Camo

 

Frank Gehry is the totalitarian prophet of  Uberman archaeometry, except they like to call him Starchitect. That does not mean that he made the stars exactly, which is reserved for Apolloyn. He is neither Frank nor Gehry, not Irish but Polish. His last name was changed from Goldman, some say by his father. So the imaginative distortion of architectures is a kind of pseudonym, a marine vision of undersea. In the distortion of water with a greater refractive index than air, that reduces the focal range of a lens, the near distance is distorted by some 33 percent with chromatic aberration (color fringing) at the edges of the image as well as geometric distortion. It is a Werner Herzog at the bottom of the sea water that both absorbs and scatters light. The scattering is variable depending on conditions, but the absorption is an intrinsic blue-green filter, first removing red light and then the remaining colors of the rainbow. The overthrow of natural law by distortion, with the rationalization that constant viewing will diminish its power to disturb, makes a new normalcy. The contemplation of horror brings horror and more horror close, like the mind of genocide makes death.

Finally somebody realized Bilbao was a camouflaged LEVIATHAN, a marine-animal building based on Gehry's earlier fish. Scales, fish imagery, fish surfaces, fish structure, and obviously by fish organization---it is a piscine organ “contoured and massed like a fish, has features that represent identifiable body parts of fish, and a shiny surface (metallic scales) like a fish. So, although Iovine contends, perhaps wishfully, that it "doesn't look at all like a fish" (I especially like the "at all" part), there is every reason to believe that Gehry himself would be surprised, if not disappointed, to hear this" (deep SIGHT).

Bilbao is a beached whale up from undersea, neither an analogy nor what we think.  Analogues suggest of it a state where ill proportion does not produce dislike. Gehry too is most likeable. The multi lopsided implied points of arch off center, arrangement of curves and planes, lines on the verge of regularity but suggestively distorted come in a long line of Breughel and the Dutch demoniacs, The Scream and Dada. Only Kafka is  distressed at these distortions of the human even while he is caught in an acceptance of the grotesque made beautiful.

 Dancing House

 Baudelaire's dead horse skews the normal into acceptance of the paranormal, seeks to make it superior in order that pre-Socratic philosophers like Heraclitus, who say the river is never the same, become prophets of distortion. They in fact are proponents of law. The tidal influence reaches 15 km inland at Bilbao from the sea at Bilbao's old town.

Gehry-Tiffany & Co. made bracelets, pendants, rings, ears, a full line of accessories so you could wear distortion on your arm, “Exquisite designs by the world’s most innovative architect,” in case you’re EU Parliament 

Brueghel, Tower of Babel 

bored. The ultimate effect of a distortion walk was the Dada landscape at Disney Concert Hall or inside the prints of Roy Lichtenstein for sensation beyond the natural. Dancing House in Prague portrayed movement because  the windows seemed to move up and down. The building swayed as if two dancers were maybe drunk. 

How much fun is it that these mirror images of inverted hell occur in much the way as the Hombre de fuego by José Clemente Orozco (Instituto Cultural Cabanas). The desanctified images of the saints were replaced in the church by the demon- possessed Man of Fire.

 Hombre de fuego

The destitute, the oppressed, the sick of Orozco’s images borrow from the madhouses and  prisons of Goya. Painting such images over saints in a decommissioned church follows the same principle as Frank Gehry’s design of the health center in Las Vegas, opposites of the images of healing, a hospital like a diseased brain. It gives meaning to diabolus.

Lou Ruvo Center for Brain Health

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Gates of Towers of Hell

 

Both supernatural and natural had to be redeemed. Lone gunmen and were-weather, nothing natural were hybrids loosed upon the world. Ignorance ruled. Death ruled from Adam to Moses. Hedges on Tillich concluded all institutions demonic. The notion horrified worshippers of State.

Of course State included U. What so attracted and repelled Dante was the beast hybrid of devils with tails that had hoofs for hands. Pitchforks came out of Leonard Baskin’s woodcuts of The Divine Comedy. These were acceptably written about with Rodin’s Gates of Hell. Whoever first invented the term Gates of Hell, apostle Peter, called Cephas Stone Rock, was told that they could not stand against him. So the Gates  infiltrated the church.

City gates represent every authority of government for a walled city. All cities, reality itself is walled now, as Snowden said. " in a world where everything I do and say is recorded…by this massive surveillance machine they're secretly building." Elders, merchants, would sit in them of old, but the symbolically usurped modern has a longer line of distortions.

From Huysmans Against Nature, who cites Jan Luyken, Bresdin's Comedy of Death against nature, people, plants and buildings "cultivated in sacrilegious beds, in impious hothouses" (John Howard) came all generic disorders of the mind. Not just Dante, Homer and Blake, the modern architect had a vision of hell too. Hell and fire are metaphors for tyranny, torture, suffering. Gigantomachy in art, poetry and architecture. Dante, Gehry, Breughel, Solzhenitsyn, Rodin, Blake share likenesses.

 Athena, Gates of Gigantomachy 

But not only in architecture, poetry and painting, government and science mind the gates of hell. Compare Dante’s Inferno, Breughel’s Babel and the EU Parliament with DARPA, satellite terrorism and the CIA docs. Old hat stuff.

Guggenheim Bilbao Increasing numbers of events would have been termed a supernatural outbreak had important political statements like of Chris Hedges’ been credited, that  “all institutions are inherently demonic.”

Goya, Colossi

Distortions at the Guggenheim Museum of Bilbao  became a metaphor of the whole. We look at it in pictures while we talk about it in words. Play the Divine Comedy at home. Neither demons in institutions nor chimeras were justified to lengthen life.  

Irrealities loosed, demons inspired science. Role models, because thought irreal, stimulated the reader with absurd analogies. Batman and the Inferno were as real as the digital mind and animal hybrids made in labs. In the name of science they could overcome imperfect human nature, create a belief system that functioned like a religion, but as a myth.

 “Human beings are not exempt from evolutionary laws,”  said Hedges, but ho, ho, ho, E. O. Wilson said, yes they are, “we will alter human nature” (Hedges, I Don’t Believe in Atheists, 53,40, 52). Against the full force of this Opiome,  aTrojan Horse History brought with it into the city the Severed Head. So hell was revived and Dante justified. Who would not disbelieve? How this occurs in architecture and science is not by gargoyles, but by superlatives and distortions which occupied before Dante and since.

Original distortion science of diabolus transhumanists overturned Darwin’s evolution as much as form critics overturned Moses’ Torah, as much coal companies blew tops off West Virginia mountains for coal. Moralists held the belief that individuals made by systems could resist systems, that science was the gatekeeper of a higher state than myth. This only strikes us as odd because such an idea of science is a myth. Science, so revered, deconstructed nature right out of existence. Hughes on Goya was as mystified as Hedges: “Why are those terrified people and farm animals fleeing in all directions?” (Goya, 287). From the Colossus.

Star Wood Hotel

True believers in moral purity say science is a “morally neutral discipline,” a Harvard fundamentalism doing good. But there is no moral neutral. If the gates of hell are a metaphor for Dante, to us they are stark reality opened by the scientific oligarchy to spew out all that previous academes thought myth. Horrors masked with good. Darwin thought our animal natures intractable (46), but this was thrown out by every corporation and government that designed how “human beings can overcome biological limitations,”  which leaves the moral Protestant as far behind as Darwin and Moses in understanding the new human reality. In its literal execution of Judgment against this world, revelation style, spirit opposes spirit, demon against angel, Lamb against the beast.

The Grounds of Bilbao

They seem like inebriations, a drugged awareness that stumbles room to room. Let us call the situation an Opiome, from opium and Coleridge’s pleasure dome, a metaphor of drugs and architecture that built its heart and mind.

Underneath the pretty science flower the dead bird woods went Dunsinane.  Instead of poets, scientists and philosophers defined the concept of human as “beyond culture,” as robots do. Intellect beyond culture hopes to replicate Einstein’s brain, but first the animal is opposed with the mind, saying the animal must be left behind. 

This is as glib as the assumptions about human identity that never question themselves. Monsanto argues that food shortage is outdated since there is so much surplus food, the only problem being to consume it all. That there is so much more food from the green revolution and the GMO world that it would be given away to the third world, except for destroying indigenous agriculture, is the distortion of false plenty. It is poison food, not-food for the not-man.

Corrupt regimes and transport, hyperdrive seed stock and chemical soil make food null and void. As to justifying the crimes science commits against animals, a zero sum logic comparing chimps and apes in labs says, apes don’t have the brains of a man, therefore can be consumed, as if life were a competition. But life is a cooperation.  It does not make a man better to dominate an ape. It makes him a tyrant. So the totalitarian scientific obligarchies redesigned viruses, genes and atmospheres to prove minds most monstrous.

Who can doubt whether tampering with the weather is justified to save lives, until altruism is a rhetorical blind?  Weather alteration must work or we will all die. Take a chance. Spin the wheel. Nobody knows that if the DNA of every living organism were rewritten it might save the world! In the joust of supernatural powers, the soul of the mandarin made a deal with  Faust. Storm surges, hurricanes, earthquakes, drought, rainfall, tsunamis of scalar techs were all giganticisms understood as a joke, until, as if “one thought it a joke, the head next to him blew off.”

Atmospheres, animals, plants, new technologies severed the mind and its memory from the past. The principle of dissociation was manipulated also in personalities who fragmented to multiples when divided, to produce and release unprecedented energy. This dissociative release occurred in earth, sea, sky and man. Different medias, technologies and devices made the ancient myth known to the modern, but it was with the angel’s fire and sword that the first trump fell (Banquet).

Rodin, The Gates of Hell

 

 

 

 

2.

It takes a long time for Plantagenets to go all military, an organized force, not a colony.  You would not believe cyclops hidden in a cliff among a whole visible intercourse of  beings. How do you think the rocks got there anyway? These are windows into the intelligence that seeks to rule, to replace the natural ancient existence with human hybrids invoked by corporation and government.

I woke on the mid line between sea and land, a decompression of bends and chokes. Beached lungs, oxygen entering, the tongue spoke after awhile that it was sea without end, that once before water was not wet. Before water, no seas. Some myth unconscious we don't name. To have a thing but not know it, contract a frost of shape, cracked skin, stout limb, a sapling circulating beneath.

 

ELF long distance wave propagations wire their antennas a mile across a network of cable-shaped umbrellas. These symbols come friendly to those on the dirt floor of the firehouse at the school. Enchantment hits in the 3 Hz to 30 Hz range and in VLF from 30 Hz to 300 kHz, which explains a bit.  Among hand crank engines and hoses and under the stage of imagination, vibrations broadcast this reality engineered at different frequencies.  In the basement, pitch and musty events cover dreams of sailing a glider down stairs lined with boots and cigars, changing brainwaves in octaves.

 

The well across from the school gushed oil against the window pane. Wavelengths flowed the curvature of mountain ranges. There was a cave at the back of a hill with white scorpions, where Gwen towers and ground waves touched. Standing near an ELF gives you burns, no escaping short mob bursts. Mob Excess Deterrent Used Silent Audio (MEDUSA) gets the bugs out. 

Canoeing down the ELF signals, the upper reaches of winter ice joined the effluent factory scum. Bordering the river, steam rose from the white foam.  Factory after factory storm drains made elaborate branches. I walked miles up their concrete tunnels, smaller and smaller until some sphincter trickled at the foot. Frozen creeks in winter flooded to skating rinks. The flood felled tree trunks, overran wrecked train cars of black metal. I walked the D-Wave to shoot out insulators on the power lines. Shoot out the cameras and microphones, spy cameras, geo phones, grid surveillance lamps. Against illumination, like the Esquilache Mutiny in Madrid, 1766, 4400 streetlamps burning oil twelve feet high, of iron and glass, smashed in protest, illumination resist. Disconnect the phase-lock stronger than the Schumann Resonance.

The Myth of the Severed Head

 

The religion of that surreal world religion achieved delicious neurological contact with Sagan. Heads were raised. Mind control still had opinions in the Opiomes, as many as Dr. Caligari had beheadings, some above, others below the ground. Do you see there is no rational way to say that it became a science fiction planet? Clarke had the substance right as Matrix, both gunned with violence and sex, but there wasn’t going to be any more sex. Or guns. Sagan, Sagan on the wall, most transhumanist of all! Transgenic Science became myth. That was the new religion. Driven to distraction by hungerhauser crime, Dr. Graefenberg owned the genes to patent Dwight BabyNauer. This baby would change the world. Nazi research on embryos. Make sure Obermacher Serbottendorff takes his spear. Then they began to eat each other to transcend.

Science asked, as if it suddenly discovered the question, what does it mean to be human? Woods came out to Dunsinane. Scientists and philosophers defined  human, not poets. “Human” was “beyond culture,” as if robots, intellect with no experience, would replicate St. Einstein. All pretense that a human was different now, the container was remade, was due to the severed head. Science and artificial intelligence severed the human from its culture so the past could be remade. Forgotten. Super human visionaries imagined a future where they did not live, but neither did they live in the present. They imagined a love purer and stronger than anyone felt, but were divorced. They imagined pleasures and bliss without end, greater than ever known, by use of a drug.  Nietzsche inspired them to transcend man and beast, “rope the abyss,” become a superman. It was insane, like all the rest.

They came full circle to archaeometrics. Brueghel saw that he was eating himself. Science did not like it when artists looked ahead to see what science was doing before it did. People wrote allegories about faceless cogs of interchangeable pen and ink human fish where "out of the mouth of a large beached fish tumble many smaller fish...the land and water are overrun by fish: a two-legged fish walks off with another fish in its mouth, a fish hand from a tree, and a fish-bird flies... (Nadine M. Orenstein. Pieter Bruegel the Elder: Drawings and Prints. Yale University Press, 2001, 140). Mind fish, faux Orc of a faux anthropologist in a faux school by a faux prof eat his students. But what is it? We will get the Guggenheim.

In this perception of the unknown world the only agency on top of its game was FEMA that stored 200 million coffins, and plastic drums, refurbished WWII camps and found places for “refugees” to be “taken.” They had swing sets and monkey bars for kids. Weather- altered culture changed so much in 60 years that the rest went underground. Try telling your children. If Circe turned men to pigs, these myths turned men to gods. You don’t have to see the world is morbidly obese. Dante’s Glaucus transformed Narcissus, who found a place untouched by civilization, chewed several blades of its grass, and he became immortal.

Transhuman Shape Shift left the dock. Passage from terrestrial paradise to heaven invented a new word, “transhuman” (Paradiso, I.70). Ordinary language cannot describe such things as Dante says. We invent a word from Coleridge to describe the alters, the metamorhs, the Opiomes. Opiomes is a societal insanity, imitates trasumanar the way the EU Parliament imitates the Tower of Babel. To describe science with poetry or buildings in the greater architectonic, Dante said, “Transhumanizing may not be in words set forth” (Bergin). Nor can the horror of earth metamorphs.

Archaeometry

Some called it Elysium when architecture was a song, a drug song. True believers thought that buildings drew up magnetic force from earth! True believers made the skyscraper pickle, the Gherkin Slide Rocket, to take the humor of it, comparable in phallicity with the D.C. monument. Once you get that buildings form thought as a divining organ to drawn force up, the eye evoking dwarfs' awe into the viewer. These leviathans on land, diseased brains, are an immersion for the final real event, loosing from the abyss. These are the easy parts. Buildings invoke symbols of confusion and insanity. Insanity invokes chaos, introduces guilt to enforce control. Evil is lack of connectivity. The unpardoned sin is against synthesis. You are promised  illumination and power if you plug in. This connection forms your greater accountability to the world.  That the modern world built chaos may sound like an act of genius. It is obvious from breaking every boundary of the traditional, not just Platonic, every standard of human literature, from the making of the reptilian brain of artificial intelligence to the invoking and propagandizing of the landing of space aliens.  “The space brothers,” like they knew Malcolm, deny brotherhood to the 8 billion mass who are to be outsized. Logic and freedom are outsourced too. The coming empire is here. The most effective boundary breaks occur from the outside in. Is it too much to say your mind is changed when you enter the building? It will depend on how susceptible you are to the shell constructs of the Qliphoth. Everybody thinks they are immune, present company excepted. Not just buildings, advertisements, fashion, music, film. Buildings need no imagination to presume. Social controls, mass hypnotism, programmed subliminals make the human think thoughts are of their own volition. These dragon caves temples of a science religion are inhabited, whose outer priesthood forms in laboratories and art museums. In the Whitney Museum breasts grow in jars and fish are mutated into beans on the floor.

OK the beans are an exaggeration, but after the devotions in literature and art, a new type of genetic artist exhibited breasts that grew in jars, rabbits with the heads of jellyfish that glowed in the dark and GFP mice, so who would begrudge that lizards grafted  onto earlobes wagged their tongues? To hear them talk, the earlobes accompanied the Mamen spider or the Siren on the grounds of  Bilbao. If you can see them, the elves of DMT fairy land give multidimensional advice in twenty minute sessions to welcome  spacelings from the Tryptamine.  These lizards made the starjoints jealous, but by then “buildings” were land masses and atmospheres, and art was werewolf weather not DNA art. They gave out little transgenic e. coli as  pets on museum steps. That was years however before the Turnspeak dogs of Critical Art exhibited hybrids at the Whitney for cash. It wasn’t Caliban who wrote their brochure, but god. Then the days of Noah returned.

 

Coleridge was slightly ahead with his “damsel with a dulcimer.” She later *killed the extremeophile biologists who engineered it all. This mythical being had a biological injectable 220 IQ. She was the faery child of Opiome, that vast network of spider works in caves. Whether or not she was spider or a machine, hybrid or symbol, she was La Belle Dam Sans Merci. Keats, Baudelaire, Coleridge, I told you the poets knew. Kubla Khan mutated and became Uber Alter Nano Bot. It played to big crowds. Super fly tested strong,

 

Super man is coming.

Homo Sap bye, bye.

 

Narrative broke down in such conditions. Mutated children swarmed into mass mind like bees. Baudelaire and Burroughs blew a 2.0. It was the end of science fiction. Paradise milk more than glass and gold, the GMO plant cow, obelisks, sculptures and art substituted for food. Artifice to touch the sky enshrined the starchitects’ design, but you had to eat yourself. Chew on the arm.

 

Amid reports of geoengineered fruit under Camp Uber Funston, the potato was a symbol too. A potato from Mars had two minds drilled in its skull. Why do we talk this way? Again, because some literally do not have heads. I tell you this but you don’t believe. There is no other way to talk when there are no ears to hear. It’s the old half remarkable question, what is it that we are part of, what is that we are? A flying hat searched over land and sea:

Neuschwaben, Kammler!

hup, hup, hup:

Star Chyld!

 

 

Byzantium

This connection forms your greater accountability to the world of where the ultimate evil is failure to connect. Commerce, e-state preparations for mass mind include, "you either make people hallucinate using lights, microwave or electromagnetic energy. You can also make them pass out. You can cause them to behave strangely, put them in shock, make them hear voices or even self destruct." (Jacques Vallee). The village raises its voice in your passive/aggressive mind.  Control your child. The wisdom of crowds flows out from the buildings. All voices, you yourself, are tracked on the grid to three feet. Be ready for the Coming Snake and the Trick or Treat.   Opinions expressed here are solely the ownership of turnstiles and electronic doors. Unwitting research subjects will administer escalating electric shocks to one another. If a voice asks them to (Daniel Brandt),  more active techniques may apply for Macro Alters in the Monarch. Whether Line A is longer than Line B you will soon know. You are promised illumination and power if you plug in the World brain.

Phrases are graffitied then on buildings like chapter titles from The Revelation: Shape of the Locust, The Fall of Wormwood, Untimely Figs, Balaam Taught Balak! Things moved quickly. A new reptilian intelligence thought it would live 5000 years. After all, didn’t technology double every two? Movies were made. You want to get a ticket.  Silver dollars rolled across the floor but they only looked like heads. All aboard! If you unplug you sin against synthesis. Severed from its culture and past, pure mentality mastered the self.

 

So the human was redesigned. Genetic art came after the land mass buildings viewed from undersea, a spinoff of Mengele and Kac, boys from Brazil. Blue Horses, vermillion sheep, all you want, we got. The inventors mutated and changed shape.

 

Architects became starchitects, starchitects became Arthitects, the inner arthropods of archaeometrics. Fantasies were fulfilled from the landfill! Pretend the machine’s human! Old biolaters made new yellow metal. Ambiguous gold refined earth in the image of wisdom. Midas’ touch

If you wonder at all the blue riders, blue horses, Obama’ blue Denver stage, it is the color of Ishtar’s blue gates, blue and gold, bright cobalt blue, the garb of the horsemen clothed with blue (Ez 23.7)  turned gold along with the man. “A vision of reality not real,” Baudelaire said, slightly before. It was “a vision of reality instead of reality itself.” Coleridge preached the honeydew exudates. He launched the Opiome. You understand they were not all plants. To call opium the milk of paradise concedes the point. Not to leave good science out, this liberty to invent the head-frog body, cabbage liver parts, tomato heart, brussel sprout eyes and porcelain teeth made diamond bones, gelatin eyelid monitors beautiful people all the way to Byzantium. Flowers turned to glass, trees to gold, frogs to armies, and horses with lion mouths were locusts with scorpion tails. The agencies had practically nothing left to do. Except they wanted Uberman and Ultraman without Wormwood.

 

 You can see Byzantium with glasses that connect vision to iPod. This external brain is an All Devices sync to cognitive prosthesis. Now you can remember what you ate and where you parked. External brain will replace the one you lost. Every autonomic function will be monitored, you won’t even have to remember! Be hyperaware. Know what’s going on around you! Your phone will know when it is being looked at through the glasses. Billboards will know, your friends will know to project images into eyeballs. You’ll feel stupid when you take them off. It’s like trading in roller skates for a Porsche.

 

Apocalypse of Enoch

The Book of Enoch, which was known to the fathers of the second century, was lost with the exception of a few fragments, but found by Bruce, entire in a copy of the Ethiopic Bible in 1773. It gives revelations allegedly delivered to Enoch and Noah, its object being to vindicate divine providence, setting forth the retribution reserved for sinners, angelic or human, thus "to repeat in every form the great principle-- that the world - natural, moral, and spiritual - is under the immediate government of God." This of course is the supreme admonition of prophets Daniel, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Isaiah written omnivorously about here.

 

The obelisks of the sun were/are pointed towers that made/make the pagan temples stand out from other buildings so they could be seen from great distances. Most Babylonian cities had a temple with a very high tower in the middle of the city. These symbols pointed to the sun, as an “erect circumcised penis”, (a phallic symbol), a sign of fertility, one ray of light emanating from the sun."  The word o-'bel'-isk designates the 'shaft of Bel'; or Baal, the Babylonian and Egyptian Sun god, that all nations followed. Nebuchadnezzar’s obelisk was covered with gold, and on one morning alone the sun's first rays would shine down the long alley of the temple pillars to illuminate the altar. Very dramatic, a temple oriented to the rising of the sun at Mid-Summer Day.  Thus it was believed that by that pencil of light or "shaft" of the Sun's presence upon the altar impregnated. This gave assurance of fertility in the land and another fruitful year. [This nonsense right out of the Golden Bough, written by the very egregori that built the things.] Nebuchadnezzar the king made an image of gold, the height of which was sixty cubits (aprox. 90 feet) and its width six cubits; he set it up on the plain of Dura in the province of Babylon (Daniel 3:1-7). So here's how it goes: one special morning in the year the sun’s rays travel down the National Mall to illuminate the altar of the Capitol impregnating it with the fertile presence of the new world! Footnote: The Denver Air Park is a reverse Babel. A caldron space ship. Somewhere there’s a daddy tank out West producing sex organs.

The obelisk at the great Roman Catholic Cathedral of Cologne is 515 feet high. The Cathedral at Ulm Germany is 528 feet. The Washington Monument is 555.5 feet high. One World Trade Center is 1,368 feet tall, the same height as the North Tower that fell. And if you add the height of its decorative spire, 1 WTC measures 1,776 feet. As with the Images of Bethshemesh/Heliopolis” in Jer. 43:13 “He will also shatter the obelisks of Heliopolis, which is in the land of Egypt; and the temples of the gods of Egypt he will burn with fire.” (1Kings. 14:23, 2Kings. 18:4, 23:14, Micah 5:13, Isaiah. 17:8, 27:9).

Chariots dedicated to the sun god, who traveled across the sky in a great chariot with four horses on Roman coins were the same that “the kings of Judah had given to the sun, at the entrance of the house of the LORD” which “… burned the chariots of the sun with fire. 2 Ki 23:11

 

This prophecy of the holiest man of the antediluvian world, Enoch, compares to Gilgamesh before the flood.

 

As to the contest about the body of Moses, it appears that Satan wished to make the place of Moses' burial known to the Israelites to tempt them to worship him in death, but Satan was prevented, and vented his rage in desperate blasphemy. That Enoch had a spirit of prophecy is evident from the name he gave his son Methuselah, which signifies, "when he dies is the emission," or the sending out of the waters of the flood, which came to pass the very year he, Methuselah, did die. Arabic writers call him Edris the prophet; and the Jews say, that he was in a higher degree than Moses or Elias; they also call (k) him Metatron, the great scribe, a name which they sometimes give to the angel that went before the children of Israel in the wilderness, and which seems to belong to the Messiah (but not scripturally).

The Tower of Babel was The original incarnation of this idea for a “tower into space” (below) can be traced back to the great Russian space pioneer, Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, in 1895:  … on the tower, as one climbed higher and higher up it, gravity would decrease gradually; and if it were constructed on the Earth's equator and, therefore, rapidly rotated together with the earth, the gravitation would disappear not only because of the distance from the centre of the planet, but also from the centrifugal force that is increasing proportionately to that distance. The gravitational force drops. . . but the centrifugal force operating in the reverse direction increases. On the earth the gravity is finally eliminated at the top of the tower, at an elevation of 5.5 radii of the earth [22,300 miles] http://www.enterprisemission.com/moon5.htm…. Carbon nanotubes

Dogs evolved on mars we now knohttp://www.greatdreams.com/cydonia.htmw from the dog statute 100 k high near the cc crater
If you can see faces on mars why not on my pots, you need a fake?

 Egyptian Babylonian fertility gods add a nice touch in projecting human sex into iconic form for worship of the parts and whole. It takes us back to the wonder days of yesteryear, high school mon, boys challenging, mine’s bigger than yours, oh mon, mine’s bigger than yours. It’s all talk. It could have been worse. Condolences for you who didn’t live the day, but what then can you know about phallic worship and the subsequent dictates of Ishtar?

Both Jude and the author of Enoch quote a tradition of their time: "Behold he comes with ten thousand of his saints, to execute judgment upon them, and destroy the wicked, and reprove all the carnal, for everything which the sinful and ungodly have done and committed against him," which is a common representation in the Old Testament also that Yah, when he manifests himself, is accompanied by great numbers of heavenly beings. Psalm 68:17; Deuteronomy 33:2, Zechariah 14:5.

at October 18, 2012 No comments:

 

3. Shockwave the skull  black and white

In this topography along the tracks, torpedoes fastened to heavy rocks dropped to explode,two tracks of freights, the engine smoke unscrubbed, white was black as soot where the freights went up, coal undermined the ground seams with tunnels and roads, oil stained the ground from its pumping. Fires raged up the hills of rhododendron to the slag. Iron rails, creosote ties, spikes, rock rail beds, polluted creeks, black metal overturned are where I got my start. The blessing that prevented development. Fire axes, mats. Jack in the Pulpit in the springs, never taken out after wrecks, flares of imagination, torpedoes jimmied from the metal shacks picked up beside the trains, strapped to a rock, dropped from many feet to explode below a bridge. Humman  brainwaves phase-locked. Synchronized multiple frequencies of the entrained. Up in the slap holes of miners' fresh pits, green a hundred feet below, freight trains boil black over all.

This is not the nothing of the sound of ducts in a cube, but the doors and windows tell. This is nothing heard and not. The Nothing includes the not, the no that's not, the cold that's not, not measured by what, the soul for either good or ill that’s not, the nothing, no, the nothing that is an unwhelming stretch.

 Ultra-High Frequency inaudible waves broadcast directly subconscious. Fires in the ground a hundred feet above the hill, fought by boys and men amid giant standing waves of focus, induced earthquakes, aiming points crossed to electrical stimulation of  synthetic moisture polarizing the sun’s hyperspace EM into the river of force, manipulated  into a belief system reaching critical mass.

Sides too slippery to climb for fear of not climbing out, BrainSpeak, subliminal programming, Silent Sound Spread Spectrum -SSSS -  Present ‘reality’ at 435 MHz, redesigned transmit from 400-450 Mhz.   32 Metronomes  play this social order.

 Warning: coded, subjugated, prioritized alters layered in personalities in the social whole serve every entry. None should be believed. All should be believed.

4.

In the adagio, freedom of the known harbors such thoughts. If you live with people who don't want electric doubts against the Unknown remain in Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and the Great Basin unwashed. Ohio had long since gone down the archives. Cast offs were sown, fallen, buried in a harvest against the civil, against wilderness, the scab-shriveled mold and the armyworm around its base during the day. They spent winter as a pupa in the soil.

 Hardened  topographies of the natural  reinhabit species. Civilized boots back the Good up to the edge before it slides down the hill. Roads wind a little and then the truck backed up with all the bodies in mind, piling up fox, bear, seal, hawk, coyote, horse, starts to come apart from the unmaking. Glue back skins, beaded ridges, marred as if they were none, nameless, to look at the faces below, diminish their groans of plateau, mountain and cave, a topography one can see.

Don’t they have names for them all, the samurai behind the back, one elbow down, who sits in a chair, knee to the left, shoulders right, entities of Collective Mind? All is One forbidden, and after enlightenment don't worry, opinion like weather forecasts, Ophelia silent in the roar. "This man and woman were the most profoundly beautiful ancestors before."

5.

They are not of one mind these conquerors of DNA whose imperial control suggests they are. There is debate in the coffee houses of base as to how humanely to treat the sub race, whether as an amphibian of both worlds, combatant in water, or colonist at home on land.  Boat hulls tie up close. Escaped light believes. One if by land two if by sea.

It's as if the Russians knew. That's why they wanted the patent for  world gridlines. Black science being what it is, planetary configurations of gravity and time tunnels in hyperspace, Moscow built a time portal in Afghanistan not so different from Washington’s dig of Gilgamesh mutated on the beltway. UK agents mutated fifteen different dimensions.

The face, the nose, the cheek, the brow that shades the eyes, one knee stuck out, arm down among hunchbacks, joined at the shoulder. One's a girl. The guy’s got her, looking down, praying. Shoulders, heads, one, two, three long coats, hats on top, left on the rocks. Herringbone moving. Somebody hasn’t been born. People that play with clouds are weird. An eye hidden in a cliff,  toddlers in the rocks. The other arm sticking out, you know what that is? A bird on a roost or a fat monk. 

Consciousness is a scene of huge depth, atmosphere, ionosphere, magnetosphere, 1000 feet above and below surface, and then below the surface, continents, plates and lava streams. The human a submersible between. All of the other documents on this site are meant to explore the staging. It looks like it's going to be an Altered Sky today with more Weather Wars, unwritten as yet, with local outbursts of tomography and atmospherics under the assumption that boasting and self assurance is linear and two dimensions, practically speaking, and has still not happened. So literature and furniture are not so different, and thought one piece of two, although it will be denied.

If none then life the beautiful, ugly and true to the sick and departed, lame and thwarted, the depraved by standard, the blind deaf and dumb covenant.

 

6.

 

The caves, known intimately where a trough of water-drips overflow, are no photograph but memory extant, only one record. The exploration was printed Easter Sunday, written then. The imagination of cave psychologies quite filled the entrance, with a thin layer of hard earth on top and loose soil further down. Realization comes with shale below. Creeks under factories and further down where tombstone letters  held on by wax fall off like identities, even if titanium caskets last, cemeteries fail.  Swept in the discovery, who is blind and deaf like the one committed to me, blind like the servant of the LORD said Elijah in the dark fire, breathing mountain air, "you have seen many things, but paid no attention; your ears are open, but you hear nothing."

 

Does it come clearer if we regard the writing under writing of parchment in short supply, bleached out or not, overwritten in a different text and ink?

 

New writing on top of ancient texts, lists of things, entertainments, scraped off, remove the old precepts of the past retold.

 

Telling beneath, repeating it again, told and retold in night, everything is built on top. You may transfer your will to extend it.

 

 You're going to say you've been praying all these years for this and we are finally in a diaphanous corona of the moment of brightness, the moment of birth. Two voices translate what the mouthpiece transfigures, the originary unspeakable words.  Consonants and vowels together separate a thought that fails. It falls to words, as if bears wrote bestiaries of themselves, minus the memory.

 

The ineffable declaring Name back and forth like a violin whirls the forces.

Winter in jeopardy, snow, accidents of stone, lightning phrases of fire.

This desired contradiction, not the external shapes of language, possesses a world without shape and time that lives in pure praise, whose bones of epigrams wash their aspirants ashore.

Rome puzzled how to attach the sins of the world to the child, forced acts enveloping, where nature in each case made its nemesis. Its Truth came an octave later with the globe replacing the Name, a change processed for no reason other than to serve the robots in a terrible dream where some catastrophe takes place in front of the eyes they are unable to prevent.  

NO SHOUT AWOKE THE WORLD FROM lebensraum. Mental biological frontiers possessed with nightmares, Wagner made real... art prophesied Weimar, a Going Out of Business sign hung over the world.

We are sidetracked by the staging. This does not explain itself any more than a current in a river or a bird. I prefer the river. Go to sleep and you wake up in the data base of the naif.  If only you could teach it they say. They should give it time and believe. We watch ourselves while we watch the news broadcast in all its channels.  Standing behind the events, tragic misdemeanors and  felonies.

Every single opinion in the world is wrong.

And the collective is worse.

 Its entire purpose is to absorb the attention of the many layer audience. So the government, science, the networks, the actors on what they call the stage, the audience, history, philosophy are skins,  none primary than another, except of course in the fantasy the stages project. 

Causes of quantum superposition spray the transfer. Many riders feel nausea, sleeplessness, discoloration, dizziness, symptoms also of heavy metal poisoning. Sleepers walk in trance, relations only identical when their converses are.

 It’s not too much to say they turned up the drones. After the elections, up the waves. Every relation of converse, one noted, changed. The agenda a distant binary.

 Unsure what records were kept, written notes, tape recordings, hidden cameras, insisting on none but memory, there were two sources, 1) our own, forced by persons we should call crimes against children, none which adults believe--you scare them into silence then disbelieve the city-nation in a world at large absorbed in air, part of the houses and world fortune empire, an anestheticide formed long before and 2) proponents who hid their mad intentions under a show of balance, order and strength more easily believed.

7.

Colonists ride the torrent of these myths, coherence too big to translate, ask advice when they don’t need it, never take it when they do. Scales grow out on arms but are taken as tattoos. The small and the great point the way, look another, a problem for bosses.

Don’t say you don’t know it sounds paranoid as spacing GWEN transmitters 200 miles apart across the States. We colonists are of different minds 1) not to acknowledge the collective, 2) or think we are autonomous, unique, 3) our minds are our own, which you can see for what it is, cave psychology filling in the entrance with a thin layer of hard earth on top with loose soil further down.

 Stone letters written below shale in creeks, under factories further down, held on by wax:  "You have seen many things, but pay no attention; your ears are open, but you hear nothing."

Reverse the timpani. Reverse the bark edges, needle grass. Comfort ye annihilation. Colonists seek to convert darkness, the good of evil, the evil of good. The boy in the hood. The cow in the could. Diverse poetry, corona light birth. Dead meat of food.

Every effort of control to domesticate freedom, the more we have, the less we understand. To have a thing but not  know it, do a thing but not do it.

8.

My first work was to obscure these landings. Like leaves blown into letters on the street, that spell things we do not want to know, I water and tramp the obvious. But word shells wash up. The sea paints pictures in the sand so fast that the words are futile. I am very busy.  The sand is busy. By the time you read this, fires will be burning trees into sentences.

9.

It becomes necessary to know big things and small, rich and poor in their own nature of knowing, to love barrierless, allowing space in the beginning and at end incomplete, to complete the work that achieves the gift.

It sounds like a poem.

The axiom of this denies all its shortcomings while practicing them. One imagines  protocols  professionally known, consumed and filled with prejudice, left and right, no matter what the text. It’s a flat surfaced earth of no border, compressed, controlled, but enough of that.

 If you have learned to read this, then the people in a car right here look like a bigger one and a little buddy born. This one, see his face?  Ficino burned the commentary on Lucretius to ashes just because it depopulated the universe. Jehoiakim, king of Judah burned every page of the prophecy of Jeremiah that he should go willingly captive of Nebuchadnezzar into Babylon.  How do you think they’ll feel when Bercilak takes up his severed head again? Government theologues brought these invisibles in, put toddlers among the rocks to disguise them. Read extinction invisible or visible. See that arm behind, sticking out? His buddy keeps birds near the coast. You would not believe that in the eye of a giant the whole purpose is manifest.

But these are our circumstances.

There are drone-kinds. Remember it is a name for the worker bee, not procreation or creatio, that lives in the hive to fulfill the dictates of "higher" mind. Not to demean bees, or take them as symbolic of ourselves. Bestiaries of the human world have been replaced with the neighbors shouting shibboleths of  pop, exercised  sports, a series of stagings mutually inclusive of just one thing: the stage, the actors. Meanwhile puppets pull.

 

Weimar

You think oracles future but they are past. Weimar in disguise is well beyond the Executive of 1933. In the Weimar Diaspora and American Political Thought the scariest pic is not that year where the oracles "throw up strange shapes, broad curves / And parallels clean like the steel" (Stephen Spender. Poems, XXVI, 1933). Then comes "that program of the antique Satan / Bristling with guns on the indented page" (Poems, XXXIII).

Arms at side with open shirt Weimar exposed  

 

Fast forward to the Colorado River late at night, edge of a lunar eclipse, Halloween with fires, and rooftop calls on civilization to surrender to what it does not believe then take the reverse. If the Electoral College does in the general election what the Republicans cancel the election and keep doing it.  Bizarre Earth burrowers, mole prophet Germany prepared for this. And Velikovsky.

 

Weimar Americans turn the wheel. Their days of Noah begun. What analogies do one hundred postwar German years make for those "unhappy, pained, gentle creatures who represent the heart of another Germany and do not understand what is happening to them… peculiar whiteness and stillness of their eyes which seem to have been drained of pigment…How closely I press upon a secret! Why am I always attracted by these desolate spirits?" (Stephen Spender, Journals, 1939-1983, 30). . "Three stand naked: the new, bronzed German, / the communist clerk, and myself, being English" (Spender. Poems, XIV in 1929). And there the splendid American is singing "all for one and one for all" HBO in simple tunes: "I’m haunted by these images, /  I’m haunted by their emptiness" (Spender, Poems, XVI). Who in America lives in the shadow of war? None, just like Weimar!

 

Spender goes to Weimar a decade before and sees "prisoners / Turned massive with their vaults and dark with dark" (Poems, XX),  where "all things are naked and opened unto the eyes,"  as Saint Stephen would have said when he was stoned, we could read a book like Psalms, "I am poured out like water and all my bones are out of joint…I may count all my bones." (Psalm 22.14). 

 

Light the night with American Light, see the light come on. 

Call up on the American phone, ring and see. 

At night in the light you'll be right at home.

 Light the night with American light, see the light come on. 

 

The fili poet’s dread satire feared to cause bodily harm does not believe the porcelain words, the "slanting iron hair pattern no stigmata" (Poems, XXXI). Hearts are cut from mistaken corpses after the bearded drones hit. The apocalypse of heaven, earth and hell is a machine of criminal angels. Choose one. Chomsky thinks its Hitler from the right where the forces march, left, right, left, right. Except they have phones. But it's not the PR Hitler coming out of Weimar, just back from the Danube or Marlene Dietrich singing hyperinflation. It's the man of war. That’s what you get when their knees are pressed tight on your arms and they hold you down, says Sir Stephen, four angels loosed from Euphrates.

The end sounds “a new way of living, a new assessment of what life is for and how it is lived." Sounds like a being vaxxed. English poets Auden, Isherwood, Spender were "an inseparable trio who represented the new spirit of literature during the 1930s and 1940s...deeply influenced by free Weimar, specifically its decadent homosexual subculture" (Rictor Norton).Weimar changed the definition of excellence, but that time is past. No nations survive the breakup of iron and clay, no peace and safety in the new golden age, three harvests and L3 robot dogs. Each cell performs the work of all. Send head shots to this hive or lure to acid baths. Oracle says, I just report the news.

Weimar Panache in his Cyrano de Bergerac hat

 I get out Spender’s Poems of 1933, inscribed to "For Horst Keller as a souvenir  of Oxford London Berlin from Stephen Spender / March 11, 1933," twelve days after the Reichstag fire (27 Feb 1933). Hitler's "rise" ended in March 1933 after the Reichstag adopted the Enabling Act. Then he burned it down like the Towers. President Hindenburg had appointed him Chancellor 30 January 1933 after election intrigues. Then Hitler used The Enabling Act to constitutionally exercise dictatorial power without legal objection. The dates and time of other demise will canonize when known. Spender says in his Journal, "I met [Horst] on the Hook of Holland boat once, shortly before Hitler’s rise to power," then he says, "I saw Obama fall from heaven!"

 

"Horst was the son of a general. And now at least four names crowd on to me I remember. [Frank Zappa, Jim Morrison, Charles Olson, Noam Chomsky]  Many are aristocrats and often close to the higher ranks of the army. This boy was called Horst. He had a round face with very well-formed features, delicate lips, light blue eye, and brown hair of an almost feathery lightness. He was very quiet and polite and he had some small, out-of-the-way interest – playing the flute or making musical instruments or something. There’s really nothing much more to it than that. He had a scholarship at Oxford and I  used to call on him there; we went for walks and I introduced him to Isaiah Berlin. But he never in the least became part of the life at Oxford...one of those unhappy, pained, gentle creatures who represent the heart of another Germany, and do not understand what is happening to them. I have touched a deeper chord than I knew here, for have I not met two or three? Didn't I know very well the peculiar whiteness and stillness of their eyes which seem to have been drained of pigment? These poor ghosts are really beautiful in a sexless way, because, if one is a young man of another country, an exile in one's own, one cannot expect to be virile. How closely I press upon a secret! Way am I always attracted by these desolate spirits? There was one I met on the Hook of Holland boat once...(Journal. 1985, 30).

Nobody feels empowered now to remember maps, addresses are digitally stored, time is no more. Electric designs are "More beautiful and soft than any moth / With burring furred antennae feeling its huge path" (Poems, XXVII).

Sir Stephen says, Watch the hawk with  an indifferent eye, that almost won War on the sun until the hands, wings, are found (Poems, 1933, 11). In this best of all possible worlds the Trojan Horse outside the gate, Leviathan comes to land. We find the eyes of the hawk, its hands, and tongue.

But Horst Keller is dismissed, "always just as gentle, just as isolated [with] a restlessness that never ceased," an oracle of  "peculiar whiteness, drained of pigment:"  "Most of these poets and writers...delivered their sad advice on the literary life which I was now just about to enter, like ghosts in purgatory, conscious of the relative failure of their illusions" (Spender. World On Worlds, 89).

Auden assigned Spender to be the poet at Oxford. Isherwood got to be the novelist.. Escape from Weimar fell to Dylan Thomas, who stayed drunk to preserve his integrity, a good Indian, or Faulkner, or Edith Sitwell divvying Jung. The lords of lit affirm the past as Spender does with "the sustained gentle sense of unhappiness" (31).

England is Weimar with a water to cross. England echoes China, India, Ukraine, Egypt, Japan, America signifying Horst. On one hand he is the American dismissed for lack of philosophic depth, the way all poets and critics scourge each another, and on the other hand he is the counterpart of the bullying Spender himself received, "My parents kept me from children who were rough…their knees tight on my arms. / I feared the salt coarse pointing of those boys" (Poems XII).

 

Ezra Pound called Yeats' The Tower putrid. Hemingway called Spender squeamish for he was as cloistered as a cell phone world. Spender and Keller prophesy how we live in our Weimar before the fall, "coracles with faces painted on" (Spender, Poems, III), even as the Reich-stag burns as a propaganda tool, digital mirages like a new species of  genitalia that poison Van Gogh's brain and give him  seizures. He saw a color shift which produced the yellow period and haloes around the lights. We know yellow gold Xanthopsia fools like propaganda. Seizures of group mind make Weimar Childhood’s End, the beast that comes from its ship in 50 years! Logic has disappeared.

II.

"There is no war on terror there is an international war being waged using proxy groups against nation states that resist the new order of U.S. Israeli hegemony [Ukraine, Ukraine!] and to discipline the work force by terrorist groups funded, armed and trained by western intelligence agencies to spawn an intellectual terrorism to crack down on dissident opinion about the link between French imperialism and terrorism (fill in your country here) random terrorist attacks being a form of low intensity civil war with coercive engineered immigration (K. M. Greenhill), a tool used by one state to destabilize another state, where U.S. and Turkey destabilize the Balkans and the midlanhope, Hungary and Germany, civil war being a natural result of globalization which leads to breakdown of society. Divide the world island and conquer while the controllers have their way. Divide the Eurasian peninsula from the Baltic sea to the Black to create an Intermarium to prevent German and Russian unity which is why Germany is being overrun by other victims of globalization now instrumentalized and used as weapons of globalization, so the consequences of globalization are used to further the goal of globalization."

The iron age is golden for its sin, but Saturn colony has to correlate  influence before ever the golden age of Weimar was known. The Egyptian Crocodiles, Montaigne, Saturn with the Star of David on its north pole filled the sky. There was no sunlight, not that my senses felt. There was no rain. Mist came up from the ground. Not a lot of jpegs though. Political experiment means Unilateral law to host the global king. The President to serve forever predicted by the prophet for the weather event, the news event elections in the fall. Many common people will just have to disappear. Blame the rapture when those Travelin' Boxcars fill. At its back end time's winged chariot grows near. Programed men have sworn. Wonder will do good use to all.  Hitler was a British spy! Oops

 Cycorp will be the AI military arm. One might hold it all political evidence.

I was a scholar of the golden age when the Days of Weimar were golden in the States, eternal heroes as gods were shared by all. Mountains of gold on the moon and mountains of coal below the hyper dimension. To get to the gold you got to be made. Spirits from that side possess new silicone. You think you'll live forever, Jared Kushner, DNA of metabolic change, but the crocodile is against him. The snake is against him. The third strand implant social must be prepared. That's the Weimar way.

Note: My first contract with Velikovsky came when the late Adam Niswander, of Adam's Books asked for a first edition of Worlds in Collision (Macmillan, 1950) etc. Pretty soon one appeared and he was eager to give cash for it and a copy of [Pseudo] Longinus on the Sublime (1907) wasting on his shelves, for I had no interest in mad science then, either Velikovsky or Freud.

Cited:

-Poems. Stephen Spender (Faber, 1933).
-This appeared in Red Fez # 71 in Sept '14 in a different form. The sculpture appeared just a week later.

-Gearoid O Colmain Geopolitical Destabilization of Europe:

 

-In the beginning BUILDING TRANSHUMAN IMMORTALS got revised a hundred times, but eventually two electronic interfaces disagreed and it entered the hole but not one remained in the world. Then OPIOMES formed with visions of the Starchitect, Ishtar Hotel, a first reel. To blame Coleridge a TROJAN HORSE formed. Poseidon, out of the dread locks of Medusa, like the Trojan, like Pegasus, still retained her SEVERED HEAD just as Pegasus and his brother Chrysaor did at that moment when Perseus severed it. Then the immigrant Kurk Wold docked his Batcave Mobile in Denver, home of the Bronco Neptunes and Mustang Sally. So these two versions, Trojan Horse and Opiomes once one became two and now are three. Would that Raja Rao had lived to hear it. Myth becoming fact might be fun, but for Dean Swift rowing down the Thames. I don’t mind if you take the head as a particle of physics in the failure of the standard model to describe 4-space time entering 3-, or, "energy which is compressed by exactly the same factor by which matter is considered compressed energy: the speed-of-light-squared!" Then the empty space in the empty head is incomplete, not curved. So while they pursue the half speed LHC Higgs, and deny the existence of the longitudinal wave, to anybody persevered enough through this process  isn't  set, the Kurk Wold Letters, oops, are fauxnonfic, Cartoons at the End of the World, Ishtar Hotel, Starchitect after a hundred visions and revisions renamed, three times this much exists hidden on the internet!

 

 

The Man Who Disappeared

 

Three times I've changed his name. Five prognostics of the ancient Tzu gave the Sage man and Superior man an abstracted mist. Not the red lantern shining through fog, but fog. Not withdrawn into time and place of an Imperial Court far away. Twenty seven different wigs in The Land That Appeared, then Disappeared, then Reappeared, cannot be seen. It is a place of orpheans certified. They say your love and the silver rays will surely bring you home, that like men gone to plough so far from the present, this history turned to myth. So travel and touch by risking all.

 

 Riddledy ro,

 the supernatural receding fabulous.

Archaic open wide.

 

The actions of silence in the face of the spirit, not separate but primal took the Heavenly man by the left leg, not separate from the Spirit man or the truth of the Perfect man, and threw him down the stairs.

The Man who disappeared unable to speak, applied fire and nuts, not the absence of thought,--yet without speech where is thought? The music of the dance resolved this new world driving. When the cracks began finishing out the golden age of ten thousand faces before the surge, fantastic, the imperial court, the government of heaven attained its earth again. Which did not last long for peace in the midst of war. There are many holes in a skimmer, especially adrenalin relics of this future which speak prophetically to anyone who stakes all upon the throw.

 

In all versions the arm with the sword reaches up. Versions of history also depend on who tells it, whether from inside the belly or outside where armadoes of carracks ballast its nose. Were it not vexed to break in two it took all the following years to understand why. And that is what I told you. Now listed as Missing are the bow-wows making sound.

 

I would not for a Guinea evoke sympathy and ironic portion for this appeal. The hen of victimhood gets pushed around, but how many chickens have you got? Oddly retranslatable a new chick hatched out along with a weakling Rabbit and Kark the Half Horse. Steel bands and button pushers think an easy thing for horns and satanic consequences to unveil the clock of the myth of return. Conscripted time says dance what ye done mon friend, which mechanism the job specialization of hell mass produces cogs in the factories of Sudetenland and Parkersburg. As a hard mole mounts above the moon, an insurance adjustor blames Idyllaus Oklahamas. That changes the state, the modern mechanized notserve.

 

 

To compliment this mystic tinkling at the knee we study Mysteries for truth to higher and lower worlds. I won't make a stew of this writing if it weren’t metaphysical.  “Sothli if a strongere comynge above overcome him, he schal tak a wey alle his armeris, in which he tristide, and schal dele abrood his spuylis." When the man  in linen with the writing kit appears, "the mark on my forehead of those who grieve and lament over all the detestable things" ----I Mark those lives chosen, redeemed and forfeit before the beginning of the world knew the beginning and end of armaments the Word and the Name, the Blood,  the baptism, the Branch, the  deliverance, praise, breath, coming armor. Israel went into battle with harps and a song.

 

The energy barrier of the Wall, which separates Gloster from the planes caught in the middle of a freeway at rush hour, adds to the unseen. An engineer with his finger in Foxy's dike deconstructs the human form., A mirror psychiatrist calls the merrie Mouse on the Hill good, validates the twin. The telos purpose of earth, not mass migration, reports all the toys in the backyard for a last day puddy ride.

 

Feel a  need to shape shift? Pynchon said in ‘73: "Laszlo Jamf decreases to zero the stimulus he conditioned on Tyrone Slothrop as an infant, but "there can still be a silent extinction beyond the zero." In the twenty years before high carillon, Pynchon Nazi transferred hook and line  to every western governed in disguise.

 

In the early implants of fictitious Buggeteers and Prawns, the five wills of Master Humanity, sir, by your leave, make swall (Scot.). You may say in defense of anthropos science and good technological subversion and conversion of natives for social, political, commercial ends that these "Indians" need to shed their skins so biosraum and other psychic saus-ageish good can come.

 

The best little donkey that ever was born in Russia and Europe, Babylon and Rome.

Egypt and Sumer reexhibited the gods.

 

How do you go from free scientific inquiry to mind control annihilation? What has my poor prisoner done? America was ready for empire by gentle means or none.

 

Wudna I wollup him?

Stuff him wi' nuts,

make him go up wit 'is

teal half cock'd.

 

Cowslip and shad blow, said one to the other, if you don't walk I must bother.  So launched the pursuit of the psychic state even less conditioned than a mind wipe. Can we build it up again? Build with iron and steel. Build Brooklyn with silver and gold?

 

To tolerate brainwashing in a system fosters tolerance by the mouth. To perpetuate the struggle, create destructive tolerance, form benevolent neutrality toward the culture of dingle donk. Encore.

 

Under the bridge,

under the wall,

there is a pit,

there is a cave!

 

 

Rowley Powley pudding and pie,

when you join a colony, retire by the pool.

With silk and satin by the light of Lethe town,

lava and cool, for it's difficult to get in.

 

Those spelunkers line up to chance the Dulce. They rappel down comfortable dark holes of Anthropocene' epochs  amid the horns of the moon. Then they reach up from the ground. London Bridge must be rebuilt you warn. Fly away Jack, fly away Jill. The Colony converts the will.

Happily enough this seems as good a time as any to admit to the discourse on invisibility had yesterday with one who argued that if invisible he would just feel around until he found it out. Well put, master, if your one sense is all you lose to blindness and not them all, for then would they all desert you and disappear. Some say the orc was once an elf that was tortured into existence and mortality. But none is mortal as a man, he is the only mortal.

Balboa

Vasco Núñez de Balboa Adelantado Balboa, his father, was the hidalgo who crossed the Isthmus of Panama to the Pacific in 1513, the first European to lead an expedition to have seen or reached the Pacific from the new world.  He walked knee-deep in the ocean, and claimed possession of the new sea and all adjoining lands for Spain. Balboa settled in Hispaniola in 1505, as a planter and pig farmer.  To escape his creditors in Santo Domingo in 1509 he stowed away in a barrel with his dog, named Leoncico, Little Lion, in the expedition commanded by the Alcalde Mayor.

Peter Martyr d’Anghiera in his De orbe novo decades, written and rewritten so many times in this new world it was put on the dollar bill, wrote how Balboa, upset with "a brother of the king and other young men, obliging men, [who] dressed effeminately with women's clothing [... of those which the brother of the king] went too far with unnatural" temerity, threw forty of them as food to his dogs. Later mafia throw to pigs. D'Anghiera continues saying that the indigenous people's "natural hate for unnatural sin" drove them so that, "spontaneously and violently, they searched for all the rest that they would know who were infected." After all, D'Anghiera mentions that "only the nobles and the gentlemen practiced that kind of desire. [... The] indigenous people knew that sodomy gravely offended God. [... And that these acts provoked] the tempests that with thunder and lightning so frequently afflicted them, or the floods that drowned their fruits that had caused hunger and sickness." Beheaded three times

In 1892, in preparation for the anniversary of Columbus’ discovery of the Americas, a body believed to be that of Pizarro was exhumed and put on display in a glass coffin. But in 1977, workers on the cathedral's foundation discovered a lead box in a sealed niche, which bore the inscription "Here is the head of Don Francisco Pizarro Demarkes. This Don Francisco Pizarro discovered Peru and presented it to the crown of Castile." A team of forensic scientists from the United States, examined the bodies and determined the body in the glass case for nearly a century was incorrect. But the lead box skull had multiple sword blows that resembled portraits of the man in life. ^-Historians often compare the conquests of Pizarro and Cortés in North and South America in style and career. Pizarro, however, faced the Incas with a smaller army and fewer resources than Cortés, at a greater distance from the Spanish Caribbean outposts to support him, which has led some to rank Pizarro slightly ahead of Cortés in their battles. Based on sheer numbers alone, Pizarro's military victory was one of the most improbable.

Cortés

Cortés, either in a pre-meditated effort to instill fear on the Aztecs waiting for him at Tenochtitlan or (as he later claimed, when he was being investigated) wishing to make an example, saying he feared native treachery, massacred thousands of unarmed members of the nobility gathered at the central plaza.

--- After death, his body was moved more than eight times. On December 4, 1547 he was buried in the mausoleum of the Duke of Medina in the church of San Isidoro del Campo, Sevilla. Three years later (1550) due to the space being required by the duke, his body was moved to the altar of Santa Catarina in the same church. In his testament, Cortés asked to be buried in the monastery he had ordered to be built in Coyoacan in México, ten years after his death, but the monastery was never built. So in 1566, the body was sent to New Spain and buried in the church of San Francisco de Texcoco, where his mother and one of his sisters were buried.-- In 1629, Don Pedro Cortés fourth "Marquez del Valle, his last male descendant, died, so the viceroy decided to move the bones of Cortés along with those of his descendant to the Franciscan church in México. This was delayed for nine years, while his body stayed in the main room of the palace of the viceroy. Eventually it was moved to the Sagrario of Franciscan church, where it stayed for 87 years. In 1716, it was moved to another place in the same church. In 1794, his bones were moved to the hospital  founded by Cortés), where a statue by Tolsá and a mausoleum were made. There was a public ceremony and all the churches in the city rang their bells.

In 1823, after the independence of México, it seemed imminent that his body would be desecrated, so the mausoleum was removed, the statue and the coat of arms were sent to Palermo to be protected by the Duke of Terranova. The bones were hidden, and everyone thought that they had been sent out of México. In 1836, his bones were moved to another place in the same building.

It was not until November 24, 1946 that they were rediscovered thanks to the discovery of a secret document by Lucas Alamán. His bones were put in charge of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH). The remains were authenticated by INAH.^[44]:468 They were then restored to the same place, this time with a bronze inscription and his coat of arms.^[45] When the bones were first rediscovered, the supporters of the Hispanic tradition in Mexico were excited, but one supporter of an indigenist vision of Mexico "proposed that the remains be publicly burned in front of the statue of Cuauhtemoc, and the ashes flung into the air". Following the discovery and authentication of Cortés's remains, there was a discovery of what were described as the bones of Cuauhtémoc occurred, resulting in the so-called "battle of the bones". In 1981, when a copy of the bust by Tolsa was put in the church, there was a failed attempt to destroy his bones.--- Cortés is commemorated in the scientific name of a subspecies of Mexican lizard, Phrynosoma orbiculare cortezii.^[

Yeats 

 

Don’t say Picasso could do it or Dekooning didn’t. It would ruin tourism or grave worship if Yeats is not where they say. Where he is is a whole other matter. The blue-hair burial of the church of Ireland is a prerequisite burial for faith. True remedy was found  in the body of Alfred Hollis, whose steel corset differed not from Yeats' hernia truss, which clinched the identity according to Yeats’ sister. Out of nature not take his form from any natural thing, which a casket certainly is not, or a corset, lasting hundreds of years, preventing decay, preventing return to the soil, enabling ossieries to dig for fear of more. The fear of one is the fear of all. Who thinks their grave will last the five hundred thousand years a casket does? There is room for one more archeologist.

 

Yeats thought he would rise from the grave with a fresh book of verse. Call it Uni-verse.  But his operation to improve his sex life is a close second. It ranks with the foibles of corporado industrialists. Yeats had the Steinach operation to cure the impotence that vexed his last decade. It had the  advantage of making him sterile. Freud had the operation too, which brings no doubt to the sacred thoughts we had about poets. If it did not cure Yeats impotence the operation did give rise to elevated thoughts among critics of his four senescent sexual liaisons after 1934, “whether he achieved full intercourse in any of them is the subject of continued speculation in Yeats scholarship.” (Brenda Maddox. The Secret Life of W. B. Yeats, 279). Do not say Picasso could do it or Dekooning didn’t, consult spirits to inflame his aerosol. Wife George had the spirits dictate to him in 1919 that he must do it “twice a week!” After long abstinence the astrologer sought the right alignments.

 

No doubt Yeats wanted to be buried at Sligo after a year’s interment or so at Roquebrune in France. However the 10 year lease on that plot was up, or mistaken for a five year lease during the war, or some other mishap resulted in the body being exhumed and stored in an ossuary, alongside an Englishman buried that same day. To be mistaken for Alfred Hollis! The French government certified it was Yeats  in 1948 when transfer occurred to Eire, but it was all hushed up so don’t ask further if the case will stand. The family of Hollis believes the Sligo remains are their Alfred encased in a truss, steel corset at the core.

 

 For these reasons and  more it will not ruin tourism or grave worship to say that Yeats is not where they say. Where he is is a whole other matter. The blue-hair deserved burial with the church of Ireland, but a prerequisite for burial there is faith. True remedy was found  in the body of Alfred Hollis, whose steel corset differed not so much from Yeats' hernia truss, which determined the identity according to Yeats’ sister. Yeats out of nature would not take his form from any natural thing, which a casket certainly is not, or a corset, lasting hundreds of years, preventing decay, preventing return to the soil, enabling ossieries to be dug for fear of more. The fear of one is the fear of all. But you can still move around in them.  Who thinks their grave will last the five hundred thousand years a casket does, raise your hand! There is room for one more archeologist.

 

Yeats never fit the biography of his lines, even if  he had his tubes tied, was a crypto fascist, hung with Pound and  had so many ailments before he died. These writers and their genes! Virginia and Leonard Woolf were whispering they would commit suicide together if Hitler took Bloomsbury. “The Black Tower” is not about eugenics, nor is “The Death of Cuchulain” about some lady in her robe, but his own. Yeats died and was buried in a pauper’s grave from which they dug up a simulacrum; it might as well have been wax sent to Ireland. He asked and became a trinket of Byzantium, a Statue of  Reputation, which matters not that much to the dead in the ground, or in the ossuary or the dust and smoke of crematoriums.

 

Yeats’ cure for idiocy was to ape the lusts of the young in dirty talk and  tuning his wife into a  divine while he fell down at the feet of starlets and excess, all of which made it impossible for him to pass go.

 

It shouldn’t be thought Yeats acted differently from the time and place. Pound dressed in “trousers made of green billiard cloth, a pink coat, a blue shirt, a tie hand-painted by a Japanese friend, an immense sombrero, a flaming beard cut to a point, and a single, large blue earring.” Indeed when Yeats threw Crowley down the stairs of the Temple Crowley wore “a black mask,  a MacGregor tartan kilt, a gilt pectoral cross, and a dagger at his knee” (12). This was in 1900, but it gives Yeats a point of comparison when he wore blue hair. To compare with Blake, even if not so extreme, Yeats reports Blake threw  artists off their ladders at Westminster Abbey (Poems of William Blake, ed. by Yeats, xv).

 

Consumed by women and continually shifting eroticism from one ingénue to  another, older or younger, but not with wife George, his amanuensis, manager and caretaker, every crack brain at his age compounds sex energies with political intrique to make lit or plays or  money with  anthologies to finance travel to the Riviera.

The Nobel pride at the top of the middle aged world

fears his last poem about flesh and age

more than a politics fears a poet, and historyfor the lines are honest and brutal, true as he lies in pain and iniquity, save always if for another one would dare to die, which we add to balance the perfevered Dawn, medium, vision, repeated lives and poems, as if they were women wanting to come to know the truth. This we respect deeply, for who comes to know the truth but in age? There’s no room here to tell you of the many burials of Goya.

 

Note

 

 In On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer, Keats has “stout Cortez with eagle eyes stare at the Pacific.”

 

Balboa

I Balboa have spoken. I sank to my knees in the ocean and raised a sword. I claimed the Pacific and all therein. What’s beyond the Pacific? Space, the solar cloud. If Keats substitutes  the bloody Cortez for me-Basko (Google @ Cortex), your grave might need be moved eight times like his, or your head dug up like that Gilgamesh did in his lapis box when the American priests took Iraq. More than one scientist got a tumor in the head, which took three swipes of the ax to detach. More counterfeit can have no queens because there are no kings and no fealty. No kings, queens, gods, or seven sages below you will not hear the imposters, only their look alikes hype the lord. Hoot out Chapman you new continents and planets.

What's the point? We start out cold and come without a mind or memory or disproportionate life that we know, since life is a function of life, and continue in the station of birth until we come to a land with no myth, and eventually know what William Drummond talks of Charon and Morpheus, Phoebe, Doris, Thetis, the Trojan Horse, Adonis, Cupid, Apollo Riboldo, Pamphilis, Briareus, Priapus, Porphyry, Artemis Phoebus. Get back, those who stand for what we don't see or hear. Names are never spoken, but their standins, if you want to say good luck, say happy Baal. Baal is luck and time and the disinvention of the past. When flocks fathom mead and grass zephers swarm the year with Hybla, wormwood bowers and Cynthia's gown, that paragore of mind, we keep being confronted in the relation of earth and heaven. 

I got all this from the rocky sea winds and trees with flocks of love parrots whose green shells and orange beaks cover my sunflowers. Where the oranged pollened wings of bees come back to the start it is the crux. From where did all the idols, gods of nations come, the Amorites (Meteorites), Hittites, Perizzites (Preterites), Canaanites, Hivites, Jebusites (Requisites) of governments. So as The Future says, "from the great creeds of the East to the fairy tales of the west, from the gods of Greece to the fetishes of Africa, or the most trivial legends of America or Polynesia, we everywhere find one foundation and one set of laws and are enabled to explain on one uniform system, every genuine myth hereto subjected to analysis" (1 Nov 1860). Technologies  seek to have them all.

The highest belief of the lowest tiers, as if they were just there like caves or bogs or desert flats, gorges or mountains, but no were not, are hybrids who belong to angel men who were first here but are homeless. The city has a special forces for them. Who are they and the highly evolved religions they prosper? Down in its basement of the Smithsonian the angel gods became angel men and so diluted their strain they had to rediscover the technology they built in the first place eons past. A  katabole or two intervened, and entropy took its toll, but just the promise that their mentors would be released after 70 generations was reason to presume.“…Bind them fast for seventy generations in the valleys of the earth, until the day of their judgment and of their consummation, till the judgment that is forever and ever is consummated.”  All technology is from the angels. I Balboa have spoken.

 

These whereabouts, being unseen, bend and break and ceaselessly rebuild, which creates as many insolubles as possible and always aggravates the existing. When Mistress Wren sent her Queen to Spain, that woman of sin let her in. If you savor knaves, the basic Nova *technoique trained in Sweden, then this tolerance brings in money for Jack Poot, another member of the Pancake Empire. Probably need a glossary for this. We shall, we must give semblance to the empire of pancake all Balboa, Loyola as its seneschal help to put on the boots you see, get’em dressed  for action. All this will come clean in the account.

 

I am myself a sample and sampler of these insupportable acts. But there I am, standing as naked as a dozen or more events to which a child is unthinkably exposed, at midnight with forged papers and ordered to walk the bridge, and only by that grace appeared that appeared before the end began, always these rescues at the last end. We want to know what symbolic acts mean because they swim in our consciousness by day and dive back again at night until they stop and new  contend. The bridge, the bench in the Panama City airport the fall from the hay mow at ten.

 

Seraphim Collection

 

Both of us faces in wireless connection between two bodies feel in the head when the other bit, multiplied by billions. Of course we are baffled between the saying and the said. That the saying must bear a said, but the saying is the fact before the face and I do not simply remain there contemplating it, I respond to. We are survived dilettantes of each other’s states, beings that inhabit huge warehouses and industrial residences of stores and passages of exiles, unguarded ingress and egress above, and below the main stories, huge posters of spiritual resistance.

 

That first house was a huge clapboard in the colony with the Seraphim Collection. The apartments where the paintings housed were three stories up, unfinished, rickety, dangerous with catwalks to traverse. The house had never been properly finished, just enough so it wouldn’t get too wet in the rain. Visited many times these venues had never improved much. The Seraphim Collection crammed in pieces and crocked together. Crowds milled shoulders to pass without apology, name tags missing. Many times larger and abandoned after visits, mon pere, je m'accuse, people cram into small spaces to share a dream yard of roofed parking lots and shacks, never improved, locked or unlocked.

 

If you kiss me once you must kiss me twice.

 

Occupied by vagrants, migrants, gypsies, tenants, homeless, squatters, working men, blacksmiths, artists who had set up tables under the eaves, the shops turned into a bazaar. Rumors rife as the numbers swelled, various authorities demanded documentation.

 

The big black briefcase of open doors closed for good. Papers of these refugees for Escape, indexed to the right piece of paper, enabled exit. Discern that figural presence of a salvific lure, another huge warehouse unsecured. Sir, may I not sail with you?

 

Changing directions of this industrial earth,

a frog he would a-wooing go.

 

 I went down to see and smell, ended up on my belly cutting black bags out of the bridge wall, scissoring out red insulation drip from the Wailing, prying out cracks between concrete, metal and wood. Sometimes mice droppings would fall out after the smell, mouse or rot musk as I push up, balance, ease down a yard, feet sticking out among stones. Sighs of breath get me up like a blast, not thinking at all to dismantle the word and image machine. By now you feel it too. You must; my pain is my pain and your pain is yours and ours.

 

I thank God that ye have tarried so long

Now each of you set on to row

And we will shortly follow.

 

 

Crossing

Run wireless through this bridge of fire in the abstract. It’s a toll bridge,  a span of light and flame burning. Anyone who dares laugh can say the lack of phosphorus explains it. These colonials need more cordage telepathy in their diet, so  microbiologists who disappeared from their labs were killed for their light, like photophosphoric mice in coal mines. They lit the lab of the mind. These warehouses are flying like over and under. Even Rune Floberghagen with the latest patent of the

Buckminster Fuller world grids in his pocket;

and the big wave Eastland patents

and Ossoff’s Cathie’s fifteen dimensions of alternate convections to the pole don’t take your mind off the prize, which is how to get to the other side. Burbreak meets Brubake there. But not in tradition, in Teslacles. Someone everywhere had a part of our body in common down there. But gravel and stone will wash away so dance my Laddie.

 

In and around the coal mines we also hear.

big and small nitrogen microwaves

 

"Timing, timing" made an exercise fly by.

We bring in Columbus in the upper case of this throat crowing empire. Mr. O'Gorman and even Barry Holstead said these were all Invention, that Balboa and Cortez, buried more times than them all, never rose again, not yet, "no matter what facts are prevented in this amnesia, or where or when they can be, all announcements and analysis of the party line, if the ears are cut short, the tail will be cut long.”

 

Bridges in Space

 

The bridges in space of Grandville’s bridge and interplanetary balcony on the rings of Saturn in Un autre monde of 1844 and  Kafka's Bridge from New York to Boston in Amerika are two faux toes of iron and steel between the clay toes of the last kingdom of the world.  Max Brod thought he had to edit out Kafka’s rag picker collectibles in the Great Wall of China with its dog detectives, schoolmaster moles and the singing mouse, but they were personal compared to the political beast that that lurks under the troll bridge where the Ishtar Hotel amps up the Occidental. Next to  the Statue of Liberty that raises it arm with a sword. A more recent bridge from Babylon to Denver over the giant stage of super events designs to usher in super mensch to the land of Pied Cow. We call America that even if you have another name for it because like all the cows that Herr Nietzsche invented they obey together and forget genetic art, science and weather, chemtrails on postage stamps, government experiments.  Nor do we seek coherence in this montage of half-concealed citations. E Pluribus Unum doesn't mean "Gather Together in One All Things in Messiah, both in heaven and on earth in Him." It means bow down in your living rooms. The seclorum millennial doesn’t kiss the Son whose kingdom is set upon the holy hill, it looks in its pocket device where “sacrificers of men kiss their calves.” (Hosea). So yes, this satire describes life under the bridge at the Ishtar Hotel below in words we now hear as it spills out into the valley These icons held our narrator, twice, but he escaped three time the gigantomachy frieze  of arms.

Some say it’s a bridge of iron and steel but it’s a bridge to build the world. To participate, suffer, sacrifice, feel pain it comes on swift as a car slams or legs flow to the pavement of themselves where he stands at midnight with false papers, commanded to walk.  

A bridge.  A bridge no steel could bend and break, some say was a bridge of old lang syne. Up on that bridge with Brubreak, everything that is not, is not, therefore not. This bridge goes over the inhabitants below where everybody molecules swam data fish in common. Brubaker's hand for instance got stung but I feel the pain in the same place, in the same body as those pilots who bombed cities feel themselves in the deaths below and fall to their faces in the Sea of Wittgenstein. This sea is like the great Salt Lake. I promise you it has a shrewd smell.  Bones in embryo are born at birth, but they last a long way. Where have those not penetrated the cable strands?

 

On the other side of this bridge people are strapped in their chairs, tilted back. the dentist is drilling. They wear sunglasses from the flare.  A woman presses her breasts on your shoulder. The dentist on the right wears a mask. Both of us, our faces in wireless connection between two bodies, feel in the head when the other bit, multiplied by billions. Think how huge the cavity. Of course we are baffled between the saying and the said. Not that the saying must bear a said, but that the saying is the fact before my face and I do not simply remain there contemplating it, but respond. You and I are survived dilettantes of each other’s states, exiles of unguarded ingress and egress above and in passages below the main stories of huge posters of spiritual resistance of the will, huge warehouses and industrial residences of stores.

-- Bridge on the E10

 

Brupper stands still. He is not moving. What was there to move for? The whole earth below was noise.

 

When the doors of the warehouse open refugees fly out, indexed to the right piece of paper. They make exit. The spontaneous saint is asked whether Sir, may I not set sail with you? Figures under the bridge float far away, but then the warehouses sail in the air. Some make melodious rhyme out of their smokestacks. Others smoke birds unlike any birds we know. The air is filled with warehouses.

 

 If the noise bothers you, you miniaturize it. Poof! Wear it round your neck as an instant where everything revolves, earth, space, planets and plain lives as simultaneous as breath in myriads of spirals divided like hairs of a head Brupper wore them that day that they were wearing him, the many Adam planets quick wig, worn on the ball of a bead strung round the man’s neck, as the universe extended, arrived, eyes remembering half dreams while the bridge waved through its corded bound cable strands the telepathy of wires, one bridge of fire.

 

 

 

 

Attempts to demilitarize the bridge had little effect. War on war makes war. Sonic weapons fired continually at the flying warehouses microed them, and flying right beside with other notables like Breuegels, lifted the fifth seal. St. Peter and Hieronymus  It was a good place to view the air. While saying these exist we would hope to prove they do not.

 

The bridge is like that game                                          

 two players form with uplift arms.

 

All others pass through in a line, each holding to the shoulders of the one in front and hurrying, fearing they will be caught by the descending arms, but the game ends in a tug of war. Pass through!

 

This bridge of many forms cannot be built by ordinary means. Terrance Mckenna is buried at the foot of pier with a candle in his nose and piece of bread in his hand, food and light so the guardian would watch to keep it from falling. This merry work is imperfectly done, for the bridge collapsed. We was going o'er and heard the crack run  through the town of Universal Amplitude and its natural sway. Other refinements were depatterning and amnesia to placate the river beneath. A feedback loop played over and over to drug those nuts to crack. Sensory deprivation at the Society for the Investigation of London kicked into placate.

 Forth, we wake.

 

We wake up on this side of the bridge and are told to walk. It connects what was with what will be. The world makes up its doctrines to explain. We wake to families bound to the land and to each other in gens. Doctrines like reincarnation keep us in line. You got what you get because you deserve it --even if you don’t know and you’ll keep on getting it too, so stay in line. March. That holds the people up, the earth in line so they don’t kick against the pricks, but there are two p’s in people that stand there with their arms outstretched under which we walk or run.

Made to stay in line and bury themselves themselves, reincarnation is the greatest prison of all. Walk the bridge, turn around and walk the bridge, turn around and walk the bridge. But if the bridge had some purpose, to see through its veil all the floating cloud inventions of karma, houses, burlesques and carnival corporations and cell phones to worship the gods, what need for exploitation? Were the purpose of the bridge to take it over and defeat the gods in league with the governments, kings and princes, senators and presidents special candy bits cuddled and tended delights so the army could ferret out and mine the Neanderthal. This Renaissance, waukrife mi laddie, took some sleep as the wisdom of crowds waved their vibrational nodes. It was synchronous lateral excitation. Two objects touch, vibrate to increase and suddenly we're dry from trinking.

 

It was raining a little when the lightning struck. In that area the dead from the rays, the average per year, fatalities added, hit by lightning so they could no longer do anything, which people you know, altogether 55 and 60 million, rising to more than 70 while the moon gives light. A 21-year-old and a man of 58 had to be hospitalized in that province-- Truth, elevating commodity through entertainment, whistled in the dark. I saw a fishpond on fire.

Acknowledgments to Camel Saloon Gallery, Eyeshot, Red Fez, Antipodean SF, Neon Garden, Futures Trading, Otherwise Engaged and Lothlorien Poetry Journal for versions that there appeared.

 

All these marked the Colonist's step over this bespelder'd floor. All is One had given them eggs to sell. Body electric, piezo EM rad fitted loose clothing with nano bots that charged when they walk, harvesting eyelids and venous return, arterial pulse and footsteps. That's how the bridge was kept from falling. But it was not built to last. Some say it’s a bridge of iron and steel to cross but it’s a bridge to build the world. To participate, suffer, sacrifice, feel pain with those named, that come on swift as a car slams or legs flow to the pavement where he stands at midnight with false papers, commanded to walk.

 

In the figural presence of a salvific lure they discern.