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Thursday, April 1, 2010

YOU WILL SERVE HIM

...That is all.



I                    

SERVE

SERVE

SERVE

SERVE

SERVE                          
        SERVE                  

    SERVE              SERVE 
 SERVE SERVE               SERVE           
       SERVE        SERVE         SERVE      
          SERVE        SERVE               SERVE        SERVE
    SERVE            SERVE    SERVE      SERVE  SERVE                 SERVE
                    SERVE            SERVE    SERVE      SERVE  SERVESERVE    
   SERVE   SERVE    SERVE      SERVE      SERVE    SERVE    SERVE   
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SERVE         SERVE    SERVE     SERVE SERVE           SERVE
          SERVE   SERVE SERVE  SERVE    SERVE  SERVE           SERVE  
SERVESERVE                         SERVE 
            SERVE  SERVE            SERVE   SERVE              
 SERVE                                  SERVESERVE  SERVESERVESERVESERVE
 SERVE        SERVE      SERVE  SERVE SERVESERVE  SERVESERVESERVE
  SERVE SERVE  SERVE           SERVESERVE             SERVE 
         SERVE  SERVE   SERVE  SERVE       SERVE           SERVE SERVE
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                    SERVE   SERVE  SERVE SERVESERVE SERVE  SERVE    
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SERVESERVE                        SERVE                       SERVE      SERVE
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SERVE  SERVE  SERVE   
      SERVE
               
SERVE              
                               
SERVE       

SERVE

SERVE                 
                                                
NONE

BUT

K
O
R
R
O
K



Mistah Kurtz -- he dead.


    
        
            A penny for the Old Guy
        
    

            
                I
            

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

            
                II
            

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

            
                III
            

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

            
                IV
            

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

            
                V
            

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

                    For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow


                    Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

                    For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

12 comments:

  1. HINT: COPY AND PASTE!

    Also, there's a hyperlink hidden in there.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Found it! ^_^

    Wait a minute...

    Who's Korrok?!

    ReplyDelete
  3. LOL, I noticed the URL of this page, were all going to die today, lol

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hey Cyh, I played Counter-Strike with someone named AZN, was that you?

    ReplyDelete
  5. @gaara: Nope. I've never played Counter Strike.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Just wanned to drop by and say that I like Chell's Mind. :D

    Saw it by accident while I was looking at the recent Shephard's Mind episode.

    A lot of Minds on the net. But anyway. Keep it up. :)

    ReplyDelete
  7. @gaara: "Asian"="AZN" The latter is used in tagging, slang catch-phrases, etc...The AZN Invasion refers to the infiltration of Eastern culture unto the West. Also, I am Asian. And Norwegian...but mostly Asian.

    @arcticavenger: ^_^ Thanks for stopping by. I'm GLaD the male Chell's Minds aren't drowning me out.

    ReplyDelete
  8. @Reaper Not only but a Mt. Dew, but a chill pill.

    ReplyDelete

If you're rude, I'll delete you from the space-time continuum, as well as the time-space discontinuum, and also this blog. Then I'll send Hannibal Lecter after you--he likes to eat rude people.

After reviewing comments, I have decided to include Valve Time, as well as variable-Valve-time--with Lift--to the above list of obliteration-friendly continua.