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"gnostics" poems
Let out my ego and sense of order this comes from beyond this comes from the me between me if I listen I may hear it speaking, it's sleeping but talking and rocking, not still, and perhaps it awakens, perhaps it will open its eye but we mustn't depend on the idea that once he has opened his eye the whole dream of the world will just fade like my dream tomorrow morning which I already know I'll forget, like specific angles and perspectives of specific places in space and time that have slipped away but once in a while break through to consciousness Like the sliding breakaway walls of Timber Drive elementary school Or the rippling pond into which I fell and the old smile and laugh of my flesh and blood rescued me and held my body afloat in the air for a moment; and once I was the proud owner of a wind powered hovercraft, another invention spilling out onto the table of attention like the actual pig intestines the popular girl's parents used in her science fair project, the one that dragged on until the last monkey refusing to be locked up with the windows 98s in the archaic computer lab was tranquilized and convulsed on the gym/cafeteria floor in front of the PTA, who'd peed blood all down the front of their sweatpants; he was firing wildly hoping to commit suicide by zookeeper Not knowing that humanitarian laws would prevent him from achieving his bliss, for the monkey knew as the Gnostics did that to bring a child into this black iron prison is a sin. Did the Jonestown Kool-aid free them from the prison? Do they now walk among gods within the kingdom of the heavenly spirit? None shall know until the 13 crystal skulls are re-assembled and total gnosis emanates to the people in globe-spanning shockwaves.
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Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
The Me Between Me
Let out my ego and sense of order this comes from beyond this comes from the me between me if I listen I may hear it speaking, it's sleeping but talking and rocking, not still, and perhaps it awakens, perhaps it will open its eye but we mustn't depend on the idea that once he has opened his eye the whole dream of the world will just fade like my dream tomorrow morning which I already know I'll forget, like specific angles and perspectives of specific places in space and time that have slipped away but once in a while break through to consciousness Like the sliding breakaway walls of Timber Drive elementary school Or the rippling pond into which I fell and the old smile and laugh of my flesh and blood rescued me and held my body afloat in the air for a moment; and once I was the proud owner of a wind powered hovercraft, another invention spilling out onto the table of attention like the actual pig intestines the popular girl's parents used in her science fair project, the one that dragged on until the last monkey refusing to be locked up with the windows 98s in the archaic computer lab was tranquilized and convulsed on the gym/cafeteria floor in front of the PTA, who'd peed blood all down the front of their sweatpants; he was firing wildly hoping to commit suicide by zookeeper Not knowing that humanitarian laws would prevent him from achieving his bliss, for the monkey knew as the Gnostics did that to bring a child into this black iron prison is a sin. Did the Jonestown Kool-aid free them from the prison? Do they now walk among gods within the kingdom of the heavenly spirit? None shall know until the 13 crystal skulls are re-assembled and total gnosis emanates to the people in globe-spanning shockwaves.
Continue reading...
5
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…
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Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
Gnoxious Gnostic Gnonsense
Gnostics hold that God made man, but Lucifer created woman; telling Knossos is the largest Bronze Age archaeological site on Crete & is considered Europe's oldest city; settled as early as the Neolithic Age, the name Knossos survives from ancient Greek references to the major city of Crete; Associated w/ people of unknown ethnicity termed Minoans, Late Minoan or Mycenaean Greeks, Knossos was       the capital of Minoan Crete;       Walking through its complex multi-storied buildings, one can comprehend why the palace at Knossos was associated w/ the mythological labyrinth, dwelling place of the Minotaur all ideal forms are imperfect, except woman; who in all her imperfections remains an ideal
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Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
knossos & logos
written while talking to a dear friend, Irene, who i met on my travels to Paris, and who i'm spotted with, in a photograph, by the Moulin Rouge, hunched in homage to Quasimodo, with Paul the wild haired australian. i'm always depressed before composition and the first whiskey to stop me throwing up anything i might ingest, but then the seemingly graceless magpie with its extended tail flies into eyesight, then the blackbird, the crow, the seagull (huh?! 30 miles inland and a ****** seagull?)... and then i open my eyes a second time, take off the eyes that see lust gluttony colours and shapes, and put on my x-ray spectacles of looking at a white page and typing for a while... and then a song crops up and it bothers me, mortiis' parasite god from the album *the smell of rain*, if there is such a thing as a parasite god, we'll be constantly thinking about it, it will be an ontological implant of ours to then debate whether we're atheists, theists, gnostics or agnostics... it would be a burden, indeed an oversized tapeworm to put it mildly - but then the other description floating about, the entitlement of a title, akin to prince, knight, sir, baron or baroness or even a marquis... the lord of hosts... and with vain attempt at sounding in blossom of a magnolia tree attentive of courtesy, a host is someone who contains a parasite, why would i want to contain a parasite of thought in me, that would necessarily sway me from denoting myself an atheist, theist, etc.? atheists do indeed uphold the principle stated in this song i mentioned mortiis' parasite god; i among the jews a parasite of the host of ancient egypt; i mean, they always say they're atheists or whatever, they want that little sticker at a speed dating gathering *hello, my name is, queue (oh sorry, Hugh)*, but when it comes to defining what sort of thinking defines you as such and such, it's vaguely satisfying to hear a presupposition label, followed by a string of even more unsatisfying propositions, and since i'm not a fisherman in that department, i think i'll just stick to what i know, or at least what i think i know.
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Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
mortiis (the smell of rain album)
written while talking to a dear friend, Irene, who i met on my travels to Paris, and who i'm spotted with, in a photograph, by the Moulin Rouge, hunched in homage to Quasimodo, with Paul the wild haired australian. i'm always depressed before composition and the first whiskey to stop me throwing up anything i might ingest, but then the seemingly graceless magpie with its extended tail flies into eyesight, then the blackbird, the crow, the seagull (huh?! 30 miles inland and a ****** seagull?)... and then i open my eyes a second time, take off the eyes that see lust gluttony colours and shapes, and put on my x-ray spectacles of looking at a white page and typing for a while... and then a song crops up and it bothers me, mortiis' parasite god from the album *the smell of rain*, if there is such a thing as a parasite god, we'll be constantly thinking about it, it will be an ontological implant of ours to then debate whether we're atheists, theists, gnostics or agnostics... it would be a burden, indeed an oversized tapeworm to put it mildly - but then the other description floating about, the entitlement of a title, akin to prince, knight, sir, baron or baroness or even a marquis... the lord of hosts... and with vain attempt at sounding in blossom of a magnolia tree attentive of courtesy, a host is someone who contains a parasite, why would i want to contain a parasite of thought in me, that would necessarily sway me from denoting myself an atheist, theist, etc.? atheists do indeed uphold the principle stated in this song i mentioned mortiis' parasite god; i among the jews a parasite of the host of ancient egypt; i mean, they always say they're atheists or whatever, they want that little sticker at a speed dating gathering *hello, my name is, queue (oh sorry, Hugh)*, but when it comes to defining what sort of thinking defines you as such and such, it's vaguely satisfying to hear a presupposition label, followed by a string of even more unsatisfying propositions, and since i'm not a fisherman in that department, i think i'll just stick to what i know, or at least what i think i know.
Continue reading...
43
What can I know? I'm a being on this earth Truths and myths are all around They've haunted me since birth But what is knowing and what's myth? These myths are sacred and profane They blend together like the clouds And fall as steady rain What of myths about knowingness - as the Gnostics do believe? Flawed men by a flawed creator Is what you're likely to achieve The Demiurgos is a painter who painted all we see Though imperfect, it is beautiful, and your will is always free Life - it's true - is suffering from birth until the grave None escape this fate - from king to pet or slave Still we exist in something Dissolving on God's tongue In this confusion of a pantheon Our spark must weigh a ton Free me, Lord, from ignorance Though you can only do so much Enlightenment is knowledge Which is still up to us Integrity is essential For society and for each man All in all considering I'll do just what I can This life is temporary and I will not learn enough But with higher light from messengers I might just break these bonds And be lifted from this situation - freedom from rebirth - To live as one eternally upon a heaven earth For now I must admit that so much is in my mind As above it's so below - from within here to all outside Jesus Christ and sweet Sophia went through - they were tested, too Everything they were is in you - do unto as they do What can I know? I have been chasing it since birth The spirit is within me It's all across the earth
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Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
Gnostic Poem
Is it true what I heard about the son of God? I'm waiting here for Everyman in the 21st century After my wreck I had stigmata on my hands I wrecked my car on Ash Wednesday Gave up my car for Lent Lent started February 10th that year of 2016 I saw a vision of a personal hell Thought I'd be in that car for eternity But I saw that sweet siren with me in the car My vision was something occult-like Demons swooping in But it was probably all just in my head I left Florida and flew back to California Went to a Catholic church and prayed and took communion Prayed for Christ to save my soul Then I set my sights on the Church of Scientology I heard they are a strange cult and not too good But with an open heart listened to what they offered In Dianetics auditing I returned to the car wreck and my birth Covered some other experiences too Not sure what they can do with you once you give your thoughts away I read about the Gnostics and Scientology is something similar A knowingness of the true spirit instead of faith It's a lot to unpack and I still don't know much about it I have infinite faith and infinite doubt True faith must always have doubt Not sure what the Gnostics must've been smoking People come to the faith in mysterious ways Some institutions try to sell belief Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between But who made the stars and stretched their distances? Or breathed life into life? Who created the expanse of endless dark?
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Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
Christian Poem