DO I HAVE TO SHUT UP ?
(and believe it’s normal human behaviour to blow
the prophets up)

A young girl fourteen years old
her parents sold her
for a skinny old sheep
and some second hand clothing.
The first night she felt like
she was penetrated by a reptile
a bridle bed full of blood.
She gave him two children
a boy and a girl.
The man fifty years a believer
in tradition a man of the law
kicked them on the street
and bought another child.

Now she making candy to survive
living with her son,
she had to give her little girl away
for every one to use
they are living on bread made out of stones
and dirty green water,
the community of Mohammed
treat her like she is a whore.

In the mountains of Morocco
plastic garbage all around
on the ground were the holy children died
the sand is mixed with pure virgin blood.

The mules are too expensive
and the girls are very cheap
you can only see their dying eyes
behind the black sheets of the meek,
with the silent songs of the heart
they are weaving carpets in the stable.

The respectable men on the front row
in the temple of Allah
with empty prays on their sanctimonious lips
the bloodstained dagger underneath
their perfect white robes .

The joyful songs of the mother
is brought to silence and forgotten
a long time ago,
only the mumbling of dirty old men
reciting the same old dusty words
to the eternal One
in their greed and pride
they broke the perfect circle in two
and have all kinds of silly judgements
and believes.

FUCK YOU !
I’m ALLAH the divine
I can’t make more of it anymore
I’m the prophet in this rhyme
I’ve stopped working
for the deaf, dumb and blind,
the words you abuse are not your own,
start weaving you own flying carpet
polish your own little lamp
and if you want to play again
in my living paradise
in the pure streams of awareness
the rivers of love
please have the decency
to look yourself deep in your own broken eyes
before I take you in my wide open arms.

rob2007-03-07




Cursing at the lethargy, the dreaming elite
(the myth of the dragon with uncountable heads
and a head-hunter from the muddy Dutch lowlands
who possible can touch the heart)


Wake up!
You may burn my books
please beat my images in thousand pieces
all my work in your bonfire
I GRAND you this release,
your majestic victory.

I’m a heretic, the anti-Christ, the prince of darkness,
the Apocalypse of the ego
with Jeshua and Holy Mother, the Goddess
by my side,
Mohammed in my inside pocket
in full armour on his white horse,
Ramakrishna, Shri Maharaj,
Osho in his Rolls Royse,
all the crazy Zen Masters and the Shamans,
Eric Clapton on sitar connected to the beat .
If you don’t watch out I’ll rewrite
the Bible and the Koran,
the Vedas and the Holy whole lot.
I’ll navigate the burning planes
and rob museums, temples, churches and mosques
your factories, shops, banks and universities.
I’ll become a communist , a social democrat
in the name of the Lord
I divide the loot
with the help of the devil and the demons
to bring some relieve for the poor .
I’ll sit like Buddha on the stolen thrones
and spread all my Love
energy of life,
embrace the windmills
and sit beside the tree of knowledge
of good and evil
let the mountains come to me
and will become a burning bush,
bound by satellites I will be digital
I’ll do some magic
and create a rock’n roll circus in rainbow colours
before your wondering eyes
and give you a world on fire
and put it out again with my living water.
I’ll be the founder of a universe
of my own tasteful appetite
for thousand years
with every race a genius expression
to learn from joyfully.
Maybe I will let you take over
the essence of today
and I will drink the cup with poison
and tell you there is no way to know.

Maybe I am a Medium
and this words came from you
or it’s a resonance from a planet far away
a mystery not yet unveiled
by the space cowboys in our mind.
This words come probably from a fruitful garden
with beautiful maidens and men,
playful children filled with potency
clear water, clean air
and strong arms to carry us through.

Who brings back the fire,
who goes over the bridge right now
who will give birth to matter and will grow
who evolves and becomes human,
and start telling who he really is
in total honesty .

Is it possible to respect our own being
or is it easier to be a supporter
and leave the work you have to do for somebody else.
Men in the crowd
sleeping on your stupid battlefield
I am dangerous
before you know it I will take you there
and I’ll have you by the crotch.
WAKE UP!
Divine being
burn or sell my books cheap
put them on sale and trow them on the fire
to stay warm
rewrite them with your own Love
if you still remember how it feels
your own wisdom to share
BREAD AND WINE
find out who you are in this life
your not dead yet.
Do I have to go on
until the infinite is truth
this moment eternity
alpha and omega
in this world full of beast
pimped up monkey dream
where external forms adapt to the hottest fashion
the delusion to forget our mortality
the oblivion
the way we cut up our naked bodies
to fit in and become
perfectly unnatural chemical plastic dolls
the lethargy
two year olds in a illusionary heaven
walking like zombies on stolen cocaine
becoming high on diet ice-cream
with nuclear red cherries on the top
just look stupid
lazy on your king size bed
lost in the adventures of the ”Royal” family
from the magic box of Hollywood
dreaming about the things you haven’t experienced
and when you’re old enough to fight
you can’t let it loose the rest of your life
what a start.

I’m waiting for the Saints
to fall back on their place,
beside us, by our sides
close to our hearts.
Become guild free
like a naked child.
I’m just eating an old sandwich with dark bleu cheese
and drink too much of my monastery beer
and I’m praying for the hard working slaves
to become free
from this messed up global scam.
This is a pearl from the great ocean
fished up by a reckless fool
somewhere from the back of the streets
an Emperor crowned in my own inflammable
imaginational delusion
in my own imperfect dramatic words
to bear the pain
in my own ecstasy and bliss.
Can you estimate how a child could bloom
do you have insight in your own disposition ?

When you let them school you
you better be awake
and watch very carefully
before you know it you’re into deep
and have lost your golden inner voice
and are an absent minded
professor in philosophy
lost in too many words
the duality, heaven and hell
a donkey with a degree !

rob2007-01-07

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