Alchemy - Articles - Zimbio

Alchemy Lesson No.666: Portents and Signs

Wed, 31 May 2007 18:15:52 GMT

posted by Pisces-Iscariot

Don’t wait for the weight of dead days to drag you down.
Don’t listen to the wind if you don’t want to hear the awful truth.
Don’t talk to yourself if you can’t take the company.
Don’t talk back or double backtrack; don’t litter the sidewalk with panic attack or stumble too long on the edge of the sea.
Don’t shout at the waves that crash at speed control barriers or throw insults at aircraft carriers.
Don’t cross level crossings with bells and whistles strapped to the inside of your head.
Don’t you dare listen to armchair electronic philosophy; sucked as it is from the marrow of my anatomy.
Don’t wander the halls of useless facts, there to collect your lists and league tables, your score cards and rosettes.
Don’t sit on your hands when your feet are for walking.
Don’t bite on your tongue when your blood calls for talking.
Don’t fill the position that’s moulds you to fit; that coats you with mould and mildew and shit.

Watch for the water that rises by moonlight in the basement of secrets.
In the fear room where you keep your implements of torture...

your thumbnail sketches and electric toasters long burned out on overtime loafing
your tongue depressors for tone deaf depression
your truth serum for lying in good faith
your blackmail and whitewash
your tins of metal paint and plastic wood
your rubber nails for crucifying a prophylactic future with loneliness
your liquid rust and solid state euphoria for hedonistic nights of lust and destruction

...here is the corpse of your stitched-up curiosity

In a place of dead dreams; anti-litter legislation and bad alliteration...

where mattress springs coil in silent anticipation of a tomorrow unscarred by today’s nightmares
where slipped disks are passed from hand to hand under surreptitious shop counters and discussed in hallowed whispers by insurance brokers
where money changes hands without changing lives and corruption is swept under the trees’ autumn carpet
where nihilism meets Neanderthal on a level playing field
where the pyramid meets your mummy with bandages unravelled

...in this place are the answers your questioning mouth clogged.

In a world made of paper and piss and paranoia...

at the crossroads of calamity where the devil does deals
at the apex of your thighs where your lost lover sighs
at the warehouse of souls, bleeding-art fresh
at the schoolyard of forgotten lessons where double dealing is done

...here is your heart in pink icing carved; your long lost love of life waiting to thrive.

Alchemy Lesson No.71: Evaporation

Thu, 1 Jun 2007 14:57:18 GMT

posted by Pisces-Iscariot

Here I go courting that melancholy muse
With eyes super-glued to my surrealist shoes
Whose laces are ceremoniously welded together
In an attempt to be cynical… yeah whatever

Yup, those idiot shoes on bright new wheels
Trundle along as the long week decrees
that Monday steals what Friday deals
and the managers rattle their captured keys
We deep cleanse our conscience with moral decay™
Never averting eyes from the newsreader’s array
of shiny new suits and dazzling dentistry
lies and more lies and vacuous piss-artistry
We dig our fingers into the arms of the chair
and curl our toes through imagining hair
Surround ourselves with aluminium* foil
to ward off the gamma from the paranoid coil
that sits behind the screen of the propaganda machine
and reports to BigDaddy all our thoughts obscene.
All our underwear unclean and behind-ear green
Uncrossed golf tees and polka-dot eyes
Pulled faces in the wind-change carnival disguise
Open scissor legs mirror grandma’s apple-pie demise
Crossed fingers broken in national security’s vice
Hooded head heathens detained without trial
Oil stained corpses on the golden mile
Islamo-fascists and right-wing beatniks
Altruistic celebrities and militant peaceniks
Satanist pope Marilyn Manson Messiah
Testicles burned with General Electric wire
Torture conducted by Peaches and Cream
Breast-fed on TV and Disney’s bad dream
Legal decrees to protect the already untouchable
Wire-tapped phones douse the extremely combustible
little man-in-the-street with his trusting ways
Unable to believe these are the end of our days
of prosperous growth on the wave of deceit
now melting like wax in a heap at his feet

Now dazed and confused I remove my clown shoes
Kick the muse in the teeth and shove my fears underneath
the rug in the hall in the hope I won’t fall
between the cracks of sorrow and dreams of tomorrow
Where everything could be just the same as today
And I won’t have to beg them to come out and play...

...and where love would await me as it does every day.

*Al-You-Min-Ee-Oom!

Alchemy Lesson No.13: Distillation

Thu, 1 Jun 2007 14:54:07 GMT

posted by Pisces-Iscariot

Irritation comes about when the world does not conform to expectations.
Exasperation and frustration ensue when change is not instituted to the causes of irritation.
Anger sweeps exasperation to one side as it seeks to know the reasons for everything; every dropped object or irrational machine; every minor infringement of common sense.
Rage is the edge of logic that does not find those answers.
Rage is a force which does not confine itself to causes.
Rage is a cause without rebels to support.
When awoken it seeks to rip the annoyance of logic’s limitations from the framework of existence dash it to the floor, and proceed to jump on it with the force of planets colliding.
Rage does not find solace in its actions; does not provide relief from irritation, frustration and anger, it is the loss of controlled anger; it is impossible to control once released from its box.
Rage is the split atom of human behaviour.
Rage is an instrument of catastrophic change.
Every decision made in the crucible of anger gives birth to a demon whose weapon is rage.
Rage is best directed at the inanimate world since when directed inward it is liable to devour the stomach lining; when directed at the animate, the living, it is liable to draw blood.
Rage is best directed against a system of thought – it may yet bring about change.
Irritation is a statement of intent.
Frustration is a complaint.
Anger is a question of moral indignation.
Rage is the answer to a question which cannot be asked.

Alchemy Lesson No.11: Solidification

Thu, 1 Jun 2007 14:55:30 GMT

posted by Pisces-Iscariot
Ellis Island 1902

Measure the width of a thought the length of an idea.
Add a liberal (Not to be confused with Libertine) dash of prejudice and a sprinkle of xenophobia (if in season)
You now have a solid and malleable mass with which to work.
From your little toolbox of aphorisms and clichés you may now remove your dogmahammer.
Being careful not to apply too much lateral pressure, hammer the concept into a shape that best represents your preconceived idea.
The concept is almost ready, be patient.
This next step is best employed without recourse to the use of understanding; this being an entirely unnecessary ingredient which only serves to complicate the process.
Bake your concept in the heat of ignorance using only a narrow viewpoint oven adding equal sprinklings of mysogyny; racism and homophobia, this will serve to harden the concept without subjecting it to distracting details.
Place all pieces in the appropriate category for future reference.
Box and label it, confine it to the words used to describe it.

Congratulations! You have created your very own point of view.
You may now use it freely to express yourself in public, people will take note and give respect.
For the braver amongst you, you may use your concept to belittle and berate those who do not agree.

Alchemy Lesson No.9: Soul Mining

Mon, 6 Feb 2007 19:15:00 GMT

posted by Pisces-Iscariot

The works of last night’s dreams…

Gazing at the future through trick lenses that distort headlines and astrological predictions
through the past’s hard lessons
historians employed by the winning side
little voices nag and loud voices condescend to know where you hang
what makes your world turn
Birds argue incessant in dew laden trees
waking the dead day with cursing nests feathered.

The clouds of morning…
Schizophrenic bed-wetters hiss the tarmac on automatic transmission
raising the relative silence and diving down into the distant city hum
The clouds of morning’s passing…
Fresh coffee excretes itself through sacrificial orifice into glass jar bubbling
The clouds of morning’s passing whims…
The sunrise second hand descends the optimistic side of each minute only to climb inevitably the sheer face of pessimism’s thirty lashes
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon…
Post-midday crises in cliffhanging suspense
waiting for the clock click chop
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace…
Hot word welding logic burn benign
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace where thoughts are forged…

And so to stumble back in head of clouds

The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace where thoughts are forged in wonder at the works of last night’s dreams
And so to silent slumber chin and finger tips revealed
There to be hammered on evening’s anvil and shaped by the keen eye of the moon
to be quenched in cold night fears and returned once more to awe