Ingliss,the man.

The Ingliss man sips his luke warm tea
while discussing with  his
own reflection
in the cup

it appeared the Ingliss man
had a large bushy
head in
the tea`s reflecting
image

but it was due
to waves
and curls
on the surface
of his
brew

for in reality
the Ingliss man
was bald headed
with large
pointy ears
that made him
resemble a
an alien satyr
or the other
way around


he laughed at his
own silly reflection
and finished the last
mouthful  in one
greedy gulp
wich made him
cough and spray
tea from out of
his gaping
jaw


 no longer a laughing
he pursued to other
trivialities like watching
dust sail in the air
or measuring the length
of his own ignorance
with a Q-tip

the hours went by
but not wholly without
the occasional bang
and blitz of the
impulsive
eruptions
 that all the time
seemed to threaten
the peace of
the evening
or the quietness
of the morning
and or the
private moments
in the wc

the Ingliss man
lived abroad
in a foreign country
where laws where dictated
according to the season
of the year
and winter was the
time when people
punished each other
and made everything
very hard or
painful and
or
in a combination

that was the law of the dark
that one did not see
ones evil deeds
and so could not
be blamed thereof

the Ingliss man belonged
to the gentle people
or so he thought
to himself
during the early
days of spring
and on beautiful
summer days

but when winter came
and the daylight hours
faded into a darkened
grey heavyweight
sky
the Ingliss man
 belonged to the suffering
mankind who`s only
refuge from hell
was the punishing
and beheading
of his brothers
and sisters


he watched and he studied
the gruesome changes
and he swore not
to be a part of them
but the more
he refused the evil
ghost
the closer it
drew to his
mind and spirit
and the hour would
surely
come that  the evil
ghost would
get under his skin
and  make him do
the evil thing

the darkness and the pain
the tormenting hours of anxiousness
and death
are all necessary to balance
the mad  joy of
summer

just like drawing an arrow
from ones chest
is so hurtful
that consciousness is lost
so is the terror of the unseen
evils of this life

the things we do not speak
of
the things that people cannot
find words to describe
yet is there like
a ghost
like a presence
that begs for attention
being choked
by our ignorance
of the subtle
realms

fear of silence
is really the fear of
our ghostly allies
whispering truth
to our ears

listen to the silence
and you will eventually
hear what the occultists
and the spiritists work
with  in their
solitary  abodes
of night

you will hear what the munks
of tibet listen to
in their solitary
settings in elevated
states of mind

silence is not
what it appears in the beginning of the "movie"
patience reveals silence
to be the very gate
of trancension

silence is full of wonders
requiring only
the stilling of that  noisy
ol` mind


the Ingliss man
turned another page
in his great and sometimes
equally awful
book of books
wich was filled with
the furious scribblings
of a psychotic
who`s giving nature
was such that
he made people
ill with his special
gifts

but only ill enough
to realize certain
truths about themselves
and their place in the world

he knew
deep down
that whatever came out
of his hideous creations
was an expression of
the Gods
and that to judge
the Gods
could surely be likened
to using a shooting iron
to remove
abundant
toes on ones
foot