Thoth Poems

 You'll notice that process philosophers and magicians alike create archetypal characters to hitch their own stars to. For Nieztche, it was Zarathustra. For Spare, it was Zos. These are my foray into god-binding. Here, I use Thoth, the god of writing and magick, which means something very specific in Egyptian lore that is utterly muddied by our sense of things. 

One of the main features of the Thoth character is self-begetting. Eventually, these poems will make a book on Thoth like Nieztche's Zarathustra. 

[God of Time]

The mortal god 

may bless (--you--) re lax a tive

while I contract you all

Ob ligat ions

Blood in bloodrive scapegrace

Leaving me horns to master your fate

The pen that traces fates

Inscribes death in fire 

On human hearts

[The Secret Sayings of Thoth]

Give me the gift of your goatsong

Give me your sleight of hand

I am addicted to accumulating strategies

I am addicted to the unvoiced screams

Of the damned

Drug your eyes that I may become

flint

Teach me your goatsong

So that I may become you

The weaver of dreams

Sews the eyelids of Verity shut

When truth is your master

You have no future

[The Gift of Thoth]

Could I drive sane men mad with an evil tool? Or fallow their souls so perfectly that they become words spit from the mouths of insects. 

Teach me your tragedy. Let me cry your tears and bewail your devils. Let me play games with words and make Time my memory. 

And when my body dies, my memory will thrive.

(O)(o)(O)(O)(o)(O)(O)(o)(O)

Yodabund + Zos + Devourer

[The Yodabund Legacy]

 [The Yodabund Legacy]

The authorship of moonlight fell out — no state applicable state. showed them leaping about bearing witness to this author’s bliss. bring me to speak through I darted along the countryside until the Maid of Manners, an apostate of cardness, issued an epistle of frankness, inaccurate along a damaged disk of renal preaching. Overlord of anywhere. Jack nodded gravely feeling the strength of yellow light.

 singular attitude of provision for when we staggered along our axes we bore wheels without notice.

Repeating to grind

I should cure them of this world

Perched in overwide gestures

Of creeping insult

And utter contempt

For this life

<-I-><-I-><-I-><-I-><-I->

Yodabund bias

The Tombworld of Yodabund

 

In that corner of another Moon

where Yodabund realized her voice 

Turning cursed words to light

A poor girl who

In bringing forth words

Could make the world itself brighten

Like noon sun 

after the wind sweeps away clouds

in striving and chattering 

 sanctuary 

The place collected beasts

rushing clamorously into season

 agreeing to supper

 inside the bricks 

as late as the night is black 

She would break the Myrmidons

Make Orpheus panic and lose his breath

Her psalms could split atoms

And though her spirit was horror 

It radiated unyielding warmth

Giving life, pitiless, to a place

That hated life.

Alone, she brought forth

his face, swelling with claws 

became jealous of adjustments 

 torn in public space 

which chiefly characterized 

five interchangeable fables

to make up every mythos 

 longing to avenge the melody, 

He consorted exclusively for admiration

casting their affair 

among the murky segues 

of her silences

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Corpuses = Aesop's Fables + Uncanny Stories