A Lurid Spotlight on Uncharitable Acts, and Some Lovely Poems.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Magick Scroll
O sweet, filmy banknote,
Whored out, loved, fingered
and sweat for
by 3,512 other souls, on the average,
in your grubby wayfaring span,
O pernicious little exchange symbol,
I worship thee, and the slobber comes.
I genuflect, press ye to my loins,
and pray that you will be mine forever and ever,
with interest.
Sweet gleaming coin!
Where are my coins, gleaming
in the shadows of my soul,
to help me forget that i am a shuffling
zombie, soon to expire in
misery and unaccomplishment,
the weight of a sensory existence made at least neurotic
by the weight of
a well-developed brain,
which itself was acutely responsible for
the conceiving,
developing and legitimizing,
the stamping printing and cutting
of you,
Moneymoneymoney, fiat or backed,
My endlessly reproducing, fuck-mad mother Mammon,
thou vicious munificent Godling,
where are you?
i have searched the couches,
the gutters, the garter belts, with
no luck at all.
You sprang from the mind of man and you have returned to it,
assuredly, for centuries on end, to feed.
you see a good, fat, slow meal in that mind,
and you inhabit it like a spider laying eggs in something freshly murdered.
on account of you, we are worthless.
"..if 416 is not going to eat his sausages, then you can give me the blankets and sleep on the bare mattresses..or you can keep ur blankets, and 416 can stay in the hole another day and try to learn how to eat dirty sausages from the floor when commanded..."
Lucre and specie drive left-wing college students to
participate in humiliating autocratic psychological studies;
and clinical drug trials that
might possibly kill them,
but will certainly increase some vile corporation's profits.
Money has turned many good human beings into lawyers,
politicians, and lobbyists.
The human need for Money will cause a scruffy actor
to take part in a fascist police-training drill,
to willingly play the creepy role
of "an American citizen" who whines,
in his best internment tone,
"I have my rights. I'm an amurrican citizen! Give me water!"
in order to offer the most realistic semblance
of abused common folk to the soldier
that must be trained against his instincts
to round up and persecute his countrymen.
The human lust for money drives liberal actors to accept roles on
TV shows just like "24"
The power of money
to confuse and make rabid animals of men
is evident in the Rap Video.
(you might think there is a perfectly designed infinity machine somewhere
that churns out these Mammon-hugging black men. Well there is: it's located on Madison Avenue and it runs on the limitless american fuel of negroid poverty, neurosis, pride and loneliness.)
flashing, spreading in fan-form, and otherwise
making a kind of aggressive, disdainful love to
dollars is a way of showing
that you have finally cast off slavery and own the
means that lead to power.
But it was the worship of money,
you poor, deluded, motherleaving bastard,
that allowed European men to murder their own souls, capture your ancestors, and
send them by the diseased shipload to their
centuries of shame, agony and debasement.
It was money that gave men the blubbery eloquence and free time
to write pretty sentences
justifying slavery,
so, No, Cuzzin: you have not escaped bondage
until you find something more durable to worship and flaunt
There is strong transformative Magick in the
green talisman.
You want lessons in materialism
and the equal opportunity ravages of money-sickness?
go to the strip club and watch the negro patrons.
Look at you, black man, as you strut around the club,
teaching these sick white rednecks your
backwards black manners:
I see that, except for the craven paleface mimics,
you are the only ones that stand
at the stage and sneeringly fling federal reserve notes
onto the writhing bodies,
insulting them with this direct
gesture that describes
how you feel they can be bought so impersonally, and
how little they are worth.
I have noticed that you and your white lackeys are the only
low-budget Capos
flinging green down with contempt on the dancers,
...As if you were at a slave auction maybe,
or desperate to prove how worthless life is to you.
White men worked very hard to make your ancestors into dogs and you
have worked hard to finish the job
with little acts of macho perversion
such as that.
If you keep this shit up
Black women will eventually find White men attractive, even poor ones.
America is a cage arena built for the express
purpose of allowing Golden Idols
a venue for publicly whipping the shit out of the Most High,
in a land where it could be guaranteed that Mammon
and Vice would supply a swollen, loud, and supportive audience
to goad the murder of god on.
It is in this land that money is privately owned and printed,
and yet the herd still believes money is
under its Treasury department;
it's in america where dollars are secretly Reserve Notes,
where the currency of the kingdom can be decorated with magick
symbols whose ominous portent no citizen understands
or is expected to:
symbols that well reveal the profound, sometimes silent strength money
has had over this land's destiny.
We specifically design our Temples for
Money-changers.
If I see another black man
fanning the golden manacles,
those empty bankrupted
federal reserve notes
and ritual occult talismans,
philosophically pissing on the mass graves
of his raped and robbed ancestors,
I'll mutter an impolite curse,
and join Zero Population Growth.
Labels:
occult mega-rituals,
poems,
Tragic Events
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