The White house?.

If Obama is
elected president,
Are they going to
Change the name to
�The Brown House�?

Chasing the Ghost.

I keep telling myself
As I breathe out,
�O.K. man that�s the last breath.�

But then, I get to jones�n for oxygen,
So once again, I inhale.

At the top of my breath,
I get a high that prolongs
My life another moment..

Before I breathe out and
Start the whole chase again.

Reestablishment of the Soul.

Soul, in it�s traditional sense, is non-existent.
May I suggest a reestablishment of the term:
Soul- The ability of an individual to strive for
Immaculate-bliss, regardless of obvious debilitating truths;
Existing only as long as the individuals will.

The actual capturing of this bliss lies souly
In the individual�s grit and ability to stand alone,
Never giving up his appreciation for this particular
Existence, none before or after.

And as for the supposed, �debilitating truths�
They are none but bloated opinion, and common
Heard consensus.

If you must eat shit to gain your bliss,
The suggestion is to do so.

Your poison, your grotesque appearance,
Your anguish, are what create you as a
Brilliant wave of individualism in this
Vast sea of pointlessness.

If the meek and miserable shall inherit the earth
Let them, at least, be happy about their pathetic existence.
With hope they place out of the mind any expectation
Of salvation beyond this life other then the
Sweet blank release of unconscious death.

�Twer instinct and sound judgment fallowed,
A beautiful, intelligent, healthy race of people would develop,
Content with them selves to create heaven on earth, and
Leave the after life to remain strictly there; after life.

But being as indolence, sensationalism and fear prevail in all instances,
The best we can hope for is to develop the soul: the ability
To be happy regardless of glaring err in all acts of society.

Creating your own Gospel..

There is no Heaven there is no hell,
Only birth and death and the pain of
Life-sickness. Any happiness one can
Cultivate in-between is a personal obligation,
And must be done in spite of inherent genetic deficiencies.
And let�s not be vain, in one way or another
We are all pained or lacking in some
Area of idealism.

But, perhaps this, �happiness� is just
Another fleeting word, and the
Sensation of life simply is.
Happiness- another fixation, blocking
The un-bastardized flow of energy.

Yet, to be contained in a body-consciousness
The energy is already necessarily bastardized,
And augmented from it�s free range flow,
Regardless of language. Existence is a resistor.

Life is very small in comparison to the imagination.
Or is it life can only be as big or meaningful as
Ones imagination. And what can be conceived?
A god wholly infallible in the presence of so
Many blunders.

Let god be this poison, this wretchedness, this moment,
This �fear and loathing.�

Control the one thing controllable;
Personal opinion-values-morals.
Create your own gospel.
Live your teaching wholly-holy.
Off the cuff, unrestricted, and
Unafraid of the vast blank of
Death�s sweet nothingness.

The human disease can only contain
It�s self for so long, our time is short.
Our blood runs thin. Decadence is at hand.
Admire the beauty of decay.
But please never stop rebuilding,
Re-vamping, distilling, and consolidating.

God loves a Eunuch.

I kneel down to castrate my self
In front of a crucifix, gulping blood,
Blunting instincts, repenting,

Life lamenting,
There is no blade sharp enough.
My lustful scrotum is as tough as leather.

Jesus, tacked there tight, weeps pitiful tears.
They drip to where I�m knelt,
Now, with a hacksaw.

I Could Be Eating French Fries.

The Canard cracks a smile, as the bloated drinker, saunders past his previous lament and begins his steady recovery of consumption, instantaneous fulfillment and manipulation.

Yes, you merry collection of bastards and naysayers will soon begin, in the most herpical of ways, to resent the firey coals you subjected the Master Fellaheen to.

There is no place, in your Saviors kingdom, for your soul.

Have a great day and please, enjoy the rest of your journey (you fuckers).

CrittendenIV

Words of the Anchorite.

Hey Fellah,

Cast away your peevish bonds
Of servitude and morality.

Keep man wild,
Slaughter the domesticated.

Snap the sinew of the stiff back meditator.
Resolve to make the Universe your church and god.

Much filth is collecting,
You cannot dust forever.

The mendicant is at the door.

The Sardonic Master.

He honed his natural gift of sarcasm
To such a fine point,
The very ironical facetiousness
Of his comings and goings
Became a great cutting lamentation
And a sort of star crossed awe inspired prayer
For all subjugated by the cleaver slashing
Of his finely polished silver tongue.

To be the meditation of his linguistic volley
Was to be enmeshed in a web of wonderful self-doubt,
Illusion, and vanity, to be scathed, flattened
And made transparent; what access he did have
To secret recesses of psyche often hidden even
From the screw he so easily and willingly turned.

Made mockingly wise from years of serious introverted critique and loathing,
The world was now his jest and toy for manipulation
With powerful-flowing cynical words.

Ethereal Pessimism.

As a child, with stomach in knots,
At knight,
I would lie, looking at the blackness,
Unable to sleep,
Thinking of the vast eternity of hell,
And the endless fire and torture therein.

Never did I find myself, lying,
Bursting with glee and rapture,
At the wonders awaiting in heaven.

Eternal punishment created a visceral response,
Eternal bliss, virtually no effect;
Perhaps I was already happy enough.

Now, years removed,
Now a cynic
Now a skeptic
All that ties my stomach in knots,
And wearies the small hours
Is disgust
Such rubbish was ever integrated
And cultivated into my consciousness.

The �goodness� of mans nature shall
Always bow to his animal,
And punishment for life
Is only life.

The Archaic Future of Modern Man.

The Homo sapien is surely not the last link
In man�s evolutionary chain.

A new species, long in development,
Shall psychically sweep clean the
Palette of diverse dullards, thereby
Prying loose the strangle hold
The Homo sapien has hitherto
Used to squeeze the life from
The conscious sensitive.

The Homo sapien is a superstitious lot,
And still grasp madly at antiquated
Traditions and dogmas, looking
Forever backward, into an invisible past,
For answers to questions irrelevant
To the creative mind of the conscious sensitive.

140,000 species go extinct each year,
Largely due to Homo sapiens,
The most reckless and arrogant of primates.
Are any new species added?
Yes, but mostly they are microscopic,
Our the change into new species is
So slow it is not recognized, or like
The conscious sensitive they are
Smart enough to remain hidden
For the time being, until the
Homo makes his fatal flaw
Drops his bomb of extinction onto his lap
Thereby turning the evolution of man
Over to the evolution of �The Super Man�