The Book of
1 This is how you will know to mark the young among men,
for this is the prayer they pray, again and again.
2 It is these who should be marked and minted into lives worth being spent.
3 These are the words they speak in vain,
"Our father who art in us, tradition be thy name.
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, in me as it is in him.
Give us this day our lovely sins1—those of youth and innocence.
And forgive us our deviance, as we forgive those who differ from us.
And lead us not into similarity, but deliver us from the collective.
For thine is the prison, and the scorn, aimed at abnormal men."2
1:3 1 7 Lovely Sins, Quintessence 1, New Testament
1:3 2 Hope’s Prayer, Quintessence 43, New Testament
The Book of
1 Behold, these are the sins
for which you shall be told to repent
and labeled youthful dissidents.
Embrace these with passion,
for they are your roots.
2 Words and beats thump and flow through my mind
like sex; a primal pulse, an insatiable impulse to untether,
unleash and loose myself to this primal pull—
it's this bump then grind with a run and slide,
I can't decide to which I should surrender:
let run through my blood and bones, then tickle nerves
‘till I stop to serve the worthy verse
with every pound, inch, thought and thrust,
each the embodiment of audio lust.
into my ears and eyes
so I may marinate in ideals:
eyes and ears oozing
sugary sweet knowledge of the world
but not OF the world; all the while
I’m secretly scorned or pitied by the pitiful masses
who writhe in apathy and cynicism; spew venom
at anyone not like them—me—envied and scorned
as the embodiment of wide-eyed gluttony.
4 Stuffed with knowledge of consumer's prison
might I wisely dodge the yoke
and slip into the Soft Slippers of Sloth.
Shuffling around as the embodiment
of "decaying moral fabric" just
to steer clear of the chains. Working to be
but not a working being, all the while
sucking satisfaction out of life under guise of sloth—
not quite tied to the Circle of Lies
(the ones about Consumption's Prize—20 to 65
depending on what you buy).
5 I hear: Pride cometh before the fall of high standards.
So I decide my standards and I are too young to die—
too young and proud
to join the crowds with shattered expectations.
I think: If pride cometh before the fall—
the fall should happen either way but finds in pride
its one delay. I pray: for pride to dwell deep inside me.
I try to swallow but find it lodged in my stomach,
feeding off me; find it has grown past the point
where I could shit it out—so full of pride I can't eat
yet mysteriously nourished; my standards and I, somehow
thriving off pride alone. All the while I’ll be vilified
for having the gall not to let my dreams die, as if
this mass of pride was mistaken for a second gall-bladder
in a world where extra organs and too much gall
both call for consequences.
6 I'll join in with the might of youth
to fly the flag of feral dissidents; spewing
satire and dissatisfaction while watching
the Great Inundation: 40 years of
days and nights under cardboard skies
raining fluorescent light. Seethe anger
and disgust for "the way things are"
out of some sliver of hope that these ills
might subside before I dive in
under glowing lights (which, by the way,
are only good for growing debt and death.)
7 Sweet and innocent—still inoculated
against the ways of the world:
chasing the dream-job of freedom
with greed and hope, too naive to realize
it's all a joke—a wolf in sheep's disguise.
I'm free, of course, to take responsibility
and forsake the right to flee
‘till after sixty-five, when most of life
has passed me by. Despite the joke,
still sweet and innocent, awash
in too much greed to ‘lease wants for needs—
hunting freedom with hungry eyes,
hoping it hides not, under guise.
8 Green with inexperience and envy:
Enough of one not to know
life isn't like the movies
and too much of the other not to covet the clean,
happy endings that trail off to the sunset.
Absolutely verdant with the youth and life
implied in both the former:
radiant with the crisp, rich green
of all the easy money movies bring this way;
pushing my publics to mirror this envy,
jealous I've yet to go green
with life—that specific shade we grow
after the fire of youth has burned through
all the passion, hope and love we care to lose,
leaving the Bitter Ash of Ire loose to suck the sunshine
out of life and dye its greenhorns blue.