"You will never understand
how it feels to live your life
with no meaning or control
and with nowhere left to go." - Common People by Pulp
In the holy machine where we worship the old and the few, where the dormant screams are heard for millennia across barren cities and drier lands, where the grass smothers like glass as ancient feet put one in front of the other as the holy machine opens up, reveals its rose amid the rubble, celestial shall they walk upon us, dreaming like we are as we walk through life but not believing anything for no age ends and no age begins, we are still in the dark ages, we are still in the renaissance we are still figuring out the same questions that plagued them then and will plague us till we all are dead, till the last light has been turned off till we have answered the questions ourselves
and moved on
Everyone comes into their proximity and through some unknown beam of memetic qualities, they are ideas, questions and concepts to be carried with you, some will find them by religion, others by popculture, most by philosophy, some by science some by insight others by drugs some in a downward spiral others going up but the questions remain like infatuations or a particulate pretty face or cute ass, we carry our emotions with us, we carry our questions and the answers we know in our gut but not the phonetics to describe the silver city, afloat on splendour and made holy by the machine or the city of dis, nestled close to the heart of all mankind for hell is in our hearts, hell is where rebellions will be sat into motion, hell is where those who descend ultimately will ascend, hell is chaos, hell is friction, hell is emotion while the tower, ivory white is doomed to fall to answer a question
Who am I?
A collection of meat blood and bones, an animal of intellect but an animal still- I have a craving for something more that most likely will remain with me until my death, Who I am does not matter, I like everything else has already been interpreted, weve already gone through a different machine and I am me only as far as your own skillset of references go
What was your face before you were born?
How were my emotions, how was my frame of mind before I had that shot and brew or before I smoked this joint, who was I when I woke up this morning? It was a beautiful morning and I woke ahead of time and it felt like cheating because it wasnt part of the plan, it was free time to marvel in the fog before coffee and cigarettes take it all away, I think thats the closest, those twenty minutes as the world wakes and your light isnt on and nothings on you just peer outside and you know you are invisible and none else have woken and here alone in your god-time you gaze at the unborn masses
Will the soufflé collapse?
Here is our midlife crisis, coming onto us like mortal men twixt the monsters of Crowley and Spare battling the nephilim in the middle of our lunchdate with the girl that was quite hot back in community college and here we are brought back to Steve Reichs cave as we talk to the bartender on how much a sidecar is with the various brands and his words are wrapped around the items coming out of their mouths, one future wrapped around the face of a distant past, here