1 - .. & the mofo says, ".. let there be recess(ion) .. !"
. . a history of decline ..
.. & a devotee of Death personified, in the valley of the Dead Kings ..
.. these be high initiates ..
bankrolled by the injunction
that everything is fine.
Overflowing the e(I)ther with discourse of unbridled reckless positivity.
No snakes in this field. Heels out, tits up.
Teleological suspension isn't the elimination of instance, but synergies within the soul when it rubs elbows with itself.
They call it coincidence, but conversely, it's a baseline.
.. haters & buffoons ain't no scene
.. fit for an OG ..
.. & a bunch of stressed out people in one place
don't a society make ..
.. you've stumbled into a nest of Masters now, is what you've gone & done, son ..
.. & these be high initiates ..
Succulent split Con tinuums,
spilt milk of cosmos spit
all over existential boundaries of terrestrial anxieties.
Fog. Infinite directions where every turn
Sultans of molten misseries peddling loneliness towering towards constellations.
Babbles of never belong.
They cast them at thee.
Unempathetic empires beneath the boot you lick.
We're coming for them.
Ankhs in hand, we're the headress for you.
.. thus vow the undersigned at the apex of the Luxor Ley line .. con structured to con ceive Time ..
.. & where we're from, they caLL this game by our name ..
.. hey, these be high initiates ..
.. these devotees of the Dead Kings ..
.. shades (.. thus named because shades liked to blow smoke .. was Lead smoke bLower of LL, if u wiLL ..) liked to scope out the scene.. seeking honest hard-working initiates like yourseLLves ..
.. he played at chanting speLLs at them, to see what might blow back..
.. once you gnow about the game, nothing con pares any more
once you learn the game, there's no thing else any more
.. & there's only really one game .. the game of learning how to play ..
2- a ground, a current, a circuit & a( )gain
Make plain text of some form in the morn.
Extension of notation is the norm
of a nation, language bearing forth creation
a set of forms inside oblation
And
Every mark leaves its trace of passes place apace
A thought gone by leaves a line and something else besides:
The trace of further thought something expanding on its base
leading further afield to another place.
Where to start? where to begin?
what is the first thing that's ever been.
A thing, a thought, a mix of both - one the same another boasts.
Betwixt, between, there must be a thing, I think, a link, between me and everything.
Not one, not two, not even three can count the things
that must ever be in being having made up me.
This world I taste, the senses the space,
the movements inside, mirrored powers outside
leaving law write for all to follow,
whether want to or not - the balance of laws is more than a thought.
The set, a series, a balance - or not
When one thing moves is there another do not?
A tiny thing, so insubstantial,
thoughts have moved things more than mountains
And,
There a language outside falls, moving things like jacks and balls.
But whence that order spring, from inside, out, or inbetween
I see a thing, a things sees me, whether or not I let it be.
For,
A balance one way, this and that, a little over - then there's that
Which one rules in which timezone, passing back to times of stone
and forward into realms of space - but which one - now that's the chase
The chain that drags along out loud
in forms be written by man's hand
to carve a face, a statue staring there in space,
and staring back we see our fate:
A way to think, to be, to act; but what I wan' to know:
has it got my back?
And forth in froth, a sea of thought, it issueth
And we can see the balance sought in law is nought,
when one does sway another does not - depending on how it's put together
Inside somewhere 'neath stormy weather.
Make some noise when you rise with a yawn,
Stretch your legs to the beat of the dawn
Move your hands as you work the land, the matter, the material at hand.
Hammer blows or blow-pipe whistles, carving stone amongst the thistles.
One block on top and pressing down, making slow stone crunching sound -
a line out loud, from stress from a crack, the shockwaves sent back out in a shout
an electric shunt, but blunt, and stable like the sun.
3 - the almost obligatory self-deprecatory postscriptum
.. We're all too familiar with the repercussions of events forward in time, but can we also speak of their prepercussions even before they happen ..?
.. magicians say that it is indeed possible to ..
.. & eventually, it struck me that "the people" prob don't want to hear from the likes of me any time soon ..
.. as things become more expensive, quality often takes a hit too.. so what does a guy like me do ..?
.. why, buy the more expensive shit & say f it, I deserve it; goddamn ..
.. at the 11th hour, with 11 seconds to midnight on the doomsday clock, only The 11 can save us now ..
.. or so I've found..
