Gargouille

Thunderbirds, Colours and All Four Corners

In Uniforms,
Green and White
were smarter.
Red and Black
are so passe.
It's true there were magic wands in Atlantis
they were more staffs
and they manipulated polarities
interpenetrated the correspondences
and traversed dimension.
We're all mud now
little clumps
on the bank of the river Lethes,
always looking after oasis of
Dry spells,
once you've crossed and drank the bitter broth.
Some guard Gaia's circle gates
Older than druids.
More like animals than humans
So long in that duty,
Remembering only not to leave.
Urged on by an old voice
Telling them that war is long gone,
they might release the gate.
Soul hunters prize,
Gate keeper.
That morning dawned an age ago
the next is sure to be dearer.
Jupiter laughed at Saturn's rage
and Mar's is all dry humour.


[edit on 9-3-2007 by clearwater]

Zipper

I know how the sun shone
on the red horse-powered
sea-side market place
with the wind blown scarf
Monaco's Grace
Leaving the car
everyone admired
bathed in that golden embrace
Ice queen
drunken swoons into ecstasy
Ancient ones
Gods with
twenty-nine concubines
Out of the fallow field
into a palace hall
or muddy olive grove
Demeter mourned Persephone
and the hearth grew cold
Better the numbers
for the workload
Broken vows
and the earth bowled



My honor shall be known by my faithfulness.

[edit on 12-3-2007 by clearwater]

Jigsaw

For she is me and I am her
the little hybrid
steely grays as light as feathers
In three's perch on the rose wood frame
of the heavy daybed
to watch some late night TV
In the deep black terror
there's a place I'm afraid to be
I'm already there, though
I am her and she is me

All Seemed to Pale in Comparison

Barnum's got a hook
People stay trying to cut their losses
But the blood keeps pouring out
And all seem to pale in comparison
To the losses they're trying to cut.
Old story
Irresistible evil
Playing at being God.
Yes, that's what it was.
Your face was frowning
when you rushed to walk


You were holding court
don't let truth interrupt.
No, no place for children -
good place for them to start.
Must be why the turkey vulture
remarked on being too honest
and why the Finder did show up
former child soldier
whose gang
got washed out
If there is a war
Barnum's a trader on the black market.


Barnum -
"Quit 'trading' or you'll be in the Hells with me."



We are standing on the water of Mother's Root.

[edit on 16-3-2007 by clearwater]

Hopscotch

A million years to roam
Propped up on
cement wheels
lynched in place by
the canon's roar
A thousand sundry mornings
and still they plead for more
Comes the war
Comes the war
Tribal boy scout
standing on the open cut
the wound that never heals
remains open, never seals shut
One more dead soldier
So easy when it's just a nut
It's finished now
bored of it
and the dead end authority
you shovel graves with
A sordid detour
of a lost war
You haven't changed much
Predictable, predictable
Little patience
Less mercy
Wasted on the willful
still throwing die
trying to win at hopscotch
The poor you will always have with you

Faceless

Have you seen them
sitting cross legged on the floor
in the black cowled circle.
One with his face exposed
the other holding a mask
like a paper plate on a popsicle stick
over his face.
The first a typical black eyed scowl
a look so fierce, you taste it.
The masked one removes the plate
and he's faceless.
Then the black sedan
pulls up outside the house
up the circular driveway
as though it weren't gated.
Touching in deeper parts of soul
a silence heard
never wasted.

Can't con a con


Poem to follow...,

We were crowded into the old house,
spacious how they were once made
with stairs and hallways
the whole lot of us
and you were sitting out on the back step
behind the door with your wife upstairs
open the door and cats as far as the eye could see
let the Samoyed run into the grass among them
where they slumbered and played in twos and threes
and the cats didn't mind
dog was so outnumbered
so we left you and went to the front door
looking for the lights in the sky
and she said look there they are,
they're right there
pointing straight ahead into the luminous grey sky
with the sun setting on the other side
for all to see
no one saw or only some
So she wandered back into the house
packing her things
you left the back step
and when you came up around the corner
She wouldn't look at you
all her things were packed
and the box of goodies emptied
They had come in the front door
and some were going to be scared
but they didn't have to be
She didn't want to see your face
and left
the way they'd come in

Meek

Having lived a number of years
under mistaken impression
always lied to herself
in order to coddle
a mistaken impression
she knew better than to believe
the chattering indulgence
of hungry egos
for attention, worship, control
whatever misshapen instinct
had taken a central role
trying to contort the shape
of unknowable events
this too shall pass
and it doesn't matter that
she was set up
or that someone else is a liar
because you can't
con a con
and she never was in control
it was only after she let it go
that it got real


Where I come from, they call that brainwashing.

[edit on 1-4-2007 by clearwater]

The wages of sin is death probably refers to an action or belief that becomes destructive. There are seven deadly sins: pride, greed, lust, anger, gluttony, envy and sloth. They're nothing but instincts that when negotiated wisely lead to happiness and when indulged foolishly lead to self-destruction and the destruction of others.

Every one needs a sense of self esteem to be of use to others but arrogant false pride leads to isolation and makes a person unteachable. Without a desire to provide comfort for oneself and others, the world would be a miserable place, but always wanting more leaves a person unsatisfied and unable to be satisfied. Sex is the most intimate expression of love between two people and without it we wouldn't be here, but indulged selfishly it leads to misery. Anger is necessary as an impetus for change, rage eliminates reason. We have to eat, it's a responsible expression of love for the body, when diet is destructively indulged it results in suffering. Half the world starves while some are fat and always hungry. Wise to admire other's for their accomplishments and accoutrements, wiser still to be grateful for what one has. Important to rest and take leisure, but sloth of the soul is an expression of despair at the world around.

Sure lots of folks have made up rules for what's good and evil, but God's laws are written on all men's hearts. So it's fair.


The stone the builders reject will be made the cornerstone.

Some have come to the conclusion that Whiltey Strieber is either actively a participant in a disinformation or mind control experiment, or so much a product of modern culture that the metaphysics he's concluded as a result of his encounters are quite toxic.

The mind control thread that OSR started has yielded no substantial revelation into the relationship between the encounter experience and mind control. It promulgates the idea that abusing children results in encounters. That is reprehensible. In addition, it's invitation to identify all past abuse as a result of government interference encourages a learned helplessness. It is also a good example of the dynamics of peer pressure and would provide an excellent testing ground for determining the lengths to which those so inclined might succeed in placing belief systems conducive to totalitarianism into a culture. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, if encouraging fantasy and dramatization of the past that lends itself to greater dissociation from reality and ever growing alienation from the people who are supposed to be representative of ourselves can be interpreted as well intended.

It's not such a stretch to imagine that project Mockingbird may have designed some propaganda for the home front. One of the linchpins of Whiltey's mystique as the most identifiable abductee is sympathy for the persecution his traumatized fans are encouraged to identify with. The Hugo award must have been devastating.

Project Mockingbird used books and publishing houses in covert operations and falsely inflated sales to advance their propaganda. This was done mostly as a means of indoctrinating ideas into other countries. But given the context, it's not outside the realm of possibility that "The Hunger" and "The Wolfen" may have been best-sellers of a subsidized kind and the subsequent media frenzy a well planned hook for what was to come.

The result seems largely to be a front man for advancing the idea of Gray and government collusion: That technology has been reverse engineered from crashed saucers, etc.. When Peter Jennings died shortly after the special in which he paid very little credence to the Roswell crash, Whiltey quickly posted a journal which mentioned the high incidence of cancer in the UFO field. The subliminal consequence is obvious. It's almost a threat, never mind that one in three women and two in three men will get cancer as a result of petroleum products and industrial toxins.

There are just as many abductee's who are not abused during their alien encounters and just as many who, when they report abusive encounters are not so anxious to justify them.
There is an underlying double message in all of his publications that seem to encourage a might is right philosophy and blood ritual.

Moreover, the simplification of 'the universe as a mirror' blames the victim. For the sake of argument, it's agreed that what we see in the universe is a mirror, an extension of the internal paradigms and dynamics being reflected. An enlightened monk when looking at his murderer might see the face of a suffering man while an average person might see fear and rage. In both cases, viewing another creature doesn't make it so. Judgment leads to dead ends. Wisdom tells us not to judge. Maybe for reasons the visitors are privy to that we are not.

Calling them evil does reduce the visitor phenomena to the polarized argument of 'You're bad' - 'I'm good'. Eliminates any hope of establishing communication other than conflict. We earthlings are not terribly clear of our own meaning. People prey on our own fragile tether to human dignity, it's not unimaginable that other's conspire to do that. We don't seem to be very clear on the meaning of dignity. Human rights and social standards vary so wildly from one region of the world to the next, it's all held together more by an emotional glue than cohesive logic. Human dignity and rights that have now been abdicated in law by the nation that once held the responsibility of example for the world.

We really ought to determine what humanity means to us before we lose it. Let's figure out what we mean. Personal differences shouldn't be permitted to divide humanity against a common outsider. Why aren't these ethical matters discussed with those principles in mind. And why is the public debate headed by someone who doesn't broker argument or encourage intellectual inquiry into these areas. "Don't push any isms on me."

Maybe that's why they stay hidden and there is no disclosure. We are confined so much by that reflexive thinking. Breaking open the egg, is a matter of expanding the ability of consciousness to perceive and apprehend what it perceives. An organ like the eye has physical limitations, like the spectrum of light it sees. People make many decisions in the blink of an eye. On the other side a lifetime is but the blink of an eye.

Blood ritual or trauma to break the egg is a shamanic technique practiced more by black practitioners than white. It's not something that needs to be encouraged, justified or rationalized in order to establish contact with the visitors or anyone else. The introduction of these ideas by a guru who has become regarded as a possible conduit for man's escape from the inevitability of death and entry into the cosmos, has successfully usurped the traditional arena of religion and placed it in New Age hands. Hands that may or may not be acting on the part of torturers.

The red road remains as always and as Jesus presented - 'The way easy and the yoke light.'


If the Gray's are a mirror...,

[edit on 2-4-2007 by clearwater]

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edit by request

[edit on 4/4/07 by masqua]

Hybrids

Berserker
She and Captain Hellhound
Wrestling twister in the basement
Climbing vines
And golden money,
Patton's show.

Nordica Espiritus Faventium.

Les gargouille were tulpas.
Emissions from the friction
Of the lines on the page.
Can't own them
Can't own what they mean.
Why,
Do you think? -
They looked like children.

No more, a little mustard seed among rocks.

Spin Doctor

Barnum works for the beast
whole tribe of circus animals
caged in the sweep
better to be first in ovens
than stoking the heat.
Don't let it show
they'll use it against you
the first moment you balk
like a well trained psychologist
who knows where to cut
knows how to twist the spin
spin doctor of MC
probably looking for the real ones
while they manufacture consent
and practice their insults
against the wounded and weak

Fly-overs, and bugaboos
Stone people growl
while grandmother sleeps
When it got sent back to them
they were trolled for 12 weeks

You will know them
by the eyes of their children

Witch and Inquisitor

In 499 years, 8 months,
13 days, 49 minutes and 15, 14, 13, 12,
seconds -
We might once again play witch and inquisitor.
And the next time
maybe witch will
have the upper hand.

Baptized into the waters of Creation
Risking arguments with trees
and dancing lightly on the winds
of the Thunderbirds -
Blessed Be.

Don't Believe Everything You Read


It was like an abrasion.
An internal bleed.
Some kind of soul wounding
exploration.
Easy to know just what was needed,
to negotiate that
snake pit of lies and greed.
And if those land it won't be pretty.
Better it's lies or MC
a good example of the power
of persuasion
and the war for souls.

Two can play at that game
why not a thousand more.

They know full well
he killed her himself,
and he never did
learn to say
Thank you.



[edit on 10-4-2007 by clearwater]

Inquisitor

In this life,
and for the snake
who swims in childhood haunts:
The first experience of you
was the return of the money order
you forgot to credit with the subscribers discount.
For a dollar, I got your autograph.
The second was the little red tank
who rolled over the bump in the road
with self righteous contempt.
The third was the attack
of the hungry ghosts
from the lower level of the bardo
angry at what was to come -
beamed in on microwaves
or confused dopamine/seratonin levels
no difference,
it ended with their sympathy for you.
The fourth was the adulation
that warranted such admiration
a sure way to attain the response
suffering ignored.
The fifth was the orgie of insults
flung far and wide
long after I was disposed of -
whatever was left in memory
became the object of derision.
Some things never change
and you are still playing
at closing the doors
on iron maidens.

30 to Life

He was nowhere near the crime;
Made up stories and manipulated witnesses
into the right/wrong corner.
Now the courts won't listen to new evidence.
The boxes are buried and missing -
Lawyers who stand up to the system
get threatened
and he's doing 30 to life
for a murder
he didn't commit.
Tape the phone calls
and then transcribe them.
The bad cops are scarier
than the bikers that bribe them.

"When police conspire, other officials cover up." From the Royal Commission Inquiry in the Marshall case.

30 to life has been exonerated.

[edit on 14-4-2007 by clearwater]

Wolverines

Feeling better now?
Well fed -
warm and well dressed?
Wolverines -
If it makes you feel any better
Know that
there's been copious tears.
Hot ones
that feel like blood
Like losing blood
and they never stop pouring
Never stop streaming
little running rivers
all the pebbles
on their shores
a million eyes
watching silent
while you
call Mari a whore.
Because what you do
unto the least
flows to her shore.
you attack the children
she sends across Styx
across the abyss
it isn't any insult
to these
these little children
holding up their hands
begging to the skies
Though they're the ones that weep
It's never any insult to these
because
Wolverines don't pray on the rosary
they blaspheme.

Animal Kingdom

Never changes, father -
the wisdom of
One hundred thousand years
grows more tepid with the fears;
discarded here,
disabused there.
Pus on the head of a boil
trumpeting itself cream
not knowing how obscene
it is,
until finally every last refuge
is threatened and spoiled.
Willful and disobedient -
Eating their young
a lament for Kronos.
One last great show
An unmistakable glow
Silent Armada -
the ocean they know
then the harvest
a lance
to reap what they sow.