And I count to ye the value I have to myself,
the sheer weakness aplenty,
to what left do I have to boast?
And to what can all the politics of snakes can do?
the twitching of heads to Readers Digest asininity,
here's to the poison that is the organization of insipid religion.
What is there to save you? What is there left of any relevance?
The sheer vast emptiness of thousand bars and a million streets,
The naked scream for a better life amidst the deafening madness,
Sorry are the masses that stand dead in their eyes.
To think the houses of the holy were there to comfort,
Enter now in this festering den of a million barking dogs.
Men who profess to be upright in their eyes,
Treatises of theology and sociology from their mouth's they begat,
Where is now the mention of the Lamb that would solve it all?
To you all, I spout forth the nonsense that bears no relevance,
to what God could do to your lives?
surely the work of my sweat could water the seeds of my worry?
How long...How long....
To what possible merit could you say to all your trouble?
The sweat of my own labor? Are you seriously fooling yourself?!
For here now is the symptom of the world,
the fruits of supreme human logic!
the sheer hypocrisy of their pig headed politicking!
I marvel now at the sheer blunder of your arrogant intellect!
The mere insinuation of academics and experience,
the combination merits nothing but the strife in your hearts!
How long will you all sit and be blind?
How long would you suffer in your dead end torments?
To what else could compare to the hipness of your status?
Shaky pedestals that destine to crumble to your own weight!
See now the collapse of all your personal religions.
For what matters now but of the sheer majesty of the Christ,
the missing link to all things unattainable,
can you all see the catalyst that you have just missed?
Wake up! For you shall know that you are loved!
The unspeakable absolutes in the manifestation of His own blood,
Dead are the ailments that bound you prisoner to your personal pains!
For you all talk of a release..... Here now is your release!
Blessed are ye, my dear friends... for the condemnations of sins
are the agenda that's been already paid,
the land hung to dry to the bitterness to human injustice,
behold now the ruse that smashed the evil one's grip!
Look now the overflow of His bread,
Look now the overflow of the blessings!
For once we all lacked in the comfort of our wretchedness,
No longer now! For entereth now the Kings of Kings!
Entereth now are we into this anointed Hill of Zion!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
A musical journey from the pit
I had my my idea what other music was. Admittedly it was pitifully shallow and myopic. For a song to betray a sense of tenderness and sentimentally was 'pop' or 'touchy-feelly' I could have been more honest to admit that i was merely repressing my emotions; to be a hard bitten hard rock/ blues fan devoid of any emotion except hate and anger.
Yeah, I did not have the best of deals. To me, my peers were the inside crust where else I was the public enemy. The degenerate outsider that has better things to do rather than indulge in all things that were the light. I had my scars to validate my hate. Those years in church and school. They had taken one look at me and decided that I wasn't worth their time.
Enter my plans for revenge.
To surround myself things that were brutal and grim. To be in a state of siege and betray not the weakness that you actually have. I did admittedly alienate a lot of my peers. My fault. My mistake. There is no justification for that.
I guess I suffered needlessly for my mistakes. While I suffered I buried all I had left of myself in the vast collections of music I had collected. From the lone suffering guitar of the blues to the outsider chic of indie rock. To think I used to think It would bring a revelation to my life. How naive I was. I professed to be cooler than all the kids in campus while all the I am just as dazed an confused as they are.
It all started with a little ol' band from Seattle, Washington which later got big in the early 90's
It was only during the summer of 96 (two years fresh after Cobain's suicide) that a bespeckled fat outsider from Kuching got hold of a compilation tape from his cousin amidst the secrecy of illegal school peddling. The sheer audacity and outrageousness in Cobain's lyrics blew away that kid.. so much so it brainwashed him to think that being tortured was the zenith of artistic development.
The kid eventually went though counseling, which in turn had him referred to the elders of his own anglican church. After a lengthy deliverance session the kid stayed clean for a while, joining the youth only to be cast out by the gears of youth politics.
Amidst all that... he still remembered the sound: the brutality, it's honesty, it's seeming solutions that could have been the key that would deliver him from this world.
He would also delve deeper to the past. Discovering bands like Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple which in turn inspired him to pick up the guitar.
He practiced hours on end. Playing the same bloody riff over and over again much to the annoyance of his friends. For all their jeering and insinuations, he was very hell bent on being the next Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton.
No one dug the music unfortunately. By Form 4, the world was held sway to Limp Bizkit and Korn. Hip-hop was fast making the bucks. Everyone else wanted to be just like them and it was very hard to find like minded folks to even sit with you and listen. Some would really salute you for sticking to your guns. But most would see you as nothing: a lone anachronism fighting for a lost cause.
You'd think things might pick up in college. Nope.
This kid by then grows his hair long and goes to college. He spends more time on Napster than actually doing precious research and assignments for class. He rarely gets any sunlight for he only goes out from his room only pig out at the local fast food joint or to buy albums or guitar mags. He still dreams to make it big. But for all this, he's just a rebel without a clue. College deadlines pile up so much that he freaks and goes into a nervous breakdown.
It comes to the point he can't even play the guitar... let alone to live.
He returns to his hometown in Kuching. Spends a good part of the day just lying in bed just plained zonked by medication. He tries to make a fast chromatic run on his guitar but he hardly could do it right. Outside he knows very well his friends and relatives are talking behind his back; passing condescending judgments and spewing out patronizing pity so they may look the part of the exalted hero and saviour. He's totally at a dead end. To most, there is no going back from him.
He is lying in bed with all the lights shut. He had earlier on just bought an album which seem to elevate him from where is was then.
The title was 'New York City Ghosts' by the band Sonic Youth.
He plays a track 'Small flowers, Cracked concrete'
It was about a doomed poet named DA Levy
He listens to it. Imagining the lights of night time Cleveland and the monsters which lurked in Levy's skull.
It really impressed the kid...so much so he actually checks out DA Levy's website to figure more about him.
He also got to know about the Beats: men like Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti who were madmen in their own right; fighting the system with their prose.
Poetry as a weapon. The kid thinks it over.
Before you actually know it...he actually begins to write his poetry.
By then the kid has gone beyond metal and the blues. By then he had gotten himself hooked to the BeBop gods of old. Swing cats like Miles Davis, Coltrane and Mingus. The kid even got himself back appreciating to the concept of melody; that you need not trying to prove yourself by atonality and grind.
It could be any chord: natural or flat, clean or distorted.
So long it had the power to invoke.
But for all that growing knowledge of music. It was still self serving. The poetry was a lot better than the first initial tries. Still it had the monotony of angst. He was still pissed at the world for his treatment. The epic graphic details and the dripping sarcasm seemed like a nice touch of prose. But still it was all empty.
But then it made sense in one moonlit night. By then He had been feeding on some good soul food: the true cornerstone of what is Christ. The answer that even Douglas Adams failed to notice in his dying days.
The piece that actually makes the fullest of all chords. The Root note that brings life to all that was dead.
This was the perfect sound forever. The answer to all things in this entire plane and beyond.
To think the music I had could ease the pain and bitterness. This was the truest of all songs that set the hardest of hearts free. No longer all my dealings, be it music and art, be it poetry and life itself be something of any empty end. It was like the life blood has flowed back to my shriveled soul veins. The real purpose in all I have in life. In Christ alone!
For His poetry now has a greater purpose now.The word flows like a rivers, with the deadlines of bullets. The music now is thousand times more fuller with the Lord's anointing. Here is the unending flow of His love flowing through Him now. The people all wonder where he gets it all. Was it intense tutoring, was it by some Faustian pact. He smiles as they all congregate to analyze. All he says it's by the Lord alone, I could do all things.
So here now was a outcast thats become the king among men. For it was by one virtue of a sacrifice by one God. To take the place of humanity for His judgment. To suffer all that we deserve. All for us to be in His righteousness. All this so we may not suffer nor lack.
It's really easy to deny it all as hogwash or just plain ramblings of rabid Calvinist with nothing better to do but to talk about metaphysical concepts and such. This is not a matter of doctrine or ideas. This is the truth. The mere belief in a Redeemer that delivers is enough to elicit change to this broken of worlds. No nned for the sheer wiles of diplomacy or politics. One trust in the Father and all things in Him shall be done.
For it has come a time all will believe. Not by force, fear or guilt. But only of a warmth that humanity sorely lacks: the embrace of Father that has never once forgotten us all.
Yeah, I did not have the best of deals. To me, my peers were the inside crust where else I was the public enemy. The degenerate outsider that has better things to do rather than indulge in all things that were the light. I had my scars to validate my hate. Those years in church and school. They had taken one look at me and decided that I wasn't worth their time.
Enter my plans for revenge.
To surround myself things that were brutal and grim. To be in a state of siege and betray not the weakness that you actually have. I did admittedly alienate a lot of my peers. My fault. My mistake. There is no justification for that.
I guess I suffered needlessly for my mistakes. While I suffered I buried all I had left of myself in the vast collections of music I had collected. From the lone suffering guitar of the blues to the outsider chic of indie rock. To think I used to think It would bring a revelation to my life. How naive I was. I professed to be cooler than all the kids in campus while all the I am just as dazed an confused as they are.
It all started with a little ol' band from Seattle, Washington which later got big in the early 90's
It was only during the summer of 96 (two years fresh after Cobain's suicide) that a bespeckled fat outsider from Kuching got hold of a compilation tape from his cousin amidst the secrecy of illegal school peddling. The sheer audacity and outrageousness in Cobain's lyrics blew away that kid.. so much so it brainwashed him to think that being tortured was the zenith of artistic development.
The kid eventually went though counseling, which in turn had him referred to the elders of his own anglican church. After a lengthy deliverance session the kid stayed clean for a while, joining the youth only to be cast out by the gears of youth politics.
Amidst all that... he still remembered the sound: the brutality, it's honesty, it's seeming solutions that could have been the key that would deliver him from this world.
He would also delve deeper to the past. Discovering bands like Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple which in turn inspired him to pick up the guitar.
He practiced hours on end. Playing the same bloody riff over and over again much to the annoyance of his friends. For all their jeering and insinuations, he was very hell bent on being the next Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton.
No one dug the music unfortunately. By Form 4, the world was held sway to Limp Bizkit and Korn. Hip-hop was fast making the bucks. Everyone else wanted to be just like them and it was very hard to find like minded folks to even sit with you and listen. Some would really salute you for sticking to your guns. But most would see you as nothing: a lone anachronism fighting for a lost cause.
You'd think things might pick up in college. Nope.
This kid by then grows his hair long and goes to college. He spends more time on Napster than actually doing precious research and assignments for class. He rarely gets any sunlight for he only goes out from his room only pig out at the local fast food joint or to buy albums or guitar mags. He still dreams to make it big. But for all this, he's just a rebel without a clue. College deadlines pile up so much that he freaks and goes into a nervous breakdown.
It comes to the point he can't even play the guitar... let alone to live.
He returns to his hometown in Kuching. Spends a good part of the day just lying in bed just plained zonked by medication. He tries to make a fast chromatic run on his guitar but he hardly could do it right. Outside he knows very well his friends and relatives are talking behind his back; passing condescending judgments and spewing out patronizing pity so they may look the part of the exalted hero and saviour. He's totally at a dead end. To most, there is no going back from him.
He is lying in bed with all the lights shut. He had earlier on just bought an album which seem to elevate him from where is was then.
The title was 'New York City Ghosts' by the band Sonic Youth.
He plays a track 'Small flowers, Cracked concrete'
It was about a doomed poet named DA Levy
He listens to it. Imagining the lights of night time Cleveland and the monsters which lurked in Levy's skull.
It really impressed the kid...so much so he actually checks out DA Levy's website to figure more about him.
He also got to know about the Beats: men like Ginsberg and Ferlinghetti who were madmen in their own right; fighting the system with their prose.
Poetry as a weapon. The kid thinks it over.
Before you actually know it...he actually begins to write his poetry.
By then the kid has gone beyond metal and the blues. By then he had gotten himself hooked to the BeBop gods of old. Swing cats like Miles Davis, Coltrane and Mingus. The kid even got himself back appreciating to the concept of melody; that you need not trying to prove yourself by atonality and grind.
It could be any chord: natural or flat, clean or distorted.
So long it had the power to invoke.
But for all that growing knowledge of music. It was still self serving. The poetry was a lot better than the first initial tries. Still it had the monotony of angst. He was still pissed at the world for his treatment. The epic graphic details and the dripping sarcasm seemed like a nice touch of prose. But still it was all empty.
But then it made sense in one moonlit night. By then He had been feeding on some good soul food: the true cornerstone of what is Christ. The answer that even Douglas Adams failed to notice in his dying days.
The piece that actually makes the fullest of all chords. The Root note that brings life to all that was dead.
This was the perfect sound forever. The answer to all things in this entire plane and beyond.
To think the music I had could ease the pain and bitterness. This was the truest of all songs that set the hardest of hearts free. No longer all my dealings, be it music and art, be it poetry and life itself be something of any empty end. It was like the life blood has flowed back to my shriveled soul veins. The real purpose in all I have in life. In Christ alone!
For His poetry now has a greater purpose now.The word flows like a rivers, with the deadlines of bullets. The music now is thousand times more fuller with the Lord's anointing. Here is the unending flow of His love flowing through Him now. The people all wonder where he gets it all. Was it intense tutoring, was it by some Faustian pact. He smiles as they all congregate to analyze. All he says it's by the Lord alone, I could do all things.
So here now was a outcast thats become the king among men. For it was by one virtue of a sacrifice by one God. To take the place of humanity for His judgment. To suffer all that we deserve. All for us to be in His righteousness. All this so we may not suffer nor lack.
It's really easy to deny it all as hogwash or just plain ramblings of rabid Calvinist with nothing better to do but to talk about metaphysical concepts and such. This is not a matter of doctrine or ideas. This is the truth. The mere belief in a Redeemer that delivers is enough to elicit change to this broken of worlds. No nned for the sheer wiles of diplomacy or politics. One trust in the Father and all things in Him shall be done.
For it has come a time all will believe. Not by force, fear or guilt. But only of a warmth that humanity sorely lacks: the embrace of Father that has never once forgotten us all.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Past Remeberance, Past all things that were Old
There are various parts of my life that I wished to forget. But the more I think about it longer it's really these incidents that shaped my life as a whole. I still bear the slight scars. But then again, in Christ I'm constantly healing. That's the thing about grace, you may fall, you may mess up big time, but it is He who lifts you up...an no matter of travesty could nullify this.
I never really was satisfied with my lot in this pecking order. The desire to surpass them all and prove them all in all things; this is why I took up art and music. To formulate the skills to actually say fuck you in the face. But there is where the rot comes in... it had all been self serving. It had all had the elements of a primal cry for help from the personal hell I felt so long ago.
To think all the waking moments of going to high school and planning my revenge. My 'poetic' end from this mundane world. I'd try causing a stir: streaking across the road from my college, to actually feign retardation for the sake for a few laughs. You'd think I was a revolutionary. But difference between individuals like Che and Malcolm with goof balls like me is at least they had a cause. For my case it was all sound and fury. But to what end? Nothing. Nil. Nada.
But what was relevant was the pain. It still comes back as a ghost. But I'm really happy to say it's relevance to my present day is dying away bit by bit.
Do I slip back and relapse. Oh yes...certainly. My friends are in line to make a crack or two. But this is the symptom of human behavior. Old habits die hard. But they certainly die faster in Christ.
But those days, man... the remembrance of teenage angst stalking the school corridors like a blood thirsty wolf.....
It was always a routine of going to school and looking at the pecking order from the outside. I had a handful of close friends. Most of them were acquaintances that I actually respected or just plain fucking hated. I guess of them some of them respected me for my open act of rebellion. Somewhere just plain annoyed by it. Understandable. But it had already became a point that it was actually my way of getting though the divide. Before this I had total abject fear of my peers. And rightfully so.... some where total jerks. I wonder how they feel now in this real world. The sheer pressure of the system now at their necks. It's their turned now to be the mocked.
The teachers were a mixed bunched though. Some were like the saergant in the movie 'Full Metal Jacket'; reining everyone with their militaristic rules and routines until you got it right. One guy I knew was Mr. Lawrence Lau who taught English. His weapon was the cane and usually quized any random student about the verbs and prepositions. You'd had to be dammed lucky to get if right because if you don't your punishment would come in a swift lash of the rattan cane.
Funny about the rattan can though....
We had so longed been bred to submission by this arsenal so much so that it became a way of life. The pain was stinging and sore but once you'd get past primary 3 you'd already consider yourself a veteran. I had the distinction of having to go to my principals office at Form 3 to join a roundup
of almost a dozen of academic misfits for a session of canning in the glueteus maximus. Still it's not as bad as being whacked at the hand. That, by the way, was agonizing.
It's really amusing now to see the clever and popular kids being bunched up in the top two classes. Even as I'd bumped into them once in a blue moon, I'd still consider the stuck ups of the highest order. They are the ones that sneer at the rest of us as if we're the future employees destined to be enslaved. You'd try get near to them and all you'd get a reception worthy as someone talking to himself at the hospital morgue. They never did seem to treat me, as well as my other fellor miscreants as humans with any feeling or heart. I really felt it when I made the attempt to join the Science and Astronomy club. Of all the feelings to have at a very impressionable age...to actually feel the sense of isolation is the worse feeling than actually being left dead at a ditch.
You'd really think you could escape all this on Sunday at he sanctity of church community. Wrong again! Still the same thing at sunday school and youth. the same damn subdivision in church for the same reason. The hip kids with the other hip kids. The geeks with the other geeks. You in the other hand? Well.... excuse me while I talk to myself!
It didn't help when the church was pouring heaps of guilt and condemnation to all of us kids. Telling us to live right and believe right. Here now the fascists of the peace. You'd better try damn hard not to tell anyone that you'd listen to Led Zeppelin or Deep Purple, for they'd absolutely would haul you to a deliverance and pound you until you are a mindless vegetable.My mom, for her misguided intentions, had sent me for deliverance prayer several times to cast me out of this demons of depression, not knowing that their dead end religiosity was the one that drove me to the edge. I had gotten rid of so many album cassettes in hope all things might change. Still...I always seemed to slip. It was back to square one again.
There wasn't any promise in life when you look at it. To be under the law and to be a social outcast was a lethal mix. To think all the subsequent trouble that could be avoided if I really know the grace of my Christ. But still I do consider myself an outsider. I know damn well there are people who scoffing at me because of my fallacies and of my faith. But what do they got that could nullify all this. You can see now I was nothing then. But now in Him I've already have His favour t even calm all storms. Consider those who were dreamers that became the rulers of this earth. Consider their meager circumstances to their God given glory. You all may say I'm piss but my Father has proclaimed my blessed. For all that I have lost now I have regained tenfold.
I never really was satisfied with my lot in this pecking order. The desire to surpass them all and prove them all in all things; this is why I took up art and music. To formulate the skills to actually say fuck you in the face. But there is where the rot comes in... it had all been self serving. It had all had the elements of a primal cry for help from the personal hell I felt so long ago.
To think all the waking moments of going to high school and planning my revenge. My 'poetic' end from this mundane world. I'd try causing a stir: streaking across the road from my college, to actually feign retardation for the sake for a few laughs. You'd think I was a revolutionary. But difference between individuals like Che and Malcolm with goof balls like me is at least they had a cause. For my case it was all sound and fury. But to what end? Nothing. Nil. Nada.
But what was relevant was the pain. It still comes back as a ghost. But I'm really happy to say it's relevance to my present day is dying away bit by bit.
Do I slip back and relapse. Oh yes...certainly. My friends are in line to make a crack or two. But this is the symptom of human behavior. Old habits die hard. But they certainly die faster in Christ.
But those days, man... the remembrance of teenage angst stalking the school corridors like a blood thirsty wolf.....
It was always a routine of going to school and looking at the pecking order from the outside. I had a handful of close friends. Most of them were acquaintances that I actually respected or just plain fucking hated. I guess of them some of them respected me for my open act of rebellion. Somewhere just plain annoyed by it. Understandable. But it had already became a point that it was actually my way of getting though the divide. Before this I had total abject fear of my peers. And rightfully so.... some where total jerks. I wonder how they feel now in this real world. The sheer pressure of the system now at their necks. It's their turned now to be the mocked.
The teachers were a mixed bunched though. Some were like the saergant in the movie 'Full Metal Jacket'; reining everyone with their militaristic rules and routines until you got it right. One guy I knew was Mr. Lawrence Lau who taught English. His weapon was the cane and usually quized any random student about the verbs and prepositions. You'd had to be dammed lucky to get if right because if you don't your punishment would come in a swift lash of the rattan cane.
Funny about the rattan can though....
We had so longed been bred to submission by this arsenal so much so that it became a way of life. The pain was stinging and sore but once you'd get past primary 3 you'd already consider yourself a veteran. I had the distinction of having to go to my principals office at Form 3 to join a roundup
of almost a dozen of academic misfits for a session of canning in the glueteus maximus. Still it's not as bad as being whacked at the hand. That, by the way, was agonizing.
It's really amusing now to see the clever and popular kids being bunched up in the top two classes. Even as I'd bumped into them once in a blue moon, I'd still consider the stuck ups of the highest order. They are the ones that sneer at the rest of us as if we're the future employees destined to be enslaved. You'd try get near to them and all you'd get a reception worthy as someone talking to himself at the hospital morgue. They never did seem to treat me, as well as my other fellor miscreants as humans with any feeling or heart. I really felt it when I made the attempt to join the Science and Astronomy club. Of all the feelings to have at a very impressionable age...to actually feel the sense of isolation is the worse feeling than actually being left dead at a ditch.
You'd really think you could escape all this on Sunday at he sanctity of church community. Wrong again! Still the same thing at sunday school and youth. the same damn subdivision in church for the same reason. The hip kids with the other hip kids. The geeks with the other geeks. You in the other hand? Well.... excuse me while I talk to myself!
It didn't help when the church was pouring heaps of guilt and condemnation to all of us kids. Telling us to live right and believe right. Here now the fascists of the peace. You'd better try damn hard not to tell anyone that you'd listen to Led Zeppelin or Deep Purple, for they'd absolutely would haul you to a deliverance and pound you until you are a mindless vegetable.My mom, for her misguided intentions, had sent me for deliverance prayer several times to cast me out of this demons of depression, not knowing that their dead end religiosity was the one that drove me to the edge. I had gotten rid of so many album cassettes in hope all things might change. Still...I always seemed to slip. It was back to square one again.
There wasn't any promise in life when you look at it. To be under the law and to be a social outcast was a lethal mix. To think all the subsequent trouble that could be avoided if I really know the grace of my Christ. But still I do consider myself an outsider. I know damn well there are people who scoffing at me because of my fallacies and of my faith. But what do they got that could nullify all this. You can see now I was nothing then. But now in Him I've already have His favour t even calm all storms. Consider those who were dreamers that became the rulers of this earth. Consider their meager circumstances to their God given glory. You all may say I'm piss but my Father has proclaimed my blessed. For all that I have lost now I have regained tenfold.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
And He Clears The Broken Glass from Under My Feet
listening : Norma Jean
mood : recovering
It had been a hell of a festive week. Had a bout with the flu as well as an annoying case of the cough which had me go into a melodramatic weeze each time there is an irritation in my throat.
I could go on with a certain people getting on my nerves. I would be lying to you if I said that I had the spirit of long suffering to withstand every crap and bullshit thrown my way. I'm still guided by daddy Jesus as we speak. But the feel of wanting to bite of someone's head is almost real; the beastly urge to assert myself in the worst possible way ever. I thank daddy Jesus that He's actually holding my tongue.
Face it. If it wasn't for Him, I'd probably would go ballistic now. All the self help books can say I could master my emotions though some esoteric means of control. The futility of human effort alone. it is no wonder we see all around us fall like a collapsing deck of cards.
The poem I did last night was actually two sets of trilogies which I actually joined up to make a complete epic. I added a few verses, expounded on the epilogue section and retitled it as 'Voices: The Chronicles of Life Unto Death'. I'd think it's called voices because it represents a varying sections of the human condition: from the anger and betrayal of parts 'The Rejected' & 'The Murdered', the defeat and the hopelessness of 'The Defeated' & 'The Undead' to the restoration
and confidence of the epilogues. It was really mind numbing to write this, profanity and all.
Almost like therapy for all the fury I had, especially writing the epilogue, which itself is a confession to all the words of love wisdom and blessing that Christ has in store for me.
mood : recovering
It had been a hell of a festive week. Had a bout with the flu as well as an annoying case of the cough which had me go into a melodramatic weeze each time there is an irritation in my throat.
I could go on with a certain people getting on my nerves. I would be lying to you if I said that I had the spirit of long suffering to withstand every crap and bullshit thrown my way. I'm still guided by daddy Jesus as we speak. But the feel of wanting to bite of someone's head is almost real; the beastly urge to assert myself in the worst possible way ever. I thank daddy Jesus that He's actually holding my tongue.
Face it. If it wasn't for Him, I'd probably would go ballistic now. All the self help books can say I could master my emotions though some esoteric means of control. The futility of human effort alone. it is no wonder we see all around us fall like a collapsing deck of cards.
The poem I did last night was actually two sets of trilogies which I actually joined up to make a complete epic. I added a few verses, expounded on the epilogue section and retitled it as 'Voices: The Chronicles of Life Unto Death'. I'd think it's called voices because it represents a varying sections of the human condition: from the anger and betrayal of parts 'The Rejected' & 'The Murdered', the defeat and the hopelessness of 'The Defeated' & 'The Undead' to the restoration
and confidence of the epilogues. It was really mind numbing to write this, profanity and all.
Almost like therapy for all the fury I had, especially writing the epilogue, which itself is a confession to all the words of love wisdom and blessing that Christ has in store for me.
Voices: Chronicles from Death into Life
1. (The Rejected)
Cold solitude amidst the the presence of millions,
The look in the high handed sneers said it all.
Never was the dammed human to the whole lot of you
You posturing inspired me nothing but a blackened hate.
And to my dying days I shall spit at you all....
And to the depths of hell I scream vengeance in the black,
Weep not... for I am already one with all the dead,
Forget about putting flowers in my grave...
for the boy that you once knew no longer dwells with you all!
Every face of the past like the ghost that dares me,
Arrogant fucks of privileged upbringing!
Are they the least bit satisfied with the subdivision of the weak?
For here now my mind resides like a bullet in a revolver,
the mental steeling to bring me up from the mire.
To those that say nay, I'm sorry to disappoint you all!
My tears was the water that nurtured the seed.
Behold now! the silent iron man that shall begat your doom!
2. (The Murdered)
The dead and buried filled up with festering worms,
the repugnance of a society and it's gallows rope conservatism.
Do they honestly believe that we're still hoodwinked by the lies?,
posturing men of hardened hearts and zero brains,
Only time will tell with their cracking black wings,
the transference of power to the ones that's meek,
the drying of reservoirs that were the tears of our mothers.
I am dead to the whole lot of you.
A shred of humanity you have denied from me.
Nothing matters but the submission to the molochs that be,
So much about beating the system at their own fucking game,
Like Malcolm, Martin and Che....all of them that dared to take the stand,
Dead are the generation that are dry in their tears.
Oh yes...NOW you notice my pain,
To what are the pearls you cast upon my open wounds?,
What is there to gain of your pitying words?,
An open declaration of a coming doom to the whole wide world!,
You might as well be digging my my own dammed grave to the worms!.
And what of emptiness of the hall at where my corpse had laid,
Hushed voices of condescending know it alls that
has analyzed my fallacies,
Why don't YOU take the scalpel o' good doctor of moralities!
And do proceed on to parlay your esteemed findings
to the vast cows of the genteel audience!
For who I do have left now, my friend....
for even you have gone to take the plunge with your knife,
the pain of abandonment like the nails bulging in the heart,
ti's a torment I know all so fucking well.
3. (The Defeated)
The cold breeze for another beginning of the grind,
The fists bleeding from the previous vengeance,
to what broken kingdom I have left to protect?
For here in my defiance I strove to define
Only in the trail of bloodied tears,
I have found I've lost it all.
To what end my anger could bring me to?
To what grave would be the nullification of it all?
For I am lost in my sea of yellowed resentments,
Every second eats away my years of prime,
The only thing that keeps me be,
is the bullet of a sublime martyrdom.
The anger, the beacon that rallied my defiance to all of you,
Here now the flame that now incinerates me whole.
4. (The Undead)
And I am to blind to notice you anymore,
test emergency signals to the flooded despair in my brains,
call not to me, for I have ceased to exist.
And across vast roads and alleyways I have walked
myself to an emptiness,
the beauty of my Father all there for the taking,
Still...dead am I to all that is light.
And under a million labyrinth I feed on the piss and shit,
the respectable all shudder when they see me,
For all they could know, it could be one of their own
they could be dealing with,
And for all mounting failures I cut my soul
for every validation for a sign,
A stray eye that dares to rise and care,
A faint light that calls forth to me,
But alas, alas...for the whole lot of humanity are failures like me.
And don't you all hear the tears that falls in still of night?
Another day wasted for a days revenge,
Another fucked up day of wanting to get even,
Here am I friend, the man you see as the villain,
A shadow at your every party and dinner,
Why do you even bother considering me as alive?
For once there shall be a liberation at the tip of the razor,
One stroke of it all...and all aspirations shall go down in the dirt,
Dead are they dreams you have all killed
Permit me to do this...at least I can go out with style.
(Epilogue)
1. (The Restored)
Awake suddenly I am....
A breath of the freshest of air to this bloated of corpses,
A sting of newness like dew to open flesh,
the harshness of an ever fluorescent glory blinds me,
How long have I been in this sentence to merit this lease?
How long have I have been forced face down
by forces that wished all but a glory of a love?
At the coldness of abattoirs I am the first to be alive again,
By me is the Man that has made the difference,
deep wounds in His hands says He had payed the price,
To a wretched he says, "Come, and follow Me!"
For what else do I have to lose,
Desperation is the worm that cries for a better life,
This escape from my throne of nails that I have long resided,
Could this all be complete redemption for all my crimes past?
But all this, the motives, the doubts, the guilt,
Still He accepts all that dares to take the plunge,
From the searching pilgrims to criminals eager for a change,
No man is excepted from this greatest of love.
No man... for all humanity in Him is actually deemed precious.
And for all things that were lost are returned a thousandfold,
like spring bloom at the death of an icy winter,
blessing upon blessing, miracle upon miracle,
crippled and torn I was in my mind,
in glory now both in spirit & possessions!
definitely a blessed comeback to all you all shalt behold!,
You had long written me off with you eulogies back then,
Look now, my friends! ....for my finest hour in the hand of my Lord!
And for what good morals, past present & future, have I done
to deserve such a restoration, then?
For up till now, the oldness of flesh comes back like a ghost,
A simple err like the dog that I was,
Pardon to you all if some way offended you,
Still... He's with me, building me more like an impenetrable fortress,
He crowns me with His anointing, He Blesses me with his riches,
A man like me feels he deserve nothing but the dirt he's ought to be buried into,
But still righteous am I in His eyes alone!
For was it His blood that washed it all totally?
Was it all scorn He endured was a totally for your all?
To say we all deserve nothing, that is indeed correct!
But He has already have paid the judgment in full,
In Christ alone, truly liberated is the man that says He believes!
2. (The Resurrected)
For amidst the death there was an open door,
climb across the stairs, here now the hill of the judgment,
for here is the place of my condemnation...
like the common rotten dog that I was.
Perhaps all karmic debt could be settled fair and square.
Yet, Someone has already taken over the proceedings,
Here now he hangs mutilated for we all to see.
And they buried him to be forgotten,
a rock to seal of all known existence,
For what could he do for me?,
It would seem I was as screwed as Him.
But Arise Shine, said a voice,
Here was the Conqueror, scars and all.
Every stripe for every mess up,
Every wound for all the sickness,
Here now before me is the payment in full,
For what do I deserve all this...nothing
Yet He all but died me.
No longer the tears to the midnight sorrows,
No longer the despair like cigarette smokes with negativity,
Washed now I am In Him
Repaid back in full I am in His wealth,
No longer the wretchedness
of scraping my wounds for a pittance
In my place, A God has payed the cost for me,
A clean exoneration to the one that was damned,
For today I now live in Him,
Blessed is the man who is reborn again to His love!
For was it Law and Penance that could turn a man around,
Or was it pure Love that melt the stoniest of all hearts,
For this is decree very alien to most,
The truth that set the most just to shame,
But here now is the missing link to all the questions asked,
the eternal catalyst to the Last Great Revolution,
Abide now in Him, for though all things are possible!
3. (The Victorious)
For bloodied are the hands that toiled,
Dry now the tears that were shed for all that was lost,
Yet in His glory I am forever restored to an infinity,
Tis a wonder that I did not lift a figer to fight for this piece of heaven,
Only One God dared to die for us all,
For I am amongst now the seas of the meek that dareth to dream,
a banner for every man and woman, in pride of His name He is exalted,
roareth the enemy from the ashen of wilderness,
powerless is he, for crushed is the head of this loathsome serpent!
For what end of human power could change this world?
The slyness of tongues, the mightiest of will: the sheer advancement of the human mind,
all this pales in comparison to the glory of our Lord,
a vast cathedral of universe it's finery,
Yet the fury of a thouands sounds it an infinite numbers it surpasses.
For what do you have to question, oh teacher of the world?
These contraptions of self, mere vanities in the piety of religion?
You proclaim your arrogance in your guise of logical wisdom,
As the rest of your Babylon cracks forth to the Revelation.
Abide! Rest! For here is the genious that gets the work done,
For the vastness of His angelic soldiers and architects are pised to their kill,
To speaketh forth in His peace without fear or terror,
Feareth now are the slugs that dare wretch in their deeds of evil!
For no snake or scorpion dares harm me,
The mighty fist of the Son ended all principalities,
Hereth now the land ripe for the taking,
No longer the sweating of bullets for a day longeth dread,
No longer the sting of rejection by world gone cold,
The terror of a death in both the mind and body,
Pure now is the river that were once was blackened blood.
For gone now the hatred bred by the seeds of paranoiac distrust,
nuclear disarmament not by the politics of diplomacy & skill,
a greater revolution far bigger than Marx or Lennon,
a mass melting of hearts to the fires of His Love alone,
a string of bitter pears coming undone now,
washed away are the blackened tears that was our generation's tears,
For who is He.... the man that shall put this coup to action?,
The man that was rejected on your behalf,
The God that died so we shall live again,
To say that it's a fantasy, you have indeed missed the point!
For what end your religion your piety has saved your from the grief?
The tangling noose of condemnation and guilt,
What sense did all the ways of the world bring you too?
For I sayeth now, in all bravery in my Father....
the days cometh now we all knees shall bow!
the meryc and love to a world left to the dogs,
the only hope man has....
For in Him restored now are the broken and dead!
Cold solitude amidst the the presence of millions,
The look in the high handed sneers said it all.
Never was the dammed human to the whole lot of you
You posturing inspired me nothing but a blackened hate.
And to my dying days I shall spit at you all....
And to the depths of hell I scream vengeance in the black,
Weep not... for I am already one with all the dead,
Forget about putting flowers in my grave...
for the boy that you once knew no longer dwells with you all!
Every face of the past like the ghost that dares me,
Arrogant fucks of privileged upbringing!
Are they the least bit satisfied with the subdivision of the weak?
For here now my mind resides like a bullet in a revolver,
the mental steeling to bring me up from the mire.
To those that say nay, I'm sorry to disappoint you all!
My tears was the water that nurtured the seed.
Behold now! the silent iron man that shall begat your doom!
2. (The Murdered)
The dead and buried filled up with festering worms,
the repugnance of a society and it's gallows rope conservatism.
Do they honestly believe that we're still hoodwinked by the lies?,
posturing men of hardened hearts and zero brains,
Only time will tell with their cracking black wings,
the transference of power to the ones that's meek,
the drying of reservoirs that were the tears of our mothers.
I am dead to the whole lot of you.
A shred of humanity you have denied from me.
Nothing matters but the submission to the molochs that be,
So much about beating the system at their own fucking game,
Like Malcolm, Martin and Che....all of them that dared to take the stand,
Dead are the generation that are dry in their tears.
Oh yes...NOW you notice my pain,
To what are the pearls you cast upon my open wounds?,
What is there to gain of your pitying words?,
An open declaration of a coming doom to the whole wide world!,
You might as well be digging my my own dammed grave to the worms!.
And what of emptiness of the hall at where my corpse had laid,
Hushed voices of condescending know it alls that
has analyzed my fallacies,
Why don't YOU take the scalpel o' good doctor of moralities!
And do proceed on to parlay your esteemed findings
to the vast cows of the genteel audience!
For who I do have left now, my friend....
for even you have gone to take the plunge with your knife,
the pain of abandonment like the nails bulging in the heart,
ti's a torment I know all so fucking well.
3. (The Defeated)
The cold breeze for another beginning of the grind,
The fists bleeding from the previous vengeance,
to what broken kingdom I have left to protect?
For here in my defiance I strove to define
Only in the trail of bloodied tears,
I have found I've lost it all.
To what end my anger could bring me to?
To what grave would be the nullification of it all?
For I am lost in my sea of yellowed resentments,
Every second eats away my years of prime,
The only thing that keeps me be,
is the bullet of a sublime martyrdom.
The anger, the beacon that rallied my defiance to all of you,
Here now the flame that now incinerates me whole.
4. (The Undead)
And I am to blind to notice you anymore,
test emergency signals to the flooded despair in my brains,
call not to me, for I have ceased to exist.
And across vast roads and alleyways I have walked
myself to an emptiness,
the beauty of my Father all there for the taking,
Still...dead am I to all that is light.
And under a million labyrinth I feed on the piss and shit,
the respectable all shudder when they see me,
For all they could know, it could be one of their own
they could be dealing with,
And for all mounting failures I cut my soul
for every validation for a sign,
A stray eye that dares to rise and care,
A faint light that calls forth to me,
But alas, alas...for the whole lot of humanity are failures like me.
And don't you all hear the tears that falls in still of night?
Another day wasted for a days revenge,
Another fucked up day of wanting to get even,
Here am I friend, the man you see as the villain,
A shadow at your every party and dinner,
Why do you even bother considering me as alive?
For once there shall be a liberation at the tip of the razor,
One stroke of it all...and all aspirations shall go down in the dirt,
Dead are they dreams you have all killed
Permit me to do this...at least I can go out with style.
(Epilogue)
1. (The Restored)
Awake suddenly I am....
A breath of the freshest of air to this bloated of corpses,
A sting of newness like dew to open flesh,
the harshness of an ever fluorescent glory blinds me,
How long have I been in this sentence to merit this lease?
How long have I have been forced face down
by forces that wished all but a glory of a love?
At the coldness of abattoirs I am the first to be alive again,
By me is the Man that has made the difference,
deep wounds in His hands says He had payed the price,
To a wretched he says, "Come, and follow Me!"
For what else do I have to lose,
Desperation is the worm that cries for a better life,
This escape from my throne of nails that I have long resided,
Could this all be complete redemption for all my crimes past?
But all this, the motives, the doubts, the guilt,
Still He accepts all that dares to take the plunge,
From the searching pilgrims to criminals eager for a change,
No man is excepted from this greatest of love.
No man... for all humanity in Him is actually deemed precious.
And for all things that were lost are returned a thousandfold,
like spring bloom at the death of an icy winter,
blessing upon blessing, miracle upon miracle,
crippled and torn I was in my mind,
in glory now both in spirit & possessions!
definitely a blessed comeback to all you all shalt behold!,
You had long written me off with you eulogies back then,
Look now, my friends! ....for my finest hour in the hand of my Lord!
And for what good morals, past present & future, have I done
to deserve such a restoration, then?
For up till now, the oldness of flesh comes back like a ghost,
A simple err like the dog that I was,
Pardon to you all if some way offended you,
Still... He's with me, building me more like an impenetrable fortress,
He crowns me with His anointing, He Blesses me with his riches,
A man like me feels he deserve nothing but the dirt he's ought to be buried into,
But still righteous am I in His eyes alone!
For was it His blood that washed it all totally?
Was it all scorn He endured was a totally for your all?
To say we all deserve nothing, that is indeed correct!
But He has already have paid the judgment in full,
In Christ alone, truly liberated is the man that says He believes!
2. (The Resurrected)
For amidst the death there was an open door,
climb across the stairs, here now the hill of the judgment,
for here is the place of my condemnation...
like the common rotten dog that I was.
Perhaps all karmic debt could be settled fair and square.
Yet, Someone has already taken over the proceedings,
Here now he hangs mutilated for we all to see.
And they buried him to be forgotten,
a rock to seal of all known existence,
For what could he do for me?,
It would seem I was as screwed as Him.
But Arise Shine, said a voice,
Here was the Conqueror, scars and all.
Every stripe for every mess up,
Every wound for all the sickness,
Here now before me is the payment in full,
For what do I deserve all this...nothing
Yet He all but died me.
No longer the tears to the midnight sorrows,
No longer the despair like cigarette smokes with negativity,
Washed now I am In Him
Repaid back in full I am in His wealth,
No longer the wretchedness
of scraping my wounds for a pittance
In my place, A God has payed the cost for me,
A clean exoneration to the one that was damned,
For today I now live in Him,
Blessed is the man who is reborn again to His love!
For was it Law and Penance that could turn a man around,
Or was it pure Love that melt the stoniest of all hearts,
For this is decree very alien to most,
The truth that set the most just to shame,
But here now is the missing link to all the questions asked,
the eternal catalyst to the Last Great Revolution,
Abide now in Him, for though all things are possible!
3. (The Victorious)
For bloodied are the hands that toiled,
Dry now the tears that were shed for all that was lost,
Yet in His glory I am forever restored to an infinity,
Tis a wonder that I did not lift a figer to fight for this piece of heaven,
Only One God dared to die for us all,
For I am amongst now the seas of the meek that dareth to dream,
a banner for every man and woman, in pride of His name He is exalted,
roareth the enemy from the ashen of wilderness,
powerless is he, for crushed is the head of this loathsome serpent!
For what end of human power could change this world?
The slyness of tongues, the mightiest of will: the sheer advancement of the human mind,
all this pales in comparison to the glory of our Lord,
a vast cathedral of universe it's finery,
Yet the fury of a thouands sounds it an infinite numbers it surpasses.
For what do you have to question, oh teacher of the world?
These contraptions of self, mere vanities in the piety of religion?
You proclaim your arrogance in your guise of logical wisdom,
As the rest of your Babylon cracks forth to the Revelation.
Abide! Rest! For here is the genious that gets the work done,
For the vastness of His angelic soldiers and architects are pised to their kill,
To speaketh forth in His peace without fear or terror,
Feareth now are the slugs that dare wretch in their deeds of evil!
For no snake or scorpion dares harm me,
The mighty fist of the Son ended all principalities,
Hereth now the land ripe for the taking,
No longer the sweating of bullets for a day longeth dread,
No longer the sting of rejection by world gone cold,
The terror of a death in both the mind and body,
Pure now is the river that were once was blackened blood.
For gone now the hatred bred by the seeds of paranoiac distrust,
nuclear disarmament not by the politics of diplomacy & skill,
a greater revolution far bigger than Marx or Lennon,
a mass melting of hearts to the fires of His Love alone,
a string of bitter pears coming undone now,
washed away are the blackened tears that was our generation's tears,
For who is He.... the man that shall put this coup to action?,
The man that was rejected on your behalf,
The God that died so we shall live again,
To say that it's a fantasy, you have indeed missed the point!
For what end your religion your piety has saved your from the grief?
The tangling noose of condemnation and guilt,
What sense did all the ways of the world bring you too?
For I sayeth now, in all bravery in my Father....
the days cometh now we all knees shall bow!
the meryc and love to a world left to the dogs,
the only hope man has....
For in Him restored now are the broken and dead!
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