Several days ago I was logging my tranmissikns, or automatic writing, or poems of insight, whatever you want to call it in my journal as usual. I then heard the recent transmissions from Almine regarding emancipation from the treadmill via eliminating/balancing within and without, above and below etc...which were simultaneously aligned with the poems I had just written. I offer them here in sharing:
In the pool of blood is the martyr's mirror:
Spilled love in an age of fear
Terror met by terror: oppression met by resistance,*
Polarities in a duel.
Feudal blood-spill: Cross met by Wheel
Male and female in warring zeal.*
The spokes set the clock
While the blood was the resource*
Of the hen's bag.*
A masqueraded fencing match
In a hall of mirrors.*
Black and white chequers.*
Red the currency, the fuel, the scarcified glorified gruel
To feed tyrannical mouths.*
Blood wars. Blood diamonds. Blood money.*
Love was marketed and trafficked like sex slaves.*
Wide gaping mouths, Consumption.*
The Hunger.*
The blood goes in their mouth and out their ass
Only to begin again
Like Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies!*
(until they reach their turn
To be cast into the Hunger's Oven)
Instead of cutting veins,
Let's cut the cycle.*
End hunger (the illusion of lack)
Abolish the slave market (the tyranny of Love)
Let go the need to give and receive Love (a mere stepping stone)
For All is in All.*
Martyrdom must stop feeding*
the grinning greedy giant.*
Virgin Saints: realize now your fuller glory:
To be Unborn and Undying is to need no blood
Is to need no soul!
Look upon thy white holy gowns,*
And know them to never have been stained.**
***
Hell's Ransom (a gift from the Fugitive Virgin)
*
Fly by oh crimson night into the shade
She's wroth to pledge a plight amid the glade
Quoth he "A crimson night, oh wanton maid!"
Tender tendril's fumy whisp of sprite
But not tonight said the maiden bright
For I am loath to be chained by your plight*
The froth of foamy moon inside the waves
The blackened sun of doomsday noon
Bells tolling madly for the young in their grave
And the lass's fright is melted away by the knave
Of her own foolish heart that's all the wiser for it's "dimwitted respite"
Or so he might exclaim
She illuminates the raging storm by falling stars
Falling, falling from her skirt
In waves of angelic fury
As she trods celestial skies
Giving birth, immaculate birth,
To the rhapsodic ransom of hell
Pelting the earth with volleys of flame
Erasing, abolishing outmoded shame
Loverless androgyne ringing the freedom bell!
(Hordes of whisperers swarm heaven's enclave,
And like a stampede of beasts who know not that they have run over a cliff, they hang suspended before falling into the rising chasm. In the implosive kiss of Above with Below, no longer are angel and demon enslaved!)
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