Long ago, when soldiers were soldiers
the world was in balance
an artist, craftsman or engineer earned a living and got paid his dues
It was with wars in Atlantis and Lemuria down to Shumer, Babylon and Rome that regimes changed and thus so too with economies

Soon the world stopped reading and learning
So the aristocrats could profit from this
A lazy and unthinking society meant that they the gods would pay themselves for doing nothing but holding seats and positions

However it was not all dark for there were still Guardians of the Divine Truth
These Guarduians would travel through time, incarnating when the world was facing doom
They were soldiers who had given up their own will for the divination or channeling of the Divine Plan by FATHER
Now they were geared and strong and bold but victories would never come easy in a world where there were still blood oaths, worship of idols and evil indoctrinations
so the principles of these cults would be carried out by a grand master from time to time through the intelligence of crystal skulls
these principles would take precedence over a soul's conscience and Universal Morals
there would be vortices or channels that would have to be created by these soldiers but because of corruption and greed they would not be paid for doing so

it was only after they had left or died that the world realized the worth and value they were adding to the world
The more good deeds were punished rather than rewarded the less God of the Universe Enjilou grew tired and impatient and thus took his Good souls to reside back home in Heaven
it was so bad that even when the evil tyrants would come back from the dead to address their followers of evil, the followers did not listen
the evil 'ethics' were so infested and embedded in their psyche that it was hereditary

So when these soldiers came to reactivate the DNA areas of conscience, compassion, love, peace, happiness and kindness they would be ranked as anarchists or terrorists
this was because memory was lost of human beginnings and our galactic heritage
the Jehova uprising and the Ceasars that followed him under the guise of Lucifer  were controlling planets using obelisks and sonic beams emitting negative frequencies to sustain war, division, classisism, greed and mass ******
this was so they can induce an energy that would sustain them in 3D form, so animals were sacrificed in their name in a hope for spiritual awakening which was in actual fact leading to doom
   the destruction of conscience in each of us meant that the world was filled with zombies automated under the orders of the Unholy martix and its drivers
This war would dtem deeply in the heart of the Universe in Jerusalem
there bases in Syria that were being fought for still
This made the job of these soldiers very difficult but each Guardian would meet from time to time with the Divine Creator for reports and a status update
For as long as the soldiers weren't being paid their dues, and these were huge sums!
It signified the level of spiritual evolution and the progress of the revolution

Becuase of the decay of the planets, temples being destroyed and lies spreading
many soldiers turned against the truth and sold their souls for monetary gain
but this meant that to make money you have to ****, a lot of blood had to be spilled and there was a huge regulation on how you spent your money
basically you were now a slave because the money you had would be spent at the places owned by the aristocrats or gods of old
if you were making an honest living, you were paid very little and life was made tough for you
  So on his last day a gladiator is intructed to reveal the truths of the world and speak on behalf of all soldiers who weren't being paid for the good they were doing:
and his employer in Heaven told him that, "today you return home, the people there will not pay you and even if they do, a good soul will cry for you with 4 pounds and a note, the point is you will not be allowed to enjoy your wealth because it has been hard very hard up to this long to pay you your dues, you win a league they tell about marketing and the old systems of malls in Ur.... You win another marathon they tell you about licenses, you win a trophy after that and they tell about age or christmas, IT SEEMS TO ME THEY ALWAYS HAVE AN EXCUSE TO NOT REWARD YOU BUT ARE QUICK TO PERSECUTE YOU FOR NOT PERFORMING A TASK"...

SO you see this soldier would have to die broke, following the script of many geniuses and cardinals
in refelection it meant that there was a new consciousness which was stealing money, being selfish
   there was urgency for making a quick large buck than an urgency for doing good and awakening souls and improving the planet
  there were very few soldiers who would surrender their own will that they 'can' do something for the greater good (which was allowing the Divine Plan to manifest)
  We Gladiate

A misplaced youth*

My first original rhyme –
take a “truck” drop the head and add an eff –
was hand-me-down crude,
not clever,
but how clever can you be
at four years old?

The chilly blush of it still brings
out a ringing
sound of one hand clapping
against my cheek;
then comes the deflating bawl
from pouchy flesh instantly un-stuffed
of its squirrely giggles and glee.

It put me off cheap sing-song thrills
for decades.

Same age, different flaws:
Can you be too young to develop
a finely tuned sense of entitlement
and the firmest conviction
for redistributing misbegotten wealth?

If anyone deserved a raggedy toy –
don’t call it a doll –
mouse-eared and with cherry-red shorts
cheerily poking out
of a tinsel-topped Christmas stocking,
it was me, not her.

Maybe Santa was suffering
from dementia,
or forgot his reading glasses.

I wasn’t smart enough yet
to cover my tracks,
and I didn't know any fences;
it’s hard to deny a crime
when you’re hugging the goods.

Skip ahead a few years,
and after the regular Sunday
indoctrinations of an uncharitably
faith-based brand of hero-worship,
there are all the tell-tale signs
of a sleep-sick heart
with an over-simplified world view
married to a messiah complex.

Is it normal to dream
of oneself, small but magnificently armored,
supplanting Michael
as the head of that goodly Host
driving out the evil legions?

At least I knew how to side with a winner
back then.

I also dreamed Gulliver-like,
I had been roped down to my bed
by a clutch of creepy-crawly bugs,
and in a tiny voice I could barely make out,
their spokes-beetle cried up to me:
“There will come a time
when the time finally comes,
and when it does
you’ll smack its self-satisfied face
for keeping you
waiting so long.”

My hand's always poised above the clock.

i summon and conquer your dreammind
with ghosts of aborted foetuses
and we rampage through the corridors
of your indoctrinations.
knock on the doors and you answer
with your deadmind ex nihilo,
manifestations of deeper fetishes,
like the one where you
want to fuckkids and have that power
because you have nothing.
your life is nothing but a bookend
waiting to fall off the shelf.


*n u drag ur naked body thru the blood n the glory of a fight that still has some losing left in it. u lick away ur bruzes n sleep in catatonia coz ur mind fuckedya. had enough but it was pillory n stocks n u swim on the back of a nightterror. still u drag that useless body thru gravel n rocks n icecold water, washing off the dust n the silt n the beggared belief of the siren call of a dream u had when u was young but now its gone n ur left grasping at the pebble of a memory that was once a mighty boulder but time has weathered m worn its face n peeled away all the best parts until now it is smooth n useless n small, an insignificant little morselpiece of what it once was, and u turn it round in ur hand n bury it in the silt.

Blood On The Tracks**

It spoke in rhythmic transgressions, lifted from the dotted line. It held. It fell.

Polka dots made up of tiny horizontal lines, intersecting with vertical peers.

Overindulging on the semblance of fact, just to seem like they’d grown up a bit.

Self-engrossing indoctrinations to be preached out and blown over…for the rabble it was.

“When something’s not right, it’s wrong.”

Wide-eyed on sleep craved incognizance. It had all gone on too long.

They tried to force their hand, critiquing structure through the veil of a cabaret roused in the liveliest of their rooms.

Stormy shores swept to sea lit calm as the doorframe shook.

Set for a strut, intent on curbing this freshly acquired sensationalism.

Gravity logs its presence through rain dropped conviction…a steam engine sounds off in the distance...finality.