Category Archives: epic

INTRODUCING THE SON

 

source: unknown

Author’s note: for a while now, I have been compiling a Scripture According To Shadows. I write pieces that are based on the Holy Bible. My book is not meant to replace the bible, but to highlight some messages I think the bible is trying to communicate. The piece below is a prologue coming late. Apologies.

 

INTRODUCING THE SON

 

Narrator, in a deep voice:

In the modern day land of myth and legend

 

Narrator now raises hands and high-pitches voice dramatically:

Heads duck as lightning sparks fly generously

People’s and monsters’ alike

They scream fear and horror

Like babies on beds of pins and needles

They run and tumble

As mountains crack and ocean waves hit

Chaos graces the day

 

Narrator now exits

 

Seeing him descending mildly

You’ll never know he is the cause

Of the apocalypse happening below

This dove gliding smoothly

Has his focus on the humans

Not those spirits and forces of legend

Not the powers unseen and terrifying

But these tumbling fumbling mortals

Parading aimlessly the surface

Of this small round planet

Bloody bloodied ants without a queen

 

He deals in strange ways this one

He doesn’t wear shiny clothes and blings

That advertise his wealth or power

And doesn’t strut around with stooges or paparazzo

We have searched for him all over

Google, Facebook, Twitter and all

Well, maybe he runs a bitcoin account

 

He is perfectly stealthy this one

He hides in plain sight

Yet cannot be hidden

He is so plain in intent

Yet holds scary secrets

Average-sized friendly neighbourhood mortal by day

Super-sized scary mysterious force by night

He sees the shades of reality

Samples all states of matter

From the 2-dimensional

Through all physical

Through the psychological

Downright to the spiritual

He breezes through dimensions all at once

And he does all these without the aid of technology

He can manipulate forms of matter

Commanding the weather is the least

Of tricks he’s got in his toolbox

He can bend the minds of men

Without having to select the most suggestible subjects

He can bend even the intelligence of those ancient spirits

Without these victims knowing they are under hypnosis

And he’ll still get home in time for moonlight dinner

All in an 8-hour day job

 

Fear this one who wrecks critics

Without even packing a ‘matic

He takes down whole schools of philosophy

Without a blast or lead

And when he’s done arguing

He straightens some bent bones

Or raises some corpse

For a cherry on top

He’s just totally lovin’ ’n rockin’

 

As regular-looking as he is unusual

He rolls with both high and low

Yet not rude or caustic just to prove a point

He blends well into social functions

As well as solitary places and forests

And though he soars in abstracts thoughts

He is also downright realistic

And even dabbles into politics

Not like those monk-y philosophers

Who constantly live in the heavens

Unminding the nation is at brink of collapse

Or those philosophers with their own agendas

Who trade their worth in sincerity

For a glass of power and vodka

 

Who’d think the foundation of this man’s life

Was just love for humanity

Catered for the battered, tattered and shattered

Empathic with the sick, weak and bleak

Lightened the blackened, lacking and darkened

 

And in that same spirit with which he comforts

He deals with the darkness that rules souls and nations

And for a coup de gras

He crosses over the threshold of humanity

Through dying and takes on the enemy territory

Totally razing the zone

To the point of no comeback for the enemy

He blends in with the citizens of hades

Breaks through the rocky strongholds of Belial

Walks over the raging waters of the Leviathan

Takes the winds out and choking the Lucifer

To carry out a fatality strike on the Satan with the flaming sword

He now carts away the sacred treasures

It is like a scene out of an epic

 

He now leaves gehenna

Coming back to earth to distribute gifts

To those who all their lives

Have been wasting and impoverished

 

Oh, he still walks around today alright

Having achieved the status of a true IMMORTAL

Hiding in plain sight

Keeping it real all the way

 

No, not in the steeples of the cathedrals

Or the big offering boxes at sermons

He doesn’t bathe with the Holy Water

Or rub Anointing Oil on his skin

 

He is out and in everywhere…

 

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In time, heaven’s light crashes in on earth’s darkness. //symbolic writing//

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two ships flying in space a-tango
Earth and Heaven kingdom-ships
The Heaven ship could fly faster
But it kept close to the Earth ship

Often it would send power sparks
To give the Earth kingdom-ship a lift
Or Earth ship would have fared worse
The crew is the worst a ship could wish for

For long the two ships have been on parallel courses
Heaven’s Captain keeping a close watch
Because He has a stake in the other ship
For Earth carries unwilling captives of war

Left to the gods of the earth they’d run it aground
They resist heaven’s help even firing at it
They’d sooner crash earth than see the slaves free
Sadistic gods set against Heaven’s Captain

The Captain knew they’d soon hit the Hell Hole
But He would sooner crash his ship into earth
To get it off that self-destructive course
And He’d capture earth ship

He’d overthrow the lords of the earth ship
Free the slaves and set things straight
He’d force peace to reign aboard that ship
But the timing has to be right!

Life and The Writer (sequel to Death and The Writer)

The Writer

“Of the few unpleasant species like myself
Even fewer love a happy ending.
But again there are few who won’t care about rules of dark writings
Any more than they’d care about a broken toothpick!”
These thoughts run through the mind of the writer,
As he heads back from the shrink’s cave.
His hair is well combed and like shiny metal.
His eyes glow with eerie warmth and calmness.
An enchanted smile adorns his lips and cleanly shoven chin.
One gently swaying arm holds a baby bird.
There was something beautifully divine about the bird
Even the air smelt divine, almost spiritual
The other arm with shaky fingers holds a white-inked pen.

The victim

The full picture of emptiness
Sitting between calmness and uncertainty,
His throat bears the aftertaste of good food,
Which though sits uneasily in his tommy
In view of his maltreatment and enslavement,
The hole (where the padlock was) remains –
An unforgettable lesson on his lips
As he speaks every day.
His wrists bear marks from the cuffs.
His broken legs are yet unhealed.
His mind is unsure of what to expect
From the writer upon return.

The conversation

Writer(W): Hello friend! How have you fared?
Victim(V): Friend? Hehehehe.
W: As you could guess, I was only being sarcastic calling you friend. Not a chance!
V: As well! Anyway, I have resigned myself to this fate. I know how dying feels. I am well used to it by now. This is your fifth return from your shrink, and I have not fared any better. I have felt my body die, and horror as I felt it come alive again back to your chains. I have felt you drain my hope as you would treat me kindly before you go see your shrink, only to deal worse with me on returning. I have felt my soul die. The corruption of these chains have drained my hope, my light, and what sense of sanity I had left. What more? Oh! You will release me now -the new monster you have created -knowing that I am not the same again? I can’t successfully live a normal life -my sense of humanity, morality and dignity twisted by your darkness.
W: Hahahahaha!!!! Halt your speech there! See who is talking like a philosopher now.
I am wrapping all this up now

Conclusion

And as the victim watches
With the uneasy calmness of one used to pain and suffering,
The writer takes the pen
And in a decisive move
Sticks it in the delicate heart of the heavenly dove.
Frank red blood gushes out.
As the blood flowed,
Something unnatural was happening –
Something damningly darker than any could have imagined,
Or something worthy of engaging the writer’s darkness.
The victim saw the writer’s countenance change.
The final deed has been done!
The writer’s insanity forever satisfied,
He then writes a new story in red.
The victim was set free
From the chains of darkness
By the shedding of another’s blood.
Something snapped in the writer’s dark mind
With his bold move on the dove’s life.
The victim’s story changed
And the writer’s madness was satisfied.
The victim was still in shock
As he was let out of hell.
He looked forward with hope
Into the life ahead of him,
Hoping and praying
He wouldn’t be a monster unleashed –
A likeness of the demon he just left behind in hell.
(Who was still a bit surprised
Because it wasn’t quite how he had planned the happy ending.)

At least, he wasn’t totally dead like the writer.
He could still HOPE and PRAY like a normal human
Who believed in the power of the unseen.

The Ghost’s Rants: On Beautiful Dark Things In Men’s Souls

Roll the booze out into the streets
The writer is awake now
And unlike some of his psychedelic colleagues
This one is a complete teetotaller

Darkness creeps in on the globe
And the viperoid children dance out
Spawning “goodness” all over the place
But thanks, I’ll pass
I don’t need your charitable donation
A lovely venomous gift
Perfect poison for the pure soul
Birthing the gentle worm of darkness
The adorable monster that men are addicted to
The silent dark shadow following them
Even in broadest sunlight
Despite their sparkling wears and smiles
The soft white delightsome maggot
Laughing sweetly with them
With sparkling teeth like a saw
Eating away at the soul of the host
Soon that man is seen for the rot that he really is
You wriggle your seductive hips in my face
But I want none of what you are selling
I have lost appetite for that forbidden fruit
Let me write and live and sleep in peace
What more can you want from me
After all, I have made my bedroom
Six feet below the ground level
At perfect unison with earth and bones
Will you rock my knocked out senses
Or can you corrupt a dead man

Heck! I am not praying for the day to dawn
I am not hoping for an escape from the black
My light may not be more than 12volts’ worth
But in the darkest of periods it will shine
Despite the corruptions of souls and institutions
Though the grave burns the ghost still R.I.P.s

Werewolves and Jesus

Scary Werewolf

Scary Werewolf (Photo credit: martin.grondin)

English: Possible representation of the Werewo...

English: Possible representation of the Werewolf Español: Representación de un Hombre lobo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Master was already bushed after the voyage. The trip was supposed to be his siesta period, as he finds a rocking boat in sea storms particularly lulling. However, the Enchanted Writer, who was also a physician and shared the Master’s habit of snoozing in storms, was feeling insomniac today. This meant that the Master Jesus was kept awake by mind-blurring questions.
See –the Enchanted Writer who is also a doctor of the human mind is not really as dull as his many questions make him out to be. In fact his questions make the learned ones seem dumb. The Master loved him. He reminded the Master of when he (the Master) was younger and had amazing adventures sitting at table with and questioning various spiritual leaders of various sects –from the ancient sorcerers and Asthoretheans to the New Age and Zen Instructors. The Master knew the cardinal teachings and practices of all. He became a somewhat notably controversial fellow whose questions dazed foundations of beliefs. In fact, the Master had been known on occasion to turn suddenly to face his very own followers and question the validity of their beliefs. The Master was just all by himself in a very different class. He wasn’t one to indulge religious dogmatism or so crazy for a large fan base that he’d tolerate just anything. He really did not “give an ant’s piss”. He was just… just himself!!!
Now and then, one could observe the Master pat the Enchanted Writer’s shoulder whilst gazing fondly into his eyes as the writer engages him.
That gaze!!!
That gaze –was what the Enchanted Writer was daydreaming about when John tapped him. “We are ashore.”
It was a quiet and peaceful countryside. So quiet it was eerie.

Out of the woods suddenly leapt two werewolves bounded for the Master’s team. Out came silver swords and guns with silver bullets as the disciples of the Master braced up for the encounter. Near drew the werewolves as they prepared to strike. But, up went the Master Jesus’ arms as the werewolves froze in their tracks. The Enchanted Writer was enthralled by the Master’s act and he already began to take notes analysing what psychic technique(s) the Master must have used. And when the Master engaged the werewolves in a conversation, the physician was amazed.
“Who are you?” the Master asked. “We are a legion of spirits because we are many. We used the arithmetic principle of division and the physical principle of compression we were taught during military training at Camp Hades. So we are evenly distributed into these two humans. Please let us torment your fable-misguided disciples a bit and show them how useless their silver toys are.” replied the demons. The Master finalized “A talkative lot you also are. Now, I know you are expecting me to ask how you’d rather be dealt with, and favour your plea to send you into the herd of swine over there. Then, after you possess and make the pigs drown in the water, you will be free to continue your demonic adventures. But, let’s get creative. I am banishing you right now into the sea to forever roam its depths, doomed to inhabit the hollows of its soul.” So depressed were the demons that they couldn’t even scream as they tore away from the two men who became calm and regained their normal human forms.
Then out of the woods came the natives of the region who had for long been serving the Wolf-god. They would have asked the Master to save them completely and bring sanity to their lives. Instead they are shocked by the power the Master wielded. They would have asked that the Master bring them in on his secret, but they were angry with the Master for getting rid of their former protectors. Did they not know that the Master who got rid of these werewolves was more powerful than them? That stands to reason, doesn’t it? Surely it stands to reason.
Reason.
Reasoning these issues did the Enchanted Writer as he leaned over the Master’s right thigh on their way back after being begged to leave the region by the poor natives! Poor souls!

P.S.: These things have I, the Physician and Writer, witnessed and documented for proof in the Biblical book of Luke 8:22-39