(a poem
of random thinking)
“…at: Tartarus Rotunda Club”
(Forward: a sudden change in the rotation of things
had appeared, as if a neutron star had slipped, failed, a new chain of people
would inhabit the earth, and the Tartarus Rotunda Club was notified of this,
that time was short, and the Mantic- ores would have to be released from the
vaults of Hell, it was a deal Lucifer
made with the Almighty—thus allowing him 1000-days more on Planet Earth, and
the countdown would soon start—that is,
the End of Days, as all knew it to be; it was more than a minor malfunction to
be honest, but the Adversary knew he’d have one more chance, in a
thousand-years: being released after being bound to meteor stones deep in the
crust of the earth, as a result, He’d be able, hopefully able, to fix that
mishap…actually, there was a double-glitch—Hell figured Lucifer could tempt
Christ and all would be fixed, that was the first glitch, then came the
second…and this was on the table at the Tartarus Rotunda Club, Hell would be
used to weed out the scornful heap of the un-Godly…! Consequently it was as if they
were digging their own graves, yet all the same, it was the last hurrah.)
The Poem:
They looked, like
ghosts but they were only heat mirages I knew
that; I am part of the people of lost
histories—now living in the 1000-year
gap— I repeat, they looked like heat mirages, but they were
caused by the Manticores in those trying last days, I understand that
now. Yet I took that macabre journey to step backwards,
incognito… to see and hear within a cocoon of privacy the real story, I
so could tell it to my kind, my time.
The dragon man held out one great stretched
dark hand as if to cover
my eyes, but I saw it all anyways… although he’s been long bolted to
meteor stone, he somehow got into my vision-dream. They all say:
Satan with his cynical smile started this last war, which sat on some
high cyclopean cliff rock, and watched the slaughter below; but what
everyone doesn’t seem to know, God gave Lucifer an ultimatum, and he
took it, and that’s the truth of it all, I call it the Double-glitch,
although it was more like a judgment; and Satan, who often, more than
not, tries to duplicate Christ, gave mankind an ultimatum also,
called the Satanic Pledge.
I came in at the all night banquet; I mean my
dream-vision, started from
that point on: the last and final one held at the Tartarus Rotunda Club,
on Sheol’s North-end pier, overlooking, The River of Hades
wide gulf between Abraham’s old Paradise
and the dry lands of brimstone, know as Hell. At the meeting I saw: Darwin, Beelzebub,
Asmodeus, Pole Pot, Hitler, Stalin, bin
Laden, Saddam, Obama, Hillary, Castro, Madonna, the Henchmen of Hell,
Agaliarept, Michael
Jackson, Mubarak, a few Kennedys,
Schwarzenegger the muscle man, Clint Eastwood the actor, Sylvester Stallone
actor, Ayatollah Khomeini and Gaddafi
two man-men of a bygone era, and Putin
the Russian, Andy Warhol the homosexual artist, Johnson the Vietnam
Moon who created his own religion, Papa
Doc, Baby Doc, Aristotle too, all part of the Haiti ’s
voodoo: Hitler , Germany
Russia’s vampire; Rasputin the Devil’s advocate; Robinson Jeffers, also
Beckett poets of a lost sort; Hemingway, Faulkner, and F. Scott
three drunks; and, M.V. Llosa the novelist with the cussing tongue, and
Rushdie the 5th, Muhammad’s anti-protégé; C.A.
poet, and his sidekick friend, H.P., along with Allen Ginsburg and his
pal, William B., both perverted homosexuals: all cold fish, cold as
can be, comforted heroes of the lost
generation (like to like, same to same, all jamming as if refueling, for a new Jihad
game, all wanting to eat
the creatures from
earth, planning at the rotunda table, as if it was King Arthur’s: crutched in
as if it was their last supper)! All were at one time, of
the same madness that
sinks into the convulsive obsessed, the deep depressed, the pathological
maniac, the egotist; all of a brand of
atheists, monotheists, henotheists,
evolutionists: power hungry people of the world…pointing figures, blaming, all
yelping, most
believing at one time or another in
their madding games: fighting over faith, and pulling at the hairs of others to
obey—religion being their
escape, their end and their fate!
Someone
spoke on: —free pre-martial sexual relations, Another spoke
on the Great—granddaddy philosophies of
Durant, one how Darwin
enemy of God?” said Pol Pot, and you
could hear echoes from afar from Sagan and Hawkins…“isn’t that enough?”, “Does the innocent Ox have a voice?” asked a
prophet from the Sands, a rhetorical question—
said Proust, who had just joined the
group: “If he does, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” And they all got a kick
out of that, most
laughed! “We’ve given them Darwin’s
Revenge, opium, or its likeness,” said Baby Doc. “Yes,” said bin Laden, hating
all Americans equally, as if it was
democracy at its best, like the infuriated Muslim,
inferring they are the earth’s
mutations, Satan’s Revenge on man, to be extinguished, if not by a dozen 911’s,
then by Natural Selection by
vile entertainment, the cinema, even if
it involves blowing up heaven. Said Angelina Jolie, simultaneous with George
Clooney, “Put screwball actors at the UN, it’s like being your own lawyer and
ending up with no defense; they’ll use their persuasion, their influence, to
stir
their emotions every-which-way…! We
never knew the facts anyway, and I doubt they will too…”
Must I say
more on this Tartarus
Rotunda Club meeting, it is all way too
hideous to contemplate, for a dream-vision, but should I say no more,
you would not know, that when the nightmare began, when
Lucifer ordered Agaliarept, the Henchman, to command the counsel to
release the Monitories, 10,000 of them, to roam earth and kill at will all
those who would not take the Satanic Pledge, in consequence, to meet
their fate by these milky-yellow-eyed beasts, with tails that sting,
that opened up one’s bellies, to feed the vultures of the land, to
expose their guts, liken to sliced sea-cucumbers, thus, would they
room the earth at will, unable to be killed, these double-spine
beasts, killing a billion human beings with
their double-rows of teeth,
filling their lion-like bellies; large as buffalos they were, I’ve seen
them one and all, some even had wings that spanned a hundred feet wide, and
when in flight blotted out the sun, having some kind of bond like
connection with Satan, as if navel to navel, hearing his commands;
hence, the Henchmen of Hell,
Agaliarept, spoke at the counsel, that he
was to order their released, and so they
did. But this meant one thing to the counsel, their days were numbered, and
many moaned and
grieved.
And so
they felt a sense of urgency, and death was strong, among the
earth, every brick in every building
reeked with blood, earth was cursed, and the Manticores, they did their jobs
well. But let me get back to some preliminary steps…
I saw a cobra transfixed—on a mongoose! What is
this? I ask myself:
such stillness… Neither one finding it
difficult to kill—I knew this for a fact, what the mongoose knew…I can see his
eyes—the eyes of the
mongoose turns inward; this was a vision within a vision, one that
explains I feel: what it was all about, for the mongoose had scared the
serpent stiff? Like Jesus Christ, to the Devil, I’d guess? Way back
when. Henceforward, the mongoose wanting to shape the moment to its will, by a
striking and sudden kill—the other knowing if he’d not escape this moment,
there’d be no hope for a Godly appeal, reconciliation to heaven—but this really
all took place at the beginning.
#3479/3480 a two part poem (12-1-2012 thru 12-4 -2012)
