my poems

Infernal Machine (poem)


From the Lingayat of Shivastus Solomonicus

The Abyss Hath stared back into me.  Like Oedipus I want to pluck my eyes from my skull, never to see again.  I have seen inside this infernal machine, I understand its diabolical machinations.  I know its design, its function, its purpose.

The Cross that I bare, The burden of understanding, The guilt of this Forbidden Knowledge.  Knowing is a crime, comprehending the insanity, I cannot tell the cogs and if I did they couldn’t understand and wouldn’t believe me.  The scope is too grand, the unmasking of the Architect whose hidden hand contrived this Master Plan.

The madness of the Human Condition is infuriating, to know the future and not be able to affect it, to change it.  To see the conclusion and be impotent to avoid it.  To undo the error of the beginning.  The nature of this Juggernaut itself must change.  Every sprocket, every gear, transformed, every function perfected, in order for the beast to transcend.  Behemoth to Revelation, Abomination to perfection, a Herculean task to be sure…

It is unlawful to bring light into this world and I am the most wanted criminal.  A world hostile to reason, deaf to logic, blind to wisdom, and incapable of understanding.  Whore ship these false idols of Ego, Money, and a Life of ease devoid of substance, clean on the outside but polluted and putrid on the inside.


My Personal Genius (Poem)


His Daemon, his Demon

his genius his djinn,

his genie, his yin, his kin.

The Daemon of Jung,

whose praises he sung,

to whom Carl was yang


with felicity and fellowship and philia

boulder upon shoulder

they labored together

to build the tower.

My Daemon, my Demon,

my genius, my djinn,

my genie, my yin, my kin.

To be myself courageously,



to always be present,

Here in the moment,

informed by my Daemon

Shivastus Solomonicus

the wisest man that ever lived.




Phony, fake, facetious, fulsome, facades,

two-faced, insincere, sarcastic, cynical.

This humiliating redundant insult called life,

the long, tedious, denigrating anal rape of reason,

the cheerful prostitution of the intellect.

This is a living death, nothing to be a part of,

nothing to live for, nothing to die for.

We are all allowed to be just barely alive,

you can have a little stuff so that THEY 

can threaten to take it away if you don’t behave.

I am the most wanted criminal

the Thought Police want me dead,

because I am alive.

Why do we still consider it a virtue to crap forth life?

When the world is this over populated?

Feed all of the starving children today,

and their will be a million more tomorrow.

Perseveration of crazy people,

rewarding failure,

punishing success…


Solemn Solomon


SOLEMN SHIVAH SOLOMONAs conscious of himself as Salome is naked.
As disillusioned as John the Baptist beheaded.
As awe-inspiring as Isis Revealed.
As serious as Osiris, dismembered.

As grave as death on a Winter night.
As undisturbed as a lake, frozen,
As peaceful as a sunny summer day,
As wise as the Richest Man in Babylon Robbed of every shekel…

originally written after my birthday in 2012.  Strange but true, since the age of 12 I was praying for all of the Wisdom of Solomon…


You Win Some and Tzim Tzum You Lose…



Adonnis, Adonai, Aten, Attain, Attention, Attune, Atone, At One…

The Gordion know is undone,

Severred the head of the Gorgone

Scrubbed the human stain,

The error in the beginning not longer remains

The fall from Grace never happened,

the Fickle Heart has been Rejected for the Wiser Part.

I am turning my back on the phenomenal world.  Turning my face towards the source.

Leaving the conversation with the shells, every person a personal hell.

Partial, vitiated, knowledge,,,

a dangerous thing,,,

a little knowing…

The broken mirror,,,

Every angle and angel, Every face a facet.

Broken reflections of a now dead god head.

The moon Waxes full

The Water wanes placid

My desire turns flacid…

The empty mirror turns to look at the one staring into it.

God’s reflection, the super position, which one of us is real?

One of us looks at everything, through everything, a real looker.

The only one,,,

the lonely one.

All one,


I slowly raise my eyes, wholly erasing the lies.

The pretenders to wisdom Ostracized.

I smile at the Master, Embracing the Mystery,

unburdened of the false history,

no longer perturbed by the collective misery.

I stare into the Abyss, bladder brimming with piss.

My Daemon, my Demon, My Genius, My Djinn

Exhale, Exile, Exalt,

Extatic, Excite, Exit.

Genesis, Exodus.

The going in is the going out.

Shiva is Ishwara,

Aham Brahmasmi!


Your Horse Sh** Escapes You, Sir!


Your horse shit escapes you, sir!

If this was a race between your intellect and your horse shit, the horse shit would be leading by a league.

Fascinating isn’t it?  That which is the slowest part of the horse is fleeter of foot than the fastest part of your reason?

Even now my nostrils cringe, my sinuses singed by the offensive odor of arrogant ignorance.

A wrathful spirits attacks the senses, you didn’t give wing to a thesis, you gave flight to a feces.

You are a veritable Mercurial Twit, in the battle of wits the unarmed man must submit to the one armed man.

Yet still these persist, these Serpents of Unwisdom, these Servants of Anti Logic,

Whore shipping their god of Unreason.  Rife with the pestilence of their Whore Moans being all out of wack.

Sentimental thinkers, reality warped by their emotions and addictions to their emotional ideas.

Strong in the disease and weak in health, they prostitute their reason to Normatization, Popular opinion.

Hiding their light they disappear into the herd.

Inoculating themselves to the cure and infecting themselves with the disease.

Intellectual faggotry and armchair philosophy are the rules of the day.

Divorced from the consequences, ignorant of the results, they march on oblivious to the reality

that they are their own worst enemy, they are sowing the seeds of their own demise, and they shall reap what they sow.

Hoist with their own petard, they invigorate their guard and fortify their grasp on their own failure, which cannot be

wrenched from their kung fu grip.  They WILL have their just deserts, gazpacho of justice, a dish best served cold.



One day the river got in an argument with a lake 

“I am so much greater than you” 

said the lake

“you swell a few times a year and sometimes completely disappear”

the Ocean chimed in,

“Both of you are pathetic, I am broader and deeper than both of you

10 times over, your squabbling is petty.” 

And then one single drop of water spoke…

“None of you would exist without me, 

there is nothing you are that I am not. 

Every jot and tittle in you is me.  

I am ever present within you and I know everything about you. “


We should strive to make our ego like a drop of water hovering in a weightless environment with no forces acting on it, perfectly round and calm, at peace, and we should make an effort to maintain that state in the face of difficulty.  Not stepping one toe off the path we have set out for ourselves.  Always consciously doing our own perfect will and accepting the consequences for it.  





North East West South



horizon, high noon

Oeste, St. John’s day, midsummer, the dying father                   Easter, Ishtar, Isis, Eostre, the sistrum waking the sun.

Sun set

the dogs of war. 




grave matters

There are not 4 suns at sunrise, mid day, sunset, and midnight, but one sun in all 4 places.

Isis can resurrect the dead father because the sacred feminine and sacred masculine are one. 


the true feminine is latent in the true masculine

and the true masculine is latent in the true feminine. 

The Mourningstar is the evening star.