There's always more to come, Marguerite.
I went out on the mezzanine terrace
To escape the heat, to catch a cool breeze
While I awaited my turn at the pulpit,
And the terrace was three bodylengths wide,
With a lawn and an active sprinkler system.
It was a pleasant place, except for the walls,
For on these walls the original frescoes,
Classic scenes of humility from scripture
Painstakingly reproduced by artists,
Nameless masters schooled in the fine designs,
Were overscrawled with loud graffiti tags.
Tequila bottles, condoms and crack pipes
Were often found here, strewn across lawns,
And wall-mounted pay phones had been gutted.
These were acts of juvenile delinquents
Who work at night in teams to vandalize.
And none should permit young folk to gather;
Whatever virtue they possess is lost
In the evil of the peer group dynamic,
And not only the teenage street gangs,
But all the grade school class picnics,
Field trips to view toadstools and wood rot,
Little League baseball teams, cheerleaders,
Paramilitary cub scout packs,
Young Republicans and church youth groups,
All these should be disbanded and dispersed.
Worst of all by far are 4H clubs,
Created and funded by the State's agents,
Dedicated to educate children
To work unspeakable satanic rites.
They secretly gather in granges and plot
Crop circles and cattle mutilations.
They parade blue ribbons at county fairs,
Gained they will say for animal husbandry,
But in truth awards achieved for bloodshed
And savage, indiscriminate butchery.
I've seen their secret markings on buildings,
On cornerstones, on keystones in arches,
That signify the thing is cursed and hexed
And hazard to all who dwell there within.
I've seen them on playgrounds selling drugs,
Recruiting babes for child prostitution,
Trapping toddlers to sell to pederasts...
Watch what you say, remarked Marguerite.
These are powerful and quite litigous groups
Who act quickly to quash criticism,
And you are not beyond their reach, parrot.
You'd do well to mind the tort involved,
Established from antiquity in common law.
Any person who dares sing or compose
A work against any other person
Or persons, alive or incorporeal,
Must be dragged from his den and clubbed to death.
Even though I may well be God-inspired?
Okay then, I said, I retract it all.
Clubbed once, I shirk second experience.
Were there not surveillance cameras there
To deter those inclined to misbehave?
Yes, but no one knows what they observed.
Soulless machines monitor each device,
Machines that care nothing of true evil,
That aren't appalled by marks it leaves on walls,
The treasure maps that lead prophets to hell.
I'm told they watch only for certain cues.
They see only certain seditious acts
And autoforgive all other offence.
They hear only certain heretic words
And overlook all other content.
They're like a dog who scans conversation
For any one of a few chosen phrases
But can't read newspapers it's asked to fetch:
Good dog, dinnertime, go for a walk,
Roll over, retrieve, sit down and heel,
Rip out the throats of those I point out.
Liber Jonae Contents