A Demon Seed.

The human condition? A state of attrition!
No wonder they all get depressed.
What with organs that fail, and bodies that ail?
It can’t leave them all that impressed
With whatever has caused, them to be so disposed
In a flimsy, pain sensitive sack.
An abomination. A joke of creation?
Where dreams surpass gifts that they lack.
The frustration of hope. The slippery slope
They slide down, as their world comes apart.
Hardly a wonder they stumble and blunder
In efforts they dare to call art.

The Screening Process

So that they don’t disturb our dreams
we close our ears to distant screams.
So that they do not haunt our nights
we turn our thoughts from awful sights.
We throw up screens and nets and walls
and we dwell in a maze of occlusion.
This is the world of illusion.
This is the world of illusion.

The Old Firm.

The doors of perception...
Oh! What a conception
to be the great know all
of all that is seen.
Ah! What a delight
to have total insight,
of what will be; what is,
and indeed; what has been.
But a gift of such power
can taste rather sour
and give you some cause
for regret.
When the doors are thrown wide
you can look right inside,
and what you SEE is...
What you get.
Innit?