Thursday, November 17, 2011

Croaking Frogs in an Endless Moaning Swamp.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

May your noses always be cold and wet.

(Don't ask me why I did this, maybe I was experimenting and maybe I got a little bored always looking for some new way to say the same thing because, for me, there's only one thing worth saying or talking about; and how everything else relates to it. In any case, I'm not happy with it. It strikes me as forced and trite and any number of other things. There's always tomorrow so don't be too disappointed with me today).

Whose eyes are you seeing through, the dark one's or your own? They drum up false appearances and we worship at the throne. Yesterday the news concerned the trouble in the streets, today Wack Jack Abromiwitz is bringing you the news. When did he get out of prison? I must have missed that flash. The dung curds have replaced the cream. The cream was never there. They bake the bread with human fat and pump it full of air. Lies... Lies... Lies... Nothing there but lies. Ignorance is an early death, too few grow old and wise. The drumbeat rumbles slow and deep with miles and miles to go. We labor under the heavy weight of what we think we know. The most important thing they've taken that you cannot see is the awareness of your sense of community. The basic structure of human life is in the family ...and that they seek to kill ...and that they seek to kill. Look at what they're up to friends. This is a bitter pill.

They take your children from you and house them with the state. They gender bend the consciousness so no one can relate. They push for every state that's not the central unit and you just watch it going by cause now you are a eunuch. The process of castration was arduous and slow. They did in your grammar school, they do it as you go. They do it at your place of work and while you watch TV. They do it when you daydream in a soft subconscious creep. Darling don't you kid yourself, they do it while you sleep. It's not all really bad news, some news is even worse. There's lots of time to do their thing until they call the hearse. In between will come the time they play their strongest card; stick Clockwork Orange up your ass with new ways to get hard. They'll tell you it's all natural. By now you think it is. A hundred years on down the line, you'll use your nose to piss.

They're trying to turn the world into The Island of Dr. Moreau; a carnival of twisted freaks. Will you enjoy the show? Will you enjoy the show? It's slated for a mass release and it is starring you. Your name is up in lights. You'll be wearing skin tight tights. You'll be ripped on some designer drugs and beaten to death by mutated thugs, then roasted on a spit. They'll eat you right there on the screen and rub their tummies too. Just keep on going as you are, it all comes down to you. It all comes down to you. It all comes down on you but keep in mind at any time, it can lift you up and through. What I've said it true. It all comes down to you. It all comes down to you.

Your celebrities are by your side as you get taken for a ride. Money is a riddle, wrapped in enigma and cloaked in mystery. You can't understand the pull of it till you've got far too much of it and then you never have enough. When friends need help it's all tied up. That's more than passing strange. You sunbathe on a sea of milk in your vacation home on the range. Where no deer and antelope play, Holay! Where no deer and antelope play. The deer is in a bondage suit. The antelope looks mighty cute, one more round peg in a square root. There really is no substitute. You're seeing things you've never dreamed of, they're alien and shivering, your timbers tremble now. You want to break the hex. The problem is, it isn't real. It's really Memorex and it all comes down to sex.

The primary illusion is you're not one but somehow two. You spend your life in search of it, till you're hollow, bent and old. Burned up from the inside out. Your substance gone, replaced by doubt, cause you don't know what it's all about, the two becoming one, the two becoming one. You can weep till heaven cries but you have had your run. There's no gas inside your tank cause Lady Nature's now a skank. You pounded her to make her see, the power of your majesty and then you spilled your seed. Now she's got you brother man. She's got all she needs to bring you children like yourself. You see them encased in plastic wrap on Wal-mart's closeout shelf. Your passion got the best of you and lowered your resistance too. This is the essential truth, of the life man spent in spilling sand from the fountain of his youth.

It's a peculiar mystery. You see it but you still don't see, the drainage of your symphony that never got released. You can't make both things manifest if your times consumed by all the rest. Soon you'll be on your mother's breast for another coming round ...and round and round and round... and round and round and round, till human voices wake you up and once again you drown; a reshaped quote from Eliot but we don’t get the half of it, cause otherwise, my friend, we'd quit, but we keep keeping on. We keep keeping on and time is almost gone.

Twenty six thousand years and something like this appears ...and we're a cause for ridicule, a cause for mocking laughter. You become a slave in shackles when you cease to be your master. It's sex that brought you down. It's the appetite profound. The thing that most attracted you got your attention fixed. The relentless foe of freedom was watching through your eyes and played it over again ...and again and now you're hearing “Where or When”? Remembering is the primary key to innocence and liberty. The fathomless pool of memory has everything you need. Drop your mind into its depths and she'll take care of all the rest. Of all you love she is the best. That's all you need to know and now you're good to go.

The politics and vicious laws. The priest's with hands inside your drawers. The culture and it's nasty soup. The canon fodder and mindless dupes, surrounding you and calling you, to march and halt and march, are nothing more than frogs in an endless moaning swamp. Tune your ears to other voices, then you'll see the other choices. Help is on the way, ask yourself that question now. What makes Tom Delay? Hey, hey, hey, hey hey!

We shoulda, coulda, woulda but something made us pause. We coulda, shoulda woulda but we're stuck somewhere because, we're listening to someone else whose voice is firm and comforting. It's what precedes the buggering and brutality of life. Your whole life's based on getting laid so you made suffering your wife. The things you lost and can't get back. They cut you like a knife. Regret, remorse and guilt attend your passage through the realm. You're bound somewhere and bound right here and tied up like a steer. The branding iron. The killing floor. Is this what you really came here for? You live your life upon your knees to shadow kings and other sleaze for want of courage to stand and be free, out of fear of death and ignominy, because you risked it all. They always slander those who do. It shouldn't mean anything to you ...but it does. It does.

This is how they keep us down in fear of shame and censure. You're already shamed by giving in and saddened beyond measure. Is this how you take your pleasure? You can't enjoy a single thing but you tell yourself you do. The first of lies we tell ourselves, we practice them in private and then we share them with our friends or anyone who'll listen, on the bar stools of our wasted lives. Days and days and years and years of lonely masturbature and now it's second nature. How can I know it's all like this? My friend, I've been there too. I just got sick and tired of it, so one day I just up and quit and that's the final sum of it. What follows, I don't know, but it beats the Hell out of being there. It can't be worse so I don't care what waits at the top or bottom of the stairs to wherever I am headed and I'm aided and abetted cause help is on the way, every single day. Can you say the same? You can say the same but you can't stay the same. Changing is a motherfucker but assistance will appear. The moment that you change your course, the angels are on call. There's nothing to come up against but shadows on the wall, on the wall inside your mind. You're wound up tighter than a vise. Drop your baggage at your feet and let yourself unwind. That's all it takes plus trust and faith, or else you're right back in crazy town for another ugly round. There's not one single thing you need in the land of appetite and greed. Ignore what's said or else take heed. The time is coming soon,either you're dancing in the wind or howling like a loon. The time is coming soon. The time is coming soon. Sanity and madness will both be on the stage. One will inspire greater things, the other fear and rage. The latch is off your cage, in either sense, it's come and went before you turn the page. It's quicker than the lightning and more awesome than the thunder. It's in the wings and warming up, this coming age of wonder.

Yes all the things the world cut short we're going to get to do. We'll get our inspiration back with music in the air. The goblins will have gone away and we'll no longer go astray. The light comes from the avatar. The sun has sent the superstar. You'll finally find out who you are and what it means to be. It's coming down no matter what, no need to follow me.


End Transmission.......

Visible sings: God in Country by Les Visible♫ God's Not Dead ♫
'God's Not Dead' is track no. 3 of 11 on Visible's 2001 album 'God in Country'
Lyrics (pops up)

God in Country by Les Visible



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The3rdElf
The 3rd Elf