the worst curse i ever received upon breaking up with a girl: you'll always be a child if you leave me and go back home. my reply? it's the pain that makes me childish sometimes, i'm a son of immigrants, i was ready to work the roofing business to earn money, but i guess Rasputin didn't see as much either in the people of St. Petersburg... i can say: the Scottish Widows' HQ roof near St. Paul's cathedral is partially mine... well thanks for only allowing me to complete one roof.*
o sweet medicine! o sweet medicine for my burning
head after such prolonged watch,
insomniac, i can't believe his disciples who
were working men, men of the fisheries,
and of other trades, who fell asleep so easily
at his prayer in the garden of gethsemane,
i alone would have stayed awake,
not because i'd want to, or because i would
chose to have: but because the night is my
malady, to stay awake, and during the day
esp. during summer, it's no good time to
find a Nordic shade - that's about half a litre
of absinthe and a walk for five beers
and then the synthetic sleep inducers will
work, little disks of such an infinite pleasure
but of finite experience when compared to
those venturing with shamans from both the
Amazon and the Swiss chemistry laboratory -
she wouldn't be as smart about being able to
take pain, to later complain about a weak
spine if man managed to ditch the inglorious
book of genesis and chose instead the rationality
of the Roman way of birth... oh men so content
with life fall to sleep so easily in order to
jump back into life, and morning, this past morning
i can watch a man walk cool spring streets readied
for whatever emptying task, for indeed the emptying
task is filled with the already emptying thing:
the thing that cradles many things, and by process
of not only economic, but of aesthetic conditions changes
many hands with Shiva playing poker with you,
once the stone carved precious rather than crude held
value, prior that, the flint... but aren't these the times
of the limits of money changing its form?
perhaps all these profession that bring neither bread
from dough, or egg from hen, perhaps the readied
meal, the readied salad, milk sold as skimmed
semi-skimmed and full, when could have been sold
only full so what water might be added at home?
O man's care over fellow man's health, first ruining
his behaviourism, then enticing him further to
some idea of amphibian genes in his ability to swim?
to have created diabetes by cursing natural fat,
to have eradicated fat from natural products needing
to contain it, filling it with excess sugars...
what good would that do if not create a diabetic outbreak?
mm, the honest workers fell asleep while the dishonest
mystic prayed for compensations to his aims?
of my life, i'd give the many hours he gave on the cross
in order to know a certain guilt and a justifiable
punishment - but i know only uncertain guilt
and unjustifiable punishment by man, a fellow of youth,
if you are to plagiarise a plagiarism of monotheism
remember that the first plagiarism took root in
polytheism, does Islam know this? monotheism
made a mistake, polytheism exploited it and never told
the monotheists the mistake from the travels of
Alexander to India... O poor Malachi...
just a brief book, perhaps two poems by 21st standards
of prodigious output, and so much zeal invoked...
for fair you in Hades? you'd fare better with me on
the Mount of Megiddo... look here what a poor
shepherd's frustration at being excess skin on forehead
cheeks and neck made him do to his phallus -
at least the pagans of the north worshipped what was
given to them, and didn't bother revision,
look at their civilised shock and the barbaric being
revised as if a dove of Noah metaphor of promise
to spread the good word of revision the same revisions
given unto the Dobberman dogs with slit ears and
cut tails... or, let's just say Bleach Jackson and painkillers...
well, if one wants to suffer to continue spreading
the good word of revising creation, of man's lost
invigorating spirit, making man more docile,
well virile in head and toe: O ROMANS, LEND ME
YOUR EARS, YOUR FORESKINS AND YOUR TESTICLES!
see... spread the message far enough and a few of
man will lose more than just the ease of only one
*** with excess skin... hey! castrato hymn! sing!
well, the crown of Myrrh did spread to our modern
companion of excess diagnoses, we diagnosed
the imperishable, the soul of persistence in this world
not by destroying the existence of god,
that's no man's vitality, unless in earnest prayer
for personal concerns, rather than kneeling in oink church:
prayers for the slaughter rather than martyrdom...
it can't be that easy even if you played yo-yo
with alms and tax... what modern man destroyed
was soul: he instigated so many theories against man
rather than against god (god is readily gone away with),
by undermining the core essence, the vitality of man,
indeed thought exists for philosophers, and they never
seem to be bored of entertaining it, like a monk
entertaining god... but what modern psychology undermined
was what it said to be a travesty: why can't man
perpetually think! why can't we can't we create
ascriptive pathologies we best describe by zoology
in treatment?! you undermine the force of manual labour
you undermine the displeasure man has with thought
rather than god, i.e. thought implying fellow man:
the car mechanic having to think when his boss lays
him off, although enjoying his manual work, so
freely excited like a sunrise of a perfectly happy body
fully exercised in existential arithmetic counting
birthdays and the number of Christmases... huh?
a man mechanised is content with his body,
to him god is simple as god is simple to Kant...
it's thought that's not entertaining on your little
modern stage... back when God sought redemption
from the cross than thinking about giving redemption
to people, he merely allowed perversity and ****...
well, people cursed god, because thought back then
was manipulated by the dis-attractiveness of
the farmer's life... the still breathing care for adventure...
all my finer points have already been made,
the last remaining points are just written
to show you how far a rigidity of words can become
of the people who hardly read:
e.g. hallowed be thy name...
holy be your name?
let's say the modern interpretation is:
hollow is your name... since we rather
censor the word **** than make optical
studies of the tetragrammaton,
not inserting Adam & Eve into the equation
we're working on something,
it's not purposive censorship, it's
just unnecessarily necessary to see things:
the tetragrammaton is a tool, like a hammer,
or a nail... it's not necessarily
the person using either.
