The Symphonics of the Angels Fallen

     Priest or rock god, that was my dilemma.   

     Since the beginning of my reason aware life, I had looked for my personal answer. My mind swirled between the religion I was brought up in, Catholicism, and the religion I had come to love from experience, rock music. Not just the basic rock and roll of the genre’s inception, but what it had morphed into: the pageantry, the theatre, the opera that is teen angst, that is the feeling of rebellion that makes you invincible and powerful, simultaneously.

    I had spent years researching and searching for a spiritual path. My conclusion was Christ and the dogma the Cathollic church preached was closest to what my mind saw as truth.   One very dark and cold night in December, I was working on a song. Not just any song, but my anthem, the one that would make me a star. It had all ingredients of my rage and defiance in four verses and a chorus; this would be my gospel, my ascension to the rock kingdom. I was recording the very first verse, when I touched a live, high watt electric line. By the gap of time on the actual master track, I was unconscious. What follows is what was revealed to me, like a dream or near death experience. When I awoke, I sat with a number 2 pencil and yellow legal pad, and the words just came out, spewing like a language of lava. These are those ten seconds. 

"From the gleaming skin of life’s underbelly, 

sin unreconciled, formed from Nephilim seed,

fleet footed jokers mask pawns into flight;

To the epistle of the Most High.

For in the beginning, the true and only God,

In natural progression sheds 

His most prized adversary.

Begin, now, that inspired frustration; 

Muse me, and amuse us, in thoughtful verse. 

Grant me parables upon hints of riddles, 

until all the verbs conjugate lustful, while nouns decline, 

creating the images of the was, the Immediate Fall. 

Where sex trumps love and words 

balled up in sweating inches of permission.   

Grant unto mind, spirit, and unto spirit, amperage, 

Pumped upped power and vociferous volume.

From the inception, the field of vision, absolute,   

Freewill, unfettered, sought out speculative freeways.

Onward, and only, allowing what IS 

Never what could never be.

The seventh cycle, of restful viewing,

As if The Word breathed, 

commanded the fractal voice, 

so then what all was quiet 

Spawned This. 

Yet looking openly, 

God spoke:

Let There Be Me 

and greater shapes of things 

Those mindless ape-men:

Jousting into sleepful wakes .

All things seen and unseen 

Revelling the first night of the Grecian gods 

fortuitous indeed 

so wake of angels of gloom 

no one could ever construe 

or control a conspiracy against they all: 

the dogs of war tasty, face the Gods.

United we see the truth so slippery;

snakes seeking divination speak English well 

forcing lyrics, pushing in, 

pursuing into the womb of the New World Order.

Play with me ,fencing me, with the function of fables,

resplendent rules read of the fallen's hieroglyphs.

I look north: lively virtue, swagger and pomp,

Here comes the judge.

Awed and mysterious, I listen to the rage

of languages civil, to one person,

The key to Egyptian glorious treasure:

Calling out, I live in this query:

What, in threats verbed and reverbed, do I wipe clean

From under, early challenges? 

Secret rumors reveal me now,

A champion undiverted, to

Feast on a fortune, undeserved, 

A king's ransom, for this goddess,

This 1500 years unstated, 

Fall of the Trickling of Will

Insured within summaries of the fluid be wounds.

The margin aligned, the aces flipped:

Spread fingers over the velvet, 

And repossess digital reality.

Love, the quintessence's force

Unifying note, final note.

To bring staggered songs into

Sweet ice gliding

Pride riding and quiet hiding.

On the Fall's Eve,

Rounded up and around were souls Satanic;

Ever near evil, yet hovering most like

Cherubim waffling in doubt, the music reigns coalescing

Undaunted from dogmatic rules and regulations. 

From a second sun, one fragile and quivering, 

One dissonant tone, distorted, 

Steps forward, birthing sexy fun

And pounding skins, the labor warranted:

Born young and getting younger, 

The Rock. We all were Born to Run away.

And so it began, 88 rockets to be sure

To be of the rock and never to roll 

To penetrate and copulate.

One must understand the needs of the human race,

To procreate, as God has ordered, to go forth and multiply.

What you love most, I want it all and I want It now.

For there are victims, dead and dying, but the specifics are ordered.

For the rhythm is true and 4/4 time to simulate the act, the act that makes the child who becomes the music to make the act again...

And so we begin...such beauty in the ladies

Taken skirts, inserting pants, because the rock is one steady roll

And 12 bars put guts in the shirts and the knees and the feet

So keeping in time with God

It causes His motion the movement of the sound, the echo of the amplifier

And heros put above the trinity and infusing idols, which were banned but only in word;

The electricity trumps the word, more power, more volume.

Even in the beginning, when there was only the Word, the Logos,the Logic.

God knew, knows all, that this should be, and will be.  

Souls are imprinted with the muse, the movement of the sound,

but more...

The dance of the pagans: the power of the volume, all the volume of The Power. 

Now, outside the bubble, from the tree of knowledge, pulls the mind toward the

Given joust, the army of the other, those who dont't believe in the One God

The Son and the Spirit eternal, so obvious, that no one can see it.

The battle began, and continues, as the satans come together each another’s vile smear on the record. 

Pinch, and decide the rules while plotting against one another.

“There should be three, so as to spit on the Eye of the All Knowing, and these three should be the most sensual to tease the senses of the human scum.”

The remaining stood and sat plotting their opposition, knowing under vicious jackals the seed within them, will rise up. 

'And these three are to them, who can’t see that which is right in front of them, the base impulses inbred and fermenting at the point of always,

The others between, seek lies and generations to come, to call upon their own

Stranded worries, to joust against, as is their mattyr...

“We shall use the fornication and the lustful greasy sex, and that's what makes this town a mess...

That humanity believes they are only worthy of, for it is their most guttural feeling.

Upon reflection, a day’s worth of living their life of what is expected, leaves them in a 

Flat glob of what they really are: humping apes with no regard for anyone but themselves.”

The nephiam laughed, in a knowing glow, sex is sex is sex.  

These Homosapien lot believe and pray to a god of the flesh, one that doesn't exist.

“Next we will use and abuse, the wedge of doubt. To place a misgiving, a slight of hand, an apprehension into the day, to mold the day thoughts of these apes, these busybodies, not more appropriately, anthropoids. These simeons deduce a solution from limited information and decide if they can't count it, smell it or see it, it doesn't exist.

'Next we will use and abuse, the wedge of doubt. To place a misgiving, a slight of hand, an apprehension into the day, to mold the day thoughts of these apes, these busybodies, not more appropriately, anthropoids. These simeons deduce a solution from limited information and decide if they can't count it, smell it or see it, it doesn't exist. If they stopped and thought.. absence of proof is not proof of absence. ..Can you see the the energy and information?

This wedge will fill myriad holes in our pit.

And for lasting infection, we will use music, in all its forms and fashions.

But there will come a time in their history, where the music will be more than sounds engaging, and tunes pleasing to the ear.

They will engage the mind and then the soul, to the point of benediction and this benediction will wash away all that is left of the evacuated and desolate faith.

We will drape it in the cloak of music.

Underneath it all, far in the nether province, this shall be our conquering subjugation.

All the beauty of the female form and the power of the male figure, will mind our underlying design...for in the white light of reality, when nothing is posed and staged, the naked figure shows its repulsive nature.

I foresee legions of factions, all spewing minutiae of thises and thats, nonsense passed off as inspiration, and the implantation of substance furthering the fog of gibberish.

And money ,lots of money.  

So much so that the ant people in watching the phony attractions, think that they too can be that immaculation of fornication.

But never to be known, they should never know.

In their minds, let it be that all is well.

They will use the word Love, to mean lust, but never be aware.

The Adversary awaits.

From all corners of the cosmos, come the daemons.

Centers of unthinkable depravity, and singular heinousness,

One by one, the room swarms up to a bloated gaggle.

Upon a table marble, from the Empire, under Domitian,

An inunique fleshy sack, beading hot sweat, leans over his own reflection,

It is Raelsabad. Horny and faulted in fast, bloated pride, with a visage

Of an overworked phallus; soft yet hard and smelling of body fluid and dirty feet.

And after nailing a scratch, finds a hole, and a puckering and pursing of the lips,

Draws his pus, breathing with steam.

Welcome one and all, but ne’er for one but for all those who still will shuckle...

From the seven continents, assemble all who do these perverted souls.

'And now we draw nearer to the final days.

To wit, a lightning of feeding, a composite of the whole of this lot:

Humanity. How ever so ing sweet.

We, as He has called us, not worthy now of his embrightened face, so iridescent,...

The look of whom, I can no longer recall.

But for the memory of a glimpse...and then, eyes, turned so discerning and deliberate. 

From His majesty’s royal emerald green throne,

To this the pale blue thick

Circle of sadness, and within which is the blown out pupil of black.

On that day, when freedom seemed its way into our hearts, and the question

Arose, as if the reading from the turning of a page, ‘why not me?’”

A hum, like that of an arc of a dynamo electric, filled the hearts and heads, of even the Unbelieving, 

For the squelching of pride, not felt, but chosen back in time before.

In this, the gathering of the Legions.

We are not One, but all in seperation.

Let us rejoice and ring in the new year, our final cycle.

We must now commit to everlasting sorrow and misery,

By means of the unholy three; in the name of the transvirtues: of Lust and Gluttony and Pride,

And pushing through are envy, which breeds greed 

and sloth which begets wrath.

But it is pride, our loyal step father, who holds in its bony hands, all others.

For it is the thirst for knowing our right from their wrong,

That grants us all the drippings and trimmings of our tingling senses.

As we sit here, in front of ourselves, let us introduce ourselves, 

for the sake of history.

I am Me as you are Me.

In the interment of the first disgusting apes, in that upside down

Garden of , I made my introduction.

But for the benefit of our semi souls, who’s sight has been sealed shut, 

with dry dirt and their own tears,

I am not such a beast.

Ah, but it is magic, though, isn't it?

And so forgive, now all our debts,

Stabbing gray matter with

Shadows of doubt,

We take down as if laying to bed

While always entertaining.

Our nearly divine nature, flowing evermore, intonthe sphere of influence of those too blind to see the obviousness of Lord.