Author Topic: the prince  (Read 1119 times)

Sepia

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the prince
« on: May 01, 2011, 06:25:33 pm »

We see the prince in his garden gazing over the lands he once will have responsibility for and as the sun appears all is bathed in golden, all is radiance. Him, shimmering and as the townsfolk see this and think of him as a kind prince he becomes one and mountains move

Loomed as a plateau looms, as shadows for that is what we see it as, the future, distorted and the ones that came through from a different era, stand in the shadows, waiting like gods of old or from paperbacks bought in transit, going. to a party, to a dictatorship, to an island, home, to the future, to the past and all we want is nothing more than what they will give us. Nothing for nothing a magician breathes as he sees the signs and portents for our age and the priests chant as above so below and the bells are struck in morse code, repeating the phrase as the kings brother says an eye for an eye and you, what is your mantra?

What is your ideal, your chant as you go to battle or the lullaby to bring you to sleep?

Here is the fire, burning redemption, the way to the above is through the below, ouroboros tells us, to value life, there must be death, a star to the void. We can feel the wilderness in our noses, the scent lingering in our nostrils, making our hairs vibrate, standing out, growing towards the sun like leaves stretching. We feel enveloped in ivy, we feel as if this world is only mud and we walk it to find the flame, the gate, the door, the question, the answer, the truth, the fuck, the drug the god the hope the prayer the touch
In the mud we walk through this country, twilight of memories and crossroads of realities, our kingdom. His kingdom, the clever and kind prince staring out over his town in the morning, taking note of who gets up in time, plotting, scheming, staving off boredom

We will never find the flame but we search every day, every second of our waking hours, we search for the fire that will redeem us, set us free. To be showed ourselves our chains, to learn of our restrictions and how they work, to tread carefully in the deep where organisms are no longer fishes are no longer leviathan are no longer god. Some say god slumbers, others say he is in a city made of silver but do they really believe in these gods, these watching entities or is it a repressed desire to be watched or watch, lady godiva still alive.

Spring is coming, summer is on its way, father sun is here to stay with us, to watch and love us, to let us bathe in him and his splendour
Before him we stand naked, charred remains kept together by will and the belief that it is what is expected of us and we wish to be expected for we have walked through the fire and come out of it, we feel enlightened and want for more, oxymoronic behavior that will forever define us. We are no longer what we used to be, the abyss looming, the conscious void, the it in us. We go through the rituals and come to the gate and we halt for there is none here, no one to guide us further and one by one we step through the portal, a castle revolving.

Seven knights does he choose as his father dies unloved and unmourned, mourning only lasting the weekend. They are sent to keep control in this moment of transit and they depart swiftly on fine steeds and the sun rises on the prince and his kingdom. Trouble comes his way, his fathers secrets coming out in the open, over two hundred bastard children was he paying for and as the prince severed all ties to the dead he brought them out in the woods where he told them they would have to build their house here and he supplied axes, flint and tinder

A tower they built and in it they fought, young men and women on the cusp of something more, taken by the lord of the flies as his disciples, warriors built from the never-ending initiation, a constant battle. The women were raped and died quickly save two furies who were rumored to have teeth in their cunts and they watched the men, their ranks thinning and a moon had gone and almost come anew when five men still alive collapsed and fought the fatigue, waking in the night, snapping the necks of nurses. Seven bastards were coming from the dark places to their calling, the prince
Everyone will always be too late