Welcome to the Apocalypse. Armageddon spills across the sky in the form of a hazy mushroom cloud. This is the Day of Death. A thousand brutal cuts to the atmosphere (caused by blind fools serving principalities of power that have gone wickedly askew) bleed the wound until it weeps its disgust downward upon the world. We are the inheritors of the polluted filth. Strewn outward from the recesses of abysmal failure.

A despondent organic machine in deepening decline. Earth coughing, hacking, and wheezing for fresh air, gasping as the tar-blackened lungs desperately seek the oxygen of which they’ve been starved. A cancer spreads until it kills the host. Parasitic relationship unto the grave.

And enough of all that, eh? After all, there are much more positive aspects of existence that can be delved into and dwelled upon than those dealing with death, destruction, desolation, decadence, and disintegration. These are all just distractions from the larger truth. But, boy howdy, doesn’t that statement just open up a big, fat, juicy can of worms? So let’s dig in and take the bait.

Rip the lid off Pandora’s box and let the essence of existentialism spill outward. No holds barred. All cards laid out on the table.

The question at this point becomes: what is the truth? Well, it takes on the appearance of many forms and can wear multiple masks at any given time. It may appear relative in some ways to certain cultures, coming cloaked in the abstractions of ineffable mystery. But, of course, like all things in this life, at the bottom of the rabbit hole, where the dragon seeks refuge when being chased, there is a core valuation of objective perfection that can be temporarily gleaned from time to time in moments of spontaneous Revelation.

Call it God. Call it the Source. Call it the Logos. Call it the Quantum Field. Call it Tetragrammaton. Call it Tao. Call it Jesus Jumping Christ for all I care. Just make sure that when you do call upon it, you do so with proper respect

And fear. Be sure to mind your manners when in its presence. Always have the expensive oils at the ready so as to wash its feet when they are dirty.

This will surely get you a free pass through the Pearly Gates when your number is up and the grim specter of death comes knocking at your door, hooded in black, scythe in hand, boney finger gesturing you to follow it six feet under, straight into the long, dark night of the eternal unknown.

Ok, time to get a hold of yourself and settle down, man. Sweet Mother of Mercy! See just how quickly these transcendental topics can fly off the track and go haywire in a chaotic fit of hallucinatory turbulence? Such is the way of the rant. And I was born to rave. So let loose with the screed. Scream out loudly in the streets. Or climb a mountain and then bellow to those below about all the fringe factoids and twisted tidbits that rattle around in that noggin of yours.

What’s inside that slimy noodle brain? What type of thoughts manifest, and are they sane? Would you even want them to be? That, in the final analysis, is the only question that truly matters. Takes the cake. Sucks the icing. Shits the sugar. And it all cycles around again.

Are we conscious sentient beings? Or simply genes randomly mutating, merging, and adapting to the circumstances which arise? Created? Evolving? Both? Neither? Is it all just illusion? A computer simulation? A test of faith? A karmic lesson? A single stage in a higher order game? What’s the deal here? What’s the score? Where are the answers? Who do we ask to get a beat on what the fuck is going on.

There seem to be a few different ways to go about this whole business of trying to turn society around and bring about a sense of stability. You can point fingers, make righteous judgments, and cast blame, screaming and screeching about the unjust and downright nasty behavior of those who currently control the reins of power and influence in the world. Or you can laugh at the sorry fuckers, realize that their lack of empathy is pitiful and pathetic, and use your time more wisely in the pursuit of working toward your own progress and pursuit of perfection in all aspects of existence.

One of these paths is sure to cause stomach ulcers and spikes in blood pressure. The other can create extreme cases of illumination, enlightenment, and connection to the Holy Spirit Vibration. Take your pick. Roll the dice. Make a choice. The hour is growing late. The fate of finality is closing in and drawing near.

Dawn of the sunrise ultimately leads to day’s death. Every single time. No exceptions. No waivers. No secret handshakes. No special interest payoffs. No under the table, backroom, sweetheart deals. It’s a surefire bet. It’s a Natural Law. Moon pull and ocean tide. Big erect cock and bleeding orgasmic cunt. All the dirty ways in which to spew the spoiled words and make something that should be beautiful, primal, and pristine feel completely used and ugly. The dualistic dichotomy of the give and take, push and pull, tug-of-war, yin/yang, fractionalized, full spectrum, geometric cascade of consequence.

It breaks through the dam, floods over the waterfall, and demolishes the city below. It rains down from the heavens and engulfs the land in liquid nectar. It dives into the belly of the beast, lights a fire, torches the flesh, escapes in the last instant, and declares holy war against all those who set the cursed course of events in motion. It cries like an infant. It murders the innocence. It hacks into the control panel, overrides the system’s functions, and crashes the car into a brick wall at full speed. It leaps into the abyss. It accelerates the path toward destruction.

Fuck all, there I go again, getting caught in the maddened, hyped-up flow of hypnotic, hallucinatory, fused prosaic language. I love to bend and distort it in a chaotic fashion, even when my initial intention is to write about Love, God, Truth, Justice, Honor, Hope, Faith, Peace, Purity, and all the other silky smooth, sentimental words that bring images of fluffy white clouds and purring kittens to mind.

Isn’t that a sweet picture? Now, how quickly do you think I can deteriorate the pretty scene with blasphemous, idol-smashing delusions of grandeur? How long will it take me to drive these nails deeply into the flesh of betrayal? How many bones will snap in the process? How many wounds will be left open to fester? How many bottles of wine does it take to turn the heart into nothing more than a pumping mass of rage? Do you still want to be saved? Do you still buy into that bullshit theory of original sin? Are you willing to take a bite of the apple? Do you want to live in ignorance for the rest of your life? Does knowledge increase suffering? Is it better to remain an adolescent for all the days of eternity? Is there infinite pleasure in the art of detachment? Or does responsibility always come home to roost? Does karma always have its say in the end? Is there no way to escape? Pucker up, buttercup, the answers will come in waves

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Scott Thomas Outlar lives and writes in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia. He enjoys spending time with the trees alone in silent thought, and also loves attending festivals where the voice of humanity can be heard in full throat. He has been a weekly contributor for the Dissident Voice newsletter since 2014, and during that time has published poetry, essays, and articles in more than 330 literary venues around the world. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His poem “Kingdom of Chaos” won the 2016 Nibstears Poetry Cave Contest in Nigeria. He was a recipient of the 2017 Setu Mag Award for Excellence in the field of literature. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Dutch, French, Italian, Persian, and Serbian. He guest-edited the 2019 Western Voices special edition of Setu Mag. He began hosting a radio podcast, Songs of Selah, in the fall of 2018, and welcomes weekly guests onto the program to discuss their work and life. His speech “Of Songs and Dreams: How Words Take Shape” was delivered for the Atlanta Writers Club at Georgia State University in March of 2019. He has also been invited to read at literary events such as: Voices from the Crowd at The Poetry Society in London, England; Free Times Café in Toronto, Canada; Thirty West Publishing House Presents at Big Blue Marble Bookstore in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Alien Buddha Invades Erie at Ember + Forge Coffee Shop in Erie, Pennsylvania; A Novel Idea at Peach & the Porkchop in Roswell, Georgia; UUCA’s Wine, Cheese, and the Spoken Word in Atlanta, Georgia; Callanwolde Fine Arts Center in Atlanta, Georgia; Good Acting Studio in Marietta, Georgia; and City Lights Café at Church of the Holy Comforter in Gadsden, Alabama. His books include: Of Sand and Sugar (Cyberwit, 2019) Abstract Visions of Light (Alien Buddha Press, 2018) Poison in Paradise (Alien Buddha Press, 2017) Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016) Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016) Songs of a Dissident (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015) Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, live events, radio podcasts, and books can be found. His publications at Ray of Thought include: Extinction Is the Genesis of Evolution Casting Spells Instead of Stones Sound and Form Chewing the Cud

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