Satisfied enough to justify his lust for

mediating spirits.

He speaks, “Those proposed seditious pairings

have stopped spelling out just how empty each

promise purchased by faith is when driven by

selfish intention. Not universal relief.”

Grief stricken faces remind me how true “truth”

is smeared across media headlines, and how binding

restrictions are when reviewing our societal mores.

Looking beyond the gorge of conception, and actual

action, you fall too deep to even attempt getting out,

with out knowing just when you fell.

He speaks, “We’re sacrificing principle for priority’s sake.

The intention is the removal of a remorseful soul, by first removing

conscience with scientific theories riddled with why minorities

die, not why, one more body heaped upon the pyre, the pile

of contrived statistics. This is not scientific, the angle is better

slanted to expose the “plan” how explosive reactions can be

when compressing atoms, not families, not races, not military.”

A familiar realm; losing focus while clarity skitters across

the tips of finger prints. Burning images of attention span upon

lines created for a mind purge, a release of the urge to scream,

to sob, to steal from others their stagnant ideas of prosperity,

the worthless ideas hair triggered like the .45 caliber we all carry

by speaking. Opened mouths are the equivalent of barrels

blasting past teeth laced orifices. He notices too much.

Swallowing all of it with hemlock laced tea, every time he

places his lifespan into the hands of belief.

He speaks, “Anxiety is the sobering reminder of how quickly

patience kills the nerve impulse of action, the ability to listen,

to assert our philosophical positions coherently. The only “truth”

narcissists have is found while they practice in mirrors their

verbose banality, which forever leaves us tail chasing, conjuring

our many personalities we’ve created to help us cope. We watch

in hope for a future that will never come. Grasp this contention,

and the birth of blame becomes shame, you’ll try and resemble pride,

but every word to follow is a lie. We’re sacrificing principle

for priority. A recurring theme for those desolate, insolent rebels

gratifying themselves by stoking the fire of their own personalized

revolution. As the resolution of their conviction blurs, a new face begs

for answers then retreats again. This time to calculate just how

to kill the perverse prosperity they find by repeatedly

speaking double time, faster than the audience can capture

the ideological hypocrisy severing their contentious head from

the body’s reality, fantasy from logic.”

And a hush.

The assembled congregation is dismembered, made to review

the amnesty found in the productive counter cultures who’ve fused

together. Sparking solutions through the microwaves of intelligent

listeners. Sophisticated rhetoric as empty as it is enigmatic, serves

no purpose here, yet it diffuses through over worked craniums;

too thirsty for relief to make articulate judgments. It’s easier to

contrive falsified miracles of change through stagnant action.

A student stands and asks, “What is evolution?”

He responds, “Millions of people placing blame

on chance.”

“Well then, what is God?”

He replies, “The evil enslaving those same millions

through dogma, the empty winding cave of futility. The

debate, debased by actions taken in God’s name by humans,

beasts before they were man. No more interruptions please.”

He concludes, “ I need you to focus now, feel what I am stating,

don’t hear it, let it live through you. The focal point of faith is

the exact fulcrum where animosity and peace merge together into

an abortion riddled collage, most contend to be the “grey area.”

I call it the matter of mind lost on inanity, where you mistake their

thoughts as yours. Instead of seeking a higher standard of thought,

allowing your mind to ascend to an apex from which you can

see each micro organism forming empires, mass genocides, and

revolutions. You succumb to the orgasmic, organic particles assembled

together to capture another’s blood. Experience remains the

greatest teacher, but humanities atrocities has taught you to despise

this glorious opportunity of unique perspective, and the rustic

ideologies of today, become the reason for murder tomorrow.

Our conglomerate mother clothes herself in white robes, fetid

with sorrow, yet we feel as though remorse is better left

for a fictional karmic cycle to decipher.”

Hands go up, them fists, chants in rhythm burst forth from

the deepest pits of the soul. Another brother to be slaughtered,

but before the pulpit claims his essence he orates the most

sarcastic epitaph he can remember. The day the music died,

the day Muslims cried, the day a king lost his fight against

a larger hegemony, while lying to protect the identity of

his immense family.

A smile forms.

Shifting eyes taking in those who get it.

Before he can continue the page before him is smeared

in his blood, and now a vacant pen screams for his cherished

grasp, and the functioning stigmas he unravels shakes in fear,

while his mind exits insanity, remembering every sobering reality

retorted not long after the profanity subsides. The fire behind his

eyes is exemplified by their discomfort. No surprises, the ghost

moves through the walls we’ve all constructed, and the eternal

graph writers etch his eulogy upon omnipresent surfaces, standing

for the generations to come centuries from now.

And he closes, “I am the railing alongside a rushing torrent,

those who wish to grasp upon me shall, but your crutch

I will never be.” Nietszche

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