Syntactical Objectification.

My Grimoire,
was never
very far
from finished.
It was
as if
the chequered
flag was
just around
the bend.
No signal
that the
torment was
in any
way diminished.
That held
me in
the certainty
that soon
it all
would end.

It’s the
same node;
same old
story told,
once upon
a rhyme.
For the
node knows
that when
one node
falls the
same node
still arises.
Once again,
is never
told true,
so there
can be
no surprises.
One is
one and
one and
one, and
can be
counted just
one time.

http://www.matrixmasters.net/podcasts/TRANSCRIPTS/TMcK-InValleyNoveltyPt01.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-g7Y8Shxn9Q&feature=PlayList&p=01EBE676308D44E1&index=0

Me transmitte sursum, caledoni

Abandon your integrity,
just a little bit.
The worst thing that can happen then,
is you get away with it.
Integrity is what you are,
Integral to your being.
And every time you barter it,
the real you goes fleeing.
The real you will not maintain,
your soul becomes a washed out shell.
And very soon you’ll know that you,
don’t have to die, to go to Hell.

Particle Particulars.

Particle Zenics.

The ‘big bang’ isn’t big.
It’s very, very small.
And out across infinity
doesn’t register,
at all.

As the mind focuses
the microscope of concentration
it perceives the clutter
of colliding, conflicting concepts
that constitute the cloud
of clammy confusion,
in what is
clownishly called creation.

The pattern
is a random scrawl
drawn in a damned,
dancing deluge of delusion,
and whoever
or whatever
put it into being
screwed up
‘small’ time.

The reality of ‘reality’
is
that it is
a waste of space.

A paradoxical point
that is pointless.

David Hazell