the scar (sirblob's 6,923rd poem of the year, ghostwritten as per tradition)
galathaea
He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
Above my body, lowly me
Christ forgive, forgive?
Holy He, He holy, He holy?
Shit He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
Christy Christus
Puke upon your papal throne
Wrapped I am in the muddy cloud
Of hellish genocide
Petulant child
I have suffered for you
Where you have never known me
I too must die
Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?
Your valley truth
What light pass those pious heights?
What passing bells for these in their trucks?
For you lord.
You are the flag-bearer of these nations
One against the other that die in the mud
No piety. No deity
Is that your forgiveness?
Saint. Martyr. Goat. Billy.
Forgive? Shit he forgives
He hangs upon his cross
In self-righteous judgment
Hangs in crucified delight
Nailed to the extent of His vision
His cross. His manhood. His violence. Guilt. Sin.
He would nail my body upon his cross
As if I might have waited for him in the garden
As if I might have perfumed His body
Washed those bloody feet
This woman that he seeks
Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist.
Gravedigger. Earthmover. Lifefucker. Jesu.
You scooped the pits of Auschwitz
The soil of Treblinka is rich in your guilt
The sorrow of your tradition
Your stupid humility is the crown of thorn we all must wear.
For you. Ha. Master. Master of gore. Enigma. Stigma. Stigmata. Errata.
Eraser.
The cross is the mast of our oppression.
You fly there, vain flag.
You carry it, wear it on your back, Lord. Your back.
Enola is your gaiety.
Suffer little children (to come unto me)
Suffer in that horror. Hirohorror. Hirrohiro. Hiroshimmer.
Shimmerhiro.
Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima.
The bodies are your delight
The incandescent flame is the spirit of it
They come to you Jesu. To you
The nails are the only trinity
Hold them in your corpsey gracelessness
The image that I have had to suffer
These nails at my temple
The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
That you defile
In your guilt you turn your back
Nailed to that body
Lame-arse Jesus calls me sister
There are no words for my contempt
Every woman is a cross in His filthy theology
He turns His back on me in His fear
His vain delight is that pain I bear
Alone He hangs. His choice. His choice
Alone. Alone. His voice. His voice
He shares nothing, this Christ
Sterile. Impotent. Fucklove prophet of death
He is the ultimate pornography
He. He. Hear us Jesus
You sigh alone in your cockfear
You lie alone in your cuntfear.
You cry alone in your womanfear.
You die alone in you manfear.
Alone Jesu, alone
In your cockfear. Cuntfear. Womanfear. Manfear.
Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your
fear.
Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.
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galathaea: prankster, fablist, magician, liar
George Dance
> I am no feeble Christ, not me
> He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
> Above my body, lowly me
> Christ forgive, forgive?
> Holy He, He holy, He holy?
> Shit He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
> I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
> Christy Christus
> Puke upon your papal throne
> Of hellish genocide
> Petulant child
> I have suffered for you
> Where you have never known me
> I too must die
> Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?
> Your valley truth
> What light pass those pious heights?
> What passing bells for these in their trucks?
> You are the flag-bearer of these nations
> One against the other that die in the mud
> No piety. No deity
> Is that your forgiveness?
> Saint. Martyr. Goat. Billy.
> Forgive? Shit he forgives
> He hangs upon his cross
> In self-righteous judgment
> Hangs in crucified delight
> His cross. His manhood. His violence. Guilt. Sin.
> He would nail my body upon his cross
> As if I might have waited for him in the garden
> As if I might have perfumed His body
> Washed those bloody feet
> This woman that he seeks
> Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist.
> Gravedigger. Earthmover. Lifefucker. Jesu.
> You scooped the pits of Auschwitz
> The sorrow of your tradition
> Your stupid humility is the crown of thorn we all must wear.
> For you. Ha. Master. Master of gore. Enigma. Stigma. Stigmata. Errata.
> Eraser.
> The cross is the mast of our oppression.
> You fly there, vain flag.
> You carry it, wear it on your back, Lord. Your back.
> Enola is your gaiety.
> Suffer little children (to come unto me)
> Shimmerhiro.
> Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima.
> The bodies are your delight
> The incandescent flame is the spirit of it
> They come to you Jesu. To you
> The nails are the only trinity
> Hold them in your corpsey gracelessness
> The image that I have had to suffer
> These nails at my temple
> That you defile
> In your guilt you turn your back
> Nailed to that body
> Lame-arse Jesus calls me sister
> There are no words for my contempt
> Every woman is a cross in His filthy theology
> He turns His back on me in His fear
> His vain delight is that pain I bear
> Alone He hangs. His choice. His choice
> He shares nothing, this Christ
> Sterile. Impotent. Fucklove prophet of death
> He is the ultimate pornography
> He. He. Hear us Jesus
> You sigh alone in your cockfear
> You lie alone in your cuntfear.
> You cry alone in your womanfear.
> You die alone in you manfear.
> Alone Jesu, alone
> Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
> Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your
> fear.
> Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
> Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.
>
> -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
> galathaea: prankster, fablist, magician, liar
Cool. This is the metre you got from "Faces"; you've taken it, run
with it, and used it to produce a work of pure art. And the ending is
purely yours; I like the pun on Your fear and warfare - I'm imagining
a poet reading LL 81-82 faster and faster, and then slowing down in L
82 with the last two 'warfare's read in a normal voice. (The same
thing earlier, in a less extreme version, in L 52) .
There's a typo in in L 78; shd be 'your manfear'.
A well, I'd rewrite L 50 as:
"Suffer in horror. Sufferhorror. Shimmerhorror."
I think that's a more natural segue from L49, "Suffer little
children...", to L51, "Shimmerhiro."
and L 52 as: "Hiroshimmer. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima."
But that's just personal preference; it's your poem, not mine, of
course.
I wonder if you could oblige me, by posting this to my old alma mater,
alt.agnosticism (and alt.atheism, too, if don't mind appearing
there). I think the regulars on those lists would enjoy it.
galathaea
i am terribly sorry
but i didn't intend for this to be another hoax post
you must believe me
but
this is not mine
i really wish it was
it is one of the best poems i have ever heard
called "reality asylum" by eve libertine
of the anarchopunk band crass
circa 1978
your analysis is right on (including some of the corrections)
but it was ghostwritten by someone else
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galathaea; prankster, fablist, mgician, liar
George Dance
Shit; and I used to listen to crass back then. But they were friends'
albums, not mine, and I could never make out many of the words. Too
bad; it's an amazing work. I wish you'd written it. I wish I'd
written it, too.
>
> your analysis is right on (including some of the corrections)
> but it was ghostwritten by someone else
>
> -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
> galathaea; prankster, fablist, mgician, liar- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -
Amadeus Jinn
"galathaea" <gala...@gmail.com> wrote in message news:1177726334.6...@o5g2000hsb.googlegroups.com...
> i am terribly sorry
> but i didn't intend for this to be another hoax post
Frankly, if you posted a reasonable poem you would be leaved
in gold. That jesus-cuntspeak doesn't hold my attention.
Jesus always speaks out of the cunt of his mouth.
>
> you must believe me
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
-gmh
> -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
> galathaea; prankster, fablist, mgician, liar
Liar.
--
-------------------------------------------
AJ - http://ClitIns.Com e In.
(800 folders. -- kiddie-filtered -- FREE,
Usenet Porn.)
Dennis M. Hammes
> I am no feeble Christ, not me
> He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
> Above my body, lowly me
> Christ forgive, forgive?
> Holy He, He holy, He holy?
> Shit He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
> I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
Jesusfuck, /read/ your Plath before you try to vomit it.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
I do not "negotiate" for half my baby back, Solomon.
http://scrawlmark.org
Immortalist
George Dance
Thanks for the link, Imortal. Here's an even better one for those
interested in crass's lyrics:
http://www.plyrics.com/c/crass.html
Great poetry set to song. Check out the lyrics of "Bloody
Revolutions"
(BTW, this one goes out to chazwin):
"Bloody Revolutions"
You talk about your revolution, well, that's fine
But what are you going to be doing come the time?
Are you going to be the big man with the tommy-gun?
Will you talk of freedom when the blood begins to run?
Well, freedom has no value if violence is the price
Don't want your revolution, I want anarchy and peace
You talk of overthrowing power with violence as your tool
You speak of liberation and when the people rule
Well ain't it people rule right now, what difference would there be?
Just another set of bigots with their rifle-sights on me
But what about those people who don't want your new restrictions?
Those that disagree with you and have their own convictions?
You say they've got it wrong because they don't agree with you
So when the revolution comes you'll have to run them through
You say that revolution will bring freedom for us all
Well freedom just ain't freedom when your back's against the wall
You talk of overthrowing power with violence as your tool
You speak of liberation and when the people rule
Well ain't it people rule right now, what difference would there be?
Just another set of bigots with their rifle-sights on me
Will you indoctrinate the masses to serve your new regime?
And simply do away with those whose views are too extreme?
Transportation details could be left to British rail
Where Zyklon B succeeded, North Sea Gas will fail
It's just the same old story of man destroying man
We've got to look for other answers to the problems of this land
You talk of overthrowing power with violence as your tool
You speak of liberation and when the people rule
Well ain't it people rule right now, what difference would there be?
Just another set of bigots with their rifle-sights on me
Vive la revolution, people of the world unite
Stand up men of courage, it's your job to fight
It all seems very easy, this revolution game
But when you start to really play things won't be quite the same
Your intellectual theories on how it's going to be
Don't seem to take into account the true reality
Cos the truth of what you're saying, as you sit there sipping beer
Is pain and death and suffering, but of course you wouldn't care
You're far too much of a man for that, if Mao did it so can you
What's the freedom of us all against the suffering of the few?
That's the kind of self-deception that killed ten million jews
Just the same false logic that all power-mongers use
So don't think you can fool me with your political tricks
Political right, political left, you can keep your politics
Government is government and all government is force
Left or right, right or left, it takes the same old course
Oppression and restriction, regulation, rule and law
The seizure of that power is all your revolution's for
You romanticise your heroes, quote from Marx and Mao
Well their ideas of freedom are just oppression now
Nothing changed for all the death, that their ideas created
It's just the same fascistic games, but the rules aren't clearly
stated
Nothing's really different cos all government's the same
They can call it freedom, but slavery is the game
Nothing changed for all the death, that their ideas created
It's just the same fascistic games, but the rules aren't clearly
stated
Nothing's really different cos all government's the same
They can call it freedom, but slavery is the game
There's nothing that you offer but a dream of last years hero
The truth of revolution, brother................... is year zero.
>
>
>
>
> > > your analysis is right on (including some of the corrections)
> > > but it was ghostwritten by someone else
>
> > > -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
> > > galathaea; prankster, fablist, mgician, liar-- Hide quoted text -
>
> - Show quoted text -- Hide quoted text -