Ozymandius Sux

Wearing bronze armour on the mountain top, during a storm,
Whilst screaming defiance of Gods and their type,
Is how I shall die, though aged and broken and torn,
Daring damnation, Hellfire, pain and all that hype.

And the more I learn of the Gods, that lurk,
Even in the psyches of the freest and fair,
Sacrificing life, love and mind in the murk,
To reflections made of nothing more than air,

And the Gods you worship, made of mud and clay,
Frail things that will pass within decades or years,
That vaporise like vampires at the touch of day,
And cower like a callow youth at any jeer.

The more I know why in my own heart,
No Master rules me: No God owns my soul,
And this is where all of us can start,
To build a golden pathway from the darkest hole.

Call no priest to shrive me, leave my body cold,
Forgiveness shall not be asked for nor last lies told,
If I am to travel, dreaming beyond all that we behold,
Seek me in the battle halls, Valhalla, land of the bold,
Or maybe I shall suffer, paying for the sins I've sold,
Or shall I fly the winds of time, filling all my mind can hold?

No matter: now is here, and here is where we are all the time,
Walking on a chalk line drawn on thin air above a raging chasm,
And sometimes walking together for a while,
Is better than walking alone.

The Phase Change

One drop signals the storm to start,
That grows to rip whole countries apart,
When words can't change the head or heart,
It's time we map a whole new chart.

One voice raises the battle cry,
Through which the masses try,
To take up arms and reach the sky,
And win the prize they cannot buy.

Super cooled water, trembling,
The skein sparkles, speaking of the future.
Condensed steam, trickling,
Dissolving all contradictions in its way.
Polywater pulsing,
Those few key molecules forging the chain.

One flame starts the conflagration,
That moves beyond all expectation,
When the electorate is at saturation,
The precipitate is... revolution!

POPEFRED

Participate & involve
Obfuscate: convolve,
Pontificate then absolve,
Educate & resolve,

Federate: revolve,
Revelate; solve
Escalate: evolve,
Desicate; dissolve...

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-Scar Tissue _._._._

When pity is the greatest receipt,
That your wounds will gain,
And victory is the greatest deceit,
When considering the pain.
An itch that cannot be scratched.

Hardened casing of fleshy steel,
Senseless and unyielding ,
But on the inside you can feel,
The agony it's shielding.
A smooth, furrowed, hairless callous

Dead undifferentiated tissue,
Nerveless, strong and whole,
But that's not the issue,
When it's flesh denied a soul.

Connective tissue, holding the vital pieces,
Unconnected, incommunicado and insensate,

And when the scars outweigh the flesh,

How will you know until it's too late...

United we Brawl

Why talk about unity,
Trying to fool you and me,
When the key is in diversity,
Acting, despite adversity.

When you talk of solidarity,
You sell it like a commodity,
Instead of offering security,
You wallow in obscurity.

Why can you not see,
Beauty is for you, not me,
And all those people on TV,
That sustain our fucked society.

Don't deny the world is shitty,
Don't tell me sand ain't gritty,
Don't claim unity is pretty,
In this world devoid of pity.

Where is this nice community,
That offers such immunity,
That you can claim with impunity,
ALL WE NEED IS UNITY...

Revenge

It's been days now,
As I apply the local anaesthetic
And a new world has been opened to him,
His eyes roll up, tired and sick with pain,
A world with new depth (of pain) and colour (of vomit).
I make a slit three centimetres long on the smooth skin of his abdomen.
World filled with doubt and fear. A world of death.
He works the gag again, pleading in his eyes.
He still doesn't even know who I am.

Long pink and purple loops of life,
Stimulants stop unconsciousness,
Pulled out of his body,
Eyes bulging in disbelief, without pain,
Worse than pain.

As I cut open further and reach in to squeeze his heart to death,
I remember his first realisation of how pitiful pain is,
How insignificant and transitory it is; how powerless,
But he takes his secret to the grave; as we all will.

i

Moritori te Salutamus
"We who are about to die, salute you."
We put our lives in your hands,

to exploit far off lands;
to assure media hegemony;
to control the global economy;
to retain our violent monopoly.

Whilst you are being bored by consumerist leisure,
we are dying on the sands,
for your voyeurist pleasure.

ii

SPQR
"For the Senate and People of the Republic of Rome."
For the dominance of our State,

we will not hesitate,
to manipulate anti-Islamic hate.
For the top ratings of our time,
we follow the Nationalist line,
and support the perpetual war,
no matter what it's for.

For the bread and circuses of the people at home!

iii

Dolce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori
"It is sweet and proper to die for your country",

was the lie exposed by Wilfred Owen,

when he saw bodies blown,
to bits by even justified wars.
Yet we still seek the jaws,
of bloody, brutal, battle,
and youths still die like cattle,
not to the machine gun rattle,
but the flashes of TV crews,
to be immortalised by the late night news.

· AAP · BBC · CNN · NBC · SKY ·

IN NOMINE RVPERTVS MVRDOCI

Never Trust a Man in a Mask

Never trust a man in a mask,
You cannot see his eyes,
He only answers the questions you ask,
With vague and spurious lies

And the masks worn in high places,
It should come as no surprise,
Are bland white bloodless faces,
Above bland grey suits and ties

You cannot see the insipid grin,
Nor hear the mocking sigh,
As they slowly reel you in,
With yet another Big Lie.

No matter how smoothly spoken,
Their words mean nothing,
Their promises will be broken,
And they will be laughing.

Do NOT trust them, do NOT listen to their lies,
Because it is we; the people,
That they; our so called leaders, despise!

For a Woman I Once Knew

The memory of you panting and sighing beneath me,
Arouses me and drives me to heave with desire,
Your soft lips upon my skin like caresses of silk
Leave me incapable of calm thought,
Touches of your mellow skin against my mouth,
Are too much for mere human control,
The taste of you, like ambrosia from paradise,
Lingers sensuously upon my lips,
A smell at once both musty and clean, intoxicating and pure,
Drives me on, irresistibly, to lust for you.

Like a clear gem whose faults create the most intricate and beautiful patterns,
Music with a dissonance which drives the sweetness home more forcefully,
A leaf whose slight asymmetries make it all the more lovely,
Mountains with scarps and peaks of ferocious beauty,
Sculptures of wild machinery,
Like a complex game,
Like reality,
Like you.

FCC

Fuck Car Culture!
We make the street,
a treat for those that go by feet,
whether you pedal a bike or hike,
where cars are at that's where we strike!
Whether it's the exhaust pipe we block,
or put glue in the lock, it's car culture we mock;
slashing tires, cutting wires, whatever it requires,
to fuck cars up!

Wherever you go to, where there's scratches on the duco,

made by you know who…
The Fuck Cars Crew!

Fuck Car Culture!
We smell an end to Mercedes-Benz;
we're going to trouble your BMW;
we're going to maim your beautiful Daimler;
reconsider your Mitsubishi, ride a bike it's not so squishy.
Cause you're going to rust to dust for what you done to us, cause when you go by bike or bus there is no justice, just motor motivated lust you cannot trust but we've got it sussed.
It's about the sources of petroleum, and who's controlling them, so in the interests of petro-chem, the US is patrolling them, under the guise of anti-terrorism; which is nothing new.
And that's why I'm a member of the Fuck Cars Crew!

Fuck Car Culture!
We put the blame on Henry Ford whose Taylorisation, keeps us bored; cheap crappy cars are all that we can afford, so motor safety is ignored and millions dead is our reward.
The modern city is cut to bits cause feet and cars just don't mix.
We've sold our space for a car culture fix with kids getting their hick kicks copying car action flicks or cruising for chicks with burn out tricks. Not to mention other obvious relationships between cars and dicks.

It's such a pity when a gritty car addicted city is considered pretty when it's public transport is so shitty.

It is mendacity, when paucity poses as audacity, when your town has reached it's car capacity.

In the battle for the mind, you'll find that terror undefined has been refined and designed to bind our kind in cages, luxury lined, to which we remain blind.

It's the culture that cars spew, which is terrorism by the few, against us all that's me and you, there's nothing left to say or do but hook up with

the Fuck Cars Crew!

Art Binary Consciousness (an extract)
10 01 01 00 10 01 11 01 11
11 00 11 11 11 11 10 10 10
01 00 11 00 00 11 11 00 11
00 00 00

Murble halibut giblets!

The Allure of Dreaming

The warm fuzz of morning, dozing, wondering the mind fields,
Sauntering the dreamy passage of possibility to see what it yields,
Safe in my dreaming, all things seem possible, but the truth is this:
Safety and comfort, challenges met neatly, are the illusion of bliss.

In vast cathedrals, filled with coloured light, in utter splendour,
Lavish tapestries, flecked with gold, images impossible to render,
A powerful symphony plays, chords resonant to the final notes,
Played unto an empty congregation, heard by nobody but the motes.

The grimy cold reality; without shelter, light nor love,
Like the icy touch of charity that "sprinkles from above",
Or the myth of "pure compassion" and other lovely lies,
Passes through my fingers, drifts past before my eyes.

Taste for red meat can be satisfied by candy floss for only so long,
Actions restrained by knowing that even love can go wrong,
When tensions are knotted, triggered and soothed by the merest touch,
Should brief rapture be considered, when staked against so much?

So merrily I dream, the duna comforting me, head under the cover,
Fashioning safe virtuality, perfect life; for I'll have no other,
And so the bubbling, roiling, writhing stew is safely contained,
And love and lust and hope and passion are carefully constrained.

Beware of the Consumer Paradigm

You are NOT your job…
You've got to stand in line,
Get your shoes to shine,
Get to work by nine,
Just to sell your time.
All to maintain
The consumer paradigm.

Shop, shop, shop til you drop;
Shut up and shop!

We have to question why we should work - consume - die, and the media big lie that our work can buy a piece of pie-in-the-sky of a system whose time is nigh.
You cannot deny that excess supply causes investors to sigh, and to keep prices high they will comply that bulk dumping apply, whilst starving people DIE.

Why, why, why should they die;
To keep prices high!


You are NOT the clothes you wear…
Tiger Woods can mime,
The corporate line,
For his shiny dime,
But his t-shirt design,
Is a another bad sign,
That he's a fashion victim,
Of the consumer paradigm.

Shop, shop,

Shop til you drop;
Shut up and shop!

Just don't forget, that the clothes made from sweat are part of the net of Third World debt that the jet-set beget without regret. In fact they bet on dry or wet and what they'll get, for a market upset.
The kid that wove your carpet or rolled your cigarette will never get to learn their alphabet in case they get upset at being a sponsored pet you can buy on cassette, and then forget.

Buy, buy buy; buy 'til you cry;
Work, consume, die!


You are NOT your Grande latte…
If you look behind the fine wine,
With which you dine,

You will divine,
The reason and rhyme,
To the market sublime,
Is it's ultimate connection,
To the consumer paradigm.

Shop, shop, shop til you drop;
Shut up and shop!

Where's you coffee from? Does it smell of freedom, or is it from a bomb dominated kingdom with a pogrom against the condom?
We have to question, more than electoral boredom when the poll is run in tandem, with some seemingly random world menacing phantom like Saddam.
We have to awaken, aware the bacon we've been making has been taken, by book-baking hand-shaking and corporate faking, covered by media muck-raking,
But we are not forsaken, we can get them shaking.

Strike, strike, strike; strike for the right;
To live how you like!


You are NOT your bank account…
The corporate design,
Is to malign the benign,
To make it a crime,
And give you a fine,
If you ever try to challenge,
The consumer paradigm.

Shop, shop,

Shop til you drop;
Shut up and shop!

The middle class presumption of salvation through consumption, relies on the assumption of a media malfunction that misses the junction between systemised wage reduction and capitalist over-production.
You can buy a t-shirt but not the solution to global pollution, when the world financial institution lacks a democratic constitution and reform stifles revolution.
Cause we don't need a globalised market correction but a total cross-cultural insurrection!

Try, try, try; try for the sky;
Give it a try!

Mother

Mother said to her children:
Scratch my skin with your nails,
But leave me time to heal.
Tire me with your needs,
But let me rest and recover.
Soil me, if you will,
But I must be able to clean myself.
Use me: I am yours,
And they did.

A white man came in a ship, with a gun,
He shredded her skin with razors,
And rubbed her with chemical salts.
He drowned her with waste,
And raped her tirelessly day, after day, after day.
He shat upon her face,
And suffocated her totally in excrement.

But still she lives!

MIDNIGHT

Dark wings flutter against the windows of my perception,
blurring my sight. I blink not.
Sensitised, the light of night guides me.
Cruel sounds echo through my mind,
distorting my voice. I flinch not.
Criticised, the sound of truth guides me.
Sharp burrs brush against my legs,
scratching my skin. I cry not.
Incised, the blood of life wells forth.

Why be fearful of the dark? It is merely absence of that which leads us astray. Merely confronting us with unpleasant truths that are painful to even consider, let alone accept. The dark leaves us alone with ourselves. Leaves us alone to say "Who am I?". Leaves us alone to realise that we are irredeemably responsible for our own actions.

Midnight: Whether we are awake or asleep, is when we confront our deepest fear. Fear of failure, fear of death, fear of truth. False images form, to be dispelled by truth and self acceptance but many only remember the fearful shapes and not their resolution. The dreams that shift and change too rapidly. The running, falling, inevitably doomed figure. The chaos of the mind that is beyond words.

And so you light the candle, dispelling darkness. Creating ever shifting shadows, filling the void. Maya; the world of illusion weaves her web about you comforting you; swaddling you; stifling you. The radio or television captures your consciousness. Your senses bustle, your deep mind sleeps; waiting for music, or art, or dark…

Chaos take me, chaos bind me,
Show me your beauty, in the waves,
The flame, the clouds,
In fields of flowers,
In the deepest mind.


Midnight: the eternal initiation, the eternal psychic mirror, the eternal trial of our soul. Each day we are reborn from that initiation, each day we awake. But the light hides this realisation from us, makes us believe in nameless fears that should be shunned and denied. Light dazzles our senses, colour beguiles our mind. But when we are sick, or tired, or needful of rest, we seeks out the dark space that comforts. Forgetting fears created by illusion, our bodies know the truth: the Dark holds comfort.

And in that deepest darkness of a moonless night, the brightest spark becomes the brightest star. Our eyes are open, our minds aware, our skin aprickle but without care. With trepidation in our minds but hope in our soul we travel afar...

The Hill of Bones

We are all standing on a hill of bones; skulls piled high around us,
The hills turn to high jagged mountains; full of gold power and pus,
Below us stretch the plains, vast savannahs; from whence we all arose,
Down there; the man in the gutter, the woman sewing clothes,
All of us are working, sleeping, living,
On dead people's bones.

On our hill we can see further, but cannot see the detail,
Thus even with knowledge and compassion our intentions can fail,
Even from the damaged souls, active and diverse participation,
Is needed with solidarity to achieve true social emancipation,
All of us, strong, lame, sick of brain,
Must make the revolution.

Digging in the boneyard, trying to make a road,
The millstone of culture serving as my load,
Throw a rock to feed a friend,
Cause all charity has it's natural end,
Beware the crusader up on high,
And the facile lies he will ply,
Because what is hidden from the eye,
Is the pile of bones he stands on,
That reaches to the sky.

The Fire burns...

When we are young,
Learning as a child learns,
Reaching for the flickering flame,
We learn that fire burns.

Worst enemy and most welcome friend,
Destroyer and creator at different turns,
Used to build or to defend,
The power of fire burns.

Placated and protected,
Power still writhes and churns,
So a person is entrusted,
With the fire that burns.

Caring for an ancient trust,
Living through all the trials that earns,
When all the machines are turned to rust,
The sacred fire still burns.

Although dowsed by the hypocrites,
Managers and ministers will learn,
That they are irresponsible idiots,
And in our hearts the fire will burn...

Be my Eris, baby
Surf the cresting wavefront,
Sail the differentials of reality,
Ski the moguls of space-time topology,

Waft me beyond all thought and rationality,
Blow my mind with sharp rejoinders,
Make me see the cure for reality,
In those eyes of yours.


Queen of Chaos, Mistress of Entropy,
Beguilingly discordant meta-hyper-cycles,
Filling my soul with fresh vigour and power,
Be my Eris, baby, and I'll be your high priest,
Any time you want,
For ever.

Asylum





white
Stark and cold as fog in the snow,
Ridiculous furniture, blocks of foam,
Reinforced glass, primary school Hell.
Clean, bright, sterile, dead.
red
A mist of blood, futility breeds,
Passions checked limbically,
Through a haze of their pharmacy.
Confused, enraged, subdued, destroyed.
green
An ague of mould, sickly vital,
Awakening each day to Hell,
Cheery wardens of soul-death,
Drill a regimen of normalcy,
Crushing emotions with a needle,
Crushing intellect with a word,
Crushing psyche with a shrug.
blue
Eggshells broken, freedom calls,
Breezes waft my soul away,
Bargains made and plots hatched.
Lies, drugs, times, rules.
black
Drear and dark as the oceans depths,
Streets I cannot walk down,
Plenary chaos in it's true form.
Safety, warmth, power, peace.

Twenty
three
words

Chaos
gritty synchronicity
Three Random Initials
kallisti hail eris
TRUST creative Eclectic solidarity CARE
Autonomous Anti-establishment
Diverse Living Imagination
PEACE