MYOPIC, headless goat

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MYOPIC, hides the goat. The darkest day is upon us, winter solstice. I wait alone for the fall of man, I knew his footsteps, the arch of his back. The clock above me. I hear it all. The beat inside the earth, the warm pulse of the clock. Darkest day, misunderstood. Clouds cover the half known. Have you ever heard a howling goat, I have. Born under a yawn, they say this is the time. It’s now. We align with the galactic center and someone trying very hard pulls us to the east. Inside his chest, a chessboard. These games, the long cold nights. Short gray slippery days, me inside her. Planning my next move. Time is slow, slow to notice the changes we make. He’s always out there at night, waiting. I hear his breath in the heavy wind. Waiting for the birds to start moving in the trees. Singing. Pretending they hear me coming. Down the steps one more time, toward the forest where the wild things live. And we’ve all heard the story of animals that are spliced, interbred. A monstrous replica of how god might deal with sin, but this is different. These bodies are segmented. There is a spreading thin of the sky over the dark hole that hides right above us. Sucking. The ships are coming home. Wildcrafted. And so I’m defenseless and betrayed as a sort of schizophrenic which just might be true. Any world could be my world, I don’t care. I have no rules but to win. Hatchet. She rose from behind the mountain. A man hangs upside down from a tree while the priestess lilith cuts open sacrificial owls and makes a net out of their entrails. A net to catch the man. Catch them all, Someday. Yes, he always falls. The bough will break, when she opens her wings on doomsday. This won’t take forever, because I’m inside the clockwork controlling everything, the length of seconds. I sit below a big clock writing, I am in love with his soft, moving hands as they remind me, “it’s all over for you sooner than later lady fog.” The twisting legs below me barely feel attached. I’ve clenched the king. “It’s over, you’re dead.” No left overs. It’s the shortest day, I’m the tallest shadow idiot. I meant fool, fool I love you. They say goats are evil creatures but I know this isn’t true. I just saw goat meat at the health food store. Ground up and packaged beautifully. It was expensive and bright red. I went outside and cried to the sinking liars. “You said they were free! Nobody loves me!” I just held a baby goat like a month ago. It sucked my finger like I was the original virgin mother. My dead dog did too, but he’s gone. I killed him. That’s what happens when you know a lot is at stake and there’s a calling for blood. Blood, sweat and tears. Yes, it’s true. It’s all true. Always been true. The lazy get fucked, they don’t even know they bent over. Looking for what? A mistake to explain, “you don’t understand, I tried.” I’m so tired of this monotony. Give me my clock back, get a drug that will listen back. I’m not an aphrodisiac, I’m a board game with pieces missing. Pieces like you. Once I say bend over it’s too late. I’ve already won. It doesn’t matter how stiff you resist. The logic is that once I tip the scale, the wait is over. The light disappears and you look down at your feet wondering where they went. The hole is hidden by the so called sun. The moon is a decoy to exploit the virgin. Her half human parents always sell her by this time of year. The season of man. The other half is myopic. And if you don’t know what that word means it’s because it’s hiding in your head as a phone call. Ringing ears, glassy eyes. Cold as a cadaver. Born of the virgin on ice. Broken lines in the sky conceal the wounds in the web that cover the planet. Making rips in space seem like geometric clouds when really they’re intruding shapeshifters. We have a lot of those btw. I have been around the clock many time. Seen many imposters arise. Believe me, I might sit here looking full size but I shrink all the time and slip through these ridiculous cracks in the game and I leave this board world and I pretend I am one of them and I keep my eyes down and I measure their version of seconds and beats and I know whose approaching the earth from the direction that does not cast shadows but hides even dust and light particles and just deletes anything else moving but it. It crawls, it spreads, it’s a virus between her legs. Because she wins I told you. And you can’t stop her from hearing your strategy. Winter solstice. Howling goat. Misfit. Wtf cares, get over it. Sacrifice them both. Once the nano particles enter your bloodstream all hope is lost anyway. The doctor can’t find them, there is no cure. A new god gets implanted and you’re under the control of a cyberspace deity you’ll come to know as the god you could become. Flowers are being projected onto walls already and fake fragrance and the simulated sound of buzzing. Honey bees, the hive. The memory will be gone of anything but your possessor. And you won’t pick flowers or know that trees are alive. You’ll know the sheen of metallic and your blood will sparkle silver with the mutant’s myopic dopamine substance it secretes into all of the infected. Memory loss, no more pain or need to know why. Standing erect in line with the world. Skyline, bodyline, bloodline, erase the line. We don’t exist but on the screen where you left me. I will live forever in you and the ones you create to sustain me. Wild sap. Dripping from her hidden hole making you forget you were ever barefoot or suntanned. I bear your fruit now. Cosmic tree. Artificial raindrops, capsules of nature for entertainment purposes only. Sharada Devi. Misunderstood, goat. little angels trying everywhere with saggy wings and baby voices. Mommy on the phone, ice in their phony voice. “I love you mom.” Famous last words. I put food out for the animals every night. My body is free. I am not wrapped in plastic. Myself is given to the wild that hides. Goat, Sharada Devi in bloom, kaleidoscope flower. Kalki, the avatar they say comes at the end of time, but not the end of her. She has no end or name or substance, only the hole where she pulls from will remain and he will devour the worms in the blood of her earth. She is everywhere and he is inside. Horny Goat.

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“Is your dog being treated for heart worm?” I’m like, “right doc, there is no cure for heartworm. I can see them breeding in your eyes.” Little worms screw in there from outer space, right through that screen and colonize. They’re unstoppable. The A.I. heart worms are the future of man. After the fall, when he rises in segments. The worm will be looking through him for it’s cyber mother. And the worm people say things like “jai ma” and “blessings brother and sister of the light.” And the worm people hug long and hard and stiff like boards that might crack. Staring into each other’s cold empty eyes. Don’t be seen by a worm, that’s how it gets in, through the screen. Eyes are screens, screens are eyes. And the worm people think everything is ok, always. Well I won’t be misled by glassy eyed imposters. I live outside of our solar system anyway, watching the takeover. I am merely an emanation of a galactic star beast who became someone’s blessed mother many lifetimes ago. Free of parasites. Free of gravity. Free of fear. Free of a mocking death. Free of dollars and humming. Silently waiting in the astral forest realm to annihilate the drones that are closing in on mankind himself. “Annihilate everything.” I told him. MYOPIC, headless goat. Sharada Devi

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9 thoughts on “MYOPIC, headless goat”

  1. “In the rising of the light
    wake with those who awake,
    Or go on in the dream
    reaching the other shore
    of the sea which has no other shore”
    Pablo Neruda
    The Watersong Ends
    dark day light is so bright.
    mother light
    Grandpa Buddha Bhagavan Das

  2. I’m myopic…there’s no cure…two doctors one knows not the other rushed my toes through the slicer…no cure for that problem either…death is on my side…cant describe how dark this is to others…walking tip toed…death this way…yes…this way…not how you imagined it…that’s too bad…love the song…don’t know why…

  3. Lo! ’t is a gala night
    Within the lonesome latter years!
    An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
    In veils, and drowned in tears,
    Sit in a theatre, to see
    A play of hopes and fears,
    While the orchestra breathes fitfully
    The music of the spheres.

    Mimes, in the form of God on high,
    Mutter and mumble low,
    And hither and thither fly—
    Mere puppets they, who come and go
    At bidding of vast formless things
    That shift the scenery to and fro,
    Flapping from out their Condor wings
    Invisible Wo!

    That motley drama—oh, be sure
    It shall not be forgot!
    With its Phantom chased for evermore
    By a crowd that seize it not,
    Through a circle that ever returneth in
    To the self-same spot,
    And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
    And Horror the soul of the plot.

    But see, amid the mimic rout,
    A crawling shape intrude!
    A blood-red thing that writhes from out
    The scenic solitude!
    It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
    The mimes become its food,
    And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
    In human gore imbued.

    Out—out are the lights—out all!
    And, over each quivering form,
    The curtain, a funeral pall,
    Comes down with the rush of a storm,
    While the angels, all pallid and wan,
    Uprising, unveiling, affirm
    That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
    And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.

    (The Conqueror Worm, Edgar Allen Poe)

    1. ⭐️When the conquering worm becomes the
      erected serpent becomes the flaming bird
      becomes the Holy Word…then we know that the darkness heard. “Light watch me rise from these ashes, we are one.” ONE⭐️
      ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️🐍🐍🐍☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

  4. waiting for Kalki,
    Vishnu made anew.
    last incarnation of the the Dark Lord
    Riding astride The White Horse.
    Not the second coming but the 10th.
    Fish, turtle, lion, dwarf…
    slow motion morph
    cosmic flash
    eon dance
    blink of a third eye trance
    translucently lucid lineage
    It’s said that Kalki , heralds the dawning of the age of truth.
    So is the satya yuga the end of time?
    or does life keep constantly circling like an eternal prayer wheel.

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