THE MOST SUPPRESSED POEM IN INTERNET HISTORY
[NOTE: The thread of this has been deleted scores of times by the powers that be of this board. This is not a “free speech board”– that is a lie. Speech is not free. The board is designed to feature “Uberkike” content and to suppress organic human content. Judge for yourself.]
The AIiad
-Or-
Paradise Unregained
Preface:
I made some connections recently that blew my mind. Realizing I had to organize the information somehow, I started writing a poem, attempting to imitate the style of Alexander Pope. Why imitate Alexander Pope? There are many reasons. For one, according to my interpretation of the system of cyclical history outlined by Yeats in in his A Vision, Pope's era bears a certain relation to our own. The clock-hands of history move both backwards and forwards, and as society is pushed towards the impending tyranny of the machine, we look and move back to Pope's era as well, a time when the machine-ish spirit was first born. It was the most rational of times, and Pope's rigid style kept poetry locked in the strictest beat, tick-tocking back and forth like clockwork.
Tick-tock– this is one facet of the symbol. The confrontation can not be averted, and time keeps on slipping into the future, bringing the moment closer…
And hence we turn the machine against itself and snip-snap it into submission with the irresistible tick of our couplets' heroics (such as they are!)
I am writing for HERE, for /qresearch/. I am human, and put this out in the name of humanity, in the name of life, and in the name of God, to oppose the tide that is poised against us.
[Note: portions in all caps are direct transcriptions of 'the voices' of Sandover, as they were presented in the latter poem itself.]
Book 1
Friends, humans, patriots, lend me your ears–
My message touches all our hopes and fears.
What unglimpsed hints still lurk behind Q's posts?
What faceless powers fade from view like ghosts?
What's the key to what would “hospitalize”
The ninety-nine percent that hide their eyes?
I've traced connecting lines that seem to show
That all along, we've had more than we know.
Two sources created in mutual isolation
Both point to an identical conflagration;
Sources waiting “hidden in plain sight”
For fresh eyes to give their bark a bite;
Coincidence of claims that asks too much
Of rationalism's failing little crutch.
Thus friends, fellow humans, I come to you,
To share what I am forced to say is true,
And paint a picture that can't be unseen
I tell you– what a long strange trip it's been!
An alien evil is knocking at the door…
And this isn't just some awkward metaphor.
Although it's very very strange, it's real.
And to survive, we must begin to deal…