Tosh and Bother

"Europe grows fat on colonies, crazed on patriotism.
Spider-envied webs of Alliance and Hatred.
Mars precedes the behemoth; the Black Hand frights it awake.
Webs entrap, bulk is hurled in ferver.
The Enemy laughs.

We are free, unbound by ties of origin.
Let the lunatic rave; they can do us no harm.
The Goths strike with Loki's guile from the whale road.
Bloat, float.
We are annoyed.
They order the Man of the Room.
We uncover, and become wroth.

No more shall we stand by!
Crush the Huns!
Aid our father's kin!
Locke proven right; vigor sans knowledge is fruitless.
But the crush and press of numbers lends itself to closure.

We are men, let us be as thin bees, young and unshorn.
Unwise to the ways of this world, and soon to be shorn, undone and driven to our knees, idealism lying around us like edged illusions.

Let the fair earn their place by the sweat of their brow; the King shall bed the Whore.
The many shall be fragmented into more.
Let the Moor serve as domestic and labor.

Bills are bent; felons creep about, seeking the ruin of forms.
Ears linger where they should not, whispering lips betray.
Hyphens cower, weep, adapt, are subsumed.

Let us be the first among them; lead by example, yet remain aloof, an unbesmirked ideal.
Let us, in secret, trade away mercy and panache.
We lead, by word, never by deed.

We fear to commit; to give over ourselves to the will of the old and many of that which we have abandoned.
The Twin would have us give o'er our identity, but the fear is so near, so dear.
We dislike the Twin's two faces, Hidden and Open.
We deny.

The Free rise to unwilling prominence.
The Many, disordered by Mars and our denial, lose Mercury.
He is found with us, and is exalted.
We hate the chains of Might and Power, and long to throw them off.

Money is as the firmament: omnipresent, rarely thought on, yet always dear to our heart of hearts.
Mar's bill, aided and abetted the Royals and Whores, is paid in easy payments of just twenty dollars.

Perhaps one has heard of the King and his fling with the Whore?
Fear of the Natural-Born Freemen, it drives them to conspire, to consummate their unholy union in the butchery of the Free Arms, without heed to their distance from the Red Star.

Mere Book-keepers were they, never tested by great tribulation.
The Whores grew fat with profit, clothes were given to the Masses.

The unworthy Masses were given aid sufficient to whet their appetite for justice.
The Cultivators were lent Mammon, but their forms were fast decaying in spite of, or to spite him.

Let them be as us, and we shall render unto them Pomp and Power!
Mammon shall we divide between us!
The Firstborn were reluctant to indulge, and thus we offered them our heels.

Freedom!
Glorious freedom from the Just Rule of the King!
No more shall we be subject to his archaic morals; we are free!
May our tender parts flap in the wind, in place of our locks!
With Brass shall we invite in Janos, and break with old!

Use them and toss them aside.
So for women, so for products.
I desire this, it shall be mine!
Look there!
Shiny stuff!

Mobility shall we give corporeal form, automatic and controlled existance!
Janos bounds ahead!
We shall throw chum in the waters and let the sharks reach orgasmic frenzy!

War our eyes has widened; agriculture is distant, unknowable.
We would gather around a point, mass increasing with distance to prevent reaching critical mass.

As we are free, so they wish to be.
And so they will earn their freedom through sweat and household stress.
Poor though they be, and cramped, they hold much joy.

Freedom to do as we choose, though we be Free and Dumb.
Indulge in the Wicked Seven, be lost to Lust, drown'd in drink, glorifying in Mammon Mighty.
Labor less, orgasm more.

We are healthy, from the King's witch doctors to our easeback labor, no more slaving for the Liberated!
Bloodly, pig-lung is beneath us, the elites of the World's Stage.
The Old take their ease short of the Endless.

No more shall Archaic Rules bind us!
Let the Lord of Chaos reign.
Family is diminished, and passes from the West.
No more Eve; Adama has come!
Paladins weep; long-hair maids have vanished from this plane.
We are open, inviting; we shall go to any lengths.

Fear consumes us; Romans and Israelites, begone!
Let those who we once were be turned away into bondage!
We find solace in stagnant tradition; Burke without Darwin is the ideal of form and speech.

Let Sloth be the least, for our minds do labor.
Let them be an image of all that we are not; Illusion is all, reality is poor and mean.
We lose ourselves in winners and losers, and forget that no one won the Great.
Freedom is not free; it's $2 a shot.

We leave you to your consumption by Mammon, we flee to the battered remnants of Culture.
OR:
Let us drink and be merry!
Life is, that is enough for me!

Roman against Dissenter, Orator wars with secretary.
And yet, contrarywise administator claims the ermined mantle.
Most curious.

Fear!
It gnaws at us in the night, suckling on Wrath, urging in terrifying whispers to commit the insanity. And we surrender.
We are but human, when all is stripped away."