I fell down a chasm to the bottom of a frequency pit where the fallen apples rot I am Human Where the extinct Reptilians undead do not die, and in the twilight the insect hives do fence the sky with traps and snares and matrix.
Fallen blind I hear but cannot see the tango of death rabid alien issues sucking the life and breath the ebb and flow of negation and a variation and theme uniquely mine
as the parade of artificial alien haves effortlessly dance amongst the wooden have nots at speeds beyond their straightjackets of perception.
There is an inner calling in the heart, the love of Christ and my Kingdom home. totally life in the eternal heart an apple never sundered from the tree of life alive and separate from the malignant carnival of dehumanising death amongst the contrived dust and social charades of the earthly draconian pit.
you have a bad day in the hatred as it often hacks and negates the good that is you yet if you engage the pendulum of vindication and retribution you become a slave of the wheel of time. if you do not turn the other cheek if you engage first your mind, then your spirit, then your soul will be swept away by the torrent of anti-human rage – as amoral as the acid in an acid bath it is the negation of life, of the spirit of human love of the pattern of Christ in you. yet if you turn the other cheek and disengage you will be accused of being meek but as the alien hardware that invisibly saturates our artificially maintained demeaning primitivism blasts out amnesia you will probably not remember being meek or even why you came here.
In Elysian there grows a flower a burning love of social life an eternity of strength and vigilance a keeper of true civilisation and some time we must take that walk into the bricks and mortar desert to renew our faith and our pledges to our Father and His family.
Though in the shadows lurk the serpents as they sing their songs of disease to deaden and leaden our struggle for life though in this geography of fabric lurks the demon and its hungry warped mathematical arrangements and dearly bought gifts of enlightened death.
Though people know the ignoble lie that this death is life and that somehow we are prisoners doing artificial time the only life and future we can be certain of is the one above us not the rumours of somewhere to go down a rabbit hole in the dark galactic game of snakes and ladders, cons and screws
and we hear the chant of death that there is nothing new under any sun, that creative life has ceased to flow in the veins of civilisation a lie promoted to stupefy and confuse anaesthetic for the fatted calf and we hear the chant of death that there is no soul from soul-depleted and disconnected people with plans to feast on yours and we hear the chant of death that there is no future, no life, no tomorrow, a nothing that twists our words into more nothing.
but there is yet a stronger song, a greater hope Glory be to the Father and to the Son and the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and forever shall be, world without end, amen.