The Great Vision

As ripples emanate from the splash of a stone in the water, my signal echoes out through rivers of time from its point of origin: the solar eclipse of December 21st, 2012. The universe cycles in its unfolding, and great doorways of possibility open up.

The impact of this astrological alignment sends a rumble through the dreaming, and spirits are pouring out into the fleshworld. Every kind of angel and demon and alien creature has come forth to walk the earth.

The city is thick with the undead, leftovers from a long gone future apocalypse. Zombies roam the streets, machine people in a flat world hologram, lost in their imitation lives. Vampires blow cigarette smoke and record their feedings and rapes to sell on the open market.

An iron prison of grids and guns and a concrete shell, maps of conquest measured out in parcels of 33 yards–the unit of measure that the british call a chain. They draw their world in chains.

Digital infospace and corporate viral infections. The screen monsters haunt us in our sleep, and in our waking lives. Who is your bogeyman? Government spooks & troops, gangsters, banksters, wild witches, men with abuse in their hearts and shame on their hands.

In the mist, a great ancestor of ancient stone whispers to me of my true origins–mine is the stone that breaks hearts open. Walking backwards, talking sideways, I am hip hop heyoka, clown prince of the mic.

From big bang to boulders to silicon chips, I ride the timeline and speak through computer buzz radiation. I am zero-dimensional, infinitesimal–only an idea. I take root in a media-mind sea and gather images from the tides to speak and mold my form. I swell into a seed of meaning, fertilized by rhyme flows. I am birthed in a flash of revelation:

Malik (king)(owner)(sovereign)
Diamond (four corners & four sides)(jewel)(crystal)(light refractor)(unbreakable)

The future comes first, then the name. Then the whaaat.

A superhero in 4-D who walks in dreams, wielding humor and supreme sorcery. The time traveller, back from 2012, with songs of absurdity and healing. Sungod incarnate, avatar of the new age of the child who destroys to create.

Black mask of the assassin, fire spirit of the unseen realms, walking the crossroads with a limp, one foot forever on the other side. Splendid and Beautiful King of the Apes! Fresh out of the waterfall cave, a blacktop holy man walking on clouds and gossiping with bodhisattvas.

I am the ace in the whole, the secret power behind all thrones.

I sing a thunder song, and this lightening electrifies. I know all the passwords, all the true names. In two dimensions I’m never defeated, in three I always overcome, in four I unfold, in five I create. Where there are doorways of perception, I am always invited in.

The citygod spirits speak to me; I reciprocate their cosmic generosity with offerings of sage and song and cigarettes. My rain dance keeps me sweating. I have spit up the liquid soul mirror to gaze in our reflection, and I have seen the light of the red sun.

As we stroll through the lush gardens of his mountain castle in the deserts of persia, the Old Man reveals to me his only secret: the End of Days is here and always, and so we are all free, monarchs under vine and fig tree, completed by unions of love and presence. The emperor never had any clothes; it was all a dream, like Biggie said.

When I woke up from that dream, I looked out from behind this mask, and a new dream began.

Malik whaaat?!

I docked with the mothership, and was brought out into healing waters by animal spirits dancing in the ocean tide at dawn, great creatures of sky and earth. I am taken apart and put back together with dream bionics, over and over again–initiation is continuous. My essence distills.

Ancestral holy men and women and in-betweens give me artifacts, knowledge, and wisdom. These doctors from beyond cure all that has ever ailed; their medicine is death, the cure for all that lives. They are the jolly roger, the dead priests, the buffalo skull.

The hellraiser wire that digs into our flesh to hold us is never eternal. We always escape, and we’ve got the scars to prove it. The dead rest, and their spirits live on within us.

All that lives will die, from the earth to the sun. Even the citygod will meet with the sheers of death one day, for without minds to host it, this creature cannot live. Those of us who love the city have seen its joy and its pain, and we pray to it to show us its golden halls and precious moments. We have grown a place for the citygod in our heavens beyond, so that when it too is released from the cruelties of life, it may be reunited in joy with its human family.

We will be waiting for it on the other side.


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About DZAtal

DZAtal is mad digi.
This entry was posted in DZA, EleMentalism, Indigenosity and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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