he had to go down.
he had to.
deep deep down into the
the darkest heart of hardest
cave
in order to unfuck his
his fucked up mind
from all the quixotic
complexities above,
the ass clowns who
will not and cannot
keep out of the circus
so long as the caravan
is in town
And so
he goes down
deep, deep
down in
order to
return
rethink
retrain
reasses
realign
rebuild
regroup
recommit to
reimpregnate all this city’s
motherless bastards with
soul
with magic
with meaning
with Myth, the seed of it now sprung
and spewn from loin as legend
(And it will never leave)
Do you see him
now, my son?
Do you see?
“Yes….
YES, father…
I shall
become
a bat!”
now….take
these broken wings
and learn
to fly.
into the light
of this Shit Storm’s Eye
All your life…..
just waiting….
plunge thyself down
deep, deep down into
the “reality” raging above, that
face-painted freak show of the latest “whats-what”,
and “we” the “people”, the greatest shit show of Prada don drapping ass clowns to crawl the earth,
professional provoketours of shits and gigs for our
laughing masses
see them
we watch them
we hear them eat
filling up their gullets with the
dregs of the city, draining her
peoples veins dry of life and liquid
and bloody Spirit, water of the People,
the hidden balm baste of soul – goes dry.
and from on high
the spirits are watching
(still, after all this time)
and still do nothing.
he had to go down.
he had to.
to quench a thirst for darkness
to drench his feet in justice
to satisfy insatiable pangs for Light to hunt
and host a feast at Death’s own funeral,
prepared and served and spread across
the tables; no talking to deadheads.
No guns. No kill. NO, Ceph; put away your sword.
here comes
the flood of
the dark Self.
And You shall know him
when you see his sign
and feel his passion as a love that hates
a bubbling up of hellish flame eternally burning as Love does, Uncreated and True .
he had to go down.
to make them see
to make them know
to render them all as fully self-aware
and – most certainly –
full of some serious shit.
the darkness
will not (can not) save you. It is you. and if you save you, then – well, even if you could, you wouldn’t. Ever. And to even suggest otherwise is startlingly illogical. Where’s the need? Without an occasion for savin – there ain’t no need of it. Nor, then, the shared understanding of it, both in head and in heart. If you
For, even if you descend
to the deepest depths,
he is there
gone before you
and waiting expectantly
patiently in the shadows
till you’re close enough
to feel him breathing
right beside you, and in.
“Here…”
what are the limits
of his depths? what color
is the cape
of a Night worthy to be named “Dark”?
its chroma can be tasted
touched with the tounge
quenching gullets and
the hunger of the
a ravished masses
starving for
yearning for
praying for
vengeance.
For justice.
For blood.
Tell me….
do you bleed?
I did.
Discover thus,
and refuse
to submit
to Hades
but seize him
with me, AS me,
as your own self
and Shadow, and
set the cages free.
growl out your song
with flight. Vengeance
and Rage, winged and
reborn; returned, and alive:
and aware -keenly- of all accounts
unsettled.
and now
rise…
rise…
rise…
We rise…. into the Night, the
the Light of the Dark Black Knight
