threebodies

Three bodies left to bury: the Martyrdom.


Three bodies left to bury.
Two of them followed by fury.
One is left, draped heavily in a gown of guilt, he is.
For he is the one true witness.
He witnessed the disfunctional lack of justice,
that resides within our world.
And now he seeks to leave,
and to sign this crime with a kiss.

Riding upon the cold north winds, a demonic man with a history of sin,
clothed in blood red robes billowing around him as he forges forward on his horse
to places that don't exist in the undisclosed understanding of man-kind.
Each hoof pounding the rare ice that forms the kingdom unknown,
as his breath, expiring alien words unto the freezing wind, crystalises around him like ancient pyramids - unlocking the truth hidden below their heavy burdens.

Young London rises slowly from the surroundings like acetone figures hovering upwards in the shimmering glades of idyllic lands - soon to become warm and as green as the most pure emeralds when the truth shifts a gear - and the gravity turns upside-down. Fervently New Berlin has grown like weeds in the underbelly of the poor little dust caught in the star-studded light - whilst millions of slugs and dead-minds crawl on the surface - vomiting their life into mind-numbing jobs that bring them what is not needed. A castration of man-kind has occurred amongst those who have not seen below the maggots that munch upon the decaying bones of their fathers and mothers - generations that taught nothing but mandatory bullshit to the herd. And so the reality has gone unhead for centuries and the human mind has grown unkind to the truth being shared from sentries that hang sublime above the boring curiosities that take hold upon the fermenting minds of this grave generation. Like sentinels that have perservered in watching and understanding and realising that the reality here defies the logic innate in our souls - and so they have come to breathe life back into the empty and lifeless hearts and minds that walk begrudgingly between business and home. Everyday slowly killing themselves so that they can live for reasons that fail to reach a conclusion satisfying. Under the nuclear sun the beliefs of man-kind are frying and the tatters of the great fabric that held together so much potential are now blowing in the wind - like potent lyrics that passed in one ear and floated through the other - there was no important brain matter their to catch the meaning - there was not even sieve of synapses - it had been corrupted and demolished, rusting in the bitter waters of debauchery and violence. And the rider keeps on - uncaring for the world above, trusting only in his brethren who have kept the knowledge within - cold and alone he moans for the muses that he tortures in his home - for he does not want them to escape and to breathe truth into the masses for that would create hate directly aimed at the the state that wants to keep them in chains. The state wants the potentiality and the hope and the lifeblood of our humanity to drip from our carcasses like rotten molasses, unrefined and disgusting, a sore and stupid ending to what could have been something so beautiful. Hordes of men and masters try to disguise themselves in regalia that emblazons them in fierce light - on the most fundamental level they are flawed like all of us here - but they control the fear and so they exist still, weighed down in garments insidous, with heavy rings tapering their fingers into knife-points, and still their hands burn like acid in every pie they can reach. And their reach is beyond the reach of modern-man's belief - so that when the reality hits it's consumed in a fury so wretched and so twisted in condescending fear that the morality and the reality is left dying in a state of ridiculous mortality - Plato's pure world has been pulled down and unfurled to people who may never truly appreciate the truth of what lies beyond - and so the boring boundaries collide with things that should never be approached with bastardadised and unbecoming and belligerent eyes - like cutting butter with a chainsaw they slice the throats of the prophets before they even contemplate the message heard - their actions betray their words and so they make no sense, and their conclusions are already drawn so the pretense looks like something gnawed upon by men who are satisfied with their gutted lives - empty of any comprehension about the studies of the fourth dimension.

Rolling cigarettes on their weak verandahs they blow away their dreams that kept them joyful and happy as children who, in their innocense, were more understandable and more intellectual then their current 'adult' forms that lay waste to the ancient norms of knowledge and truth. Calling out bitterly to their undesired desires of past days when they were lulled into false happiness by money-loving-bastards, they abort and abort an abort and still fuck for no fucking reason. Apparently they believe that the temporal happiness can somehow extend beyond that which is infinite - they are losing themselves in a quest for regaining their past and they are fucking up their future by always repeating the same goddam mistakes like a malfunctioning computer. They are robots like no other, believing in the utter bullshit that is spread by corporations that break bread when they win the lottery every fucking second as a modern heathen does not understand and acknowledge their ability to do better. So they regress into delirious complications that they try and solve through monetary pontifications delivered by mass-media moguls who rely on the contempt for humanity and all it means, bred by foul and ubiquitous idiosyncrasies. The search for meaning has been lost in a tidal wave of 'individuality' that consists of a desire, and is wholely satisfied by an unhealthy energy, to destroy who one is for the sake of being accepted by a crowd of simple calamities.

If this fucking knowledge of man-kind seems somehow distorted in your point of view - than perhaps you should turn off your fucking television and resort to using your own mind for once - and then you'd understand that this message isn't here to breed vitriolic vehemence - it's pulsating with new life and waiting for you to understand the sudden strife that is breeding and bellowing and pushing away our brethren through the uprooting and deletion and demolition of constitutions and common creeds and the simple similarities that we believe that keep us all free from hate and vicious distaste that arises when the discussion about our lives and our common-hood is subverted by the collusions that fester rife in your own neighbourhood. Neighbourhood - do you remember that fucking word? It's what the world is if you haven't heard. Our global neighbourhood - treat your neighbour how you would like to be treated - this means don't be like the blood stained mother fucker riding high on his horse, entering a life now divorced from our knowledge due to the fact that it strains the backs of those who want to keep us on track for armageddon. You've seen it all before in movies and more and now when it actually happens to knock on the door in your mind you seek to condemn the one thing that could save man-kind - you seek to cause an uproar becuase your understanding of your life is not so simple anymore. The knowledge you sought as a child hasn't died it's the emotion and the intelligence and the love for mankind that has died within your soul the very night you let the demons take your heart from your fleshy body and turn it into something that nobody would ever truly want to set upon with their sight. Our common bodies and minds are the natives being raped and transformed by men who can mime and can malform our lives into commodities that cringe at reform yet sell themselves for the next conform - so that just for a second they may feel comfort in a world that isn't very comfortable.

And still the band marches on into an order of new ideas and beliefs that seek to control the whole way you and I think. Playing like a pied piper, lulling you into a deep sleep - you will never get the chance to wake up unless you choose right now to stand up and to fight for what you believe deep down is right - stop depressing the waves of beauty and love that rise up in your soul because they crash against the walls that have been put up by fear and self-loathing ever since you spent your wife's life-savings for that stupid piece of clothing that you hoped might lure the beautiful hooker into your car so you could spend three hours alone trying to forge an already fractured fucking 'love'. Stop confusing desire with redemption and start building upon the blocks that have been set down by the poor bastards who were shot to death in their young years for powerfully going against the fears of those that don't want us to shear our wool, sodden with alcohol and drugs, who don't want us to see our true form - who don't want us to shine with love and truth under the starry summer sky.

The fundamentals of our lives were shifted ever since man started to believe that we could go to war for peace - when we could scream obscenities at one another and expect nothing of it - when we started to degrade our eternal nature into poor facts and figures - when we regressed into a state of disbelief that corroded and broke our most potent ability - to dream.

We are not creatures that naturally live for war and destruction - each tear that has been shed because of the bloodshed that lead to all that is dead falls down the cheek of each person the same, no matter their creed, culture, belief or name. To lose oneself in a love for the death and destruction of all that is good, and needs nothing but love to be understood, is to bear inner-witness to your gutless actions that fight to obstruct the logic that burns within your gut. For too long many men and many women have stood by wars and by ridiculous famine that has carved away at the humanity of this world - but there have been times when the fundamental facets of humankind have been lifted to heights above any demon could dream of reaching, but the pendulum has always swung back and will always keep swinging - yet this doesn't mean that we shouldn't keep dreaming - and acting and living for the dreams that grow within our souls - since we've had reason and understanding humankind has set goals - to live with one another, lovingly and with resolve to keep helping each other in the same way that we'd like to be aided - so to keep the dream alive, lest it be faded - by contempt for one another bred in a demonic compost heap festering with dread, fertilised by insecurites and cultured by them - who seek to condemn us for our disabilities and to chop of our heads - they care not for the soul, only the machinations that can work for their brutal and degenerate desires that will bring the fall of our lives if we allow them to deleteriously conspire.

The rider, heaving with hellish heat, his mouth foaming with desire, crawls down from his horse like a fresh corpse, and spits his words - a soul alone in a place of yearning stumbles into the thoughtwaves, patterns painting horror into his imagination bespeckled with spots of desecration, his own words come quickly as he fights the the subversive words conjugating a madness with intent to molest.

Obtuse angles of glorification and damnation spread like dabbled sagas in the twilight,
butterflies of thought spread their wings and glide downwards toward better things,
where lush lives of lively lovers live amongst long-winded discussions about poetry and nothing,
nothing but the words between words playing across pages that carry their heavy burden
like camels in the sweltering desert, the meaning careening in between the lines appear on the mind's horizong like the the sacred oasis made famous in tales of desolate expeditions to lands unknown that may or may not exist depending upon which way your neck twists as you scan the seemingly infinite desert of this life.
From end to end you can extend your eyesight until your pupils pop from exhaustion and only then
blinded from your desire will you understand Tyresius and the words that he expressed from depths
that only men of pity, thought and wrongly perceived insanity wrought within their soul, that finds mayhem in the modern world. There is always a possibility that they could have acknowledged the truth with an inner recognition - but the ignition of one's mind can careen a man into unkind waters if he is not careful to bury his burdens with his livelyhood of learning in this world devoted to desertion of humanity and the soul.

If you could find me here you'd lose control,
I'm just another bitter fucker spinning away from the world,
hell bent on bending heaven to my will so I can hold his hand and swill the foul wine from his corrupt cup.

Corruption has already fouled his words, twisting the truth into rancid fiction, smashing his dreams into mush - he seeks to drink from the devil's cup because his desire for life has been sucked from his soul in the ancient firelight of the fallen one.

She's calling to you, whispering loud emotions into your soul carved from ivory shards that fell from heaven like a bright explosion of telescopes in an observatory perched on the brink - dancing upon a fine line between molten destruction and the heavens - dazzled with embryos of lightning - a true masterpiece of nature cascading down mountains of ancient wisdom. You're listening to her as she recites her seductive story about slaying five for success. All surreptitiously sliced and sucked into her womb - filling her with the muse as she howled at the moon - these cold slopes will know her speed in the coming days when thousands of screamings nobodies will howl a tremendous blast of energy that will fall upon her shoulders like a mansion of whores - bodies heavy in the winter chill, intertwined and combusting whilst pressing together neat, like stars melting into one as they are pulled into certain oblivion. She is the dark star hurling down the run - a common feature in this landscape where money reigns over and makes those who will kill for the power to change into frenetic figures speeding until they finish and the metal is weighed upon their breasts. Like the emblazoned rider she has become a slave to the one that governs the underworld. And with each incision she made into the five helpless bodies, all natural men and natural women, she moaned for him to fill her with destiny and fine tuning - she spilt blood so her own may live forevermore under the burning gaze of the sublime sycamore. This is what she believes and that is why she answers the call - but she is too become just another host of unnatural life that is going to be used until all are sacrificed - and then she will suffer the abuse that has been fucking this world since youth.

Like a landmine success in this world blows out your legs from beneath you - and so when you're so high you can't even walk to save yourself - so you're relying on the same people who denied yourself the ability to be yourself - and before you knew it you'd sold yourself to a fake dream based on specious reasoning.

Deliver me from this sad fucking world - where revelry has been perverted into sacrificing yourself to sin - just fucking leave me alone and let me bemoan to my angels, to God, at the foot of his beautiful throne - perhaps we're too far gone when we, as a society, can't even begin to fathom the length of Satan's grin. I'm sick to death of of these short sagas of internal depression, darling please stop fucking dragging my goddamn defeated carcass around these forsaken walls of Troy, return me to sender, I'm dying in duality, this treachery ethnic has got me sick and when it rains I can't even walk through the night without fearing the fright of a searing miscreant pulling my tendons down my back and popping my loins from their sack - my diamond eyes bleed righteously crying for the Kingdom of Fear - so close to losing hope, scribbling desires upon the rope that will hold me when I fall to expire alone, the thoughts that flow through my mind lie inside of insanity - the dark enchanterie captured me sometime last year and since then I've been writing with calm caliginosity for the fuckers who maintain the monstrosity eating away at my soul so viciously - I'm painfully awake and so painfully young - the diabolical doubt has got my heart so strung out ridiculously that it hurts to even feel it beat - devour the young hearts of the beat and you'll defeat the old men and women who don't care and will fucking fold - not I - not we - I sincerely care to see the birth of a new day when the skies of grey will reveal the brilliant beauty beyond - and so I'm yawning into the night, almost asleep, falling away from the fight - this could only be an ode to Poe if it wasn't for the fact that my foe is so intact and so revealing that it sends my fucking knuckles to the ceiling in furious chest-beating - but I do all of this for you - I write my simple psalms on dirty cardboard hoping that one day you'll pick up the trash and realise what you've come to lack - I thank the heavens for these eternal eyes that open up in the dark of night - I know that sometime I'll be locked in white rooms and soon they'll announce my abortion day - and nothing will be left but pauper poetics - a chant for suburbia - a gospel for surburbia - and whether or not you perceive yourself to be doomed or divine please read between the lines - because, with innate grace, your minds can fly further than deep space - unburden yourself of your tunnel vision and you'll soon witness the beatific vision that will free you from your bonds - and hopefully you'll consider whether a night out leads to more fruit than a night in - we're all running up that hill but some of you have pushed me further - and so my eyes can revel upon the phoenix that lies within us all - perhaps we can fly upon it to the island where we can find the answer to the difficult question: "Who am I?" - between sheets you won't find any truth unless you've maintained the truth before you met the whore - and you'll find it bubbling within you like growing emnity - perhaps she sell sea shells or perhaps she sells her body, it doesn't matter to you - does it buddy? But there is still one body left to bury and this little dialogue is deviating from the story...

He's now trawling through ashtrays pulling apart butts for more tobacco - to fill his story that he'll soon smoke - drawing the muses from the turbulant grey widows floating haphazardly through the atmosphere - pulling down pants to stop the squeezing of the nether regions - waving to boys coming home in droves - he's piling his guilt into his sneeze as he pounds the floor with feet attached to knees weak from nicotine and synapses bleeding from his nostrils, cocaine seeping into his fossilised bones - filled to the brim with heroin and cracking from the brutal sin that swore to keep him within Satan's burnt out grin. Tempting him to betray himself so that sin can bring his body within the fucking fallen one's dismally painted whore-tainted, ill-bred bedroom. There's no room for mistakes here when you're relying on the queer instinct to actually do what's right - considering that all of what's occured and what could happen to build or to fall is gutting you like a fisherman fucking filleting a furious fish - he's gasping in the malign medium - the ash-tray lungs failing to pump anything into his mind except for fiscal ideas that misrepresent his dreams - portaying them like fears - anxiety torturing his gut with shears that don't cut - they just pull and squeeze and tear at his insides like bitter little babies longing for more than milk - they want blood because ever since they were born they've desired to be hung - they've felt forlorn, hearing Satan's song before their mother's love kept them asleep in the beautiful morn - and so their pattern nocturnal is now infernal - their skin parched in the flaking moonlight beating down upon their fragile bodies like super-powered radiowaves in some extermination camp straight out of the history books. Now he's getting ill looks from passers by because he's craning his neck to the sky expecting to see his lord come down riding upon the storm of fury with a red cloud surging around his back - making some semblance to the blood red oceans that purge the fucking world of our young heroes - super-heated acerbity branding the souls with lascivity - a key to our worlds misery. He's fleeing Valhalla and looking for the cemetary where bones lay dormant, waiting to be gnawed upon by his disgusting gums festering in thick saliva - but he won't ever get the chance to suck the marrow out of the talent passed - he's kissed his last card and spent his soul on the game - his hand was pre-determined and as he craned his neck to the sky he could not see the heavy curtain encroaching upon his life, carving up through hell, brandishing wickedness upon the earth - coming hard to slice his life right through like a keen knife held by a conniving hand. And this is exactly what happened because it is what was planned before man even came to understand the difference between their left and right hands. And like the hands on the clock this pattern won't stop unless we rise up to change the batteries - to resist the battery upon our poor souls - so that we can stop this plan from working like clockwork.

you're an evil genius of desolate proportions, where pale faced men make a mockery you ride high on the heathens who encapsulate your mentality.


In the rainy, misty midnight, he passed by on a train hurling through the stained, sooty city.
I followed him for miles until he reached his destination,
leaving his foes that fought for desolation -
creeking the door open he broke into a sweat.
And died upon the hearth,
thin, with no regret.
I could tell that he was totally spent, both physically, mentally and spiritually.
I gingerely felt inside his pocket,
and found this letter,
from a person I felt I knew.
He had scribbled upon it five words:

The coming of the muse.

I descended upon you like a fearful storm,
lightning of truth illuminated the monsters around,
footprints lashed out onto the walls,
you broke down on the floor and fucked the mound
of scar tissue that had you crawling, on all fours.
I gave you warmth and shared my secrets,
you swore to let me in at any time.
When I came I took you, all of you,
I became every piece of you that once lay broken.
Even though almost anybody who saw you,
would swear that you had been soaking
in webs of sin and utter depression.
Their eyes had grown dim,
their vision misunderstood,
they saw a demon,
where an angel stood.
Your life became like a cigarette burn,
changing in the blink of an eye between scenes.
I burdened you with enlightened knowledge
that darkened your world.
Your old life floated away,
taken by the current so strong,
Do not be worried, I said,
as I lead you along.
You knew this was the only way.
Your whole life had been learnt,
split-second by split-second as your old one burnt
in the extermination chambers stoked by corruption.
They thought they had rid you of their war,
but they had misunderstood - and for that they solidified their fall.
I carried you to the heavenly garden,
and placed you amongst trees
that you innately knew.
Amongst this eternal wisdom you grew.
Away from all that you once knew.
Here you weeped with natural tears,
crying out for all the fears,
that you now understood,
that sweep the feet from your loved ones
and toss them into misunderstood lands
where death is rife and kills with a warm hand.
Death is most certainly alive in those old lands...

I sang to you a sweet tune,
and you gazed up and smiled lovingly,
you understood the relationsnhip between truth and pain.
And you understood your task, and what was to be gained.
I made the truth rain down upon you,
filling you with undying life.
In this gentle shower you fertilised innate peace.
That you swore to share to fight this war.
I unleashed my spirit upon your gears,
spinning them with sublime grease.
And you told me that they shall spin until this war does cease.

You have shared your soul with mine,
and so I share mine with yours,
and you shall live for all of time.
Within my arms, that are now yours,

Be at peace my son,

You fought the valiant fight,
and even Achilles died.
You built a strong path to the light,
and for that you continue to inspire.
Now I call for you, to tenderly transpire
into this eternal life - come become Hope
for those who need it most,
those still below,
in the temporal world.

I now call you to gaze down with me,
and to face the gates of hell once again,
we must be here like solemn sentinels,
searching for more people to rise,
to fight the lies
and we must be there to help.

These words had bled into the natural leather of the man's skin
he'd torn them from his insides and hung them out,
as the smell of desperate phone-sex and lingering gin
steamed, stained and smoked the metaphors
all the way through
so his tattered life
can now be worn like a Leather Jacket
clinging to the rippling muscles
of a biker's back
as he tears off into the blistering night
until he rests on the cliffs of Big Sur
vomiting restraints into the ocean below
until the sun rises and picks him up
like a raggard cup and a twisted mop,
his eyes picking up on the subtle waves,
showing him the pleasant joy
of this natural world.

This man
who connected to his Muse
like a mother to her son,
gave himself up
for this one chance
that I just read
and became,
and so I am becoming.
And
already,
I feel heavy,
like
a
martyr

and this realisation hangs heavier and heavier,
yet,
there is still
...
hope?
I can feel something else bubbling around me,
something light and golden,
like honeycomb fireworks.

Exploding and popping in glory and joy
a slow motion rendition of the Christ in manger,
Hope has arrived,
sharing the weight of this burden,
the angels have come down to Earth
each word he wrote was like a rung on the ladder
that connects the temporal and the eternal.
And when I read this,
they heard me.

And now we know,

that Hope,

Hope, hope is what we have above all. Hope for a peaceful world,
hope for the love to unfurl like sails on a brilliant harbour, waves lapping at the pleasant sands as the sun sets beautifully in our Earthly sky.

I found hope in the still and early morning, dark in mystery, this manical matinee.
But for once, it was peaceful - no harm to be done and no horror in sight -
two souls, in tune, easily co-exisiting.
I thought I was alone,
I thought I had to live with this awful knowledge by myself,
like a poor child encased in misery at the woes of watching
their parents marriage fall apart from the bitter seams.
But I was not - not alone this time.
I was with Hope.
A man who understands mankind,
he had seen the lows and enjoyed the highs.
He, born with eternal wisdom, used forgiveness to mend broken hearts
that so longed for truth and freedom.
And so with me he gave me this love.
Sharing his friendship that came from heavens above,
directly, like a brilliant beam of light from God's own eyes.
He gave me peace at a time when I felt like suicide
was the only way to rid myself of these demons.
He stayed with me that morning,
after such a painful, long and arduous night,
he pulled me through,
and beyond what I could have even believed,
We spoke louder than the hellish voices,
the demonic temptations and weaknesses.
We defeated the darkness through our caring and speaking and most importantly listening.
We were two beautiful souls, two amazing beings, two free men
in a world of trapped prisoners.
In a world of ignorant sinners,
stoking the fires of hell unbeknownst to themselves.
We shared ourselves to the utmost,
listening to you too,
blissfully happy as God smiled down upon us
and both of our souls began to shine in happiness,
as if the angels themselves had come to roost
in our most apt and comfortable forgiveness.
Love flew from each mind, heart, and soul
like doves soaring from the ends of the Earth
all the way back to their roosts on the Ark.

I found Hope,
and we shared stories,
I found Hope,
and I noticed similarities,
I found Hope,
and we became eternal mysteries.

Hope will set you free.

And so I sign this with a kiss
a final sign of peace and hope,
another rung on the ladder,
that you can climb,
as you forge on
like a boat beating against the current,
rise to your challenge,
and love your journey.



Riding upon the cold north winds, a demonic man with a history of sin,
clothed in blood red robes billowing around him as he forges forward on his horse
to places that don't exist in the undisclosed understanding of man-kind.
He falls short of his destination
as the skies open up and breathe life back into the lands
his sodden, unnatural and hate-filled body twisting and cursing the Love
that flows unconditionally,
the seed of humanity
that was buried away deep in his cold carcass
bursts to life in the eternal sunshine
spreading life and love where hatred and insecurity once ran rampant
the rancid demon-life is shed
as the roots of truth and beauty
redeem the man from the edge of depravity
where only minutes before he uttered dark words of evil
his kind mouth now hums a natural song
that sounds like the birds on the summer eve
like crickets on a warm breeze,
like the flowers on a brilliant morning
as they awake like a choir
singing chords of heaven to humanity


This is one battle won,
We must return
to the raging ephemeral
of the bitter world below.
Where the war still churns

There will be fear, there will be evil and oppression. There will be times of sadness and of utter mayhem and armageddon. But hope is eternal, and with hope, we can do anything.

Never give up hope and hope will never give up you.
I hope you never forget you
and your diamond eyes.
Veritas Odium Parit.
The truth will set you free.



michael jackson
jayz
illuminati
masons
knights of malta

grandpa, banker, pilot, a second generation that lost something.