Noughties Atheist Epiphany/-phony

1.

In the sensory embarras de richesse
of a 'Bathoven' mo',
un-wireless Classic FM whackedup 
on full out in the hall,
less of a splash hazard for a lobtailing 
bigbutt man w/ lugs wigged out on Ludwig Van
(hovered craftily in tub,
weren't waterlugged). 

But some bayonetbulbed bayonet bisected 
my metime as well as all middleman morass,
- 'twas the crest of a Mexican brainwave
that poured w/ no need for aqueduction
into the gourd of me 'aving
my Beeth-o-zen mo', whilst my body 
was busy going Bagpussy in a box
of rain the Victorians bent my way.

Whether Humanity's last hopers 
had uploaded a precog pre-agog
at Gog & Magog down the timestream, 
retropinged me an ESPeep o' Tomorrow 
from some failing future Hevearth, 
or if this was the latest hope
held fosterghostclose by most,
by all whose costard computers boast

as Bath Vader KO'd B.O. Wan Kenobi,
nugatory what grey gumptious gunk
anchors Lysander's skandhas in a body
when white phosperous pop logic,
the collective conscience,
the collective unconscious,
stunned me l/ jaywalking Bambi
as I had my hot soak. Phots broke

my Archimideep watery thoughtfulness
w/ a whiteout of nullifidian revelation, 
same bright blasphemy as Baron
D'holbach's balking at the holy,
same Thus-Spake-Zara-frustration,
which had me new shrieker
of another legendarily lavating 
truthseeker's 'Eureka!'

Just humble stardust w/ a bartab
l/ you all - I did not twat mon tete
chosen by a Hollywood dodgem
- no, verily the Light I cite
is but the Cosmic Commonsense Vote 
of the Homocidophobic Majority
against medievangevil billionaire brats
& their weaponised superstition.

The time is nigh we should fatally 
prod their gods' wispy wrists
w/ William of Ockham's Razor,
l/ it was Rogue Trooper's Lazooka.   
For the Light's point of view
had starpower of a simple truth:
to save ourselves, we must follow thee,
Paul Thiry, pioneer of apostasy. 
 

2.

The Light exhorts all of us
Occidental folk 
who aren't amenwhining 
wideloads drugged by driving 
to pull over & deracinate 
such armageddaceous vegetables 
as Dubya Shrub, which propagates hawks
l/ wet rot breeds barnaclegeese,

tho' hard to wot
if they be eagle or cobra from 
cockatrice collarbone up.
When the talons blossom,
impound the warbird w/ a jess
of noble mob justice, such as 
comradely director of 'Kes' might espouse.
Likewise the Light doth

entreat the sheikhs of the streets,
the haytistes of Tunis & Nice
(who say their salah w/ a
soupçon of MC Solaar);
& all the hajjis playing
Mohammadean Pom Pom Home,
pilgrims hillsboroughing
about the Kaaba; 

every Muslim from Baghdad
to Bengkulu to Bradford:
the Light entreats you to 
let the Sunnah do a runner
w/ the hasbeen Hadith
l/ the dish did w/ the spoon
(& other equally plausible beliefs)
To a secular baraka, submit

& join us kinder spirits 
amongst the kuffar, 
us Christ-kickers!
It's not enough to accept the Prophet
is mere hominid, you must
oust the imams of indiscrimicineration!
There is a doeeyed & softlyspoken
Fire Priest, Salafist icon of elevensmiths,

whose slaughterous forge 
fuels the reprisal aizles of Jaheem
(or so an illiterate wrote in a dream).
But, alas, his everlasting domain
will not be toasty Jahannam: 
no sinbattered soul really attends 
searing parole hearings
in liquefied flipflops 

w/ Judge Maalik presiding, 
every finger on every hand a thumbsdown.
Nor shall the weasel webs of Tora Bora
exspelunk to an eternity spent boning 
the most boneable bonemarrow
of Xray houris - so transparent
the martyr's carrot 
of 72 eschatological sexbots! 

As for Shrub,
who was a Lone Star Jesus Day-
legislatin' gub,
whose patrio-idiotic gospeldegook
is cackcreek credo of the GOP,
whose S.O.G. is Jesus Croesus, 
whose G-O-D is Z.O.G. & Magog,
the S.O.B.s (Sons Ofa Byss)

nudgin' mong warmonger, Shrub:
'Armageddon, are we there yet?'
Scripture schedules bloodthrust 
Shrub's hardon for ragheads' doom,
a rag to the septicephalic Beast
harbinging the great 
Satan-contra-Shaytan ruck 
on Abrahamic muck 

cursed as any micmac burialground. 
Hardliner w/ a mushy mazard,
Semtexas Shrub, & his twin 
terrorwave rider, Osamaster 
of Osamartyrs, jihadliner, 
are bloodbath brothers in lawlessness. 
Or Two Horsemen Gay Dads
whose only brood are burka'd in bodybags

by the million, tho' Shrub's dad's 
oldflame, S.Hussein, 
was the bagman for the blame.
Neocon-neoliberalism & Wahhabism
sow blastradiuses haram, hotter
than an insatiable Hulk's Wasabi jism
or Jaheem. But WMDceivers & elevensmithes
themselves only end up elevenses 

for Death, not some rasping wraith, but Gap 
l/ Expansion's exponential black
solvent we giftwrap in a godshape
to guard against the departed's space,
as well as our own dreaded 
departure dates. Besides, Hell is halal  
if smackdowning supervillains
star in Jannah or Heaven, 

if some dingdongmerrilyonhigh
monkish dongless dovemens' cote,
or Mack Daddy Allah's
Carlsberg-cathouse-cum-Shalimar-in-the-sky,
hosts American Hordak Vs. Saudi Skeletor.
Tho' at best Human History is only background telly  
for deistically teabreaking Gold Commander, 
deserter from afar incurring culpa lata.

3

So should apocatitfortat of prayerpaganda
elevate a sense of low morale 
in your atheist breast, ye blessed 
rationalist readers, ye godless peacefulishniks,
then denounce religion's 
metaphysical desecration
of master chancer Nature's
stochastic starscapes, slapdash clockwork!

& just as the universe & the universe
cite irreconcilable differences,
just as galaxies display 
the creativity of runaways,
let us be as quixotic as collapsible prop gods,
let us make a good restart 
& shuttleshunt Binliner 'n' Shrub,
those uttercunts to Mars!
 
There, those blatent caveboys can slugitout
mano a mano  over who gets to warlord it over
the terracotta desolation under 
a Marie Rose sauce sky.
The human race is too young
for all this Weltuntergangsstimmung.
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, fuck off!
I mean 'Blast off!' & just l/ that,

we could dispose of dusky Bin 
in a rocketfinnned bin
& he can take his al-dugma dummkopfs w/ him. 
Likewise, Shrub & his Halliburton organgrinders
who don't even seem to like Gaia
& who would pawn Mother Corn 
for Monsanto chemlock,
a garden of earthly Zaqqum fruit.

They won't even find
a gorgon's rind
on which to dine
in that penal colony
sterile & incarnadine. 
& the rest of us can just relax 
& get back to sighing 
for our own reasons,
 
furrowing our secularly streamlined frownlines
which are the result of cigarettes 
or a lack of cigarettes, as well as natural
disasters & even more natural 
disappointments; indulge depression, that moreish
numbness for those of us who get the taste
for no appetite; plus the internal adult pesterpower 
of our own hubris. All this, all ours

now Allah's a mirage & God is dead
outdated. I only pray (orant figure of speech)
that those holy cancers, that pair
of hellfire galahs exiled on Mars,
do not knock together their theological filberts,
have a syncretic bromance & establish 
an allnew Ameriqaeda denomination,
a thundering mentalist 

Shrubliner sect of former rivals
plotting a religious revival
from Nasa's naughtystep.
But fear not these reapers, these undoers
of stardust's labour: there won't be any
eschatological crossover caper. 
Dubya & Osama
would have suffocated on the claret planet

in less time than it takes to watch the end
of Total Recall. Cool.
But now my Bathoven mo' is over,
brrr be the water, but that's not why
the rat of a shiver 
shot up my drainpipe spine.
No, it's the chill realisation
there's still nowt but rovers

on that red desert world 
brrr as my bathwater,
planet the namesake of which is sole
deity whose existence we might reason 
all the mass graves corroborate,
(Communion) wine-dark lagoons 
of heretics & recusants,
infidels & the honourkilled.

The wicked good works of sollifidian
souls brrr as my bathwater,
their phasers set to auto-de-fe,
yet supposedly such schlock souls are saved.
Cosmickytaking fingernailparers
have been postulated, ghosts too feted,
but only God w/ form is the one
whose idea of heaven is the real

claret planet, Earth. No colourclash
when civilisations clash
in the name of the same old god
who is love of
sanctimony hypocrisy rapacity
paedophila chauvinism genocide
hatred. Their Lord who wrote the trilogy 
on this deadly seven.

So, verily, I say unto thee:
bless yourself.