Sophisticated Slavery and the Gravy Feeding Socialists on Casino Bay
Triune the bird gods of utter blackness, further dark the veiled harp of Antichrist, blindly they pluck this viol, cackle, sway.
Bird men adorning coins, framed the horned retrievers of state, feasting beagles prey passages, lean eagles, terrorist terriers lick the plate.
Casino key notes unlock accordingly, venomous vulture claws of strum, triune the bird gods of plummeting darkness, skeletal slots, feathered clause.
Carpicide river bombers loaded with Cain’s white powder, suckers coaxed, alluring barbs, doll hairs, men owe guzzling flat heads, crushing drain.
Gamma rays blur, hell’s coffers designed, twirling, hurling dollar signs, blinded to the Son, descending fleets of ferocity, madness, programmed pelting.
Triune bird gods of economic sway, teeter-totters become rocket launchers, padded pockets changed, inflamed loss, liens, inflated albatross reign, play.
Adorned, horned, coined the bird men of economic phrasing, albatross word mean oversee the zoo, mirrored, the caged sky, fetter feathered.
Oh Cultic I.C.
Medieval retrieval, devilish dogs embark the plain, cultic I.C., hellish these devils of heave, thy unregenerate mother regurgitates. O cultic I.C. Earth thy domain after the tradition of Cain, so sweet, loving, tree-huggers famed.
O say can you see through the Luciferian light, deception sleeved, armor of knights. Dark thy domain, O cultic I.C., plainly stated, thy worms must ever feed. How hellish these pits of nether, of nether.
A Peace From Above
World worship, clever questionnaires, knee deep, steeples and those wholly steeped in man made religion. Jesus answers this grave equation amongst such singed whirlwinds, thy soul ever keep. Thy soul ever keep I say, even amongst such flames and nameless ones, nameless ones say I, thy soul ever keep.
Each of these messages are followed by several Biblical passages, so we have to believe that Brian Sargent is disseminating some sort of religious prophecy or divination, though the chaos of the diction and syntax makes it difficult to discern what the message might be. But ya gotta love the poetry. Usually these kinds of tracts are rants of marginal literates, lacking in linguistic acumen, unable to spell or construct a simple sentence. But Brian Sargent demonstrates quite a knack for poetic imagery (“Triune bird gods of economic sway, teeter-totters become rocket launchers,” “hellish these devils of heave, thy unregenerate mother regurgitates”), alliteration (“Sophisticated Slavery,” “venomous vulture claws,” “fleets of ferocity,” “fetter feathered,” “Dark thy domain”), internal rhyme (“Adorned, horned,” “Medieval retrieval,” “thy domain after the tradition of Cain”), and of course poetic obtuseness (“further dark the veiled harp of Antichrist, blindly they pluck this viol, cackle, sway,” “feasting beagles prey passages, lean eagles, terrorist terriers lick the plate,” “Earth thy domain after the tradition of Cain, so sweet, loving, tree-huggers famed” [note again the internal rhymes]).
Clearly Brian Sargent cares deeply about whatever it is that he believes or is trying to advocate. I’m not sure, though, who I am in his message of apocalypse. Am I a “Gravy Feeding Socialist”? (Where is Casino Bay?) Maybe I’m a bird man. Or a “devilish dog.” “Devils of heave”? “Unregenerate mother regurgitates” sounds interesting. Or “deception sleeved, armor of knights.” Or maybe I’m just one of the “nameless ones.” I assume I’m among the “cultic I.C.,” though whether that cult is Iowa City, Intensive Care, or Immaculate Conception, I’m not real sure.
There are too many unanswered questions raised in Brian Sargent’s homilies. I only hope that should he pass this way again, he knock on my door and introduce himself rather than just tuck his tracts under it and skulk away into the Luciferian light. If only to see what this kind of religious nut case looks like in the wild.
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