Quiet and unmoving figure in shadowy sanctuary
Heavy in cement, garish colours and mass produced worship
Your arms wide, open and embracing the slums and towers
The misery, noisy and desperate incantations- calculus for virtue
Hungry in extravagant prayer, furious in all encompassing faith
Harder and colder in steely indifference, gold hearted over empty stomachs
Adorned, lavished, ancient and praised amongst aching limbs and inner torment
Before you we fearfully fold in submission, for you may be muted,
But the devil’s voice is always echoed, among spectral nations and monstrous profit
Blood drinking machines and ciphers in our souls
A week or so ago, when the year just began, I was doing some reading on the Orphic mysteries and Gnosticism.
Soon after I dreamt of Apollo. Invoked in marble, I approached the statues’ base and he gave me two bronze arrowheads and a buckler sheild, circular with a semi-circular boss in the middle. The bronze was aged, a green bronze, beautiful like no other metal exposed to the elements can be. It occurred to me the size of the sheild could also change.
The figure of Apollo was thought to be dual natured, sometimes Helios, the sun god. What’s important to us is that he was know as a prophet, an Oracle besides the usually connection he has to messages.
It seems to me that I’ve been given a riddle. So my readers, do you know what I could do with two arrowheads and a sheild?
The queue seemed to stretch for miles with people moving like they had all the time in the world.
I was tired and unsure of the ground below me. I looked around and decided that the people there were a sorry lot despite being dressed up like a carnival. The ones that smiled made me uncomfortable.
Eventually I reached the gate. Some guy there showed me a video- all sped up but vaugly familiar. I said “What a sad little story, you guys should make that a movie.”
He said “The name’s Peter. That was your life on replay.”