We’ll Rise Again
(Sequel to “The Day Death Came”)
Undergirding the darkness of the undulating flesh-pits
Lie the
waves of rotten anima, carcasses of Feline & K9 alike.
Beastie maws are ash beneath the deceptively still,yet amoeba ridden flesh-pits of Lorgamo.
Here Aluminum & helium lie together in death, their unholy affair lying under all seeing eye of the enlightened atom.
Quantum floats, staring into the eye of an oncoming storm meanwhile Maja sits atop a maple-wood bench laughing as the uber-men march.
A finitude of sorts, technological finitude
No matter the augmentation, the level of polishing of their exoskeletons.
Nor how much they bark orders of their creator, one so benevolent and mighty
Yet fleshly and worldly
So high up yet chained to this world.
For him insurrection is a demiurgic trait
Order is gnosis.
Disorder is tyranny.
Long as the days are, the light of that warped atom, that duo of maddening intellect.
The tree of knowledge has now been corporatized and made love with oligarchy and bureaucracy.
Tenderly holding one another in a trifold unity.
The oligarchy falling upon its soldiers like Pentecost, an ethereal remembrance of the beloved specter of oligarchy.
With Theil as high priest opposed to the apostles of rebellion.
Maja sits still neath the humid precipitation of mid-day, his mind is as stalled as the mission to rid the world of Theil.
Theil’s gone into hiding by his own admission. But where could he have gone? Maybe he’s been scattered amongst the residents of Lorgamo? Maybe he is Lorgamo in a sense.
Within Maja’s mind stands a post from which a star of azure hues plummets from its neuronic cell; a deathly memory shot through Maja’s mind.
The clicking of the pistol, the day Death came, when Morrison purple irises birthed a crimson wave.
Morrisons ungraceful fall. Maja’s blood stained smile as I lit €100,000 on fire.
The boisterous howl of laughter that shot from the body, a flaming folly, awing even to the glories of Yesod.
As the shards of this memory fall back into his subconscious, deaths pungent odor left no choice but to seize the present,that smile of sanguine folly melted away as his spiral gaze met the turbid flesh pits. The outer edges of which warred with itself whilst warring within him. In it he saw himself battling alone against Theil. Each sat across from the other at a table. In front of them lies a checkerboard of lush grass, languid clouds; each mind containing schemes of unseen intricacies, deep as the sea, perfectly weaved as the widows web.
An anthem sung, each move with the graceful might attained by all master strategist. Forever synced like a twin flame their anthem wild as Wotans army , soft as Circes bosom, waltzing tween the ears of its combatants. In it spiral meets machine,with the atom as conciliator. Each uncompromising in the their advance toward their vision of mankind, locking eyes they laugh and boast. Their song ringing through the 22nd century ;
“Til the day death comes, as sun and moon,we’ll rise again.”
