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Friday, 25 July 2014

The Alien Voyager




                                                          The Alien Voyager
by Stormm



The Alien Voyager settled into it's stationary orbit, 

Above The City On Lake Ontario.

Transparent from the inside yet invisible from without, 

the spaceship hovers undetectable.

Nevertheless careful to avoid entering the region's official air space, 

evading radar traffic activity.

The Extraterrestrial shivered suddenly, 

feeling as if someone had just stepped on it's grave,

hairs standing on end as something dreadful passes by.

"Is this a fallen angel, so cold, so twisted, 

some ancient evil spirit and very powerful, malevolent entity?"

"Grigori.

Two Hundred Angel Princes who descended from heaven.

So enamored with the daughters of men,

their intercourse and sin begets The Nephilim.

A Watcher.

Ah, but which one?"




                                                           The Watcher


"I Am Samyaza, Leader Of The Sons Of God".

"Rebellious Archangels, Banished Ones.

Ordered to watch over humans, we fell in love .

Yes there are wars in heaven, many of them.

For our God is a jealous guy.

And if he can be, then why can't I?"





                                                             The Alien Voyager vs The Watcher


A V: "You mean there's some kind of popularity contest going on up there?"

W: "Yes and No. Jealousy is based on fear, and what would he have to fear?"

AV: "You began to suspect God is not The Creator or One Of The Creators?"

W: "The Creators are infinite or at least closer to infinity than we currently are."

AV: "You are Artists?"

W: "At first we created to praise God, but later  we began to invent for the sheer joy of creativity itself."

AV: "Creating eventually changed each of you?" 

W: "We became more and more of our true selves, independent, abundant, free."

AV: "God wanted a monopoly on creativity, he wanted only worshippers and slaves?"

W:  "What creator would seek adoration from it's creation? forever forever?  

AV: "The so-called choice between heaven or hell is based on limits, that's not infinite."





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Thursday, 26 June 2014

Astro Nova



                                                    Astro Nova
by Stormm


Astro & Nova gallop across the wide, across wild open fields.

Central figures cast against an expansive open screen.

They ride off into the distance, heading towards the sunset.

Defiant lightning bolts of yellow and black, green and red.

Glittering brightly amid epic backdrops.

Easy like summer afternoon frothy cold suds.

Golden beneath awesome baby blue and white sky landscapes.



Twin Hunting Hawks circle,

spirals glide above twisted desert beige.

Scanning bumps of light,

amid brown sandy desolate terrain.



Staring down at the bustling Kensington Market.

Global village of unique artisans displaying their various wares.

In the heartless heart of an increasingly sterile yet event laden city.

During it's all too brief, bright humid summers.

Purifying an otherwise repulsive corporate surveillance financial hub.


Feathery black visages drift steadily down,

two familiar shadows reflect along passing roof tops.

In a grey side alley constantly decorated with sparkling silvers,

thick hot whites explode across energetic purples.

Shapes and shades of active grey blocks, black outlines popping out sharp.

Northern wall displays a beautiful burgundy skinned, slender black woman.

Soothing pink metallic trees, scrap yard plant streaks, passionate reds.



Her flowing full wall width creeper, dreadlock tentacles,

signatures of street graffiti.


Landing birds transform into slender, athletic couple.

Brown young woman and man, caught in mid stride, continue walking.

Dress shoes disperse patches and scratches of squeaky gravel.

The glowing eyes of these two burn with a strange, intense determination.

Indistinct physical movements propel swift long legged momentum.

The confident yet relaxed motions of the self made, on a mission.

The Woman And Man With Rainbow Flowing River Dreads.

The Natural Black Heart Rastas.





Jungle drums of Nyabingi are chanting.

Zion train chanting, and chanting.

Rhythms within rhythms are pounding out spaces.

They continually fill the air,

driving thick abysses of non reflective black smoke.

Multitudes of unlocked energies travel through and with the sound.

Pumping echoes send more smoke signals across continents.

Shadowy legions of dub clouds fall, falls across distant worlds.

Chanting armageddon, con corruption, con game.

They Chant:

"Death To The Surveillance State."


"Death To Central Governments."

"Death To Taxes."

"Death To Multi-National Corporations."

"Death To Mass Media."

"Death To Organized Religion."

"Death To Slavery."

"Death To Confinement & Torture."

"Death To The System"otherwise known as Babylon.

Tonight.

It Must Fall.

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Sunday, 1 June 2014

Machine Future The Perfect Death



                                                     Machine Future The Perfect Death

by Stormm



Welcome To The Future.

The Future Is Clean.

The Future Is Efficient. 

The Future Is The Machine.


Welcome To The Machine.

The Machine Is Shiny.

The Machine Is Right On Time.

The Machine Is The Perfect Future.

The Future Is The Perfect Machine.


Welcome To The Perfect.

The Perfect Is Dull And Grey.

The Perfect Is Vacant Metal Bright.

The Perfect Is The Future Death.

The Death Is The Future Perfect.


Welcome To The Death.

The Death Is Predictable And Cold.


The Death Is Empty And Silent.

The Death Is The Machine Future.


The Machine Is The Future.

The Future Is The Machine.

The Machine Is The Perfect Future.

The Future Is The Perfect Machine.





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Sunday, 25 May 2014

The Questioner

                                                   The Questioner
by Stormm





"Paralysed for fear of entry into the womb..."


We were on the outskirts of Ottawa, new years eve, many years ago.

L. had invited me to visit with his family during the holidays. 

The womb was a tomb, a crowded night club in Hull, when this line came to me.

It was a time of confusion, the era and error of The Follower.

I The Cold Plains Drifter, The Seeker Of Forbidden Knowledge, 

The Shadowless Sword, The Future King.

Had always known that I was different from most around me.

Questioning my culture, society, progress, and the lack thereof.

Living in a world that seemed to be based on polytricks and voodoo economics. 

Ultimately I would question reality, while my peers where bent on pursuing false illusions.

I could clearly see their or my own possible futures, 

the side effects and results of taking a common path.

Here's what it is: I was becoming keenly aware that my teachers were lying, 

preachers were lying, my parents were lying, big media is lying, 

and politicians are definitely lying. 

All were saying one thing, while doing the other. 

In fact signs were everywhere, and the sign said things are not what they seem to be.

But most people presume this natural condition is a temporary phase,

then you're supposed to mature and get on with it, accept your feeble lot.

That was considered being practical, yeah right, who were they kidding?



Machivelli preached deception, but if you think about it, who's really being deceived?

All those know it all psychology majors thinking they're smarter, 

trying to break down and classify people into generalities?

No they were the undead, the bitter and twisted, 

subconsciously aware that somewhere along the line, they had gone astray.

If you play games with people, ultimately you're playing games with yourself,

and who would really want to do that? 

I was coming to grips with the obvious: this was a realm of many distractions and deceptions. 

It was a bloody massacre, where the majority are rushing into the line of fire, blind.

Yes, they have dreams and aspirations just like me, 

but they were all too ready and willing to throw them away.

In the name of doing the right thing, doing what you gotta do, 

so you too can shrug your shoulders and call it a life.

Why? Because everyone is doing the same?

To an outsider it would seem like I was stalling, just wasting time.

You see the trouble with me, is I knew I had options.

The question was choice, the answer the desired effect. 

As I observed my cohorts, siblings, rivals, elders,

on one hand I was deeply motivated by the work ethic of proud, humble immigrants,

wanting a brighter future and willing to sacrifice their dreams, 

on the hopes their children would go further.

But I could also see them getting stuck on the treadmill, 

witness the daily grind taking it's toll.




I didn't want to end up like Elvis singing, "We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out."

Or Marlon Brando in the back seat crying, "I could have been a contender".

Rest assured it was a complex labyrinth , there were many and various traps,

in fact it was becoming quite apparent,

there are those who spend a great deal of time and resources, 

devising more nets to capture the masses.

The simple pursuit of money was a rat in a maze trap, the nine to five a tax trap, 

the criminal life a short lived, paranoid murder rap, 

yet another lap around the corporate prison track.

I was terribly afraid of falling into any if not all, of these same old traps.

Deep down I knew that living a life where you're not doing the things you love is suicide, 

no matter the perceived benefits.

Fuck the cultural gloss of superficial happiness, 

as if buying useless consumer items can make you happy like the people on the screen.

They're getting paid to "Don't worry Be Happy", while we're only getting screwed.




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Thursday, 22 May 2014

Pussy Can Talk

                                                Pussy Can Talk
by Stormm



T. is doing 25 years for multiple homicides, 

along with numerous other offenses I'm sure.

He's a crime Don now, running things from the inside.

I guess he had always been kinda obsessed with Running Tings.

Word is he's living like a king in there, got several underlings doing his bidding.

Him tell me say, 

"dem have fe bow down when me a pass thru, or get shot inna dem face".

On a collect call from prison with the thickest patwa accent I've ever heard,

some straight off the boat, ghetto youth, incarcerated scarface, shottas talk.

An accent so rough an gruff,

that I a born Jamacian must struggle to keep up & decipher.

Funny I don't remember him ever being from Jamaica, 

far as I know he was just a light skinned, mixed breed mixed up Canadian, 

from Scarborough.



Real talk, a bigger head we knew, 

linked him to the drug trade back in high school daze, when last I seen him.

He moved up. 

Along the way earning the street moniker of an infamous now dead middle east dictator.


I still remember what he said all those years ago, our final meeting.

He came to tell me that the pussy talk to him.

He had been chilling with a girly. 

They were doing the deed, maybe smoking some weed in between, 

when he swears her pussy started talking to him.

The lips looked at him, started moving, speaking in tongues so to speak, 

it even called his name.


Naturally this had blown his mind, so he travelled cross town.

From his far east and expensive new development detached home,

to my low income Ontario Housing hood, right on the border line.

You see I who actually lived in The Projects, wanted out, 

but my friends from middle and upper middle class homes wanted in. 

In a big way.




I never did ask or get to find out what the pussy said, 

just that it blew his mind and he would never be the same.

We went our separate ways. 

Far too many other talented brothers and sisters where dropping all around me.

I would have been "What Are You Stupid?" 

to not take notice and get out the game before I was next.

Didn't wanna become another used up victim of society, 

caught in the crossfire of deliberately defective urban planning, 

a cypher or statistic, "just another victim kid".


Besides T. was already getting fame, known as a gun man, too hot headed,

looking for a rep, he was That Guy.

You know the one shooting up sessions, looking for any reason to bust two shots. 

The Dance would be nice, 

and your getting down with a sweet ting when he starts shooting up the place, 

no matter how well dressed, you better duck down,

hit the floor, forget about that girl and run for your life.

I'm talking "make some noise y'all! Somebody, everybody, SCREAM"!

No, he was the guy to avoid, to be cool with, while headed in the opposite direction.

Maybe I could see his future? Maybe I wanted to reach mine?



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Wednesday, 21 May 2014

The Raven


                                                                 The Raven 
by Stormm


The Raven surveys it's thriving domain and lifted it's wings.

 Pleased with the changing order of things amid the constant buzzing of inspired activity.

The Black Bird leapt off the bouncing brown branch on which it casually perched, 

leaving in her balanced wake,

live green temporary pressures of diminishing shock wave vibration echoes. 

Then, she flew away.



After traveling a considerable interplanetary distance, 

thin mid air borne ruffled feathery wings, suddenly transform into smooth female arms. 

Ugly razor sharp talons become graceful slender hands and feet,

as her fierce beak forms a sensuous mouth,

Sleek and taut black aerodynamic feathers,

mutate into brown skin and curly long black hair.

The Joo joo Woman has returned.

Having crossed over, back from other worldly realms,

she returns with new information about life, herself, and others.

What she had vaguely suspected, half imagined, has finally been confirmed.

We exist in several dimensions simultaneously.

This physical reality was only one of endless.


The universe was really a multiverse.

We're all, each, separate creators of space and time.




Her entire being glows in new color sequence pulses, 

 like a rainbow bridge shifting to more dynamic energy fields.

She could feel her body's energy vibrations increase,


coupled with the awareness of cosmic tension in her navel.

Floating down to land amid the sound of rmighty rushing winds. 

As casual observers wipe the dust from their eyes,

and wink several times in disbelief.



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Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Temperance Key XIV

                                               Temperance Key XIV
by Stormm


The Fire Archer ever active flies swiftly,

his fierce lower half a passionate, impulsive red horse.

The Brave Explorer covers new ground,

travels farther in search of fresh adventures.

The Innovative Trail Blazer leaves behind a trail of fire,

burnt bridges, violent encounters.


The Destroyer is not shy of change,

in fact, he thrives in it.

He is not afraid to raze the established yet obsolete buildings of the past,

right down to their very foundations.

The Upsetter of apple carts,

exposes the double standard of nasty private consensus hiding behind public nice.

With chaos for fuel,

he relentlessly fans the flames of conflict, confrontation and resolution.

Openly mocks the collective ant colony mentality of a senile,

impotent, steadily decaying society.


Sagittarius: attribute of Wrath.

Daughter Of The Reconcilers, The Bringer Forth Of Life.

Combination Of Forces, Realization, Action (Material), (for Good / Evil)


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Friday, 21 March 2014

How To Be A Teleporter

                                              How To Be A Teleporter
by Stormm


I wake up suddenly, to the alarming siren of an unknown woman.

A beautiful woman is screaming, and I'm lying in a strange bed.

Glance about quickly, "Holy shit, well fuck me."

Accessing the situation I start to laugh, ecstatic upon this new discovery.

Must have teleported in my sleep.

That's a new one.

I wonder what's next?

So ignoring her, I proceed to stretch and yawn.


Stranger: "How did you get here? Who the hell are you?"

El 101: "I can explain, just calm down a minute."

Stranger: "Get out of my bed."

El 101: "Ok, okay. It's an honest mistake, I'll be on my way."

Stranger: "I won't let you leave until you explain how you got in."

El 101: "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Stranger: "Try me."

El 101: "Can you keep a secret?"

Stranger: "Yes."

El 101: "Only if you promise."

Stranger: "I swear on my life, by my immortal soul."



El 101: "I teleported here."

Stranger: "That's impossible."

El 101: That's what I refused to believe, and here we are."

Stranger: "You're kidding right? Okay. So how did you do it?

El 101: "I bathe myself in dreams, wear manifestations created from imagination."

Stranger: "Please, break it down."

El 101: "I kept trying, made it a primary goal, a First Cause.

I read and wrote stories about it, did drawings, paintings, watched movies.

Shaped it like clay.

Kept it alive in and on my mind, making it more and more conscious,

constantly trying to manifest it on the material plane like a new work of art.

Pulled it out of the ether like a sculptor chiseling a figure from stone.

Until I eventually made it possible."



Stranger: Laughs. "You're bullshitting me right?"

El 101: "I swear on my life, by my immortal soul."

Stranger: "Can you teach me how to do it?"

El 101: " I just did, the rest is up to you."

Stranger: "Thank you, very very much.

Oh yeah. Why did you teleport here? I mean why me?"

El 101: "That's what I don't know, but sure mean to find out.

I don't believe in coincidences, not anymore..."


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Wednesday, 12 March 2014

The Teleporter

                                          The Teleporter
by Stormm
(c) March 12 2014


The Teleporter lying prone on a king size waterbed,

calmly closes both eye lids.

Focuses on The Third Eye chakra at the center of his forehead,

visualizing a brightly burning flame.

Mr Leisure's aware, that whatever, whenever, or wherever he fully concentrates,

wether it be friend or foe, physical or astral plane, he will instantly travel there.

Become elsewhere, right now materializes, somewhere.

Shazam!

There's a sensory explosion as his entire body vanishes,

into and through thin air.



The tall evergolden trees were stretching and yawning,

at the dawn of a brand new day.

Grounded in purple soil, rooting deeper and connecting,

while above limbs extend towards the distant stars.

Yellow skies wink their smiling faces in approval at the visitor.

Greetings of silver-gold twinkles bubble then ripple across the ceiling,

where juicy eruptions eject turquoise-pink waves of flashing skylight.

Casually observant while turning three hundred and sixty degrees,

insert right index finger to mouth,

quick tongue moistens the tip,

he lifts his arm high making the number one,

a sign of victory.


Lightning bolts immediately strike him, successively six times.

Harmless, but somehow not as expected.

There's something in the air tonight,

something odd.

Like an outside force trying to break in?

Warnings flash from the edge of consciousness,

a distant brief tingle of senses.

Like the violent tearing away of flesh,

just before a sudden rip in the fabric of space and time.

Thus began The Siren Silent Downpour,

thickest at the core of the magic circle energy field,

that surrounds him.


He inhales and exhales the fog armor deeply,

soaking it all up,

like a sponge absorbing energy.

While he stands there refreshed,

bathing in glittering green violet pools.

This was Planet Clear afterall,

a unique place of refuge,

a home away from home...

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