Primal Ruminations
The Pyramid Chronicles: Part I
The Pyramid Chronicles: Chapter I
Praise be the eye of the pyramid,
All seeing eye of Big Brother
Your tears trickle down ooze of infectious mucus
Penetrating every orifice of the climbing monkeys
Polluting their blood and desecrating their minds
With thoughts of how much higher or lower they stand
On the slippery slopes of your deceptively finite body
Oh stone god of modern civilization,
Your eye is an antenna
Broadcasting your garbled speech in conflicting tongues,
A tradition since the ‘good ol' days' of Babylon,
Confusion equals division equals weakness
Is that a bat in the belfry?
Or a blood thirsty vampire hungry for your soul?
What is a God if not cast in stone
A reminder of immovable greatness,
Every building, every statue reflects this idea,
Monuments to power and success,
Promises of security and wisdom
Like the wise old owl, Mollech
Who says: “join me and be complicit in my glory”
Were gigantic eyes, inlaid with brightly colored tiles and set with pupils of multi-faceted gemstones,
Positioned on the four sides of the mysterious capstone of the Great Pyramid of Egypt?
Is that the big secret only those with a penthouse view,
Knew when they, without proper explanation, put an eye on a pyramid and positioned it on the top left corner of the dollar bill?
And what about that microscopic owl in the right corner?
Accidents don't happen,
They are a predictable conclusion to a series of events,
That, if carefully tracked, can be orchestrated to satisfy the desires of those with a finger on the pulse… or the trigger,
Now plan a series of events and manage them well,
Then watch the fruits of your labor blossom – or explode-
Just like horticulture – or chess.
The ooze is relentless,
In travels on air, land and sea,
It spills on the world like pus from the eye of mangy cat,
Makes love to you with demonic osmosis,
And leaves you in the morning with a love note and a bottle of Prozac,
To brace you for the troubled waters of a bright sunny day
What do I owe? What do I do?
Paper and plastic, words written with invisible ink whose lost black color darkens the soul and extinguishes the light
Intangible fears threaten like harsh north winds,
The effigy of the scarecrow you built as a monument to your stupidity,
When you accepted the oath and signed the agreement,
Because you once wanted something,
But have long since forgotten,… what it was
Who, or what, emerged from that great stone egg that had incubated for centuries inside the King's Chamber of your house?
Slithering its scaly snakeskin through the halls and tunnels of your mansion,
And back beneath the earth from whence it came,
Only to return with treasures of sparkling wonder and a carpet bag full of magic tricks to please every wide-eyed smiling face in suburban Carnac,
The thread that binds us from life to life,
The puppeteer deftly manages
Working and jerking for his private pleasure
We dance to tunes whistled through his forked tongue,
And when our lives are worn and done,
All that remains is our insignificance,
Our hopes and desires lost in the winds-
Fading footprints in the sand
Ah, the mysteries abound,
Up, down and around,
Lines of the matrix that maps our minds
Nodes and angles and points of view
Bright and shiny and dark and slimy,
Timelines of projected occurrences and recorded performances
That weave the karmic thread that entangles us in this web,
Of cotton candy for a dollar
Praise be the eye of the pyramid,
All seeing eye of Big Brother
Your tears trickle down ooze of infectious mucus
Penetrating every orifice of the climbing monkeys
Polluting their blood and desecrating their minds
With thoughts of how much higher or lower they stand
On the slippery slopes of your deceptively finite body
Oh stone god of modern civilization,
Your eye is an antenna
Broadcasting your garbled speech in conflicting tongues,
A tradition since the ‘good ol' days' of Babylon,
Confusion equals division equals weakness
Is that a bat in the belfry?
Or a blood thirsty vampire hungry for your soul?
What is a God if not cast in stone
A reminder of immovable greatness,
Every building, every statue reflects this idea,
Monuments to power and success,
Promises of security and wisdom
Like the wise old owl, Mollech
Who says: “join me and be complicit in my glory”
Were gigantic eyes, inlaid with brightly colored tiles and set with pupils of multi-faceted gemstones,
Positioned on the four sides of the mysterious capstone of the Great Pyramid of Egypt?
Is that the big secret only those with a penthouse view,
Knew when they, without proper explanation, put an eye on a pyramid and positioned it on the top left corner of the dollar bill?
And what about that microscopic owl in the right corner?
Accidents don't happen,
They are a predictable conclusion to a series of events,
That, if carefully tracked, can be orchestrated to satisfy the desires of those with a finger on the pulse… or the trigger,
Now plan a series of events and manage them well,
Then watch the fruits of your labor blossom – or explode-
Just like horticulture – or chess.
The ooze is relentless,
In travels on air, land and sea,
It spills on the world like pus from the eye of mangy cat,
Makes love to you with demonic osmosis,
And leaves you in the morning with a love note and a bottle of Prozac,
To brace you for the troubled waters of a bright sunny day
What do I owe? What do I do?
Paper and plastic, words written with invisible ink whose lost black color darkens the soul and extinguishes the light
Intangible fears threaten like harsh north winds,
The effigy of the scarecrow you built as a monument to your stupidity,
When you accepted the oath and signed the agreement,
Because you once wanted something,
But have long since forgotten,… what it was
Who, or what, emerged from that great stone egg that had incubated for centuries inside the King's Chamber of your house?
Slithering its scaly snakeskin through the halls and tunnels of your mansion,
And back beneath the earth from whence it came,
Only to return with treasures of sparkling wonder and a carpet bag full of magic tricks to please every wide-eyed smiling face in suburban Carnac,
The thread that binds us from life to life,
The puppeteer deftly manages
Working and jerking for his private pleasure
We dance to tunes whistled through his forked tongue,
And when our lives are worn and done,
All that remains is our insignificance,
Our hopes and desires lost in the winds-
Fading footprints in the sand
Ah, the mysteries abound,
Up, down and around,
Lines of the matrix that maps our minds
Nodes and angles and points of view
Bright and shiny and dark and slimy,
Timelines of projected occurrences and recorded performances
That weave the karmic thread that entangles us in this web,
Of cotton candy for a dollar
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The Pyramid Chronicles: Part I
The Pyramid Chronicles: Part I
