Poeem: Anatomy of a Relationship

What is a relationship,
if not the uniting of two people,
into one?
"Making the beast with two backs,"
it's called.
Unity.
And Love.

Once United thus:
To harm one,
is to harm both.
To steal from one,
is to steal from both.
To make love to one...
Well...
To make love to one,
is to destroy the Union,
which existed beforehand.
To add to the Union,
creating a Trinity.
Or to siphon from the Union,
secretly, poisonously.
Stealing from the Love,
the Union
created.

The spoiled children of today
know little
of Unity.
Selfish;
They care only for Self-Pleasure.
Two people, together, both
"getting their rocks off."
This, they call "love."
"Sick," is what I call it.
Diseased, immature.

True Union
is a blessed thing.
Where the sum
of it's parts
are far greater
than the whole.
A power,
created from the Love,
as if from Nowhere,
which blesses the two Lovers.
Protecting them,
making them to feel
the whole world
is at their command.
Simply there,
for their pleasure.
And it is.

For the Vampires,
there is never enough.
Their sex is not fulfilling.
What they do in private
"should not matter"
to their lover.
Always viewing themselves
as alone, apart.
They need more, more,
more.
More attention,
more people,
more friends,
more affection.
It will never be enough.

Goddess let me be
as a Lover in your Garden.
The snake is always reveled
in it's secretive, selfish, bite.

Poem: A Prayer to Shango

When I start to think of God,
I start to think about patterns
and fractals
and pages of math,
describing quanta possibility matrices,
yet there is consciousness.

Each pattern is conscious.
The patterns created from the first
are conscious also,
in different combination's of
Zero and One, The Yin and The Yang.
Different patterns.
Large patterns.
So large I can't even begin
to understand it
except for symbolically.
But conscious never-the-less.

And I.
A consciousness-pattern,
part of a larger one,
who is part of a larger one,
until God,
Infinity,
the Fifth dimension.

Work with me Larger Pattern!
Hear your little self calling to you!
Come to my aid, Great One!
Bring down your fire,
that all your children
of the thunder-stone
may prosper.

Poem: Lord of Money

Why do so many
of This World's
financially wealthiest individuals
act in the most
morally reprehensible of Ways?

It's because the
Lord of Material Things
rules This World.
Call It The Devil,
The Lord of the Crossroads,
Shaitain, whatever.
But some of the Wealthy are It's people,
they are rewarded with cash
for doing It's bidding.
Though most of them have no idea of it,
and wouldn't believe it,
nor even care much,
if they did.

Yes... there is Karma.
For every action there is an equal
and opposite
reaction.
It is Vast.
Complicated.
Final.
In many Ages
Poverty
has been revered as Holy,
but rarely has Wealth
had such Honor.
There is a reason.

It rules This World
and tests us daily.
It's not Forever,
nor the only Force at hand.
There is Goodness too,
and Agents of Good,
among us.
There is Help at Hand.

I honor The Master,
as I pass through It's World,
my eye's marvel with all that I see.
The Pain of the Many,
the Wealth owned by One,
Ignorance and Wisdom at Play.
Forces of the Ages
reflecting their dancing,
pray tangles my mind
to their sway.
Observing my fellows
on the wheel of Samsara
Compassion,
not pity,
I Pray.

Poem: My Scent

I excrete pheromone from my flesh pores,
which induce in those effected by it,
a fervent desire to rescue, to aid, to shelter,
to protect, my beautiful being, from the
Harsh Evils present everywhere in the World.
An erotic scent which plays with
dominance and submission sexily,
while simultaneously riding the razor-thin wire
of co-dependence, smearing both with superfluous heaps
of reality periodically.

Contrarily, to the Harsh Evils, my scent can be
almost instantaneously enraging.
Causing insistent salivation, wetness, and half-erections,
at the hint of tainting my perceived innocence.
The magnetic desire Evil feels to soil the Good,
to bring them down to the Evils own pain and affront.

A Jealousy, a spite, a rumor, a lie.
Oh yes, they smell me to.
To the rest I am a Neutral, an "OK"
neither here nor there,
not one nor the other,
so-so and that's that.

How rare they are, the Neutral Ones,
in these days of Good and Evil.
These days of two positions:
Drastic, Caustic, and Mad.

List: The 12 Steps of Egotists Anonymous (EA)

1. We admitted we were powerless over the Laws of Nature - that we could not control everything in the Universe.

2. We came to believe that Powers greater than ourselves could control everything we could not.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of those Greater Powers.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to the Greater Powers, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have the Greater Powers remove all our defects of character.

7. Humbly asked the Greater Powers to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons, animals, plants, ghosts, and corporations we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such entities wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer, meditation, magick, divination, and service to others, to improve our conscious contact with the Greater Powers as we understood them, praying only for increased knowledge of their will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Poem: Alchemy

There is a way in which;
Lead can be turned into gold.
The prideful can become humble.
The rich can become poor
and the poor can become rich.
Ugliness can be beautiful
and the beatiful can be very ugly.
Rules are broken,
Laws are rewritten,
Opinions are changed,
Even mountains turn to sand.
The Fool can be wise,
wise men can be foolish.
Love can be painful
and hate can feel good.
Freedom can be restrictive,
and restrictions can free you.

If you think you know
what you are doing,
you are probably wrong.

The Inertia of Time
and all which came before you
is too big for one person to alter
based on their own selfish motives.

Like the greatest Tsunami,
horrific car accident,
or the freezing anal thermomiter;
The best you can do
is relax and go with it.
The more you fight,
the more you get hurt.

Surf the Tsunami.
Survive the crash.
Relax your anus.

And your on your way.

Poem: Live With It

It feels so good,
to sit and rest.
The day is long
- with clarity comes time.
With awareness comes repetitions.
Repetitions and cycles
and repetitions.
What should one do,
with so much time?
A little for eating,
for grooming,
for peeing.
Some for meditation,
lots for walking,
little steps to fight
the entropy of life,
hoping to spiral up,
rather than down.

The day passes too slow,
the years pass too fast.
All grown up now
and I'm not yet the
Astronaut-Voodoo Lord-Lawyer-Uberman
that I thought I'd be.
Oh, well, life must go on.
It is not for me to know,
my effects upon the world
and others.

The smallest
most insignificant act
of my life
-may very well be the cornerstone
which saves the lives of many.
In truth I am a small,
anonymous,
man.

I can live with that.

Poem: Underground

Like an underground river You,
my tears, are always there.
Like I am divided in two
and the bottom half is always crying.
While the top half
interacts with the World.
I can descend into my river
whenever I wish,
simply by letting my guard down,
thinking one too many thoughts
in the wrong direction and
Whoops! Splash!
Drowning and crying,
crying and drowning.

But I never die,
nor am I ever saved
by a Hero or Goddess.

I simply pull myself up,
pretending the river doesn't exist
- and I go on with life.
Unresolved.
Unfixed.
Uncompleted.
About to slip at any moment
back down into the river.
But for now I'm OK.

I used to think the river was good
and may lead somewhere Holy.
Now not so sure,
new power comes
with new introspection.
The more I rise above,
the easier it gets...

Living in the River for years,
the tears are more familiar
than the warmth.
Cold, sepparate, and salty.
They know me so well
that the warmth of Love
always confuses, a creature of
dark being shined by the sun.
The initial warmth so beautiful,
so close,
that the coldness
which used to be my life
is seen as it is;
Sad and Lonely.

Yearning for life in the sun.
Not to be. Not to be.
To imagine I know what Lucifer felt,
what Adam and Eve experienced.
Denial from the Heaven
that oncce was known to them.
Writ in stone:
"Thou Mayest Never Return."
Cast from the most beautiful place
in existance -
to...well... You get the idea.

To imagine I know what they felt;
is that not Pride
of the first degree?