- Mar 21, 2010Triple-Six And The Eternal Drive-By (There's a thirteenth 'zodiacal'
constellation, Ophiucus, The Serpent Wrestler/Holder, or the "Twelth
Symbol," as here used. In some ancient cultures, serpents were revered
as feminine symbols of rebirth/healing, and bees as symbols of wisdom,
while Roman catholicism considered coffee to be the "wine of infidels"
until the 15th. century. Historically, Ophiucus may never have been used
in astrology, though it is the house between Scorpio and Sagittarius in
a astrological system purportedly developed in the mid-1900's, making
Sagittarius the thirteenth sign in such a system - thus in this poem,
"the Twelth Symbol" was "usurped by what used to be the thirteenth". Of
course, "Good Ol' Triple Six" and other numerical variations thereof in
this work refer to 666, the mythological number of the Anti-christ.)
I want a jeezus, unsweetened, decaffeinated, no additives -
- certainly no booze or needle tracks -
because I want a trim, uptight jeezus, totally pure and constipated
to pimp for the face-down with the Great-to-the-nth Numeral-Triplet,
because the descendant number of my measureless time
is a Trinity of the fourth primes-of-eighteen (no xeroxing
... my godpappy, William Blake, gone loony out of his goddam mind
over visions of seraphim and angels,
slapping the jaggedly unholy rhythm of a bawdy tune on my new-born
while in drag he baptizes y'hweh in drag...
... and I want you to know
that my razor isn't my father's
... smoothin' along, instead of Jacko Kerowacko in my briefs, just
the road of excess still somewhere on the map,
while the bottom line is
that it's all as cheap as a Walmart `ho, though why not plumb the
of All Animalism in the ditch just along that road
instead of blasphemating in a line way too long at The Mart?
"Can't wait, dude, gotta' get my *jive, here and now, `cause the
marquee says", `Drive-by Lyrics Smack-Down Between Marilyn Manson
And Good Ol' Triple-Six' '', farting rhythms and rhymes
from all orifices of His five-and-a-half shooter off His uncouth
- and, anyway, who breaks wind over double-M, a. k. a. Manson,
I'll give a ride on my razor any day to
who was around long before CD's, DVD's, MTV, and YOU / MYtube,
spitting out the healing heat, the wound-cleansing apocalypse
of what some denounce as straight from No. One Brimstone Pl., way
before double-M, way before the Twelfth Symbol,
was kicked downstairs out of sight, usurped by what used to be the
Yeah, and one plus three is four - rex mundi, mundane king
of only the world,
while One plus two equals Three - sign of sweet Goddesses, of
and The Twelfth Symbol butt-fucking Marilyn with the Serpent, man!...
... and my razor ain't my father's
... my godpappy, Billy Blake, still loony
out of his goddam mind,
drumming away for Good Ol' Triple-Six with one hand and giving
decaffeinated, unsweetened Jesus an enema of infidel wine with the
while howling Te Deum for
uncross-legged, staggering Jesus
failing the sobriety test,
Fallen Jesus! oh my lord, the world must be cumming to an end!
without promise of rescue by the pie-in-sky-hook of empty redemption,
least of all, from Billy Boy with foolish heaven's bees of wisdom
buzzing about his balding pate, stinging his soul even more alive
igniting a gnostic explosion to blow the piston-heads
off my father's gas-hog of false gods,
laying a circle of holy fire down the centuries
and giving me the courage to razor-pedal with my own two feet down
that road still on the map
to the cathouses, outhouses, hovels and Isis temples
of court jesters' wisdom under the Twelfth Sign
where everyone has the hope-salvation
of failing crooked judgment's sobriety test,
where Goddesses disrobe the secret of themselves,
of Gods and Everyone to celebrate the Cosmic Dance, Copulation of
while William Blake yanks the spigot off the sacred keg
to intoxicate the Serpent
and my razor-wheels right off of me.
Yet, what does it matter I've lost the wheels of mortality?
since - believe it or not - no longer uptight, decaffeinated,
constipated or unsweetened,
a backslidden, paganly born-again Yeshua is drunk as a skunk!
like me, on the pulse of Good Ol' Triple-Six rapping His uncouth butt
off in the eternal drive-by of cosmic rhythm and rhyme,
So there, Manson, take that up the ass!
* try coffee /java / a cup 'o joe, brotha, sista!
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