The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The God of Paradox



I walked one day onto a road and there at the corner sat an old sage,

I asked what he had learned in his days,

He smirked and nodded then said to me in truth,

That is something hard to share with youth,



I said well experience is the best teacher,

He said so you wish to learn while not experiencing either,

I said no I just wanted to find insight,

He laughed and roared my lord you’re uptight,



What image of you thinks he needs improving?

Answer that and maybe the teaching will be self-revealing,

But it is your experience I was needing,

Not my own interpretation or feeling,



Then you are lost in what all these religions made labyrinths,

To lie and tell people that improvement is a mental rinse,

But then what kind of teaching are you to say,

That all of us have our own narrative play?



Well then not thinking leads to thinking,

Thinking so much leads to find your brains ship sinking,

And thinking to desire the need to stop,

Then forever thinking you do sit and set up your shop,





Your belief your wares you put on display,

The tasks of the world your customers that day,

Then a game of conversing is selling your latest version,

To those already set to standard conversion,



Then why would you tell me that god is dead,

Then say we are the game inside his head,

Why would you say that nature helps you?

Then cry out panic when the deluge consumes,



What kind of figure tells you to believe in nothing?

Then tells you belief is all that’s happening,

What kind of man says poets sing truth?

Then say the worst liars the poets are to me and to you,



For in perspective we hold that god is ambivalent,

To sending down power to change the constant,

But in fantastical metaphor we choose to be held to truth,

I question if there is anything of supernatural dew,



For is it not weird that modern day phantasms,

Get condemned so hard by the groups against,

When classically they would have been their lessons,

To push to next generation of truthful content,









Then shouldn’t the Christians be giving praise,

To revitalizing cult behavior and daze,

To activate contemplation they then contain,

To only the priest being given a say,



For if the hippie comes to stare in god’s eye,

But is ridiculed not from one but both sides,

Shouldn’t the puzzled mind ask why?

Then realize you would damage elite tries,



For no power would come from classic pose,

Where men sat thinking of if what god they chose,

Made difference to the way the world goes,

Then overview of the shamans of olds enthrone,



Then paradoxically seeing,

The god found in trance being,

Is a hallucination but real in the same meaning,

Then if out of trance should importance start receding?



I think the views of old,

Could marry to all the stories told,

If man could only be so bold,

To knock out the genders and names of the mold,









For the lessons give subconscious insight,

That what we are in general might be a trick of light,

The question then being if trapped inside,

Is the predecessor good or evil or a non-material ride?



But this a modern thought so bold,

Made to be distributed as Darwin’s model was told,

One that robed both from interrupting gold,

That was common thought to all of the cultures of old,



For if in a piece of land you sit on a space,

Live with it over time you give it face,

Then as you grow bigger the concepts locked in the race,

Then moving his location keeps making arguments waste,



The funny idea being that once to bigger form,

The natural shape and stature are no longing adorned,

In the natural sphere out which they were born,

A loss of natural potency in lore,



Which leaves us with dominant faiths,

More tied to remembrance then producing new fates,

Fictitiously drinking the blood of Christ,

When available from plants comes the same insight,









He probably saw no problem with that voice,

Being from his locality they are the plants of choice,

And by his time they were hiding spontaneous insight,

Making the leadership those who only got to the light,



So I said to my imaginary friend,

Do you exists or don’t you?

The lord of paradox laughed at my feud,

He said more importantly what does that mean to you?



Everything of what I am sent here to do,

Don’t you think the premise is a bit construed?

Thinking that you are the only you?

The one who thinks of me is created a new,



But what will the faithful do?

Well if you’re here experiencing isn’t that real truth,

But original sin does me in,

Then how can you be born with sin in a world before time began?



If he created the space,

Then punished the humans for just being his race,

A trick of an apple from your servant gave raise,

To this whole idea that world is chaos based,









Yet not random because infrequences like humans are made,

But on realities of truth a dungeon of being is gave,

For if the god of paradox made you and the devil too,

Then wouldn’t it mean the game was set to be screwed,



For the descent of the fall from his view he knew,

And went on to do it that way so the end time brings doom,

Does that make the devil his dominative side too?

Just an abstraction of his form his ego understood?



That he challenged himself to game,

Making a wager with himself in a game he already played,

As omnipresence and omnipotence mean he could say,

That from the beginning he knew that the end would swing his way,



Then this god would be like mad scientist,

Generating strife to see the reactive catalyst,

An idea that would leave most beings remiss,

Of perhaps being just the volcano model reactionless,



Him stirring the pot to make life experientialist,

But then wouldn’t the Hindu view subsist,

That in play of imagination we all live,

But boundaries set make the game not give,









Much choice to the little ants in cage management,

For if truly a force did move or was sent,

Then why only in the B.C. era did he seek lent,

From direct faces of sages of Moses tent,



The rabbinical idea of seeing god lies,

Without years of conditioning your mind,

To what wild men and exiles brought from isolation,

And could state as brain chemistry matched drug occasion,



Which matched up to death in which we do fear,

Yet if all these cults sought to promise that heaven was so near,

Then why doesn’t god come and make all crystal clear,

Ah but ambiguity rules through in sneer,



For if improbable the world does pick its next icons,

I wish that we would hear the past voices of cons that became of us fond,

But the real being inside that’s external in pose,

Is inside of me yet not able to boast,



Until to my head the visions do roast,

The fake ideas of society’s ghosts,

The taunt of life being that in intoxication we begin seeing,

But if just a dream then why should we keep feeding,









The father archetype just a structure of authority in mind,

An argument that at the old council you find,

Yet never to share with the common kind,

Then the lost gospels spell what it was without hierarchy making us blind,



Then we see that no one idea can rule the frame,

That if from nature gods place is natural and in our brain,

The substance of vehicle is chemical in both of these the same,

And ask why early biblical heroes intoxicated to be game,



For in a local world of things discovered,

No tie line of evil is brought over its head,

Even if a couple users end up dead,

The comfortability of community martyrs them instead,



And the learning of one person to thousands can be spread,

Like oracles of old with mystery finally killed and bled,

Then what as modern men do we have to lose,

If missing this paradox from our daily view,



Everything that lets you try what you want is judged off of 3,000 year old thoughts,

Every action is then deemed off where by scale it stands in correlation troughs,

And widdle it down to your locality anew,

And then laughing you see that the same rule on me doesn’t do what it does to you,

Something we change when our brain refrains,

For no prophet today is on a hillside,

No holy men on mountains or wild men to hide,

The shaman today only comes from inside,

A fact which might make them ghostly insights,

To lessons coming from the riskers of worldly outsight,



So to the mystery figure I did sputter,

But what does that make the world to one another?

A playing field of chaotic attributes of other,

When distance came in we lost sight of our brothers,

And by the end instead of goats we sacrifice our mother,

A game routine in administration,

But lost if without mystic observation,

One that inside society is a different view of temptation,

Then the view of a man said to have been surviving in the desert condition,





His view coming back in should balance orchestration,

A thing modern religions would throw out by conserving reiteration,

A game lost to the mist the true beings of inspiration,

One that until regained gives man advocacy of abomination,

As why save the planet if gods rapture is real integration,

Then material life is only damnation,

A thing arguing made the Gnostics go into stagnation,

But a thought that should question gods desire for ascetic right,

To what sexual choices or showing of might,

Culturally are ruled not from natural insight,









Then god’s ideas from Hebrews old,

Are societal commands of a people who pick and have chosen modern tolls,

Then what can they do for us anymore,

But give us half our right and then wipe their ass with our cash coming through the door,

A scary thought of supportive nightmares,

One that makes it hard that they even to strangers bring care,

Something old prophets never had in retinue to be scared,

Because the number of people was never so layered,



Then ask why we do not have societal prophets,

Well that missing piece of intoxication matches it,

For if even by experience you back then know,

That the challenge to society is part of the code,

Realizing prophets and shamans were people not fitting mold,

Of what their cultures routinely composed,





So we need the hippie movement new,

But one not tied to trend or crew,

That is honest to the breakdown of the new,

And fights for us commoners to have life not construed,

We just have to believe metaphor not what is definitely ruled,

Realize concept was more important than conserving view,



Then teachings of new will not be societal pox,

Just by realizing the concept even at first was paradox…



Sean Stutzman

The Great Gates of Time



Who has seen the gates of time?

Where the fates decide on who lives and dies,

Where future soldiers still are tied,

To strings pulled thin as people cry,



For escape of the end we must face,

Is a doomed escapade three legged race,

The winner sees the galaxy ripped apart by a giant collision of epoch chase,

But open the gate of space just in case,



But forever doomed to steer,

To arguments of freedoms clear,

Forgotten governments work by fear,

Let us be pushing for what for we can cheer,

And if in the middle at least to not sneer,

When a choice is made to protect peoples tears,



I am but,

Human,

But how,

I,

Am,

Is increasingly hard to maintain,

A hard truth of finite brain,

Without revitalization how can you have stimulation?

Without hesitation how can you have revitalization?

Without protecting what you have aren’t you irresponsible in the end,



I mean the world is a place that we claim belongs to man,

But isn’t it funny the mighty elite tossed off by speck of dirt on their feet,

Up on their high horse tossed off of their seat,

Could make the world ugly by digging into deep,

Hoping to create some technological reset button leap,



But then does open the gates of time,

The truth that burns right into human mind,

For yes we stand in standard kind,

But we lack maturity for every single human bind,



For efficiency is our faithful mantra,

Austerity the mirage of rewarded ascetic draw,

When want for consumption is inside your very laws,

Its fine to live even with elite but disdainful to leave the poor on pause,



You see and then the merchant clause,

For socialism is a band aid bleeder,

Communism is waiting for a problematic leader,

Capitalism is a bulimic consent,

So maybe humans are challenged at being,

In millions of numbers like insects breeding,

Yet without babies the balance starts conceding,

And not enough people for operation lead to needing,



So,

Then,

I,

Sigh,

As I am the man of heart out bleeding,

But every message in the world by perception is misleading,

We are individual entities speaking,

And individual receptacles of lost meaning,



Being a little odd gives you the truth,

That if different they act as if that’s from youth,

An immaturity of sorts not correctly couth,



But then think of the world from a gate,

On one side conforming on the other your state,

In the middle the membrane of what can relate,

Funny still this choice implies what can be cruel fate,

As human lives are put to ultimate date,





Our choices a gamble of any odd day,

This is the true gate of belief in pay,

For at least a member we must play,

So families can live and sun can have rays,

When people can smile about where they must stay,



A look to the mountains gives life more feeling,

Being out in the woods a balance of meaning,

A contact back to an ancient ceiling,

A power to which made us all conceding,



Understanding broke the bond,

But our attack on the wild went on to prolonged,

For when the gate of time stands oblong,

Punishment of man starts coming along,



For if the climate is hard to tame,

And reaction impossible to be the same,

Then we are like every sedentary cultures of fame,

Tied to weather more and more the game,

For population always ups the terrain,

Why even the ceremony pilgrimages gain strain,

For if competition starts eating its own source vein,

Then very scary we make ourselves lame,



So open now the eye of time,

A perception of longer climb,

One with human beings aligned,

Questioning passive damage and crime,

To see if innocent really our minds can still mime,

That everyone is taken by hateful incline,



Then maybe we could be an interesting group,

One more inclined in enjoying time then blowing up the coop,

The hens inside can multiply and relax out of the loop,

Since judgments gone of fucking someone might need to come through,

For all the time we push our minds to funny angles called truth,

But like Sudales in forum were probably getting conned into the sooth,

But on what platform are you on so strong to say you know the story of Ruth,

Just layers upon layers of teacher on teacher it is enough to go through the roof,



So then inside anachronism lies that elites wrote down what is before our eyes,

The ideas are hard to know from any other source so unless we get blended view of size,

How do you know propaganda or politics doesn’t hide lies?



And when interactions of our late greats gates,

To domesticated eyes look pretty insane fates,

You wonder what Wild West’s of the future await,





With violent symphonies of common assent,

Funny destruction follows our narratives sent,

A picture that fear has always made us bent,

To orchestras of composers as management,

Not jazz band soloist of staggering accomplishment,

For isn’t it funny that Tacitus says the Germanic peoples are lazy for enjoyment,



Now cultures of the past are never as sparkling,

As what we think up inside of personal timing,

So add the gates of time to open on victim to victor and information spread,

A challenge as many a victims now dead,

A funny accomplishment what then of people who said,

That it happened to be exactly this way when between it lay years numbered in hundreds,

Then wonder how many routes through text we can give “truth,” a bed,



On this we might think study to be mad,

But greater then is the idea that’s bad,

For instantaneous gratification makes all of us long term nomads,

Than any allowance of future conquest will be land,

Though armies of accountants lie down with headbands,



We men need stand before the gates of time,

Bowing before the power inside,

For the Titans gates have been reopened,

Now that leadership prays on those within,

For don’t you think it interesting that as old ideas fall,

That new friendly motions open up to all,

Then cycle back to corruptive pull,

Then rise great heroes to solve the null,

Leading back to unfriendly bull,



Built on the fabrication that life is not built,

On things looking back often cause guilt,

Scary still more is that anchored to the silt,

Is the great gate of life an organism belt?



For then we see that of ourselves we can be free,

Of sacrifice and silly scene no longer breathe,

At least ones of human being,

But forever the damaging tied to our needing,



Then a funny man I will beam,

Sitting between the seams,

On family and friends I will be teamed,

On echoes of laughter deemed,

To be the connection point to dream,

Of a successful human self esteem,

The gate of time my fateful friend freed,

To be the long lost song of consciousness need,

The balancing check to the ego of deed,

More over a punishing force if ignorantly relieved,

To be off our choice is not well to succeed,



So what truly is a challenge to our version of the last one hundred years?

Wouldn’t it be the people see fear?

Locking people in asylums when family condition was clear,

Not questioning that it’s what their idea of life was to make that dear,

Hard when it went poor enough to sneer,

Because nothing and no one could compare,

To the optimum example of human repair,





We are champions of how long we do things in a day,

How long do the monkeys work without anything to say,

Except what they see in television goggles play,

A silly propaganda of masquerade,

An outward view of archetypical may,

Then a dangerous hate of aftermath misbehave,

Of the group you put out to dance and be free,

Then act down on substance and action interfere,

For if told you can be wild and crazy,

I get why college frats get to hazy,

But that gate and time closes more and more each time,

And sad we will be if ever people lose track of the rhyme,

A game with 7 billion heads punishing the people should be crime,

Unfortunately we may need to take care of each other’s lives,

Without trusting in leadership if all ends in lie,

The gate of time laughing into the gale,

As little apes we run around trying to catch sails,

Of how and when the gust should ride us up,

Saying that of course no source does live to fill your cup,

But self-help liars sell you the remnants of the ship,

And in the end say the secret to the game is just imagine it,



Saying safe passage has never been available,

Yet selling you that it’s your fault for being unsuccessful,

But if different efforts result in different plays,

The formulation of free trade giving different ways,

The corporate ass holes ruined the game,

By maintaining their own security over impossible timeframe,



For every Rockefeller should be poor,

If truly the game was a revolving door,

Since the age of their supremacy came from before,

If not an oligarch wet dream then they should be done for,

Not the new vision of aristocracy we already kicked out the door,

A game if they keep playing who knows what is in store?







So if gates open in our minds that lazy is a frame of mind seek,

That tribalism sits with 21 hour work weeks,

Even if advantage has been set to 1% freaks,



Then outside of medicine what can they do,

But be the leaders of war bands painted without honor due,



For can you say that we care for our heroes,

When they come home to face that the argument only paid when votes brought in rows,

When the men who stand up for the real pure nationalism,

Sit on street corners with signs hoping for charitable capitalism,

For is communism a good option not a chance,

They end screwing the common folk’s mental endurance,

For promising to care while end up as an elitist nightmare,

And people get bled until there is nothing to scare,

Then fascism lines up to hit the plate,

Heavens we just got rid of that plague date,

Of megalomaniacs tied to their own schemes,

The individual the measure of a good way of being,

Then we are sitting at the best we can skew,

Of with 7 billion people what can you do?









The gates of time open before our eyes so bright,

The technologic gift of 100 years insight,

No longer sold on images of gold,

No cash out reward to masses untold,

No we are the children that time ate its own tails wealth,

The husk of the snake eating itself,

A gift message from by gone age,

Says this has already happened just with different sage,

And then you wonder if risk to reward,

Has been killed and locked away by the threat of the sword,

Then we should see that European transfer stuck strong,

And question if the con argued elitism even existed in long,

For if all the game seem the same from the burnt out losers,

Now preaching message of propaganda by victors,

Than even to be around makes you a hindrance,

And that being inefficient makes you some alien in trance,

A cash cow of us making money off our deaths,

Then shouldn’t we find some more relevant paths,

That take care of small and carry to big,

But sad the great lord of time does laugh,

You can’t just turn the time back,

It must breakdown before you will carry back again,

The Aegean apocalypse becomes a scary lesson bin,





For when orchestration hits its limit,

The horde of people fill the gap there sits,

The ending of our accomplishment,

Then add the gates of time,

And hope we seep through the lines…



Sean Stutzman

The Fairy Cavalcade



The air was crisp and cold,

As I walked on the trails of old,

The sky did ripple and wander,

On winds blowing and blustering I grew even founder,

Stepping out into the moonlight my face turned upward,

The clouds seemed to call him bid him forward,





It was then I turned to see a tree,

Of alder wood that sits right next to me,

I sat down and sighed,

For my body was tired and my walk had gone wide,

When from the corner of my eye I spied the knacker’s crumpet,

Silver shield of Lugh’s great heralds sang out to me like a trumpet,





The clouds did ring and bark did sing as it touched my lips,

Not too much but enough to walk I only ate a tip,

Too strong a strain did come onto my brain,

A feeling unsoundly sane,





Then from the glen a harrow bark rang to the night,

I sank real low looking about to discover an insight,

The horned serpent twisted in my stomach,

Making the night seem to gleam as it does in Connacht,



Then the second bark followed bringing dread,

More distant still but the sound did shrill even the birds fled,

The coming sight of clouds to my right sat with gaining din,

For from inside the gods did try to pull out from their worldly skin,

A voice so sweet came from next to me from the sound of the wind,

She said don’t be scared but be aware of the company you’ll be in,

Danu stood next to me smiling with bow in hand,

Just as my sons you must prove to be a better man,







For Fionn’s hunt has come to call with you a part of it,

She said you’re a lucky man that happened just to sit,

Where my body gives the richest gift,

Something men spent years looking and looking for it,







I cried out no for I had heard of getting lost forever,

She said yes but not if you can be clever,

Do not challenge what is right or wrong,

Do not think that time has gone,

Be sure to sing if ever discomforted,

I will lead you back to your own head,







I looked down and saw,

My body lying on the ground,

She smiled soft and became the moon,

Her eyes sparkled and fled too,

I suddenly was standing with a great host,

Fionn stood waiting for my boast,







What or who does come to the Fianna,

What great deeds allows you among champions,

I tried to say of my athletic days but long gone were days of war,

And all the warriors did agree it made me have no score,

So then to test at what best could be amongst them,

At this point I looked to see from my mouth a stem,

He smiled and said if you can best Lugh in any single task,

The ride with just for tonight in victory you’ll bask,







However friend if you cannot win,

Stuck in hunt you’ll be until your fin,

I thought real hard on what I knew and did grin,

Then said I’m ready to begin,









Lugh approached a man gleaming with light,

His smile even shimmered shining bright,

I had to challenge Fionn myself if that gives you less fright,

But do not be scared for if you dare you can have true delight,

The Dagda smiled and raised his eyes and said Fionn challenged me,

He’s gone on to gain the wisdom for eternity,







I replied sly and said I would try,

They said you’ll return now even if you die,

Stuck in the hunt forever your mind,

For we must go and get a Formorian as a find,

So hurry up call out your luck on what you can win,

Keep in mind Lugh is probably the best hence his glowing grin,







I have talents though none by what you call them:

Well how about are you a smith?

A champion?

A swordsman?

A harpist?

A hero?

A poet?

A historian?

A sorcerer?

A craftsman?



We do not smith but I do craft my own instruments of fun,

The pipes I do make are of such that then give me claim to be a champion,

Swords no longer are so used but put in front of me any tool,

I will use it to make others look as fools,

The harp not played in our days but turntables I spin round poetic,

The cheer of friends and support of love I hope could be heroic,

Poetry I do conceive and bring in my heart as if from a fountain,

And the list of cultures I have learned can no longer be counted,

Sorcery is no longer free and I can still call on my animal guides,

And as for craft I do make all my rails and ramps for with my tools I ride,







Lugh stood back as if he was worried,

He then said well let us see this you must hurry,

For though the games they used to say no longer seemed to matter,

But the hunt must claim what we are all after,





In front of me sat a whole bunch of glass,

I twisted and formed it to last,

Sealing the holes I started to dance,

I burn it through in victory defiance,

So smithing yes that I can see,

You are one step closer to me,

And by the size of that inhale a champion,

The other gods yelled out their opinion,





The greatest test the earth did shake,

As from the rock beside turntables sprang,

Fionn had barely moved his hand,

It just arose out of the land,





So there I sat on wet grass,

I start onto it though silence has past,

The turntables place with a computer list of familiar songs,

I raise up to the challenge with a mix not long,

But filled with jabs and cuts and breaks,

I let the music flow through my takes,

Inhaling harder I take in my lady,

A smiling female face as I exhale she is fading,

The ending crescendos to a sound of the hunt,

Something I added for more than being blunt,







Lugh smiled at the end and said quite clear,

Heroism is for the hunt but History you know sincere,

Then tell us of when terrible Rome invaded,

The time we all were lost and debated,







I start with the fort invasion,

Moving on to British frustration,

Adding in bits of Irish tales,

The adding of which brought on great cheers,



Wonderful he said and gave a smile,

It was almost as if he wanted to go for a while,

But now the great challenge to you my friend,

One much harder to succeed where you’ve been,

And with that he shrunk to the size of a mouse,

His voice still boomed as if as big as a house,



Come now sorcerer let us see what you can do,

A panic came of my face sighted by Lugh,

But then I breathed in and calmed my mind,

I needed my guardians to come a find,

I whistled sharp once and a long they did run,

The grin came through the mist like a sun,

My friend the fox smiled back to say he knew what deed,

He nodded and absorbed straight through me,







I shrink and spun down through the tunnel,

Like water flowing down a funnel,

Then staring Lugh in the eye I was at his size,

His roaring laugh did start to rise,

Well fine come back up and find a craftsman challenge,

I had felt so calm and ready not able to see he had walked me to ledge,

For crafting from my size to theirs was almost unheard of clear,

But fashion my bow from a small stick,

I had to make the fiber and tie it quick,

I used pine needles as arrows a curled leaf my quiver,

The dew I shift through makes me shiver,

Making fletching out of poplar droppings,

I searched around for all the right things,

I found a vacant snail shell and broke into the middle,

A horn to bellow I had solved a riddle,

Then suddenly Danu whispered to me,

Go on hero it is time to be free,





As I suddenly erupted back to my size,

My quiver and bow came along for the rise,

Until I sat on the ground surrounded still,

By all the nature forces of will,

I picked up the snail shell pressed my lips,

The sound rang with hollow resonance,





I cried out lets us strike out on the hunt!

The echoed my cried and then I saw,

Danu Lugh Ethniu Birog Dagda,

Fionn Cessair Manamac Partholon Nuada,

Oisin Oscar Cermait Grian Mac-Greine Ferdia,

Eriu Banba Fondla and Nessa,



All the great heroes of all the ages marched out,

But before I charged a group came to shout,





Stop oh man of the middle world,

We have much to tell you of what will unfurl,

For just as Lugh did prove that he could enter,

You have passed in ways that hunting shouldn’t hinder,





We have been waiting for you to return,

The next wheel spoke to turn,

The Morrigan sat grinning as she seemed to ripple,

Her composition sitting almost fickle,

I could see her split apart to Babd Macha and Nemain,

I was truly taken back by her beauty almost driven insane,





You realize that the only other time you come here you die,

She glided up with Finn-Eces Cathbad and Tua’n by her side,

For in the land of Emain you find yourself,

Can you harness like Finn and Tua’n the ultimate wealth?







As the old druids did in the Naven Fort,

Can you sing the song of the gods consort?





I replied no Formorian have I slain,

I do not want to be Fionn’s bain,

If I take on that what will the heroes say,

I don’t want to be stuck forever to stay,



She laugh and said you are just like Fionn,

You don’t realize a greater option,

For he was the key for Finn to find truth,

He needed the honesty of youth,

For Tua’n my oldest friend had grown,

Under branches and near to stones,

Like a salmon swimming against his own culture,

He watch invasions and rulers of cycles to endure,



But hidden away was the truth,

That when breaking down he came back in youth,

For eat of the nuts and you know,

That it is not the end where we go,

Back into the trees and into the growth,

In animals we spawn in different oath,

But so Tua’n stood watching Ireland,

Brought back in the trees sucking up the land,

His body long gone as a tree he smiled,

Until Finn and Fionn picked up him in the wild,





For off of his roots and beautiful breakdown in sued,

A bounty brought by morning dew,

To make it ok they cooked in in clay,

It was the safety from fungi they wanted to play,

But as Fionn thumb did come to burn,

Into his mouth the truth came discerned,

Raw they then consumed the next round,

In sonic rooms with ancestors abound,

You are to try to give out,

The secret not given with invaders about,

Yet you live now in a faraway land,

One that is hard for us to understand,

So toxic your lives we of the land do cry,

And wish to give you the next step of why?





For you have forgotten the plants voice,

You have been minimalized without choice,

Your hearts are challenged on all you damage,

A sad jest to what you call a modern age,

Yet you act as though we ancients are your toys,

Ripping up your fathers and burning through boys,

Forgetting that each is your forefather,

Willingly they submit like your carrying mother,

Yet too tied up to talk you seem,

Not just to us but other human beings,















I thought for long and then started singing this song:



Great memory of old do return,

Though the ancients of our fathers we have spurned,

Doomed to be led by many a child of ignorance,

Around this planet our lives do dance,

Long forgot the days of entering trance,

Brought on through conquest smashing through France,

I wish to hear of all the heroes,

A breed long gone by our own woes,





So please dear Danu hear my song,

It’s the fruit of your body I ate all along,

That led the religious to singing their rhymes,

Put in charge different genders and leaders of time,

A million different names the same being inside,

Androgyny the secret of shamanic mind,











So please great mother hear my voice,

Take me back to reality to new choice,

The Formorian’s now known as an older voice,

I shall not slay my ancestor in vain,

I will try to be creative and nondestructive in name,

For my lovely mother showed me the way,

Even in ancient old plays,





That life is only what we make,

And to be a great being inside of it,

For now the time has come to be of sage,

The salmon of knowledge re-entering our age,

Like McKenna before me I might not be first,

A teaching so ludicrous it is hard to converse,







But sharing the gift is what the plants want,

Since silly apes burn through them for worthless font,

The header page to a business used a great being from before,

Something to consider before you print more,

They want to give aid they love to help us,

Yet spit in their eye we do back to re-growing trust,

But elimination of ourselves is the great revelation,

But elimination of divine plants brought in stagnation,

See the Christian playing the same game ended up in the same place,

That we are finite held into our space,



To reach out to another world we need their faith,

As even air we breathe is their ghostly wraith,

Bring the plants up with our glory and then you rove,

And understand why our ancestors walked out to the groves,

Where the ancestor’s voice was growing anew,

Made only to consume by the healthy few,



For my sweet mother wants our health,

And by balancing with nature we’ll gain true wealth,



So pick the silver shield,

To the Fairy Cavalcade bring your mind to wield,



Grab Bran’s purple head wavy and brown,

Into the earth your body goes down,



Let her absorb you into her womb,

A trick so scary you think it’s your doom,



Find in fields of the cattle and sheep,

That did once make strong men out of the meek,



For gender a societal obvious toil,

That is clear as ignorant from reaching to the soil,



That when I die and am laid to rest,

Hopefully suckling Danu’s great breast,



I will be brought back in foliage,

To be the messenger to next coming age,



For from the tree that eats my soul,

Hopefully saprotrophic me will grow bold,



And as temperature and season make the right means,

I’ll spring to be picked by the next sage who leans,



On an amalgam of all the other souls,

Sits my body regrown from all my toils,

My intellect getting devoured by fungi growth,

I will bring inspiration to next who take oath,

To showing the world to be seen,

From inspiration from older beings,

























With that my eyes opened up before me,

It was light outside and still laying at my tree,

The wind blew once more as if a kiss,

From sweet mother Danu’s lovely lips,





I got up and went to walk home,

Knowledge gained outside of some medieval tome,

But a message I come to put down in bold,

That in this world we humans are not alone,

The sun kissed my cheek,

As I lumber home to try to get sleep…











Sean Stutzman

Attis



Cult of mystery offer me your egg,

I am not an enemy just a monkey who begs,



To the great mothers glory you suffered enough,

From idiot men finding things not tough,

Though madness is to be what unfurls,

It is interesting to find the ancients had men wanting to be girls,

So no different we are in front and behind,

The mystery of androgyny would marry religious minds,



For the cults of regeneration that gave us Orpheous’ tales,

Of underworlds and resurrection victorious fails,



Yet why around the egg is there a snake?



Keep digging and soon you come to fate,

That manly men pontificate,

That little Attis collects the pinecones and herds the sheep but what is he after,

Saprotrophic dreams show exactly his marker,

For a cone with a growth on it I do shout,

Looks just like an egg with snake crawling out,

His hat the key and soon you see that in fields of sheep and pastures,

The shape you find pick in time with sheep abound it lures,







That his fairy ring of Korybantes kept time away so Zeus is saved and built our world hereafter,

Both the same shape to our friendly snake growing off the pinecone brings laughter,

The hat the key and colors you see to map the track of my love,

You see interesting for us of fungi is hearing all myths thereof,





That umbo shape is found in both Cybele’s mountains and sheep grasslands,

A taste so sweet it moves the feet of the modern trans-gendered fans,

That little Attis is the link to old acceptance lands,

But the blessing of goddess came at price in grand,

So find him sleeping dead in the fields no seeds to dig up for planting clowns,

Well what but mushrooms could sleep underground without breaking down?

Yet humidity of spring and sun will bring his fruitful sound,

Mycelium still underground his phallus comes up piercing the ground,





Here you’ll say a stretch you make of truth more full of nothing but froth,

Funny still to pick one up you break his dick clean off,





A feminine principle at the end brings back the world to mother,

It tells you like a bell that we barely see the other,

And interesting that gentle touch reminds us of the wild,

To feelings primal deep inside society says to put in a dark file,

But inside the mind you cannot lie and with impact brings out your colors,







For society is a frame of mind that doesn’t give you full answers,

Just illusions to the normal way that happiness then cry’s,

The great lady herself seemed to cross the lines as she touched the sky,

Who the beginning made clear of both gender reaching sky and frame to all lands,

But crossing gender roles in later days does not win you many fans,







Agdistis born of primal mom and dad did not have friends you see,

Because different she was to traditional matrimony,

How funny though that when you think that blood of her from free superman Dionysus’ feet,

Brought forth a tree with fruits of luxury there baring at sages seats,

A sacrifice that allows any human to finally be free,

A castration to bring on great power of ecstasy,





Though no longer to be seen the body would not die though it seemed to go away,

Waiting through winter dead in spring he will come back to play,

Yet the fertility of Nana a female creek bend is where you’ll soon find,

Impregnation of fertile lady from where the snake does bind,

That be it pinecones, sheep shit, or grass breaks down to Phrygian caps,

Only taxed by having to take mental laps,

A story that for some ends rife,

That your own genitals might be your only strife,









That tree sprouts up after rain falls down Attis brought back again,

With each year the cycle continues within,

So why an acorn well you need from me the tree with fruit of umbo again you see,

The shape together sets minds free,

The egg the entrance to the secret seed,

Take back our birth right from our mother,

Stop prosecuting one another,

Make ready the fruit of great unshaking truth,

And realize Magna Marta created society in proto-root,

Then even in later stories of caps,

Great Mithra sits killing masculine symbol for sex,

Galli not willing to remove must have the male icon slit above their heads,





Realizing the truth goes over heads to cults of mystery,

Every prophet has used her magical bread,

The halos like caps sit over their heads,

Be any vision or voice bringing plant,

They never saw drug addicts,

They saw tapping of alternate mind,

A real entry point to speak to the divine,





A time when religion actually had experiential spine,

And Jesus’s liquid to share may have been urine not wine,

Then harken back to Jacob’s days,

Let Eleusis sing Demeter praise,

Let the Galli and the Maenad’s dance and be gay,

For anyone could attend,

Anyone could give praise,

And talking with god wasn’t just a mental game,

So bring back Attis collect the cones,

Wait for his burial and see how it goes,

When sexual roles aren’t seen from your normal loin,

You don’t have to be different to come and to join,

Then don’t seal inside your feelings in a coffer,

If lucky and blessed by our mother maybe his phallus has something to offer…







Sean Stutzman