"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, in that we are underlings."*

Famous words
Attributed to a famous man
That man, being Julius Caesar
And put into his mouth
By perhaps, a man even more famous than him
William Shakespeare

Trip over the high density of our constant lies
We're all out to break and hurt the non-elite
Words and phrases they never meant a thing but to lure you in
This facade of love that we send soldiers like cattle
Down an assembly line to build and protect
A fake America, burning towers tumbling down
Bellowing the sweet sorrows of victims
Whose screams we replay the audio over and over
To divert you from seeing the real culprit  
We are sick minded human beings with the thirst for enemies
We'll kiss everyone we meet on the cheek
And continue to fake what we tell you we'll be
We prefer a stabbing to the back
Never a full frontal attack
And we have puppets
We'll always find someone to replace the current like the forty four before
The people's memories will fade and burn like corpses caused by the Enola Gay
We''ll drop a bomb to wipe out everything mankind has worked for
Because in the end we do not need peasants
We have everything and everyone else has absolutely nothing
And 99% will lay to waste and ruin in the ruins we leave to burn
We'll pity so we can mislead to false hope
Send small portions of rations to schedule feeding underlings
Flouride in the drinking water to better control
Corruption in the oval office classified, uncovered, never shared
Always kept underwraps, never revealed just a hoax.
Lips to ears do the whispers carry.
A promise for a better tomorrow but a date will never be set for peace
So we keep telling you that it only gets better
And we'll think apologies fix everything
Truth is we meant nothing in the first place
Because we'll keep remaking mistakes that we apologize for
Misery is our job
Eating and breathing and surviving on the pain of lower humans
Like clothed animals rampaging through a corrupt society
So we'll let the people let their guard down for a quick second and us, vultures
Will devour them quick in that moment
To find you are empty inside,
We've starved you of what you've needed
Because all along, and everything we've ever done
we never realized once you've all revolted
this 1% would surely fall to pieces.

Winter snow hares gone,
Hunger rules— just giant goose,
Stooping white falcon.

A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;

Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;

Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.

Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.

He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.

"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.

A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."

His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!

Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.

He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.

Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.

Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.

Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.

-by Bob B (8-25-18)

The underlings stare
In submissive awestruck
Subjugation in landmine-filled
Landfills, are stuck
In the trenches, the feces
The carcass-strewn muck
Where the vermin-spawn ****
As they're taught how to work
And to fend for themselves
Like the Fall of Dunkirk
As the imminent doomsday device overhead
Incapacitates them
As mere prey to a web
Of a global dominion
Ambition connection
Subconscious hive-mind
Buzzing out the objection
And phobia-spreading
Pandemic misanthropy
Greed in disguise
Subsidizing atrocity
Not for me,

I am
The justified treason
The reason the man-hunters
Close open season
The cease-fire peacekeeper
Proliferation
The water war's rising
Desertification
An MIA runaway
AWOL defector
Still haunting the tombs of detente
Like a spectre
With what I assure
Mutually in the end
When I send go-aheads
On the ICBMs
And avenge the dependent expended
Caught in
This crossfire for-profit
Arms race it has been

Awake! Ye ancient brittle bones,
Unfold yourselves to me.
For I am sick at heart
And an unprevailing cause mocks my sleep.
Our time is upon us.
We must gather together now as one
While the squeak and gibber
Of these impious spirits haunt our very purpose.

Awake! Ye sleeping minions,
Ye true warriors of love,
With hearts and souls at well deserved rest.
Though our duty hath been done 'tis true,
And deserv'd the slumber of all eternity,
The devil's fray is ashore
And 'tis time we take on flesh and finish the closing battle.

As it is unwritten on our souls in heaven
We, the last moral servants,
True at heart and conscience,
Are to become one in the flesh for the last clash.
Aye, but here's the rub,
There'll be no battlefield for to drive our staves into.
No streams to run red with the blood of gentle kin and death mongers.
No blackened sky from pyers ablaze.
This, the last battle shall be fought
Not with blades of contempt and disdain,
But with the sacred sword of Love,
A sword that God Himself shall forge.
He shall gather all our souls
And cast them into His sacred furnace, to make His sacred whirling mace from heaven.
For no man hath made a weapon that can ever thwart the madness of war.

The power of Love has come to fruition
And we mortal warriors shall wield Its might.
For hate is the true enemy here,
Not zealous underlings
Eager to serve their dispirited hearts.
Hate is what burns in their eyes,
Hate is also what blinds them.
And now, like a handful of bees,
They torment the earth with their misguided mission.
Hate is the tinder
And lies are the winds that fan their unholy flames.
With the patience of a weaver
They loom their imperfect prayer rug,
That the god in their mind may think them humble.
Yea, even now as the pestilence kneels and prays
And bows its head in gesture,
It is in gesture only.
His ancient prayers, though once righteous and profound,
Now come from lips tight with blind hatred
And God strains to hear his worshipping.
For the God his forefathers bowed to was a loving merciful God
Who's auspicious whispers kissed the words of love, hope and forgiveness.
Nay, death was not upon His lips.
Though they wave the ****** banner of their unportentous god,
With misread writ their disjointed false prophets blindly lead them on.
Like scornfilled women whose wrath is tainted with the blood of a thousand censorious years
And can not wipe their memories clean.
Their ceaseless thoughts of revenge eat at them,
Like brain-sick harpies madly gnawing off their own limbs.
Bid you make haste,
For he is at the door.
He has been here, settled in and quiet.
He wears the hats of peasant folk and hides.
Fie, fie!
To skinny among the masses and plant seeds of terror
Like impish gnomes.

Rise up bones! You rusted mantle clad mercenaries of the dark
I do beseech you
Walk into the light, into the light of omega
The reckoning
On to fight on no battleground!
On to fight for no faith nor religion!
On to fight for no flag nor country!
On to fight for all mankind!
On into the battle to end all battles!
For the **** crew and the earth has begun its retrograde.
Already have our thews began to form,
Soon, once dusty, moldy hands will take up the truncheon's length of Hope
And do the deed for which we were born,
And for which we gave our breath.
Heaven hath made us one,
And our single beating heart of love is the sword with which the dragon shall be slain.
Fuse skeletons of passion's might,
Our virtuous calling awaits.
No more will the earth tremble in fear,
No more will there be this god and that god,
No more will man be blinded by his mind.
For his pure and loving heart will be his home,
And his long awaited soul will be his peace.

*Peace       Salam      Shalom

In this chapter of life,
I decipher decisions with my knife,
resting under a tree,
staying out of the light,
i know i must stay alive,
resting my hand on the hilt of my sword,
standing for battle once more,
I lower my mask,
to show my evil core,
a wondering ronin bent on settling a score,

I fight for family,
and poverish,
and anyones who's suffered,
my katana will strike for you,
pride of the samurai,
fire falls from the sky,
let the gods cry tonight,
tonight, tonight,

Using my thumb,
I release my zanpakuto from its sheath,
I'm ready to strike at any time,
but first i think of the ones i love,
for if it wasn't for them,
I wouldn't be standing today,
glancing down to see the three skulls hanging from my waist, residing next to my knife,
the man whom taught me to fight,
the day he died,
he lied in my arms,
i love.....
never getting to say who,
might have been the first time my father cried,
the same king hath slain dad in my eye,
was the same man,
to burn my son alive,
only proceeding to **** and **** my wife,
she ceased to cry,
I never shed a tear,
just held their screaming heads for all to hear,
i started to walk,

I fight for family,
and poverish,
and anyones whos suffered,
my katana will strike for you,
pride of the samurai,
fire falls from the sky,
let the gods cry tonight,
tonight, tonight,

With every clinching strike,
I **** the demons underlings,
slicing and hacking,
I remember each and every soul,
I'll pray for them,
not to be ***** in hell,
standing before the demon king,
grabbing my sword I don't even need,
I could **** this man with one bare hand,
he'll cower in fear as my kin never did,
I cut him once across his chest,
splitting his cage of once were ribs,
his organs spill to the ground,
finger through the blood,
lower down to grab his heart,
palmed his head in my bare fist,
raising my sword to his neck,
you think this is pain?
try hell,
with that said,
I split his head from his neck,
tying his hair to my belt,
a fourth skull i must hold.

From: ex PFC Shierling, J. 16 CAB S-2 Analyst
To: Screwtape, Undersecretary, Hell CENTCOM
Date: 2015/02/14
Subject: Poor Methodology

My Dear Screwtape,

I must congratulate you on the position you've managed to hold intact for so many years. A fantastic strategic gamble to allow your correspondence with your nephew Wormword to have become published. The Patient's individual soul may have been taken in by your Enemy Himself, but the allowance of C.S. Lewis to come by those letters and publish them served you very well in it's purpose I suppose. Those souls already lost to your Enemy were confirmed, but those teetering on the edge of belief and hope in Him were turned away by such a blatant portrayal of human fallacies. Truly, your gamble may have been worth it...time will yet tell. But Screwtape, or whichever of his underlings has been assigned to break me, my own life is all I am responsible for. It's a great weapon you devised, this idea that individual humans are responsible for the actions of our entire race, that one of us is guilty of all. Yes indeed, self hate is the quickest way to your master's chains. Honestly though, your CENTCOM failed in the directives and the propaganda they fed you. Though you and your underlings may have experienced the War in Heaven, and that terrible retreat to the outer realm, I can say with absolute certainty that you were deceived in the beginning. I am imperfect, and everyday that I live I know this, and I also know that I will never be able to know the things that your Great Enemy knows, but I accept this. Nothing that you and your kind can do to me shall prevent me from looking to the stars, no pain could your broken spirits do unto me to take my hope in my Father, who is also called Love. And yet, weren't you punished by your own Chain-of-Command? Were you not tortured by those you gave loyalty to for giving Wormwood your nephew advise about your Enemy. Perhaps I, being human, have no right to cast judgement upon those who have walked about my people. All I have left to write tonight; should you grow tired of the horrors you and your kin live every day...ask of me, and we shall welcome you among those yet seeking.

If I ever had a kid,
I would tell them stories.

If I ever had a kid I would tell them of my mother,
my father,
and the loving family we had that fell in the *** holes of the long winding roads.
How I came to grow up
alone
but never by myself.
How i got to take care of the loving mother I had.
She needed the help and I did so.

Of the lake i swam in
never going farther than I could;
my grandfather's living spirt
pulling back to shore
and
keeping me safe from the untold creatures
lurking far under me
waiting to strike up.

How a father stepped in and out of my life
every month,
every hour,
and every other weekend.
I never got them back.
I never got him back.

A house ever changing
anger ever present,
resentment,
hatred,
never ending pain of not exsisting
when right in front of the man who is supposed to know you are there.

I would tell them of every summer
spent in a different world.
The world of adults.
Life slowed to a heat dazed crawl
nights spent in a haze
dazed
high on life
that wasn't my own
living as a different person
one who danced with swords in the rain
with electric lights
Daft Punk and coffee
smiles and lies
stolen hats
stolen memories
always remembered.

If I ever had a kid,
I would tell them of a brother
who loved me,
hated me,
supported me,
killed me and brought me back
only to **** me once again.
An ever changing persona of who i could be,
who I should be,
and who I will never be again.
The things we talked about
that I could never tell,
other than a kid,
who would understand the meaning of its imaganitive exsistance.
as I did
when I was a kid.

I would tell them of my loves.
How much they meant to me.
How they hurt when I left them.
How I learned to love better because of them
and how through the pain of my mistakes
I lost a family,
gained them back,
lost myself and wished it back,
and loved.
A military man
A lumber jack
A theater geek
A sountherner
A northener
A shade
and all the other loves in between.

I would tell them of my friends
the stories we made together
of magic,
and science,
and mysticsm.
Dungoens
Dragons
Wizards
Rouges
A bard
the story teller
the Dungeon Master
Ajani's Vengence
his pride mate
An ageless entity that gained my life and gave it back with each deadly strike
rendered by titanic ultimatums
a surprise attack
never ending how I wished
for it was expected by my masters
and teachers
but not by the underlings I chased after.

They would know the story of a moonbeam.
Her never ending starshine.
The lights they wove together in the dark of night
during the witching hours of peace
and secrets untold
but understood
when unspoken.
How the moon chased its star
the star chased it back
and neither won
nor caught the other
but remained in the tormenting cycle
that was their life.
shared
seperated
and forever together
through a bond unbreakable
by time
space
love
hate
pain
joy
and life lived in the moment.

If I ever had a kid
they would live to never understand me.
my life
the things I went through,
the things I knew but should have never learned,
just as I couldn't with mine.
As I never will with my mother
or father
my brother
my sister.
Our lives seperated by an unchanging opinoin
always wrong
always right
and never accepting of the others.

For they did the same when they had a kid.
As I would if I ever had a kid
trying to teach lessons
experiencing the learning moments
the advice that went in one ear
out the other
and fell in the *** hole on the same winding road my family ended up on.
How I could never see
through their pain
a life they tried to better for me.
How my eyes
20/20
20/80
would never be strong enough
to see past the unreal
to what was right in front of me.
Love that went untouched for so long

If I ever have a kid
I would tell them how it all came back to me.
When my father stepped back in
as the others finally walked out
and
only one came back.
How my mother finally had the health to be happy
How my sister
gave me everything
that i tried to give her.
How my brother didn't except me
and i excepted that
finally
letting go .

They would know
how one dream
of amnesia
brought back the me that died
so long ago
when I choose my heart
over the one's who had put the heart there in the first place.

They will marvel,
they will hate,
and they will learn to love all the stories
both true
and fiction
that was me
and may they learn
as I did.

For if I never have a kid
then my mortality is gone
for what is our lives
without those to forever remember
as we sail out on our voyage
to steal the great ship of Bassette.
and sail to the world of peice we earn.
Once our future
understands our past

I.
I am confined behind the walls of my very own life.
The echoing of cluttered freight trains and the laughter
of invisible clowns fill what's left of my conscience, and

the voices of old God's and hushed Devil's are my only form
of a lullaby. I'm not crazy, I'm just conscious of the overlooked.

II.
I can feel snakes when there are none. Consider this a sixth sense.
Literature clattered in the back of my throat and the top of my head,
I tried to explain this to my lover, who became increasingly

bothered by the fact that all I knew was Shakespeare, and all I spoke
of was Caesar, and the stars...to which we are underlings.

III.
A threat, they consider me. 'Not to others, but yourself.'
Fools, all of them. I was not granted a gift to have it locked away
and drowned at sea. Listen! Act! Forewarnings are scarce, and if

the Gods and the Devils have chosen me to speak, then I shall speak.
My only question: why didn't they choose someone to listen? To understand?

When winter comes, the game is over
Until then
I’m tilling the soil, in preparation for the final score
Cordiality
Before the fertility of an ordeal, which grows into the bigger picture
Displayed
Splayed open in awkward moments, momentum picking up
Dust
Doesn’t this dirt, do something… creates… With no need
Of creativity
It just becomes… Nativity bourne… Energy from the stress, stretchin
Gravity pulls
Subdues the aborted missions… Missing the survivors
One
In a million, peal through the milieu, and skews
This present
View of manure, that manifests in the festivities that brings out
The most
Beautiful black rose in spring… Arose from the black
Beneath
Neither I nor you can undue, growth… Destruction just makes room
For something
Bigger to become… Cometh the comets to renew the stigma…
Butterflies
Kiss the bees… Better fly before the sting… Before the sting…
Stung
Death becomes the unlikely pair… The pear drops, to its own despair
This pair
Dies… as the flies, cover the corpse, cadavers and carrion
Carry on
The merry married marred, and in the spoils, spring new life
Young maggots Detested by the world, enters ignorantly blissful, and springs…
Underlings
Lingering beneath the grips of hatred, when it grows, with its
Hundred eyes
It still wont see the picture… distorted kaleidoscopic optics stops it
From seeing
The whys, the wheres, the world, the web
The spider
That sits beside her… and ***** the life out her
The outer
Casings, the crust, the crevice, the crack, the core,
We see
Explore, excavate through the dust of adam, and reach the hot magma,
The lake
Of fire floods the land… and destroys another civilization

“Welcome to earth…”

"That also has a steep drop off the far side of Home Sweet Hell" said my soulless guide as he pointed in the direction of the nearby screams.
I could see what resembled silhouettes or smeared shadows  of something being thrown or tossed off the side of the tallest tower in sight.  
There were so many falling at once the blur of any kind of outline in this smokey medieval lighting was impossible and began to strain my eyes.
"They're throwing bodies over the edge, a necessary task for the good of our home." he continued as he watched me watching the horrific scene of what now was confirmed as bodies.
"They were rotting and now they will rot even faster engulfed in flames!" he exclaimed with a smirk. "It's quiet clever really, it serves two purposes as one form of torture while at the same time feeding the eternal damnation fires of hell. We recently have undergone new management so our productivity points have never been higher." He seemed to wear that smirk like a proud badge as he bragged about the last part. No doubt he was most likely the new management, possibly the one who would decide my fresh new hell.
He gave a new meaning to the expression "milky white" and had a paleness that was almost purple.  Freakishly tall which wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't as thin as a runway model-and that was putting it politely. He was dressed in a crimson velvet  suit like some dapper don vampire with the chilling accessory of sharp dead eyes. He exuded terror all around while stroking my anxiety in the most uncomfortable metaphorical rhythm.
With his you-know "devil may care" attitude he attempted to smooth out a newly noticed wrinkle in his crimson red velvet sports jacket.  
"Even in Hell, one must always look their Sundays best or in the flames you go!" he giggled laughing at his own joke. I neither laughed or even reacted, instead I ignored him and continued to watch the screaming falls.
The worker bees or drones-or whatever you're supposed to mindless underlings from hell, were now headed for a v-shape among the only body that was not tossed from the tallest tower. Instead it was hanging off a wall like a common prized Picasso at the end of the biggest hall in Hell. Or so my tour guide informed me.
The brutish beasts were poking, stabbing, biting, pulling, cutting, slapping, and slashing the hanging form. "Go then and take her down" My Dracula impersonator  whispered in my ear, making me jump at the stealthness it took him to invade my personal space. "Go on" he urged as he moved even more closer to me. "But-" he then said looking down the hallway "who is to say her sin is not greater than yours?" he asked while stroking his chin.  "In fact" he continued, "Save her and see how quickly you will be the one to replace her. "
I found myself asking "is her sin greater than mine?" for she no longer even resembled a "she" and I couldn't hide my disgust this prisoner she's appearance.
My five star tour guide squealed "Why heavens yes!" unable to contain it's laugher. "She makes your sin look like childsplay! he continued to cackle while saying "I wouldn't go bragging about your list of ***** deeds that got you here they are not that flattering. Or noteworthy really. You're lucky if you amount to anything other than flame feeder on Hell's roster." He then very seriously added, "but  if it was not for the Simple Sinners we would have no souls to keep most of our demons from going hungry. After all we only get fed once every hundred years when we are not topside."
I noticed the dead bodies recently just fallen into flames were starting to return slowly to our intimate greeting party. Most were empty handed or even handless, while all were naked but almost identical in the scorched rotted appearance, no *** could be identified.  
"They will be joining us for the rest of our tour" Vampire Lestat informed me following my gaze. He started walking down the hall and I followed as close behind as I could while maintaining a safe distance from both sets of company.
Without looking at me, Red Velvet started saying, "most crazies dispose of bodies because thats what they consider normal. But here in Hell, we find keeping them is productive torture. You see staying in ones body after death is unnatural and therefor uncomfortable, almost painful.  So you can see why it is useful to keep souls in their meat suits. We also make them do physical labor like any good slave when the torture has become boring and is no stimulating.
I was suddenly feeling woozy and felt confident I was just as pasty white as my velvet wearing guide.  I couldn't shake the disgusting smell of flesh, blood, ***, *****, and pizza from nose. In a meek whisper I muttered "I don't like this.." My words were greeted with a smug "Join the club Sweetheart, no one likes it here but thats the point isnt it? Welcome to your doomed end, your Home Sweet Hell. "
Tears welled up in my eyes and before they could fall to my cheek my thin velvet guide slapped me with such a unbelievable force that I felt my skull vibrating. I was shocked at the guides brute strength for such a blow and considered the possibility maybe this was a vampire. I could feel my tears start to reform and was met with another blow. This time they came with a side order of screams that said, "NO POINT FOR TEARS NOW! YOU WERENT ACTING LIKE A LITTLE ***** WHEN YOU SINNED TO GET HERE, SO YOU'RE NOT GOING TO ACT LIKE A LITTLE ***** NOW THAT YOU ARE HERE."
I had no time to protest, to react, to do anything and even if I had he was right. I knew what I was doing. My guide started pushing me while still yelling "IT'S TIME YOU EMBRACE THAT YOU ARE IN THE PITT AND THERE IS NO MERCY! NOW ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK WITH YOU!"
He threw me in the closest room  that was completely pitch black as he yelled "FRESH MEAT" that served as our farewell.
As he made his exit with his herd of bodies, his dead eyes were the last thing to see.

Shivers me timbers
**** up the guilt
She stays in the slums
With some ill killers

Seven ****** sirens
Submit to bleak conditioning
Routine rude awakening
Seek a beacon of hope
And hold it faithfully

Cake your mask in
Make-believes and maybes... still
they won't carry you to safety

I crave the ability
To shake the surface rabies, daily
Away we go bored & lazy
So, you say you hate me?
So what?!

Could ya focus on the love for once
The uncomfortable flutters/ in my stomach
Too close for comfort

Becoming one with underlings
**** them for functioning
I'm humbled but accustomed to the streets

Make that mouth
Match yo feet and
Go move your motion machine
One day; it quits breathing

Shivers seep through to the innards
Mister Mastermind
Have you earned the right
To learn what it means to be "your kind"

In crime we trust
And lust after lies
Mustered enough mayhem to tear up an afterlife

Pass on
Select the time and contemplate the goals
My golden Goddess, my Queen
The sanctimonious moments of life
Those you live for

An intrinsic grove confiding in the glistening sun

Lovers strolling down the dirt paths **** without shame

It is natural here; joy and laughter fill the air

Our brains elevated with naivety and innocence

Ambient sounds and kind voices are all we hear

Select the hymn from the long, long ago
The moment is here
“Be free” they chant
Under the sun
In the shade of a cryptic tree

Ship out here again to the grove
Roam through the cool pastures
Join us
As we dance to the overture

Dark eyed underlings
Hissing impulsively
Madhouse notions enter the man’s cranium

We are gathered at this junction for this vigorous cross breeding
Of the immense love and the prolific lust we have for life
And extend an olive branch to those with a dim acceptance of death

Bent on devouring mortality
Floundering to pump out a miracle
On a spree of existence
Cruising behind tinted intentions
Melodies crumble sheepishly

Ah, divine originator of life
Allow us immortality
To escape our awful fates
And plan a mutiny against Charon

We beg for silk and satin intimacy

Evil wicked sorcerers of the soul are refused iconic eternal life
Gentle menders of the spirit may bask in the glorious groves of timelessness

I must protect
The children
The field ends
Where the cliff begins
I must protect them
From
The phony
Sense of security
Where
In the ****
Are your parents!
It’s evident
This isn’t a place
To play
Worry not
I will
Stay
Standing
Life Guard
An Angel
Life Guardian Angel
Full of faults
And faith
Who’ll never earn his wings
I bring peace
To the underlings
Even if
Heaven sits
Above my reach
So it’s
My job
To teach
Beseeched
By the leech
As these
Phonies speak
My ears failed
To understand
Their fairy tales
“Santa Clause is NOT REAL!!!”
Is the only clause
That’s real
And it brings the gift
Of truth
Death’s unknown to us all
A fall
From this cliff
Is not a promise
Of bliss
Darkness, most likely
After a painful
Crash
Smash
And pass over
Into the ash
So live long
The song will end
And never replay
You’ll reap
What lays at the end
So sow
Until the final blow
Let your lows
Lift you
Higher than the skies
Spend
Not a moment in life
Down
Because there’s enough
Down
To go around
Once you’re
Beneath the ground
The sound
Of infinite silence
Will ring loud
So enjoy the sweetness
Before the
Bitter taste
Ensues
Life
Is meaningless
I mean
Life’s meaning is less
Than what’s expected
The meaning of death
Is too mean
To fathom
Manically depressed
About death
We’ve repressed
The memories
Of what is was it use to be
Like
Before life
So we lie
About the future

Listen
To no one!
But yourself
The harsh truth
Can uplift
But until you reach a wise age
I’ll protect you
From the cliffs...

The worker bee hurries,

As the queen worries.

Like the underlings rush,

As the politicians hush.

The intensities of the world,

Seemingly more and more bold.

The everyday man,

With his everyday plan,

Has no idea what’s in store.

After the end, he’ll want no more,

Of this crazy little thing,

We like to call the War Machine.

I feel a compulsive need to burn most of you,
or rule a few thousand with cybernetic underlings,
because robots can't say no
based on moral principle.

A season ripe with yellow jackets.

They wanted laws without control,
orders without rulers,
and religion without gods.

We made them fight for what?
Liberty? Justice? Freedom?
Not even glory...
We made them fight for a cage,
and they celebrate
even as we shut the doors.

It's absolutely hilarious.

The sorrowful jungle of weeping foes
Lived like a macabre cabaret
Dancing on the fervent green
And singing to their enemies.
Oh woes! they cried with apathy
Not knowing that they could not breathe
In spores and dust, those underlings,
Who sought for death and misery.
Upon the strike of midnight's glare,
They watched the tiger feast,
Eating on the hearts of old,
The ones who battled for his soul,
And left his scars cut jaggedly.

.
At first the world, seems on hire,
Threads chill through leaves on fire,

Black ponds grow still under sun,
In opens, slowest silence begun,

Smokey clouds in sweep overlook,
Clime of frosts branched under foot,

Cold winds come and with heaves,
Shattered froze crockery of leaves,

In icy banks bare rivers run out,
Snap as they steam into a knout

And in tawnys of soggy marshes,
Colours grow grey, wet and harsher,

In blisters to come winter shores,
A creatures huddle to frozen floors,

Above are trailings of birds who flee,
Below are underlings rooted in tree,

In sheets of white a graveyard blows,
Black stones piercing the first snows.

You’re reoccurring in my eyelids
You’re pirouetting on my dreams
You’re caressing all my knowledge
You’re true to the underlings.

Let me touch your spiny stars
Let me pledge my true intent
Let me drip into your slow pores
Let me drink up all your scent

Death cannot contain us
Love will not berate us
We’re more than this life has to offer

Please keep your lashes black
Please kiss my favorite mark
Don’t let them cut you open
Don’t let them play you dark

Open eyes and scarring minds
Dancing through my overdrive
Keep the fingers playing truly
Keep your heartstrings tied unruly

Strange gurgles and open wounds
Flashing upon closed door rooms
Heads abound and masters reel
As you feel exactly what I feel

Mix up our sickness
You’re dying of quickness
Clockwork like mind
I never could find

Find all my freedoms
Alight my true colors
Burn my intentions
Disconnect oh my brothers.

(paragraph of prose broken into irregular lines and mistitled "poetry")

The technoid global middlemen
became Cro-Magnon underlings
and had to relearn flint-flaking techniques
after the adverse event
which God encrypted
into the underwear
of the overlords.
The logos logged off
forever.
The etheric records
were sealed.
The angels rejoiced
when silicone valley
slid into the subduction zone
(not their fault)
The remnant of redeemed humankind
told stories around the holy fires
about the dark age of technocracy
from which they were liberated
but none of the generation
born in the millennium
believed it was true

I see you sitting there with a thumb in your mouth
and you wonder why the words wont come out.
The kid's too stout - he's too proud - too loud.
The type to carry around a pouch of sauerkraut
then pout when everything tastes south. Outstanding!
He's damming the river to prevent the peasants from swimming,
and doesn't realize the only thing keeping him afloat is down below.
Hello? Turn them sky highs into clout, boy- make it snow!

Lord of the purple prose - (what does he mean) who knows?
Not me - I'm too busy dwindling the last of the rations;
irrationally casting matches at a long list of parched cabins.
How can you expect me to feed in an orderly fashion?
I didn't reach the top link to eat without sending a message.
Savage patch kid wielding lightsabers for utensils -
We're a rare breed bred into existence to resist all that is vintage.
Equipped with shark fangs and griffon wings,
we're here to free the underlings from redundent sufferings.
Please excuse the reign, it follows me wherever I go
like a little lost dog caught up under my toe,
gravitating towards my end-all deathblow.

Whenever I ride in the countryside
On the further side of the hill,
I can see the new church steeple, rising
Over the fields and rills,
Then I venture down to the valley, on
The Little Newhampton side,
And see the wreck of the ancient church
And remember the day it died.

Its blackened stone lies wide to the sky,
Its rafters lie in the nave,
If God was passing that fateful day
He thought it too late to save,
The lightning bolt that shattered his cross
Went on to set it on fire,
The lectern, pews, of Reverend Buse
Conspired to burn on his pyre.

They found his skull, all covered in ash
But the rest of him had gone,
Had flown his soul with its blackened wings
To a feast on the Eve of John,
He was known to hold a Satanic Mass
On the night of the Witches Moon,
But the Bishop’s men were ******* his track
And would have defrocked him soon.

His congregation was always sparse,
For the good folk stayed away,
They’d heard strange rumours of what went on
With the Squire, and the Widow Hay,
They locked themselves behind cedar doors
And called on the god of wrath,
With lighted candles, inverted cross,
Laid out on the altar cloth.

The evening of the lightning strike
The leadlight flickered and flashed,
And screams rang out in the early hours
As a black cat hurried past,
For then the windows had glowed bright red
To herald a presence there,
While a deep, loud gutteral voice rang out
To foul and corrupt the air.

‘Where are my churls and underlings,
My troglodytes and my trolls?
Tonight is the night of sundering
Each evil heart from its soul!’
The Squire burst out, made a run for it
And tried to leap on his horse,
But the old black mare took him back in there,
And somebody slammed the doors.

And that was when the lightning struck,
It flashed, and shattered the cross,
The blazing roof came tumbling down
And the Widow Hay was lost.
They never found the Squire or his horse,
But I think that’s just as well,
They’re probably roasting chestnuts, down
In the seventh circle of Hell!

David Lewis Paget

She made her entrance as
The Undisputed Queen
Underlings scrabbled
To see her, to be seen
She favored no one
Lest they favor her more
She sighed and she waited
To take over the floor

Striking a pose
High up on her stage
Bathed in the glow
Of her personal glory
She never perspired
Lest she grow tired
Playing her role
Cold as ice in a bowl

Losing herself
In an act of delusion
She couldn't hold on to her precious illusion
It slipped through her fingers
And out of her hands
Despite her persona
And her endless demands

The house lights were out
The crowd was long gone
No more props
No more set
For emoting upon
The moment was over
For the lines she had blown
She walked off of the stage
And she went home alone.

Portraiture of previous lives lie beneath my feet
And forward spans a future that I know must stay discreet
For I’ve learnt through harsh experience to take care for what I quest
That *** of gold at rainbows end I’ve found…a mixed bequest.
As mythical to contemplate as money grown on trees
In truth the carnage gaining it has near brought me to my knees.
Millions brought security, offshore banking locked within
But also brought suspicion born relationships, now languishing.
The billions are a burden and a loneliness is born
For new friendships are hollow and old ones now forlorn,
The parasites surrounding you, all bicker to compete
And empathy flows out the door where values are replete.
Vicissitudes grow day by day, it’s harder to relate
As underlings smile woodenly knowing deep within, they hate.
A disconnect is now complete the burdened weight too much
But worse befalls regression, just impossible to touch.
For what is now, is meant to be… from here I wear the Crown
And woe betides that snivelling sod who tries to take me down.

M.
16 April 2016
Auckland city

A duck scientist tells his underlings,
'there's a quack in the time space continuim'.

Are you a fairy Daddy like Terry Hanratty? No, I'm daddy-normal
& daddy-hormonal. Can I violently tug on your scruffy beard like a
punk who is weird? No, because I'm not the murderous Ted Bundy
daddy college women in 1973 feared. Will you never come home
Daddy & give ill Mommy her Daddy-thrill-hammer thrill? Never!!!
We can't go there & we can do something with boats in our pockets
'cause heaven's God's door for the sum of 6 ***** & mid-leg sockets
that fall under the underlings whose socks are from cotton-sock kits
for high frequency, amplitude & pulse brassieres made to shock ****
of crude gals schtupping **** males in a kettle of ½-stewed whales


Maiden, mother, crone are the 3 stages of femininity, you vaginitis-
plagued *****, so go back to your age-defying goo, you ***** witch
My tranquil inner peace is ******* with my sedate inner harmony a
lot. The Luzon Pinay with 1 eye ain't the mail-order bride I bought.
I ate the moldy bread knowin' full well what's coming, loose guts &
diarrhea = an annoying disruption to pre-diurnal plumbing function
We must take heart that putrefying, dead folks will make, for living
folks, the rightful decision, though not with mathematical precision
I can't wolf Alpo as it makes me howl, bark & **** wayward stray
******* in heat, whelping in the park-lands of Centralia's burnt park

Impose my will upon the willing, hot chicks with bleary vision into
feeling men hungry for lesbian love at its most sike-a-**** thrilling
Let us not breed insane rumors nor self-diagnose huge brain tumors
in the presence of wall flowers, freaks, flits, sissies & late bloomers
I remember when reliable prostitutes were 3 for a buck or 1 for 35¢
but that was in April '95 before we elected vice prez Michael Pence
You sprayed 10 toes with decarbonizing spray 'cause both your feet
were black-coal carbonated before you left for Guam on Labor Day
as your motherhooded mother motherly mothered you to be ***-gay

Without and but around she tags herself indecent in ganky exposure. Jubilee cranks up, and but with half her street’s mailboxes signal defeat with eyes on mantelpiece, surrounded. Roadside debutante grudgingly refuses both leftovers, then confession. Make known with loud insistent shrug of day how intricate cracks size up, amalgamated mess of tongue-and-cheek prevail. His and hers with signs pre-recorded – history, of course, being disloyal and impatient nut-case that she is, scribbling over own bones with fate of children’s children, exposed. Brick to brack rolls fervor in wet incandescence, itself a lone category expanded to virtual (any) interests of land sharks and dead. Making no mistake, catalogue drop falls and hits strike back bright the beacon of their magical thinking. Doubled down in laughter pain, the grotesque ridges of the system unencumbered dribbles off and drugs itself over dying embers sparkle. And then laughter more exposes weak tongue in probe - and probably prose - instead weeps, crosses the nose, sits sand, and follows freaky through the underlings – hostile territory restricted but for her name.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

        Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment

The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear

The millions of corpses rotting in the sun




I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.

              -C. S. Lewis, Preface to *The Screwtape Letters