One is born into the world of lines, the initial reaction is one of shock, terror, and disparity. For a few in-time this will fade into a dull base in the background as they move days upon days moving pass. Others have walked a line of unadulterated purity of sound conscious equality. A beacon of oneness, of a looming luminescent pinnacle of the potential of all of humankind, resting perfectly in the orbs of unwavering sight. No sound of majesty, or travesty, nor scare, no fear of the light. Only freedom, and truth ring screaming from those nights. Symbolic of us all, fallen and lost, buried and cold among each own’s personal plight. As though a pillar of sanctity, a sanctuary for the cores of all one. This was not my line, not my story under my deceptive sun.
Walked a line so fervently trod, those voices call out loud and only quietly reluctantly been heard. They have spurred an escape, a way and word for the guilt and shame to cure. Peel back from the sun burnt wound and seek renewal once more gone, leave behind only scarlet flesh to be next caressed in the light of sunset on a autumns song. Within us all’s carry delusion of duality of ego and self. Of pain and suffering, of joy and excite. A literal labyrinth of choice and chance masquerading in a seemingly eternal dance of opposing faculty forced night. This is where one may choose to cast-half their line of lineage. Deep in an ocean of hopeless mystique. A copy of an imitation floating precariously of the edge of our world, poised for misfortune of the galactic stock pyre. Once and once again we face the only threat to we I have ever known. A fate planned in fear has drawn its print-blue among the stars of our celestial bonfire. I and I over once more each living as a king of none except only one’ sown. Padlock the pier, he said, and may they never set sail. Make each his own lock, and may each bear ward of their own jail. Eye on the prize high above each I, we wait crouched low, on penthouse sills. Up above penance from fault, and honesty absolved. Tricked by a shade of a blind prince of voles, mistaking towering hills for his earthly mole-hole.
From afar they spin a line, in lust for power, and vindicated desire. Brother will cut down his brother by a midnight commute. And Terran gaming stars will reduce his sisters in the erotic realm of fiery loot. The origins of men is well suited to dispute. “I!” says I claiming hands over land. “Brethren of our mother” cry out marbled children dilute. And those dogs of Olympus meet men with nightmares in their eyes, narrowly evading actions re-tribute, the fact their soul-god lies far beyond our lunar disguise. Eternal retreat in fright of what would otherwise start, an eon of peace, justice, and meticulous understanding of I and I’s personal twilight.I too have been forgotten out here in time the great device, slicing my limbs on the quotient of emotion of a false concrete demise, or perhaps in the grip of a bubble wrapped surprise.
But don’t worry this all happened years ago before the advent of the ghost mind. That very same mind of spectrum and splendor. Forever companions until birthing men of such worth, and means to carry the voice of the silenced hand, and graced by hearts of thunder. Stalks we high upon clouds of monster breath run short, in a time of ear-or tongue retort. Only those demons and devils utter proof of jacks tail, and yet bear toot was the blinding hailing of a leaky grail. We have grown after all, we have heard at least part of the call. Asking why under the starlight bright upon I chest. Of treasured majestic wholesome oneness I rest. We are this light I spoke of, responsible for none except one, and in that lay thy test. Come forth from agony to run the home from hound, lost, broken, abandoned, and unsound. A mongrel with only a father of golden scaled intent, only to drag him a-new to a place of iron-clad self-control and silver repent. So yes daughter relent your despairs, you brother will survive strife-ridden malcontrast, with bitter-sweet resilient root unity content.
Burn up the weeds of mind with soul herb of a just high, each in all alone in each ones eyes. Long has the lamb lined up among deserted cact-I, encircling us, sacrificing four and fro;toe in the altered abyss. Yet only to awaken titans of self, blazing forth from the ash. Firing a flaming spear of terrestrial proportion through the minds ear. Slash and thrash thy massed culture of gideon unpenance, and eternal back pay by our father’s etheric hand loan. A land, ripe with glory potential glow and not to say a beauty yet unrealized, ignored, and unknown. And pause on the statement that which mind portrays to convey as beauty, as I son’s and daughters’ still struggle to eat a meal, kill one another, and sleep in the street. While life that remains chokes, chewing on the joint wheels of long forgotten dinosaur ideals. Where’s the line? What will I have to see before realizing what I believe to be “most brilliant” in I heads, yet is only still the rump of a swine? A swine indeed I say and let me be clear, I DO love my cousin porcine breds, its foul rotten police that I’m speaking of here. And forgive I I slights I don’t mean to press worry, or stress I thy heights. But really, when did “oath of honor”, become a synonym for “corporate bullet donor”?
So I ask I and I what’s the next step? The next knot on the line? Perhaps a forced hope of experienced de-vine? Or care for a separate life of not only my own, since what is life worth if ownly the life of a clone? Smokeable breakfasts and drinkable feasts, all of which in the ends, end side with the least. Oneness with all, out-strung to none, the other stance of free will is the way of the gun. Men striking down maiden as coward to fear. Cousins mow down cousins forgetting that no matter where you were born, we all stem from one primordial lineage here.
So remember I life, and hold the false mind dear. Forgive I-self, and all that strike against I, as the sight of the seer.