Welcome, and thanks for stopping here to read selections of my original poetry and prose. Only half my art is here. As you browse my puppets, words if you will, think of them as empty hulls whose dance and form are only animated in Play through my vocal conveyance of their characters and via my direction of their tone. Lyric to the ears, its whole message soon appears, in thus the conjuring of ancient daemons deep within to combat the evil ones brought up infernal by the Craft of ages can be our stage tonight.

On this blog the theme is AWAKENING and how Revelation is not some story plural in a Book but supposed to be one of yours in this lifetime. Here in verse I share with you my inquiry to which has bonded Muse.
YOUR STORY IS THE STORY. Their horsie four so full of holes they named that way just to have a laugh. Revelation and Creation coincide, they never stopped. A daily occurrence in a Live Show me is true Prophesy which I assure you, smells nothing like a library book, and for which no innocents are ever killed. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you copy it to heart.

The Last Sequins of Events

Implosion is imminent.
Time is history.
(R)evolution, stopped.

And as we who know that darkness is
when we shine the most remember,
true Genesis is this:

Real stars don't fall. 

It just looks that way to comets,
awake and on the move again.

This is the LAST DAY.
Around the globe they're numbered differently
some to happenpast 13,
some to stay dozenpast-one just a little longer.

No more evening now.
No more snake to bite.
Enough of history.
For it all adds up to Seven.

Dumb circles, said the stars, and sold them Hollywood
whilst they raped their dreams.
Time is up -- the falling of the stars.
Circles, circles everywhere,
Will they knot to see a single square, forevermore?


Your plane, we plane-ettes.
There are no planets! Only wandering stars.
No Order in the sky,
yet loftier than horizons our light to darkest, grounded Eye.

Oh magic paper, magic keys, Magick Pen,
grant to me the freedom from the mind at Lodge.

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