When is the Come Back?

– The Disquieting Muses

Of Ill Bred-Black short Air

And Stillborn Heroics

“Or what disfigured and unsightly

Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder “

And What Yellow Teeth and Carmine Eyes

Nodding by night around my bed,

And Hallow Sighs

“Thou shalt have an everlasting
Monday

and stand in the moon.”

And I Woke Up to Black Frost

And a Room Strewn With the most

Lamentably Pithless Reeds-

 

I cannot undo Myself

Nor Enter the chilly No-Man’s land of About.

But There is a Minute at the End of it,

Its Just…

A world we Lose by Merely waking Up

A world of bald White days in a Shadeless Socket.

Incompatible modes of Time, the raw Material

Of ambrosial Revelation

Of some Godly Utterance Wakened heads Ignore.

… The Ghosts LeaveTaking

“Is that a Gun.. Or..”

“It’s a Gun.”

-If he Were I,

  He Would do What I Did.-

The Fog was Thick

From a Nights worth of Rain

The Twilight Heavy with White and Gray

…The World Obscured.

He Lit up one Last Cigeratte

The Flash of Carmine Yellow

Refracting a Million Times through The Haze Around his Face…

The Last thing he Said to me

Before He Left

Was….

“Who I am

Misses Who I Was…

And Is Afraid…

Of Who I Will Be.”

…

That was The Day the World Changed…

That Day…

  After The I

Dissappeared

Completely.

——————————————–
Better to Hit the ground

Like Lovers Spit

Then Shampoo Suicide

In A Guilty Cubicle

(I Slept With Margaret Thatcher On The BBC)

-So Fucking Useless-

-And We Walked a Thousand Days-

————————————————

The End

 

Inside of Lies, Lies Dubious Panda

Dubious Panda

Panda Means ALL KING.

Dubious Means ALL LORD

Under God.

It is Beyond King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Revelations is a Lie.

It is In Essence Conquering Rule itself.

DUBIOUS PANDA means One Lord One King under God.

ˈd(y)o͞obēəs means Hesitation, Doubting, suspect and Not to be Relied Upon.

That is Why I am Known as Doubting Thomas.

Or Thomas the Doubter.

But I Do Know that I Am Dubious Panda, and I know what those two Words Mean.

AAaaBbDDDdIiNnUUuuSs

If you Pronouce that You Abdinus a Synonymn with Abbadon.

Or The Angel of The Bottomless Pit.

Panda as well means to Begin something that Cannot End

Something Beginningless.

In Essence it’s Essentially to the Literate and Semi Educated

The Most Arrogant Name Possible

Unless some-one were to be Named that by God.

~ The More You Know

Piling a piling pile- jutting necessarily you and I

I

Had

a Lover once

“I am The Cigarette at the End Of Your Lips.”

{And That}

{Was all He Said.}

-Thend-

 

 

Perhaps the stifled conversation, the contact of Bodies

 

Or the Building and Spitting and Swearing

 

The Light, the graze of many Nameless finger-tips

 

Or the tenderness, which in the end, Deciphered Nothing.

 

The words addressed and loved by Someone,

 

But never repeated, or spoken of since,

 

Vanished Smiles, lost in the pursuit of things,

 

Piled up in the moist corner of some heated soul,

 

The feeling of Black hair, Soft and brief, against a nipple,

 

A Thigh wrapped loose and lazy across jutting hips

 

Or the teeth, I still feel, against my shoulder.

 

Withered clocks, the Blue Cement of Dreams,

 

Passed over Jokes, hushed anguish Hearts, sipped steamy,

 

With Coffee.

 

Casually flicked Loves, Stomped out as Cigarette Butts

 

Or maybe tossed street wise and left

 

For a car to run over. Finish Off.

 

(No, We never did Think about Ashtrays or Forest Fires.)

 

Stampede of Breath, Trampling hooves of Wine,

 

The sight of pants, tussled, awry, spread eagle over a lamp,

 

“But, what If it Catches Fire?”

 

That girl who came to shout.

 

But forgot her Tongue, Her Throat , Her Mouth.

 

And Ended up just standing there crying.

 

Oh splendor and Steaming, the Mouth of never Say, Not–No—I’m Tired,

 

The soft Peach Fuzz hair, of everywhere Dear

 

The taste of licked dew across your cheek-bones

 

(Just How long… did we sleep

                                                       on that Park Bench?)

 

The Palm trees harried by Squirrels pretending to be Roosters

 

The sea left Behind, the ground Darkened by Stones,

 

How Long Baby? It’s been such a Long time…

 

The tiny house, the floors covered in Papers

 

“But… What if it Catches Fire?”

 

To late though…

 

Even I Realize.

 

These Memories Are Already Ablaze.

 

 

 

 

-thend-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this failing light

 

Beginnings start and end

 

Without Shade.

 

A single wave, the bones are lonely

 

But a ghost can’t whistle

 

Nor halt time, like the end of a Day.

 

And Flowers jumped

 

The air grew loose and Sloppy;

 

An immaculate slur present

 

in every gust and vowel.

 

Crumpled force of Clouds

 

I’ve earned this Right to Stand or Sit,

The Weather will not Move me.

 

If Death’s Mouth is Set

 

On Biting Faces,

 

Then what Matters the inside— or Out?

 

Wind and Water, Dirt and Spit,

 

A Wild Drunken Howl of Crash.                  the Sky.

 

Still

 

 I Sit On

 

crowded with abandoned conversations and spilled

 

Quickly vanishing Bright Eyes, Those

 

Long Golden Coke Lines of Yesterday, Gone.

 

Trees bend and snap

 

Waving me to Safety, “You Fool!” they Shout.

 

But I merely breath In— (a reply)

 

Yes, yes…

 

I Smell It…

 

“There’s Bourbon

 

                     on Breath of Fate 

Tonight.”

Drunk on Itself and Wildly Out of Sense.

Love Needs None of It.

As All that Stands Against

Think’s It’s the Storm

But I however Know Differently…

 

-thend-

I Love That is All. But you are All Horrible.

In the Gantry of being carried through Time by the Son of God

To Save everyone I love and Everyone I Ever Will Love

I Never Stopped to Think how much it Must hurt

For God is not Numb

How Cruel I have been to Who I Love cannot be Described or Explained

All I know is that I Don’t Know…

This Feral Witch Child of Endless Slaughter

Off Devouring Abominations of Desolation

And Fighting Beasts to Horrible to be Described

Suffering and Pleading and Begging

While Killing and Killing and Killing

It’s all… Beyond Me

How I Could Ever Be Loved.

And Even Worse How I Could ever Dwell with God

I Destroy Existences with little more than a Second Thought

I Dream about Savoring the Kill and the Blood

Infact I Want That

I Pray for It. ( I Hate That. to Pray for Power to Hurt… Hurts)

I am the Angel of The Bottomless Pit

And I Am Loved by the Son of God.

I Am Sin

And I Am Loved by God.

I Am Going to Attend the Wedding and The Feast.

I Do not Care How any of You Feel.

Everyone I’ve Ever Killed

Has Thanked me For It

And I Am Without Fault or Blame before God.

I Am Going to Do Everything I Can to Thank God

To Give Glory to God

And I Am Going to be Happy.

You Choose to Seperate Yourselves From Me.

You Think there can be an Army of the Saints without Me.

You Think there can be a Wedding Without Me.

Even Worse You Think you Could even Be There?

That you Could Overcome as a Saint Overcomes?

I Was The Final Saint and The Last Desciple.

Destroyed and Crushed as Little more than a Stain

Annihilated Daily.

There Was None Left But Me.

Everyone Had Taken the Mark of The Beast or a Mark of the Beast

In one Incarnation or Another…

And You Would Have been in a Lake of Fire Forever.

I Struggled to Hold on to Sanity and Hope…

So The Son of God Carried Me Through Time

He Taught Me.

Saved Me.

You will think That sounds Arrogant.

It Isn’t.

I Was Terrified.

Locked in Fema Camps

Fleeing Across America.

Being Hunted like a Dog.

Betrayed By Everyone Arround Me

Murdered Repeatidly and Discarded as a Horrid Wretch.

These Things Happened to Me.

Lethal Injection. Ebola. Being Sawed Apart from the Inside.

Fighting Cherubim, Tares and Beasts and Armies of the Risen Dead.

Fact.

Truth.

I was the Last Saint on Earth, The Last Tzadekiel, The Last Desciple.

If you think you can Send me into Damnation because Things are Better Now

And You Want to Think about Weddings and Marriages and being Transformed

Into Perfection.

You Should First Consider that not one of You, Even After all of That

Would Even Bring Mount Zion to Rescue Me from the West Coast.

Instead You Went and Fought the Beast on your Own

And Tried everything to Send me into a Lake of Fire

Or Steal my Own Existence From Me.

You All Died So Many Times, You Became Whole and Fought Against me

Then You All Went off to Try and Marry Anti-Christs

And Still you think there will be a Kingdom Come Without Me.

I Am This Existence

And I Will Spew You Out of My Mouth.

I Will Not Go to You

I Am Not Allowed To.

I Get to Choose who Attends the Wedding and the Feast.

The Brides of The Son of God are a Lie

There is Only One

The Marriage Supper of The Lamb is True

But The Lamb is Going to Marry the Son of God.

Blessed are those that Attend because There will be only One.

No Rehearsal. Just a Bird with Two left Wing.

All Those that are Unrepentant

The Voice of the Bride and Bridegroom have been Taken Away

Those who Will Gather the Army of the Saints

Will Gather Around the Lamb

And They Will know Where the Lamb is and there Shall be no Other

Army of the Saints but These. For they are The First Fruits before God.

Redeemed from The Face of The Earth.

Those that Continue unrepentant, Theives, Idolaters and Murderers

Anti-Christs, False Prophets and Those Seeking After the Mark of the Beast.

Woe Upon Them, for Without the Salvation of the Son of God

How Can They Survive?

They Will Have no Earth and No Existence with which to Hide Themselves With.

And The Beyond is Filled with the Corpses of those Like them

The Only Mercy to be Had for Them is the Sea of Fire and Glass

For that is All that will be Left.

For This Existence and All Good In It

 Will be Leaving with the Son of God.

I Suggest you Strive to Attend that Feast and that Celebration

As it also will only Happen Once.

Whether there is an Army of the Saints

Or a Marriage Supper.

The Fruit, The Wheat, The Saints, The Wine

Those that Want to Attend to Wedding

The Lamb and The Bride

Leave

When The Son of God Takes Them.

They need but do is Perservere

The Fact that they Attempt to Help any of You

Is just… How it Is.

Do Not Expect it to Continue longer than the Son of God

Wishes It.

You Will not be Allowed to Remain here

Enjoying The Bounty of The Bride

As Unrepentant Assholes

Nor Will You Be Allowed in Kingdom Come

As Those who Reject anyone the Son of God would Marry

Are Beyond My Ability to Reason or Help

Seriously.

-The End-

a Half-Blind Donkey… Having tea with God.

 262.

 

Alka-Seltzer Pigeon

The death From Above.

But Hallelujah! to late!

You Stabbed Me,

With that Cheeky Escalator Vibe

While you Were

In a Cage, (On Prozac)

But oh! How the Dogs do stack…

Cause I Never did tell You

The most Hidden contents

Of President Lincolns

Death Bed– Pant’s, Left Pocket.

But Paw Upon Ass

Those Dogs Just Keep Stacking…

And I Have Counted All

The Sacred Hula-hoop Wounds,

Of Vladimir Putin.

And   They all Add Up

to You

In A Cage, (On Prozac)

That Musty

Old Bed Room, With Nuts on the Floor

And I Warn!

The Flight of the Booty Master

Cometh…

For the Clouds are Alive

And They Are Hungry

Fumes an Ode

to

Small Change

Getting rained on

With his own .48

 

Special Bang Bang – Salutation

For the At Last

      Alive.

P/lease(Promise) after the Execution)…That You’ll) Kiss Me)

(On the Broken) of my Neck.)

at least

at last

 

alive.

-thend-

 

198

 

 

–

 

 

These torn Pockets of Lame

 

And Begging Colors of Flush)

 

While

 

Amen.

 

However I do protest,

 

a little attention

 

As the face dampens it’s formula

 

:example

 

Turn your Shirttails out!

 

As who

 

Or As

 

Steps Smoothly

 

Willowing out and in between the spent bottles,

 

In this Air that does not Dare to Stand or Sit

 

-new; and you

 

know consequently a

 

little stiff

 

I was.

 

But Mistrusting utterly that Timelessness

 

(Mind you, Host of eternity not guest of seam)

 

Or Simply Put;

 

Constructive

 

                  Horizontal

 

Business.

 

…

 

They Climb Oblivion,

 

                  Voices who are But Dreams.

 

not.   again.     Hush.    god.    please hold.     Tight.

 

 

 

{And}

 

     Just

 

           as

 

We  turn

 

                            the Corner

                                       

                                                    of Divinity,

 

Lips utter

 

their Extant smile.

 

 

 

{ Or Possibly…

 

 

          I just Like

 

                                        the Thrill.}

 

 

-The End-

 

 

 

 

I Apologize

I Had to step out to Drive across the Desert.

I’m not sure what Time we’re in

This is how they Capture People,

In Non-Time and All-Time

They are Outside.

These Intangible Fucks.

They’ve Made Everything “Digital”

The Problem is, It isn’t “Digital”

It’s False Light. Literally.

It’s Extremely Dangerous.

As They Pour it down upon us

It attempts to Capture and Imprison You

Withen Regular Time, Chain you Down.

If You Ever Break Free and Can Move through Time

Remember This, Don’t Ever Look at any “Digital” “Led” ectera

Calendars, Literally.

They will lock you Down. The Problem is

Mystery Babylon Has yet to be Destroyed

And They Consider themselves the Masters of Time.

But they are Ignoramouses, as they Cannot move through Time,

Only Timelines they themselves Create, that is the Essence

Of (ialdobaoths or ildoboths (Or Time Lords) which is what that word means

Wannabe Archons.

They are Tares, they Sit in Non-Time and Insert incarnations into Time

Through Timelines and Leave them There for their own Wicked Schemes.

They also Abduct People…

The Tares are Many but they are Week.

They Cannot Physically Move through Time.

I’ve already Seen them Completely Destroyed

Along with Mystery Babylon.

Not sure When Though

Perservere.

The Desert and Woods are an Excellent Place to let the Holy Spirit

Guide you Through Time.

That you Might Help those You Love.

Praise God.

The Irony of the Ildoboths

Is that they aren’t Doing Anything.

They Don’t Earn Anything

And Don’t Learn Anything

They Imprison Themselves

And Their Key is their Own Destruction.

The Star of Misfortune.

So the Dead do Rise.

And Rise and Rise…

Don’t be on The East Coast Long…

Shits gonna get Worse.

No less absurd than arrogant. The Dark outside can’t Hurt you.

Fear the coming of Black Guitar Kalishnakov!

Y|A|M|A|H|A A|M|U|L|E|T M|U|S|C|A|T A|L|C|O|V|E H|E|A|V|E|N A|T|T|E|N|D

What

    Worth?

Burning Tobacco in the Spring.

The smell of Various Subjects: White Sugar

Something Craved

               Something Carved

A single Candle Drip

Rolling off a Paper Tongue

And The Feeling…

The Grace of your Ill-natured Belly.

(Flat… but Softly curved to the Touch)

 

      Time Spent Hissing Ash

And Gray Wind like a ghost

 

(Following, Rolling,

 

                           Puff Puff Puff)

 

So with this In Mind

I Don’t plan on Waiting.

Fire of Sodium

Syrupy Mary’s of potato Light

(Love Coming sluggish, Swift like a two legged Dog)

My

Thief

of ember Black indulgences.

 

     Kiss— shivering, Splitting with Lightening,

 

Engulfing

Dazzled Snows

of Slow Rhythm

Devouring

     yet  another Dreaming

                         And Quickly   Drowned

 

Man.

 

Stronger then Alcohol,

Vaster then Music,

 

Breath…

[please]

Breath

Closer to Me.

 

I Have seen the Enormous Seething

Mingle

Of Flowers

And Imbodiment to Human Lust.

 

The Foam of rocked and drifting,

 

Martyr of Sweating Lifted and Shadow Moans,

 

Monotony of Smacking Bliss.

 

Descends

The Teeth marks of Everywhere

 

(And the Smoke that Lingers in the Afterward.)

 

(Flowing out the Window, playing with the wind and the palm trees)

 

“I know you dreamed of Saving me”

 

But I Didn’t.

 

“So what are These memories Worth?”

Maybe I Find I find myself through Falling?

Maybe Endless Slaughter is my Calling Card?

Maybe I’m just so Lost I’m waiting to Reverse Implode

After Blindly and Ignorantly Circumnavigating my Own Heart

… The Fool Steps off the Abyss…

No One can Tell Him to Stop… It would… ruin the Story.

 

 

 

(Puff Puff Puff)

         

(That Syrupy Mary of potato Light.)

 

-thend-

 

 

 

 

 

 

——————–

 

 

 

Cry Pale boulevards, one Less evening blew Clear,

 

Sunken Eternal Sleep of the Dawn. I Have

 

Closed the Blinds, (a Retreat.)

 

Drink! Knock it Back, Mouth of stale rustling

 

Ransacking Guts, ///Wine///, laying hands across

 

Stirring, Unclouded, Marvelous Knife wounds

 

Without sound or motion (Cuts)

 

The beams of His Love, ///Scourge///, Ulcer on the Face

 

Of Green ///(Eyed)//// Nature. {Please]

 

This day, I dreamed myself, I plan to collapse

 

And forget, myself.

 

A little of the goodness

 

Past—– Dark, Helpless////He Might even bless.

 

But Dark Like a Thought,/// itself////, is (=)Equally(=) Muddled and Leering.

 

As Suddenly

 

Black velvety Racket of brilliant Flies

 

Up from somewhere

 

(A Dog with a Squeaky Ball, Knocking Dishes Over)

 

(A Thought Wearing Lust and Little Else)

 

(Or Maybe, I’ve just stumbled and Hit myself.)

 

This house was Made for Bruises, There are enough to Go Around.

 

(My Grandmothers Name was Joy or Peace…Wait… How did I Begin?)

 

Peace is Printed Simple enough, God is.

 But inside of Arrogance WE merely make Forgeries out False Remnants

Not Knowing our Heads inside our Ass…

DON KEY!

 

Supple Red, Spat Blood, The Smile of Beautiful Lips,

 

Spittle with a Thousand Octaves!

 

Written out as, ‘!?”

 

Diverse morning Breezes, Whitish flowers of Shiver, Pulling sucked Priceless Colors.

 

And I Wish I had a Garden for you to Run naked Through (or Prance… yeah, Prancing is significantly cuter then running)

 

(With Maybe,

          One of those silly gold bangle strings, hooked loose

                                              Around your hips and the very tip of the ass))

 

 

And I Think I Would be Happy with That, (Senseless Nudity.)

 

(Simmering Tongues in Hold Hats) (Digits rough and Naughty)

 

(I Think I Would be Happy, with as Little Possible)

 

(If as Little Possible)

(Included You)

 

(I Really Do)

 

But

 

For now there is only,       The Drink!

 

(And my Fingers, Clacking with Scrawl)

 

-The End-

So is it the End of Days?

They Continue to Change and alter Revelations Weekly…

It’s… annoying… any given week and entire Lines are Changed.

All to Manipulate and Deceive.

I’ll hold tight to Faith overcome and peservere.

I had a Dream I needed to take a Freighter to Japan from the East Coast…

And all along the Way it stopped and Picked up Saints from Every Coast…

I’ve Been Looking for Mt Zion for awhile Now…

Tare’s Over-run the Country and when the Dead Rise from the Sea

The Workers of Abomination will Flood the Streets…

Open Worship of the Beast, Open Acceptence of the Mark

These are the Things I fear the Most…

Mt Zion, appears to be Something similar to Mt. Olympus

Only far more Ancient…

If you think about Mt. Olympus… it would be a Flying Mountain…

(And Remember as Well the Burning Mountain Cast into the Sea…
as in a Flying Mountains Completely Destroyed… Mystery Babylon…)

Mt Zion However appears to be On Earth… Possibly in Multiple very well

Hidden Peices… the other Mountains Have either been Destroyed

Or Will be… Olympus… Babylon…

There are alot of Falling Burning Cities, Mountains and Stars…

But the True Mystery is the Mystery of God.

I’d Imagine when the Dead Rise from the Oceans

It will be the Ones Murdered and put in those Coffins

Then Sunk into the Slit or the Deep Trenches…

Supposedly there are Millions of Them…

Tares here… but essentially Evil Dead Style ZZzzombies

There and Worse up Here… Pray your Flight not be in the Winter.

I Worry about most Everybody these days… they Operate more Freely

And Openly with each passing Weak… Leopard Spots Breaking out

And Bizarrities..

This will be Hard to Obscure in another Year… It will be Undeniable

And in Your Face.

Eating It.

Within the Fruit, there are Worms.

http://youtu.be/9ReQY2K12oA

 

 

 

A single vibration,

 

Into quiet dawns over secret lawns.

 

She has sunk to the deep bed,

 

Stretched pupil, Black Hiding Blue,

 

A continuance of happenstance, forever

 

Threshold of cold huddled shell — is it for her?

 

Wired breathing of dirty window into sound

 

Shutters swinging; often, really and before

 

The water is so cold, so lonely

 

They cling so tight, beyond nature’s laws or wants

 

They become unknowable thing of secret fornicating knowledge

 

Wordless Spell

 

Of Want into Need so Bad

 

Transcendence of Form and Reality becomes. New

 

Stinging wraith of Vampire Hunger.

 

Underdeveloped propaganda operating in concert

 

With all Hope of waking –Lost.

 

Disused borders of consciousness

 

Fake Crystal Wings flap

 

ing till she’s ready

 

stuffed white paper illusion,

 

Gagged pornography of  dust and  twilight

 

Falls irate

 

A

 

Flake

 

Of

 

Snow

 

——

 

 

 

 

Raving, flicking past

 

Hands over ominous metal going… snick… snick

 

backtracking Slothrop licking fingers off

 

Connections over many years, the smell of salt water

 

Vibrating into bones, filtering very faint        Back

 

Infecting Fence of went up, came down, Wasn’t awake for any of it

 

(To Happen)

 

The Gaucho draw of flourish

 

Corridors of crouching politely sticks.

 

An Argentine Heart, canned never opened, plain sky

 

Community of grace, A gift of persistence.

 

Big globular rains drops / a slickness of girls so blurred, so old and

 

perfect?

 

Any kind of sometimes sense

 

 for a Day to End

 

To be seen…. To Find, what tonight will Play?

 

But… He isn’t about to Look.

 

Sheets in drifts, sending up fine flowers of Water,

 

Smiles and Loves / feeling them icy through his Sweater

 

And at such inopportune times

 

 a late bloomer, but she’d loved him before that

 

Hardly a snake – forgive me the special pleading-

 

Only as rumors and shortages  have I become

 

made sense.

 

Sudden, fine grained

 

as baby’s skin, smooth as an hour-glass

 

Transparent emulsion, static short of last winter

 

Parallel moves, a torpedo announcement of metal emptiness

 

Trapped in her Mouth (and Eager enough for Company)

 

Rubbing legs (in) various pants and colors, together,

 

Rumbling burner,    slowly            the balloon                 begins 

 

to expand

 

The Guise of a clown, wrecked seas and body juices

 

jokes about wordless scrabbling dash

 

Whys, of must they torment, Haven’t I’s and Y’s paid enough

To sit and stand

 

Like a scented candle

 

burning back in a corner (that seams miles away)

 

… But couldn’t he smell It?

 

His heart shakes like a boiling kettle,

 

Eyes         continuing                      regardless.