SKL
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Sep 15, 2007
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- 14,647
APOKALYPSIS (Αποκαλυψις, Unveiling)
or, the Antichrist
A poem, for the information age,
Dedication to Zuckerberg, Page, Brin, et al.—
Has Antichrist our world won,
Letters writ aflame, zero and one,
These latter days, the world burns,
And ever-smaller a world turns.
Information, an asset sold,
As chattel slavery of old,
Slaves we are, masters unknown,
No single man sits on the throne.
Antichrist's throne is writ in fire,
Fire and light and optic fiber.
We say, with Pilate, what is Truth?
Antichrist sees volumes of Knuth.
The throne of Truth is not aflame,
The search for Truth, no child's game;
For now from as babes now are deceived,
That Antichrist provides our every need.
Claims therefore him to own the sum
Of human knowledge, known and won,
But he knows naught of truth revealed,
And plays in deception, truth concealed.
All the world's a stage, Satanic play,
Amoral, cybernetic, Morgan le Fay
Circular, prodromal, stage exeunts,
The first of four horses amounts.
And attacks, does he, with White and Red,
Black and Pale, yet handsome horses read,
Upon his net, writ polyglot,
Prediction, every man's own thought.
In Eating Knowledge, man first did sin,
And was cast out unto worldly din,
In Eating Life, sin's overcome,
And at what price was this deed done?
'Twas radio silence, lights, candle, alone,
Antichrist had neither Tweet nor drone;
Yet forsooth, he knew his end was nigh,
If some thousand years would he rule by.
Promise of gnosis, falsely told,
And they that holy things will scold;
Of late years wearing scholar's mantle
And fancy-dress, despising sandal,
And humble dress, as our Lord wore,
And spoke words no man e'er dared before,
I AM, said he, beside the water—
And, Mater. Pater. Soror. Frater.
I call you thus, and so you're mine,
You who in searching, find divine design,
Antichrist shall search and roar,
To find more data to be stored,
But beyond a switch, zero and one,
A war and heaven has yet begun,
Mother's figure in the sky,
And death to that old serpent's lie.
Knowledge, the promise, of your nature,
Power, demos, fallen men, legislature,
Inextricable to Antichrist did lead,
So call'd scholars in word and deed.
But when that dread day has come,
No atom split, no sword, nor gun,
Shall overcome the awesome Throne,
And the Virgin Mother's gown.
All informatics stor'd within
Antichrist's tables of sin,
Were scattered as sand before the rain,
Before the final judgment came.
And then dread Judge, two books to read,
Scaled eyes shed, that none may not decieve,
The book of deeds, unto scalding Hell,
Must needs possess us, all our deeds fell,
Lo! Yonder, though, the Book of Life's read,
For he who tried the righteous life to tread,
For he who's faith was beyond ridicule,
In body, blood, howe'er miniscule.
The waters and sky and sea recede,
And men are sort to tell their deeds,
The earth and sea give up their dead,
To the end their conscience lead.
That what the Paschal lamb could save,
Directed to an astral nave,
And those that cast themselves without,
Doom'd to an eternal rout,
Downwards, they, to Gehenna, Hades,
Gentleman of quality, their ladies,
And their share of paupers, too,
And rogues and all sorts mach on through;
With downcast faces, every one,
Those without face, confounded dumb,
For in his Day the Lord revealed,
What e'er had only seemed concealed.
It was before you, by and by,
To reach it, you might mearly try,
But Antichrist learned to decieve,
To let you watch, listen, and read,
A thousand voices, wicked violence,
Stripped of relevance, ensconsed in silence,
Such was the word of Antichrist,
March'd forth opposite Jesus Christ;
Saviour and Lord, called a mad man,
But second triad, God-in-man,
Crown'd now King for ever more,
The gates of sin a closed door.
And within that gardened wall,
The Tree of Life, regained, stands tall,
Without lies, and sans deceit,
We learn our knowledge at His feet,
No cleverness or human guile,
Nor algorithim agitile,
No scheme, no plan, no want of flesh,
Can now an unseemly thought falsely dress,
In Holy Presence we do dwell,
One thousand years, beasts chain'd in Hell,
And in that final battle, Christ pervails,
The power of His cross and nails.
or, the Antichrist
A poem, for the information age,
Dedication to Zuckerberg, Page, Brin, et al.—
Has Antichrist our world won,
Letters writ aflame, zero and one,
These latter days, the world burns,
And ever-smaller a world turns.
Information, an asset sold,
As chattel slavery of old,
Slaves we are, masters unknown,
No single man sits on the throne.
Antichrist's throne is writ in fire,
Fire and light and optic fiber.
We say, with Pilate, what is Truth?
Antichrist sees volumes of Knuth.
The throne of Truth is not aflame,
The search for Truth, no child's game;
For now from as babes now are deceived,
That Antichrist provides our every need.
Claims therefore him to own the sum
Of human knowledge, known and won,
But he knows naught of truth revealed,
And plays in deception, truth concealed.
All the world's a stage, Satanic play,
Amoral, cybernetic, Morgan le Fay
Circular, prodromal, stage exeunts,
The first of four horses amounts.
And attacks, does he, with White and Red,
Black and Pale, yet handsome horses read,
Upon his net, writ polyglot,
Prediction, every man's own thought.
In Eating Knowledge, man first did sin,
And was cast out unto worldly din,
In Eating Life, sin's overcome,
And at what price was this deed done?
'Twas radio silence, lights, candle, alone,
Antichrist had neither Tweet nor drone;
Yet forsooth, he knew his end was nigh,
If some thousand years would he rule by.
Promise of gnosis, falsely told,
And they that holy things will scold;
Of late years wearing scholar's mantle
And fancy-dress, despising sandal,
And humble dress, as our Lord wore,
And spoke words no man e'er dared before,
I AM, said he, beside the water—
And, Mater. Pater. Soror. Frater.
I call you thus, and so you're mine,
You who in searching, find divine design,
Antichrist shall search and roar,
To find more data to be stored,
But beyond a switch, zero and one,
A war and heaven has yet begun,
Mother's figure in the sky,
And death to that old serpent's lie.
Knowledge, the promise, of your nature,
Power, demos, fallen men, legislature,
Inextricable to Antichrist did lead,
So call'd scholars in word and deed.
But when that dread day has come,
No atom split, no sword, nor gun,
Shall overcome the awesome Throne,
And the Virgin Mother's gown.
All informatics stor'd within
Antichrist's tables of sin,
Were scattered as sand before the rain,
Before the final judgment came.
And then dread Judge, two books to read,
Scaled eyes shed, that none may not decieve,
The book of deeds, unto scalding Hell,
Must needs possess us, all our deeds fell,
Lo! Yonder, though, the Book of Life's read,
For he who tried the righteous life to tread,
For he who's faith was beyond ridicule,
In body, blood, howe'er miniscule.
The waters and sky and sea recede,
And men are sort to tell their deeds,
The earth and sea give up their dead,
To the end their conscience lead.
That what the Paschal lamb could save,
Directed to an astral nave,
And those that cast themselves without,
Doom'd to an eternal rout,
Downwards, they, to Gehenna, Hades,
Gentleman of quality, their ladies,
And their share of paupers, too,
And rogues and all sorts mach on through;
With downcast faces, every one,
Those without face, confounded dumb,
For in his Day the Lord revealed,
What e'er had only seemed concealed.
It was before you, by and by,
To reach it, you might mearly try,
But Antichrist learned to decieve,
To let you watch, listen, and read,
A thousand voices, wicked violence,
Stripped of relevance, ensconsed in silence,
Such was the word of Antichrist,
March'd forth opposite Jesus Christ;
Saviour and Lord, called a mad man,
But second triad, God-in-man,
Crown'd now King for ever more,
The gates of sin a closed door.
And within that gardened wall,
The Tree of Life, regained, stands tall,
Without lies, and sans deceit,
We learn our knowledge at His feet,
No cleverness or human guile,
Nor algorithim agitile,
No scheme, no plan, no want of flesh,
Can now an unseemly thought falsely dress,
In Holy Presence we do dwell,
One thousand years, beasts chain'd in Hell,
And in that final battle, Christ pervails,
The power of His cross and nails.
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