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Many Predictions, Nostradamus-Style

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posted on May, 17 2004 @ 05:03 PM
I was reading some of the Nostradamus texts and decided to play around with his format and do a whole mess o' predictions. Interpretations are welcomed--though I must warn you, these aren't about current events at all, but rather veiled references to the sinister machinations going on at my local bingo hall!

Sitting in the midst of a Sickness,
Mind Healing after the poison of healing
Powerless slacker willow witness
Delirious brain God is stealing...

First will be the fallen gadfly,
Seeing his picture in a magazine
Was more than I could stand and I began to cry
T’was such sudden insight that first struck my brain

But cheer up anyway the war seemed won
(Though not the War)
As the Dead Presidents’ seeming Son
Stepped up to the bar

I wanted so much a New Beginning,
And the once-weary republic donned Solarian garments
In tribute to the war we were winning
(As Neo silently counted his armaments)

But the key lay in the Second, not the First;
I was bid to pay attention to the Choice.
A delightful jar, canoptic and cursed,
History is repeated with a multilevel seraphic voice

And in the jar lay our hopes and Fears
Trotted out like a riderless horse;
Entrenched in the desert for many Years,
Our young Future amassed in a National Force

Am I getting too ahead of me?
So much yahooing along the way;
Did I mention all the whistles and money
Tiny Data poised to save the day?

Some cheap thrills also so no ennui
Kiddies, I have a thriller of a tale--
He lost and his brain went kablooey
He grabbed his children and set sail

Flowers on the lawn,
Live big die big.
Dredging the bed at dawn,
The Grand Family’s lavish monument dig.

The storm almost picked up my barn,
But I stood strong upon my steps like Versace
Live to tell, but you know the old yarn,
“At least better off than England and Liberace.”

So I booked my ticket today,
Though I was afraid of Flying,
Rather see the Old Treasures on display
In native soil, not in museums dying

And who controls the Museums pray tell?
No one, but One;
And as the Pieces fall to Hell,
We carry the currency of the Sun

When will they tell us?
(You know, about the Locustmen?)
They’re already telling us.
They’re already telling us.

Some Falls are inevitable,
That’s why I’m moving to Topeka
Don’t hold God culpable
Don’t be a Fault seeka

I stand on the steps like Versace,
Live to tell, you know the old yarn,
Ones fallen on either side of me,
Books in boxes and I retreat to the barn.

The City has changed since I left it:
Crystal Crypton Palaces,
But no place to sit.
I leave It to chase my golden chalices

In the washroom I looked 60,
For a moment;
We would still be around–
That’s what it meant

But to practice in the art of Detaching
We’re given many opportunities;
And from the Wrack a new Faith is hatching
And from the seeds, new Human Trees.

The Revelation is turned on its head,
And misunderstood;
Yea, He’s coming back from the dead–
But his Ark isn’t made of wood.

The purveyors of tin-foil
Almost got it right--
Read everything that you can,
And then obey your Hidden Sight


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