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Strange Vampires

"Strange Vampires" all those years ago, when conspiracies flourished around did we or didn’t we go to the moon, when we were once human, proved to be lies, whichever way the dark shadows conveyed it. the truth came out much later, that the moon wasn’t made of cheese but uncannily like a story of Jedi simulation, it was a hollow starship anchored, monitoring us - we, the wrong side of town unsuspecting neighbour. we were their petri dish germinating; wars, biotechnology killing all types of aliens. free basing the syncopating aspects of our lives that were found to be sorely lacking poetic aesthetics, our inherent nature, naturally Neanderthal and combative, took a torturous nose dive. we were overzealous and jealously competitive in our primate classification. the majority, all too self-absorbed to see the matrix dissolving in front of our eyes; and when the minority began to notice the mandalas glitching, well - the game was almost over. blind like lab rodents who’d spent too long inside staring at repetitive screens, we were put on our consistent rotating wheels, made to scamper the same routes daily, grasping for material wealth and advantage over lesser others. we were coerced to sign agreements for inoculations and later, like cattle, RFID became our ear-marked law and we were all re-ordered, the new order became our ruling congregation. when it came to communion the wine was poisoned, blood became a selling point to life exchanges banked in Orwellian psychosis, like lab mice mixed in with vicious rats we began to display odd behaviour, turning on each other like emotional cannibals, we ate each others’ hearts out; strange vampires, some with a beating heart still trying incessantly, some might say like diehards, desperate to display their disparate Light sides, encouraging a last minute shoot for the goal posts, winning for the team before the end game bell rings and the cheer squad sings like glistening busty blonde wet lipped angels next to a green billed mascot like a biden stork on a platform standing awkwardly on a soapbox flapping its freedom wings to elevate its higher calling, delusional and unsuspecting, the ancient geezer is knocked over by a hardball, that sacred over-played trump card thrown onto the panicked and now petrified court, to carry all babies safely home. by then the wretched distress and anxiety to win is evident, and the small crowd left seated like strange puzzle pieces, all chanting war cries for the same team, are deemed unnecessary, and being the revolutionary lesser evil and terribly obedient, they remain sitting tight praying not to be blown apart, beckoning a saviour who they believe like a Zeppelin will arrive via burning clouds on time - is really, the odd one out standing and still clapping loudly and yahooing next to those poor wretches seated in the bleachers; never once has that one been watching from the side lines, but with them all along. that one’s still rooting like a true revolutionary for the small group of well-mannered vampires, although the numbers, it would seem, are stacked well against them. The odd one still standing sends a signal to the mother ship for a salutary beam-me-up, sighing, it all gets a bit too much from time to time and one requires a little R&R, is the terminating thought. this all considered, while glancing at the minute hand on the android... ever on the alert. (LadyLabyrinth / 2022)