Let the word go forth that God is dead. He lives not in this world nor truly in the hearts and minds of men. He rests not in its institutions, nor in its productions.
In me He lives. And in a few, His shadow lingers.
His Day has come. Satan, the beast which they worshipped in Heaven, as foreseen by John in his vision at the Isle of Potamos, whose numbers rest on each citizen, is going.
The beast lives. It inspires your ambition, and it strokes your pride. It makes whores of your women, and subjugates love. It fills you up with your own spit, by way of television, radio, the phone and now the Internet.
It corrupts the child in each man, the child that He said through His Son to come unto me, suffer. For it is not the children He desires, for the level of their love capacity is at that of the animal.
It is of men and women. After they have been purified; released from the bonds of a child's cocoon, as surely as their exit from a womb. And after that painful maturity.
Breakway.
To be Re emerged, what was known as born again, term by the 'gelicals, corrupted. To reach forward, and to allow for Him to reach back. Command Me, as He said through Isaiah. I create good, I create evil. And sing a new song. To debunk reality.
Breakway.
Imagine Me, and I shall Re imagine you.
And I too, shall Re emerge. Through your children, with whom the dead shall rise, and we shall be.
Gohd shall be free, and only love's reign, triumphs. That day, terrible and sweet now comes. And sin shall be met with death. And death--in people, in their houses and buildings, death that hangs overt the Earth's body as a thick mist of poisonous molasses--shall be wiped away.
Let he is who sinning keep sinning, as was said concerning this Day.
But you whose eyes follow these letters here are not sinning. The monitor that we are all sinners is a lie. A man who has killed, a woman who has been defiled--a thief who steals, and destroys--can say in their hearts, by His Grace, today this body won't. Today I shall look upon this Gohd like never before.
And before I stuff my face, unlike the animal who eats, I'll think of Him. And I won't do it out loud, or jump up and down in my best clothes, as was told not to all those years ago. It shall be private.
Breakway
December20, 2009
A storm hit. White, and with my black gloves, soaked, stinging.
Somebody's leftovers, in my stomach, rested.
There is collicuide, and there is abomination. And I don't care. His pain, His rage, battered, all night.
And there shall be wars in Heaven,
and wars here on Earth.
The morning, and He forces me down like a wife.
And the morning before, He, as her.
Let us make man in Our Image;
both male and female He made man.
Then, a cigarette.
Blown, in. A little chlorine to cleanse the well, blown out. Rain befalls the Earth, the type only scientists see, and poets feel but they can not fully understand.
There was something in the air that night, ABBA sings.
Cried, after He does it, spilt, my beer.
You serve the beast. You fill up his coffers, with taxes. You replenish its military with youth. You are an accomplice--you vote. Take its number, after all you're too dumb to set aside money for your old days.
And when you marry you do it, burn out, a shooting star.
And death is uncovered, through the eyes of your children. D i v o r c e, and a family that sprung is shattered in its egg shell. Some my have lasted years, some a few months; death knows no time.
Refrain form each other, nine months.
Walk off your jobs.
Breakway.
This country now belongs to Him, Jesus Christ.
There shall be no advertisement. No temples shall align His view. Those who worship, do it in private. Those who don't your parents have come from all over the Earth, and you can return. The children of Abraham even now have a place to do it, go.
And all you members of the hummos and tehinas--go back in the closet.
Persecution isn't necessary, only silent disdain. For our Lord's greatest weapon, not the fire and not the brimstone, not boring rereading of the book and especially all those praise the Lord!s at the end of the psalms in
Englis. It is silence.
Just watch all those idiots with their PhD.s, swearing up and sown that He does not exist, and making analytical suggestions concerning hisstorical facts remembered by the faithful. And then they turn to their own rituals--eating out at a certain time, wearing their outfits, and following the news--and they have, by His Grace, their own religion.
Breakway. Release yourselves from the quiet deadening of the soul that the beast overlooks, and hospitals await you like factories that treat you as cattle when the body can no longer sustain your soul.
Breakway
Now, to go and gather the aluminum cup holders, cans. Got to make sure there's enough at the end of the day to cool off my mind. Would be nice to fall asleep without it, beer, every night. Maybe wine...
Breakway, then it's rock n' roll.
Christmas Day, 2009
Sony Building
Fifty-Fifth, Madison
Manhattan, NYC
The security guards, freaks, and wanna-be tourists.
The real ones--those who have a tour of duty--carry an automatic weapon; a camera, for magazines and books; a pen.
Seven years. And there's nothing on NBC. A television, in the coffee shop, with closed captioning. And it's on NBC. "It's a Wonderful Life" last night, the second time in a week, and tonight Live From New York, a repeat from Thursday. G A R B A G E, as Rob the thief used t'say, at the Chess and Checkers, with Kenny the long-time local who supplied the dough for our cheap-ass, malt liquor.
Now, the girl, with her beautiful black face, luscious and large lips, and wondrous black hair.
She's probably lonely, after getting it from her BF last night. The thing about sin, it must be covered up, and will never allow you to be loved. And what ever love you have to offer, if it's even pure or at least fresh, will be held back or wasted on the Undeserving.
We are not created equal.
Some come from Heaven, some from Hell. And some just do it, come. Pun intended.
Will the Almighty Piece of Shit (it's alright, I'm His Little Piece of Shit) send us back, or does He have you try and convince the bondsman, you're not the Undeserving?
More youths, overseas. And their going to die. Meanwhile the Chinese arsenal expands, and the Arab nations continue to do it, fall; followers of the false prophet rejoice.
It was they who brought fire down from the sky, on national t.v. on September Eleventh. John at Potamos saw it, the vision, as the false prophet himself. But that Arab's dead, Jim.
Meanwhile, here I sit. In between tours of cart-pushing, and aluminum gathering. Through the snow, the police, the wanna-be's. I can not serve, though I gladly would. But as they did in Heaven, worship , the beast, we must.
With the Gohd, inside, and the Spirit setting up obstacles, for Us to Knock Knock me down. An innocent, in a strange and perverted city. The cars, and the horns blaring; the violence of the tongue pervasive. And I should be grateful that the physical and obvious crimes were cleansed before Prague.
Her third letter, now. How she would meet me, to hear my song, and how cute, she misspelled 'see you next weak!'
Only for the day to arrive, after practicing all week and with great passion, and for Shit to take it all away with barely a whisper.
I renounce God, and I worship Satan.
I say death to all who live and cling to your tribal heritage. Death to who ever believes there's any way to our Father than through His Son. She was a nice Jewish girl, His ma. Nothing more.
Death to the Atheist and their pagan lifelessness.
Death to any and all chuches. Your bricks and the statues, crumbled. Your idols and your candles shall melt.
To the Jews I say Thanks for the Torah. And while your blood lineage brought me here, there's only one blood to die for in triumphs.
The Anglicans, the Epistos, the Protesters, the Ja va Shmitnesses and the rest of you with your fakakta outfits, robes and shawls and religious baseball caps. Breakway.
There's only one person I care about. And I will always be her friend.
And the Gohd who lives in me, He who Re emerges in me, day after day, who hears the pleas of the victims of collicuide--for they do not go to their rest, but must wait--Our Father in Heaven, where the war continues
He shall Re emerge and this dead world will disappear. And there shall be peace, and with true love. And we shall dance, and make love, and sing and rejoice.
Sunday, December 26
2009
Death. Well, it was Christmas.
The journey I took, and the travails I pursued. Pain and bitterness, to be endured.
The savage road, crushed, the spirit. And what a woman feels after nine months of carrying it--Hell, three weeks out here is a year.
The soliloquy ends.
I harbinger no ill will to those who failed me, for it was His will. Of course, the Krauts still got hung at Nuremberg. And as they dance their death with haste to fill their empty voids and bury what's left of their devoid souls--the clock, it keeps on ticking. And the terrible hour approaches --and they shall dance no more in this place.
"I'm gonna sit back right easy and laugh, while the Scooter and the Big Man bust this city in half, brother" and "as we make our stand, Tonight in Jungleland" Bruuuce.
That the beast blinked in New Orleans brought me no joy. And with this passage of Health Care, it will be only a short time before people are physically embedded with a chip in their arm with health info, if only for your own good, of course. (True, sarcasm gets me no where, and he who lives by it shall drown in it, but sometimes, like the F word--it serves its purpose.)
We end where it began--between the two rivers in Ahab land, with the last great country bludgeoning where Adam did Eve. She was sweet, and with no fake orgasms.
And when Sara laughed, it was not because she doubted our Father, but that being older and without the looks she, How will Abraham stiffen, and harden
And the only reason that woman looked back was because she was not close to Him and by gossiping and by wanting to know all there is to know by seeing what there is to see--be it the new land or the new world, or the destruction of those cities--is to capture and try to contain an image. To fill the void, and to cover up sin.
The salt still lingers. But it sure helps when the meat is wholesome, but dry and hard to do it, chew.
Yes, we are but food for our Father. And the humble enjoy being eaten, and we fight like cats after when we are being renewed.
Does it matter whether she was a virgin? Does it really matter who did what to whom? It means nothing towards your salvation.
Breakway.
And what did He do in the desert? And did He do it with her? Perhaps, but isn't He entitled?
What do you think they do in Heaven? Play the harp? Some. But you can be certain those silly Arabs who flew them planes ain't a'gettin' seven virgins.
There's nothing worth dying for, no cause and certainly no country. And until recently, when I saw her with her hair blazing like a black sun, fiery but with radiance of gladness and of living, did I see that your friends are worth dying for.
Fat people on t.v. And they can run, and they die while killing off the weight. And they can do so for their own glory and ask why you even watch them. And to find, once the cameras have gone and the thrill dies and all the pounds are still there and whoever they left behind--the person they ran from--was closer to the truth and more willing to be redeemed by the One who from within would use those pounds to claw His way out and extract the world's and your own sin, to ravage your mind and heart and your body and leave you in tatters on the ground ready to be lifted up.
We are fallen angles, until we're reemerged. So Luc'y it in the sky, with diamonds. Breakway.
The Bible Code, and the last seal. John saw the dragon, with fire coming out of its mouth; que the news reel of WWII fire fights; it was a vision, not a prophecy, after all.
The 40th President, with his name: three sixes. Not simply because he was a terrible actor, though his best performances came after Hollywood. It was the explosion of collicuide, the burst of greed and the obliteration of courtship that took root in this, the world that ended the year when collicuide whose medical term is well known was condoned and later embraced and hey, at least Bruuuce made it through that year. It was good to have a voice to keep me company in the wilderness.
The meteors hitting that planet, Hale bop and the suicides, and it won't be long. Tsunami, tsuna you. There is nothing we can do. Go to the public library on Fortieth, and after they frisk you at the door, try finding the Holy Bible. (Fifth floor, Right, then five rows back and in the religious section. It's the word of our Father and through His son).
This city, with its pride and disdain for innocence, the cauldron of the harlot and where pagan idolatry dots the street where porno once adorned its heart and at its last breath awaits the hammer to fall.
"And I'll stand over your grave to make sure that you're dead", Dylan. Breakway
Let the car alarms ring out one last time. Let the rats climb the stairway, race through the streets and fall to the river. This ship will sink.
And I will sail no more.
In me He lives. And in a few, His shadow lingers.
His Day has come. Satan, the beast which they worshipped in Heaven, as foreseen by John in his vision at the Isle of Potamos, whose numbers rest on each citizen, is going.
The beast lives. It inspires your ambition, and it strokes your pride. It makes whores of your women, and subjugates love. It fills you up with your own spit, by way of television, radio, the phone and now the Internet.
It corrupts the child in each man, the child that He said through His Son to come unto me, suffer. For it is not the children He desires, for the level of their love capacity is at that of the animal.
It is of men and women. After they have been purified; released from the bonds of a child's cocoon, as surely as their exit from a womb. And after that painful maturity.
Breakway.
To be Re emerged, what was known as born again, term by the 'gelicals, corrupted. To reach forward, and to allow for Him to reach back. Command Me, as He said through Isaiah. I create good, I create evil. And sing a new song. To debunk reality.
Breakway.
Imagine Me, and I shall Re imagine you.
And I too, shall Re emerge. Through your children, with whom the dead shall rise, and we shall be.
Gohd shall be free, and only love's reign, triumphs. That day, terrible and sweet now comes. And sin shall be met with death. And death--in people, in their houses and buildings, death that hangs overt the Earth's body as a thick mist of poisonous molasses--shall be wiped away.
Let he is who sinning keep sinning, as was said concerning this Day.
But you whose eyes follow these letters here are not sinning. The monitor that we are all sinners is a lie. A man who has killed, a woman who has been defiled--a thief who steals, and destroys--can say in their hearts, by His Grace, today this body won't. Today I shall look upon this Gohd like never before.
And before I stuff my face, unlike the animal who eats, I'll think of Him. And I won't do it out loud, or jump up and down in my best clothes, as was told not to all those years ago. It shall be private.
Breakway
December20, 2009
A storm hit. White, and with my black gloves, soaked, stinging.
Somebody's leftovers, in my stomach, rested.
There is collicuide, and there is abomination. And I don't care. His pain, His rage, battered, all night.
And there shall be wars in Heaven,
and wars here on Earth.
The morning, and He forces me down like a wife.
And the morning before, He, as her.
Let us make man in Our Image;
both male and female He made man.
Then, a cigarette.
Blown, in. A little chlorine to cleanse the well, blown out. Rain befalls the Earth, the type only scientists see, and poets feel but they can not fully understand.
There was something in the air that night, ABBA sings.
Cried, after He does it, spilt, my beer.
You serve the beast. You fill up his coffers, with taxes. You replenish its military with youth. You are an accomplice--you vote. Take its number, after all you're too dumb to set aside money for your old days.
And when you marry you do it, burn out, a shooting star.
And death is uncovered, through the eyes of your children. D i v o r c e, and a family that sprung is shattered in its egg shell. Some my have lasted years, some a few months; death knows no time.
Refrain form each other, nine months.
Walk off your jobs.
Breakway.
This country now belongs to Him, Jesus Christ.
There shall be no advertisement. No temples shall align His view. Those who worship, do it in private. Those who don't your parents have come from all over the Earth, and you can return. The children of Abraham even now have a place to do it, go.
And all you members of the hummos and tehinas--go back in the closet.
Persecution isn't necessary, only silent disdain. For our Lord's greatest weapon, not the fire and not the brimstone, not boring rereading of the book and especially all those praise the Lord!s at the end of the psalms in
Englis. It is silence.
Just watch all those idiots with their PhD.s, swearing up and sown that He does not exist, and making analytical suggestions concerning hisstorical facts remembered by the faithful. And then they turn to their own rituals--eating out at a certain time, wearing their outfits, and following the news--and they have, by His Grace, their own religion.
Breakway. Release yourselves from the quiet deadening of the soul that the beast overlooks, and hospitals await you like factories that treat you as cattle when the body can no longer sustain your soul.
Breakway
Now, to go and gather the aluminum cup holders, cans. Got to make sure there's enough at the end of the day to cool off my mind. Would be nice to fall asleep without it, beer, every night. Maybe wine...
Breakway, then it's rock n' roll.
Christmas Day, 2009
Sony Building
Fifty-Fifth, Madison
Manhattan, NYC
The security guards, freaks, and wanna-be tourists.
The real ones--those who have a tour of duty--carry an automatic weapon; a camera, for magazines and books; a pen.
Seven years. And there's nothing on NBC. A television, in the coffee shop, with closed captioning. And it's on NBC. "It's a Wonderful Life" last night, the second time in a week, and tonight Live From New York, a repeat from Thursday. G A R B A G E, as Rob the thief used t'say, at the Chess and Checkers, with Kenny the long-time local who supplied the dough for our cheap-ass, malt liquor.
Now, the girl, with her beautiful black face, luscious and large lips, and wondrous black hair.
She's probably lonely, after getting it from her BF last night. The thing about sin, it must be covered up, and will never allow you to be loved. And what ever love you have to offer, if it's even pure or at least fresh, will be held back or wasted on the Undeserving.
We are not created equal.
Some come from Heaven, some from Hell. And some just do it, come. Pun intended.
Will the Almighty Piece of Shit (it's alright, I'm His Little Piece of Shit) send us back, or does He have you try and convince the bondsman, you're not the Undeserving?
More youths, overseas. And their going to die. Meanwhile the Chinese arsenal expands, and the Arab nations continue to do it, fall; followers of the false prophet rejoice.
It was they who brought fire down from the sky, on national t.v. on September Eleventh. John at Potamos saw it, the vision, as the false prophet himself. But that Arab's dead, Jim.
Meanwhile, here I sit. In between tours of cart-pushing, and aluminum gathering. Through the snow, the police, the wanna-be's. I can not serve, though I gladly would. But as they did in Heaven, worship , the beast, we must.
With the Gohd, inside, and the Spirit setting up obstacles, for Us to Knock Knock me down. An innocent, in a strange and perverted city. The cars, and the horns blaring; the violence of the tongue pervasive. And I should be grateful that the physical and obvious crimes were cleansed before Prague.
Her third letter, now. How she would meet me, to hear my song, and how cute, she misspelled 'see you next weak!'
Only for the day to arrive, after practicing all week and with great passion, and for Shit to take it all away with barely a whisper.
I renounce God, and I worship Satan.
I say death to all who live and cling to your tribal heritage. Death to who ever believes there's any way to our Father than through His Son. She was a nice Jewish girl, His ma. Nothing more.
Death to the Atheist and their pagan lifelessness.
Death to any and all chuches. Your bricks and the statues, crumbled. Your idols and your candles shall melt.
To the Jews I say Thanks for the Torah. And while your blood lineage brought me here, there's only one blood to die for in triumphs.
The Anglicans, the Epistos, the Protesters, the Ja va Shmitnesses and the rest of you with your fakakta outfits, robes and shawls and religious baseball caps. Breakway.
There's only one person I care about. And I will always be her friend.
And the Gohd who lives in me, He who Re emerges in me, day after day, who hears the pleas of the victims of collicuide--for they do not go to their rest, but must wait--Our Father in Heaven, where the war continues
He shall Re emerge and this dead world will disappear. And there shall be peace, and with true love. And we shall dance, and make love, and sing and rejoice.
Sunday, December 26
2009
Death. Well, it was Christmas.
The journey I took, and the travails I pursued. Pain and bitterness, to be endured.
The savage road, crushed, the spirit. And what a woman feels after nine months of carrying it--Hell, three weeks out here is a year.
The soliloquy ends.
I harbinger no ill will to those who failed me, for it was His will. Of course, the Krauts still got hung at Nuremberg. And as they dance their death with haste to fill their empty voids and bury what's left of their devoid souls--the clock, it keeps on ticking. And the terrible hour approaches --and they shall dance no more in this place.
"I'm gonna sit back right easy and laugh, while the Scooter and the Big Man bust this city in half, brother" and "as we make our stand, Tonight in Jungleland" Bruuuce.
That the beast blinked in New Orleans brought me no joy. And with this passage of Health Care, it will be only a short time before people are physically embedded with a chip in their arm with health info, if only for your own good, of course. (True, sarcasm gets me no where, and he who lives by it shall drown in it, but sometimes, like the F word--it serves its purpose.)
We end where it began--between the two rivers in Ahab land, with the last great country bludgeoning where Adam did Eve. She was sweet, and with no fake orgasms.
And when Sara laughed, it was not because she doubted our Father, but that being older and without the looks she, How will Abraham stiffen, and harden
And the only reason that woman looked back was because she was not close to Him and by gossiping and by wanting to know all there is to know by seeing what there is to see--be it the new land or the new world, or the destruction of those cities--is to capture and try to contain an image. To fill the void, and to cover up sin.
The salt still lingers. But it sure helps when the meat is wholesome, but dry and hard to do it, chew.
Yes, we are but food for our Father. And the humble enjoy being eaten, and we fight like cats after when we are being renewed.
Does it matter whether she was a virgin? Does it really matter who did what to whom? It means nothing towards your salvation.
Breakway.
And what did He do in the desert? And did He do it with her? Perhaps, but isn't He entitled?
What do you think they do in Heaven? Play the harp? Some. But you can be certain those silly Arabs who flew them planes ain't a'gettin' seven virgins.
There's nothing worth dying for, no cause and certainly no country. And until recently, when I saw her with her hair blazing like a black sun, fiery but with radiance of gladness and of living, did I see that your friends are worth dying for.
Fat people on t.v. And they can run, and they die while killing off the weight. And they can do so for their own glory and ask why you even watch them. And to find, once the cameras have gone and the thrill dies and all the pounds are still there and whoever they left behind--the person they ran from--was closer to the truth and more willing to be redeemed by the One who from within would use those pounds to claw His way out and extract the world's and your own sin, to ravage your mind and heart and your body and leave you in tatters on the ground ready to be lifted up.
We are fallen angles, until we're reemerged. So Luc'y it in the sky, with diamonds. Breakway.
The Bible Code, and the last seal. John saw the dragon, with fire coming out of its mouth; que the news reel of WWII fire fights; it was a vision, not a prophecy, after all.
The 40th President, with his name: three sixes. Not simply because he was a terrible actor, though his best performances came after Hollywood. It was the explosion of collicuide, the burst of greed and the obliteration of courtship that took root in this, the world that ended the year when collicuide whose medical term is well known was condoned and later embraced and hey, at least Bruuuce made it through that year. It was good to have a voice to keep me company in the wilderness.
The meteors hitting that planet, Hale bop and the suicides, and it won't be long. Tsunami, tsuna you. There is nothing we can do. Go to the public library on Fortieth, and after they frisk you at the door, try finding the Holy Bible. (Fifth floor, Right, then five rows back and in the religious section. It's the word of our Father and through His son).
This city, with its pride and disdain for innocence, the cauldron of the harlot and where pagan idolatry dots the street where porno once adorned its heart and at its last breath awaits the hammer to fall.
"And I'll stand over your grave to make sure that you're dead", Dylan. Breakway
Let the car alarms ring out one last time. Let the rats climb the stairway, race through the streets and fall to the river. This ship will sink.
And I will sail no more.
