Bits and Peices, The father the sin and the wholly gross...
Ah. A Pilgrim...Come into my presence pilgrim. Gaze upon the Lord they God. Zeus Arrhenothelus. Part man, part perfection. Electricty enflames my brain. Voltage. Current. The fire of heaven. Gift of my body. Divine. Fertile. It shall transform the dry lands of Africa into the perfumed orchards of paradise and men will worship me anew. For I am Zeus. God of electric retribution...Its hard to think with a head full of rain. They have nailed me to the cross oak and when I walk I drag it behind me. I am the electric messiah, the descender, locked away in this dark room, in this dark century. They have maimed and imprisoned the divine king. Is it any wonder this world sickens and dies? The father, the sin and the wholly gross...
Micheal and his angels faught against the dragon; and the dragon faught these angels. And the Great Dragon was out, that old serpent, call the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world."
Just as the Archangel subdued the Old Dragon, so shall I bend this mind to my will...
What do you think? The moon...the moon is so beautiful...Its a big silver dollar, flipped by God. And it landed scarred side up, see? So he made the world...
Sometimes I am sure I hear hysterical laughter from a room I know to be empty. I tape over the mirror in my own room. The laughter ceases...
Don't they understand? Can't they see I'm breaking in thousand places? Time...Time becomes strange. I have been shown the path. I must follow where it leads. Like Parsifal, I must confront the unreason that threatens me. I must go alone into the Dark Tower. Without a backwards glance. And face the dragon within. I have only one fear...What if I am not strong enough to defeat it? What then? Somewhere, not far away, the dragon hails its terrible weight through the corridors of the asylum. I am borne up opn a wave of perfect terror...and the world explodes! There is nothing to hang onto. No anchor. Panic stricken I flee. I run blindley through the madhouse. And I cannot even pray. For I have no God...
What tree is this? What wounds are these? I am Attis on the pine. Christ on the cedar. Odin on the world-ash. Hung on the windy tree for nine whole nights wounded with the spear. Dedicated to Odin. Myself to myself. I must see my reflection to prove I still exist. Outside I hear the dragon coming closer, closer. Despratly I peel the tape from the mirror, breaking my fingernails, strip by strip until I stand revealed in the glass. And I stare into old familiar eyes...
No longer able to tell where the dragon ended and I began! Yet am I not the hero, the man of destiney? Have I not confronted the Great Dragon. Where then is my grail? My treasure horde? My final reward?
And suddenly, the longed for revelation comes in the form of a memory my mind had supressed. And it is only for me to revel in, in pain and suffering. I understand now what my memory tried to keep from me. Madness is born in the blood. It is my birthright. My inheritance. My destiny! I shall contain the presences that roam these rooms and narrow stairways of my mind. I shall surround them with bars and walls and pray they never break free. I am the dragons work...leather wings enfold me...
I see now the virtue in madness, for this country knows no law nor any boundry. I pity the poor shades confined to the Euclidean prison that is sanity. All things are possible here, and I am what madness has made me. Whole, complete, and free at last...Who cares for you? You are nothing but a pack of cards...in dreams I walk with you...
Micheal and his angels faught against the dragon; and the dragon faught these angels. And the Great Dragon was out, that old serpent, call the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world."
Just as the Archangel subdued the Old Dragon, so shall I bend this mind to my will...
What do you think? The moon...the moon is so beautiful...Its a big silver dollar, flipped by God. And it landed scarred side up, see? So he made the world...
Sometimes I am sure I hear hysterical laughter from a room I know to be empty. I tape over the mirror in my own room. The laughter ceases...
Don't they understand? Can't they see I'm breaking in thousand places? Time...Time becomes strange. I have been shown the path. I must follow where it leads. Like Parsifal, I must confront the unreason that threatens me. I must go alone into the Dark Tower. Without a backwards glance. And face the dragon within. I have only one fear...What if I am not strong enough to defeat it? What then? Somewhere, not far away, the dragon hails its terrible weight through the corridors of the asylum. I am borne up opn a wave of perfect terror...and the world explodes! There is nothing to hang onto. No anchor. Panic stricken I flee. I run blindley through the madhouse. And I cannot even pray. For I have no God...
What tree is this? What wounds are these? I am Attis on the pine. Christ on the cedar. Odin on the world-ash. Hung on the windy tree for nine whole nights wounded with the spear. Dedicated to Odin. Myself to myself. I must see my reflection to prove I still exist. Outside I hear the dragon coming closer, closer. Despratly I peel the tape from the mirror, breaking my fingernails, strip by strip until I stand revealed in the glass. And I stare into old familiar eyes...
No longer able to tell where the dragon ended and I began! Yet am I not the hero, the man of destiney? Have I not confronted the Great Dragon. Where then is my grail? My treasure horde? My final reward?
And suddenly, the longed for revelation comes in the form of a memory my mind had supressed. And it is only for me to revel in, in pain and suffering. I understand now what my memory tried to keep from me. Madness is born in the blood. It is my birthright. My inheritance. My destiny! I shall contain the presences that roam these rooms and narrow stairways of my mind. I shall surround them with bars and walls and pray they never break free. I am the dragons work...leather wings enfold me...
I see now the virtue in madness, for this country knows no law nor any boundry. I pity the poor shades confined to the Euclidean prison that is sanity. All things are possible here, and I am what madness has made me. Whole, complete, and free at last...Who cares for you? You are nothing but a pack of cards...in dreams I walk with you...
posted by Iudex Yasha at 10:39 PM
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