Morning time
(Uncut & Uncorrected)
A stratum of grey waves recedes into lightening.
It is from my bastion that I observe the universe,
a place of safety, a lover’s best with love, with no love.
I hear the busy city purging itself, re-aligning itself.
Barbarian industry has no limits,
the least detail will be stripped to its basis and reworked with late technologies.
The past is caned into Oblivion, facts become a thing of the past.
The throb of propaganda pulses through the terminus.
Lorries strain under their cargo, used to be horses,
they are no longer in bondage round here.
There are wild horses in southern Africa,
the home of my ancestors,
two toe tribes,
just like brother Ned had. He was ashamed of his “deformity”
no one told him that his feet were African feet from the tribe of vaDoma.
Those genes crossed two oceans.
It is from my bastion that I observe the universe,
a place of safety, a lover’s best with love, with no love.
I hear the busy city purging itself, re-aligning itself.
Barbarian industry has no limits,
the least detail will be stripped to its basis and reworked with late technologies.
The past is caned into Oblivion, facts become a thing of the past.
The throb of propaganda pulses through the terminus.
Lorries strain under their cargo, used to be horses,
they are no longer in bondage round here.
There are wild horses in southern Africa,
the home of my ancestors,
two toe tribes,
just like brother Ned had. He was ashamed of his “deformity”
no one told him that his feet were African feet from the tribe of vaDoma.
Those genes crossed two oceans.
It is the mind that requires freedom,
the body is already past redemption, known for its idiosyncrasies, its intrigues.
No solution has yet been thought out.
There are too many people chafing at the bit,
too few with creativity enough to be able to rapple with the problems,
to be their equal, to gain submissions and falls against these intangible devilish opponents.
Our time is eternal if you count the pre and post life periods if you can call them that.
Rustle, hustle, and intolerance.
A war would solve all our problems,
oh what lovely wars we had, the more the merrier -
now only fools and depressives fight like that.
The latest developments entail looking at a screen and pushing a button.
That is to say, less bravery required than crossing the road.
Much lies between the ears of the ignorant and prejudiced, ´
an illness deemed to be a panacea by their chief propagandists.
For the conquest of continents (sounds unbearably pompous)
the destruction of populations and ways of life there is little to say.
Embarrassed smiles, shrugged shoulders,
everyone was colonized or was a colonizer at some point.
The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons.
the body is already past redemption, known for its idiosyncrasies, its intrigues.
No solution has yet been thought out.
There are too many people chafing at the bit,
too few with creativity enough to be able to rapple with the problems,
to be their equal, to gain submissions and falls against these intangible devilish opponents.
Our time is eternal if you count the pre and post life periods if you can call them that.
Rustle, hustle, and intolerance.
A war would solve all our problems,
oh what lovely wars we had, the more the merrier -
now only fools and depressives fight like that.
The latest developments entail looking at a screen and pushing a button.
That is to say, less bravery required than crossing the road.
Much lies between the ears of the ignorant and prejudiced, ´
an illness deemed to be a panacea by their chief propagandists.
For the conquest of continents (sounds unbearably pompous)
the destruction of populations and ways of life there is little to say.
Embarrassed smiles, shrugged shoulders,
everyone was colonized or was a colonizer at some point.
The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons.
Morning time
corrected
Strata of grey waves subside into lightening. It is from my fortress, a place of security that I observe the universe, a lover’s best with love, with no love. I hear the restless city re-aligning itself, absolving itself. Industry proceeds unabated. Details stripped to their core then revamped with the latest technologies. The past caned into oblivion, facts morph into history. The throb of propaganda pulses through the termini. Lorries strain under their cargo, used to be horses, they are no longer in bondage round here.
Wild horses still roam Southern Africa where the two-toed vaDoma lives. Brother Ned felt shame for his “deformity” no one realized that his feet were African. Those genes crossed oceans.
It is the mind that requires freedom, the body is past redemption. There are too many people chafing at the bit, too few with the courage to face the intangible. Our hour is infinite, but there is no known inoculation against rustle, hustle, and bigotry.
War solves all problems. Oh what lovely wars we had, the more they were the merrier - now only fools and depressives fight in that way. New military developments entail looking at screens and pressing buttons. Contemporary warfare, often demands less bravery than crossing the road. Much ignorance and prejudice lie between the ears. The poisoner does not mention destroyed cultures and ways of life, he decrees sickness a panacea. Embarrassed smiles, shuffling feet, shrugged shoulders. Well everyone colonized, didn't they? Sins visit the sons of the fathers.
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