© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
Fusion of flesh and future and the reason behind the rush of time,
armies of fashion march thru the physical memory of history’s mime, a
seed within a seed planted in a cosmetic garden favored to grow some
heat, a need within a need; the cosmos on the string of this nuclear
defeat, fill the void with the ache of reason and the spiritual memory of
the ghost of god, and then the weightless orbit of the ego’s feather
worked by gravity’s brutal prod, only the beast that feeds the
mechanism of ethics in the logic of the rain, is allowed to feel the birth
of the bride and the honeymoon’s aptitude for pain.
Within the boundary of the bone and the burden of the thoughts
unbound, a dream is a document and the wasteland qualifies as sacred
ground, the child gave birth to a mother now the sense of habit is
made, in the trance of atomic motion numbness the martyr is paid,
beauty is leaking from the eye of the beholder as he makes a witness
of the meaning’s chance, unseen shadow draws all light to the core
and cancer of the linear romance, time is the bait that will draw the
matter into the peerless construction of the wall, and faith is the is the
instrument that will measure the path of the fall.
There is a ghost that moves thru the silent places of stone and star,
the real rain and ruin and divine sex feed of why we only appear to be
what we are, and this waterlogged logic makes mathematical slurs in
division of direction, the subtlety of cloud in sky puts the weather
obscure in this casual connection, it all hangs so heavy on the canvas
the artist is put to trail for the weight of the paint, put to death by the
genius of the hours and by the slack of ages made saint, a trick of
focus and a talent of apathy flesh the body of the matter, and words of
the book of worlds spell the sadness even sadder.