Okay okay, I know its been a while since I posted (Cristen) I've been keepingmyself pretty busy. I have fianlly gotten back in to the groove of writing and completeinting my work. Its strange to actually have something with a beginning middle and end that you still enjoy a week after completeing it. The short story still needs some work but its mostly done. I'm workingon a little stream of thought didy right now. I don't know where its comming from. one of those medium moments. I guess my subconsiousness is flexing its muscles since the stress of tax time and rent time has passed. I'm starting to think of it as a kind of 21st century Book of the Dead (don't give me any of that post modern bagage, at least not yet). Here's the first two verses.
This isn’t magic, its reality
hit the feedback tab
feel it dissolve in your mouth
information flowing thru your veins
synapses opening up
like voltage control gates
transporting out of 4d time
in to the undefined dreamscape
no, no you can’t escape
your Armageddon is a personal event horizion
and me and morrison are checking our stop watches
counting to none
“yo son, yo son word is born son/Bow wow yipe yay didn’t you hear me say I’m a dog killer cause all dogs have there day”
except for the devourer of your soul
yes that’s it
that’s the metaphor
the dog of death
his maw wide open at the event horizon
the arma- to your -geddon
his back is the hill of hells army
his teeth the reckoning of the lord
oh and lord
your trip has just begun
we who know you are false
know you cannot survive
beyond what you created
trapped in your own creation
your maddness has been infecting us
ever since Adam took his first breath
You infected us with your maddness
and then you left.
Inept
Absent
Yet your watchers still demand tribute
You feed on the stuff of our souls
You can’t digest it directly
like in the old time religion days
so you have the dog of death digest it for you
Seraphims feed the pap to you in the smoke of their
once sacred brazier chanting “Holy Holy Holy”
atop Mount Quaf.