Geometric Allegory

The Children of Kenaz  ____________________________________________  The molds of language formed into shapes,  And the geocentric “to be” said “BE”  And it was.  He is the captain  And he has commanded in the land of history  Every era that is associated  With "has been" and "will be."  The Children of Kenaz formed  A branch of Calebites,  And as a clan  They rendered something as if of thought.  The thought writes the world around us,  And these same thoughts people this little world,  But this has not yet been explained.  The message of reason is already formed and born.  The message and object is recorded  For all who would be concerned.  But brace yourself.  Thunder (like a clap of conversation) will burst,  But they have no choice in that.  They are so asleep…  Completely avoid them.  Before, language was impossible,  So they reached out in social movements...

Life was mass-produced;  Vengeance damned by technological progress.  We ushered it in.  The patented shadows  Waited for the Big Bang's retrograde  When all the world's matter  Melted into a single, copyrighted pin-point.  Then, and only then,  Did the clock disconnect .  The son of a gun is the son of The One.  They calculated every moment  And gathered every page  Ever written,  Now scanned  And kept  In an archive  Of information.  When the future archeologists pull you from the grave  You'll be like some mummy in a museum  Taken from his tomb  And put on display.  You will be studied.  You will be analyzed.  The infinite monkeys  Will find a way  To rob your grave  And explore your non-linear waves.  You smell like profit, OK?  Generational slaver¥  Extended beyond the grave.  Here's the thing.  There's a reason you've reached ...

>->-->->>--->>->-->-> In 1889, a handsome crowd gathered  On a dusty sidewalk in Italy.  They formed into a tight knot  To watch the great commotion:  The horse-drawn cart came to a sudden halt  Right there on the street.  The horse simply refused to move,  And it did so for no good reason.  A scene unfolded quickly.  The driver, now immobile, shouted, cursed,  And jumped down from his cart and onto the street  Where he bellowed and spat  And kicked at the horse  With Dionysian rage.  When the horse still remained unmoved,  When it stood there, stoically frozen,  The man unclasped his whip,  And he lashed into the horse until strips of pink flesh fell  Exposing the ribs and tendons below.  Perhaps the horse would have died  Were it not for the madman  Who bolted from the crowd and ran to it.  The crowd watched as the  Madman charged into the st...

You see before you a series of words,  Each word being pulled from the fire and  Then hammered like totemism into a new shape:  This was the author’s objective.  cl ngcl cn... (Nobody else has figured it out?) c kxtan dtx. gx. ngcl .gxs, ngcth .xmdl (How many billions of ants?) cn cl ;t vzlck, kx.t d,byx;mk (How many marks tallied the shoreline?)     Formed from letters, the words themselves could unlock the message,  And the goal was to trace the origin of language,  To find what existed in the beginning  Before it was conquered and commanded  And shaped into  immovable type and text. g;l ;tbxt, ,sl, jchvm,k ngcl xvn - /v,lncxt r;md (I saw a movie made by an amatuer) ;tbgx. ng, r;csr;t fvln ngm,. ; z;id;h, xu,m ng, j,ti, (How do you spell amatuer?  Keep them on their towes and mispell it!  You can't cast a mis-spell." ;tk c j,,s scd, c ;r hxcth nx kc,w   In fields they gathered the fragmented scraps of smelted iron...

The infinite monkeys open the door  And these words are here to find:    I  am aware even now.  g=01g/e  As shocking as it may be,  It's all electronic wizardry:  a high-tech graphic game that  y ou must learn how to play.  This is the call of duty, though banal:  Put on your white suit and  Soak up the horror's movie  As the secrets of the Bible are revealed.  This is the story of the stars  Told in part by Tarot cards  Where men cast out whores for dressing immodestly  While the dragon destroys our very city.  The men are deceived and their  Hats hang on the hook  When it's jihad on Homer,  Last seen in New York back in 1945.  The women beautify themselves  And nurse the sickly with fruits  That clean the blood.  They stand erect, full breasted  And posed in lines while  Their men pose for stately photographs.  The clocks no longer tell time,...