Go jump off a cliff.

dabbling in backflip.

A Quiet Rage Built.

                                                                    A Quiet Rage Built.

Sept. 2013                                  

By Abraham Na’Sasan.

Materialistically a minimalist but
Holistically
                                Ballistic, but gifted
and
criminally ordained as spiritually
insane.

Realistically though still so curious so
still stoically seeking
Skeptical,
                                the mystic,

Allegedly
Meandering in Kwangtung mean-
fully through a miasma of neoclassicism mist shrouded
memories
Mimicking                           berserk
symphonies of symmetry

Like Sophocles,

Surfacing subliminally
Conveniently
Preaching hysterically the black
thoughts of philosophy
From atop the black rock of
hypocrisy
stimulating the stigmatism’s of
that mob mentalities of
democracy.

While
Ideally leaving
During the epitome
Of the war of the heroic
fathers,
Where
lives Hercues
Who,
Confiscated the conspiracies of
the isosceles,
When mathematics dissolved into prophecy,
then was given to the Pharisees to be carried with the daily ideologies with a match,
and a tank of kerosene,

Unceremoniously calling,

“The statue has fallen,”

Gold statue rotted at the base
With gold
Blood clotted at the waist,

The idol screaming,

“It was for you I created this place. So you could ignore all the misery-ridden drudgeries be-
plagued to your race. To let you sleep safely dreaming staked or chained in a cage so you could be forever
uncontagious,

                                            Praise Always grateful,
                                                                                                     and for never enraged.”

And when the body was dragged
back to the hall in autumn,

We didn’t know if it was the
devil or the god that was gone.

So when
Ensued
four years of hurricanes during
harvest winds seeming like a god
furiously breathing,

we knew we could beat it.

Replanted seeds and Re thatched
the roofs of the weak to the
rumble of

A volcano erupting during the
seventh season seething like a

demon bleeding,
being defeated.

Seeing
We took back our freedom,
so we,
Reinstated Sodom and Gomorrah
and
Burned down the city Eden.

With
Third eyes blazing
chakras assigned to bursting and
Vibrations heightened to the
planes of the Elysian.

We change finally into light,

Shape: dodecahedron diamond prism,

Charged only with the task
to confront the final beast in us
that used to feed on nothing but
the nothingness that always lived
inside of us.

Greeting beast,
Meet the best of us

Redeemed during deviations from teachings
of revelations,

 of exodus,
Purged with science by the holy
flames burned during the eighth
eclipse of Prometheus

Yukonned me.

Tomorrow, I strike for the Yukon.

A long time in the works I have striven lately to make only the decision of where to go, which direction to face. Instead of feeling drawn to any place in particular, I feel like a criminal in the dark ages, being quartered and drawn in each direction by horses, men, and machines.

 Residing lately in the lower mainland I find it extremely difficult to tear myself from this beautiful paradise. 
Beautiful women, cliffs galore, and forests that poets write essays about, as the beauty can be to overwhelming to be captured in but a few stanzas.

But I know its time to go again, to thrive in isolation and make amends with whims of the universe, ever striving to teach young men to listen and hear the language of the soul of the earth. And to eventually converse in that language of the universe that we might speak as simply to a star as a neighbor.

So hark   Father time, Mother Nature,
I go to seek Brother Winter. Having been warned only about the dangers of the land, I strike north to find the beauty. If all else fails Sister Spring then will unthaw my remains. Body damaged but soul intact, my curiosity might have even been sated.

So I go to find quiet, peace, beauty, and inspiration.
 Pleased to be fearless in all endeavors I hope to scare the shit out of myself repeatedly.

check in for videos, poetry, updates and hopefully not an obituary column.

Paradise city.

Elijah.

I didn't give it all I had. 

                 I hid myself from who I am. 

So, 

Pride destroyed Gomorrah. 

In the form of 

Megillaholic 

 megalomaniacal 

Pharisees bleeding prophecies and kerosene

                      Shoulder to shoulder,

Burning everything,

          

From written blasphemies,

To,

Screaming heresy, 

on all gods children that didn't quite believe 

the similes and hyperboles that allegedly,

Should,

teach you how to prosper,

       

           metaphysically.

Subtle sorcery surfacing subliminally 

Stimulating our simulacra of   democracy.

                      Sarcastically

Subjugating sacrificial natural disasters,

Created to attack and enslave all

Impostors posturing emphatic schemes to steal the  dreams of their masters.

      While,

                   Behind the scenes, 

       Enlightened 

Restless beings battling fiercely 

     With earth, 

                             Trees,      free thought,

And  poetry,

                                   Among  other things that Beasts dream of with jealousy, 

Like the rarest memory, 

          Discarded colloquially 

Immediately,

Of scarlet leaves briefly on the door step of 

A deserted breeze that danced 

Carelessly,    

         Marking ghosts with pallid white skin turned silver to remember 

Forever,

          The feeling of surgeries done during insurgencies 

       Like 

    When

The tarot reading teller didn't flip a card, 

         just read the tale of death cover to cover. 

                     Then whispered the only path left to life is to surrender. 

To the whims of your destiny

                

          

          

              

                              

                                               

             

                          

                            

GOPRO twin backflip combo.

Mr. Crocodiles smiles.

Medical or Malignant ?

Hydrolica, and the tired breeze.

The hardest part was that it was just for your entertainment,

" If you look deep in the folds of your mind you'll find it was just something your imagination had painted,

A scenario you in fact created"

Oooooo

What a statement, 

You weren't even creative(smart) enough to state(say) it but that was your hand and damn girl you played it,    

But I'm over feigning this displacement,
so if you want this role you come take it,
 or we can trade it, 

So I can move off and start weening off this fake shit

Because lately you capricious vibrations have taken the shape of contagious, 

 and I couldn't defeat the contagion, 

When

I became it...

but I can stop planning how to escape this darkest arrangement,

And strike once more for the forest and trade my masks in for faces, 

But go faceless, 

Where all the things I say don't come out outrageous,
 but as just plain sin,

Because for if I had to describe in one word our situation, 

I would choose forsaken, 

Rescinding all ties to evil places and replaced it with places I never have to live up to these unrealistic expectations,

For damn sure I'm not complaining but next time if its her or the highway,
 I'll take the paycheck and vacation.

and

 Today's agenda for  communications relate only to elations, 

Because you destroyed all the remaining traces of  patience, 

That I came with,

 I've burst past the realm of complacence and gone all the way past full stasis to the point

Im sharpening the sides to all your allegedly straight edges so its painless.
When I do whatever it takes to to replace this blame and become a nothing but a snake that slithers uncontained by your infamous repuatation that was shameless...