Sunday, December 25, 2005

A Virtual Cathedral.

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

"A Virtual Cathedral"

A vast, groined ceiling, of stained glass...the light of the thing its all about, makes a never ending statement of all that can be understood about it, by being the same thing over and over again, while changing color, every time it touches the spectrum from which it passed... from the spiritual to the material and these are simply degrees of the same thing.

God and The Devil are only terms we use to define our own nature and what inspires our acts. The Devil is the way the wicked see God and desire is the instrument of God's will.

Those who serve the darkness, are driven by the darkness toward an epiphany of light. It cannot be evaded. Even the worst of us cannot escape it forever. At the name of Jesus Christ EVERY knee shall bow, because the name means Liberty and before the promise of one's own freedom, fealty is an automatic vow.

Godhead is the objective of all our pursuits, as the God within, searches for the parts of himself that shattered out of the mirror, in which he saw his loneliness and so the adventure began. Existence is a game of hide and seek. One part of ourselves is in search of the other and... serendipity awaits for each rose that blooms in its time. Some have long ago achieved it and some will not find it for many lives to come. Existence is the self in search of the self and in between the searcher and his objective, weaves the dancing lady. She is the rest stop of time. She is the once and present Future Exit.


Old guys with long beards get really complicated because sex left them in the cheap seats. Men come to their wits end arguing about it but it is gone, along with the hope of all that was ...and for which they substituted it. No man ever robbed himself so effectively as these.

Young children who don't even know what that is do not care... Life went on forever, until they discovered that bane from which all their heartaches and suffering emerged.

The oceans of circular life cover the sands of time and there buried... are more sorrows and broken dreams than ever there were poet or philosopher to sing or define. Forward then to that point where ours are buried too.


I am the shape of the very thing entire
to which every heart does aspire
Ventrulian man I am
spread out upon the quicksand
in endless suspension
of doubt
faith is the join
that holds at the points of the star
I am...
Born in a fit of splendor
out of the womb of God
Twin Mary's bespeak the reconciled throne
for I will not sit here alone.


Three wise men and a bunch of bit players, without speaking parts, did or did not show up in Bethlehem; hereafter to be called The House of Bread and did or did not pay homage to a child born of a virgin, or a non virgin and the reality of whether it was or is... or did or didn't... had no effect on the beauty of the thing.... it did leaven regardless. It did rise, as everlasting genius from the mind behind the mind that imagined it had conceived it.




and mathematicians


Everlasting glory and blessings that cannot be counted, poured down upon the population and even the hot blasting sound of killer aircraft and Versace designed suicide vests, splatter-casting the mall with body parts and broken i-pods, could not kill the music in the human heart.


The evil cry out, while the soul is screaming for release and it will go right on doing so till doomsdays brakes lock up in a burning ozone laden stench, on the darkest highway of the desperate drowning heart of a damned humanity.

Madmen killled and tortured hundreds of millions...entire worlds were enslaved...mighty kings from Africa crossed the oceans in chains and sang our salvation from beneath the whips of the damned...

Double screaming Hallelujah....

Those unthanked and often unremembered, made Small Pox and her backup band get down on their knees before a dark glory hole and taught the universe the meaning of dwarf stars... blind men feeling for purchase in a world gone missing, agitate like an oyster in the irritation of a pearl ...but it is not the world that is lost. The rain dulled minds of gloom, expecting
nothing ...but down they fell into the golden tumbling sorrow of their ruin/ one day there will be no tomorrow. No more reaching for an answer in the night, sooner or later it will be forever and they will disappear into the light. Now, they see the highways. Now they see the towns. Now they see the distance in which everything without meaning is found. All of it keeps changing, so none of it is real... if there is any meaning it will depend on how you feel


don't touch me darling, I am dreaming, asleep like a serpent coiled inside a stone, when I awake the world turns into laughter
and Earth will quake and silence be broken, for you I tell this thing; alabaster statues just make the pigeons shit and I am in the midst of it... so this is how the circle will close.

So this is life? nothing so softens the hard horn of a brutish nature, as the constant massaging hands of conscience that is Bodywork by God.

Don't tell me Hark the Herald Angels can't sing.

Planets in merciless precision rubbed up against each other and made the music of the spheres. Cassiopeia took off her clothes and the world disappeared...nothing could kill it. Down in the dirtiest muck of the Deadwood version too ugly to film, arose a light that could not be extinguished.

but planets turn beyond the scope of mean and angry lives and blood is spilled and coffee drunk, while it goes on apace and you my darling also-rans... must one day come to see that what you are. That which is in front of it, reveals what follows you. It dies each time it reaches and in wanting... it denies... the thing it thought would talk in tongues, by opening it's thighs. The world is yet a sacred place, so trample if you must ...but you trample on yourselves of course ...and it... t'was ever thus.

It broadcast itself before there were ears to hear or eyes to see and it endured ...and nothing could dim it.


Every twisting enemy, masquerading in the genomes, did no more than make us love more. Hatreds past remembering their cause, could not take away the hope. Real life situations worse than all the books written about them just made us try harder.

Even in the darkest false light of bad neon, we found the time to wonder. Somebody wondered...somebody wrote it down and somebody reached out for it. I read it and you read it and I reached out and you reached out sometime....once long ago ...and it tattooed itself all around the kingdom throne forever. Cherubs climbed in and out of Escher's head, as the art deco work made everlasting beauty of the stage upon which it was performed...

Men and women burned. The stark evidence of our treachery was unmasked over and over and still comes back to haunt us today....but not forever...

Giordano Bruno, my dear and beloved friend...






Mahatma Gandhi...Martin Luther King


and especially everyone unnamed...most especially every anonymous hero, in every moment of crisis, when there was no soundtrack and there were no grips...

multi-double screaming hallelujah

up out of the coarse and twisted mix


always.... up

So.... you ask me if there was a Jesus?

So you ask me if there IS a Christ?

I tell you that the legends and the trick lighting are just the Hollywood we put between us and the things we love and it don't matter.....

I have seen the dignity and the courage rise over and over and over again. I have seen this Jesus Christ in hearts where his presence was unknown... a time bomb ticking... an alarm clock ringing- one day.

I have seen the mark he made on history and the masterpiece he made of the human heart and there is no actual record of him being here. There is zero evidence other than what was written down by men at different times, who may or may not have met him at the time but most certainly met him at another.

So you tell me....where does it come from?



bring it on.....


Merry Christmas


I woke up this morning
From a magical dream
No, it wasn’t magic
It was somewhere in between
A promise and a miracle
Of something left unsaid
I can’t remember what it was
It’s still inside my head
All this time that I’ve been searching
Just as hard as I know how
I go on and on believing
It will come to me somehow
And now it’s finally happened
And it doesn’t seem that odd
To go to sleep and then receive
A love letter from God

End Transmission.......

Today's Song is;


Visible said...

I forgot to mention...this is in memory of Pat Tillman a real American hero

Visible said...

God bless him.

Anonymous said...

Excuse my French. That is fucking spectacular. This is a new height. Nothing human could have written this. You have made my Christmas. I am weeping and afraid to go out and greet my family and I will have to wait a moment. Thank you. You are a prince...especially about Pat Tillman.


Anonymous said...

It is part of the mystery of the season that I checked in when I did. You must have just put this up. I am sending this out to everyone I know.


really, God double-fucking bless you.

Anonymous said...

merry christmass les and fuck the happy holidays bullshit they try to cram down our throats h

Anonymous said...

You are a Michaelangelo of words! I felt every line of that. And that you dedicated it to Pat Tillman. That is truly awesome. Thank you Michael Rivero for linking this.

Elliot Parker

Anonymous said...

Holy shit! and I do mean holy.

You are incredible.

Anonymous said...

There is no fucking God. Put that in your peace pipe asshole.

Anonymous said...

God is great. I know he shines in you. I'm just a farmer from Missouri, just like my dad. My wife is gone and my kids are gone. I sit on my porch a lot and I think about things. I'm not ashamed of my life. I always tried to do the right thing. I saw this this morning and I cried. This is truth.

You know life ain't easy. I was spared most of the hardships. My little family farm is actually a success and I'm not poor. I wish my wife had been by my side to read this today, to share it with me. I admire Pat Tillman more than just about anyone. He showed a courage I haven't seen in a long time. He sacrificed everything only to be killed by his own men and I doubt what happened is the truth.

Thank you.

Anonymous said...

I think God is a fantasy but this rocks.

Anonymous said...

this may be the most beautiful thing I have ever read.

yusuf chun said...




thx WRH for the link

Joanna Terpstra said...


Anonymous said...

Out of sight. Good work my friend. Thanks.

Anonymous said...

That's more than I can take but it's what we all need. Thanks.

tmcfall said...

Wow, I missed this one while I was strolling through the archives. Thank You for bringing back!! Goose bumps!
Tom in Tempe Arizona

A classic Visible post:

With gratitude to Patrick Willis.

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