It’s not absolution we want (the false sinners) it’s vindication from the most understood accusations profuse, in a misunderstood lifetime, under the curve of change. Under a moon so variable in cyclical variation, where it tries hardest not to let too much madness in or out.
Tag: Stories
The King of Demons
He serves me his leftovers from the trial on earth and tells me try and start again the wall i bounced off was too hard but i kept walking like a plum dye entering divinity wheels of crystals primed for initiation after death trials and vortex warp worming on the astral plane of evolution round in the theosophical suite of the hall of initiation of ascended masters.
Mason Cult Poems For The Modern Hell The Ideal Xmas Pressie.
The mind of maverick poet Mason Cult, grappling the hell of modern living, poetic despair and deep thinking. Mason at his most difficult and reflective moods in his fourth poetry book from the Peoples Republic of Yorkshire. Feel the anger as Mason battles against modern life or the modern hell of living as he often calls it. No matter how stressful life gets there is always time for poetry.
49 Pints & a Keebab…
Piston Pete the domination class, thirty five porn children later and there is disregard for you he does not care for you me or the world. As another screaming innocent emerges from the nights of wanton desire, in the dark corners of the club on the travelling trail of populations. Bulging borders where it is too dry to survive or too damp to breath in the warren world of the social prolific disorder. Where the name on the street is mate or still Ginner, waiting for his chance to drown administrators, number crunching boxes of cornflakes and rice in tins to go, for piston Pete always till now, thought that some tolerant benevolent mother genie would carry the can for the excesses, embedded intravenous porn drip of abhorrence, in a dark world of the avatar people where nothing exists. Only warped minds and the drugs that feed them as the sound bangs from big speakers in your overburdened ears.
I Cannot See
The moon I cannot see through troublesome clouds it will never pull me up unless I see it in full of other universes, where families live hidden from my sight, or comprehend when mother moon quarters herself and hides the mysteries by obstinate illumination. Another world hidden from our minds dim below where only half a cup of truth exists .