Thursday, December 17, 2009
Icey Stares
Icey sparks on the pavement flashing from frozen, vacant stares of soul-less mechanical caricatures rendered mindless and numb...
By the Hands of Slaves...
Who am I to ask the reason why?...but I ask it just the same.
In the end it is only we to blame.
Slaves have built the empires...we've created our own prisons.
The shackles that bind us were forged with our own hands.
Why?
The majority of men are enslaved by our own stomachs
we stretch out our hands to recieve the burnt bread and bitter wine of our captors...
we bow our heads reverantly...humbly taking our sacrements...the payment for our alleigience.
Why?
If the empire will fall it must be by our own hands
We can either accept our fate or exchange our lives for the hope that our children will be free.
We choose to live with a yoke on our back or die with a sword in our hands.
Round and Round...
As the world spins round and round...
The subjects of the kingdoms toil beneathe the wrath of the sons of ancient patriarchs...
heirs of thrones consumed by the zeal of their fathers house.
As the world spins round and round...
The Warriors Unite...
led by the Rebel Sons of Pardition...
those first-born sons of the Earth who were robbed of their blessing, castrated, bastardized and exiled.
The Slaves Revolt...
fighting against the oppression of tyrantts bent on the conquest of the very substance and essence of Nature and the Human Spirit...
As the world spins round and round...
The Empire Falls...
but soon another temple will be erected from the ruins of the old...
and once again the earth will be soaked with the blood of brothers slaying brothers.
The generations will forever be haunted by the blood of the martyrs crying from the ground.
As the world spins round and round.
Dualities of One
Death.
Life.
Beginning.
End.
The empire crumbles to be rebuilt again.
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
Treasures destroyed by moths and rust
Good.
Evil.
Darkness.
Light.
The void and the substance
the wrong and the right
Reflections.
Shadows.
Laughter.
Tears.
The pains and the joys
the love and the fears.
Shadows.
Illusions.
Bodies.
Souls.
The times and the places
the fire and the coals.
Destruction.
Creation.
The Light of the Sun.
Someday we'll all Return to the One.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Tale of Man and Chicken.
In the beginning, the chickens were wild and free and roamed to and fro about the earth, flying and soaring over it...feeding and copulating freely under the great ball of fire in the sky. They rose to it's majestic beams cutting thru the branches of the pines...echoing their salutations with boasts of their conquests...offerings to the alpha and omega. From the Sun comes all things and to the Sun all things will return.
To the chickens, the gods granted the gift of flight and bestowed upon them the authority over all the beasts of the field. Even the man looked up in awe as the shadow of a chicken passed over head. But to man, the gods revealed to them the knowledge of the Sun. With this knowledge man was able to harness the energy of the Sun to create fire and they learned how to plant seeds in the ground to propagate and multiply the plants they depended upon for sustenance. Man became filled with pride and took the sun for granted worshiping the works of his own hands and placing his throne above the heavens claiming ownership and possession of the earth.
Because of their superior knowledge the man enslaved chicken-kind by tricking them into being dependent upon them for their grain. As the chickens became dependent on the man they became like him...fat and lazy and poor of eyesight...they lost their ability to soar over the clouds and began to scratch and peck at the earth, grazing on harvested seed from the hand of the man. This is how the man robbed the chickens of power and enslaved all of chicken-kind. They robbed the chickens of their freedom, locking them in cages harvesting their unborn off-spring, chopping off their heads and pulling out their feathers...roasting their naked bodies over stoked fires and consuming their scorched flesh.
I've heard tell of wild chickens that still soar over the amazon rain forest...giant man eating chickens...remnants of prehistoric beasts that long ago held their throne as the kings of the earth...or maybe that is just a legend or fable...now, in this modern age of man, kings shed the blood of innocents as they fight over the black sludge from the decomposed bones of these long deceased tyrants.
The man has created a false universe, composed their own arbitrary systems of "order" that revolve around a nuclease of energy that depends on the destruction of organic life in order to exist. They have become shortsighted, blinded by greed and illusions of power...they have forgotten that everything revolves around the Sun...they forget that even the energy that is stored in the sticks they rub together comes from the Sun and to the Sun it will return.
In the dead of night the coals hiss and the smoke rises into the heavens returning to the source of all that is.
To the chickens, the gods granted the gift of flight and bestowed upon them the authority over all the beasts of the field. Even the man looked up in awe as the shadow of a chicken passed over head. But to man, the gods revealed to them the knowledge of the Sun. With this knowledge man was able to harness the energy of the Sun to create fire and they learned how to plant seeds in the ground to propagate and multiply the plants they depended upon for sustenance. Man became filled with pride and took the sun for granted worshiping the works of his own hands and placing his throne above the heavens claiming ownership and possession of the earth.
Because of their superior knowledge the man enslaved chicken-kind by tricking them into being dependent upon them for their grain. As the chickens became dependent on the man they became like him...fat and lazy and poor of eyesight...they lost their ability to soar over the clouds and began to scratch and peck at the earth, grazing on harvested seed from the hand of the man. This is how the man robbed the chickens of power and enslaved all of chicken-kind. They robbed the chickens of their freedom, locking them in cages harvesting their unborn off-spring, chopping off their heads and pulling out their feathers...roasting their naked bodies over stoked fires and consuming their scorched flesh.
I've heard tell of wild chickens that still soar over the amazon rain forest...giant man eating chickens...remnants of prehistoric beasts that long ago held their throne as the kings of the earth...or maybe that is just a legend or fable...now, in this modern age of man, kings shed the blood of innocents as they fight over the black sludge from the decomposed bones of these long deceased tyrants.
The man has created a false universe, composed their own arbitrary systems of "order" that revolve around a nuclease of energy that depends on the destruction of organic life in order to exist. They have become shortsighted, blinded by greed and illusions of power...they have forgotten that everything revolves around the Sun...they forget that even the energy that is stored in the sticks they rub together comes from the Sun and to the Sun it will return.
In the dead of night the coals hiss and the smoke rises into the heavens returning to the source of all that is.
Monday, August 31, 2009
The Sidewalk Painter
it's a labor of love but mostly for the sake of my own sanity. the picture starts in my head, though sometimes i have to try to make it out when it's done...i'm dreaming of butterflies and screaming in pain, painting a blue sky in the pouring rain, can i talk to you? will you stop and listen to me? i'm not done yet... i love you. do you want to know my name? i know you would love me if you could see beyond my frame. please don't walk on by, give me just a moment of your time. can you hear me over the ticking of the clock? can you see your reflection in the the canvas? try to make it out through the shadows... the picture starts in your head. it's mostly for the sake of your own sanity... it's a labor of love...and it's not done yet.
Bordertown Riff-Raff
He's just your average bordertown riff-raff thumbed a ride out of El Paso, crossed that line in the desert sand, headed south where the cocaine grows. Running from child-support, bills and rent, speaking broken spanish with a southern accent, searching for a place to rest his bones. Met a senorita so young and full of life who over a margarita he asked to be his wife, and they settled down and made themselves a home. But there wasn't enough Tequila in all of Mexico to satisfy the thirst of his dry and thirsty soul, and once again the drifter began to roam.
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