There was once a time I felt I was the center of All the turbulence descending down from God above, For it had been his wicked world which left me marred And if any love in this scarred world had once existed Then from this feeling I would most certainly be barred. For when the sun beat down so lovingly from heaven It would be only I who lie charred black when it set And if you told me I was paranoid and hopeless, I would say, “don’t forget: riddled with regret”.
But now I realize that I am not alone in this, No living soul has ever wished off Judas’s Kiss And, yet, still we are all stark alone in how we suffer The lives of men maintain no pattern, rhyme or reason So, therefore, each breath is nothing but a fleeting buffer. For each year marks a dawn of a deeper darker winter And each winter leaves a mortal man far more froze, If you tell me that the storm is simply pointless to defy Then I’ll just decry this mortal dread in prose.
From the warmth of his home, he critiques the world, In his mind he’s a martyr, his black flag’s unfurled, He votes with his passion, his news sources he reads Not knowing these monsters seek to shatter his knees! In bed with the monsters, the serpent of envy and greed, That demonic leviathan to him it still lies and it pleads, By indulging his fears and his pity his empathy is seized And engage with his sympathy to spread its disease! For each day’s a battle, in some book each day is wrote And for those who defy this, their armies go up in smoke.
It is him who I shall watch and it’s at him I shall stare For whose existence is resisted will decay in despair, To resist life is pointless and this nihilism is terrible to grasp So that fallacy becomes the cocoon of a fabricated mask! He who is sickened by everything that knows chaos and strife Forgets that what batters down walls will hone down his knife! So accept the violence and chaos, man, don’t shy from life And know that life is a war, man, please engage in the fight, Whether in battle with gloves on or at your table to write! For each day’s a battle, in some book each day is wrote And for those who defy this, their armies go up in smoke.
The first episode to my podcast aired today (not counting the introduction) and I was very happy with how it came out. I discussed a wide range of topics, such as the military, spirituality, the philosophy of good and evil and my perspectives on these. All of this stems from a poem I wrote titled “The Sulfur Serpent” from my first book Rotten Man’s Throne…you can find a link to purchase it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08541HSXH/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_9YMTS5FE2QA6D2CB04VX)
Video and Poem are included below:
The Sulfur Serpent
(originally published in Rotten Man’s Throne)
Sixty six fathoms below the Sulfur Sea, Amidst the boil and bubble and burn, Floated forth a barbarous beast of burden To serve Satan’s savage scheme so stern. For when blue skies become black and thunder Then all of earth shall be torn asunder.
Now as devious demons dance in night, For the fiery abyss has freed every fallen fiend, When those long dead and decayed do rise And the dark and the darkest have convened. For when blue skies become black and thunder Then all of earth shall be torn asunder.
So now the dreary, dire days are here, And the air has turned all arid and ash, The sulfur serpent slithers from its wretched sea, To bow before a Sultan sits abashed. For when blue skies become black and thunder Then all of earth shall be torn asunder.
While now the dreary sky’s splitting splendidly And from this lash lovely light cascades, Around the tear, the hollowed heavens tremble And bleak blackness pierced by beautiful blades. For when blue skies become black and thunder Then from the heavens shall meet a wonder.
For salvation came then, in staggering sequence, As hellbound humanity witnessed glory then, For pale, blonde angels beckon battle When chrome chariots into the darkened world descend. For when blue skies become black and thunder Then from the heavens shall meet a wonder.
As angels storm the ashen, sorrowed ether, The sneering sulfur serpent stands to defy, Fierce fangs, to devour holy deities, As four harrowing horsemen draweth nigh. For when blue skies become black hellfire, Then mankind’s end shall soon transpire.
The Bum’s Lament is a series of poems I had written while languishing in a crappy studio apartment, no money in my bank account, no job, engulfed in depression and nihilism and bathed in alcohol and cigarette smoke. This book is an early attempt of mine to explore my own suffering and, in doing so, strives to understand the suffering of all of humanity throughout the finitude of the human lifespan. I was attending school at the time of this writing, a local community college, and was stricken by the lack of depth in analysis which the classroom setting could produce. My life previous, and my current life as well, exposed me to the dark pit that is the natural universe and, unlike my peers, the surface scratching that the modern academic setting yielded to me no recourse to understanding. This book likely will do no better, however, it is a genuine attempt with nothing held back.
Tough to gain your footing on the black ice under feet As you stumble with your bottle down the dark dreary street. The change in your coat jingles, the last few cents not spent, As you’re staggering toward home to imbibe, sigh and lament. Trudging through slush toward steps stacked with snow While you’re swearing at yourself for all the effort you forgo. Turning your key to enter, hands and feet are frozen numb As you grip your bottle tighter, with just one finger and a thumb. The door swings open slowly and you quickly step inside Then you close the door behind you, to this place in which you hide. Spend a minute searching, and find the remote control And then peruse the television, through the sitcoms you do stroll. Icing down your bourbon, small glass and a frozen cube, As you surf the daytime networks and stare blankly at the tube. Feet up on the table, sipping slowly at your booze And you savor tastes of poison and the comfort that ensues. When that glass is empty, exert the effort for one more And you drain that one even faster, then the third is quite a chore. Now you’re feeling so lightheaded, best you’ve felt all week And then you wait for a commercial For there’s a task you must complete. Picking up your pistol, laying right beside your chair Then you cock the hammer slowly And blow your teeth right through your hair.
Ringing in the liquor store and jealous Of the booze these people buy. 87.56 for single malt scotch, 64.99 for the gentleman’s Sweet sour mash, A 48.26 small batch bourbon, all before Old Uncle Sam’s greedy share. And the vodkas, my man, The oceans of Goose and Svedka Coursing through the veins of America Make my envy rise and mouth thirst For the pure and safe sanctity of spirits And the docile feeling connecting you With the holiest of spirits and you feel God And you… Keep ringing soberly in the liquor store While other people drop hundred dollar bills On tequilas supported by that cunt Cloony Who couldn’t understand the depth a true drunk Must contend with daily. Then the then true drunks step in and You find seriousness in their slurs As you decipher their need for a pint And know instinctively that they will Provide exact change….
I bought new Chucks a week ago And now they’re dirty. The white had sparkled and glimmered, The black was stark, rich and deep, The laces, pristine as fresh fell snow. But now they’re dirty. Now the white is grass stained green And the laces dulled with dust And stark black has surrendered It’s rich deep dark to the elements. A week ago I bought new Chucks, And the world Has made them dirty.
Life is more a second to second, day to day, drink to drink, Mood to mood, cigarette to cigarette type of deal with way, way Too many variables for any kind of long to term plan. Today I drove up on a car, two cars actually, splintered and savaged In collision of scattered steel and warped plastic as if the two cars Were melded into one fiery display of wreckage and carnage and blood. The passengers, all of whom were burnt to a blazing crisp, Were being carted away like slaughtered livestock in black body bags. It was early, the sun was just rising and the sirens stirred the cold, Crisp morning air. Both sets of vehicles were on their way somewhere To go do something with some other people. Planning their day Their week, their year, the rest of their waning lives. They were moving forward onto the future, willfully blind To the metaphorical brick wall boldly awaiting interception, They never would have known it but Hell They shoulda just stayed Home