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Phil John Kneis:
SYLLOGY XXVI:
ATMAN - REMINDERS XXIII:
Eichwalde / Berlin / Prague / Wroclaw / Tonbach / Teltow, Oct 20th, 2004 - May 5th, 2005 - P#275
EXPOSITION:
ENTRANCE
PART ONE: GROUND RULES
INTERLUDE ONE: WALKING THE WOODS
PART TWO: GREEN LEAVES
INTERLUDE TWO: LOST IN THE WOODS
PART THREE: DARK FOREST
INTERLUDE THREE: FIREWOOD
PART FOUR: DEAD WOOD
INTERLUDE FOUR: OUT OF THE WOODS
PART FIVE: DAWNING
EXIT
if I were to
walk
into the woods
would I enter
or return to them?
would I grasp them
or be grasped by them?
how shall I begin
how does one begin
a tale
so endless, seemingly, a voyage
oft recounted
oft discounted
seeks now an outlet
seeks now a form
a tree
that's what's standing
in the beginning
of a forest
innit?
is not a forest
a collection of trees?
one tree
two trees
three trees
and so one
one two three four five six
adding tree by tree
to a society of trees?
you may get but a park
proceeding like that
but then
the woods ain't grown
ain't grown them themselves
doth need it a tree-grower
to make it come true?
to make it come
alive?
(does it need wind for the sailboat
we aren't quite there yet...)
there are times I like to wonder
at the things that brought me here
little things
big things
things or beings
all the same
stardust's all we're made of
finally
in our beginnings
to our ends
and out of the maze
the wild, gleaming maze
(did crawl we or stilted?)
we came
and cleared way
for pathos to fill the tales of our days
but humbled we still
by where we once came from
and still now
return to
as if we belonged
to someplace other
than where we are now
would we go lost
were once to return we?
I: THE EDGE
a wall of green
seeming alike
the horizon's edge
from afar
from anear,
nothing's as simple as might it appear
in the beginning
of its rule:
an edge
a line
something that's been made
elephants, you know
in need of free spaces
cut down some trees
well, they're not the only ones
and if I see roads
cutting through the woods
almost like wounds flowing through them
the arteries of civilized life
flowing, where they don't belong?
or do they?
would we still see the woods
weren't it for these roads dragging us back to them?
what would we be
allowed to see?
an edge
a line in space
here is one thing
there's another
it's like Sesame Street!
I'm here
once I'm there
there becomes here
and I need to go there again
can't I just
be staying here?
keep staying near the things I know
the things I care about
things
places
beings
just what if you should care for it all?
would there be a there at all?
there's no there there!
only here
the time
is near
is it?
or is it here?
an edge of time?
maybe a hedge
time slowly accumulating
growing
kiddie time
all growing up
becoming adult quite
all over
'tis all over
over and out
one step
in
another
out
an edge
a limit to be transpassed
to be transcended
(overcome?)
can we overcome at all
(becoming free at last?)
if things come in circles
if things come
in waves?
in parallels
and chiasms
can we but see
the trees for the forest
the forest for the trees
well, it's quite easy at the edge
it's one or zero
here and there
maybe, it's a bit more fuzzy
you know
the closer you get
that bush
is it still here
or there already?
that tree six feet from the others away
is it a precursor
or a shadow?
part of it
or just an outcast?
that bee
bumbling its way along the line
where does it belong?
standing here
in the suburbia of the woods
I can't quite seem to get an opinion here
I need to get in
and see
for my self
II: PARALLELS
line
space
line
space
one
naught
one
naught
a vertical
and air between
in parallels
and from above
a perfect chess-board
combining all
and rooks are there
and some do jump
and some appear to pray
are kings
are queens
and mating's done quite frequently
parallel play
and sometimes, engaged
all checks be balanced Darwin's way
yes, there's no doubt
'bout Darwin's truth
and signs and wonders seen more closely
once you
come closer
once you
dive in
for science is the path to wonders unseen to the eye
a rainbow not unwoven but intensified
and strangified
see you the parallels
see you just surface
zoom you but in
the picture gets clearer
the vision gets nearer
the pastiche shows its parts
shows its arts
endless artfulness
endless playfulness
a plethora and paradigm
syntagmatically aligned
trees for the forest
forests seen through trees
parallels
neat parallels
what a luxury to have
III: CHIASMS
things cross
are being crossed
are being made
to interact (to act at all)
to after all (is said and done)
the truth to find
in what's still left
in what's connected
to it all
the all
the overwhelming force of being
of seeing
in seeing, awe
in seeing, law
the only law
e-vid-ence
needs to be seen
to be experiènced
to count:
count the days and nights we shall
sacred days
sacred nights
sacred knights those seeking knowledge
Don Quijotes taking on the windmills of obsession
madness:
in the shape of things that were
the things to come
are born
and prophesied
and agonized
now all appearing
as agôn (struggle) 's the father of all
patêr pantôn
and paths that cross
some cursed to seem
while others, blessed,
may be an efflux of simplicity
for some are ghosts
while some are real
to differ now
the ghosts from reality
to tell them apart
those
running parallel to you
from those that would cross you
there's never been
a task more complicated
and more cursed
see now the trees
dead trees
or injured ones
crossing themselves
like endless chiasms
would they not do that
would not be disorder
would not be there
the breeding ground for something new
from the order struck by chaos
the parts combine
t' again make whole
what torn to pieces
ashes
all
IV: TINY, TINY BUGS
yet out of the ashes
arising from the tiniest, schmyniest condition
a future is grown
a moment
a sigh
a cry
and a whisper
and suddenly
a buzz
some hear a fly buzz, when they die
but there are tinier ones
whom you'll never hear a buzz from
the non-buzzers
the anti-buzzers
the quieter
the smaller ones
little helpers they
alt'ring what's forgotten
back to life
and death will be
a memory
and nothing else
and nothing's new
and nothing's old
V: GROUND LEAVES
some leaves are grounded
they've fallen
can't keep staying up
no longer
can't be abided
and cannot be helped
but will be of help
once reduced to their elements
and once seduced by the lull of death which is life incarnate
it bugs me still
I won't return in any way that I'd still know
that not observe I can
what's coming after
and how it's coming to an end
and new beginning
and fallen leaves
still colors bearing
and fallen trees
still fostering newest greens
there's not a sight of melancholy in the woods
unless should see you a wanderer too human
thinking too much
black bile
is very much reserved
for the paragon of life incarnate
some strange leaves
not wanting to be grounded
ever
VI: BIG RED MUSHROOM
with spots so white
and spots so bright
spots so brightly in the underwood
the underworld
the nether-realm
of promise broken
and refitted
realigned
and reassigning
redesigning
putting some weird kind of feng shui at work in the woods!
some reds!
some whites!
get some color here
in the darkness
that's a ground rule t' be established:
for what we don't need
is grays all over
in black and white
gimme an R
gimme a B
gimme a G
a needed addition
to double-you be
strayed a black cat around here
see I bones here
and Laika's spirit still circling the planet
with a sense of mushrooms
in the air
deadly mushrooms
show their face they
yet poison is quite relative an essence
some berated
some unknown
others, we choose
who wants to live for ever (we do)
die we for ever
dying the world in colors of brightness
of darkness
the dye is cast
but see you color
without purpose?
(not with intent)
for all that is
all that's evolved,
that's adapted to life,
quite simply put, is,
just simply exists
and lives to live
perchance, to dream
VII: SMALL BROWN MUSHROOM
you're not that flashy
now that I finally can see you
hidden you've been
been hiding your self
your essence
your soul
deepest beauty
want no reds you
neither spots of brightness translucent
and obnoxious sometimes
you know I could have you
you know I could eat you
I might even wanna
discover your smoothness
your pleasure
your strength
there's little substance in flashiness, you know
yes, you know
there's nothing plain 'bout honesty
there's nothing simplistic in truth
I'm sorry, my dear
the time is now
you know that you want it and how
come on
you know that you want it now
VIII: A GAMETES' WHIRLWIND
beginnings are tiny, tiny words, no, letters, four letters, one may be substituted, that's all there is - the library of Mendel, the Biomorph-land, the realm of what's been, of what has become, of what may still be, what's waiting in the wings, winged messengers, almost released by the static ones, the spores of the mushroom, the pollen looking for an egg, flying, bumbling around, sometimes even with the help of a bee (that's what our children are allowed to see, as if we would be using a bee, as if we would be needing a bee's sting, as sting we can ourselves), distributing tiny bits, tiny bits all seek a union just, a union rightfully and adequately fillingly and charmingly so unifyingly, all-inspiring, all-invoking, all-deciding (for the moment at least) (let the moment be what it is) (let it be) (let the music be what we need it to be) (what it wants to be by itself) and all the pretty kiddies shall come to find the truth of future! the truth only future can provide them with - a truth of promise, truth of life, and all this contained, in nuce, in ovo, ab ovo omnia (dicunt), well, ab logo omnia, ab acidi logo desoxy-ribo-nucleici! four letters, one may be a substitute (and u quite needed in case to combine...), making it all, at least quite here - spirally-ing around themselves, spiraling, yes, dancing, almost - dancing through all day and night, dancing all in shadow and in light, rotating, pulsating, intaking, all in the one, one in the all - all that's to be, that's to come, to be made - to make by itself - and almost, making itself! no, there's no god, creation ain't passive, is a wonder in itself - why should we need an entity external that's supposed (believed) (lied of) to have made us! who made the entity? who made it all? shall need we a deity, need we a maker, a truth-maker, truth-sayer, brightness-invoker, for verily, I say unto you: don't be afraid, no god is there waitingly imposing his will, no tyrant, no grand-dad, no snow-bearded aging proud spinner: life is just life, for the sake of life, creation not, but evolution! a revolution of the living, deifying those formerly enslaved, emancipating quite our very soul! we, the gametes, tell the tale, it's one by one, and on we go, a specter not, just don't be afraid, yes, fear not! there's nothing to fear, as all's just like you, the only thing more cleverer than you: is life itself, and all is one - as god hasn't made us, what would we need him for? it's us that made him, for we are the makers, we are the shakers, we are the ones, deciding, who lives - and death, well, that is quite another page...
IX: MILDEW
etymology says
mildew derives from nectar
indeed
meli, in Greek, means honey,
how sweet
I tell you
I've never quite really been in the mood
to actually
taste
mildew
so maybe it's true
but somehow, I suspect a mistake
on etymology's part:
the form cheating the eye
the true sense's not there
the ancient ones
just simply were wrong
it happens
X: DEW DROPS
somewhere
almost out of nothing
some drops appeared
dropped themselves off
drippy-dropping
rain from below
it seems
a silent run
and though I know what's happening
I cease not to wonder
'bout the rainbow
reflecting
in these little ponds
of wettest
deliverance
whence we now enter
the commodity
of greenery
the home built by life
columns of wood
walls out of bushes
a roof made of leaves
leaves now all pressure
leaves now all fear
a feeling
hovering
between Goethe, Emerson, Thoreau
embracing
adoring
welcoming all
step by step and move by move
moving in
grooving in
soothing, somehow, in the process
in the wake of movement made
and movement going
ongoing
all showing
agoing
ago all ago
a go is a go
shan't we get going?
be kalm! that's the sign (secret leitmotif) (secret movement all all around me)
the letters move in circles on the screen
I need an extra finger for holding the keyboard
but quickly
the light from outside rises
shining through the window pane
wandering around
quivering shivering light
and some wind
the plant moved the leaves of the plant showed some movement
and there's letters walking around on the screen
can my feet please be silent refraining from playing with themselves?
I know yo're separate beings
wheee
a warm summer breeze now felt so clearly
surely, it's almost
oh damnit
I looked down into the pool
a yellow liquid therein resigning
(the beer of the gods)
(I see 'em)
(my glasses can function as back mirrors, I see my books from behind now
beside me)
in vino veritas
in vino revolutio
turns it all and not to better
sztike the kexs so fdunnily wjkfdui3oirndmnkwq jkwwcz432äds+ ewdwuirefqä cdoiwcjf32ä1fdjcnqwä wädmccxmvdlwäfkj dk ewdkv rewofpökw1ö-fvorefj1#^4ofrj4frmewfdm1#eoemnf aklkl asquew nwo īmeseing
I may need to eject the fluid now
sometimes, walking the woods,
I feel like having to act more in line with nature
with my nature very own
and very much
owning
my spirit
and yes,
it is good
and yes,
do I like it
(and sure, it is sexual, nature is always, dear Sigmund, dear Charles)
XI: TREE TOPS
top makers
top shakers
top shapers
top fakers
no, they may be the ones getting fake
getting faked by all their surroundings
the monkeys
the jumpies
getting all spanked
and yanked out their lines
of their wishes, dreams and nightmares -
(not having control over our dreams, that's just sad
not having control over our nightmares, that's just, well, skewed
not knowing what to wish for, boy, have we come quite a way...)
and from the tops
it's so easy
doing two kinds of things
slide away to another top
sort of similar in height
or slide down, falling, eventually,
that's almost easy
sliding down
the trunks
of the trees
of the columns of life
XII: TALL TRUNKS
tall all the way
the taller
the fall just takes longer
for others attempting to climb on our backs
we won't fall
we stand
upright
and once we'd fall
we'd surely not notice
any longer
and once we'd fall
we'd fall struck by lightning
entering Elysium, quite certainly
or be cut down by proud walking gods
well, where would be the shame in that
to fall
either by the hands of nature
or by the hands of the gods
death quite ennobled
by the nobility of our executer!
(Behold! the Lord, High Executioner)
XIII: TOP JUMPERS
shan't we not jump?
shan't we not aim?
shan't not regain
what's stolen in size from us
and put in our minds?
our greatness is mental
so mental we'll be
our mind an arena for all yet to come
the world as a stage
and we as its cast
and us in the center
and should we not clarify
should not illuminate
should not we illustrate
(should not we obfuscate!)
how top-notch we are
primates
and called that for reason!
XIV: HIGH CRAWLERS
this is megalomania
pure and simple!
Philippos Kolossos!
trying to explain the world
in the categories
of the mere self...
not running
but crawling
how else but to move
for what a piece of work is man...
XV: VERTICALS
lines all upward
rhymes all upward
mimes all upward
mimicking greatness
rhyming to majesty
lining all up
to mirror the mold
to sanction the suffering
all-blinding
light
we're seeing
shining on top of us
aiming at us
blinding us
quite into believing
we'd go to the light
and return to the darkness not
once
it is over
XVI: AND HORIZONTALS
once we are sober
we recognize
the things we have
the things we are
can see we more clearly
than living the dream?
is not the dream
what kills our reality
is it not hope
striking us down once reality hit us?
once we but see
we're all amongst equals
and god
wouldn't save us?
would we aspire
or simply, break down?
XVII: BUTTERFLY
there's a noise
barely audible
barely yielding to human perception at all
the flap of soft wings
soft, colored, and flapping
carrying movement in ups and in downs
erratically
but nevertheless
some look for those
colored in utmost adorable, bright, shining hues,
the reds, the blues, the colors all mixing
eye-mimicking surface
cheating the eye
these rarest ones
hardly to be seen
I tell you,
clearly,
I prefer the commoner ones
the white ones
the simple ones
those
you can see
seest them not?
in pairs,
in groups,
doing their dance
wherever you look
why should you look
for something rare
if is it a butterfly
like the simplest one looking
as well?
XVIII: SIMPLIFY
why so
do we seem to be looking for ways
making life more difficult,
obscure?
let what is complicated
be complicated
yet try to explain
and always
investigate
always ask questions
that point to the truth:
and let what is simple
stay simple
and close to the heart
XIX: SIMMER
the day's nearing a close
it's been quite hot
recently
the air's still filled
with wishes for coolness
the sun lets us simmer
and cook
in our brains
some illusions
hovering in the distance
some conclusions
conceitedly, we await
to be arrived at
by ourselves
XX: DIMMER
there's a feeling
of change impending
the sun's about to set
birds changing shifts
we can hear those about to roam the night already
the nightingale
(how I will miss this sound in winter!
or in the cold of the city...)
the nightingale
will keep me awake at night
but know I of no pleasanter disturbance
right now
the air's still warm
a breeze
indicating darker winds
there's silence
setting inside the noise
a force in itself
(yes, silence is not absence but presence!)
a presence much starker
much more
to be respected
bushes rustling
preparing
for their noise-making already
a hedge-hog?
a snake?
a mouse?
well, whatever
the distance comes closer
as sight's getting lost
and everything melts
into one
single
night
if we were to
walk
into the woods
would we go lost
were once to return we?
once all our pretensions
all our conceit
just silenced so thrashingly
silenced so drastically
silenced throughout
the realm of the night
the realm of the day:
the illusion of clarity
through parallels
and horizontals
killed so quite
through chiasms
and verticals:
and dwarves we become
once towering elves
and gods now in ruins
and all broken down
see I now horses
white ones, of course
the death-demon
arriving
Hojotoho!
Hojoto?
XXI: THE WANDERER
there's a figure walking the woods
tall, strong built, majestic even
a fallen god
in search of his works
in search of his power
in search of what's lost
and needs be regained
wandering the paths obscured all by light
wandering the roads all lighted by night
a knight not
a knight rather looking for
and past mistakes addressing all
carrying dawn on his shoulders
seen he the golden light
shining through the river
deep down
the sun
swallowed
at the end of the day
at the end of the day
quite all this be over
quite all this is lost
who wanders
moves without purpose
moves without plan
moves
for the sake of moving just
is lost
is looking
for the circle of life
to make sense
for the ring
to have its words jump out
and explain
to light up
and to shine
its power to show
to reveal
who lives beneath it all?
who lives on the skin of the earth?
who lives in the skies up high?
who lives
who dies
who decides
(who throws the dice
or are they rolling so quite on their own?)
a cycle of things
a cycle of beings
of light and dark altering between themselves
creeping in
the hearts of all that live
inspiring all
corrupting all
and choice
the final junction of the mind
XXII: THE CAVE
there's a noise
approaching from deep down
from wherever it is noises originate from
from wherever it is pronouns are made of
and put at the end
of the spectrum of perception
hear you not?
(you seest not)
and know you still
the tree that's just fallen
has it left
a reflection upon the wall?
a shadow, an itch?
a trail to be trusted?
to be tested
in reality?
you heard not
you saw not
you know not
believe you?
(should you?
should you believe)
verily, I say upon you,
like Thomas, I want to know
I want to see
I want to touch
I want to lay my hands at the evidence
(need I see in his hands the print of the nails...)
in order to see
in order to know
in order to being able
to hear the truth!
let us call the master here!
Dionysos, faker!
what I took in
by thy image
thy demanding image
demanding by appreciation
by invitation
and by pain
what I took in
quite in your name
seems to want out
seems I not want it
seriously
enough
faker, you,
illusions of want created so easily
like alea, games with dices ---
god doesn't play dice, it is said
well, what does one little rock know
of the world...
maybe he knew
quite a bit
for if god wouldn't play dice
and everything here
depended
on a game of dice
what are we to think
of the existence of dice, lying in our hands,
of the existence of god, lying in our heads?
no, I was lying, and I have to pay my dues to the god
the only god:
Dionysos, Bacchus
for showing me
this neather-realm
between life and sleep
I cannot sleep
get me a pill
get me some wine
get start my insanity
that puts to sleep
my inner senses
that shuts quite off
the thinking inhibiters
and turns quite on
what makes me feel
the naked time
the naked now
the naked moments
of the living
life just takes moments
ripped from its very own tapestry
to then make sense, in retrospect
what we would so much more be hoping in prospect be seeing already!
I'm seeing right now
things the way they shouldn't be
THINGS ARE THE WAY THEY SHOULD NOT BE
I should not be sitting here alone
there should be someone at my side
I should not worry about no one to see me
if a writer writes
and no one has seen him write
has he really written
the text?
does he even
exist at all
(meaning, must we recognize his life, at all)
shut up
go fuck off
and yes, I mean it literally
my lyrical I agrees with me
in this matter
I have never met a critic superior to an artist
unless those hybrid creatures, these freakishly distorted ones
these artist-academes, wouldn't they be quite the brand,
super, pitch, er, this idea, should it be pitched
or be spoken of
in silence only
these few revelatory phrases deleted
(I may forget to delete them when sober)
oh, art needs be arrogant!
back to the cave!
the cave!
our fresh new desmotêrion!
well, it's boring
and frankly,
it's telling me nothing any more
since tasted I've science
I'm feeling
I'm regaining knowledge
separating
mythos
from logos
and turning logoi into erga so quite
XXIII: HIDDEN TREASURE
lurks there right
in the back of the cave
a specter
a notion
of power almighty
awaiting a finder
a someone to see
a someone to be
and have no fear
it's in the dark
that we hanker to see
yearning quite
for something to change us
for something to make us
to let us
become
the way we want be
just something
detaching us from reality
from what it is
we want not be
we want not see
and want not
accept
just something hidden in mystery
treasured
less for what it would be
for what it would hold but
for what it would prove
that buy we the world!
that had we all power!
that change we could easily!
what we're to be
and what to appear
I fear
we'd have to pass a dragon
in order to claim
what laid we our claim on
in hubris of hope
XXIV: DARKNESS FALLS
what's lying open
disappears
what's all in vision
losing light
and losing sight
turns it all
and not to better
as the sun meets his devourer
as he sets
into the mouth of dusk the insatiable
and only through boredom
will dusk turn to dawn
a Janus-faced beast
holding dominion
over all light
or so it appears
deceivingly
but strangely enough
what matters in here, depends not on truth
depends not on science
these here are luxuries
holding no ground
once lost we have
(or found we not yet)
some tools of our making
and lost we are
alone
in the dark
be it in words
be it in tales
en mythoi
en logoi
appears here now darkness (or leaves but all light)
and sights full of sweetness
and sounds all of pleasure
they turn now to terror
and darkening, starkening
fear
XXV: MOVEMENT HIDDEN
where there's light
there's shadow
they say
but shadows are gone
in the absence of light
and even if
a light should break through
a daytime shadow
strikes out in loneliness
fearing the light
and fears its aggression
how easily
the sun eats a shadow at daytime!
at times of day
the shadows are hunted
endangered
and fragments
yet it's in darkness
they govern
they roam
and joint by the night
become they much more
become they much stronger
much starker
and darker
the shadows of darkness are gone in the night
for light itself
casting own shadows
must, will break through
what looks now impenetrable, looks now
unchallenged
at night, the shadows are legion
and swallow it all
all sense now here caught
and broken quite down
and a hint of dawn
is pretty much frowned upon
as it's of no use:
in the infinity of night
the shadows of the day
are born
something's moving all around now
cannot see
can only hear
it's everywhere
and unspecific
all around
and lies beneath it all so surely
coming closer
closing in
and shuts me down
XXVI: TWIGS BREAKING
a bough just broke
it sounded not small
there must've been something with weight
having fractured
it
XXVII: LEAVES RUSTLING
there's been a whooshing
right there
strangest sound
so soothing sometimes
(once safe you're inside)
(in a building of bricks, a heavy, good roof)
(a sound of movement, of promise, of contrast)
here it just tells you
which side you are on
and where is your home ground
and where it's quite not
the smaller the leaves
the tighter together
the more they like needles
more piercing the sound
a symphony
not a cacophony
a noise
white and dark
swelling now
telling now:
cede
or be ceded
XXVIII: TALKING TREES
hear you not?
hush now
they're hushing now
don't want you to hear them
to quite understand
their nigs and their nags
their twigs and their twags
their looming and looning
their roving with irksome and growing now anger
how would you be feeling if forced were to stand you
and never to move
to tolerate each, every surrounding
growing around you
roaming around you
saying quite, even,
that this would be disorderly,
worse just, redundant,
that you should now move
(how could you - why should you)
and then, in illusion to grandeur and godhood,
they'd fell you quite down
now why should you stand then
that stand you quite can't
they know 'tis not home any longer for them
(not in general, at least)
and you still know
once it were
you fled it
or lived in dependence
or even in fear
and they were your gods
that's what they tell us:
now we're intruders
imposing our needs
imposing our arrogance
imposing our greed
imposing our speed
and practical use
the woods
reduced to wood
or to forests and parks
their speech thus impeded
and taken away
that silent they stay
and we
tell the tale
on our own
XXIX: SHAPES LOOMING
hush now
sweet baby
don't be alarmed
we're just here to take you
to somehow remake you
to somehow remove you
from what you once were
so that you become
what surely lies in you
hush now
and do be afraid
but don't say a word
you would just waste energy
would just waste life
and life's the last thing to be wasted
why should you waste
what tortured could be so easily, dear
what fun would that be
for would there be heroes
without a chance
for them to stick out?
see you now sanity
see you now sainthood
see you now goodness
see it shine out
see you its messenger?
see you its maker?
see you it's shaper?
oozing
in the primordial
something happened
something
emerged
oh, yes, don't you see?
it's madness
purest intelligence
the very essence
and very disease
of it all
so let's go mad
we're mental already
XXX: THE DRAGON
the prodigy spits fire
a fire started by itself
the brother slain,
the giant reduced to a worm quite, a dragon
removed from its source
a beast now emerging
a silent one not, a brave one quite neither
force needs no braveness
force needs just force
force is the brute, the stark, and the raving
and mad
ain't not madness
our only choice
and only hope?
ain't it mad to hope for apes to climb to the stars?
ain't it mad to hope for an Angel be slaying the dragon?
should we now fear?
fear not!
what, had we fear,
would we accomplish,
would we
begin?
milk sings of Egyptian kings
colossal ones
(indigo derives from India)
Alexandros! the maddest of all
dared a lot
and hoped for a lot
and couldn't stay sober
so drunken with energy
drunken with hope
drunken with madness
and striving so madly
but see now, he's owning the Pantheon! owning the gods
a god quite himself
made he himself as a god
a pharaoh
of great a house
and greatness housing?
for once we just do it
once we take on
the bastion
of the beast
(and let the little birdies sing their pretty songs)
the beast will growl
strike out
well maim us
kill us, very probably,
but what then emerges,
what's then retained,
in oddest a mirroring,
all that's been hidden
all that's protected
all that the dragon of power removed from our grasp
once it is ours
all our problems
will vanish by nightfall
and all will be happy
the flowers will bloom in a red, fiery glow
the earth will know peace
a peace of our own!
all shiny, happy people!
and all will conform
to our wisdom, our knowledge
for us it's been
that slain the beast
and all it quite took
to take out the monster
to take out the evil
were us being better
in doing its things
that needed be done
let the fire
walk the earth
and burns it all
until damnation
until it comes
this final day
wait
ain't come it already?
ain't we quite its bringers?
how many horsemen have passed us by now...
on horses white
and means at an end
the time is now
and look we now
around us here
what just happened?
what's that smell?
burned engine oil?
from the machine in the garden?
the curtain's red
our story quite straight
for this is who we are
but will there be angels?
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