Rivers of Oil Blood

VISIONARY ART

Rivers of Oil Blood Run near the Eiffel Tower

Wandering aimlessly in a haze of bombs and trembling Earth, the young soldier stumbles forward. Which insignia was it that just smashed the peace of his sultry evening? Does it matter when missing an arm and dying for a drop of fresh water? Even old machines can destroy and they do.

Cackling in the dusty breeze are the trapped souls of thousands of newly dead. Never wanting to leave the pain of pleasure these ghouls hang around and jeer those like them still trapped in the physical. Exhausted, the soldier falls and his mind cracks…

Somewhere in the archipelago caves amongst the etchings of Neanderthals, Jesus is waiting on a pile of ancient scrolls as stormy skies send wave after wave crashing into the sea coast. Unable to reach him on a cell phone, the situation must be dealt with as it stands.

The Eiffel Tower looms in the background and a man-made river turns a dirty mixture of oil and blood. Historical scenes rotate like a final revelatory curtain call. The ego trip of Homo sapiens accelerates rapidly as it spills out of control. Civilizations rise and fall throughout time. Stepping out of the birth shell, humanity finally reaches a sense of divine dignity and rescinds the madness of youth by taking over conscious control of evolution.

Hell is psychological, but there are also some pretty nasty astral realms waiting for those who bring horror to themselves. Imagine 1000 screaming fire skulls exposing each cell of the energy body to the exact frequency that brings the most pain and then increasing the intensity bit by bit until all sense perception stops and a sort of blinding numbness shatters your fragile persona. Now consider a place where that is just the gateway to an endless field of torture scenarios, each more sinister than the last. Sisyphus is still waiting to cross over to his next punishment.

Whining about war is not nearly as fulfilling as fighting one. It is of great significance which mission is chosen by one involved. Behind the bushes in every nightmare is the key to the past and the harbinger of the future. Elementals in all kingdoms will add a tendency for mishaps to the deeds of the disloyal. Generation after generation, the few rise and the many fall. It is an age old battle and we are always behind.

…even as tornados destroyed the yard of his childhood home, nothing could dissuade the soldier-to-be from playing one last game of ping pong with his older brother. They giggled and watched the rain fall through the bottom of the garage door. Even if that moment was their last it would be okay. Love made it all worthwhile.

-C. Moors