguiling, in fact, to watch a seven-year old on Adderall do this.
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 9:24 PM UTC
Santa Claus is 100% pure love
his heart does not divide
the starved and homeless man with his tin cup
from the wealthy politician in his black limousine
nor does Santa ever blame
the frightened small town girl
who paints her lips and struts unsure
down hard dark streets
Santa Claus remembers his own mother
and weeps for the lonely karma of octogenarians
diapered in wheelchairs along fluorescent hallways
abandoned by the ones they birthed
our great elf winces every time
he feels the crocodile's fearsome jaws
drag the wildebeest down
while the zebras flee
he prays relentless sailors
stop harpooning the great breaching whales
and hears the grasses scream
when bloated oilmen pound holes
in the prairie dog's kingdom
he regrets that schoolteachers lie
about what a great man Columbus was
and why the Sioux, the Apache and the Arapahoe
were incapable of evolution
he knows you don't need a bicycle helmet
to ride downtown for ice cream
knows our legal system is for sale
knows surfing is Neptune's brave ballet
Santa delights in the spiritual joy emerging
when patients see angels hovering everywhere
before doctors scream psychosis
and numb what they do not understand
with sad needles and leather restraints
his reindeer are the dreams of the spastic child
who knows he will never run
his sleigh a zero carbon emission vehicle
and his great heavy bag carries
the sweet prayers of the Jew, the Christian
the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu
the Gnostic, the Wiccan and the existential humanist
on the night before Christmas
Santa dreams that all the cars and trucks disappear
and every freeway grows trees and flowers and grass
where everyone chats and meanders and strolls
and vendors sell SnoCones, apple juice and pears
because Santa Claus is just doing
the one thing he knows how to do best
on a long winter's night
to bring some light to a world
that races toward extinction
while the butterfly sleeps with the lizard
and the children still believe
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Ancient Christian hardliners, probably Gnostic in origin,
held that the fruit Eve gave Adam was ***** & that God
had created Adam homosexual, but he ****** up by not
creating another guy; God made three mistakes in a row;
which he expected to correct by sending his horndog son,
born to a single mother who made good by marrying Joe,
a successful carpenter, & when the boy was given the first
good bath he'd had in years by his cousin John, he was thirty;
people started following him around, especially women &
some of his cousin's friends; the women all had issues; the
boy constantly distracted by voices; some people mistook
him for John, already a well known heart throb & nemesis
of the Patriarch Herod, others said he was Elijah, legendary
prophet & super hero, but the boy was just a poet who went
around ******* people off w/ his damning allegories, drank
wine, hung out w/ shady people, slept w/ prostitutes, kept a
gang of burly knife-wielding fishermen around & raised the dead
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 9:37 PM UTC
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
Her heart holds Him, but her hand aborts.
Searching for confirmation of a better world,
She prays to discern it, but without worship.
A believer she is, yet still fully skeptical.
She deciphers reflections from the gnostic,
The reality from the deceptive.
And hoping to fully and optimally filter the fictive
She dances with Him, going solely with the wind,
To wherever His capriciousness takes her.
She bows upon His whim.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 11:22 PM UTC
OR: “A brief treatise on Antediluvian Gayology ”
Α Ω
Said Demiurge to Samael:
“This universe is getting old.
Let’s break on through and fly beyond
to where the lead shines gold.”
Said Samael to Demiurge:
“I’m with you, dude. Let’s rock and roll
Let’s rip this veil of Maya in two
And glimpse the Oversoul…”
Replied his echo Demiurge:
“Devoid, divine, it’s ALL good, bro;
The sweetest wine is found within
Let liquid truth now flow…”
So Samael let drop the towel
And spread his doctrine’s orifice.
The mystic eye of gnosis shined
in luminous artifice.
Then Sam and Dem, conjoined like beasts
made cosmic love (in Koine Greek),
transforming gold to toxic lead –
and Truth into a freak.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
And Jesus said, "He who drinks from my mouth will become as I am and I shall be he"
Gnostic Gospel of Thomas vs. 108
*1
They sang and
they danced in
praise of the
Savior
And I left the church
I walked quickly
and I was at the
water's edge.
A man waist deep
offered to baptize
me in the name
of the Lord...
And I did not stop
Further on, a sorrowful
Mother asked if perhaps
I knew of her son
Jesus…
But I pretended not to hear.
In the forest
the twelve
approached me
with a message
of good news...
But I paid them no mind.
2
And when I came
to a clearing I met
a young man whom
I had always known.
His beard was unkempt
and blood was dripping
from wounds in his hands
and feet.
A crown of thorns sat
upon his head, and blood
trickled down his cheek.
'Do you know me?' he asked.
'Of course I know you!' I shouted.
'I left you behind at the church!
At the river, one of your followers
sought to baptize me and along the
road a Mother spoke your name.
In the forest, your apostles
confronted me with your
message.
Did I not take my leave
of them all?
I thought I was rid of you,
yet here you stand
Tell me! Why do you haunt me?
Why can I not leave you behind?'
3
He grabbed my shoulders
and I felt the pain in all
of my body and in all
of my being
and he asked me again:
'Do you know who I am?'
'You are the Christ!' I cried
'And I have heard your
story from every church and
holy man in the kingdom.
But I want nothing to do
with you!
I want only to leave you
behind and live my life
At this he looked into
my eyes and as his
penetrating stare drew
my senses to his being,
his face began to change.
He was one of the
singing parishioners at
the church.
Then another,
and another until the
likeness of each one
was in him.
Then he was the
man in the river
and the Mother,
and every one
of the twelve
and I stared
in disbelief
He began to take
on the appearance
of everyone I had
ever known and
even those I would
never meet.
His face was changing rapidly:
African, Asian, Spaniard, European,
From every race and every creed
he became everyone who ever was
and everyone who ever will be…
A few I recognized.
Mohamed, Caesar, the Buddha,
Pontius Pilate, Krishna, Herod,
Moses, Pharaoh.
Faster and faster he changed until
I was dizzy with incomprehension.
Then, as quickly as it had begun,
the celestial parade ceased.
He was Jesus again, standing before me.
His hands and feet caked in blood.
The crown of thorns still resting atop
his head.
4
'I do not understand,' I said.
And he smiled.
And again he looked into my eyes.
'You can never leave me behind.'
And as he spoke he began to change again,
And I found myself standing before another image.
One I surely knew well.
There…
In the clearing of a forest
that existed beyond the boundaries
of space and time,
I looked into my own eyes...
And understood.*
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 5:16 AM UTC
So then the Gnostic heresies issued in one of two beliefs. They believed either that Jesus was not really divine but simply one of a series of emanations from God, or that he was not in any sense human but a kind of phantom in the shape of a man. The Gnostic beliefs at one and the same time destroyed the real godhead and the real manhood of Jesus.
from: The Gospel of John by William Barclay (1955)
Gnosis reveals in reverberation:
you’ve done too many **** hits.
You sprawl at the threshold of psychosis
until the shape of the song fits.
Your cannabis-flavored thoughts implode—
you glimpse the Divine Emanation
as the lesser vibrations diminish and die
now you enter the shrine of elation.
This rare revelation—imparted to you
(the neurotransmitters surge)
seems to show that you know, that you know, that you know
the deceptions of Demiurge . . .
Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 7:19 PM UTC
It all comes together by the thirty firsts, I think,
There was a point,
this is honing that, honest, it connects,
the nature of things is
different
for different things,
the child's empathy with stuffed toys,
try that with a real lizard brain,
when you feel real centered
knowing what manner of men we are,
that it is given unto us to be, and all.
Or be
at all?
Are we cogs, or co-gnostic self willed double minded
beings in a mobmind
doing our idiotic best to make peace
in the confusion, I aided in the development of.
by my lonesome,
I've a military mind,
and I've given that to the causal forces facing war,
in an epic battle, reason to reason
the mystery of iniquity is already at work, and the logos
are
all on my side, all the logos in the feed, are
sending ads to me, paying me,
wee tiny
bits
of attention, not to mention, the viral idea… gone
t'seed as a self, ya gotta love, simplicity,
but not too much.
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 8:51 PM UTC
The ground is shaking
(or maybe the bed)
Visions of Avalon dance
in my head
The serpent of Eden
asleep in my bed
While blues and yellows
melt into red.
‘Listen!’
a voice whispers
‘And I will tell you why
the Savior bled:
'Do not tell lies
or do what you hate
and all shall be known
before Heaven's gate
For all that is hidden,
no longer concealed
And nothing unknown
will remain unrevealed’.
Waking in darkness
the moonlight surrounds
Something has shifted
yet remains out of bounds
Outside my window
in darkness I see
Two serpent eyes
in the old apple
tree
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
*now baptism i couldn't avoid, i took the holy communion because i was swayed by the fact that i played the xylophone in the nativity play, not dumb enough to play joseph or a shepherd, but by the time confirmation came i protested, having just finished a book on the gnostic heretics, and siding with them didn't take up a wholly developed agreement package to kneel and **** some geezer off: why is it that prayer rituals in monotheism represent ****** positions and we're all suddenly women? ah right, god's a man, i mean islam is just as good, doggy style prayer formation, and by the wailing wall ******* to and fro without the bending of the knees; all this devotion is making my spine bent again to use the knuckles to walk; and yes, the standard of education in english primary schools is very much equal... after that it drops off somewhat, even though i could consider the catholic school i went to progressive with its adamant intention of teaching the sciences, it later became an academy and clearly focused on science and technology, and not humanism under the watchful eye of theology.*
i'm not even serious about
latin citations,
i'm making a mockery citing
as i do the fact that i went
to a roman catholic school
and left it without being
confirmed and not an ounce
of latin in my cheek:
there always has to be someone
speaking in the ******
anti-ecclesiastical anyway.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Colossae
April 28, 2016
Oh Colossae, where have you gone to hide yourself from the Lord?
Colossae, why have you wandered away from the fold of God?
Have you forgotten the words of St. Paul, the man who brought you the news
Colossae, why have you departed from the ways of the Lord?
Oh Colossae, where hast thou gone?
Colossae, have you forgotten the Word which became flesh?
Have you Colossae, a city of unholiness, forgotten of the promise of newness
Oh Colossae, how quickly you have fallen into uncleanliness
From dust you came and to dust you shall return
But must you, oh Colossae, so quickly descend to the dirt of the earth?
Oh Colossae, you cut off limbs afraid of the flesh
As if less flesh could make you more holy
You believe that this gnostic theology saves you from your sins
But only God incarnate in flesh can save
Oh Colossae, forget not the Savior who made you new
Colossae, forget not the Spirit of God, the very giver of life
He descends upon you and makes you holy,
He proceeds from the Father and the Son, and is worshiped and glorified
He is not one to worship alone, or to give identity alone
For that you have been united with Christ, who proceeds from the Father
Colossae, remember not this heresy of mysticism
There is this flood of culture and thought
Oh Colossae, be not drowned by this flood
And forget not the great unity the Body is to be
Forget this heresy to which you have come to love
Oh Colossae, you worship angels and men, yet too God
But you know, oh Colossae that the Lord on High is worth the worship
For these messengers from heaven may bring the Word of the Lord
But certainly, oh Colossae, they are not the Word which became flesh
Oh Colossae, forget these ancient heresies, and raise up the Lord Jesus
Oh Colossae, you partook in the Holy Communion of His Body and Blood
And baptized in the death and resurrection
Anointed with oil like the kings of old
Engrafted into the marriage of the Lord Jesus and His bride
Oh Colossae, you are one Body, abandon it not
Oh Colossae, return to the Lord!
Come back to the land of your spiritual fathers
Where they worshipped the Lord in all goodness
Come back to this land of orthodoxy
Oh Colossae, repent of this heresy against the Lord!
Oh Colossae, how we have followed path you have trod
To forget the redemption by which we are saved
To remember not the works of the Lord, perpetrated that we might freely live
That we have forgotten to live holy lives
Oh Colossae, how we have fallen in line with you and the Church of yesterday
Too have we, this Church of the modern age, departed like you, Colossae
We have succumbed to these heresies of forgetting our Lord Jesus
Oh Colossae, we have fallen, like you, and dirtied ourselves from holiness
We have descended to the depths of the sea like the rest of the world
Too we are drowning in our sorrows and our sins and unholiness
Oh come Lord Jesus
And redeem us, like Colossae, back into Your holiness
Come Lord Jesus
And renew our troubled lives, bring us back into Your holiness
Oh come Lord Jesus
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
I sit at the portal day after day.
Gnostic information, news and images
fill my mind, but do not satisfy.
I learn and learn, but I do not grow.
Ghastly pictures of carnage come and go.
So much more than I can ever weep for.
Why is it then, that times of too much tenderness,
make me cry?
What is it about a loving gesture
that breaks the dam?
Perhaps because it is too late..
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 2:56 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
My frustration is my only sin,
not seeing the fuckin' sight of it will leave my chest from caving In,
only a matter of time before we even see a purge again,
except this time it won't be written with a cinematic pen,
your lives are on the line , you're steady brainwashed again,
I'm done saving people with words man,
you and you and you and you and you are all the human equivalents
of the gullible,
simply not astronomical,
Are all our feelings and emotions real,
do i really know exactly how you really feel,
well is it too much,
Is there such thing as chill,
reading the gnostic bible , what will the light reveal.
©abpoetry2019
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
Keep your foot on the gas
Your heart on the brake.
return your map
to it's original destination...
the mad rhino
of your naivete, churning -
heresies
that remove
the mundane
carols
in the vault of
all choirs;
tongue kissing the Pegasus
of polyamorous
glints from god's
monocle
flanking the herd
of Gnostic Ferraris,
chewing the soft shoots of bonsai prairie
roaming the banquet
of aimless,
refreshing the lady's goblet
of godsmack
as naturally a termite
loathes a Queen that can't remember
your name
because she hates
your father...
miles and miles of
pink
accumulate the misfits of your jigsaw.
gaining on the horizon
of your blindspot
feels like an Ecstasy of Selfishness
baptized in chrysanthemums
of compassion.
whose pollen makes a black honey
that fills the gap
between the smell of a baseball glove
and third degree burns
from your heart's
desire.
you are pilgrim charmed, out in the open heart of serene surgery, on an errand, poppies fed to destiny
on pillows of rice and grey Callings...
you are tapping the apocalypse of previous Edens
witness to the birth of a vague distinction
between your honest mistakes and god's love in the 23rd row, catching the school play
you wrote in the margins of your error.
a fruit bat with scurvy on picture day... fanning a Polaroid of Duration
in kabuki.
your car, a Chinese beetle hugging the asphalt Rhine of a Blue Melon
tilting on the axis
of an early spring...
your windshield, yielding
with honor
to savage blows
from sunsets
that milk
nightfall.
mecca, entangled in your dead sea sonnets
is the hole in your shoe
where moons clog
and first steps shave
their heads, smooth
hiking on four wheels , approaching the true form of an open question
head out the window across from mirage with spin in it's teeth.
facing the jasmine of bittersweet typhoons
inking henna tattoos
on both arms
of stopped clocks...
like kudzu, in a difference engine, coiled around a spark
like a widow 'round a foggy recollection of her true love
39 pixels
of a better half
that made you
whole.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
There's not a lot to follow here
I hope I make that very clear.
Primary purpose is contact
React,
do not detract from that which we call Art.
So if I were a flatulist I might expect to still be kissed
but if a stoic, so heroic and my eyes were just dichroic
well then,
We could do this gnostic trick
And vanish,
In one long transcendent tick.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
Trans. Elaine Pagels
Jesus said:
If you bring forth
what is within you,
what you bring forth
will save you.
If you do not bring forth
what is within you,
what you do not bring forth
will destroy you.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Q.309 is the fire of existence pushing to action transforming the ideological Materia in revolutionary spirit.
SHE IS GODS **** AND MOUTH
Q.309 is the confirmation of the enlightening action above the primordial waters found in the structure and in the function of the eye.
BEYOND THE EGO BURNS INEFFABEL APHRODESIA
Q.309 is every union originating from dissimilar things with adulterous spirit.
Our anamnesis nullifies the liturgical and ritual tradition; the attitude in us pushing to the repetition of the ritualistic gesture intended as an offer and as a proof of the memory is amplified by the life itself.
CHAOS AS RITUAL
Q.309 is the radical conflict with the existing world and a new identity to be achieved through a process of identification with the will of the abyss that contains all: through this conflict you become a concupiscent being.
I PUSH HER **** THROUGH HER THROAT
Q.309 is the cult of the slough whose common thread is constituted by the constant sexualization of the human world and of the divine sphere, bringing them closer till the overlap.
A RESIPROCITY OF ******* IN MUTUAL EXCHANGE
Q.309 is the energetic foundation and dynamism typical of the devolutive systems.
HEAD ABOVE THE HEAVENS FEET BELOW THE HELLS
We turn our gaze to the underlying face of the Materia and we consolidate our desire in her; the concupiscence is our vis generandi through which our gnostic process of emanation is activated.
I AM EVERYWHERE WITHIN HER
The Flesh of God melts with the one who creates him.
[From MEQOM YAD/Assur #1]
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 5:04 PM UTC
I am nerdy, weird, and absolutely absurd
With every letter, every symbol, every word
My methods play on my youthful exuberance
So when you see me all goofy and in a trance
Give me a moment to show you how I dance
With my legs, my lips, and my hands I prance
Expressing subtle symbolism with every chance
If you perceive with open eyes, an opened mind
Then you too can leave this paradigm behind
So fly with me, into tomorrow I'll take you to a place
Where fantasy transcends the material right before your face
These preconceived notions of what it means to be
A human in this beautiful world meant to be set free
I stand at the gates to this wonderfully vibrant land
So release your fears to the Father, take an angel's hand
Release the treasure held within your pineal gland
So you too may see the mathematical structure
Of this holographic existence so you may be sure
That all that is material will eventually be torn asunder
To give way to an existence enveloped in loving divinity
Filling your being with noetic lightning; Gnostic thunder
Becoming one with the Godhead in perfect synergy
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
Cosmogony
Part IV
I looked at Earth,
The people panicked;
In search of knowledge,
That I've founded.
What I could be,
If they could spot it.
What life might be,
If it was Gnostic.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
shh... the plan is, we'll be
taking a gnostic gnome for hostage tonight
(might as well write it
'nostic and 'nome
and forget the diagnostics when you
do, actually say, the *** -
N.W.S. watch out... whatever that means.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC