| APOCALYPTICS Spoken of scorpions and unrighteousness of every kind, the son of man knows with knotted stomach this vampyre bite. Eyeless in Gaza my flesh lay defiled. Lilacs line the gates of heaven, but many moons have come through since those days I like to remember. I never was one to dance, yet my softened heart and broken rhythm could not resist the breeze of her below my feet. A wisdom purified by tests came with true disease now displaying my corpse in a wall of firey ants. Only toward nectar of the cotton candiest does she reveal. The nature of our burn is that of honeycomb and cancer. Sweet hypertension running our temple though. And this whore you know, who's got only her smile left to her own, she'll show you the way. I want for you to come once more. To giggle with me, to touch slowly the embers within us. In this still twist I'd ask for you to join me, but you'd never choose another moment without your shields in place. I cannot have that now, you know I only write because I cannot sing. Without the help of voodoo women and angels alike I would barely hear a note. The Holiday house is becoming, as these seasons, weathered by the hearts of Zion, are blown away as so much dust to our Lord. My god where are the snowflakes? All I see beyond these dirty sheets, shivering under our blanket of christmas lights are those jagged puzzle pieces we long to poke each other with & bleed ourselves. In our shoes, run naked were his days. Hung soft without remorse. I too was a ghost back then. Past infinite doorways never knocking, behind shadows of the other machines. Scraped grey streets for what I found in my bloodied eyeballs. There was a time we knew as spring when the showers came and the blind had seen your stare through blizzards and doves & crucifications. Most days now I spend tired and alone. The hunts not nearly finished, yet I hear the howl of well fed bellies. Zealous hunger. I pace the darkened halls to peer from ragged blinds, this time I'll catch them at the door. In the year ought one cinema is ancient anymore. It is her sister apocalypse who is now, revelations. & MOTIVATION I awake missing her and want back into the dreaming TOO LATE NOW, WRITE YOU FUCKER God, this is a blessed trip Welcome to the bathroom shoot outs as the demon smiles Could I paint your smile on, or have a jest with yours? Working now the clean out job, could it be the misplaced ghost, montega? The samurai with golden Ki The sick are calling, the farmer reaps his seed Sometimes I set the cap down on the table so it'll all pour out, no unnecessary fumbling needed For three days there was darkness and the trials were of faith & spirit waiting on the resurrection hello hooded stare and bouncing smiles full of teeth a handshake will do slumped over sideways on the bathroom floor his forty-thousand flies I knew too well In my spine with feverish migraines I slept for a thousand years today with this sickly silly twitch the red winter's moon had given me Dreamt of her and dreamt of them all fires and motorcycles Old friends and gunshots The fevered chills relentless And thick and heavy rain cloud my window view Turning the shot glass over till it's thick end is up, between my thumb and middle finger I pushed flat on table top remembering how I pulled my trigger emptying the clip without hesitation or leaving time to again reload Am I done for you this time, or could I find more fuel? I need to catch a caper to help me float this head trip shit so I go in slick and smooth & ask what the return policy is The girl at the register swoons and creams her panties For she knows by the look you give, and she'd been waiting for some excitement Are memories as linear as they appear to be? The dread in this is how I slice my eye balls open and pour the molasses in The virus has managed to slip through undetected reported antibodies no longer effective. These new bugs being the same ones we'd forgotten, a new linguistic revolution is required now to sway these mutant savages & JUSTIFICATION Growing up I was never quite objective about the way things would unfold. I was too far commanded by the slightest whims, as if possessed by the winds. Cradled and catapulted. However small a kingdom or insignificant it's tale, I was forever lost to them like sticky fingers and no-doze pills. Fat greasy gears turn the underworld rivers. As if all, not known by outside forces, were my own secret worlds to revel in. Like pigs in cool damp mud and early October, mine. And still to this day I know of delving into areas where time and space are but cubby holes in time belonging to sentiment alone. My vision absolute and kept always near sighted. My skull like castles on fire. I need you drunken and on fire, to remember tight jeans and frost bitten fingers. Violent and crude were the days of truth and grown peoples. Isn't it funny how little they recognize of what they bestow. In haunted sanctuary I played the honest part. Swallowed into the bowels of the sea. Driven to explode within, my life force spilt for you to read. But it's the finer points that concern me. So for now, I'll go about just a howling at the moon. After all, THE KING TOLD ME TO MISBEHAVE. |
| all contents of this page are authored by rev. nazaright & copyright 2006 nazaright productions |
| I AM theNAZARENE You did accuse and scapegoat mine You took me to the cleaners The biggest rip off of all I fell for And you hold still dearly to your lies I am the one was giving, & was tortured for this endless For your foul misgivings Your egotistical set Your "pride" Void of any truth or enlightenment of any kind, you were the ones that killed the ways He taught us From "all for one" to the cynicism of your lies There is a sucker born every minute, & not our place to ignore? The way you roll around in shit wishing it were mud Your head in the sand, your soul black & weeping Could you have even planned such arrogance? Being quite the victim, of yourself no less, is no excuse Was I just an asshole for expecting too much? In that you'd mean the words and posturing you put on? You are the fat & lazy, the complacent & apathetic Too scared you are to stand for something Too scared to speak up for what's right & what is true There is no real evolution for you Your inbred heart diseased You are not Christians You are not patriots You are neither the rebellion of Lucifer nor the grace of God Nor could you have ever known the crucifixion Nor the bond of that which brought Him there Beyond your pissing on His miracles Before your move to scapegoat Him He made His word a bond (But what would you know of things like that?) You are the amoral mass of shit that's herded along The broken, the "safe" you are, without even careless thoughts of those sent to burn in the desert for your sins & fear You are the shame of the world & the justification for Hell's war But I choose light, I choose the truth and refuse the scapegoat cloak you'd cast I am truth, I am light, I am the Nazarene |
| i am the nazarene part 2 I AM the god you wish to be, I AM the one called I AM. I AM the risen Lazarus, the half breed son of starborn gods, the eyeless flesh of Gaza lain defiled in the streets. I AM his 40,000 flies, the sun and the depths of the abyss. And you are nothing but His Judas. |
| ...... TO LIVE LIFE TO IT'S FULLEST, YOU'VE GOT TO INVITE THE GRUESOMES ... ALWAYS LOOK UNDER THE TABLE FOR THE GREMLINS OF YOUTH WHO ARE HAUNTING YOU NOW. |
| REV. NAZARIGHT's GOLDEN PROSE - EAT IT UP BITCHES!!! |
| HOODED MEDITATION Hello sweetheart, I'm a little stoned. Waitin on the jazz horn and the play to get the bones. I heard him warmin up, I know I heard him blow. Sloth street corner workover, and the man is on his way to the recovery house The look of spare change on his face as he approaches The sweet slow burn of tobacco fills my nostrils as his eyes meet mine It was me, I wrote the comic books and set the forest fires, who's head is fuzzy-static like and lookin for the dollars. I wish that we could float away to castles in the trees, but for now I drift my consciousness as scattered as his leaves. These clouds will move away. |
| ........ The Christ child runs & plays with Magicks, laughing; While you confuse yourselves & fret over property, and proper actions. You fools & zealots are too concerned with the old pick n' flick to remember now what it is we're meant to be... |
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