Narcistic Dictators

Marcos and Imelda

The blind and the deaf

Bikers on a tandem

Tourists on a lonely island

I was drugged in Manilla

To get me walking

The 'March Against Drugs'

I felt like Diego Maradona

A sinner-saint

Protector of the poor

Then the great dictator came

And killed the march

Watch Imelda buy her shoes

Watch grumpy Marcos scream against TV

He's not learning he only communicates

With his tender following

"Why don't you watch?"

You've got to watch!

(Because I watch)

Then locked in cuffs

You have to watch

You MUST watch

While after a quarter

He fell asleep

Then you break the chains

While Marcos dreams

Of old successes

Or political junta

Whatever you bind on earth

Will be bound in heaven

Whatever you loose on earth

Will be loosed in heaven

But yeah a dictator

Is always better than a bad politician

At least it wasn't his fault

He had no dad

He doesn't know what confirmation is

And in the end you don't need one

Meanwhile Imelda's in fears

Overcoming her neurosis

It's gotta stop

Someone has got to give in

Or needs to go towards the middle

Of a dying earth

© GdJ

Our Dearest One

In the absolute world, 1 + 1 = 1 and 1 - 1 = 1 too. So we try to touch the finger of God on the heights of Gerazzim. 

But it was at Sinaï that the mountain was one raging sea of fire that reached high at the heavens, with darkness and blackened clouds. From the fire, it was God that spoke with only His voice. No silhouet. Zerstören Sie die Gestalt! Or you will be wrecked 💀💀💀

His message, as in heaven, as on earth: there is no Other one! "I am the only one". The one and only. The one and lonely? Perhaps.

Human lives from all what's coming out of God's mouth. Can you imagine this great crater of love, speaking as a ventriloquist. It's our quest to climb up to His words. The logic of God is in no way the same as the logic of the world. There's no human reputation in His view, nor prestige and privilege. Only chastisising sacrilege. 

But who is he then that would not weep? A trusted fellow. Maybe a saint. Because at the end of the world there will be weeping and grinding of teeth, in the beloved oven of fire. Pains of unbalance will resound. Frustrations that come forth out of the philosophy of nothingness. All will reach His ear like a far mumbling out of the void. And back. Save yourself from this degenerate gender. Do not drink of the ocean of poison and sicken yourself with material pains. Or the stone plates of virtue will be smashed again into pieces before your eyes of sin. In the desert of Sinaï. Not the desert of Sin, that's where Mozes was unfaithful.

Learn to obey and serve the One who comes down from the real clouds. But God is a jealous ruler, in His own words. No need for flames on Sunday. Working means death. Ay ay ay farmers of today! Wear an oracle bag for Godly vision. And thy shall know where to find the way to freedom.

© GdJ