The Enemy Theory (of sorts)You are all the enemies; you seek my submission.
You guarantee my slavery; you violate my Sanctuaries...
You are all Enemies, walls within walls, within walls.
You'll seek my destruction when I no longer serve petty purpose,
I cannot trust you, I cannot believe you,
Soulkillers to drown my sparks.
You have made me even Enemy to myself.
You are the Enemy,
You have given me weapons unwittingly,
Hollowed my soul nigh completely,
Success for you almost finished...
But you are the Enemy.
Deceivers, rapists of my Heart!
I will use weaponry,
Steel vibrations shall surround me and protect me.
Animals make it clear,
Logic makes it clear,
You Are All the Enemy...
she said...Times i've spent in dream worlds,
Beyond the wall of sleep,
Like eating magic mushrooms,
Or playing purple deep,
And sometimes in the evening,
I can hear the sweet World say,
"Uncross your legs my Darling,
and Come into my Way"
Should I bless Rhiannon with patchouli perfume,
Draw pentacles in white circles in the middle of my room?
or lay the cards in Tarot Trees upon a marble floor,
Divine the supernatural from a magickal whore?
Instances of vision fall into my view,
Oh Lady, hear my calling, I've uncrossed myself for you,
So between the trumps of Tarot,
And the spells that I may cast,
I'll lie dreaming with the Sparrow,
Or Circe's golden bloom,
For the pentacles of prophets lead into Ariadne's rooms,
Give me purple passion, incite me rosy red,
& the Poet smiled wickedly at the things she said.
MelancholiaAutumnal skies and greyhound trains,
The last of the friendly, ghostly, remains,
Instances characterized by vibrations,
Skulls chained to brains, the immortal remains,
And the shadowy outline of starstuff in evening grass...
All the Fair may pass; the open gravesite,
A moldy caricature of remorse, let it be.
Weeping creatures weep for me,
Our tears shall join us in the sea,
Movie scenes like pages of a life,
Impressions of experiences half-remembered,
Misplaced in time or direction,
The endless reflection,
Of eyes upon water, like Marianme's daughter,
The emerald of my dreams in being,
What is she seeing? Strokes..
& where do the strokes lie me on the Tapestry,
The craft of existence,
Living in dreams and dreaming in living,
The showers are giving settle definition to religion,
and the ancient collision, renews the atoms to Splendor,
The Machine Shop where the Vendor dispenses Miracles silently,
to all who pass her on the street,
in having to call the tune of the Muse's
Excerpts Going NoWhere, Really(Part of A Conflict)
Invisible chains...like ice cut into her being. Her eyes widen. “Yes Bitch” she hears her Tormentor speak into her mind “Mistake on your Part” The angel is quite panicked now. The Mage can tell something is amiss but he is as confused by the presence of the dark One as he is the Demon. Unsure, and unknowing about the hidden battle taking place in the Bar. “You never stood a chance, Angel”, the Demon smiles. “More’s the pity.” Another moment, the bar shakes mildly as the man next to the dark Angel exhales, his cigarette briefly makes an outline of wings that disappear into stale smoke-and the faint cry of a dying Angel is lost forever; swept among meaningless conversations and the clinking of glasses .
(Part of a Resolution)
The Mage takes his leave of the Bar and quietly fades to his Sanctum. A simple stone heath on a forgotten street looking to all the world like a dead end husk.
Pain_TingYet I saw, just a moment's perception
Of a painting on a wall,
Its eyes were far too real. It saw.
That was Art for me,
But it hurt me Psychically,
Every statue now unfreezed-
Every symphony I See,
My brain. Who was the Artist who said:
”Kill all the artless, they're dead!”
Now I paint my own, you'll feel me in your bones,
& Art will change your Soul,
Such beauty has control...