Destroyed City

Boom, thump, thud. From a year away you know who it is, and even from more than ten years away you know who’s coming because that is how outdated the thump, thud, bomb is. As idiotic as the cream of the Sun wearing a blonde wig is and a drop-pants walking around with his butt hanging out. How low must self-respect and self-esteem plummet before they overflow into maturity and reason?

What are the first-born children of the universe waiting for? They have already received an enslavement saga urging them to be true to themselves. The ancient ones are looking down desperately trying to find a similitude of their nature and all they see is their offspring surrendering themselves to petty thieves.

The manual of elementary thinking is still on their dressers and tables with the same old instructions of how to have faith and hope in an imaginary phantom. The phantom that many in an earlier time had come to know with a gun pointed at the back of their head, or else.

Elders are still teaching this do or death persuasion onto their children causing them to bow down to the made-up nonsense of their oppressors. Books raped, plundered, and distorted from their original meaning by thugs, vandals, and identity thieves to control the soft minded and those who refuse to use their brains to think.

Bomb, bam, bang, driving down the street disturbing the peace and showing everyone how juvenile a person can be. When will the punch-drunk cast aside senselessness and become true to being born in the person of the mighty ones of old that is instilled within the codes of their DNA. Everything the wild encounters is corrupted, polluted, and destroyed. Nothing is sacred to them. But that is not the way of the first born who have rediscovered the essence of their ancient nature.


Just below the horizon at the crest of the hill, well within walking distance and arms reach is the legitimacy and majesty of the heavens that the still born have attempted to disguise in the likeness of a false image.

To be clever the mutants have dim-witted themselves and have come to believe the lie they so highly esteem which is placing their entire existence in jeopardy. The wages of ill-will is oblivion and the pride of the mind is a rabbit in flight. True to form the structure has purpose just as the rocks beneath the sands will reveal hidden cultures to those who do their own research.

Thump, boom, pound, these driving bastions of days mercifully gone by are determined to maintain their cathedral of ignorance and mind manipulation even in the face of conscious elevation that is producing a more positive, delicious, and eatable fruit of universal awareness. Old expressions have taken on new faces and the meaning of everything is becoming vague.

As bleak as it appears all is not frost as the ancient ones always enliven a remnant of themselves in every generation. The bunch will be herded into clusters and identified for massacre by their shriveled hair and dehydrated skin, but the remnant will rule the universe as it is designed to be.