Eulogy

Given god’s dependence upon the turn of the moon,
the cast of stars set too soon:
as true to Truth as any tale can be,
fate and fortune eased in upon the wind, transcended sin,
sending thrumming chords drumming across astral coasts.
Judges coalesce; shimmering ghosts progress into Being,
gathering in the Between
scenes from a life’s full stream…
we Sankofa birds fly free of human need.

Omni-dimensional dreams bless unreflective lives,
counter all guesses and unruly messes
with Truth,
reproof at wasted opportunities and willful
delusion, the fusion of broken illusions
crumble Soul’s pride;
afraid of goals set beyond the highest heights.
Ego slides by on red tides bearing ravenous death
breath, by poisonous breath.

Blessed moments crest in orchestral harmony,
timpani’s boom, life’s promise of doom
surpassed
by joyous occasion,
the harmonic accompaniment of heaven-sent Souls
present fated journeys past all impossible goals.
Dark mountains, treeless plains and dusty city streets
mark space, reveal traces of karmic debt
just in time to collect the bet regarding the outcome of
the Revolution,
the Final Solution
and, or, as the case may be,
the Alpha and Omega Resolution.

The stakes of pre-life agreements
countered by imps and demons well aware of the plan,
willing ever and always to lend helping hands
to a stumbling, bumbling and weak-minded man
held aloft by Souls mate in Salvation;
timely arrival, mutual survival, a synchronistic revival
against the night, benighted frights and unholy delights;
the Divine resolution, the sublime and humble solution
of countless lifetimes
together, forever
entwined.

Heart screams.
Tormented, torturous trials and tribulations,
the Stations of the Cross bear stark witness
to the relief of godly bliss promised in the afterlife;
after all this pain and strife there better damn well be a prize.
Souls realize that in god’s eyes the willful sty is life-spans wide and
dimensions in height,
all the while Omniscient sighs preside over terrific times,
soothing silence within precedes the arrival of the Divine.
Pentecostal Spirits sing songs awakening god within,
the twin to ego’s excess, the Omnipotent eternal,
the diurnal wanderer bears witness against
myself…
weighing deeds and intentions,
life’s companion bows down to
the beautiful and wondrous crown of Omnipresent renown.

Tones resounding joy pierce
hearts, rending agony
as Soul diffuses in subatomic resolution
regarding the metronomic dilution of a lifetime’s pride
cosmically-encoded and rendered obsolete.
Life-mode ends, Spirit sends for us
without fail,
true tales end with nothing resolved;
no agreement or dispute of content need become
involved.
Each Soul’s path to Light,
our personal and spirit-centered Calls
and Passions mask the similarity of task.
And yet, the shared sense of destiny and Becoming became and
all our stories are, were and will always be,
the same.

macrocOsmosis

battles fought above and below

all there is to life
is loving slow
and living without sin
from alpha to the end
only then shall we begin to fly
upon eagles wings
astral minstrels cry
while crooning soulful lullabies
to the moon and angels up on high
Ephemeral chariots
cross emerald skies by day
like judas escariot’s sire
was betrayed in every way
by base desire and the denial
of a liar who walked with feet of clay
my soul has grown deep
like a river
langston said
ethiopia cried out
we must give unto the dead
not with a whisper but with a shout
without doubt
ancestral souls fine-tune genetic goals
while double dutch b-girls
skip lifetimes in one trip
commit high crimes tight-lipped
demonic phonics rap like stetsasonic
bombastical fantastical beats freak
like mystikal out on the street

feral crackheads lie
in search of the next high
flying by on bat-wings
drenched by the stench of corruption
lynched by the mention of destruction
lust and pride take a dusty ride
through death valley
and dark urban alleys
a baby’s wail signals travails
wafting upon the night’s breeze like
seeds of death and disease that
freeze the leaves of skeletal trees
stilling breath and
slumber’s ease

on the other side of light
wonder marks the sight of
brighter days and mighty waves
in a towering fury of utter purity
all-encompassing love
accompanies the dove
rising ever above heaven’s gate
tupac told us it was too late
to try to change the hand of fate
no slate is clean of mortal sins
nor are we free of thoughtless friends
the heart senses trends
we can’t begin to hear or see
nor can we pretend that we are free

little things matter most
but like embittered ghosts we
refuse to toast life
the sweet moments without strife
the sight of a child’s
wide-eyed smile
the delight of living without denial
trials and tribulations
face our nations
stationed on the brink of disaster
the master calls and faster we ride
through torturous hell we slide
losing sight of the real so
precious moments we must steal
from alpha to the end

only with ourselves must we contend

the basement

mirrors twist my reality sideways upside down and all around as the circle turns and my soul burns in the embers of another ego-trippin’ episode of pain and heartache, black american style. the cadence is counted by fleetin’ affairs and distant loves, bereft of a dove’s purity of existence by willful fire and callous desire. dreams flow like streams and pleasure obscures the treasure of a perfect love, hidden within by layers of sin and distant chagrin. i go outside myself to come back in, spin and watch the sky as love dies the slow death, nagged ceaselessly by false expectations come round again like an old friend, faithful till the end.

round and round i go, tired, but checkin’ the flow as life wanders past, pausin’ in fits and starts; some parts comin’ clear, albeit framed by fear. i check my stylo every now and then, recognizing my patterns, my shame and my sins. in seeing my reflection in all that i do and say my truth is flung back in my face, no waste of time or space in this eternal race every sweet taste of pleasure is chased by demons of lust and loathing misplaced.

i gasp with bliss as i am soul-kissed by greed and the seeds of material need that bleed the blood of my ancestors. their tears trace paths of mercurial fears through the haze of my self-induced daze. i lie to myself about myself as i wait – in the meantime – undulating beneath my own caress, undoubtedly blessed, whinin’ about fate as i commit the ultimate act of self-hate. gratuitous spiritual masturbation murders afrofuturistic nations, melanated gods and goddesses of infinite conception, victims of unconscionable psychological deception, imparted at the cellular level.

as a metaphor, music soars loftily, in tune with my doom. the neurotic treble tones bone the bass clef, which acts as the most def function, linking sexual harmonics to junctions of material compunction and unconscious urges that surge to be purged.

such is the state of my slate and i progress in spates of determination, persuaded yet jaded by life, served cold on a broken plate. the warmth of unconditional love passes through the glass. divine, white light shines, multiplying sight and i revel in its soothing glow. the past and future intertwine as joyous laughter denies the sorrowful cries that overlie my sighs of soul-ache, crooned soon after.

love permeates all, has since the fall of divinity to the physical plane, i am but a link in the chain, a lock in the mane of god. i am risen and i traverse death aloft on the breath of life, above strife, selfish gain and gratuitous pain, above love denied or quantified.  today, i pray.  amen-ra.

 

Release

Restless urge
rising
solar plexus-bound
bursting forth

movement

borderline panic
seeking escape from
material constriction

pulse-rate rising
mind whirling
energy pulsing
finding no exit

wondering where
what and when

how
who and why

release.

Breath pent
held
heartbeat slowing

mind calming
mouth curling
upward

life energy cycling
never-ending
light shining forth
from within

seeking completion
an outlet into
creation

a path born of necessity
of destiny
a free-flowing current
unblocked

electromagnetic

crackling focusing
attracting and repelling

movement

Restless urge
descending
solar plexus-bound
controlled

release.

The Psychosexual Suppression of Jismatic Heresy: A Darwinian discussion of disutopian dreams

Disclaimer: This write is reflective of a particularly crass form of societal disfunction and the incontrovertible completion of a sub-cultural, material cypher. The philosophy, ideas, language and imagery used herein may be disturbing to many.

The Psychosexual Suppression of Jismatic Heresy: A Darwinian discussion of disutopian dreams.

By Mark Rockeymoore

Something real is going down.

And, from my perspective, only invectives suffice, the objective, to determine the price, to understand the spoken lingo. Awakened by dread, a coal-black Mandingo swings his long, majestic dong real strong, then screws a set of pale-skinned twins, impregnating the void with Potential on steroids. His melanated seed spreads like weeds in the Garden of European Delight, whispered calls of frenetic need sent skyward, computerized, explicit fantasies sold to fulfill insistently dark desires.

Freckled and powdered Mavens of Lust grow mechanical wings and ply their way south of the border to quench their own distasteful disorders, seeking out dark, Tropical Kings, their pride on open display. Delight us, these women say, eyes gleaming by night, shying away from the light of day. Elephantitis-inflicted dicks sway to the tune of moist poontang smacking wetly, lacking only the peculiar discretion to freshen up before fucking, to question their lust before sucking and then trucking back up to the Midwest, whispered conquests the test of their racial tolerance, no jest.

Some days, months or years, there’s just that kind of energy in the air. In many ways, we thrive on fear, invoking eternity with our Thousand Yard Stares. Nobody cares about creatures designed to die, and some days everyone you meet wants to either fuck, fight or cry.

Stare into the eyes of insanity and dare a motherfucker to jump.

Yes, you heard me right. Open your eyes, employ your Second Sight if you’re lost. In this space, all morality is tossed to the side, for it is only within sublime, anarchic halls that certain value systems lie. I could care less about your personal vanity – your humanity or your obvious and reeking insanity – and, as you can probably tell, I can give a good flying-fuck about your dislike of profanity.

No matter where you go or what you do, there is someone there to confront you with a crazed glint in their eyes; realize that events conspire to make your motions meaningless, leaving you dazed and confused, wondering what the Hell is going on. On those days, it is easy to fall into negative stasis, attempting to map the trap of energization and deprivation, engaging in the conduction of negativity through action and word, shouting, fighting back and lashing out in retribution for what you might have heard or intuited about the ephemerality of Existence itself.

Afterwords, you feel drained, denied the light. Born of parasitic forces, the brightness is obscured by the shade of egocentricity, and the satisfaction of the desires flares, sending us spiraling into disfunction.  Such is the conjunction of life and death, these are our crosses to bear - our breathes to share - and by descending into the darkness we finally find our sight. Violence is an end unto itself. It requires no justification other than that which leads to an altercation, fuels its fire or any thought or action that results in an increase of pyrokinetic energy.

In the attempt to keep it friendly, I offer you this bone to pick: blessed, born into strife and sickness, shotgun dreams send us screaming into the night, leaving a bloody swath in our wake. The stakes are high as vengeful Demons of Disutopian Conception threaten transgenic monstrosities as some future-perfect formation of human identity – engorged upon the Horn of Plenty - born of Nazi dreams and Eugenic streams of thought. Who is to blame? When we all are responsible for our choices, is the victim as responsible for his or her victimization as the victimizer? Is the power-play a drama of equality? Is the implicit choice a subliminal acknowledgement of life’s Darwinian aspects, the survival of the fittest a sublime treaties on theHierarchy of Souls, with the Nietzchian Ubermensch striding across the globe, crushing Mud People and lesser beings beneath his jack-booted stride, his blonde hair blazing like the sun, his ice-blue eyes as cold as his martial soul?

The End of Days beckon the Apocalyptic, sending shivers of ecstatic dread screaming down their spines as they genuflect before the Royal Phallus of Imperial Destiny. Blood-spattering, brain-leaking, viscera-tied pouches of goo and gore drip drops of nightmarish conception upon the auric splender of perfection, eating away at Eternity, awakening Leviathian. Broken borders seek completion. Shattered hearts tinkle softly upon the floor of our salvation, sending apoplectic spasms, shivers of slivers, shards of icy intention, seeking the warmth of hardened hearts like love seeks the highest state of Being-ness.

Welcome to the jungle, where beastiality only means you fuck condomless, cocks spewing poisonous semen into pussies puffed grotesquely by putrid pustules, imbued, by the force of their own distaste, with the power to birth hemophroditic avatars of super-human conception. These are the Dreams of the Denied, those who seek to fill the hole in their hearts with the pain of the whole world. Laughter takes on a demonic tone when they’re in charge, and eyes crazed with insane delight shine with a preternatural glow, intent upon denying you your life.

But this is all as it should be, same shit, same night, same mother-fucking useless-ass fight againt egoic self, intent upon immolation and the denial of our Heaven-sent station, let alone the birth of an elevated and enlightened Nation. Watch me stroke my tumescent soul with long, silky fingers, cooing ethereal sighs of passionate lies designed to stimulate my inner demiurge, my ability to purge myself of my inconsistencies, and, upon orgasmic release, spurting jism to the four corners of the earth, imprisoned by schisms defined by my impending death and the pre-set conditions of my inevitable rebirth.

I break the bank to steal the show with stank-ass codes and mortal body blows. I then press restart and proceed to crush hearts, I was the one who took your virginity and played the part, eviscerating your dreams then ripping the seams out of your doubt, stripping your expectations of flotsam and dross, shouting Amen! when your most personal boundaries were crossed.

Kill the Sacred Cows and eat off Buddha’s plate.

Piss on the Tomb of Mao and cuss out a Head of State.

Seek to cultivate chaos and anarchy will rise, the tide will exorcise the unplumbed depths of mind and soul, Twelve Steps required to reach the goal. the Thirteenth Gate reveals the way, the path to reach a Higher State. This world exists to fuck your dreams, to kill your steam, to dull your preen. But shine on still, in spite of the odds, devour your last meal and enjoy the facade of civilized behavior that masks the real, the Executioner’s mask, eyes glinting of steel. Damnation is promised, salvation, unreal. Creation is endless, Eternity’s the deal.

Don’t you get it yet?

If Eternity means Infinity, Perfection is Unreachable. So get on your knees and pray, enjoy this day. Even Angels die, while we try to transcend.

The End.

  

The Well of Souls

Given the state of the world and of souls in continuous flux, Tempestuous Trips through the Void elicit stunned glances amidst whirling thoughts transported timelessly across Space, seeking solace beneath the comfort of Culture Memes, and the stolidity of Place. Be this as it may, we play laughingly exuberant, souls soaring intendant upon sin, wearing Pendants of Light and Darkness Intertwined, declining the Divine in favor of the crass, devouring orgiastic repasts, engaging in physical satiation until the onset of the Last Days.

Powerful currents of subconscious streams carry dreams of lives lived long ago, mellow ego-trips of rainbow-hued skies, soft whispers of Love Everlasting and passionate, heartfelt lies. Chuckling solaces dives beneath shallow shoals of intent, dotted and sand-like pearls of Wisdom shine beneath the coal-black wine of a mirrored Heaven, seven circles coalesce, spiraling blessed, singing Hosannah and Hallelujah until their last and most precious breath.

Shamans intone breathless chants, cerebral meanderings envision hallucinogenic plants laughing in derision, brilliant colors traversing dimensional barriers, carriers of infinite knowledge, treasured foliage, measured in leisure and the pleasure of conscious intent. All pretenses aside, we ride the Rollercoaster of Life astride a bucking, and murderous steed, believing what we want to believe, needing what we believe we need, while our Souls - freed of the need of belief – hover intently, dispassionately observing our lives, the strife, delight and the nights, too long by far, carried out beneath the light of distant stars.

Enshrined in Ego, meager probabilities draw dust, rust and disdain, like electrostatically-charged rain upon the skin, absorbed by the electromagnetic potential within. Vibrational resonance reveals spiritual presence, Avatars of Godly Might descend unto the Physical Planes, claiming dominion over all Worldly Gain, their vast and terrible ships obscure the sky, the thunderous silence of their infinite trips the proof of humanity’s dreams gone awry. Visions abound, astounding the suspicious, viciously viscous and gelatinous abominations form tight, raucous formations, remonstrations from superior goo sound anew, as – upon their souls – demerits and eternal damnation accrue.

Who are you, to sound the Call of Tradition in vain, to doubt these words, this tale, despite the things you might have heard? The Well of Souls seethes with sin, the teeming hoards, an eternal din, rising out of the Pits of Hell, a soaring chorus, a somnambulent swell of infinite potentiality in eternal space, a never-ending story of a non-existent place.

Everything Under the Sun

Aiight,
and it goes a lil
somethin’ like this …

… i missed the scene
during which -
somewhere between
heaven and hell -
I fell,
then stopped mid-point
to smoke a bombastic joint
and chill for a few lifetimes,

swearin’ to myself
that next time I was gonna be
an elf,
that this whole human being
thing – swingin’ from
a vine on the
Tree of Life -
ain’t worth the time
rent or strife, cause

i’ve spent way too much
energy on the synergy
between materiality and
spirituality,

my natural mind expandin’
past the barrier of
the sky
only to be immediately
reprimanded
by some punk-ass angel from
up on high,

irritatin’ me to no end
since his winged and multiply-eyed
behind should have been
tendin’ to Lucifer and his crew …

… instead of snitchin’ on me
and grumblin’ ’bout’chu,

my soul grown deep like the
river styx
and wide like my baby’s eyes,
starin’ deep into my soul
attemptin’ to see past
my simple goal

of make it to the next day
without dyin’,
at least without tryin’
a lil bit’a everythin’ under the sun

under the holy gun
i fall a little lower,
- stop havin’ fun -

the heat from the
7th ring of hell
ringing that inner bell that
tells me
i’ve dropped a little too low,
that i need to take it on back
to my natural flow,

comin’ back down to Earth
for another rebirth
where i can take it
nice and slow,

chillaxin’ and maxin’ out
on my material growth,
leavin’ the drama behind
as i soar back up
into the spiritual realms,
instead of messin’ around
down here

flounderin’ far and near
wallowin’ in the searing heat
just a piece of meat
to be roasted and damned
like the other sinners
’round this spot,

rotten to the core,
droppin’ to the floor,
stoppin’ for some more
of that orgiastic repast

that lasts
till we decide that
we the playas not the played,
even tho’
we all waitin’ on the
End of Days …

… tryin’ ta pray all at
the last minute,
cause every single one of us
is all up innit,

but i ain’t playin’ round
these parts no more,
i wish that angel’d come back
to show me the door
so i can move up and on past
this place,
and continue on
this eternal race …

… pass me a drank.

I needs me a lil taste.

When I Awoke

Do I wish to awaken?

When I awoke
everything looked different
everything I loved
dropped away.

When I opened my eyes
I looked at my wife
and children
and walked away.

When I saw clearly
All of the illusions shattered
and what lay beneath
shone forth.

When I opened my eyes
No secret was hidden
No lost thing
remained.

When I awoke
I finally saw who I was
and with the seeing
became that.

Do you wish to awaken?