• 6,000,000,000: The Sun becomes a red giant and all life on Earth, indeed Earth itself, is destroyed.

Carry on.

Jesus, halfbrother to Perseus, whose greatest feats were possible only through the misfortune of cthonic deities. Who swears oaths, who are promised to the sky? Where hath the light of our gliding gone? ,under the lathers of our soaped souls, gone punished, upon the tongue, upon the citizens, going unknown, traveling to wash the world, astringents of our spent evils, i have brothers and sisters, beneath stones and mountains, where the darks develop understandings and i, spiral, enveloped in burning lights, always under the sun, always a squint as these eyes fail over the course of decades, gone, to consider monsters, who would be best with, separations @ the neck,

it’s just , justice is,
whose monsters?

candles of liberty OH!

whilst Simon Finn, contemplating Jerusalem, no words figured beforehand.

whilst the Crusades, christian and muslim murderers, holy wars and trading off massacres, a farce of a city, back and forth, gold and blood to this day, what intentions were scratched into sand by idealists and imbeciles, seventy-eight generations ago?

these skeletons are obsolete, in heaven or not. in books or out.

richard the lionheart. saladin. both dead and gone, but the world replacing them, again and again.

and no one, no one to turn them to stone, disembodied gorgon head in hand.

and i am willing to bet that Jesus has never held a head by the snakes, and wielded it as a weapon.

half brother, OH!

On Saturday night I was in Richmond. We went to Plan 9.

I picked up four records by artists no one has ever heard of. No one. Ever.

They looked intriguing.

One of them was Marsha Malamet. It has this song on it. Which is very pretty, I think. It is like Renaissance, with the pretense kicked down a few notches. This is a twenty year old girl from Brooklyn, after all.

The orchestra kicks in at the forty-five second mark. Oh me oh my.

People lost the ability to mingle orchestra and pop music shortly after this.

I have collected a lot of nice and obscure songs over the last many months. I don’t know why I haven’t created a mix effort, yet. Maybe I am lazy.

It is on my agenda, though.

when they come
from over the mountain
we will run
right around them
we’ve got no guns
no we don’t have any weapons
just our cornmeal and our children

dust drowns the dark clouds
but not us

while we pay
for mistakes with no meaning
all your gifts
and all your peace is deceiving
and still our pain
dissolves with believing
that peace comes

now that our bones
lay buried below us
just like stones
pressed into the earth
well we ain’t known
by no one before us
and we begin
with this one little birth
that grows on,
that moves on

crippled crow
say something for our grieving
where do we go
once we start leaving
close that wound
or else keep on bleeding
and change your tune
it’s got no meaning

.