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| An unforseen disaster on the face of Order. |
Up from within our personal underworld disasters, seeps a badly cooked mess. Embroidered in the fecal tissues. Which in upheaval, blacken the mind’s clear sight, & the autonomous self.
WHAT?! …would you without a god, dare sing some tune to your own outright bitter triomphe amongst fat fools, the intellectually inferior, then kiss Goodbye a fallen daydream world?
Oh Dear me and you, who would seek a root in something else but the Aether around you breathing; ...
close these glimpses on your lost childhood and be a MAN.
For Antarctica is your secret stone. Your foundation. Inside, the turning capillary tubes suck the earthen grease. & thru your carnal pores ejects a brightness like the dew. A place of Honey and affectionate warmth. A refuge from those olden days where we so much loved only our useless mortal selves!
Those solemn days when women so much affectioned baking their tits under a scorching polluted sun.
How infinite we were! Eternal righteous beings. Better than the literary scum promenading the boardwalk in the grand cities of Babylon.
Yet Antarctica is built on a multitude of tombs. Hives’ nests in the ICE. Sucking in the leavened lard! Inside the earth it’s all an imbroglio! A Cosmic Joke.
But yeah! I’ll damn the bitterness through my blood and at Earth’s End my children will strike the lightning today into the feeble broken and shattered clay of Men. Cause God is One when the Man in our Blood awakens the true and only SELF.
Mine eyes are God’s when He sees in me His own kind!
Then afterwards, what was a furor in the North was and will be, only me; as God saw thru mine eyes. So He’ll see today, « now », & tomorrow.
If not. Then…I’ll just have to do a better job the next time, and make Him see like I do!
