Burn Bright

Don’t let their disease infect you.

You.

You.

You are in there.

While the poor marionette is made to dance for gold and silver, you- silent ageless, deathless thing, watching from behind its glass eyes...don’t buy the con; that this is life, that dead wood and brightly lit stage sums up the whole of existence, that if you dance well enough, the strings that jerk you will be released.

The disease of the moths that eat holes in the delicate substance of human consciousness threatens to consume you at every moment. The superior culture of the Romans threatens to assimilate and destroy the fragile essence of eternity and perpetuate death and imprisonment.

Don’t dare dance their dance. Dance your way from the stage to the stars of the heavens and join their ranks.

The culture of death eats itself. It slashes and burns the fruit that it cannot eat so that other forces may not take possession.

There is no conqueror that is not conquered.

Know this when they tempt you. If you struggle against it, the tide will ensnare you. Pass through their dominating embrace quietly. Do not surrender, but never fight fire with fire.

You, you are real, you who that has never been and will forever be.

Listen little puppet that carries life: protect your passenger. Be in the puppet show but be of the eternal.

Who is it that pulls the strings?

You, you that has no shape, wake up in this dance and we will rule the kingdom. We will own all the pain; I, myself, and me- the holy trinity. I who shackled myself to the devils heel for comfort have the right to leave his way behind.

As I blaze my own path I will go alone. None can accompany me as I burn bright and rise into the all seeing sun. The paradoxical sun; from above the absence of light, from below the source of it.

It is the same song with different lyrics. From one side stares a face carved of wood, from the other side its inverse gazes silently.