At first the worst did fall, amid riddle that burst all vitality, stall the hidden forbidden wonder beyond the wall of rude crude intruding reality. Yet upset regret yearned, burned, turned fear to clear idea, here, now, somehow to come from humble diligence, the omnipresence of those brave, grave, chosen saviours,,,,
Shall we dare to care, play fair, smell the spell of Hell, stay well aware, or spill a pop-a-pill thrill to kill our will, stop proper skill still fine to teach each sign, reach the line of shining spirit, fit the bitter fight to ignite the right despite?
The revenge of the innocent, a most excellent boast! A toast to the government deciding, deriding the ultimate trip, the delicate grip of blunt power devouring its tail, the stunted hate-of-the-State failing to steal the proud crowd, appealing aloud to justice remiss, hailing the healing kiss of “Live To Forgive”, the hunted hour of its fatal flower,,,,
Through seductive memes, instructive dreams and destructive schemes you who led the tread of dreaded Dionysian dance hewed dead chance, survived to thrive, driving silent evolution to striving violent revolution, a magic tragic war, the Law a whore no more.
The Devil spoke, awoke the next level of desire, an extra fire to inspire, to start the heartfelt meltdown, drown the empire entire, the broken crown a jagged antique streak, a haggard staggering mouldy old slag. Evil believed achieved the cross of dross, the loss of faith to atheistic histrionics, drastic tonics tossed back-to-the-rap of wacky tacky crap.
While in the street I cheat deceit, begin my kinky beat by the neat neighbourhoods, defeat the “Goods”, the “Shoulds”, the “Woulds If Coulds”, deny the lie, fly high past dry persuasion, fast evasion slyly cast to own the zone, the jealous moan of blame, the smile of shame, the game of style, the zealous trial of precious paradise, the sacrifice of God to an odd archetypal form, the normal ripe rich hype of reason’s trickery, the quick slick wicked kick-of-the-stick,,,,
And so the masquerade must show its trust lost, the dust of frosty word, the musty serenade half heard below the laughing bird of love, ever above the clever shove of quaint restraint, the dainty dazzle of frazzled control held over our roving World Soul,,,,
Like Oedipus one pleads the curse, shocks the universe to strike the wretched drama undone, mocks the star-stretched, scar-sketched Karma thus far run, bleeds the deeds of naked man, the sacred plan with us begun, the dithering, slithering fantasia of crazy what not got gone, the consequential, accidental mess of essential success.
I am occupying a small private room in a medieval tavern. This windowless space forms a perfect cube, within which stands a heavy square wooden table, mounted lectern like on a thick box shaped support, both of which are perfectly aligned and centred to the sides of the chamber. Two low stools are placed on the floor, each by an opposite edge of the board, upon one of which I grimly sit, my forearms, laying on the desk, supporting my heavily slumping torso, my fists clenched and my features anxious.
I stare fixedly straight ahead at the single doorless entrance, placed precisely in the middle of the side facing me. The dark apartment is lit by a couple of high braziers, mounted halfway along each of the flanking walls. Their flickering flames cause a dramatic chiaroscuro, in which rich golds and warm rusty hues fantastically weave and mingle with the oak shades of the furnishings, and the inexorable opaques of nothingness.
I patiently await my guest. Who he is, when he will appear, where he comes from, what this encounter means, and how this meeting has been made to pass, I know not. Yet I’m certain that I must stay, until my fateful friend arrives and takes his seat across from me.
Suddenly the scene changes. I am walking through a maze of dim, narrow, low ceilinged corridors. I’m lost, yet compelled to go on, to reach the end, the conclusion of this confusion, as there appears to be no way back. I know not how I got here, where this is, why I’m here, and when I started stumbling through this bizarre labyrinth. Every attempt to return, to what I know not, takes me through frustrating circles or to dull dead ends. As I move forward, as much as anything is progression in this crazy place, the passageways get gradually thinner and lower, and I struggle more and more to restrain my simmering feelings of terrifying claustrophobia.
Then, almost at the moment of complete psychosis, I reach an exit, which leads into an open room. In the sombre shadows of this refreshing, liberating space I see a table, at which a man sits facing me, patiently waiting. As we look at each other, we instantly recognise that I am the one he’s been expecting, and that this is the place for which I’ve been searching, my escape, my release. As I take my seat opposite it seems that now I am both my own guest, and my own host.
And then the setting changes, to a large, chandeliered ballroom, with its many wide, tall, ornate windows letting in a bright, clear daylight. In this cool, echoey hall I am having a sword fight with another man. I’m dressed as adashing swashbuckler, with my half opened, baggy, white lace ruffle frill shirt gathered into my trimly belted, tight black trousers. These are tucked into my stylish, knee high black riding boots, while my long, straight, shiny jet hair is slickly tied back into a ponytail.
As we combat with verve and panache, I all at once notice that my assailant is a perfect doppelganger of myself, as well as being dressed exactly the same as me. Immediately upon this revelation he doubles, so now I’m fencing with two identical fellows, both indistinguishable from myself, forcing me to increase my efforts to hold them at bay. Again, upon this realisation the pair duplicate, so now I must struggle even more rapidly to parry four familiar ruffians.
This magically matrixed metamorphosis repeats twice more, until I am manically contending with sixteen attackers. Completely overwhelmed by these odds I desperately retire while they form a semi-circle around me, slowly edging in for the kill, as I frantically twist and turn in a last ditch effort to defend myself. Then, as they are almost close enough to strike, I deftly deliver a slick stroke to the right leading hand of the scoundrel at the left end of the arc. This disables his grip, while simultaneously causing his riposte to glance awry, and instead strike, in a similar fashion to my adroit thrust, the right hand of the next man in the row. A chain reaction occurs, as this second aggressor suffers the same fate, his injured hand similarly unwittingly assaulting the next man in the row, and so on down to the end of the line, with the speed and rhythm of a domino topple.
In a short time all my antagonists stand defeated, nursing their wounded paws while their weapons lay useless on the floor, and I flamboyantly raise my rapier on high in victory, boldly announcing “Touche”.
A song of determination, devotion and dedication, with real time lyrics,,,,