Beep... beep... beep... beep... flat line.
From the black shine, comes the past-mind:
They didn't understand me, they needed to know the truth.
I stood amongst the crowds looking down with explosive youth.
I'd show and prove! They looked upon me with an eagerness,
the kind that makes me question the fact that we exist...
I mean as a species this life could have started in a petri dish.
I spoke of corruption in politics, of the spiritual hoaxes.
I spoke of the en-trusted, the Offices, how they clearly expose us
to the most disgusting of Offerings.
Drunken with power.
The same power I currently felt in control of the people.
Think of the feeling, imagine dialing down the rain,
and purposefully sweltering with telepathic reach
in the minds of these...
hellish, panicked freaks.
A burning abdomen,
the kind of burning with disturbing savageness.
A chest with kicking heart and shortening, faster skips,
Spinning mental order; existential exorcism.
"A death's in order, it just so happens to be yours."
The Pecking Order, where Chaos has Met with Order.
An out of balanced stress-reporter: that best of portions
of the mind that regulates how to distinguish between true alarm,
and the decision to simply buckle down and send the warning,
then just sit back and let the flesh absorb it.
This was True Stress, human flesh overcome with blueness,
that slowing life-richness, where knowing finds limits,
where the loneliness feels the exact opposite of the highest bliss.
Where every pariah lives crying with their cynical minds inhibited like...
Indian settlements in Native Lands.
That blazing brand slicing through dunes slinging blades of sand,
Tossing life away, destroying time and space,
like clockwork's patient dance.
They tell me when I say I can't remember what it felt like,
"you're a liar, you're a fraud, you've never seen the face of death."
I tell them, well, I say in jest: "think of when a matrix glitches:
the same image, in the same instance, at a different time."
They usually chuckle at the reference to a movie:
"If I could describe the feeling, I feel I'd be a different guy,
besides... I felt death, but he had a different guise...
he was dressed in the richest white, halo in his hands,
with a rope hanging loosely around his neck.
Cleanly shaven, this anthropomorphic Daemon:
the embodiment of our faith in
our attempt to perfectly create and handle our mortal weakness."
But what I met, wasn't simply death,
I met Fortune's legion on a battlefield of scorching heat:
They carried me to their master, I carried my mind to a Mythic Mind:
They called him Death, Followed by Persistent Life...
I asked him to speak, he retorted,
shouting sounds of Peace, then he challenged me:
we locked gazes, but before I could even act
I was reaped into Immortality....
I would have rather met Death.