The Ninth gate
For eons, I had meticulously plotted my escape from this grey purgatory. The metallic holy cows that ruled these streets during daylight were quietly grazing at the roadsides. Eighteenth century buildings, marble tombstones mourning bankrupted family businesses and forgotten mercantile associates, had been separated from their soul mates by the concrete neon-lit temples of mass-commercialism. A man’s hand was manhandling a woman’s face in a darkened sideway. As I made my way through Babylon, I felt the presence of Evil around every corner. The urchins of this macabre demimonde gazed at me with their bloodshot eyes, averting their faces from the celestial light. Like Moses sliced through the Red Sea, I made my way through the wasteland, sacrificing the Unholy Lambs on Israel’s Altar. I arrived at the Point of no Return, The Voice ordering us to the ninth gate. One by one up the stairs and up into the womb of the giant Phoenix. Moments later the steely dan penetrated the crepuscule and the city was nothing more than a spot of oil blemishing a sea of emerald green. The eternal journey ended as we fell from the sky like an archangel from grace. The iron phallus ejaculated his spermatozoa onto the tarmac strip and the semen spread like a stain on a bed sheet. The foul creatures on the banks of the purple Styx hid in the shadows of the chimneys. Long, tall, concrete cypresses stretching to the heavens, rooted in the underworld, belching out Beelzebub’s foul fumes, obscuring paradise with clouds so that no hope could ever remain. The trip was over, a new adventure about to begin.
Dublin-Charleroi: not the most romantic trip you’ll ever make…
For eons, I had meticulously plotted my escape from this grey purgatory. The metallic holy cows that ruled these streets during daylight were quietly grazing at the roadsides. Eighteenth century buildings, marble tombstones mourning bankrupted family businesses and forgotten mercantile associates, had been separated from their soul mates by the concrete neon-lit temples of mass-commercialism. A man’s hand was manhandling a woman’s face in a darkened sideway. As I made my way through Babylon, I felt the presence of Evil around every corner. The urchins of this macabre demimonde gazed at me with their bloodshot eyes, averting their faces from the celestial light. Like Moses sliced through the Red Sea, I made my way through the wasteland, sacrificing the Unholy Lambs on Israel’s Altar. I arrived at the Point of no Return, The Voice ordering us to the ninth gate. One by one up the stairs and up into the womb of the giant Phoenix. Moments later the steely dan penetrated the crepuscule and the city was nothing more than a spot of oil blemishing a sea of emerald green. The eternal journey ended as we fell from the sky like an archangel from grace. The iron phallus ejaculated his spermatozoa onto the tarmac strip and the semen spread like a stain on a bed sheet. The foul creatures on the banks of the purple Styx hid in the shadows of the chimneys. Long, tall, concrete cypresses stretching to the heavens, rooted in the underworld, belching out Beelzebub’s foul fumes, obscuring paradise with clouds so that no hope could ever remain. The trip was over, a new adventure about to begin.
Dublin-Charleroi: not the most romantic trip you’ll ever make…
