Place your hands against the concrete of an anonymous building that belongs to them and gently rest your forehead upon it and close your eyes. This is the Eigen. The manipulated end, the Pantomime of Eigengrau. This is the first step in the ritual. The sound they make is a torrent of filth. It disgusts you. Breathe in the filth they make and spit it out. Spit upon the floor. Clean your mouth out.
Is it dry now? Coated with the dirt they make? The poison that runs through your veins. They make it. We know they do, we have knowledge given to us. Let your fingertips hover above the wall surface and let it sink into your hands without touching. Let the bright lights they have sink into you as a Sun. What you have inside is something that is not this and will never be that.
Fuck off you liars. All of you lie.
Every time you open your filthy mouths
it just falls out. Doesn’t it?
Your Magik is shit poor and Black Suns still rise
Your dragons I trapped are here
in me, they always were. Sicker beasts
Visualise the change.Keep your mouth dry. Keep your eyes shut. Feel the concrete vibrate.
You know me so well and yet always the shuttered smoke hides you from me
Let the needles they have placed in you sink
No fear for prime meat and yet we always sob and think and laugh
See the door presented underneath your hands and press your fingers to the edges. Sense the other side of it and the object your own eigen projected. What fucking sense they leave us with and we crawl on our hands and knees forever forward, forever onward. In the glass. What do the learned know. What fears have they got to show us that will not, in the end be simply familiar. Even the eternal fire will in time bore and dull the eyes that have melted away to dust. Your Hells mean nothing at all. Even we may make our Satan as is our wish and see him crawl upon his knees to us and say “I am lost” and ‘there is no such thing as a fucking innocent’
Sense the door in the concrete, in the brick, below the underpass and the stench of piss.
She would come to the bedside and I would feel her sit down and put her hand on my head to see if I were hot. To see if my temperature was heading upwards. She opened the window and let in a cool night time breeze. Placing her hands underneath me she lifted me up to the window and moved aside the net curtain and in the distance the houses that surrounded mine became faint and eventually they just faded away. On the hill a single tree whose leaves shone in the pull of the Black Sun which teased the life from them. The essence revealed and taken home. She lay me back down and lifted a cold glass of cool water to my lips and I sipped it. She smiled.
See this thing that presses and begs knowledge
Beggar the rituals and the dogma beneath my feet
Let my eyes see and my heart converge
Enough of this, I seek, I look upon burned fields
Ends and beginnings, the shallow lives of us
Cast out the yearnings and the thoughts that cloud my mind
Eris dear, pour the tea within my cup
Do you see them? Underneath the fingers that press and feel their targets. Fill the hollow bowl with emptiness that your hand at your breast presses and leaks. This river you have that opens my mouth and would sink me to nothing. The sounds they make deafen and makes you sick. The colours they give chances a subtle itch on the palm, dry. Your hands press the wall in front of you and you know them by their sickness. Their faces drawn and cast about for feeling, for the need to sicken the dead with tales of inherent madness. Press the concrete and ignore the traffic. Seeker.
You wear the Red dress. You look a pure delight. On the other side of the door you yearn for us and beg our need to press, to shove open the veils they seek to cover us with. You know us and hold a Daffodil in your hand and the soil within your hands is fresh. You move away the soil and place it within the ground and firm the crumbly soil around it and smile as a lock of your hair falls over your eyes. You laugh and crush the flower with your foot.
What do we know anyway?
Suited and dressed to kill, to suceed and to learn things they wish
a brighter day perhaps would dull even the most hearted creature
but today? What?
Values we cling to, belief we suffer gladly
for the fire within burns slowly and will not let you in
fire up the rockets and play the tunes you wish
for a stolen grope and violent caress is not a loving kiss
A fingertip will breach the forbidden door and it will open just a crack
for natures way is to deceive, to play and it will never take you back
Push your fingers into the concrete, through the paint and the grime and see, the sight delivered to you but never ever to me.