Your outward body in this outside world is a False God to whom people constantly pray, to whom they pay their tithes offerings and hommage. It is the persistent shadow lurking of which often times they are so proud of, or has been the cause of all their deceptions,
...the dwelling place where your honorable and obnoxious personal adversary taunts deceitfully, keeping his bargain in the organic deal or existential lie, which has since, always been of an industrious perpetual complexity a subtle geometrically fluid construction, always in the making. The great spiritual blood sucker parasite.
Without your blood and spiritual inner earth and soil, there would be no mosaic mundane world with all its pretentious tragic merry making in a perpetual thrall from generation to generation unto eternity only to be devoured by death's cavernous charnel bosom!
Gehenna.
Gehenna.
You honor only shells and bones. Wood and nails and electrical circuitry. Things that vain men and women have invented, consolidated, imposed!
...a disastrous voluptuousness which has made prisoner (and this by your very own choice or accidental misgivings), the blood in its free flux, channeling the divine will far far away from its true supernatural intent. The true God, or invisible neter.
I will carry the flag of my dismay with a bounteous joy. The bright blackness will be my friend in all and every turmoil. What matter the bleak knoll where there is no longer any bell chiming. Who cares, if only love were your soul's motor.
You could dance on Aristotle's corpse, all previous academia wavering in the midst of blatant or surreptitious obstacles. All schooling just bad day dreams of a yester year!
Calamity on the beaches stranded in the sands of civilized vanity. Making wishes with a heart full of plastic and iron chaos.
Our blood makes this world quiver. Neither particules nor waves are a "matter" of importance. It isn't with free energy that the diabolical god has made or makes this earth and all its deadly corporality comme into being. It is...
...but your sacred and holy conscious blood, flowing thru the aether into this nothingness from a far off other Nothingness that abides beyond any shivering.
The real soul is cold like a diamond, in-adamant.
A mysterious transcendance contained by nothing!
Uncontaminated, incontaminable!
...an incomprehensible holy flux, the golden mean without any specific integral or geometrical proportion, emanating from beyond the northern crown, a perl drop in the abyss of wishful thinking, waiting.
...a disastrous voluptuousness which has made prisoner (and this by your very own choice or accidental misgivings), the blood in its free flux, channeling the divine will far far away from its true supernatural intent. The true God, or invisible neter.
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| Receiving the Universal Aether |
I will carry the flag of my dismay with a bounteous joy. The bright blackness will be my friend in all and every turmoil. What matter the bleak knoll where there is no longer any bell chiming. Who cares, if only love were your soul's motor.
You could dance on Aristotle's corpse, all previous academia wavering in the midst of blatant or surreptitious obstacles. All schooling just bad day dreams of a yester year!
Calamity on the beaches stranded in the sands of civilized vanity. Making wishes with a heart full of plastic and iron chaos.
Our blood makes this world quiver. Neither particules nor waves are a "matter" of importance. It isn't with free energy that the diabolical god has made or makes this earth and all its deadly corporality comme into being. It is...
...but your sacred and holy conscious blood, flowing thru the aether into this nothingness from a far off other Nothingness that abides beyond any shivering.
The real soul is cold like a diamond, in-adamant.
A mysterious transcendance contained by nothing!
Uncontaminated, incontaminable!
...an incomprehensible holy flux, the golden mean without any specific integral or geometrical proportion, emanating from beyond the northern crown, a perl drop in the abyss of wishful thinking, waiting.
Man with all his pomp lives in a great and terrible beguiling...inside a big cadaver decomposing. He frets and cries is happy sometimes, but the dying thing where death elates is an eternal damned environment of fighting and screaming.
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| Brother. |
