What disappears here. Disappears into the unwanted, while the diamond fellow conquers still! No longer waisting the energy of the eyes that the brave once fell for when blinded by their own beauty, and now are glorified by and through a meaningful death.
Soon the eagle will no longer even be a memory, here. Neither the stones I tread on, while I walk alone, a single road. As a pilgrim in Chaos, in a diseased country between Germany and Spain!
The stars watch for my coming. The Swan setting in the north west, at fall.
The secret sulfur underneath inside me like a cauldron full of puss, rupturing the earthen floor. Dog grass cleaving to all the abandoned decomposing bodies, one lived in left behind.
** * ** **
Who would be silly enough to hold back the skies and their departing? The sun and the moon and their demise. This disappearance inward, within the fiery Shakti, dissolved inside each middle center. The wheels of fortune colliding, weld into the Great Dharma-Padma.
The death of a Hero, or of all the worthy warriors and of the great big bad dream of today that they fought against in this loka that wasn’t theirs! …would nevertheless persist, clutching still more, to a noble heart to kill it feeding on its entrails, to make it sink again into another burning furnace, to be forgotten by its own children!
Then just, to watch one more time, the eyes burning acid tears, what was beautiful, quashed again by brothers of their own mongrel making.
** * ** **
I’ll never give my soul ever again for a pipe dream. Nor ever, whatever come, desire once more any insult to injury, in the sight of dead aryan flesh!
Krishna and Arjuna can just go fool someone else. Sapping the life force from the gullible herd for some invented universal cause! Wherever or for whomever, never!
My spirit will survive beyond the fire with my own kind, that I know. Or alone like a fairy never seen, I’ll dance on the tide, on the other side, on top of the cristal dome! And the tempest will not take me, anywhere if I dont wish it.
I’ll fight again, but for what is real.
Nor will I ever be again entranced, enthralled or dumbfounded, like a conceited ass, by any make believe culture from before; because it’s all made up, not even dead and gone. A pseudo-compost for runic seedlings in another age or yuga.
I am the embodiment of a secret nation. Living on another plain in another place in another TIME.
Tell your children now, that it’s too late. It’s time to build the inner aryan edifice. The spiritual seed of the soul that’ll cross the abyss, cultivate it and take care. Learn to die, & go to your real homeland, where the lice of this world can’t be invited!
Tell them, here, everything’s a joke. But if they dont care to listen, then their not worth the land we’re fretting for!
Asgard at Untersberg beyond Hyperborea! Axis Mundi in Cordibus Nostris. Irminsul!