I am devastated, dumbfounded, dismayed,
These people are so stupid, or crazy,
They threw some hot soup
On a painting by Claude Monet,
These people are ridiculous, wicked,
Who will listen to them? Not me,
How can you believe what they say?
They destroy immortal works,
These people are so stupid, or crazy,
No one will defend their cause,
They’re like child killers
Who come to talk to us about God.
Je suis catastrophé, médusé, atterré,
Ces gens sont si idiots, ou fous,
Ils ont jeté de la soupe chaude
Sur une toile de Claude Monet,
Ces gens sont ridicules, méchants,
Qui voudra les écouter ? Pas moi,
Comment croire ce qu’ils disent ?
Ils saccagent des œuvres immortelles,
Ces gens sont si idiots, ou fous,
Personne ne défendra leur cause,
Ils sont comme des tueurs d’enfant
Qui viennent nous parler de Dieu.
Mental Illness
We are the last
vestiage of the
ostracized.
We are the lepers
of the moon who
walk among the
unforgiving innocent
with luminous sores.
We are hieratic stones
that mark a trail to divinity,
unaware of mediocrity.
We are the nightmare
and cuirass of your
terminal souls.
We are the delicate,
immortelles flowers
of creation's jewellery
and dwell within
the mouldering caverns
of apocalyptic chaos.
We reject gods because
they reject our sacerdotal
dominion over gods.
We are the magical
diseased who feed upon
the blue-burn fire of stars.
We are the watchers
of the withered minds
who try and quantify
our grandiosity.
We are pre-eminent
progeny of parsimonius
preternatural wombs.
We are magmatic, quantum
lepton neutrinos of sub-atomic
galaxies where altruistic Eros
regenerates the living force of life.
We are the you in us and the us in you.
We are infinite truth.
We are!
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