Friday, December 30, 2005

The Burning

The third of third...

This is a poem, a story, a novel, a song, a movie.

THE BURNING

The Earth keeps its secrets…

It is whispered today
About times past
When giants walked the Earth
About secrets too terrible
For the light of day
Hidden away, unfathomable
In dusty minds, dusty archives
Of paper, minds and flesh
Fearing it will all once more
One day, one night
Rise from its ashes
As secrets do

The Earth reveals its secrets…

Resurrection dreams
Are haunting the waken moments
Of modern humans
Whispers like thunder
Of what we once were
Hidden below the Earth
Deep within a star
Inside us all
Is the secret that can
No longer be kept
This is The Burning
A glow like a star
Exploding like a universe
Deep in the gut
Of the Human Being

The Earth reveals its secrets
The Burning has always been inside us
We have just forgotten
Just been taught to forget
By the sniveling goats
Calling themselves Human Beings
Totally unable to handle
The Burning

Luanne is waking up one morning
Unable to go back to sleep
She dresses, looking into the mirror
Looking into the cracked mirror
Seeing a different Luanne
She’s hitting the streets
On her way to today’s slavery
She meets up with Chloe
With Peter, with Carl
They’re all heading for work
They’re looking at each other
Looking hesitatingly at the open door
Of the bus where human beings
Are stuffed like sardines
They leave the bus
Cries of suffering
Surrounding them like a coffin
They don’t go to work
The office, where human beings
Are stuffed like sardines
In a box

They hit the streets, leaving the streets
Finding a nice, quiet spot
Sitting in a dark, secluded café
Nursing their coffee
Coffee turns cold
Blood turns hot
They head for the nearest
Construction site
Going to work
They break through its high fence
Its barbwire
This is who we are, they cry
This is The Burning
They climb a lifting crane
A lifting crane with
The nice, little addition of
A wrecking ball
It’s tall, this lifting crane
Dwarfing the tallest buildings in the city
They jumpstart the engine
They’re on their way
The demolition crew
The wrecking ball starts swinging
Dancing on the precipice of the skyscrapers
Hitting the first building, the first wall
Panicked screams are rising from the gray fog
The stone desert
Blood and guts are decorating the gray
Hitting the streets far below

The entire building collapses in a brimstone
Of blood and guts
The next building is close
Just a turn of the crane
And more screams are added
To the zombie death cry
They wonder, the four in the crane
Can one kill what is already dead

Shadows are haunting the city
Creatures of mist and fire
In an excavation site below the city
Ancient carvings are found
Ancient knowledge of
Accessing the power within
They can feel it
Pulsing in their well, their Deep
A cone of fire rises from the deep
The city dies with a whimper
Not a shout
A corpse is giving up its ghost
The ancient tablets are teaching them
Teaching them to teach themselves
And they feel it
Feel The Burning.
Life is being reborn
In its wake

This is the secret:
The world is Magick
The world is Power
Human Beings may be witches
A threat to any imposed reality
So they turn the stone
They pick up the Magick
Inside
Revealing it to the world
Hearts are beating
Blood is boiling
Eyes are glowing
As the resurrected dream
Set out in the world
To destroy it
This is The Burning
The Earth joyfully
Giving up its secrets

We know our own worth
We know the fire inside
We know it’s worth any pain
Any hardship
To keep burning
This is The Burning
This is the power within
The burning inside
The human cauldron
Lit to the max

Amos Keppler August 2003

Saturday, December 24, 2005

I Shit My Pants Today

More introductory comments, continued from the christmas thread below...

This is one of the most typical negative responses I've received on my christmas poems (also from so-called alternative people):

"What are you doing? Many of us were very distressed by this. Please remove us from your mailing list immediately".

Yeah, even people professing not to believe in santa sewage and the easter bunny and some of those other, outstanding citizens, reacted badly, because that's how they are trained, brainwashed to react.

And they know that, but they still send me such cowardly and horrible responses.

Well, as I told them: "Rest assured that I will keep sending you this, until you become a human being and not a tape recorder".

Case closed!

This particular poem is a result of a rather pleasant experience in London a few years back. I didn't mean for it to happen, but when it did, I used the opportunity to explore a rather unexplored venue of current human life.

This is the second of three...

I SHIT MY PANTS
I shit my pants today
I was not scared
or anything like that
I just needed so badly
And I was miles away
From the nearest public toilet
It wasn’t pleasant,
I tell you
Not pleasant at all
In fact it was
Unpleasant as hell
I walked the underground
I walked the streets
With a huge bulge
Between my pants
Smelling like
Wild roses and honey
I finally reached
An unpublic toilet
Half an hour too late
I cleaned myself up a bit
Leaving the toilet
Smelling like a toilet
I mean... there was shit
Everywhere
I left it a disaster area
And I smiled wickedly
To the man
On his way in
I wanted to go home
Cleaning myself up
But something wasn’t right
Something was still...
Missing
So I went to a restaurant
To eat my, oh so delayed
Dinner
I sat down in the chair
Presented to me
By the smiling, polite girl
Returning the smile
With my dazzling own
With pants full of
Still wet, forever slimy
Legal? substances
Was there a hint
Of accusation
Behind the polite smile?
More than a bit of
Insecurity
(And fear) for sure
In both guests and employees
I smiled
The food was good
I sat there smiling
As the chair turned wet
Under me
Even the music sounded great
I asked for another helping
And they eagerly brought it
I left the restaurant
Whistling my tune
I walked with light steps
Through well lit streets
I sat in the bathtub
Soaking wet
Enjoying the hot water
The bubbling soap
What a glorious end
To a perfect day
Amos Keppler 2002
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Friday, December 23, 2005

The Home in the Trenches


From BBC News Text-TV 2005-12-22:


DEFIANT PENSIONER WILL NOT MOVE

A pensioner has refused to sell her 125-year-old family cottage to make way for a multi-million pound development in Bristol. The £77m project of 459 residential flats is now being built around Jean Taylor’s Bedminster home. Mrs. Taylor has resisted all offers from the developers to sell the house where she was born 83 years ago. She said: «I’m determined to stay. I might only live a few more years. Why should I pull everything out, now?»


This touches upon many things of what’s wrong, horribly wrong with today’s world.

This is big capital against the little woman.

This is big capital against the world.

This is civilization itself against humanity.

This is all the aye-sayers against (un)common sense.

This is the world of today.


What we see here is the bulldozer, the all-purpose tool of civilization at work.

It’s not just that small thing of metal, driven by small men. It’s far more than that. What we see here is a spiritual or anti-spiritual force (if you will) at work, a Machine destroying human spirit wholesale. The bulldozer is one and many, representing civilization itself.

This is a typical case, make no mistake about that. Usually the protester in question is squashed, though, railroaded, without much change of success. But I guess it would have been very bad publicity to go through with this. That hasn’t stopped «developers» before, though.

It's certainly not very pleasant for her with all the ongoing construction work in her neighborhood. The terrorizing continues.

In this case, this visible proof of the undying human spirit will last until she dies, and then, in a puff of smoke, it will be gone.


I found nothing about this on the Internet at the moment of publishing, not even on the BBC News website. How strange is that?

The links to the case-in-point articles were added today 2005-12-23

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Christmas is Finally Over

This tradition started as a part of my mailing list, a long and proud and controversial one.

There are quite a few new members on that list this year that have never had the pleasure of receiving this special christmas treatment.

It's the first of three...


CHRISTMAS IS FINALLY OVER
Christmas is over
Now we can laugh again
Christmas is over
Now we can live again
We that try to celebrate every day
the rest of the year
All this for a birth of one man
that probably never has been born
a son of a god that doesn't exist
Oh, how he would have laughed
at worshippers of this sadistic god
A god cruel among cruel gods
Who's really the fool, cries the jester
Who's putting their faith in an insane mirage
All this for the life of greedy men
that probably laugh their false hearts out
They cheat people the whole year around
How demented they must laugh
at worshippers of the mammon god
A god cruel among cruel gods
Who's really the fool, cries the jester
Who's putting their faith in an insane venture
Civilization...
Civilization...
Religion...
Yes, call it opium for the masses
But for you that don't appreciate irony
I'll call it bullshit, call a spade a spade
Christmas is over, thank God
Or... I should perhaps thank the devil
God probably wants it to last the whole year
Loving his subjects deaf, mute and blind
Christmas is finally over
My friend, you smiled with all the gifts
under the tree, inside your warm house
Why don't you anymore, my friend?
Is there now a season for smiling, too
Or do you dislike my smile
Who's really the fool, cries the jester
Who's putting all their faith in this world's glitter
Civilization is over
No more belief in saviors outside ourselves
No more denial of our inner, unique self
Both our strength and weakness are our own
No power from the devil, no submission before any god
One more mile beyond the next mountain
We're sitting next to the fire
Each new day is a celebration
Now we can laugh again...
Now we can live again...
Amos Keppler
24 - 25/12 - 1993

I wrote this in exactly the same mood I'm in right now, in a fit of inspiration and perfect christmas spirit. It's refreshing to know that even the most stupid and depressing of moments can be used to something useful and totally inspiring.
As long as there is life there is hope, I always say (without saying it out loud most of the time, that is).

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Feverish Earth - The North Atlantic Hurricane Season 2005


25…

Or if we count Epsilon (named in December), 26. That’s the number of named North Atlantic storms this season. It’s the highest number on record. No previous year even come close. Wilma became the strongest Atlantic Basin hurricane on record, with a pressure of 882 mb. There were three category five hurricanes. Records have fallen like dominoes this year. The season began early and «ended» late. They actually had to use the Greek alphabet to name the last four hurricanes, for the very first time. New ground has been forged in terms of hurricane behavior and nothing is as it was.

Katrina flooded New Orleans, causing strife and upheaval and death tolls and conditions virtually unheard of in modern times, and made its inhabitants flee to Texas. Rita followed them there, like a conscious entity, still haunting New Orleans.

So what does it all mean? What lesson should humanity learn from the «Acts of Retribution» nature has thrown at us in the year of our lord 2005…?

It’s easy, really: What we should have learned long ago, what we always have known: We and nature are one. No life form can even attempt to put itself outside nature and expect it to work. Not even in the most basic understanding of the word.

And it doesn’t. We’ve witnessed, the last twenty years or so, the result of tampering with forces far outside our current limited understanding. And our lack of such understanding isn’t lack of technical information. There is an abundance of that. No, it concerns our lack of knowledge of the most basic principles of the Universe, a crucial wisdom even a two-year-old child in a primitive tribe knows by heart.

This isn’t about release of Carbon Dioxide or Methane or pollution in general, about merely cleaning up our act, about ratifying or not that stupid «Kyoto-Protocol» or anything similar, or anything progressing along similar lines. All such things and pretence of solutions are merely the symptoms of the disease, a few of the countless caused by the current dominant system of civilization. This is more of a spiritual matter, really. We exist in a world, a world encompassing society never addressing the root of any problem. It’s a superficial, stale place never going deep in any way that matters, a place where cleverly placed mirrors of both religion and science are used to obscure the truth.

And that makes sense, in a twisted, backward kind of way, because the dominant forces of civilization, the most eager of its servants, hiding behind their heavy curtains and cloaked places of power, don’t want the truth to be known.

The disease is civilization itself.




Feverish Earth on the Midnight Fire weblog so far:

July 30.
August 4.
August 24.
Late August.
Burning Waters (Sep. 9.)
Stan the Man and Other Stories