After the Flood - Chapter 7 Resplendent Understanding

When we have understood what is to be done, then there is no thing left but to do what is to be done, to the dereliction, mayhem, malice, folly and disgust of all. This is a position that allows one for no easy alternatives and it is in such a position that one can come to a true understanding of things.

The understanding that people, for whatever reason are weak and controlled by nothing else than the urge to rule over the precipitous and frail nature of others, is a bewildering and disconcerting one. Sadly, such a position on the basic scale of human existence subsists and I have to say I prefer the world-view of the madman in comparison to the semi-inept road to compromise preached by these, these... living dead.

I can understand evil as a will to power but I cannot and never will indulge in the semi-moist feeling that mediocre comfort is the thing governing the destinies of all. So if my only alternative is between pure darkness and pink faggotry, well then! The die has been cast a long time ago and the answer will not be a long time coming.

I feel a tranquil breeze all around me and I am now sure that all voices have stopped, even for a while. But then again that is the price one must deface the persona with, in order to keep the vessel and the soul intact.

And no, for all you would-be skeptics and laisse-faire kind of individuals with an artificial semi-digested response to anything that is not the skinny and indefatigable desire to achieve uniqueness through what you perceive as a path... I have this to say - YOU HAVE GOT IT ALL WRONG, YET AGAIN, BECAUSE IT ALWAYS TAKES WHAT YOU WILL PROBABLY NEVER TRULY POSSESS.

That being said, I believe that there is nothing more left to say.

Except for the very vital truth that is nothing more than a child and its basest emotionality coupled with the mind-set of a mercenary.

The games are over. We are playing for keeps from now on.

PS.

PS. Women are not sad, they just have a totally different sense of humor!

After the Flood - Chapter 6 Desolation Flows

It flows, our desolation. Life is just a SAD JOKE but it is beautiful!

OBLITEROL

OBLITEROL

is a funny drug
it makes a puppy look like a thug
it gives you the feeling it is the dice that you roll
'cause you just fucking bought some Obliterol
and you want to feel like you fucking feel how to feel
the feel of the feeling and thing and the reason for why
your gold makes like a phone as it ring ring rings
SO WHY THE FUCK WHY? OBLITEROL?

Obliterole, like profiterole and a mole from Morocco
and the Prince of Monaco
and candy and cake
and the pussy of the Lady of the Lake
the celestial vaginas
and freaky shit from FREAKIN' China
like Obliterol will make like to feel
you SHOULD SORT of INCLINE YA!
TO BUY ONE OR TWO OR A PLASTIC VAGINA!

so take it AB LITERAL and make it AD LITER AD LITER
ADD PANCAKES AND JAM
and do fly Pan Am or Emirates like the CARPET ALLADIN AND I
and the zade from SheHere and the mystic thin air of an OPIUM BAKE
and some fucking wedding cake - YOU DEFINETLY GONNA NEED THAT

OBLITERATE NOT obliterol more
until you will get to the core
which is just some shit on the floor
of our big PLAY ROOM
where we learn how to play at REACHING THE MOON
and other shit too, like it says
when some bum plays the Kazoo
and Bob Dylan too
and all the great people from the past
from Mozart to Einstein to Bach
and Jack the Ripper and Hitler and The Count von Masoch
and Sade and his sad SheherezaDD
and Luther and Elvis and Louis the King
and Louie the IVth although maybe not
but definetly Jean Pabtiste THE MOLE Poqueilein
and Paul Verlaine and the other French fucks
and Daffy of Ducks and the Rabbit of Bugs
and Donald and Goering and Harold the PintER
and CRAP

OBLITEROL THAT YOU LAZY MOTHERFUCKERS!

Don't ruin my Circles!

Sicily. The end of the second Punic war. Carthage is salt and earth and Hannibal has fled like a ghost in the night.

The Romans need to ensure superiority. Kill the enemy but defeat his allies and if they do not submit sprinkle the ground with their blood and guts so they must know not to mess with Marius and his new legionaries. BUT capture or lure their scientists to your side of the fence.

Archimedes was a Sicilian, a man born in one of the last Greek colonies of the Mediterranean. Arhcimedes was a genius born at a time of war.

Archimedes was cool. Everybody likes the Eureka line or the I made a mirror so big once the sun reflects on it it will destroy you like a beam of the sun a particle of ice in the laser sort of thing by splicing the spectrum, but then again, fuck that! Modernity invented that, who gives a fuck about some Greek guy who died in the Punic wars... Hm? It is like the Pubic Wars but it happened before Playboy and Penthouse for all you wannabe SMART HUMAN BEINGS OUT THERE...

So as I was saying. I like another of this particular genius' one liners- DON'T RUIN MY FUCKING CIRCLES MUTHERFUCKER!!!

So the Romans did what they had to. THEY TOOK HIM FOR A RIDE... TO THE SEASIDE...

CAPISICI?

After the Flood - Chapter 4 Discovery

Eureka! I have found it! I always wondered why and now I know why. And now I know why I know because I have understood what I did Know naught a long time ago...

It had come to him, he had arrived to it, and when it all clicked like a Sephirote in the diamnond sky of His own perception, he did not care anymore.

It is all the same age-old story of Discovery. The hazardous journey, the unimmaginable and silly accident and the genius who already knows he just has to wait until everything clicks. And that the human he inhabits is FUCKING LISTENING!!!

Take Newton. I will reproduce his stream of thought:

NEWTON: Stupid stupid scientists! They not know nothing! Me try explain I know more but they not listen!!! FUCK!
NEWTON'S GENIUS: Shut the fuck up! Think goddamit! Remember to think!
NEWTON: Sink?
NEWTON'S GENIUS: Nevermind. Chill. Find a chilly place and think about how useless the other idiots are. Fuck that. Go take a nap!

Newton naps it out. And then naps in WHEN...

NEWTON: What fuck hit me in head? Stupid apple fall from tree and hit I in skull while sleeping. I hate these laws of this world. Why can't apple not fall from ground?

CELESTIAL TRUMPETS AND HEAVENLY TITS ENSUE ON THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES...

NEWTON'S GENIUS: Because

In the absence of force, a body either is at rest or moves in a straight line with constant speed.
A body experiencing a force F experiences an acceleration a related to F by F = ma, where m is the mass of the body. Alternatively, force is proportional to the time derivative of momentum.
Whenever a first body exerts a force F on a second body, the second body exerts a force −F on the first body. F and −F are equal in magnitude and opposite in direction.[note 1]

and...

F = mg, where m is the mass of the body and g is a constant vector with an average magnitude of 9.81 m/s². The acceleration due to gravity is equal to this g. An initially-stationary object which is allowed to fall freely under gravity drops a distance which is proportional to the square of the elapsed time. The image on the right, spanning half a second, was captured with a stroboscopic flash at 20 flashes per second. During the first 1/20th of a second the ball drops one unit of distance (here, a unit is about 12 mm); by 2/20ths it has dropped at total of 4 units; by 3/20ths, 9 units and so on.

NEWTON: Me must invent images and electrics and...
NEWTON'S GENIUS: Chill. Just take it as it comes... You just discovered you're sitting on a big apple. They won't understand that, so talk about yourself more and make them work for it!

And so on and so forth...

But how cool was Archimedes. In a bath-tub, while probably jerking off! What? Bath-tubs?!!! How did that slip by our scientific perception for so much time!!!

So just chill. Discover. Don't watch Discovery Channel. Be the DISCOVERY CHANNEL of your own mind.

JUST PLAIN MEGALOMANIA...

ART IS A DRUG. LIFE IS A PATH. USE THE DRUG TO TAKE THE PATH...

AND NEVER LOOK BACK!!!

ME

I am a secret poet writing messages in books
I am a poet leaving messages to secret crooks
I am what I am because I've been in all the nooks
I am that which is, as a writer is
I am a crook and a poet who writes about secrets and vice
I have uninstalled the only device
It keeps all your heads in a vice
But that's not for me.
I watch the horizon for shit and surprise
I do not believe in demise
But I do believe in leisure activities...
Now excuse me, I'll go watch some striptease!

+

A RIDDLE

Smart but not even close to be true.
Close but not too close;
It's not even smart and quite very far from the true
Meaning close.
But not true...
Here! Have a cigar!

P.S. That's the clue!

Dead people, they're like the living... but dead!

The dead people who are alive, or the living dead... as they are affectionately called. My god man! What interesting specimens I dare say. Nothing short of bewildering. An amalgam of balderdash, confusion, misshaped dreams and idealism.

They are perfect targets, these living dead, for honing one's skill in the Arts. What incredible prospects they present in all their vulnerable glory. My god man! They're like a rabble of Dodos asking for it. Nay! They are absolutely praying for it!

Delusion my friends, delusions of grandeur and a soft shell, like that of a sea turtle's hatch-ling and its moist carapace. Soft targets I would say... Soft and in great abundance.

Can you dissect the living dead? Most surely. I would say that they present themselves pro bono for a quick dissection of their innermost. Their so called suffering amuses me the most. That and their total lack of emotional intelligence coupled with the semi-illiterate notion that they know what the world is all about.

And what if it's made up of nothing they think they "feel inside" ? What if it would be made up of the exact opposite, and all in all it would not even be about that but it would be about a great puzzle they never thought of solving?

The living dead?! Bah! More like the living room dead, or the waiting room people waiting for the Death Train to ride by their lives so that they may declare they did not take it because they are too dead to move... Come on!

IS THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT YOU MORONS?!

I hear these word being flung around like: FEELINGS and EMOTIONS and shit. What the fuck is that? They are not those kind of words! Then again if you really come to an understanding of WORDS you soon discover that none of the WORDS one tosses around are words but WORDS. And one does not toss around words. It's like throwing live hand grenades into a trampoline wall and then playing squash with the eventual rebound, using your emotions as a racket.

That is not artistic, that is not profound, that is not enlightening nor is it liberating, it is simply MORONIC and stupid! And suicidal. Just putting the last one out there. Who knows... maybe someone decides to bite a bit off Reality in this night-morning-full moon sunset sunrise in the East... crap... thing...

Poetry ensues:

THE LIVING DEAD

the living dead hang by a thread
between this life, the next and a slight thickness of the head
their skulls resound and rebound from their hearts to their sex to their heads
they think and discuss of great wondrous expanses of ground
but it's just the echo of the empty i.e. A SOUND...

YES YOU ARE DEAD, the skull it did said
YES YOU ARE NUMB, the heart did resound
YES YOU ARE NOT BUT WHO KNOWS, MAYBE SOON YOU MIGHT WANT TO, but the sex falls asleep just ahead of the nerve
YES IT IS I THAT AM YOU, their heads talk to them about old things that can never be new
BUT ANYWAYS, BEWARE OF THE CURVE! AND BE MINDFUL OF VERBS... they hurt like a motherfucker!

the living dead remind me of things old and new
they are like a funny cue, just when you're about to feel a new plot will ensue
you cannot but rue the plot that ensues; it is all a ruse to amuse, for the dead
they think that if they play at being confused they can feign their living attendants
and hope not to catch you.

the muse that doth still peruse whilst skipping its cues...
but you, but you... meaning I who are intentionally missing the cue...

hilarity will most definitely ensue...

I AM QUITE SPECIAL YOU KNOW, the living who thinks it is dead moans like a crow
I DESIGN MY DISGUISE ON THE GO, ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF BRIGITTE BARDOT

DO YOU NOW, i resort to the retort, WHILE OBSERVING THE SNORT IN ITS WORT

I AM DIVINE, ON ME THEY RECLINE, FOR FEATHERS AND WINE AND MUCH COMPANY, THE SWINE

YOU DON'T SAY, i say without thinking or really caring, oh well...

I AM GOING TO HELL, it says

HELL? HELL? AH! hell! QUITE WELL! i heard it's lovely this time of year, but i do not say that
HELL IS SWELL! LET'S DINE IN HELL, i lie as the spider does lie to the fly...

WILL YOU COME WITH?

WHY THE HELL NOT! this place is boring i guess and i would like a caress but i do not say that...
EVER HEARD OF CHESS OR BACKGAMMON CARDS, THE FUNNY RETARDS, FRENCH PHILOSOPHERS LIKE LYOTARD AND MICHEL FOUCAULT AND BRIGITTE BARDOT?

BIRGITTE? BRIGITTE BADOT! THAT IS ME! C'EST MOIS!

QUOIS?

OUI OUI!
wee wee? YES! YOU MEAN YES!

YES AND NO, BECAUSE I READ JEAN JACQUES ANNAUD!

DIDN'T HE DIRECT MOVIES AND SUCH?

I DON'T IMDB MUCH...

WELL YOU SHOULD, IT'S LIKE... NEVERMIND. TELL ME ABOUT WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND.

ME MYSELF AND I IN A FUNNY DISGUISE AND MAYBE AN OGRE OR TWO, A FUNNY TATOO AND MY EGG YOLK SHAMPOO, A GOLDEN DOUBLOON, THE BLOSSOMING MOON, A BLACK-WHITE RACKOON AND THE TRAIN FROM MUMBAY TO RANGOON

YOU SOUND JUST LIKE A LOON...

DID I MEAN TO SAY THAT TOO SOON?

WHAT? YOU THINK I AM GOING TO SWOON?

WELL ONE OF US SIMPLY HAS TO DO THAT.

FINE. THE SWOONING IS DONE! NOW, LET ME TELL YOU THE PUN!

THE PUN?

IT IS ALL A JOKE YOU HALF-HUMAN YOLK! YOU BLUNDERING HALF-RETARDED EMOTIONAL BALOON! DO YOU SEE THIS SPOON? i take out the spoon... I CAN WRITE WITH THE SPOON ON YOUR HEAD AND ALL THE MEMORIES FROM YOU THEY WILL... NO. THEY HAVE JUST FLED. INTO MY WONDERFUL HEAD... LET ME SEE. AH! CHILDHOOD AND TRAUMA AND MUMMA. I SEE.
i kiss on the lips, i check all the organs and between the hips. again i find some lips... they are sticky and red and blood rushes all the way to my head... such a pornographic and lustful cad i am, but just for a tad and then back to work after the finishing bolt and the ensuing sexual revolt! so where were we?
ah, the breasts between which the vital organ it rests. YOUR SEX IT IS FINE, NOW PLEASE DO RECLINE AND DON'T TRY TO WHINE, IT IS I WHO AM TRYING TO DIVINE!

THE HEART
it is like a tart
it takes a bit of art
so try not to fart
i might damage some clockworks in there
and do not despair
i am doing my best
by helping you on the way to pro-gress
but i must digress
your heart she is ready to start...

that's quite a lot, i thought! i thought it is dead but it thinks, does it naught?!

THE HEAD
all but fled
in order to repair the head one must go back
to the place where it starts
to the heart but not the one in the breast but the one
from whence the brain starts to depart

THE SEX
strange concotion of vice
a dreamy device if one knows how to splice
pleasure and anguish and one does by-pass the price
methinks i will have it thrice
and i will visit again
and again and again
the sex needs lots of works
like a masterpiece, each has it quirks
but i am a master and i have my own perks
that come with their quirks...

TINKER TINKER TINKER

ET VOILA, MADEMOISELLE BARDOT! YOU HEART SHE IS FINE, YOUR HEAD, WELL.. NEVERMIND... AND YOUR SEX SHOULD BE BY NOW IN SOME STATE OF DIVINE REVELATION!

QOUIS?

NEVERMIND. CONGRATULATIONS. NOW YOU ARE ALIVE!

IS THAT SOME KIND OF JOKE?

YES! YES! NOW FUCK-OFF AND GO BE HAPPY!

MAN, I FEEL CRAPPY!

AHA! NOW YOU'RE STARTING TO GET?

WHAT?

WHAT THERE WAS TO GET - THAT NO ONE IS DEAD UNTIL THE TIME FROM THE BODY IS FLED. NOW GO BE ALIVE AND GO FIND A TRIBE OR SOME SHIT. YOUR TIME IS NOT YET. JUST ENJOY THE HIVE. AND REMEMBER: YOU ARE NOT DEAD, BUT ALIVE!

FUCK YOU!

YEAH YEAH! FUCK YOU TOO!
CALL ME?


Man! Dead people! They're like the living, but more, and they have unresolved issues no one can resolve, except themselves and me. But I don't come cheap!

After the Flood - Chapter 3

Leviathan Lore

Being now as I am on the Earth and understanding the concept of its Movement sans or avec Pendulum: I do not need a point but the understanding that a point is the residual convergence of lines that cross the surface of things, I will discuss the Leviathan.

The Leviathan is a huge monster by which you are engulfed. It is not a white whale, it is not the Ark of Noah nor any other sort of object or being, it is the Earth and its gravity. Upon this Leviathan of illuminated consciousness, there lurk the beings we entrust our cerebral waves to and most all of the times we choose these waves to be the darkest our beings can produce. The Behemoths lurk upon the scaly skin of our Leviathans. Our Leviathans and not The Leviathan. We are not so smart as to surely say what The Leviathan is made up of. For we have but scarred its surface, we did not go into the depths, as Jules Verne once did with his imagination.

Anyway. Speaking of the Lore of the Leviathan. One must start from the sudden realization of wordage. HUGE, INCOMMENSURABLE, UNATTAINABLE, UNTOUCHABLE, INFINITE. Now, these words have been around for quite some time, between 5000 and 1000 odd years. They meant something and they still mean that same thing, whether we would like to admit it or naught, irregardless of what French constructivist stream of thought we adhered to before discovering that we are in the hypocritical process of self-destruction through the post-modern bullshit arts of de-constructivism.

WHETHER WE LIKE IT OR NOT, as I was saying, these words express the Leviathan. And they reffer to our physical limitations. OUR PHYSICAL LIMITATIONS that we need check from time to time, if we are to ever understand the lore of the Ancients.

So my little pastiche and literary essay on Leviathan Lore will resume to this - I HAVE NOT GOT A FUCKING CLUE, BUT I AM BEGINING TO UNDERSTAND THAT MUCH.

Until then, as always, I will thank and fuck you, in an alternative and hap-hazard 50/50 way!