Part 1 – the Coming of Quetzalcoatl
(long wall west wing )
Migration
The nomads skin has many colours
this wave was almost wholly in browns
her belly, breasts and lips at the front are blue
aggressive, successive waves move, motivated by the promised land
these are the human impulses to change and progress
The leader faces the way, his skin has hints of red in it, but he does not lead the way
the willing mob in grey rushes forth with those who follow and those who fall
by the wayside.
only one stands, waits, pondering, watching , perhaps
he will wait until the stampede calm. perhaps
he will walk towards the horizon instead of the trodden track
Ancient Human Sacrifice
Give your self to the Big Head, the Mask in the sky
the icon of twisted limbs , of toil for the war machine
this is the promised land that you rushed towards
Masked men bleed you on their stone tablets
while the ones in white robes hold you down, hold your hand
and whisper bliss of afterlife
only the masks, worn according to custom, break the tones
of brown and grey, of dirt and stone
Aztec warriors
the dark serpent in the foreground
red rubbed into the grey formed its shape
a serpent of the ground, of soil, of shadows
and behind it, pruned in turquoise and red feathers
ornated in silver, the stern faced generals are seated
the eagle and the tiger
the rooster and the shark
growing comfortable in their rigid seats
the coming of Quetzalcoatl
post colonial man always painted white in his image
blue eyed, white robed, bearded old man and of course
jesus looks like an Aryan; Quetzalcoatl the Aryan - no
I am not a white man in this world on canvas, I am green
the original white serpent was something entirely different ;
ruler and teacher of people, the guide of a lurid parade of Gods
white father - king of Gods arouse from intellectual and spiritual torpor
Greed clothed in skin of his victims
Magic with feet of smoking mirrors
Storms with a twin serpent mask
Death in a dak figure with a skeletal mask
War in blue with feet of feathers
& Fire that rises out of its volcanic home
by the feet of new pyramids, in octaves of red-pink
people shelter the sleeping
people give birth to understanding and cooperation
new base new complexities
Pre Columbian golden age
industry , art and science
three walls of the golden age
but not the age of machines or automata
or mining or gold
fields where green and lush, the maise was gold
blocks of stone revealed their carved faces
and science was a journey into meta cognition
the intrusion of a ventilator grill
is functional but ugly and crude
like Columbus, the label indian and the waves that followed
The de parture of Quetzalcoatl
when you forget about the road of blood and war
when the gilded seats makes your body soft , your mind soft
and the priests and politicians want their power back
then you will choose your cage and suffering
you’ll choose the ignorance of bliss for the harsh reality of knowledge
you will kill the serpent that offered you the apple
and believe it was good and just and you chased him away
and your great cities crumbled efficiently deliberately replaced
with smooth expressionless slabs of stone
The Prophecy
you thought the white Gods were coming
but it was the green pig that came
carrying a heavy cross and pillars of stone
and armoured horses with spears for your hearts
Cortez and the cross
come down into the garden path, through the white door
where the noble man burns his own ships
and when you bow to him he’ll ask you to carry a cross
and when you give him tea he’ll sip it with you
then cut your throat to set you free
you are animus , you bow to the serpent
our slavery will set you free
The Machine
in black and silver horizon
we feed you to the machines
feed ourselves to the machines
spit you out as the machine
when the cloud castle blows away
this is the dawn that arises
on the ground where you killed the white serpent
and tried to deny ever eating that apple
the machine does not forgive, even though
the propaganda poster on its door
clearly states that it does
you can submit your thesis in the complaint box
minimum 99 to a page, signed in triplicates
it will be re viewed by the Mill
your vote will be tallied by the Furnace
please read the results from the chimney
Anglo American
children of the machine, in your green skin
bow your heads to the grill
although you are flesh and blood
you will be automata, once your schooling is done
Hispano American
children of the ask, fodden for cannons
bury your noses in cash
slid to you under the table
and please look away
as the green man slips the blade in
between your shoulder blades
but you never forgot
your right to protest
Omnisciencis – Gods of the Modern World
The white door is closed, bars in a grid of 9
9 black panels is the view of the horizon
it’s a weak looking mass produced door; their gate
they’ll soon hang up a red, do not disturb sign
to keep you out, to keep you from peering in
don’t look beyond the bonfire, you’ll miss the shadow dance
the light will blind, burn your retina
ponderous tomes
of doom doom doom doom
mob mentality whimsy in the light
yeah into the night
of denials flight , a dreamer who is too weak to face up
something pressed to the hunter, you’re leaving sweet
dress up, dumb dumb dumb
it’s time to Questalcoattl , seek self help , seek self care
I can runaround, gods of the modern world
how can I forget you, but try I seek
The obtertrician catches the skeleton infant
he is already wearing an academics cap at birth
stillborn knowledge reborne into automata
there is no time to rest, to reconsider, to reconnect
gown and cap holds the tombs of recycled dead ends
skeleton mother, birth of grey books, she’s in labour
falling into pieces, dead but screaming with persistant stagnation
piles of
shelf life to collect dust with gilded letters along their spines
spines against the flames of our space, of our chosen reality
flames pink like tissue, like flesh of the dissected path
preserved in glass domes the bones remain
as the modern day gods, through the modern day preaches watch
in the colour of flaming ships their hollow eyes watch their writing .
hollow eyes towards the world they live in, towards the new dynamic
living breathing life of their dream
the academic, the preacher, the politician and the general
watch as they clog the world with stagnant dreams
Modern Human sacrifice
to the god of war we sacrifice the young
in the bondage of nationalism and politics
to stay away the Terror
the new stone tablet is the sand of the east
the dagger replaced with a vial of oil
your un named son died , the New Heroes ,
to keep the Gods of Terror at bay
Modern Migration of the spirit
global nomad migrated his spirit
it’s the only way to see the white again
to see it as the spectre it is, broke it fans out
into a myriad of colour displays
the ‘promised land is a junk yard
axe in hand he takes down the cross
and all other antiquated symbols
drowning the war machines muzzle
in the shards of your stone pillars
his beard is a tangle and his spine all crooked
we’re not fishes anymore, we’re the ocean
and these pieces make a new mosaic
we don’t need the manual, this isn’t a puzzle
but every piece is crucial, as long as it is broken
by the axe of the thinking , reflective mind
