foggylandscapes

[foggylandscapes]

Æon

Do you believe in God that shines on us 

His light in form of millions gleaming stars? 

Indeed, - she said, but that  was falsehood, 

As in her lifeless frigid heart the God was dead. 

Alas, so many violent decades have passed

And there is no place for God in our brotherhood. 

We are alienated solitary shepards who were misled, 

All magic myths and impications were collapsed. 

All symbols were erased, replaced and lost in abyss of the time. 

We are desintegrated from the ourselves,

We die and then reborn in numerous identities, 

For us there are no rules of how to play this endless game,

And then, no limits for the sensual and spiritual experience. 

Instead of icons, we praise and glorify the wealth and fame. 

In hyperreal world we took the place of God, 

And now we are able to create the endless number of realities,

The quantity of layers of perception knows no borders

And we are wandering through them like poor beggars. 

There is no definite and clear code

That gives the power that could overwhelm the pain of being lost

There is no forms of life that can provide salvation and the proper way

As our roads are boundless, but still, it is unknow where are we going to

We feel development, but don’t cognize 

That we’re just on certain level of decay.

The irony and paradox: we have posessed all knowledge of the mankind

While coronated the ignorance, it has seized the throne. 

Its crown is big, it has become the pledge of happiness. 

In periods of weakness, some still recall the name of ancient God 

Pretending that this God would come again

And help to overcome the hardship.

But memorizing God is not the sign of truthfulness.

As they again forget and fall into the stream of empty pleasures 

They don’t feel ever satisfied, we can not stop the bloodship. 

One prophet taught, that there is way for us to reach the new relay

Becoming true magician and destroying your own self

But we are blind, so there should be many years to be gone

Untill we open our eyes again

And cure our spiritual and mental health. 

[foggylandscapes]

Knight of Cups

On the deserted shore of crystal lake 

I stand and hear the mournful sound of the church bell 

That rings under the surface of the lazur water. I penetrate inside the swirling flow under the puissant spell,  I hear the sound of marching soldiers died in bloody slaughter. 

Those martyrs sacrificed themselves for Golden Age’s empire

That bravely resisted, but finally collapsed.  Transparent mermaids sing their farewell songs, Their lean tenacious arms twine tenderly your slender body Their salted lips give chilling kisses to your emerald eyes. Austere water spirits hit loudly their silver gongs, And you awake and look upwards at northern distant skies,

You сrave for boundless constant freedom they embody, 

That lies beyond the evil and the good, beyond the time and space. 

And yet there are no words and paradigms,

That could categorize, personify and classify you

The diamond from Lucifer’s crown is cought, 

But nobody will ever see your face. 

All horrid fears are gone, all lustful demons are annihilated,

All drops of Jesus’ blood are gathered, 

And cunning Serpent is ultimately fought. 

You fall into the everlasting ecstasy of non-duality

We fuse together, and I’m drunk of luscious tears 

 As I was drinking from your golden cup.

And everyone who did as well

Has overcome all concepts of the human-made reality.

I feel my heart’s vibrating like the sonic waves,

The sences and emotions reach their final limit, 

But still, I have no power to pronounce your real name, 

It’s hidden in the labyrinths of my mind’s caves. 

My soul explodes as if there are tons of dynamite.

And probably, for me there’s only little chance 

To put you wizardry under the conscious control and then survive,

But as this sacred mystery will never stop, 

I will forever feel myself alive. 

[foggylandscapes]

Belief well earns the terrible hatred of the vitality. Belief is not freedom. Belief creates its necessary experience, progress germinates in retrogression. Consider the reality is somewhere: and your belief may be too small for its habitation. Oh, ye of much faith in God, merge into it by the worship of self! Ah! foolish man, worship the glorious in freedom. When Death approaches the faith in God and desire of woman will not save you, what are their use when withering and decay sets in and the body is an object of disgust? And what is the use of knowledge and charity when reality is known? Unsheathe the sword of self; ideas of the Almighty should be constantly slain and righteousness should be inquired into.

~Austin Osman Spare.

[foggylandscapes]

Talk to nowhere

Tell me, the ancient tree,

How many of your gentle leaves 

You lost to make a cover 

For my grandfathers’ graves? 

Tell me, the groaning wind,

How many of your freezing gusts

You need to blow away 

The dust of murdered slaves? 

Tell me, the burning sun, 

How many of your heated rays 

You can provide 

To dry all martyrs’ tears? 

Tell me, the summer night,

What can I do 

To vanquish all your fears? 

Tell me, the humid balmy air,

How much of you

I need to cease my suffocation? 

Tell me, the blazing stars, 

How much of light you have 

To cheer my mind’s frustration? 

Tell me, the empty walls, 

How long you keep me there? 

Tell me, the milky cloud,

If it is possible to shift me anywhere?

Tell me, the hastening time, 

How much of you it’s left

To say the final word? 

Tell me, my grimy mirror,

How can you tolerate

Reflection of your freaky lord? 

Tell me, my fair mother,

How much of blood 

You lost to give me birth?

Tell me, severe God,

How long you bear

The filth of humans on the Earth? 

Tell me, the violent distance,

You’ll never take away

The beauty of my friend’s smile. 

Tell me, the holy feeling,

How can you have

The strength of nuclear missile? 

Tell me, the autumn rain,

How many chilly drops 

You need to wash away my sorrow? 

Tell me, the mystic fate,

In which new town 

Will I find myself tomorrow? 

Tell me, the constant reason,

How many of the actions 

Do I need to undertake? 

Tell me, the modern humans,

Which of emotions

You can not truly fake? 

Tell me, the old religion, 

Which of your dogmas 

Can asisst me to reduce the pains?

Tell me, the electronic sound, 

How manage you to warm

The blood in my thin veins? 

Tell me, society,

How long it’ll take

To deconstruct the whole reality? 

Tell me, the blind greed, 

What can we do 

To fight with your totality? 

Tell me, the history, 

That it is last relay.

Tell me, my love, 

That you will come today. 

[foggylandscapes]

Knight of Swords

He slept in silver cradle, 

In the cave of poisoned dreams. 

He has been there for a thousand years.

Concealed on desolated island

Of his broken hopes,

Washed by the blood of angels

Who uphold it from above. 

He dreamed of true revival, 

But couldn’t get outwards.

Unholy spirits strangled him inside.

He was posessed,

Exterminated.

They tortured him for deadly hate and pride. 

Through eyelids

He could only see the snowy light,

And hear the ringing echoes 

Of the jolly sirens song. 

He tried to fight,

But wasn’t able to ruin

His lurid world,

And has no weapon

To destroy the chains.

He broke his sword. 

There was no flame 

That could again relight 

The fire of his heart. 

In void darkness of his pining mind 

There only was a tiny flesh 

And it was hope.

That at the end of time,

When hell and heaven will collapse, 

And humans will recall 

Dead saints and forgotten myths 

To keep again the energies of life 

That finally elapse. 

And in that moment 

He will overcome the death,

Defeat his shadow, 

Terminate his torment. 

To see life’s final light.

He will awake, 

His soul becomes a dove,

Fly to the golden stars 

To recognize again

The honour, purity and love. 

[foggylandscapes]

Brainstorm

Bile in the mouth.Soundless rain.

Synthetic sounds - Satan’s heralds.

Faint streetlights in the morning puddles.

Drops on the withering leaves. 

Gloomy sights of passerby.

Sunrise janitors. 

How can I get out of that sleepy hollow?

Smell of the dampness. 

Squeal of my feeble bones. 

Howling wind’s hum. 

Bird’s chirp. Heart’s murmur. 

The concordance I try to follow.

This northern city has died out. 

The haze of freezing bed.  

Grey shadows on the mangy walls.

My filthy dreams. 

My dreadful demons. Data errors. 

I’m knocked out. I run out.

I hear the angel’s gentle voice. 

The million children’s weeping. 

Icon’s tears.

False politicians oaths. 

False morals. Fake identities.

The groundless fears. 

The glossy hair of my gracious friend. 

My fulsome laugh. Untruthful claims.

The triumph of putrid vanity. 

Immortal sin.

My forest was burned down. 

And all I want to feel is nothing but my lover’s cold pale skin. 

[foggylandscapes]

Austin Osman Spare