307 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
307 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
|
|
||
|
|
### ###
|
||
|
|
### ###
|
||
|
|
### #### ### ### ### ####
|
||
|
|
### ### ##### ### ###
|
||
|
|
### ### ### ### ###
|
||
|
|
### ### ##### ### ###
|
||
|
|
########## ### ### ##########
|
||
|
|
### ###
|
||
|
|
### ###
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Underground eXperts United
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Presents...
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
####### ## ## ####### # # ####### ####### #######
|
||
|
|
## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ##
|
||
|
|
#### ## ## #### # # ####### ## #######
|
||
|
|
## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ##
|
||
|
|
## ## ####### ####### # # ####### ## #######
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
[ Eden ] [ By Freon ]
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
____________________________________________________________________
|
||
|
|
____________________________________________________________________
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Eden
|
||
|
|
by Freon
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
the sand falls through the air
|
||
|
|
clear sparkling in a bright sun
|
||
|
|
the surf rolls in and i feel as a bird
|
||
|
|
riding on the updrafts
|
||
|
|
the buffeting of the warm air
|
||
|
|
on my wings my chest
|
||
|
|
my soul
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and i am a man
|
||
|
|
and i can feel these things
|
||
|
|
and i can understand these things
|
||
|
|
these things that i can never truly experience
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first word i speak will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
and the first club i raise will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for a word
|
||
|
|
no use for an utterance
|
||
|
|
but a murmur of joy unclear undefined
|
||
|
|
they know what i mean
|
||
|
|
the things i love
|
||
|
|
and they murmur with me
|
||
|
|
and i can hear them
|
||
|
|
just as they hear me
|
||
|
|
the palms shade i use as my tool
|
||
|
|
a gentle tool that brings me but pleasure
|
||
|
|
and cool
|
||
|
|
in the beautiful sun
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
i lie on the beach and feel its love for me
|
||
|
|
is the same for my love for it
|
||
|
|
the sand against my skin
|
||
|
|
cradles me like my mothers arms
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
but the first cloth i wear will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
the first clay pot will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for a cloth
|
||
|
|
no use for a cover for my body
|
||
|
|
but the skin that is part of me
|
||
|
|
that i am a part of
|
||
|
|
alive bronzed comfortable
|
||
|
|
against whatever is inside of me
|
||
|
|
be it flesh or bone or blood or spirit
|
||
|
|
i am all and more pressed against it cannot add to me
|
||
|
|
robes kill my spirit and my freedom
|
||
|
|
i am alone and happy within myself
|
||
|
|
and safe and happy with all my friends
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
the old and wise
|
||
|
|
the young and strong
|
||
|
|
all so equally valued for just being alive
|
||
|
|
by the others who show their appreciation
|
||
|
|
by being alive themselves
|
||
|
|
by being different and unique
|
||
|
|
not trying to fit in
|
||
|
|
with anything that is expected
|
||
|
|
because nothing is expected but that they be themselves
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first man i strike will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
the first war i wage will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for hostility
|
||
|
|
but a friendly companionable jostling
|
||
|
|
joking scuffles in the sand with friends
|
||
|
|
competition demonstration of strength and skill
|
||
|
|
but all in good will for this man i pin to the sand
|
||
|
|
for my strength shall be used to defend him when needed
|
||
|
|
and he knows
|
||
|
|
and i know
|
||
|
|
that we are not fighting but showing
|
||
|
|
how well we will protect each other
|
||
|
|
and how well we will protect our brothers
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
when the time comes
|
||
|
|
and we know it will come
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first God i beg for aid will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
my first sacrifice unto Him will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
there is no use for a God
|
||
|
|
no use for an imaginary saviour
|
||
|
|
as i lick the sweat from my goddess's breast
|
||
|
|
and inside her
|
||
|
|
inside her my eternal life will grow
|
||
|
|
and be born to this world of a million different colours
|
||
|
|
this world of a million different sounds
|
||
|
|
a million different tastes
|
||
|
|
a million different smells
|
||
|
|
a million different emotions
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and not one name
|
||
|
|
not one blasphemous sacreligious name or label or category
|
||
|
|
to tear the meaning from the things i love themselves
|
||
|
|
to rip my very heart out through my very mouth
|
||
|
|
each time it falls open to emit
|
||
|
|
another precise moronic utterance
|
||
|
|
about the so called science that i would cling to
|
||
|
|
if this understanding was gone
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
but if this understanding was gone
|
||
|
|
what would there be to teach my children
|
||
|
|
what could i teach them that they did not already know
|
||
|
|
that i was a failure
|
||
|
|
a freak of nature
|
||
|
|
destroyed by my own arrogance
|
||
|
|
glorified by my words
|
||
|
|
and numbers
|
||
|
|
and ingenious inventions
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
that reduce me to a grovelling vomiting wreck
|
||
|
|
or a cripple before a television screen
|
||
|
|
or a mass murderer of animals to feed my obsession with gore
|
||
|
|
or a murderer of men with my clean and oiled gun
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
see how it sparkles when in the sun my boy
|
||
|
|
whose rays i have poisoned with my cleverness
|
||
|
|
see how it bangs and we can hear the sound
|
||
|
|
desensitised as our ears have become
|
||
|
|
by the roaring of our own applause
|
||
|
|
for our rotting selves
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
see how it tears the flesh and shatters the bone
|
||
|
|
of the bird or deer or fox whose understanding we envy so
|
||
|
|
see how i clean it with my leather cloth
|
||
|
|
ripped from the hide of a herbivore
|
||
|
|
so much like myself
|
||
|
|
but so different because it is convenient for me to think so
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
while i smash its skull with a captive bolt pistol
|
||
|
|
and wrench out brain tissue with a wire
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
cut its throat and hang it by the feet
|
||
|
|
wait for it to drain
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
no
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
without words i will teach my son
|
||
|
|
and without words he will answer
|
||
|
|
that he loves me in a way that words
|
||
|
|
in their clumsy overgeneralising foolishness
|
||
|
|
cannot hope to describe or replace
|
||
|
|
but still try
|
||
|
|
and i will not send my son
|
||
|
|
to be instructed by men and women i have never met
|
||
|
|
men and women i will never know
|
||
|
|
and who will never know my son
|
||
|
|
as my mate and i will always know him
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and i will not test my son
|
||
|
|
to see that he has learned enough
|
||
|
|
if he doesnt he will die
|
||
|
|
that is the rule
|
||
|
|
that he knows when he is born
|
||
|
|
so he will learn
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first test i devise will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
the first school i found will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for a test
|
||
|
|
no use for an insubstantial measurement
|
||
|
|
of this living breathing child
|
||
|
|
this man like me that i have helped create
|
||
|
|
this man who has helped without even trying
|
||
|
|
to make me a man
|
||
|
|
this man who is to me as i was to my father
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
though i am old now and my father is gone
|
||
|
|
and there are no moans and wails
|
||
|
|
as we carry him to the cliffs
|
||
|
|
no black stinking death machines
|
||
|
|
no gilded shovel handles
|
||
|
|
no self important ministers
|
||
|
|
no preaching on a corpse
|
||
|
|
no rebirth into eternal life
|
||
|
|
no eternal bliss
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
this is how it is
|
||
|
|
this is how it has always been
|
||
|
|
this is how it will always be
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
no one need say it we all know
|
||
|
|
and we lay him on the clifftop
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
perhaps he will return
|
||
|
|
not buried in a fatal grave
|
||
|
|
if he is not dead he will return to scold us
|
||
|
|
with gentle knocks around the head
|
||
|
|
playful fistfuls of sand tossed carefully to avoid the eyes
|
||
|
|
as he did when i was young
|
||
|
|
and he was alive
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and we shall return and live
|
||
|
|
on our beach by the sea
|
||
|
|
in the sand and trees
|
||
|
|
until we too are carried away
|
||
|
|
to the clifftop where the bones grow white
|
||
|
|
and the scavengers feed on our useless dead flesh
|
||
|
|
before the grass and weeds claim all
|
||
|
|
in time
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first medicine i mix will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
and the first disease i cure will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for a medicine
|
||
|
|
a destroyer of the meaning of illness
|
||
|
|
a perverter of the course of life
|
||
|
|
a product of sick experiments
|
||
|
|
on other things i love
|
||
|
|
just to sustain my existence
|
||
|
|
perhaps
|
||
|
|
another day
|
||
|
|
or two
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and though my bones are brittle
|
||
|
|
and though my legs are weak
|
||
|
|
and though my heart does pain me
|
||
|
|
and though my breathing rasps
|
||
|
|
i am old and it is better
|
||
|
|
at this time in my life
|
||
|
|
to die from a disease
|
||
|
|
than from a side effect
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first breath i took destroyed my understanding
|
||
|
|
and the last breath i exhale will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for breath
|
||
|
|
no use for another drawing of the air
|
||
|
|
of this still green world
|
||
|
|
this still beautful world
|
||
|
|
this still unpoisoned world
|
||
|
|
this still untainted world
|
||
|
|
this still inhabited world
|
||
|
|
where no man laughs when a friend is suffering
|
||
|
|
where no man takes lives but to save his own
|
||
|
|
or the lives of the ones he loves
|
||
|
|
where no man travels far beyond his home in hope of plunder
|
||
|
|
where no man enslaves another
|
||
|
|
where no man pollutes anothers air or water
|
||
|
|
where no man crashes through life with his raucous yelling
|
||
|
|
of a salvation beyond
|
||
|
|
where no man rots the minds of others with preaching
|
||
|
|
where no man feels his mind rot from idleness
|
||
|
|
where no sense is dulled
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
no mind is unclear
|
||
|
|
no heart is broken
|
||
|
|
no body is tainted with drugs
|
||
|
|
no teeth rot out from bad food
|
||
|
|
no lungs rot out from bad air
|
||
|
|
no livers rot out from bad water
|
||
|
|
no lives rot from hateful thoughts
|
||
|
|
because no words are spoken
|
||
|
|
because no words are known
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and this is as it has always been
|
||
|
|
as it is
|
||
|
|
and as it will not always be
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
and the first word i speak will destroy my understanding
|
||
|
|
and the first book i write will destroy the things i love
|
||
|
|
and there is no use for a word
|
||
|
|
a meaningless broken metaphor
|
||
|
|
for the feelings of my friends
|
||
|
|
and their tears of joy and pain combined
|
||
|
|
and their hopes and dreams and futures
|
||
|
|
their loves and hates and lives and deaths
|
||
|
|
as they lay me on the clifftop
|
||
|
|
now that i have breathed my last
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
http://www.nkpwhq.com/~freon/
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
||
|
|
uXu #579 Underground eXperts United 2001 uXu #579
|
||
|
|
http://uXu.org/
|
||
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
|