Path of No Desire

Mostly I desire indulgence

And respond with quick repression           

But repression lacks effulgence

And I feel a deep depression

So I ease repression’s clasp

Give desire some slight expression

In a jiffy I will grasp

Onto some absurd obsession

No obsession is complete

Without somebody to obsess with

I’m too proud to whine and bleat

so it’s mostly me I mess with

till I, righteously and smugly,

find a crowd to be a pest with

their desires are fucking ugly

and it’s them I am obsessed with

Once they feel their rightful shame

I will feel superior

I know it’s not me to blame

If they are inferior

Of course it’s clear for all to see

From my blank interior

My soul’s the soul of purity

Evil’s all exterior

I gave up all my desires

Though the rest of you may rue it

I don’t like those painful fires

All that sick frustration, screw it!

I sit up here where it’s higher

And make fools like you go through it

But next time I feel desire

You might want to make me do it

(A—timely?—reprint from my writings on Ken McLeod's UM Ning)

Love to All,

John O.

The Devil's Easter (or: Hell's Version of the Bible)

First off God let out a Shout

Let there be Light! His Light went out

Adam woke and slept alone

Eve was there in Adam’s Bone

No Real Woman—Understand:

God ripped Eve from Sleeping Man

Dreaming of the Perfect Place

In a Pretty Female Space

With a Snake upon a Tree

And an Apple meant to be

Medicine for Adam’s Wound

Eve ate, Adam ate, They swooned

Looked up Ashamed; They understood:

Evil is Evil—Good is Good

They were Naked and Afraid

Hiding in a Fig Leaf’s Shade

Cowering from MR. BIG

(Yay, Come Lord Jesus—Fry the Fig!)

Humbled Adam knew his Bride

Eve gave Birth to Fratricide

Cain offed Abel, Abel’s Blood

Cried to Heaven, soon the Flood

Drowned All but a Righteous Few

A Drunk, Three Sons, A Beastly Crew

Two were Pious, One, a Cad

Copped a Peek at Naked Dad

Soon Old Abram honed His Blade

A Wife of Abraham was Made

And through the Little Bleeding Slit

Born to Bear the Brunt of It

Ten Elder Sons of Israel

Sold Their Brother into Hell

Sold Themselves into His Pay

Joseph was Embalmed one day

A Nothing Shut Up in the Dark

Lifted Up and called the Ark

Hallelujah! HE WHO IS

Drained of All the Blood and Jizz

(He Who I AM THAT I AM

Shed The Blood of Abraham)

Moses gave the Ark a Law

Killing All Who felt no Awe

Joshuah was a Genocide

When the Ark was on His Side

But Solomon, in Wisdom’s Room

Built the Ark Itself a Tomb

A Veil between the Tomb and Life

Wisdom finds the Tomb a Wife

So the Virgin and the Whore

Dance before the King once more

Still the Temple hadn’t heard

Speaking of the Perfect Word

John, the Man of Good Repute

Is sired by a Doubting Mute

But when the Harlot heard His Chatter

John’s Head—Perfect—on Her Platter

Joseph was a Good Man, He

Can’t sire the Child Eternity

To take the Harlot’s Seventh Sin

How could He have ever been

A Good Man? He Who bore It’s Brunt

Issued from a Woman’s Cunt

That never felt a Good Man’s Touch

But the Father’s Prick was such

As She might LOVE; the Waters came

And washed away All Sense of Shame

And Jesus rose—She oiled Her Hands

Anointed Him, He now commands

Good AND Evil at His Sides

So the Devil’s House Divides

Against Itself and Satan falls

(A Rise for those with any Balls!)

Watch how Scripture comes to pass

God must get Himself Some Ass

Ride it in the Public View

Do a Shocking Thing or Two

LOVE rears up It’s Ugly Head

One Hundred and Fourty-Four Thousand Dead

And All are Rescued but the Few

Lord Jesus asks, “Are You Good too?

Would You save Your Soul and earn

Your Peace? Or would you gladly burn

With Passion on a Cross to spend

Your Spirit? Do You dare to rend

The Veil between the Tomb and Life?

Dare to pierce Your Father’s Wife?

Hate Your Parents for My Sake?

Wed the Dove unto the Snake?

Burn away the World of Lies?

Do You want Salvation’s Prize?

GO TO HELL! Don’t rise above

Three Maries are the Ones I LOVE

One a Mother, One a Curse

One a Harlot and a Nurse

And All are One—I AM a Whoreson

Bastard of My Father’s Foursome

Jesus Christ, I AM the King

Sin and Death, I LOVE Their Sting

Crushed as Seed and Baked as Bread

I AM RISEN FROM THE DEAD"

"Cain offed Abel, Abel’s Blood

Cried to Heaven, then the Flood

Blood and Water I make Wine

Come and have a Drink sometime!

Juice of Abram’s Shriveled Tissue

And My Mother’s Monthly Issue

And My Father’s Daily Seed

Jesus I AM Christ indeed

Now let’s fry a Little Fish

That means YOU get in the Dish

There’s a Meal to make us Full

Served up on a Human Skull

It’s a Good Meal if You think

You can drink the Cup I drink"

War on Earth and Mercy Wild

God and Satan Reconciled

***

(from Mercy Burn, or The Mr. Bones Doggone Versations

a Mystery Play by John Omniadeo

Don't look for it in your local bookstore.)

Love to All,

- John O.

John O.’s Pointing Out Instructions (Whereby Paranoia becomes the Path)

Don’t trust Them and don’t trust You

Don’t trust Skies of Grey or Blue

Don’t trust Life and don’t trust Death

Don’t trust Following Your Breath

Don’t trust Buddha; don’t trust God

Don’t trust Your Lousy or Hot Bod

Don’t trust Pride and don’t trust Shame

Don’t trust the Cock and Pussy Game

Don’t trust Gay and don’t trust Straight

Don’t trust Love and don’t trust Hate

Nor Attachment nor Aversion

Nor Indifference (That’s the Worst One)

Don’t trust Body; don’t trust Mind

Don’t trust Leave-It-All-Behind

Don’t trust Thin and don’t trust Fat

Don’t trust Neither-This-Nor-That

Don’t trust Painful Memory

Don’t trust “I need Therapy”

Don’t trust You don’t—Perhaps You do

Don’t trust They All are helping You

Don’t trust Scientists or Reason

Don’t trust Wise Philosophies an’

Don’t trust Vajrayana, Zen

Don’t trust Barbie—don’t trust Ken

Don’t trust Sober; don’t trust Drugs

Don’t trust Family and Hugs

Don’t trust Dollars, Pesos, Francs

Don’t trust John O.’s Asshole Pranks

Don’t trust Rinzai; don’t trust Soto

Don’t trust Dorothy or Toto

Don’t trust Those Behind the Curtain

Don’t trust Teachers—They’re All Hurtin

“So, What can I trust?” You ask

Answering’s a Hopeless Task

But John O.'s a Hopeless Dude

Here’s His Answer, Rhymed and Crude:

Find Some Way to Concentration

Maybe try Some Meditation

You’ve Six Senses—Learn to Mind ‘em

Now turn Mind to Look Behind ‘em

What You find still can't be Trusted

If You name It—Whoah! You’re Busted!

You might think that It is You

That’s a Thought You can’t trust too

What You can’t find, don’t trust either

Just relax and take a Breather

Let It move You, let It weave You

Let It groove You, let It breathe You

Let It mind You, let It live You

Let It find You and forgive You

In Dharamsala or El Paso

Don’t forget: You’re still an Asshole!

Don’t think It’s not He or She

Don’t think It’s Both or Either, please,

Don’t try not to think You’ve found It

But, Jeez, don’t form a Cult around It

Don’t say, “It’s Good!” Don’t say, “It’s Bad!”

Don’t let It make You Happy, Sad

Or In-Between, but let It thrill You

Let It hurt You—let It kill You

I bow down to All Paranoids. I bow to You, Dear Reader.

Love to All,

John O.