Alchemical Wedding Song

Alchemical Wedding Song
(in the New World Order)
By Robert Milby

“Elegists are vulgar scum.”
-Baudelaire


In the age of Kali Yuga, it’s about MONEY.
The one in my parameters. The One between my…
It is about money!
Where they work. What kind of stock profile.
Whom they spend it on. How they spend it.
Where they get the fix…Shred it in a blender. Cook it on a spoon.
Shoot like diabetics or junked out street sheiks
Anywhere but get IT! Cast the churls before the DIVINE.
Mammon screams at the golden gates of the World Bank.
The State Religion’s priests are robed in it.
Children trapped inside INTERNET virtual prisons dream of it as means of liberation. The roots of all live trees that money grows on are expertly crafted from ink and watermarks and security strips and Masonic tricks all for sacrosanct—Money.
Cities and all manufacturing without any manumission for the soul, like DNA maps,
soon to be auctioned…online.
Mainlining…chains of Money.
Stand. Sit. Walk. Sleep. Shower. Shit. Piss. Fuck in your regional zoo,
Work. Work. Work, sheep reveries about money.
Eat only if you have money.
Starve as you dream about…Money.
Bills demand flesh sacrifice. Alas! The glowing blue ghost…at night,
After an exhaustive day extolling the virtue of money, Speaks to Winston
Smith of money…YENOM. VENOM. YAHWEH. HONEY. MONEY.
One Honey! Sweet Venom drink deep in fallow veins supplying money to
A heartless beast beating the Babylon manna out of mama Hosanna!
I’m the highest!
Ejaculating multiples of money! The sheets are woven with money as you
Place her ass on Benjamin’s face been jamming her case in the pestilent race
For the attainment, containment, maintenance of shot put portfolios
Adam Smith—great great great granddad of Winston SMITH, like their chairman
of the unconstitutional federal reserve…loves…
His whore. Terrific esoteric tricks: NOVUSORDOSECLORUM
Overdose on the New Order of the Ages, because the antidote
To overdose is Money!
Rings are purchased with Money! Wives are paid for in Money!
Bridal gowns and Tuxedos and eunuch priests in perfumed, flowing dresses
And bridesmaids and all the BEST MEN.
ALL the best people will be at your Wedding,
my dearly beloved beneath the bed, as we consummate our golden
Calf, is MONEY.
Reception halls cost money. Cakes, and bakes and dinner plates
And trite truculent disc jockeys and Limoneysines are only about: Money.
Her wedding gown—oh!!! T’was tailored and sewn with sheets of printed money!
Tens, Twenties, Fifties, Hundreds!
My dear! The groom wears condoms inked in greasy green money…
Will the Federal Reserve appropriate thy womb’s tissue?
When starting an extended family of finance, one must pay for a ring,
Pay for the dinner, pay for the car and gas to get to an expensive
Restaurant. There is a fiancé hidden in Finance!
If you buy a consonant, you’ll find her in Finance!
With this Ring, I thee wed to a joint partnership in the Odyssey for financial superiority.
A golden receipt for pussy. Another link in the chain.
Manna manacles! Such a parody! Such a Monody, on Freedom…

Masonic superiority! See thy taxed dollars hard at work!
They are working while you sleep! As you gestate in the womb of finance,
Longing to be born into that Y2K retirement plan…
As you moulder in the paid for plot on land They think They own,
They are working! So, if your DNA…IS auctioned off to the highest
Bidder; if in the End, clones are made for limb and organ harvest,
The air is manufactured and pumped into the city dome because our no-man’s land countryside is withering on Hieronymous Bosch’s canvasses,
petroleum fields are graveyards for soldiers of the New States,
Then, will you epiphanize your routine, will you then wake up?
Will you…WILL your soul to the machine?
Who’s your Daddy? Warbucks, wars for the Bucks the patriarchal sideshow.
Starbucks—(They even want to own the planets!)
Is Moreau not behind the Sable stage curtain?
What about his brother, O’Brien?
Maitreya can’t replace Matricide, when Mother Earth is for sale.
Maitreya can’t erase Matricide, when Mother Earth is for Sale!
Look to the stars for a new leader. New lecher whose money trail is that
Bridal gown that Babylon’s babysitter puts back on when the Bourgeois
Parents are out to dinner theater…she thinks no one can see her transmogrifuckation
On the shag carpet of their living room floor, molt and morph and bones twist and gelatinous buboes explode, leaking the new skin; the exoskeleton, viper scales
And adder trails of serpent slime—a high priestess of Money is reborn!
Unlike her chitinous counterpart Samsa, the mama of Salambo slides into the Labouratory, wanting! Waiting, like a patient mechanized on Genome tables,
Waiting for the daily living skills and functional assessment
of the Citizen of the New States!
Repent ye who wish to be married! Prepare ye for Babelon’s Whore!
Consent thee to spend Fish Scales scattered in the Ruin of the Karmic City,
where the Wedding is to take place! Take your place for shedding of old
Piscean sociaLIEsation as those betrothed regroup for microchip wedding bands,
She’ll get an implant before the implant!
He’ll buy his implant like an intellect transplant!
Transubstantiation of the stone between his ears to a brain! Could that happen?
Could the clone be…more intelligent, than the imbecilic American man he was made from? It could be blown into a tissue; it could be sewn into the subcutaneous tissue
If the chip off the old blockhead won’t stay beneath the skin!
And the sages of Kali Yuga are about Money!
The prophet marginalizes the struggle in a formal declaration of his website!
Even after Saul became Paul, he still had to eat, didn’t he?
The market profit sizes the tsunami that razes all plots as the olde ice shelves
And frozen hell travels North, scrapping by; stopping to pay a visit to fault lines
Where those responsible for the Royal Scam, the esoteric sham, watch like Methuselah,
After he received the Light, under Mount Weather, after Crowley and Blavatsky were proven right and the Modern Prometheus’s closet is protected by surveillance cameras
And the Office of Homeland Security is revealed to be the Son of a Bachelor called Inquisition. For the Bull on Wall Street is really a mastiff howling all night
at the Good Doctor, who wasn’t hopped up on herbal remedies he’d used to treat Plague after all.
No matter! As long as the inculcation can be inoculated, the SmallPox vaccine is a great idea! First it is anthrax from the cattle to stampede the sheep! Now it is SmallPox from the sheep to lampoon the cattle. Soon, a national ID to wave at George’s cameras.
And the slaves of Kali Yuga are honey to the eyes of stock traders and human resource specialists and cards made from petroleum by products to keep the slave’s
Legacy enamored of some offspring of banks merging one into one, mating as ritual
To finance guns, bombs, depleted uranium, WMD’s for unification of the Anomaly, Globalisation, capitulation of the planet to Imperial America’s World Management Team!
In the Age of Kali Yuga, you do not need a Christ to return.
You do not need the beam ships to turn the tide of human affairs to intergalactic councils,
All you need is money, a brotherhood of adepts, one of their bibles to swear it on,
And the heliophobic addicts to create reality for you, as the Oroboros turns.


©Robert Milby (January 25, 2003)
*Alchemical Wedding Song first appeared on the website Muse Apprentice Guild in 2004.