After St. John
This is the place before and after escape. All effort to get out of the city, or country to someplace where multitudes are not falling beside trucks, in roads, the privileged pacing by in trains and armored vehicles. No need press against the window panes. Why they let any peasants in is due the master plan, peace and happiness for every man. Play your saxophone dear. All your own reflection in the glass is as much in other faces, hearts, carrying as much into the beyond, no point describing, as some hotel or warehouse station of mind turnings. These fourteenth century conclusions were the norm. He actually carried John Gower's Voice of One Crying in his pocket, if you want to know the name of the writer. We want to know the derailment in dark, light instead of details to the point of entrainment, as if fiction, the details of imbuement, as if description of misery warms the difference, the smells, sounds, crowds shuffling. Is he alone as the eye or the ear that hears what none can say, no passenger or refugee yet, before the fact, before the fall, if you like to put it that evacuees have escaped scaffolds. If you don't know what any of this means it hasn't happened yet. Ignorance is not prevention, explains his pocket Gower, filled with apprehension I shall sing of true dreams whose import disturbs the depths of my heart. May he whom the Isle of Patmos received in Apocalypse, and whose name I bear guide this work.
So his advice was to go captive. Like swimming underwater, fish in tanks to survive a war. Not waiting in Weimar to start, or the wonders of survival in a locker under Dresden, sense impressions of real bailing out over Paris, the upstart that can't hear the noise of its own approach, to deny vapor trails of its rockets, to deny chemtrails of a war where ghosts flee the Judean fields. Shouldn't we be doing something about it, run to the street, warn the others, empty the mind so the cupboard jars don't explode and launch commandos? The fall is not yet. You wake up on the coast of a storm and swim out where the sun is having a beautiful day walking in September among comets. King Ranch that overwhelmed the blue stem had nothing to say of captivity, shadows of herd grown great, full length wasted gods on pillows. There would be no common breakfasts or dressing without bodies, or cruets, crocks and casseroles in these fantasies of the collective cup, the mass corp. So say it for him, Jeremiah his St. John, over and over state the unobvious, gofernment pages torn out of this philosophy that burns in the grate. We're going to speak for him a new reality but without the acrylic intellect where inmates know they are incarcerate. They know their rations, their cells, their collective tiers, stripes or pink underwear, jostling in the yard with shanks and tools of kindness. Insert the ipad and cell phone and a desktop to flick the waves, power earplugs and GPS wandering.
Next person up to have memory wipe and get rejuvenalized straight, couplets drilled flat, doilies surrogate to live reprogrammed in the heaven applauding episodes that remove anxiety, dreams working late at night to raise eagles and wearing a heavy shirt, a large eagle lands on his shoulder of the life you must know, while a smaller female lands in his lap, profusion of eagles that find the carcass gathering, and a baby eagle snuggles into his fur, the mother preening, while the father with claws next to his neck looks out, as if each were to bring the unique text written burning in acts of precognition, warnings before the fact, with a large white dog or a coyote, a dumpster around the corner he can't see, but knows and if those, St John, de nada, his portals, that hold the blue prints, Kyrie Eleison, a cappella under the casement, emaciates come to call sinners not the righteous, light in the dark of Last Words: Babylon shall certainly come.
Joined to
Atlas in the marriage castle,
the Governor with stones around his thick
fingers,
stood
unstaunched with all idols where Saturn
shrines of chaste scorpions, cedar and sycamore
shrines of chaste scorpions, cedar and sycamore
.
Organic golden idol priests, shields of brass
three years piled by
apes and peacocks in forests
plucked up by roots, come down upon the heads
of Cherubim in parks
by molten pools.
Houses in pomegranates prophesied with guitars
Trombones the last
words of Iron drawn by seers,
six fingered and toed the dissected giants
oracles
shouting in the tops
of trees to greet them.
The faces of lion-like men devouring
stripped heads of strangers for messages,
mighty famous men, who set up in rooms
among plants by the lake of lions.
It's about escaping, never arriving at any state different from the one we fled. One society exchanged privileges with another for controls. Always the same for those on top. Salvation comes in miniature one ounce packs. Freedom comes in smaller dreams that belong to someone else. Elijah said to be unconscious when awake blew everything up. Jars of pickles exploded while he mulled why one kernel went off and when. What was his gift spreading over London, no news to Washington, its body parts more seriously spread along its Thames. Gofernment cordons it off, rebreeds it, feeds it. Gogernment opposes forces. Superpods digest men with fluorescent mucous from past war sacrifice, from all the wars against the natural, the self, the other, nothing gorgonment but wars, the war to end them all appeared. Elijah, the man with four last names, who had a desk in no building, no desk unless the count books with their spanking covers, books and plants, rue where he grew monarchs from chrysalis, checked every day the progress of the rotting sycamore twenty feet up where grew carpenter bees, big black buzzers to inhabit the cracks and fly the hollowed stump over perhaps every burrow dug by tortoises on a human September grazed lawn. So he had a hand in the populations of Gambel quail that took refuge. Salvation comes in miniatures.
In docudramas the trouble comes from women, men, groups, rivals, from the Freedom that makes known those who harbor such thoughts: "this man and woman were the most profoundly beautiful human." That if you live well toward knowing, laugh rivers with people who don't want electricity, whose doubts against the Unknown remains of Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and the Great Basin will not wash away, Ohio long since gone, what seeds do were gone, sown, fallen in a harvest raised against wilderness scab-shriveled mold and armyworm during day winter pupa in soil. Physical hardened topographies reinhabit internal species. Civilized boots back Good up to the edge down the hill. The road winds and then the truck, backed up and in, bodies in mind piling up fox, bear, seal, hawk, coyote, horse, start to come apart from the unmaking glued back skins, beaded ridges marred as if none, nameless, to look at the faces below, diminish plateau, mountain and cave, a topography one can see. The face, the nose, the cheek, the brow that shades the eyes, one knee stuck out, arm down among hunchbacks, joined at the shoulder. One's a girl. The guy’s got an arm around her, looking down, praying something. Shoulders, heads, one, two, three long coats, hats on top, left on the rocks. Herringbone moving. Somebody hasn’t been born. People that play with clouds. An eye hidden in a cliff, toddlers in the rocks. The other arm sticking out, you know what that is? A bird on a roost or a fat monk. Don’t have names for them all, the samurai behind the back, an elbow down sits in a chair, knee to the left, shoulders right, entities of Collective Mind. All is One Forbidden, and after enlightenment don't worry, opinion like weather forecasts, Ophelia silent in the roar. That's the adagio.
If your mind was being controlled how would you know
If your mind was being controlled how would you know
If your mind was being controlled how really would it show
If your mind was being controlled how would you know
What do you want from me? She lay on the bed inhabiting meteorological circuits, sluicing an aural paranormal pancake dish, sacred chowder of the swamp experience broadcast to world packs. Depopulation syndromes, Ernst and Otmer Genomics, Franz Freud's Psychiatric conquest. Hegel initiate complication experiments in the Skinner Box, altered gunmen to cut holes in dog cheeks, volk thinning, illuminized Trojans light up the dark, giving and withholding stimuli without the visible defect.
They conversed at Ariel College with all the angels. A command psychiatrist induced infancy. Segmented mole shaping spectator belief implements of mental health, world cat-civ, hypnotic induction of psychopatisies dissolved into flowerine submission, the last occipitals of the narcopulsion. Lobe guaranteed bulbocapnine anthrosophy, occult germs of Margaret Mead, 1,2,3, depatterned anectine seas, EA 1729, mortars, missile milk, bust and bright children of the sun. Malinmouseki, Bateson and Terry Garcia, permindex express dosages of no mind, implantable transponders of mystic peasantry, synthetic fiber viscose, spin-segmented polycentric night, integrated net aversion, sphincters spliced long lasting on the floor.
Good car in garage, eyelids stamped open, heads strapped in chairs, depatterning Daniel from KZs, IP, tear, GOF torn in the big experiment, some sent to space, others into caves pretending its readyoactive monitor all the time from secret Hman experiment domes!
Daniel before him, Jeremiah, Elijah, and after St. John.
No comments:
Post a Comment