Nimbus Cumulando
The following poem has an official soundtrack:
Prologue:
Like a single long strand
of human DNA,
98% inert,
only 2% actively
selecting protein for the cell,
I hope this sacred poem
can enter your open mind,
become alive
and multiply;
I couldn’t expect you to
instantly memorize
the full 100%,
of this genetic key,
I mean,
come on,
we’re only human,
but if you can store away
just 2% within your chest,
a couplet even…
well, you’d be infinitely blessed.
Context-enhancing phrase definition to be used below:
Anglo Moral Nihilism, Defined:
If two white men can put it on a piece of paper,
it DOesn’t MAtter NOthing ABout WHO may BE a HAter,
‘cause it’s pedal to the floor,
full steam ahead,
everybody else can fucking end up dead.
nim·bus
[nim-buhs]
noun, plural nim·bi [-bahy], nim·bus·es.
1.
Classical Mythology . a shining cloud sometimes surrounding a deity when on earth.
2.
a cloud, aura, atmosphere, etc., surrounding a person or thing: The candidate was encompassed with a nimbus of fame.
3.
halo ( def. 1 ) .
4.
the type of dense clouds or cloud mass with ragged edges, that yields rain or snow; a rain cloud.
-
Italian
-
[edit]Etymology
- Borrowed from Latin cumulāre,
-
[edit]Verb
- cumulare (transitive)
- To accumulate
cumulando
[edit]Italian
[edit]Verb
cumulando
- gerund of cumulare
Broken treaties
broken bones
broken bullet holding shells
laying so still in their shallow little graves,
all beneath the blood stained
amber waves of GMO grain
of the great haunted plains.
When the passionate life energy
of a moment contains too much soul
to be expressed in real time,
ghosty particles get left behind,
like electrons shooting photons
when they change orbital state,
they wander like the tide,
pulled toward the remaining living,
who channel and know,
like magic magnets
pulling Minie balls
through fresh laid snow.
Red for the valor
and spinal fortitude.
Blue for the biggest of the baddest of chiefs,
throw in some white and yellow to
invoke the A-I-M,
and black for the most heinous of sin,
free will assassination,
a pattern of death, repeated,
ignorantly link chaining in
a wild spirit stallion.
Mind the black hills;
they mined the black hills,
like oil rigs in Jerusalem
or meltdowns in Medina,
they mined the black hills,
in return for immediate,
soulless financial profit.
That’s what it looked like
when they spread apart
the lips of our mother,
when she was at her most vulnerable,
and no matter how hard She cried,
they still forced their shit inside.
Peace requires justice,
and justice needs awareness,
Wiesel tells us that the second death
in every genocide,
is denial,
just this sterile,
cold denial.
So we have the power
to resurrect these spirits,
right here
and
now.
In these great haunted planes,
of infinite dimension,
storm clouds rumble,
flat bottom apparition h two oh,
nimbus cumulando,
growing into space and time,
gathering awareness
into our collective mind,
concealing,
a hundred million angered
Jupiteric Zeuses, synergizing,
throwing lightning
like it’s 1999.
And no matter the passion
with which She sobbed and wept,
they still cracked our momma’s hymen
when they did their shitty theft.
Like shattered, scattered shrapnel,
her spirit still remains,
and it soaks into the soil
with the flash monsoonal rains,
bringing both fire and water
to these cracked, parched plains,
lightning shocks of conscious life
soothing second death’s pains.
The negative space,
comprised by those below,
they who weren’t allowed to be,
but had potential to do so,
follows our flat bottom thunderhead,
departing from the spiritual void
of Anglo moral nihilism,
arcing bolts of birth
between the Heavens and the Earth,
burning up this alien, oily,
blood-soaked wheat,
so maybe future generations
can start to love anew,
breathing moral life
into the red, black, and blue.
Every single line of this sacred poetry
shall land like an axe at the base of the tree,
of the Abrahamic non-morality
used by the hollow ass economy
we consider to be our society,
where each splintering blow
sends up shocks and shivers
to the highest of leaves,
which should cause sobs and heaves,
crying sudden flooding rivers.
Not because my blade hurts,
it ain’t you I’m after,
only because I pull back the veil,
of this sacred continent,
and pain of the ghosts -
trapped, forever haunting it.
Like magically magnetized
bullet shaped lead,
let’s start pulling out these slugs
from our hypnotized head.
Why ya fucking with me, man
why you stealing all my land?
Cuz I can, bitch,
ain’t no law but cuz-I-can.
I mean, you’re all drunk anyway,
we “accidentally” sent disease
to your weak ass bodies,
Europe was so crowded,
obviously we had to come!
How about you use a little family fucking planning,
instead of overcrowding your own home,
listening to the highest devil priest,
with his bloodthirsty sharpened up
Hitler-youth teeth,
through which he shouts
from the west to the east,
don’t use birth control,
make as many babies as you can,
let’s overpopulate these ugly godforsaken lands,
so that when the next world opens up,
we can destroy another culture
with our idle devil hands.
So goes
the swelling tide
of satanic meme-disease,
forever forming factions and fractions
of the original void of good,
into protestantism,
calvinism,
presby-this
and baptist that,
Jehovah this,
or mormon that.
It doesn’t fucking matter,
I got one word for it all:
monotheism.
And it’s wrong.
Simply incorrect.
They circled C
and the answer was D.
Simple truth,
simple powerful truth,
simple unchangeable truth:
maximize free will.
I mean they proudly killed their own savior,
they’re glad he died too young,
he could’a done a lot of miracles
at the age of sixty one.
They focus only on his pain,
they seek to destroy
their own ability
to channel God
as he did.
Please don’t be confused
if these words seem angry and hot,
my only emotion is love,
and then the sadness
which comes
when I see
the love that could be,
but based on soulless human error…
is not.
We were all born of a virgin, but
no matter how sad She cried,
they still broke our momma’s hymen
when they forced their shit inside.
simple truth,
simple truth,
simple truth:
by far,
it’s the world’s…
biggest…
geno…
cide.
It’s not like we’re piles of atoms to be born and killed,
we’re only patterns of freedom to be chosen, and willed.
Nimbus cumulando,
to pop those words a second time;
iambic Latin phrases
getting sticky in your mind.
When you define yourself causally,
instead of spacially,
and open up the flood gates
of creativity,
it becomes easy
to see
that one spirit
is we.
May this creepy melody
counteract their felony,
and echo up from
Her fracked out mind shafts
through Her cold, pillaged body,
shining light on forgotten ghosts,
bringing overdue rest
where it’s needed the most.
May this conjure up whatever
buried spirits can help,
now burnt into the fresh laid snow
reads nimbus cumulando,
for a third and final time…
now we can only die forever
or evolve our human mind.
I’m a scorpio, baby, only got one sting,
SoIhope we know I won’t be missing as I’m aiming for this king.
said I’m a scorpio, baby, only got one sting,
SoIhope we know I won’t be missing as I’m aiming for this king.
Our cities are graffiti on the surface of the Earth
and graffiti in our cities do alleviate its hurt.
