Tag Archives: bastard

5th of April 4th, 1984…

“what does the LORD require of you but to do justice…”

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One of the Bible’s (OT and/or NT) foremost statements, mentions God’s topmost requirements from mankind, which is “to love/do justice…”
Well, if mankind’s self-righteous, mostly fundamentalist “christian” crowd would heed this basic advice, they would have to stone their god and his accomplices, simply because these scriptural books are by far, whosoever’s most blatant record of injustice against mostly unsuspecting innocents.
My inner rage against this sadistic display of injustice is paired only by a cancerous pain and sorrow for the countless victims of this merciless religion, closely followed by it’s prequel, judaism, and it’s sequel, islam, all just patched-up versions of ancient, human sacrifices requesting religions.
Because it’s utterly hard for me to decide if child sacrifices to Moloch were more vicious than leaving an entire nation to centuries of Egyptian slavery, or the sacrifice of a god’s son for the “sins” of others, or the raising to power of a god’s inquisitorial vicars, or eventually the public maiming of petty thieves, or hanging of infidels…
To expect the love of justice from heirs of countless generations of victims of gross injustice, amounts to a sadism against which the Inquisition’s methods could be considered as mere colloquialism.
A “story” we were told by one of the most idiotic zealots to call himself a “pastor” I have ever encountered, story which regardless if true or purely fictional, would make nevertheless a good point to what this so called “justice” is all about.
The tale speaks about soviet psychopath Joseph Stalin, inviting a western official to a protocol visit to his Kremlin. After usualties, the guest(s) asks Stalin about how could such a system manage to keep such a large nation into what couldn’t be called as less than oppressed submission? Stalin asked one of his attendants to bring him in, a live chicken. To the obvious shock of his guest(s), Stalin proceeds to pluck all poor live chicken’s feathers off, causing visible and violent injuries, and wounds to the innocent bird. He then calmly throws a handful of breadcrumbs on his own booted feet, laying the scared animal nearby. After a few moments of confusion, and as if nothing seems to have happened, the bleeding, naked bird starts to obnoxiously pick up the crumbs, feeding from atop the boots still sustaining the hands which savagely tortured her.
“You see?”, asked Stalin of his quietly shocked guests, “you can do whatever you want to your people, as long as you remember to feed them…”
Doesn’t this tragically resemble to all bleeding and naked religious yard-birds, thankfully saying “grace” over the usually just-about sufficient meals “provided” by the same god who just some weeks or months or years ago have maybe killed their children, husbands or wives, parents or any other loved ones, silently allowed a few world wars, a few holocausts, scripturally condones slavery, genocide, infanticide, just to name a few of these “how can’t you see” ones?
Unfortunately though, not all naked and wounded human chicken of this world have access to the scarcely provided crumbs.
The poor majority linger in overcrowded social ghettoes, silently awaiting for their well-fed gods to remember them when the time for the next culling-war of the useless’ time has come…
Allow me please, to leave you with some food-for-thought.
About some more than a decade ago, I was part of christian prison ministry, which included the highest security prison of a central European country. Only life-terms, over twenty years imprisonment for multiple and/or aggravated murder and others as such were given the “privilege” to “live” there.
On one occasion, the team leading pastor drifted downstairs with a group of Q&A, leaving me behind, alone and scared with the rest of this “elite” crowd…
One particular individual stood my way towering over my own more than 6 feet with his  7 feet and over 150 kg, asking the following:
“Is it worth being faithful to god and his commandments?”
“Of course,” I replied, “because god is love, and he has the best plan for all of us, regardless of what we’ve done!”
To which he sternly replied:
“I wonder what Job may have had to say to that…”
I left in silence, as on those dim stairs, for this locked-up for life inmate, my god-defending theology would have proved as irrelevant and humiliating, as all other religions. Because only after I have lost – as an already devout trainee minister – my own first two precious children, I understood why I should never again mention that god gave back Job more riches and more children than before.
To this day, not even the daily sight of my other precious children can ease the tormenting pain caused by the loss of my first two…
Because only a mercantile bastard would expect to be worshipped for giving “other” children to someone whose children he assassinated in the first place.

-to be continued…-

Social poem 1

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They’re all gone now.
Swallowed down by windy pipes gone by…
Some hairy brushes sinking low below
Those every seconds left untouched.
Where’s time now mum?
Where is it m’am?

So fond of words, so fond…

Label me life; label me as you would label toes…
Dead, cold, as the reminder of an unpaid day to mourn.

See me; sea’n me…
Fortunate as the disaster happening across the street of someone else’s feelings.

When I will swap the day with night’s attire,
And messages will rot in bottled sand;
My love for maximums should set a fire
Even to Scaevola’s one, unburnt hand.

“De Profondis” seems so shallow now
When mankind’s only hope is Ridley Scott’s
Imagination gone to save us please from evil…

Ta ra ra Bum ta ra, ta ra ra Bum ta ra…
‘at’s it milord, ‘at’s it…
Lift ’em skirts to blow’n the wind of Dylan’s fights
with Don Quixote’s every windmill…
Have you seen ’em ma’?
All those how many roads I’ve traveled all to find you…
and all’s alone
so welcome to the great ol’ party of deliverers,
all welcome…
scum.

Have you ever dreamed of flying tied onto a dropping bomb
of sorrows and delusions
never to reach earth
forever falling like pink floyd’s massacre of every folly?
No?
Try this you m**** f*****,
try flying fond of all those every coming days when eyes
are open yet to see another mirror’s scoff:
“You dirty little f****** bastard, you ain’t no wings
you hear me!
You ain’t no wings and ain’t no wings to grow you out of ’em
for(n)ever! Do you hear me?”

“Mother should I run for president?”

I know why I love English: it is the only world where I is never little,
nor ‘t is belittled by and by, by every Little…

Allow me to exist until I don’t deserve to suffer anymore for
who the f***’s sake…
me and my children born to my shame’s utter follow…
arriving every time precisely at the six o’clock’s
of every three and nine’s barking of disgust
for we don’t, you don’t, they don’t
Have.
But daddy, isn’t it there?
And you work!?
It’s true my love but see you, they just suck…

And as a matter of fact,
I remember being told that grand-grandpa left his all
with all his all
never to return
because some Arian f***** rode into his town upon a white horse
and he ain’t really fond of any chopped dick’s spawn…
So grand-grandma went nuts, and auntie was joking
in the camp when someone farted under the common lousy blanket:
“Keep it in, it’s central heating!”
F****** funny that is, f****** funny…
And grandma never gave us yellow lentil soup,
but only mixed with tears…
bloody tears:
“don’t make me cook this love, we ain’t got any other food for years….”

And mum…
She was born where I wouldn’t have allowed here to be,
but no one asked me:
boy I’m getting funny, ain’t I?
It was the end of April First of May you know and war…
Auntie just weaned of the same dry breast to barely need a bra
or any other something like that…
and the f****** Christmas came:
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum wie grün sind deine Blätter…
Wrong side of history grandma…
grandpa left you desolate for another piece of non-kosher pussy…
and only thin baked beans under the tree.

And mum got dad and they got me and bro…

Crazy years they were, I swear to Jodie Foster’s Contact!
Beautiful years of it’ll get better by the day and never…

“I wanna know what love is…”

Isn’t there anything more than just ever-festering regrets of
this is not the f****** train I hoped to have had hopped on…
And this is not the bloody f****** life I’ve spawned my offsprings for…
Because they haven’t signed up for it either…

“Mother do you think they’ll drop the bomb…”

It’s raining.
I guess it’s just the slowly running water from above
Pouring down
To drown
Everyone.

Heaven’s not empty.
It’s just that no one’s there anymore;
but all those molecules of water,
following a never-ending plan
of a never to be found hourglass master
who returns only to turn his sinister
water filled, strangled test tube.

Don’t worry folks,
if you’ve escaped this time,
you’ll drown anyway
at Heaven’s turn…