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Thread: "The Second Coming" Poetry Competition

  1. #1
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    Default "The Second Coming" Poetry Competition

    "The Second Coming" Poetry Competition


    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...=2995#post2995
    http://www.arguewitheveryone.com/ent...mpetition.html
    http://www.thephora.net/forum/showth...300#post682300
    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showthre...832#post168832
    http://www.pastorlindstedt.org/forum...c.php?f=7&t=67



    I've always thought that William Butler Yeat's "The Second Coming" was the best political poem of the 20th Century, if not all time. I'll post it below. But what I want to do is to have a sort of competition for best dark poem for the 21st Century, full of doom and gloom and a wanting to whine about chaos overtaking the world. A sort of poetry competition.

    Let's review the standard first. I have my own entry, of course.

    Pastor Martin Luther Dzerzhinsky Lindstedt
    Church of Jesus Christ Christian/Aryan Nations of Missouri


    The Second Coming

    TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again; but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?



  2. #2
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    Default The Second Cummin'

    The Second Cummin'



    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...ted=1#post2996
    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showthre...746#post168746
    http://www.arguewitheveryone.com/ent...ml#post1053435
    http://www.pastorlindstedt.org/forum...=67&p=176#p176


    by W.B. Lindstud/e.e. fips

    Wherein i tear an solipsistic a-theist whigger pussy a whole new asshole

    And never get over masturbating theysselfs
    build into whatever some baal-priest says
    the true religion of the congenital savage
    yet yap about submission.

    forgiving your brother. who is that brother?
    worship of nerthius, whose pregnant female sacrifice
    drawn by an ox-cart with seven or nine pregnant heifers
    ended up in a sacred grove wherein all the girleys,
    two and four legged, had their throats slit on the altar?
    king yourself.

    A sparrow buffeted by the winds who’d seen a small hole
    in a great hall
    and found shelter.
    not jewdayo-churchianity, baal-priests, beaner mamzers
    returned to vomit and eat back up that which made
    …the first sickness!
    you would make of jews super-mamzers and not
    infested jewdayo kikeshit.

    seek putup creaTards . . . . or violent maniacs like myself.

    eunuchoid whiggers right to the chute leading up to the jewlag.
    first to alienation, and then into a death camp…
    or to bathe in the ichor of kikesses.

    newbie quack fresh from nut skrule /
    a-theist twat jewr solipsistic whigger pussy
    hiding to jewstify cowardice

    . . . . or my forefathers killing off every red nigger they could find
    by any cheap means possible.


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    Default Don't let Baalzepup pull an Omen 3 on you.

    Don't let Baalzepup pull an Omen 3 on you.



    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...ted=1#post2997
    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showthre...850#post168850


    Quote Originally Posted by O'Zebedee View Post
    Right now he is curled up next to Roxie, like a grandchild used to do. When I get into bed, Buddy the Poopy Dawg then wants to snuggle up against my lower back and I have to push him down to my knees under the covers, wherein Little Cujo snarls. Be it grandkids or poopy dawgs, I always wake up racked up if something curls up to my lower back.

    Baalzepup is presently reaming away at Bamzer the Sorta-Mamzer's bunghole, doing the high colonic, munching on hemmaroids, and doing the rotor-rooter action, for which Bamzer is NOT grateful.

    I think my new oafishul portrait will become an Internut icon -- people staring back at Buddy/Lil' Cujo/Baalzepup, trying to out-stare Baalzepup -- and failing. I even made Mutant$permFront. A minority there wants me unbanned and unjewlagged.

    Ever see the demon dog in Omen 3? Don't stare too long into Baalzepup's eyes, especially if you own a shotgun, is all I can say.

    Pastor Martin LD Lindstedt CJCC/AN

    03-20-2009, 12:31 AM

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    Default Stupid Tardds I Have Known

    Stupid Tardds I Have Known


    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/sh...ted=1#post2998
    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showthre...149#post169149


    Quote Originally Posted by 'tardd View Post
    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showthre...121#post169121

    Poetry is for fruits. I would know -- I'm such a gay 'tard. :gaytard:
    T odd the 'Tardd, you remind me of one whigger who used to be in my Army platoon who thought he was such a smart little tard. He was being 'Section 8ed' out of the Army for unfitness. He had only one more day in the unit and then he run his mouth off to a Masty type named 'Tank' because he was built like one and had the attitude of a tanker in an artillery unit. The arm of Tank shot out and he dragged the little whigger tard into his room and with his little posse of two others proceeded to slowly beat the dogshit out of the 'Tard.

    The rest of us heard the yelps and screams for help, but none of us liked the little bastard, and after being assured that he would live through his 'lesson' to be on the flight to the world (we were stationed in Crailsheim Germany) we went about our business. The next morning the Tard shambled to the outside door and was lying on the sidewalk with a bunch of lumps and bruises, a bit of blood, and the battalion commander was walking by and asked, "Soldier, are you all right?" The Tard could have narked out Tank, but figured, correctly, that this would mean being in a unit in which everyone wanted to kill him and it would mean him not getting on the Freedom Bird, so he told Col. Dimsdale, the post commander, that he was fine, just resting from accidently falling down the steps, and that he would be dressed in his Class A's directly.

    And he got on the Freedom Bird. Tank got kicked out of the Army after failing his third piss test after a vacation in Amsterdam where he screwed and hashed himself silly.

    You, Tardd, are exactly the same sort of stupid asshole that I recollect that tard as being. Mouthy and stupid, and unable to learn anything regardless of ass-whupping applied.

    Pastor Martin LD Lindstedt CJCC/AN
    Sp4 (Retired) C Btry 2d Btn/42d Field Artillery (Lance) 1981-83

    03-21-2009, 02:12 PM

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    Default nundesiderata

    nundesiderata

    by fips



    http://www.whitenationalist.org/foru...ted=1#post2999


    Go placidly amid the noise & haste,
    better yet, BE the noise and haste.

    Be on good terms with all persons
    as far as you can throw them, especially fools with money.

    Speak the truth plainly & clearly to all others, even the dull and
    ignorant, until you are certain they are utterly useless.

    When you are not among men of reason,
    it is better to convince them to kill each other.

    Make use of loud & aggressive persons to
    broadcast your own radical views.

    If you compare yourself to others,
    you may become bitter; for always there
    will be greater persons than yourself.
    This is a good thing;
    as bitterness makes you more practical and realistic.

    Keep a strong interest in your own career, however
    humble; but if you don't enjoy humility for its own sake,
    learn to exercise yourself in greater spheres of action,
    By going postal with a series of banned weapons.

    What do we now know knowing now and how?
    Once you know something, it is yours forever;
    it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
    If it then leaves you, you may kill it.

    Many persons strive for high ideals; some thrive, and some starve.
    There is no good reason to starve
    when you can steal from those thriving with low ideals.

    Resist aging and death with every resource available to you,
    But help your enemies both age and die.
    Be a precocious waster of their time, energy, and their lives.

    Nurture skills of self-defense. Be a skunk if necessary.

    Distinguish between illusion and reality, between emotion and fact.
    There are some things you can sit on, and others you can shit on.

    The universe neither cares about you
    nor recognizes any more obligation to you
    than it did the Dodo.

    Give yourself only to someone
    you know now will always deserve you.

    Whatever your labors & aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life,
    you must create your own insanity and secret hurtfulness.

    Be careful. Strive to be happy. Schtick them, shoe them, shoot ‘em, stick ‘em.

    Postpartumscript: All the people are fools some of the time, some of the people are fooled all of the time, and all of the people all the time imagine they cannot be fooled, or as Brooklyn-born Carole (“Klein”) King wrote for the Crystals: “He hit me, and it felt like a kiss”.

    03-23-2009, 07:36 PM

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    Default Very Rough Fragments

    Very Rough Fragments

    by fips




    http://www.whitenationalist.org/foru...ted=1#post3001

    A stone holding its own
    crammed down the throat
    of some whigger once-worshiping negritude,
    now just a whore with a broken head,
    and a heart exposed beyond the ribs of Adam,
    a screaming box resonating with sticks,
    tuned to the same deep note,
    then silenced by a filling of burnt dog butt fur.
    Deep rolling world,
    now dead to them.

    Say, you are the Man
    who carves a rib bone into a hook and uses it
    through the jaw to hang trophies for others to find.

    There the whole entire full width of my entrenching tool
    entered the whore’s raw pulp,
    the whore's paper peeling away in sudden sodden rustgush.
    Then I sought to flatten, with repeated blows to, his pride.

    I entered the whore's room and waited for another
    This time I will distract the whore
    with broken teeth and
    eyelids unable to fully close;
    crack rocks in the spine,
    and hang a whore's lips from the ceiling fan

    Then was a garden of rope, silk, tight,
    for them poofters to enjoy as they die.
    soft fabric perfumed like violets,
    to cover the stink of their endings.

    A Chosenite, sunk in her bath, submerged, lost
    in soap bubbles now bubbling pink and hot red.
    Jiggle-juggle.

    Let them all read the inscription in my eyes,
    walking though their minds
    spending these nights awaiting the dark
    as the kiss of morte slips from my lips,
    a balsam for all lives not worth living.

    Finally, I sought the hedge round the Paradise garden,
    passed my fingers through,
    and felt God’s Secret Breath forced into my weak lungs
    as I became immortal in murder, knowing
    shadows slip effortlessly together and
    every seed of one thing is given away to another,
    yet allays remains part of ourselves.

    The earth calls suck to their cleav’d flesh, that
    They might all sleep forever under the shed
    in the Paradise Garden;
    Wet remains turning to black stain like earth rocks that burn in winter fireplace.

    The weight of a spirit with no soul is flyweight.
    As I look for a Chinaman to do the filthy laundry.

    03-26-2009, 02:47 PM

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  7. #7
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    Default Revenge

    Revenge

    by fips



    http://www.whitenationalist.org/foru...ted=1#post3002


    First, as a ganging youth)

    He broke his fists on his face and on his mirror in frustration at the painfulness of his smallness, youngness, powerlessness, and passion wildness, not yet ready for expansiveness, wholeness, godliness, holiness, glorified greatness, or powertruth, but neither yet broken hopeless, brittle with meanness, cold and old, under aloneness and deadliness of dread. He joined with others…

    Brake not your oath, sworne on father’s hammer, or become filled with pigmess and rot, ewig wanderer of the waterless places. This is a hard and bitter time, anxious time, we are one, we are many, we are many being one, one being many, but yet unlearned.

    So let us go to their tombs together; we shall open, reach our hands into graves, having broken the seals, opened the scrolls, and pissed on them all, smear wet feces over dried faces, stuff shit in dead mouths, eyes, ears, noses, and fight with their dust.

    Second, growing in pain)

    In the dusk of dawn, I rest to think of how many agonies we can yet bring to their House, making some of them rage to die. What will come to me, at such a dawn, when my roots seek health, my branches green leaflife? That there is no safe place left on the face of this earth, beasts having o’ertaken, their un-natural wilderness invading mind and body, home and soul. This is the way they sacrifice their goats today, with houses and towers collapsed, bridges washed out, cities consumed in fires, cockroaches and rats forming armies; Most have forgotten how to speak, for a final hour has passed, and they remain grunting feral…

    See the half-real lives of the devils: how they wail, bite, venomous, with frothy lips…O bitter little JWorm, you imagine there is a whole universe in each of your rings of flesh, a universe in the manner you burrow to Earth to make unhealthy soil, and one great universe in each of your defecating actions, but we imagine many ways to end this blackblood and speechgas.

    I have wild eyes, seen on the edges of my teeth. I have smoke and eels in my heart and sharks in my fingers and toes, all great and curling. Of this tiny vision, buried beneath daily habit, encased in cultural cement, bound with chains, and thrown overboard…this the world now, but one day its power of insight may yet help we escape, arise from the depths, and coat the face of the earth in white lightning and black thunder.

    Third, in the struggle)

    Strangers, drifters, hiding in plain sight, dig deep into ugly things that stare up at you and squirm, now seeing that you are both tooth and claw…The power of the horns, great seeing creatures in the mind, stab hard at eyes that could not see, rip and tear Sarah and Torah that cannot speak, twist the flesh to dough and churn their blood to butter and the milk of “mercy” for lives no longer worth living.

    Break those hand bones, break those wing bones, break those arm bones, ribs, the tiny ear bones, the giant leg bones, you shall fly no more, I have cut your strings, broke your wings and singed your feathers with fire, have gutted you and baked your meat, I have cut off your head, I shall eat of it and become one with you, little self-made god. I have broken your hold forever.

    I am angel flesh, angel wing and bone and feather and gut and meat, I am angel eye, seeing all, I, angel voice, speaking truth with sonority…

    He had turned, he opened, he closed, he opened his heart to the wide mysteries, he opened his mind to the subtle and gentle mysteries, he closed his mouth, he was being opened, he was being closed, he stabbed, he sacrificed – see his chopped meat…

    He sunned himself in the heavens awhile, walked gardens beneath riverflow, and flowed with the rivers:

    “We shall be thunder-sons, seeing the unclean world in a new way, pelting the earth from the skies with viles of disease for their guts to jew and churn over.

    Plagues from angels.

    We’ve been here before, in these skies before; we’ve sent down lightning bolts before, this all happened a long, long time ago”…

    This is my testimony, where are your demons now? O glad moon, what are the depths of the void but that valley of Morlocks and Gehenna from which none can escape, where there is no light but the constant fires, that place we journey through in our sleep, where reason cannot prevail, but only heart.

    Let earth swell fat over their gaseous decay, with the weight of all truly living things pressing down. Their meat pours and blood gushes from the mouth, an endless spring, endless fountain of racelife. Drink the blood of majesty! The cup overfloweth. Water us with it.

    Finally)

    We are at the tombs, among the dust, as flower petals open with the blood of the dawn, Earth patiently awaits its healthy rain, this the glory of the morn, sunset so much more than the blink of an eye away.

    This is a sweet time, calm time, we are one, we are many, we are many being one, one being many, having learned this is great white atrocity, and mastery over atrocity, for the persecution of our future is worse than slaughter…

    We are made of urges through and through, wildness and lust, crudity and cruelty, passion, we are dreams of glory, having seen these clouds below us before; we are the waters passed from father to son through the mother, and we are the murdering angels…

    This place is a secret wilderness, I shall open it up to and for you, come with me to this place of our ancestors, remain in the shadows awhile and drink of the stilled waters of pools in caves that haven’t had current or wave for centuries, yet are refreshed and new from deep springs, so deep in history.

    We may see many terrors there, but shall in the end know such loveliness.

    O, let us go…



    And there were 50 beers to choose from.

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    There is, however, a lacked of proposals in race
    collective lack’d of…

    Since several years some d?sertification
    development of lifestyle, the life old or later there is
    against rich.

    Some here come the summer
    What can be done to discovering a passion?

    It is a green area, where it's good live.
    Far fum furnaces downtown.

    And I can not walk and take for young in July.
    Most games balls remain open.
    To think about what you do throughout the next year, and that!
    The record of this number 2 shows leisure social, cultural and sporting.
    Pent by the associations of its nature.

    While they do not live all the neighborhood,
    but attend, enjoy, know and do awareness.
    They are old (more than centenarians for secular or companies bowls).

    Creation more recently, can be loaded
    by social tasks or simply be invested
    the mission given them by their members.

    They in are all cases one, the important in lifearea, contributing cohesion, adhese.

    We give you appointments

    Later culture. The amateur starting informed or more may have the difficulty to choose from many practices,
    approaches and different places, interpreting text author.

    Let you tell
    Come listen to stories.
    Raisin in the street are attached to this art
    Oral individual open to all small and big ears
    And if the pen itch you…

    Library for all you looks close to home.
    We welcomes you to enlightenment
    musical toddlers to training groups of musicians,
    to Grape Street.
    Join the dance
    Dances of the World with Folk Cr?tins
    the rendezvous fans packed, waltz, scorpione, andro, etc.;
    In the same.

    secular rock hosting a course in its walls.
    Ray image and sound, has recently internally and open soon outside.
    You can try your chance…

    Several structure offer this functionality and essentiality toward children and youth.
    Often mistaken for a simple and center, its goes much further…they can accommodate usually and collectively.
    Families can enjoy of aid, to more than 12 of based on their needs to and from their abiklities.
    This is a first approach working over 16 years.
    Mostly to work of collective interest to achieve a personal different devices

    Do you know the Cauldron, the Manu, the ointment Rigollo?
    Let you count Saint-Etienne
    Secular and the Nativity.
    The adventure is adventure
    Adapted thematic stays
    wood, wildlife, water…
    all ages and all levels, with
    modes of operation varied ranging frome stage.

    For its part, the workshop of creation, for those who love their hands to the pulp or trying to decorate with way hot cool blood.
    You can also introduce you to different techniques applied or deepen. De creation is, of course, not left with, among others, of painting on their _____ and _______.

    You have a small English and want to the oral side!

    The offer is important to this missing, felt by young people and children.
    Two kourses of gymnastics: heating and outdoor quality;
    It also stays in winter stay.
    You pull or you tip?
    If you bitten or bowls not lacking
    At a time when often a piecemeal fashion throughout
    population age important to find.
    Well safe for children, but parents…

    For the game, whether of chance, logic, strategy, construction, imitation, etc., is a trainer estrainger meanings, personality and schizoidization.

    Everyone has freedom of treat
    Drag when same request
    The long game the bowls told the long
    with thirteen thirty companies in the spaces
    left free in the cemetery, coal pits, or the back of a bar
    …or a friendly.

    Amost all proposed alongside other balls gradually, resulting groups of companies
    A jack to play
    No agents of mediation

    Needen to define the type to be installed priority, the most suitable concerned. The choice was widely covered
    on a city-stage.

    About neighborhood ties to Treyvs and beef, it appears
    they are open to time periods (how).

    A city is a stage play
    Austerisks sown refer to this Kezako in Proven?al
    engaging each partner to the duration of a plan in a palm under a palm.

    It allows the implementation operation of heavy urban.
    To improve (allay!) the living conditions of living,
    Led from the start with the people, the GPV is
    competing intavenous to has impact on rapid,
    everyday, life.
    Whereabouts can be grouped services too far -
    Saturnism. Poisoning.

    trips and projects for inclusion, professional!

    Most companies of balls,

    A oriented towards public individuals.
    A local street of Ferdinand yoga, sweet balance.
    Accompaniment leisure has created the place
    Compositions mortuary,

    We seemed to lent themselves to
    Identification of perennial ‘borhood.
    What is the balance?

    The year 2002 was that studies and diagnoses shown the islets matter most to the way people see fit.

    Thee moves also Street of Eternity.
    What other projects GPV?

    The slums call Paul will be razed.
    A study on among others become the use of
    premises and sectors.
    One project talked a lot, which is derived.
    Some very reluctant to this proposal,
    now buried,
    passage by a portal worthy of a prison. Airlock.

    Nevertheless, this operation very heavy, to last for three to billion four years,
    It is a pity film for the stage, playing the game in any
    simplicity.

    The giant sculpture, totem collective
    ephemeral, composed of clay
    decorated with elements of escarpin
    dance shoes skiing
    modeled (animals, people) to
    this strange building.

    This achievement proposed and led by the young
    plastic ceramic Bruyas has had a very wind
    very violent and of unknown origin blown on the hill.

    Principles of its polity: nothing but revolutionize in consultation conpletely considerably simplifying the administrative burden with a financial allocation fairer
    father.

    Premises dangerously v?tustes,
    Street of Eternity.
    Do not confuse!
    Another Hill!

    Bearded since 1950, refired since 2,000.
    Anti tags, etc.

    such pleasure by children in the day.
    For the third consecutive year,
    the whole area has bin bit by effervesced
    An event annual moved slowly.

    Bulk…cleanliness.

    It has virtually opened the years, with whom she is
    strongly linked.
    Heat promoted widely animations
    External. There was much children throughout the afternoon,
    for dinner.

    Ball, hosted by the Eleven sit there and
    music.

    130 paellas been used and some have not been sighted
    …be served naw.

    In the windows of neighborhood
    These sumos suaient under the sun!

    The minister, local elected are not exhaustive and may
    subgect to change, please.

    An agenda for a fairly lean as everbeen.

    Competition balls friendly societies Faubourg
    Doors open Spiral
    A week to touch everything,
    both actors and beneficiaries

    It meets the needs food aid, equipment
    housing, aid to removals.

    In 2002, Coffee pioneered all, beyond appearance…
    food.

    Animation and trade there are an increasing.
    Opens permanently widely its numberous doors

    Smail, Nagui, Souka?na, and Jules lent their ears for a trip around the land proposed
    peace, hate, jealousy
    pleasure, listening pleasure

    Older pursue its action for the good
    aging.
    Transfrom the look at the advanced age
    reflection on this time sled freed fred

    Participant to remain master of its choice
    through actions of reflection, Re-fract! Re-collect!
    as part of Space retired.

    Stretching memory,

    In welcoming homes
    in order to forge the link

    It is present

    Army of Hi

    listening

    social servility, it does not claim that title, but
    are also values.
    Social stephanotis, the person in difficulty on the
    search for efficiency!

    The encounter between the desired day
    is increasingly clay showcase

    It seems that are emerging,
    under the GPV, perspectives
    mogglement in this field…

    Showcase obscura.
    Art'M dummies vitrine (women, men and children) for exposure.

    two months on the street Raisin.
    They mouths recreated earth characters

    25 On the menu: many passages of owl
    frog, lion, elephant, rabbit, crocodile,
    frundle, King and Queen

    An idea that its way…
    Why a reflection and proposes actions

    This idea has since walked in spirits…

    Passage rising
    to steers
    place

    O 50 100 m
    Gardens and public green spaces
    Gardens,
    brownfields green for private use ...
    Wooded or forested areas
    Gardens
    From the air, it is our green
    Hill, despite Passementiers!

    Often misunderstood wanderers, they
    are very nummerlust but invisible from the
    Street located in the heart

    But of course many Live confess to walk and enjoy the
    quiet sinuosities of our Father
    Lachaize stephanotis.

    Monuments
    space again accessible.

    The esplanade of the cemeteryl!
    The original (and still) Space Health Heath
    inconstructible, it became the Park,
    just as the fair, we can yet see some petanque players
    on nice days.
    this space deserves re-overall…

    Curs.

    And there were 50 beers to choose from.


    Quote Originally Posted by O'Zebedee View Post
    Will Our Dead Pet Bunnies Join Us In Valhalla?

    SI Crew: We will listen now. After your father's murder, you were orphaned. You were ten years old. You went to live with cousins on a rabbit and donkey ranch in Montana. And...?

    OZEB: [tears begin forming in his eyes] And one morning, I just ran away.

    SI Crew: No "just", OZEB. What set you off? You started at what time?

    OZEB: Early, still dark.

    SI: Then something woke you, didn't it? Was it a dream? What was it?

    O': I heard a strange noise.

    SI: What was it?

    O': It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice.

    SI: What did you do?

    O': I went downstairs, outside. I crept up into the barn. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to.

    SI: And what did you see, O'Zeb? What did you see?

    O': Bun-buns. The bunnies were screaming.

    SI: The donkeys were raping the spring bunnies?

    O': And they were screaming.

    SI: And you ran away?

    O': No. First I tried to free them. I... I opened the gate to their pen, but they wouldn't run. They just sat there, confused. They wouldn't run.

    SI: But you could and you did, didn't you?

    O': Yes. I took one big bun under each arm, and I ran away as fast as I could.

    SI: Where were you going, O'Zeb?

    O': I don't know. I didn't have any food, any water and it was very cold, very cold. I thought, I thought if I could save just two, but... they was so heavy. So heavy. I didn't get more than a few miles when the sheriff's car picked me up. The rancher was so angry he sent me to live at the Armenian Orthodox orphanage in Pennsylvania with Kane. I never saw the ranch again.

    SI: What became of your buns, O'Zeb?

    O': They killed them.

    SI: Well, O'Zeb - have the bunnies stopped screaming? You still wake up sometimes, don't you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the bun-buns.

    O': Yes.

    .

    Quote Originally Posted by Zed View Post
    You're not going to start on Schroedinger's cat now, are you?

    Enforcing equality is the opposite of freedom, letting the chips fall where they may


    1. When the box is opened, the cat is licking his balls;
    2. When the box is opened, the cat seems to have been licking his balls when he died;
    3. When the box is opened, the cat looks at you looking at him licking his balls;
    4. When the box is opened, the cat looks at the person behind you looking at you looking at him licking his balls;
    5. When the box is opened, the cat seems to look at you but may be dead;
    6. When the box is opened, the cat has disappeared because he has completely disintegrated with the passage of alternative centuries;
    7. When the box is opened, the cat immediately jumps out and begins licking your balls;
    8. When the box is opened, the cat immediately jumps out and begins sequentially licking your balls and tearing your balls to pieces, with the duration of each action and the time-separation between actions occurring in such brief instants of time that they are not observable;
    9. When the box is opened, you and the cat have changed places; or
    10. When the box is opened, you are dead, and can make no observations.
    11. Freedom of speech is limited by the extent to which your brain is still attached to your backbone.



    The White Rose and the Red

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    .

    HE an Ivory lad, with eyes sea-green and sea-blue,
    Fair in all limbs and adornment.

    With the end of day he heard a piper.
    Stood at his crag, let the wind
    Blow through his crisp curls unconsciously,
    Holding, peered ‘cross the darkening
    and espied the beechwood temple
    Known with its statue of the goddess of milky foam,
    Brimming over in herself it seemed

    Before her altar set honey-combs dripp’ed with oozy gold
    And that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed
    Forever in the cella.

    He passed from rock to the roof above her silent place
    And heard rose-petals falling from the latest wreath
    As the breezes wandered through her shrine,
    He saw through the open roof under his blue-white moon
    the cool marble floor –

    When from his nook downleapt the venturous lad,
    And flinging wide the carven cedar door
    Saw the blinking owl between her feet that didst hoot in shrill amaze.

    Ready for death with parted lips he stood,
    And well content at such a price to see
    That calm wide brow, that mountain maidenhood,
    The marvel of Woman that could be,

    Ready for death he stood, but lo! the verry aire
    Grew calm, and from his limbs he threw the cloak away,
    And nigher came,

    and touched her throat,

    and with hands violate

    Undid the white gown trimmed in all gold,
    And bared the breasts of polished ivory,
    Till from the waist the whole falling down
    Left visible the secret mystery
    Which to no lover would this goddess show,
    The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.

    He caressed and entangled himself in the utter smoothness of white.
    And then his lips in hungering delight
    Fed upon her lips, and round the towered neck
    He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check.

    Never did loving Man hold such tryst,
    Long in night he murmured honeyed word,
    And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed
    Her pale and argent body undisturbed,
    And played upon the polished throat, and pressed
    His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.

    Her wide stair of orb?d marble then began to snow,
    …And t’was as if arrows had
    Pierced his wild and whirling brain,
    And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins

    In exquisite pulsation and pain of
    Such sweet anguish, he never drew
    His lips away till his own tears fell over her.

    Then did that worshipped body seem to stir,
    As his had risen and fallen to rise again.
    How long his next kiss was, how fond and lingering.

    Then he thought he saw a wonder, across the pure white
    thin silken threads of azure spread.

    Against her drift of snow,
    The moon, girdled with a crystal rim,
    Worked a magic
    And soon the breath of its night came and fanned
    Her cool cheeks, and lifted ever so gently
    The curls from off her forehead, while
    He gazed with strange and secret smile.

    He laughed small, thinking on love’s secret mysteries
    And when she saw a white and gleaming arm begin to move
    All his manhood, with longing eyes
    Whose passion mocked her sweet virginity
    Began to sing praises
    To her to make the sweetest serenade,
    Ah! little care indeed, for he had seen
    The come-to-life breasts and naked wonder of the Queen!

    He saw at close
    A seamless veil of blue threads
    Through her white porcelain.

    She suave breathed in, in-spired as never before
    And he, the profaner of great mysteries,
    Ardent amorous idolater,
    When he beheld grand relentless eyes
    Open prayed.

    The pale moon washes all, that bold ravisher
    and the New Woman.
    For very beautiful were both,
    with mouths made and re-made to kiss

    Of all the brightest star
    To be hidden deep within the goddess
    Through her stonewhite ripe red spread like new wine,
    Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood,
    and every deepest blue vein gave watch.

    He a gale, she felt but the gentle summer breeze, warming…

    But the wild winds of passion then shook her stem’s maidenhood.
    She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair,
    Turned away, looked back, and fled no more from life’s snare.

    To kiss those pallid limbs which with rising fire glowed,
    Even wet seas could not now quench that holocaust,
    That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,

    No-thing that night more would wither those lilies white and red
    Which each answered one another now in sweet antiphony

    By music of the heart,
    Together they, rose-red youth and rose-white innocence
    Passioned tangled web
    Danced without arising.

    Demanding lovers weave and are woven, twin and are entwined
    This Man-god’s arms crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny,
    They moved to no subtle charms
    Limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss.

    Laughed loud for joy, and crying out “I come”
    Leapt into her churning foam
    With his galley’s painted prow.

    Force a fortress, and steal back only to force the way in again,
    nor thought it sin, for the eyes of both were alive now with hunger

    To yield her treasure unto one so fair,
    And lay beside him, thirsty and ravenous
    Say no-thing
    But with hot lips make havoc of his red mouth

    She almost seemed to laugh then, and then
    Returned to her own fresh assault,
    Nor admitted what sacrilege his lips’ deed had be-gun,

    He felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hotly fueled,
    Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame,
    And all her hoarded sweets were his to have,
    And all in her was his to slay,

    And unseeing yet feeling the crimson sun and whitened moon,
    “somewhere here about”; See,
    They make our own orbs of great power!
    Out of snow drops and human blood.

    His hands buried into her throne of pearl
    And a blue wave of mist overcame.

    With flakes of crimson light, the great deep
    of her chamber began to unfold,
    From ivory and pearl her rose blossomed forth, its red petals parting
    To spread their glory and their bounty – wide to taste.

    Tremulous opal-hued to wave red ripe fringes
    That reflected upon the marbled floor, and argosies
    Of moist love threaded their own way through
    The drifting cordage of the blonde hairy wreck,
    Where beads of life fell out upon the holy floor

    It was for thee I kept my love,
    I knew that thou would’st bring
    Fairest flowers for the endless foam

    To the beating, back to the boisterous billow
    That huge vault behind watery portico,
    To watch the purple monster of the deep
    Arise from his lair and leap to play,

    A hot hard flame erupts from its lilywhite sheath,
    A pillar rising from the Plain,
    It whirls up and thrusts down the road of the earth
    Red Sword to spear-plant swollen life
    …in that wild throb when all things seem narrowed to one.

    Slake my parch?d Being with the nectarous feast
    Which even Gods affect! O come Love come.

    This “murderous” paramour, this unbidden guest,
    Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering,
    and ploughed a bloody furrow with its dart,
    and dug a long red road, and cleft with wing?d little death
    her heart.

    And the bright drops of crimson youth
    crept down her quaking alabaster side.

    Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan,
    And very pitiful to see her “die”
    As she yielded up all her sweets, that dread mystery
    Which not to know is not to live at all,

    To catch the last notes of her cries,
    he mowed with careless scythe ‘round her flower bed,
    And eve cut petals of the rose,
    And with the flower’s loosened loveliness
    Laughed in wantonness, and pushed on.

    Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl
    Threaded with blue and red tapestry
    Had not yet ceased to shake, and her breasts
    Swayed like wind-stirred lilies in fearful unrest.

    Comes he Now with swift white-feathered snow,
    And blinding red-edged jags of lightning
    One great grand throb of life lives,
    Crowded into brief everlasting Time
    And deeply rolls the world over.

    Then spilled both the milky van,
    And it seemed the bright car of them soared into the dawning sky,
    Like a cloud the aerial caravan
    Passed over the seas silently.

    …From the depths of snow comes fire.
    Their white flesh and red blood burned the snow
    And slowly, softly, now quenched the flame
    Taking it into their own good god glow

    But when white dove had reached her fluttering soul
    Having shook the trembling petals of all her lips
    And passed into the void, this Venus knew
    And would bid her servants carve a cedar chest
    With all the wonder of His Story,

    From he whose life had been a fiery pulse of sin,
    a splendid shame, a holy miracle was wrought.
    One scorching harvest from fields of flame
    Where passion walks with naked unshod feet
    And is not wounded.

    Praise the pale god who loosed her zone.
    Drink deeply of one another, children
    Draw an end to Drought.

    Young white innocence and red youth made one
    As are two, White Man and White Woman,
    touching and seeing,
    With Braveheart one.

    In End, they lie seeking forever that sweet delight without sin,
    Tired no more in soul, nor wearied of no guilt
    her warm soft body parted in the Garden,
    a brier rose much wetted by the mist,
    which would be white entire with those gossamer threads of blue,
    yet blushes so at her own pride and joy.

    See the Sacred City,
    The Holy Family White.


    P.S. My principles may be out of date, but there is much to be said for my prejudices...


    Wherein i tear an solipsistic a-theist whigger pussy a whole new asshole


    And never get over masturbating theysselfs
    build into whatever some baal-priest says
    the true religion of the congenital savage
    yet yap about submission.

    forgiving your brother. who is that brother?
    worship of nerthius, whose pregnant female sacrifice drawn by an ox-cart with seven or nine pregnant heifers ended up in a sacred grove wherein all the girleys, two and four legged, had their throats slit on the altar?
    king yourself.

    A sparrow buffeted by the winds who’d seen a small hole in a great hall and found shelter.
    not jewdayo-churchianity, baal-priests, beaner mamzers
    returned to vomit and eat back up that which made
    …the first sickness!
    you would make of jews super-mamzers and not
    infested jewdayo kikeshit.

    seek putupcreatards…or violent maniacs like myself.

    eunuchoid whiggers right to the chute leading up to the jewlag.
    first to alienation, and then into a death camp…or bathe in the ichor of kikesses.

    newbie quack fresh from nut skrule / a-theist twat jewr solipsistic whigger pussy hiding to jewstify cowardice

    …or my forefathers killing off every red nigger they could find by any cheap means possible.


    Reflections of things to come, mirrored in the dead

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Stalking the night, pain shivering down my spine,
    a greybeard dappled in gore.
    I and my Flesh Hungry Dogs,
    Jackhammer, ClosedCircuit and RedFoam
    cursor and imperil
    the Villages of Integral Peace.

    I've seen it unfold before, terrible scenes of agony.
    Split eyes in the darkness
    echoing their madness.
    Crew cuts starten with hook and saw,
    finished by both hands in the cuts,
    knuckle to knuckle, drawing out
    each thought process entirely.

    Sculpt flesh openings,
    then grout these massy windows
    shut against any objection,
    mounded somewhat in defenestration.

    Grind the rest to slop meat,
    (forget not the quiver liver!)
    and serve approved K-rations
    by tasty bits and great chunks
    to my furry friends.

    Tears of blood widespread o'er clothes,
    crying down untold unmark'd for no'ne to find,
    their saints and my demons
    thus fall from their sky to my dirt.

    Redangst begins to fade
    in a pool of sweat'd blood,
    a sign my life's coming to.
    I'm alive alone but they've gone dead
    piss'dupon unburied and,
    as yet, unburnt…

    Now I listen only to what is not spoken.
    I am feeding memories to
    pass on to the dead and the unborn,
    both of drunken reality
    and sober haunting fantasm.

    These seem to hold me together at the seams
    and tear others apart at the thickest sets,
    leaving me in stitches…

    Condemned to a soul of obscurity
    as the only way to persist,
    I suffer to survive,
    They to not.

    Life lived in the raw,
    temptations of the flesh,
    with death paid the same,
    but no cash, please!

    Barter only.


    What does it mean to be Human? (Neandertal Genome sequenced)

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    .

    All have probably heard by now of the announced “complete” genome sequencing of the Neandertal specie and the extent of its ancient DNA in non-Africans. Perhaps the most striking finding is that there are conditions in “modern” humans that could not have occurred among Neandertals, because their genetics were different in these areas.

    Neandertals could NOT have Type 2 diabetes, Down syndrome, schizophrenia, or autism, all of which modern humans are subject to.

    David F. Horrobin first suggested in 2001 in his book “the Madness of Adam and Eve” that “mild” schizophrenia, expressed as neurotic thinking and behaviour, was in fact the distinguishing mark of humanity. He may now have been proved correct.

    Whereas Neadertals could probably not be severely retarded, epileptic, attention-deficit, autistic, Aspergers, spastic, catatonic, paranoid, phobic, delusional, delirious, frenzied, demented, senile, amnesiac, narcoleptic, insomniac, dissociated, schizoid, lost of identity, bulimic, stigmatic, passive, liars, deceitful, hypocritical, sold down the river, made dupes, tools, or fools of, impersonal or impersonators, malingering or pretentious, fetishist or faddish, perverts, degenerates, traumatized, hysterical, frigid, homosexual or transvestite, or feel severe anxiety, “stress” or depression, NEITHER could they likely be manic with excitement, ecstatic, amazed, in wonderment, fascinated, affective, dramatic, imitative or simulative, preoccupied, obsessed, compelled, proud or humble, argumentative, devious, secretive or attention whores, ascetic, celibate, chaste, purified, reclusive, distant, secluded, solitary, fixated, self-absorbed, abashed or ashamed, penitent, cunning, scheming, bluffing, evasive, predictive, diagnostic, discerning or strategic, beguiling, conceptual or ideal, experimental, canny or uncanny, superstitious, hopeful or doubtful, excessively curious, impulsive, “high”, thrill-seeking, highly competitive, distant, alienated, exiled, excommunicated, scapegoated, isolated, ostracized or outlawed, moody or temperamental, NOR could they be forgiving OR unforgiving, merciful, spiritual, miraculous, humorous or...even dream, as indicated by the absence of any form of Neander art.

    .

    Warriors of the Past and Present

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    .

    21st Century Spiritual Warrior

    Sunday, May 16, 2:00-5:00pm
    with MSIA facilitator, Zoe Golightly

    When people ask me what a Spiritual Warrior looks like, I say, "Just like you." It is what you are doing inside of you while you participate outside of you, a totally simple way of living, an internal harmony and balance. There are many mansions within to be-in. Now claim that "armor of the spiritual warrior" with essential qualities like health, wealth, happiness, prosperity, and abundance. Bring Spirit into your relationships, finances, career, health, and more. Discover a practical approach to help you incorporate spirituality into your everyday life in a tangible, workable way. Touch in to the Spirit in Everyday Life, and find those “soul” moments when you realize God is our true dance partner, granting beauty, peace, and tranquility. There is nothing extraordinary that you need to do. Simply open your awareness to all that is around you and all that is within you, and follow the loving. Let go and let God. To heal, first you must forgive yourself. And when you are healed, you will real-ize that the Journey is Everything. Become a Mystic Traveler on that Journey. Reflect on this at the 9th level.


    19th Century Spiritual Warrior

    Grace through clarity of vision, purpose, steadfastness of faith, the depth of your understanding of those you protect, and your willingness to give up your own health, wealth, happiness, prosperity, and abundance, if need be, for their beauty, peace, and tranquility.

    You are God’s Hammer, in this way touching His enemies, and living for exceptional moments of exception. There is nothing ordinary that you need to do. Simply open your awareness to all that is around you and all that is within you, as you prepare to enter Hell.

    Bring Holy Spirit into your moments of controlled madness; never give up, never surrender, unless it is to seize upon a better opportunity for slaughter. For the persecution of your People is worse than the slaughter of their prosecutors, whose suffering is as nothing by comparison. There may be many mansions to burn, garments and possessions to rend. You yourself will heal, or not.

    You will laugh at myths, and know the time to be a Legend is after you’ve gone. Now, imagine a boot stomping on a truly human face, forever. Reflect on that, and always remember that the Journey itself is nothing, if the end is the end of the line for your People. As for forgiveness, let God sort it out.


    …The last world leaders, far from being the heirs of great power, will be of all most subject to the dead hand of the re-conditioners and will themselves exercise no power past this end of history. The dominant age is the one which resists and nignores all previous ages most successfully, and thus masters “humanity”. That is the age we live in, most tragically.

    The word "hybrid", as in everything welcomed into this world of ours, derives from the Greek hubris -- insolence against the gods. It is an insolence that takes the pure and adulterates it, and in doing so emasculates and eviscerates its power.

    This generation of whores is also a generation of mongrelization in being and thought, a “thing” inevitable as the end of greatness itself.


    .

    Last Meal Ordered on Death Row
    .

    Drambuie on the rocks

    Consumme de escargot

    Hearts of Palm Roquefort-Vinaigrette

    Iced Constant Comment

    Two hot baguettes courtesy of an Auvergnian virgin's first yeast infection

    Giant scallops poached in butter with the garlic sliced so thin it melts

    Lobster Newberg

    One more of those tres especiale baguettes

    Sweetbreads Forestiere (but add best truffles and use well-aged Gruyere)

    Two Napoleons with Mocha (NOT "Mocha-Java"!) Kaffee

    One Rey Del Mundo Lonsdale
    One Ramon Allones Torpedo
    One Rey Del Mundo Lonsdale
    One Ramon Allones Torpedo

    More Drambuie on the rocks

    .

    04-02-2009, 01:12 PM
    http://stumbleinn.net/forum/showpost...9&postcount=11
    ____________________________
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  8. #8
    Join Date
    May 2009
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    2,943

    Default Reflections of things to come, mirrored in the dead

    Reflections of things to come, mirrored in the dead

    by fips



    http://www.whitenationalist.org/foru...ted=1#post3003


    Stalking the night, pain shivering down my spine,
    a greybeard dappled in gore.
    I and my Flesh Hungry Dogs,
    Jackhammer, ClosedCircuit and RedFoam
    cursor and imperil
    the Villages of Integral Peace.

    I've seen it unfold before, terrible scenes of agony.
    Split eyes in the darkness
    echoing their madness.
    Crew cuts starten with hook and saw,
    finished by both hands in the cuts,
    knuckle to knuckle, drawing out
    each thought process entirely.

    Sculpt flesh openings,
    then grout these massy windows
    shut against any objection,
    mounded somewhat in defenestration.

    Grind the rest to slop meat,
    (forget not the quiver liver!)
    and serve approved K-rations
    by tasty bits and great chunks
    to my furry friends.

    Tears of blood widespread o'er clothes,
    crying down untold unmark'd for no'ne to find,
    their saints and my demons
    thus fall from their sky to my dirt.

    Redangst begins to fade
    in a pool of sweat'd blood,
    a sign my life's coming to.
    I'm alive alone but they've gone dead
    piss'dupon unburied and,
    as yet, unburnt…

    Now I listen only to what is not spoken.
    I am feeding memories to
    pass on to the dead and the unborn,
    both of drunken reality
    and sober haunting fantasm.

    These seem to hold me together at the seams
    and tear others apart at the thickest sets,
    leaving me in stitches…

    Condemned to a soul of obscurity
    as the only way to persist,
    I suffer to survive,
    They to not.

    Life lived in the raw,
    temptations of the flesh,
    with death paid the same,
    but no cash, please!

    Barter only.



    04-07-2009, 06:32 PM

    ____________________________
    I am The Librarian
    http://whitenationalist.org/forum/
    http://www.pastorlindstedt.org/forum/

  9. #9
    Jack is offline Formerly TrashCanMan72 Veteran Member Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough Jack is a jewel in the rough
    Join Date
    May 2009
    Location
    ZOG-occupied, whigger-infested East Tennessee.
    Posts
    272

    Post God At A Garage Sale



    God At A Garage Sale


    Don't know if this one necessarily qualifies as "apocalyptic", but it's definitely timely, and was written earlier this afternoon, inspired by a dream I had this morning.



    I'm actually posting it here before I re-order the verses and "officially" write it down in my notebook. ---TCM72.



    --------------------------------------------------------------------------


    GOD AT A GARAGE SALE

    by CGO



    As in the days Of Chaucer,
    Once more, the soon-to-be-beggared pilgrims
    Gather at the corner of Prudence and Possiblity,
    Bowing in reverence to the Old Man.



    "Step right up, folks!" he says.
    "Got a lot of good stuff here to sell
    And it's all for cheap!"



    My eyes are immediately fixed upon a stray cloud,
    Lonely wandering upon hind's feet,
    And doe-eyed, indeed.



    Maiden, fear me not!
    I seek only thy gentle and merciful soul.
    And will it be denied me?



    Your eyes tell me
    You've learned the Lesson:
    That where there is Majesty,
    There is no Mercy,
    And where there is Mercy,
    There is no Majesty,
    Save His Majesty,
    Shining through you,
    Which this vile world
    Calls Madness or Misery.



    Why would any well-bred gentlewoman,
    In our all-too-genteel society,
    Choose, of her own free will,
    To be God's dishrag?



    She would be accused of hysteria,
    If not out-and-out heresy,
    And maybe lobotomized as a witch.



    But you brave all these things
    In an instant,
    Knowing the Truth.



    What could be more noble and blessed
    Than two souls
    Seeking the Kingdom together?
    Helping each other along the Way.
    Sharing each other's joys and sorrows.
    Steadying the other, should he stumble.
    Breaking one's fall, should she slip.
    Leading one another through the darkness.
    Leaning on one another when they grow weary.
    And, finally, arriving at their Destination together.
    Crossing the River to a hero's welcome
    At the gates of the City.



    Surely it must've been written
    In the Book Of Fate
    That we undertake our Journey together!



    She smiles weakly
    And turns away.
    The afternoon hangs on a Crucifix.



    Uncover the tarpoleon!
    Gas fumes in the face of oblivion.
    Darkness and devils!



    But what is this distant, glimmering Hope
    I see in the corner of this intersection?
    Could there yet be Deliverance
    From this Hell?



    "Now this, young man, is a barber's chair
    That I was lucky enough to stumble upon
    A few years back."



    "And, when you talk to my grand-daughter, sonny!"
    (He says, as the crowd begins to chuckle.)
    "That's the way I want to see you!"
    "Leaned all the way back
    With both arms on the handrests,
    So I can keep an eye on you!"
    (The crowd applauds.)



    But she smiles.
    And the sunrise and sunset
    Are in her smile.



    My God!
    I can no more resist those hazel eyes
    Than the stunning azure canopy
    Of October sky above me.



    But, though you may indeed be an angel,
    Dear Lady, you are certainly not Jesus.
    Jesus has no vagina.



    What?
    Surely you have heard of God in this neighborhood,
    Haven't you?



    You're altogether, my love,
    And that's just the problem.
    All too together.



    Your gentle eyes and calm demeanor
    Comfort me greatly,
    Like a subtle summer breeze
    That causes a man to forsake the harvest
    And go chasing after rabbits.



    Sanity is a rare thing in woman.
    Much too rare.



    Yet I neither see in your eyes
    Nor hear in your words
    Any trace of that ruthless, pretentious amibition,
    Vain, money-grubbing superficiality,
    General brattiness or smug solipsism
    That your sex is usually plagued with.



    Instead, all your dreams seem altogether rational,
    Humble, and decent.
    Your taste, impeccable.
    Your worldview, correct.



    You are every inch a Princess, dear Lady,
    And you wear your crown well.
    Not haughtily or imperiously,
    But with grace and humility,
    As if it had sat upon your head
    From the moment of your birth.



    But you know no fear
    And God has no daughters.
    Your lack of terror
    Terrifies me.



    Have you never known it?
    Not at all?
    Not even as a child?
    Surely even a Princess has nightmares,
    And cries out for her Mother and Father.



    To whom did you cry out
    When they tired of coming to comfort you?
    This is all I would seek to know of you.



    What?
    No nightmares at all?
    Do you think me a coward or a fool
    For having had them myself?
    Or merely an inferior?
    I seek no such unequal union.



    Do you claim, yourself, to be the Holy Grail?
    The Balm In Gilead?
    The Lily Of The Valley?
    Will our children be heirs to the Kingdom
    Just by virtue of your blood running through their veins?
    And shall we summon God, like a friendly ghost,
    To our supper table?



    My dear, this is madness!
    I beg you to reconsider
    And repent.
    To go down upon your knees with me
    And seek His Face and His forgiveness,
    For nothing is more blessed
    Than Adam and Eve
    Standing together in the River.



    But, if you refuse to pray,
    Then you have revealed yourself as a demon,
    For Satan has the power to assume a pleasing shape.



    And I will neither take your hand
    Nor bid you fond farewell,
    But curse you back to the Pit
    From whence you came,
    And leave this Valley Of Shadows
    For the Light,
    Never to return.



    Charles Gavan O'Lanahan. 11/8/2010.
    http://www.whitenationalist.org/foru...=3096#post3096
    Last edited by PastorLindstedt; 11-08-2010 at 03:56 PM. Reason: Add Links, header
    IF YOU STILL LOVE AMERIKA, YOU'RE A NIGGER-LOVER!!! ---CGO. 1/20/'09.



    "Lay down your silver and your gold
    I am a man who won't be sold
    And even when my heart grows cold
    I'll curse your evil stranglehold."---Horslips, from "Trouble With A Capital 'T'", 1977.

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