Alchemisland

A moment to consider perception in our conception of our origins

Convex time mirror distorts an eye’s intake, slakes only a beholder’s tastes

If there was ever a snake it lived there in the neck’s nape, changing all we see into a reflection of our obsessions

Stimulated by lights from rising lanterns we have forgotten sending up

The intercession of the I and what one thinks on what the eye drinks

Ineluctable deduction is one that causes ructions

Shunning and mumbled fucksakes from those accustomed to the fate-laced ways of church and chapel

Maintain church and state types: all that we see, hear and experience is a function of our brain phenotype

A hypersimulation highly detailed, a fabrication staggering in scale

Gales, sea breezes, differences in degrees between seasons, notions of meaning and reason, all treasons of deceiving minds

A living film projector eager to protect its investment, serving a captive audience targeted content based on mind contents

We circle walls like dead Hector’s ragged body , Troy’s protector, because we are infected with a brain in protest of what may arrest or overtest us

What it calls self-protection we call opium injection

Intercession by perception glossing every glimpse of gold heaven with visions of unleavened bread and dead radio stations.

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Impossibly distant futures

Open sutures of a world issuing nuclear pus

The very, very last of us live in meagre clusters in low bog places or high up in bluffs

After ragged refugee bands sighted the first habitable lands, uncursed sand in cursive on their landmaps

Found final refuge in the rusting refuse of this world

Thriving rats and roaches survived, as prophesied

They need not hide from passers-by, their movements can guide

Would-be settlers to better climes, or to their demise in hidden hives

Once settled they thrive, we have always survived in any environment, we work, tinkering at the relics, finding comfort in our lies

We simply deny the utter hopelessness

The last host rides out, one last time, and they all die.

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All of the abuses you see now, in the movies and on the news

That bootprint they warned us about, stomping forever on the human face

It was our fate after all, we can only read 1984 and, awed, asked where Orwell bought his crystal ball

They have exhausted all resources and resort to raiding to claim the remaining precious ores

All babes are aborted in the womb by nuclear fumes, their atomic ghosts haunt the gloomy mothers who live and die in their own tombs

Much has been lost

The recovered data is innacurate

The technical manuals of our day become the vexing clay tablets of yesterday

They know the old names, they live in the veins perhaps, but not where to place them

They know something of Fenrir, of chains and confination

That he and a writer who wrote about psychos sent out on a mission

A ship which could not been driven save by a capricious captain with a lion’s head.

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New York and ancient York, once Jorvik of the Norse, gravied by death

New Arabian deserts, thirty Sahel and mass-grave bowls where unholy bombs fell

They heard tales of old Babylon, heard gleoman prattling on, wrist bones rattling

How below that lofty palace’s ship-cut skies

Thousand year falcons slept on the sallow wrist of a time-travelling sorcerer named Rathlin

Who avoided successive wrathful cycle conclusions courtesy of a psycopathic panurge.

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They wrongly conflate Ur-ancient and moderno-ancient conflicts

Books speak of grimacing Priam overseeing an empire called Vietnam

The standard of this far-future nation bears a serpent on argent, pensive in aspect

They grasp writhing serpent necks until death-wet latching fangs sink into flesh

Pressing upon a snake’s crown to better drown blood in their miasm-gowned ophidian God’s trying fire

Names numberless, commonly called Thepahtilayhtu; light revealing world as womb

They claim their holy mountain His gargantuan tomb, largest in that rock-blasted badland it looms over.