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All that I am, I’m told is here, but there is a moment and an age combined.
One watching, the other moving one way through time. Position and value unknown,
I'm falling from; I'm falling from grace, between the scenes of the moments,
the captive of the blind observer, at the mercy of the faceless preserver.
I ask “when am I?” and I feel near, filters applied and an induction in fear,
Memory gone, educated in borders. Winding and spiral dictator.
Don’t believe a single word they tell you, all the world’s a stage; a Phosphor cage.
Lines and lines of lies, scrawled across every single page; touch the veil.
And then, finally you’re told, it doesn’t look like you’re gonna grow old,
everything dissolves, but you. Polemic and parsing distinctions, but you’re out in the cold.
And it’s all been so fast, the only thing left is the past and the stark, bitter truth.
Misanthrope, the weekly costume drama plays out hymnal bliss. Go on; make a wish.
The Royal Arch and the confessional lager lout play whispering games, to fan the flames.
And for all you’d like it to be, there is nobody in here but me and I must go on, alone;
Alembic, stuttering flame. Swimming through a partisan sea, to a house for the "commons"
to be and a pantomime dame conducts, on a bended, Hollywood knee.
Raise the veil, on a bed of time. Believe. Knocking at the door of the Canaanites,
swearing the Real. Break the Seal, reveal. Face your game.
The saint in the suit checks in and with a message of Truth he begins, with a Tavistock
smile, then denial, playing the Caligula child.
Flashing the proverbial wonderland, mercurial hoody wows with a Promethean waltz:
Face your game.
As above, so below, the earth bound map that points the way, plots the farmer’s course,
they were always here to stay. I saw the man who wasn’t there, the leg of the bull and the
hunter’s belt, come shimmering, straight on till morning.
The wheat was cut and felt the serpents kiss, and with many functions turned to ‘off’,
were dismissed and there the veil was drawn.
The slamming of the ritual niceties, the Saturnial ring worms through invective phase.
Spiralling into the half life state, promises of rapture fail and so begins again.
But the DNA is waking up; shutting down the ministry of Lies and Thought Crime games.
Sleeping fractals wake unbound and with the blink of an eye, the walls come tumbling down.