Through Graves, The Wind Is Blowing

Make no mistake about it…

We are to receive the most grisly of human experiments yet. Most of us will not survive.

“Oh the wind, the wind is blowing. Through the graves the wind is blowing.”

Make no mistake, the wind needs those graves to blow through.

Make no mistake about it, this is exactly what needs to happen.

The Impressionists, resulted from the photograph, and so too the muzzles of the 1860’s, were used as spears. Manhattan will certain sink.

And so too, with it what we have known of, as the soul. Gone also, to smartphones and machine-ghosts on their little screens, kept from meaning and the rabble. The rabble and the drunken beer halls. Gone is the frontier of the spirit, like the prairie, like the oceans.

A memory.

And where is the fight to preserve it, to save it?!

I will make more than a memory count again. And charge the masses of a billion screaming Pokemon lemmings, and mow them down with a sickle.

For they are the threat, and the final solution to man’s greatest defect: our Will and Identity. That’s what they want, they want what counts most, then charge us for a cheaper downgraded version.

They’d do it every time.

On this threat, I have advanced to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance.

I shall have these hulks, so useless in their lists and rows, their pixelly tiny, tiny, games and inner-prattling of – nothing.

I shall bring the beer hall, the drug addled artists back to culture! I Will this. I will think of nothing else until such a thing is rendered and done.

When you stare at your phone, what do you see?

What do I mean?

Exactly.

I will not be scared.

Will to take back my Soul.

I am France entire.

L. COHEN:

 

Les Allemands étaient chez moi

Ils me dirent, “résigne toi”

Mais je n’ai pas peur

J’ai repris mon âme

J’ai changé cent fois de nom

J’ai perdu femme et enfants

Mais j’ai tant d’amis

J’ai la France entière

Un vieil homme dans un grenier

Pour la nuit nous a caché

Les Allemands l’ont pris

Il est mort sans surprise

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing

Through the graves the wind is blowing

Freedom soon will come

Then we’ll come from the shadows