The Monster Within

I am neither beast nor man; I am inept to all human emotion. I am neither man nor beast; I am immune to all human emotion. 

Heraclites

“A man’s character is his fate”.

... 

For it is the poet’s duty to repeat an old truth in a new language.

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Starving for that which has never been tasted, tasting that which has never been craved.

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Falling over our-selves to eat the flesh of beasts, obsidian spear pierces to the depths beneath. 

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Like deities falling from the lofty sky, resentments reserved for the falling stars a-high.

 ...

Weeping for the widower’s life, through darkness eyes anticipate light. 

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Through doubt the soul is torn for lack, of faith in truth with heart of black. 

Game Theory:

"In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies".

Widow Maker

How long must I wait until the voices of the ancients speak to me?

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Detached from death by each long breath, I long for them to speak to me. 

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Dragon red water breathing monster unleashes its sirens blare into the open air, mothers sacrifice their fingers to plug their babies ears. How long till they speak to me? 

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Rising to the ether, urine fumes on San Francisco streets fill the air with the smell of death. I await the day they speak to me.

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Soon enough I will be summoned to stand, knees straight, teeth sharpened, trained to kill, ready to die; longing for the ancients to speak to me. 

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I hear the "thump-thump" of my ancestors battle drum grow louder. I hear the "thump-thump" "thump-thump" of my heart grow fainter. The ancients are ready to speak to me. 

...

Warriors aligned, poised to fight;

...

They yell

"CHARGE"!

Behind the Shadows

Game Theory:

"I think that he thinks that I think . . ."

Smoke and Mirrors

Methods of Ruler-Ship:

"The illegal we do immediately. The unconstitutional takes a little longer".

-Henry Kissinger

Pawn Shop Games

Methods of Ruler-ship:

"He's a son of a bitch, but he's our son of bitch".

-FDR

Cat Catchers

Methods of Ruler-ship

"It doesn't matter if a cat is black or white, so long as it catches mice".

                                   -Deng Xiaopng

Value of War

"It takes more courage to examine the dark corners of your own soul than it does for a soldier to fight on a battlefield".

                                     - William Butler Yeats

ILLu$Tri0uS F00L$

Game Theory:

"Trying to fool markets is a dangerous strategy".

CL@Y gOD$

I find myself unidentified, marginalized, terrified by the rhetoric of the talkin' heads. "Who will make it in America"? Not Americans. Foreign to the world around me, I pray to clay gods, ornaments of my wishes, figments of my imagination. Eyelids clinched tight, in a blink, my life is transformed; eyes open, pupils dilated, I reckon I will make it in America. A man ravaged by savage men, eager for gain. The spirit of the earth fills my coffers with a voice to speak, ears to listen, and a heart to feel. Tools of the trade, I scribe onto the hearts of other men radio-waves of universal enlightenment, only to give them the chance to face life for what it is. 

$UPPLICATI0N

Pray to the gods for our feeble bodies, for we were created;

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Endowed with folly, in err we strain to appease, thinking that our deeds bring the gods pleasure? 

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From dust we came and to dust we shall return, like a blind man stumbling with no cane, so we stumble thinking our minds can ever satiate the most holy?

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Yet, it is not I, who is to blame, nor you, nor him;

naked we came out of the womb, impression less, reared from pain, unequal except in our species. Happy must the gods be at their creation.

BEASTS INTO MEN

Game Theory: 

"When those who are irrationally committed to destruction if they don’t get their way confront rational individuals, the former prevail".

EGG LAY3RS

Fiery Flame: And Love at our back

 

A new day on earth has arrived, lack luster covered in anger and shame. The sun ablaze, scorching hot, coming up over the horizon, filling everything in its path with radioactive power. 

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Conscious only for a brief moment, 

life passes; retinas glazed concentrating on distant pasts.

“How are we going to make it”, voices chatter, 

anxiously sifting through conundrums for pieces of wisdom. 

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It is I who matters, the rest do not matter.

It is I who will save you, you from I, and I from you.

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With love at our back, like Orpheus, we too must taste the sting of death.

 Or await the day, when all will stand "hands out" to those who feed ‘em. 

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Yet, burn on furious sun, for those under your light care not for your flame.