Poems: Neda Soltan. Two bones lying in the cradle of civilization. A city dying under the weight of its own destruction, of intellectual gestation. Just like an individual injecting heroin the stars of such skies. Become hard to chart, With lies. Endless cries of ancient times, Come up from the now dried waters of the Pison and the Gia. I guess this is the right time. That was assuming Hegel was right, Standing in the library, looking out at the strands of smog, and fog, that clogs, London's walkways, this is every day, stuck in Nightmarish ways. Mr. Qutb did not like the way they Smoked, Drank, Danced, Played. A perfect time for a switch in the apocryphal, A revolutionary change. A peaceful procession of the marchers. Ends. With a new market trend. Set things up for a while, Slumped over in the darkened house. The pictures on the wall, show old individuals, with dark frowns. The opiate like conditions, create visions, of spinning, Swirling, Black gowns. The Lady in White, dances in the sky. They continue drinking wine, Now is the right time You good men. You have a moral duty, to fight them. "You must understand, this is a cosmic battle between supernatural forces." You have a duty, Machiavelli. Sitting near, Empty Castles. On Hills. They will take your pills, For they only see the exoteric. Mr. Strauss thought he saw the esoteric. "No, I can't go back and get them, they might kill me. It's too much of a vision. They've looked at the wall for too long. I need to keep this and use this, this is mine. The others, they get drunk off of wine, I have to stop it. They can't control themselves." The sun has been extinguished Sol Invictus. This being passive, and just consuming black skeletons. Has killed us. Of course, blame them. They have poisoned us. With their beasts and horns. "Our conscious and morality, the lock has been well worn. We must lay dormant, be dark as night. And then they will become war torn, and stuck in a freezing fright. Jahiliyyah, will collapse under its own might." Sol Invictus. I have seen your light. Hissing Lear jets. Taking away all of your frets. I am God's Warrior. I am Immanuel Kant. I know the truth of the esoteric thought. I don't care how many dead. This is the right way which we lead. We must be filled with dread, we must protect ourselves against them. You wanted to change, you want to exist in that change They turned you into their own firing range. This means, Asphyxiation, On your own blood. In your case. In the woods, not a sign of life, Perhaps one should have brought a knife. Just for preservation of life. A Black Sun and Moon, merge in the sky, further darkening the night. This Jazz, Cigarette Smoke, Alcohol Abuse, Consumerism, New Cars, And a Perfect Lawn. Is not right. The Lady in Black kills the Lady in White. Eternal Night. Sol Invictus. I've seen your black and white. Black Light. Jihad Akbar. Blue. This was really drab. The motionless cyanotic blue. Lie there, a black hue. On a grey slate. "Great." He thought. Steak on the plate of an impulse. The body lie on a grey slab. They must've fallen into some sort of isolation trap. Outside, the Windows, began to shake, as the wind wrapped. Within the monolithic manor. With its creaking floors. Anyone would feel trapped Creaking doors. Broken floors. Falling into an abyss. How did they end up like this? The window. "His name must've been Winslow." Lightning flashed. Illuminating a figure. On a rain drenched window. A cold wind blew. He would find some way to make it through. The pain. The orange spark, some illuminating flame. The mouth of the fireplace, to not have a name. Unlike the eyes, of the weathered portrait. That was some sort of foreign, Dehumanizing, Depraved, Frame. The lane waned. The hooting of owls. And serpents. Sang. He opened the absinthe. Absent. And drank. He felt the unknown figure at his flank. It's icy touch. Created a rush. A fiery blush of its macabre, Embrace. His anti-intellectual waste. The disembodied figure, had a terrifying grotesque face. He threw himself into the fireplace. Becoming absent in time and space. His last vision being the figure's dark face. Turning and spiraling. Formal educational waste. He wound up on the slab. This was drab. The orange flickering candle, was extinguished. Leaving nothing, but a black and darkened lab. Forever on the slab. Dead, with no hue. Except for cyanotic. Blue. Patriot. I find it hard to see how your calculation works. Metallic, It sprays fire, and combusts, with a loud roar. It's one church door, of many. Secular religion. Rivers and streams, Palm trees. A cool breeze, Across the sand. The smell of warm copper. Use your flag, to cover up the corpses. Paranoia. You keep all your doors locked. Make sure you buy several different locks For each door. The advertising for those, is pretty gruesome . You always keep it loaded. The coldness of the metal, and the smell of the wood, brings destruction to those, you think would change, You, And everything. You are paranoid. Capital. Covered, Buried, Underneath, Cold wet dirt, An occult understanding, Of the way things should be, According to you. All the capital in the world, in your hands, All of this, by the way of an exploiter's loaded gun. Dialectic. This is a jolt of understanding. To be among. To be at a certain moment in time. To hear the ticking of the wooden clock. To understand that perhaps, this is a time, Of existence. Of subsistence. Forced labor. Violence. In the name of something, That doesn't exist. Platonic. You were so sure, That you were right. You'd seen the tropical trees, As the sweat stuck to your face, Your face began to become hot and blistered, In the steel mill. Everything being dictated to you. Nothing new. Of course, You could live life, Through your new clothes. That were made by someone else. Are you sure you're in control? Alchemical. Drop a bomb, And watch it explode. Pay no attention to the blisters, and the dead. Things are starting to turn red. The golden sunlight, That stings the skin. Elitist. Over and over again, Dig the hook into the flesh, Bring the copper redness, Use only for your benefit, Or would it be to your, Polluted destruction? Nature, Gone. Everything under your control, Cruel. Lenin. Go flying, Straight into the thoracic cavity. Pierce the heart, Do it again, You know better. Un-American activities. Breadcrumbs, the creaking wooden stairs. There was something somewhere, A listening device, Implanted in the consciousness. Something hidden in the field, A serpent's bite, death by gunshot. Hypnosis. Alone at the outpost, The radio, The Warmth. Being enshrouded, By something you do not need, You think you do. It was on sale, Just like everything. Leo Strauss. Look at the screen A projection, in the darkroom. Not much light. False light, From the projector. Mysterium Tremendum, Turns out the presence of you, of course. You just missed it. Exoteric. Where were you? Somewhere in the storm, The wind, In the cold, Away from us. Only you. You saw something you shouldn't have. Alone. Epistemology. What are you? What am I? Somewhere, Thousands of years ago. From the stars, From that old book, Knocked over chairs. At the light house, Lost at sea. Error. A white sheet. Stained red, With blood. Innocence, Never there to begin with. Homeostatic Imbalance. The heart, Heading towards The throat. Upwards, The shaking. The hands are cold, Or are they warm? The pressure, In the chest. Ice. Something out there on the ice, Buried deep. It lay there for millennia, In the dark. You sure you want it to thaw? The Road. Been on the road, a long time. There should be a gas station, around here somewhere. There's probably no one in there, The lights are off. Everyone's gone. Ethics. Everything is crumbling, At the church. There's moss, growing everywhere. Nobody's been there, in a long time. There is a serpent, Inside. Odessa. Blood, in the snow. Frostbitten feet. Police Baton, strikes the face. Forest. Severe, Thunder storm. Dead forest, Last moments, Alone. Seattle, Coffee. A Corpse. Agony. The pill, Makes the sublime. The acting, Of self-deception. The pain, Goes away. For a while. Utility. You knew I'd be back, I always am. The star, on the TV. The one that You'll never be, The depressed guy, grabs the AR-15. Big Imperialist, The jungle, The Shopping Mall. Peace, Land and Bread. There is a will. Walmart. Alone, at the outpost. Frozen. What you need, Peace. Land. Bread. Dedication. Under the water, a statue. Dedicated, to the one and only. Storytelling, Liar. You think you're better than everyone else. Mountaintop. Frigid air, greets the face, somewhere near. the Bering Sea. Along the way, a lot of pain. Agony. So much pain, it's hard to accomplish anything. Think straight, stay awake. The top of the mountain, You are, what they wanted. California sunlight. California sunlight, Motel. A red sign , Hangs. Above the entrance. "Vacancy." Inside, Sleeps. Reason. Broken glass, used needle. Infection? Or something even more terrifying? Ubermensch. Black, Green. Splattered, Moonless. Night. Trillions of stars, Thousands, Lights. Imperial, Destroyer. You really think you're cool? It's like someone's sick joke. You are the Cruelest, Abusive, Let down. Existence. Will to Power. Darkness, which way, to go? Right Left? Straight ahead? Meat, Grinder. Bought, Sold. Opportunistic, Infection. Will to power. Energy. Sweeps Week. Best one yet The ratings, will bring. It's just like the show, Homeland. Now it's real. Chilled hands, Sweaty palms. Tremoring hands, Paining chest. They'll kick in the door. Soon. Onyx Moon. Old Whitechapel, under a dull sky. Red, Onyx, Moon. Lowlife. supposedly, swoon. a few pounds. Whole existence, Gone down. a great frown, wooden church. Several merchants, and their clerks, mull, about the fog. Broken down, Cogs, cognition. Ritual, Cornerstone Initiation. Militias. Volition. Fog, Trees, superstition. Night. Ghosts, Cackling, Witches. Policemen, blowing whistles. New, Pistol. Epistles. Paranoia. Reality, Tinfoil. Rotten Meat. Cadavers, spoil. Graverobbers. Tombs. Under, Thousand. Onyx. Red . Moons. Drunkards. Stumble. Saloons. Slums. Hear the beating of drums. Dance Red Moon. Aftereffects, Rum. the drum becomes law. Drum becomes wild drum becomes a growing drone. The drum becomes a home. It becomes the home of a depraved, abysmal, hum. Slice of the Knife, the new drum. madness swoon. People. Paranoid. Onyx Red Moon. Wish, long, high noon the next day. Effigy. fractured mind. Display. Subprime Gothic. Life, on the counter. Bought Sold Gold Coins. Cycle, Deforestation. Castle walls, Babylonian. Millennium. fraying at the edges. Thunderstorm, Awaits. The Forest Falling Forgotten Eons. Diseased, Trees. Awaken. Stories of New People. Icy, Snow, Covered, Mountain. Unspeakable. See things, Mournful. Black, Veil. Frigid, Wind. Candles, Extinguished. I was there, With you. Acting. Sublime, Form. Enlightenment. Tried my best, To Climb, The Mountain. Which One, Of Us, Saw, What You, Could See? Conspiritual. Liberal, Been, Done, Kilt. Couldn't, Even, Find time, To Buy. Bolt, Action. Rifle. United Nations. Enslave me. Epistemic. Old Books. Ancient, Knowledge. Rotting, Centuries. Decay, Stained. Wooden, Shelf. History, Terrifying. Unnameable, Unspeakable. Odessa 2. Market Share, International, Waters. Shrapnel, Fire, Smoke. Creaking floors. Wind. Lenin's Ghost. The door. Jingoism. The ones who did it were, X. They were pissed off, because Y. Stained, tainted. Infected Drop, Blood. Steel, Boot. Stomping. Face of the world. Britannia. Time Travel. I thought I saw them, Back There, The Pool. Heavy, Breathing. Chest, Tightens. Inhaling, Labored, Smoke, Charred. Burning, Eyes. Nervousness, Trembling, Hands. Helicopters, Overhead, Now. Don't forget we were here. Don't forget us. Rumbling tanks. Eternal night. Transmutation . Hanging, Bare, Light bulb. Strange, Colored, Rains. Sound, Them, Coming. Individual, Invention. Transmutation. Antiquarian. Long ago, Earth, was young. Projection, Stone. Humanity, On its knees. Some Things Should Never Be. Left, Alone, Down. They do not care. The Teeth, Sting. Babylonian, Stone. Tentacles, drag them down. Abysmal, Esoteric, Bleakness. Herd. Simple, Enough. Wooden, Pews. Stone, Walls. Together, Not One Living. Secondhand, Accounts. Some guy, Who claims, He, Reads, Mind, Decaying, Comfortable, Myths. A 21st yet 19th Century Imperialism. Oak, Barrels. Bitter, Liquid. Heavy, Breathing. Velvet, Midnight. Anxiety, Beating, Wooden, Drums. Imperialistic, Whispers. Spirits, Jungle, Footsteps. Closer. Bad Faith. Swords, Unsheathed. Silvery, Glimmer. Light. Shines. Moonlight, Dancers. Dressed in White. Dressed in Red. Stone, Carved, Masks. Knight, Bishop. Crumble. Moon, Fades. Darkness. General's Bloodstained Uniform. The Colonels, Heaven, Earth. Disarray. Odessa III Out from the cold, Snow, Covers, Aching, Feet. Something was locked away, Beyond, The blast door. Open it, Burning radiation, Or something even more terrifying? Grotesque. Trinity Made of stars. Galaxies, It has knocked over trees. Bent, Forests, Backwards. Summer, Holiday, Leaves only ashes. Mystical Tarot. Everything, Gone. Trinity. Notes on Edmund Burke. Is the power not great enough? Is the path not too steep? To hold one, Palm, Hand. A grain of sand. Mountain, Snowy, Peak. Feeling, Touching, Enlightenment. Ice Pick. Jingo. Shells, Fly. Buzz, Above, Heads. Trembling, Hands. Thumps, Thuds, Rattle, Ground. Shell, Enters, Brain. Harrowing, Consciousness. Quickly, Burned. Hasten, Geiger Counters Painful, Burns. Twilight of the Idols of the 21st Century. Excuse me? Sir, This Pamphlet, All, Answers. Because it says so. Because they say so. Who exactly are they? They were never really there to begin with. Red Ink. Fake, Fake, Truth, Here, Misdirection. Keep the mystery going. Not answering, Proper question. Away from the mark. A slap in the face. Red ink. Allegorical Prophecy. Snow covers an Idaho overpass. Stained red by sanguine rain House of David feel stinging blisters. Burns and pain. Armies march forward. Notes on Simone de Beauvoir finding Freda Kahlo's Secret Painting. White snow, Covered, Car, Windows. Spinning out, Control, Simone de Beauvoir, Lights, Cigarette, pulls out Wooden Box. Ancient, Esoteric, Inside, Madness, No one should endure. Lost, Painting, Freda Kahlo Hid, Away. Made with a few drops of blood. Anguished, Heart, Goldstein? What can you get out of this particularly Jewish name? Icy, Frigid, Heat, Burning Smoke, Fire, If I could just get back to those that were at the swimming pool, Children, Dying, Smoke, Inhalation, caused by teargas from the outside. Tank, Rammed Building. Generation, Passes. "These Muslims don't want to assimilate." Car, Spins, Out of control. Crashes. Two old poems both connected for English class. Bless God and Will. Will A coincidence one too many. First came blood, that of same land. Then was 1988, January twenty. Twenty four were the months within your hand, till powers came and took possibilities away. You went on, as did I. Seasons buried. Months tripled. Six years fifty hundred miles too far. You return to me yesterday. You're older now. Still, four days young. As I fumbled to overcome five thousand miles too far, you spoke of reuniting forty five hundred miles less. Coffee waves of your hair threw me at war against my fear to our six years of mess. Yet this you knew, to draw an endless laughter out. As I knew, eight years before, what we were about. -Christine Lin Bless God. The sandstorms swarms around us, a fascist collective city bus, plays with the Liberator marionette puppet. Great tree mountains, mountains higher than the highest courthouse Of corn husks the people speak in hushes they're angry at the austerity and the removal of the buses. They speak in whispers and seething cusses. Let's not be too crass and now, we did go to the heavy metal rock show hair metal. Black rose petals, stained with red rose petals of bad faith. The proletariat rise of the eyes logging towns and Athens Georgia will go mostly unnoticed. For the most part collective eyes will be greatly disenfranchised, cast down into broken well holes. In Eastern Europe the broken down and stained and crumbling churches, will have darkened dank bell tolls. Just take a look at the newspaper polls, it is a good morning. A mask of bad faith, and great existentialist mourning and self hate A brand-new fascist Republic out of the puppet of the Shah. The people look at the perfection through the fog and the gaslight with awe. The Bear caused all the republics to tear. Back in there to the 1980s, Let's do some cocaine just like a decade ago. Mindless corporate poetry, and break the reactor both rose The great theatrical sexual urges, all from and thrown from the predecessor to the old blues name. The face of the, new electronic Apple word processor tree frame. Just sitting here and staring at this game that followed on Pitfall or Pong is rather on Monday Mundayne Everyone will know the name, of the great worker Soviet who hung his head in shame, The Russian Federation, will be the new name, There will be a new grand chessboard for a new game, Out of the pus of imperialism will come a new name. A good 30 years in the game will still be the same, Don't you think that DSL is rather lame? It reminds me of my old Apple word processor. Slow and stoic clinical processes they don't get smudged recesses. Only smudged and black morose amaryllis funeral dresses, and a crumpled Eastern European church thrown into perpetual night. Oh how this does help me since they invented the PlayStation, now I can destroy the data in an obfuscated rate, of the hidden urban guerrilla. This is much like Attila Computer operated, Drone strike, Ending the rates of Edmund Burke's nightmares of perpetual night. At least for a short while. Lake Select year in this holy ordained hell. An isolated ostracized, cell. A few bells ring in the courtyard at midnight. Yeah sure they think they're right. At night, the ghosts play upon the shadows of the wall. This was supposedly the idea of the perfect community good for all. The howl of the wind is a great solace friend; a few footsteps make their way around the darkened hallway Around the bend. Maybe the footfalls are just the wind. Or maybe it's them. The ones wearing the black hoods And singing mystical Hymns. They started all the trends. On the almighty glow of the cave. It came through in statically waves. A piercing shrill. It was so easy to kill. The almighty glow of the fiery wave. This was an electronic, arachnid of a web of chords. A modern way to make an inauthentic Palantine hill. Afraid of the screaming rushing hoards. Locked doors. Followed by loaded guns. Quick runs. Painful scrubs. Spotted blood. Bloody jingoist hymns. This had to be them. Not running. Walking. Talking. In slow whispers . He was probably going to be one of the next dippers. His muffled screams, were thought only to be dreams by those chained to the cave wall. Outside the moon shone full. This was the control of the bears and bulls. The bell rang at midnight. This was the time. The hooded inquisitors. The visitors. Had arrived. On the specific night. This time was right. The blinding light opened up. Showing the men behind the curtain. Wearing their dark robes. Destroying all hopes. Perhaps there'll be a rope. Or maybe some forced dope. The call of an owl. At 12:01 was the only way out for one. They raised their guns. The bell sounded outside. The leaves fell from the trees on this night everything was right. As had been, since they had peeled away and drank. The moon shone over the silver rocks washed in the lake. Plenty of dead leaves to rake. This was the idea of Plato's cave. Everything to take. Or was it everything to make. It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. No, it wasn't supposed to be this way, not the work of an angry tyrannical tempest. From each according to his ability, to each according to his need. The dark hooded inquisitors sang solemn hymns as they dragged the body through the weeds. They had finally reached the trees. As they removed their hoods, they defiled the dead dissident. They began to hear chanting and bizarre hisses. They continued on with their work. And then stopped. They heard something trampling across the leaves and the rocks. It was only supposed to be them that made this walk. They heard rustling, in the trees. And then a procession of polyphonic anguished screams Echoed across the leaves. Let them eat cake. The mutilated bodies of the hooded inquisitors, were found the next morning. In the lake. Great black Pyramid. Great black Pyramid, Stand so tall, Papers flung, every which way, off of the wooden table. Life's work, Ruined. Mysterious, Passageway. Perestroika. Hollow, Point, Breaks, Rib cage. Organs Rupture, Screams, Gurgling Gray, Sky. Black. Midnight. Approaches. Epistemological Pedagogy. Stars, Venus, Dust, Far, Away, Chiseled, Stone, Souls, Gods, Stolen. Being, Nothingness. Existential Idealism. Grotesque, Museums, Hold, Products, Sold, Ideas, Holy, Perfect, Forms. Odessa III : Anabasis Wooden beds, Don't do much, Against, Harsh, Winter, Cold. Coughs, Quicken, Deepen, Lungs, Organic. Tissue, Made, Not, Iron. Strength, Decreases, Fluids rise, Cough gets stronger, Lice, Hard to get off the bodies, Lying so close together, Only Bleak, Light, Guard Tower, Rifles, Metal, Wood, Pierce, Straight, Through, Brains, Humming, Incinerators, Constantly, Burning, Humming, Once, More, Raining, Gehennah, Roof, Collapses. Burning, Fire, Chars, Inside, Deceased, Iron, Lung. Quatrain. Kings and princes of Normandy tighten the rope. Blood mixes of Charlemagne and Saladin. Third Eye closes shut. Ragnarok freezes and burns whilst new worlds arise. Folly A Duex. Babylonian, Stones, Secrets, Whispered, Unspeakable Answers, Waitress, Tired. A Fake. Becomes Welder, Fashions, Steel, Dead God, Putrefies, Decaying, Crumbling, Sepulcher, Broken love, Pierced, Heart, False hope. The Great War Visits Seattle. Glistening in the sun as the raindrops, A clear bag of imperial stalwarts changed hands. Bullet Metal, Casing. The injured veins, Slowly tightened, Metal, Heart, Valves, Pressure, Explodes. Destroyed.