Salvation-Augmented Traffic Jam

"It's very hard for a corpse to seek pardon"
So the hungry man with the book said,
His words worsening the absurd aura
already suffocating everyone trapped inside
one of those transit prisons, stuck back-on-back
like the rings of mating centipedes along the Entebbe highway.

He was not confined inside of a metal shell like us
Sure, he was having his merry moments of the day!
I was hating fate, he was deep in love!

"My sole prayer is,
Before any of you lie inside of a coffin,
You ought have a vehicle, and so there might be more jam
And more stampede on these roads,
And so there might be a chance for more like you,
To fall prey to the gospel, which would otherwise never have made it
Into your lives, given who you are!"

That delighted me,
As for the first time that day
I had a reason to beef and laugh at the same time!

Call it "salvation-augmented traffic jam"
And that day, I didn't have a case against them!

Test your Gods!

Science, Magick and Faith
Call you to try their Gods
Oneself being a possible candidate.

But, there's only one metric which suffices -
Ask and You should receive!
Try each one of them against its claims
And a God who can't deliver is no God!

Ask, Seek, Knock Sincerely
And if no answer comes through from the other side,
Move on to the next door.
When you finally find the True God,
You shall want no more.

Mythical Cake

Right! You can definitely see it steam,
Hell no! You can even smell it if you like
Oh my! I used to taste one every Sunday
But if it's born a mythical cake? It definitely stays one.

We bake them in the head, we serve them
To those we'd love to behead.
"No, child don't believe that!"
Whatever happened to Saint Machiavelli?
"No, only money rules child"
It's a myth!

It's a pragmatic thing child
Myth has potency and utility
It's a myth!

Cakes with nine inch nails in them,
Cakes with bleeding rocks on them,
Cakes delivered by white bearded men on sleighs,
Cakes baked in cyclotrons with the unforgiving heat of
A Million PHDs
It's all a myth.

But it works!
Miracles happen child-
And it's all a myth!

Here's the ultimate myth child,
It doesn't matter which hill the stone rolls down;
If you can bake a cake so real it has taste to the ashy
Buds of reason, you'll have it as heavy as ballast in your hands, 

And only the calcified vaults of law would ever know how 

Many you'll bleed at your altar.

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Thanks to En-GeL for the perfect art concept and message!

A Curse and The Gifts

Mine mind cannot rise to the contemplation of The Deity,
whom nothing approaches in sublimity,
unless it be entirely disengaged from mine senses, and of this-
 in mine present life, art naturally incapable.

To answer question with question-
That is the curse of mine reason!
Whomever decides to trek down this lane,
Shall forever be lost in that labyrinth, and
 thine tombstone shall bare symbolic insanity, incompleteness and paradox.

Mine silence and faith,
 mere gifts from grace,
Heal mine mind, and quicken I unto mysteries incomprehensible.

Divine moments of truth have come to pass,
 while lost to sense and reason,
In whose deathening embrace, I've dissolved into The One.



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the epic art from Technochrist

Progress, is Dead

And so, I rode my bicycle to this same exact spot,
Inhaling the wind and starring at the ebbs hit and miss from a distance,
A place I go to rest and be; a place I guard furtively, like the pastor guards his greed.

Lost in the unmolested quietness away from our arachnid spirits,
I saw that strange gray fish, swimming by itself, in waters filled with legions of strange kin,
By itself, as the others were preoccupied with avian pursuits!
There was anxiety, there was desperation, there was weariness
There was many of them, facing the illusion, attempting to fly no more, as they drowned and died
I was still astonished by the lone gray fish - swimming by itself, as fish drowned all around it!
Trying to recover from the daymare, I was determined to dream with care.

I was walking back home that day
Limbs weak from all the fray, and it occurred to me, there must be another way.
Of animals, plants and rocks, there was one to whom the symbol spake
Breaking that moment of trance, I recalled the archaic Prussian rant-
"It is dead. It remains dead. And we have killed it."
To make yet break, to speak yet quiet, I was coming to the hurricane with a walking cane!

Wanting no more redemption, progress I sought no more
And big bang! At once I found myself at peace again
Looking on, at the myriad advancing fangs,
And men falling to the ground like lead-heavy rain
Because Progress, their God, was dead.

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Genius art stolen from limnides
Poem inspired by the philosophy of John Gray