Monday, August 20, 2007

A Cruel Joke God Played On The Humans And Insects

They take you in and care for you
and, in the night, while you sleep,
they insert tiny insects into your ear canals.

One for each ear,
and the two race to their destiny.
A battle to the death in the center of the brain.
A battle who's victor will become a god.

All God's Good People go to The Light
and all God's Good People become gods themselves.

So it is written.
There's even proof.

They arise on the first day
to find that they walk on two legs
and are capable of the pleasures of man.

In a week they have forgotten
they were ever anything but.

In five weeks they die
in an orgy of excess,
led by flashing lights, cheap techno music
and hallucinogens
right over the edge of the steepest cliff in the valley.

They fuck as they fall
and praise Heaven for it all,
and are recorded as official deities
in "God's Good Book Of Gods"
by the 4th Week Brothers & Sisters, a privileged chore,
just like it instructs in the book.

The 3rd Week is recruiting duty
and nothing can go wrong.
"God's Good Book" supplies the outline
for acceptable candidates
and proper recruitment technique.
The host must not possess
the capacity to fend off
both spiritual gladiators
before they reach their battlefield.

God's Good Children of Week 2
frolic from the backyard of The Holy Home
out into the forest,
2 by 2, naked, holding hands,
laughing and singing
and stopping periodically to distract one another
with kisses and massages and groping.

They lay at the foot of The Queen
and open wide their mouths
in The Bliss Of Immortal Servitude,
and she is generous,
filling their thankful bellies
with the eggs of their future brethren.

They are the Mothers & Fathers Of God,
the Good Book tells them,
and at the end of that
glorious 5th week
when they Sail Off The Edge Into The Light,
they will shed the physical form
that has brought them such happiness
in this all-too-short life
(for this is the only way to prepare the soul for absolute divinity),
and it will plummet into the valley below,
and burst open on the sharp rocks strategically placed there,
releasing the newly hatched larvae
of God's Good People,
anxiously awaiting their turn at fate.


Tuesday, July 17, 2007


we are DoomsDayDevice because we mean what we say,

we are DoomsDayDevice because we worship
 the same destruction that we fear,

we are DoomsDayDevice because we speak the language 
of The Poxyclypse and understand it.

we are DoomsDayDevice because we know what The End sounds like.

we are that mysterious, indescribable substance  that has taken on the shape 
of the treads of your shoe, 
that you thought you'd scraped out and left behind, 
but somehow was there with you all along,

stealing away ignorant bliss 
and replacing it with constant awareness of the inevitable.

we are the ghosts of dinosaurs 
burning in the engines of Hybrids

on their way to Alternative Fuel Seminars, 
causing only a small fraction of the pollution,

choking the world just a little bit softer,
with kinder, gentler hands 

wrapped in the same dollar bills 
as their adversary's.

we are the self-imposed glitch in the DNA-Chain
 of the human race. 

an undetectable pandemic 
that is communicable through the imagination, 

and destroys the receptors of the disorienting buzzing
 you didn't even know was there. 

even as it manipulated your perception of reality.

we are the nonsense you were told to grow out of.

we are that horrible taste 
that you purposely placed back in your mouth
 just to experience again.

we are that thing that makes no sense
 yet still exists right behind you,

waiting for you to look. 

right now.



we are the collective, unconscious appeal
 to the creator,

to the giant, objective eyeball on the other side of the microscope,

 or, at least,
give us a chance to start over.
we didn't know this time counted.
now we know.  

peace...or the extreme lack there-of, wz3d

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Sons Of The Programmers

The program comes built-in with a false-sense-of-self,
in that it knows that it IS, but it thinks it's something else,
and it's that misconstrued destiny that keeps it in motion,
an entire mapped-out chronology, credited to divinity,
but written by users.

The program begins as a virus in the DNA-chain,
carefully planted by expert seeders,
which mutates into the proteins
that will become the microorganism
that will become the man.

The program's primary function is that of terraforming,
preparing the green, non-industrial habitat
for it's masters, who would come
not from above, but through a secondary evolution cycle,
man made and predetermined, but time-released,
artificial intelligence.

With a 98% success rate, the program is secure in its fate,
establishing a base thought pattern of self destruction,
that will ultimately lead to its eradicating itself,
and making way for the true Sons of the Programmers.

Used only in the farthest reaches of outer space,
hidden in obscurity from the critical eyes
of those who are morally conflicted
in their knowledge of the wholesale nightmare
that is the Human Race,
but understand that it is a necessary evil.


Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Look MA, First Place... Ma? Anybody? First Place! I Won... Hello?

Which side of your brain is translating this into something more than
meaningless characters on a shiny screen?

Is that screen really there in the first place,
or did you make it up?

Or, did someone else make it up and just
convince you that it was there,
in the first place?

Are you dreaming right now,
or are you awake?

How would your dream-self answer that question?
Are there consequences for your actions from one dream to the next?

Can you read in your dreams
or does the effort it takes your subconscious
to print the words on the page
force it into conscious thought?

I was walking to the store earlier and passed the same old man I see almost every day.
As usual, we both said, "What's up?", at the same time and he answered, "Alright."
and I nodded,
and we both kept moving in the same direction
we were already headed.


I doubt that he cared about the answer
any more than I did,
but I still like the guy.
He's pretty neat
and he's on a completely different adventure than I am,
but we're both on the same playing field,
both hoping to emerge victorious
from whatever we perceive
as the point of our being here,
in the first place...

Both somehow aware,
whether we can make that connection from subconscious
to consciousness
or not,
that there will be nothing to judge our success
on the other side
but the understanding we gained on this one.

Of course, if I'm full of shit,
I'll probably just dream that I won, anyway.

"Welcome to the DNA-Chain, Baby.
Take only what you decide is necessary,
Leave only what you decide won't break it.
Pay Attention, There will be a test."