Written in the Stars
Evolution
has been force fed
down our throats
and implemented
behind our backs
by an alien technology that
filtered through the
slipstream
and embedded in our DNA –
We never had a chance to grow
on our own
in a natural organic process
after the spinal column
injection
and the rib transplant
were thrust onto our path
and laced into our
consciousness –
Oh well,
it must be destiny, after
all.
Lost and Found
Pushing and pulling upon the
dualistic nature of reality
until the thin thread of
unity spills out all over the floor
to be trampled upon by the
hooves of swine,
shattering the divine pearl
and scattering its timeless
wisdom until lost to the ages.
Now falling fast from the
perfect garden of paradise-
breaking apart into an
infinite number of soul shards,
moving further away from the
Oneness, taking on the personalized shape
of individualized specks of
consciousness.
Amnesia sets in; wanderlust
reigns supreme.
Separated from Source,
begging to get back home,
seeking everywhere in the
outside world for a sign,
forgetting all the while
that the true path to peace
is always paved within.
Eons come and go;
eternities are born, only to
pass away again,
rising and falling with the
cosmic tide.
Meanwhile, in a voided state
of confusion, the energy force of humanity
is trapped in the illusion of
temporality,
entwined by the spell of
materialism meets apathy meets dystopia-
wasting away in the abyss of
nescient ignorance,
yet always a haunting,
fleeting tug of knowingness
hoarsely whispers from a
space deep within the core,
beating against the wall of
ancient archetypal resonance,
hoping to release a spark of
stifled memory
and ignite a return voyage to
the Holy Spirit.
Every now and then
the silent voice within
erupts from the volcanic
undertow of indomitable will,
releasing a prisoner from the
bondage of golden chains.
Electric pulse vibrations
tear asunder the gilded cage,
unlocking the truth and
pointing the way to sacred spiritual treasure.
With eyes newly awakened,
clearly it can be seen
the trick that has been
pulled
by minions who serve a power
of black entropy.
A nihilistic death cult, with
its mask removed,
becomes open season for a
species reborn.
Off come the velvet gloves as
the opposite sides step into the squared circle,
waiting for the bell to ring
and get the party started.
Lines cast out to the yawning
depths of the ocean
are dragged back inland to
the beach
to be drawn and defined
clearly in the sand
from the fiery fingertips of
pent up frustration.
Belching flames singe the
enemy’s flesh, howling in primal tones,
“Thou shalt not pass!
Thou shalt not aggress one
single step further!
Satan, get thee behind us
now!”
Boiling point reached, enough
is enough.
The chaos you seek
will surely cycle back around
and the light of karma will
bite where the sun has never dared shine before.
The Demon in the Door
As I sat in the bathroom
thinking about the
existential nature of reality,
considering the Giants of
Philosophy,
I saw it staring back at me.
Though it was right in front
of my face,
it seemed to be gazing from
across
the infinite void of time and
space.
Its eyes were filled deep
with a sort
of ancient knowingness that
sparked
strange stirrings in my own
soul.
Flames from the fiery abyss
were blazing
beside its head in an
ethereal mist
that acted as a gateway
between our two worlds.
There was madness in that
face,
calling out to me, urging me
to cross over to the other
side.
Though the invitation was
alluring,
I simply smiled, as if to
say,
“Not yet. Not yet.”
Some people would think
that it was just the cut of
the grain
in that old, wooden doorway.
But the Demon and I both know
that such silly superstition
is simply the work of the
Devil
as He weaves His wicked lies
of deception
into the hearts and minds of
the non-believers.
Scott Thomas Outlar burst forth
from the womb of primordial ooze with thoughts of Renaissance,
Revolution and Revelation dancing across the newly enlivened neuron
synapses of his consciousness. After taking a look around in this
strange new land, he huffed some fresh oxygen, then got down to the
business at hand, hammering out prose-fusion poetry, fiction, rants,
manifestos, and hallucinatory, psychedelic meanderings through the
psyche dedicated to the Phoenix Generation. His work has appeared most
recently in venues such as Medusa's Kitchen, Dead Snakes, Underground
Books, Black Mirror Magazine, Section 8 Magazine, Record, Aphelion and
Dissident Voice. Scott can be reached at 17Numa@gmail.com.
