Heathen’s Hand

I am no son of god
No devil’s spawn
I am a symbol of your world
And all that is wrong
Within your broken cult
A cultural crime
You want what is yours
Yet take what is mine

It is the nature of belief
To refuse the real
To take it all in good faith
But what you have you steal
You are murder, you are pain
An illusion’s fool
Chosen by a doctrine’s way
To be that doctrine’s tool

My nature’s natures way
I have the upper hand
You can keep your fantasies
When nature takes a stand
Strips the flesh from corrupt bones
Foundations of your faith
I shall not pray, nor forgive
When all is laid to waste

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A Day

One full spin makes a day and so planet Earth becomes my visual clock. As I am, in between other things, creating a time piece built on imagery.

Futura

You opened the gate
Cut from the race
I picked up the blade
Severed from grace
All those tethers
Bound by feeling
The emptiness
Of your presence

No more goodbyes
The last of those ties
Undone
And the free man returns
To the way
Of his word

Nihilist

A monk on a mountain
Detached from everything
Soon to be
Detached from life
Leaving behind
The flesh, the bone
And a word

Dream

A Spark In The Dark

Passing on
A piece of self
For peace of mind
A taste
Of future days

As time evolves
From dark to grey
Genetic pools
Selective sways
Tomorrow we can be
A little more

From the heart
We sacrifice
For soul to grow
Expand the mind
A pregnant thought
We will in to existence

Through the hardships
We have known
We shared the good
We stood alone
And got there in the end
Through sheer persistence

5AM

A docile summer storm has arrived in the city to wash away the sweat and give the air a much needed chill. The rain streams down our old homes where we are stacked like chickens on an industrial farm. Lightening streaks the sky before the slow rumble of thunder brings solace after the hot steamy existence of the past few weeks.

I have a cold beer and a half smoked cigarette. I’m feeling a little bit tired but enjoying this moment of respite as ideas float between notes and screen.

Terra Incognita

…and it is so that we entered a new era of kings and slaves. God is a machine, the sacred texts are now digital code and the all seeing eye counts in billions. Every thought pattern is identified, analysed and then commercialized for the hidden few. Those who once consumed are now a product trapped behind the numeric curtain. Dull eyed and blank faced. They have no realisation of their pain as they disintegrate in to the void at the sound of a click.