Current mood:

crazy

A little History, The Heretic and The End Times
TALES OF A FISHERMAN

A little history first,
a poem born to fill curiosity’s thirst.
I have not always been a fishermen,
At twenty-eight years old I have been many men.
First and foremost I am a cowboy
A rope and a pony were my first toys.
Horses and cows were a daily part
Amongst other aspects of the cowboy art.
Wandering in mountains with wise old men,
Trailing a herd, getting snowed in, this was my youth, my roots. Standing atop mountains with my horse watching sunsets was par for the course.
By fifteen I had been bucked off, stomped and kicked, had my leg crushed in the town of Madras.
I chased a Buffalo on horseback, at a dead run like a Plains Indian, and before the day was over, I did it again! Whooo!


When I was eighteen I had a career shift,
Instead of a cow herder I became a cow murderer.
Killing and bleeding, Killing and gutting, killing and slicing, killing and cutting, killing and sometimes crying.
Covered in my old friend’s red mist, I shackled their twitching legs to a hydraulic lift.
Don’t judge this blood soaked monkey, Every dead cow went to fill your tummys.(pause and look) (pat tummy)

Then one day in tears I left my knives on the floor
and began my career as a corporate whore.
I moved to the city and donned a tie and slacks, shoved into a cube like chickens in a laying rack.
My life went from saying Haa yup, and Hey Cow… to…
How may I help you sir? How would you like to pay for that?
Needless to say I grew quite nauseous, unable to figure out how to be ok with this process, I longed for open spaces and honest faces.
In a cubical maze the only thing I found were ass-kissing, ladder climbing rats and soulless punks with supervisor hats.
I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I was doing was dying, like a wild shark in a water park, I climbed to the top of a parking garage and longed to jump into the concrete mirage.
Needless to say that wouldn’t have been profitable, so the corporation locked me up in a mental hospital.


After a time I was charged a fee and they finally set me free, I descended right past the office buildings onto the street and I began to sell myself like piece of meat.
Then came the drugs, ecstasy, meth, heroin and coke, slowly compounding until my blood was replaced with dope. Marauding around weighing 128 pounds, treacherous as a pirate and higher than any test pilot, I became something I have been ever since… those on the street bestowed me the title of Faggot Prince.

Don’t be sad, I am not, this was a turning point, a necessary evil, allowing for a poet and author to emerge from this walking devil.
Amidst my frantic highs I started writing about the signs… words became my toys and joys, I was pretty damn good with a pen and a paper, so I left my career as a drug-dealing stripper.

With new purpose, walking from the streets I made it to the beach and alas floating on the water I found sanity within reach.
Each day I gladly leave you all here, without the slightest bit of longing or fear.
Instead of drugs, the ocean and the sun give me my inspirations, and when I come back I write it down into neat little presentations.
Fishing for money and writing for fun, submitting to publishers and reading between crabbing runs, this Faggot Fisherman Prince is becoming something that the world has never seen, and my friends this right here is only beginning.


THE HERETIC

That was the introduction, a historical dissertation about my life’s phases and my strife’s faces,
This poem here is being held so my purpose can be unveiled.
I want you to listen, I want your attention, I am casting a spell and my friends it origins, may just be hell.
But that is just fear speaking, because the words I am doomed to create come with a heavy weight.
My words are sin, at least definable by today’s righteous men, with Christ’s love on their sleeve, buying bumper stickers and bracelets designed to show everyone they believe, a prideful testimony to a membership for the deceived, neat little masks plastered all over their Muslim killing SUVs.

As I sit here and speak and instruct you on the Bibles leaks, I will have to face the rebukes of the weak, as I warned my words are sin and again I will say they may offend.
I won’t ask anyone to leave, but those who serve the Bible and look to convince others of its truth you may find me irreverent and uncouth,
But those who are still wondering and asking might see me in a different light tonight
When you hear me speaking and your biblically trained soul starts freaking remind thyself to judge not, these could be the very words your soul has always sought.

Before we continue I must tell you of the Fowler Versus, four times in the Old Testament it warns of The Fowler’s curses, really the Bible says trap, but for the sake of rhyming I had to put that crap. What does this have to do with this rhythmic word shower? Well to put it simply folks my name is Tejun Fowler.
I don’t know if you know it, but you are listening to a biblically prophesized poet.
If you need the numbers go to psalms 91:3, and 124:7 two written warnings straight from heaven. If those aren’t convincing enough words perhaps you can flip your bible to Proverbs, chapter 6 verse 5. At least Hosea 5:8 should let you know you have taken the fowler’s bait.
Don’t hate me, I didn’t create this shit, I was born into it. I write these poems in one sitting, like I am doing an angel’s bidding, pages of text for the heretically vexed, empowering the sinner and wretched to overcome the Bibles Text.
All of this is amazing really, and my friends to doubt what is happening would be quite silly. There are soooo many signs right here in your face. Here in this place, I am standing before the human race spouting a testimony that will be called phony, but look into your hearts and stop listening to those biblically enslaved brain-farts. As my voice comes across in this monotone hum, know I only speak of physical and spiritual freedom.

THE END TIMES

I have never understood the theology behind the end times, the fact some of you worship this prophecy of doom, is the reason it is coming so soon.
What are you doing? You don’t think we can succeed, how can you believe God would carry out such a deed.
I mean really? God will create a race and then vanquish them without a trace? Watch them flail around for a few thousand years and then like some sick conductor he tells us we will all die and suffer.
So from that day forward our race begins to decline, because who cares it will all end in time, I don’t need to love my brother, because in the end we are just going to kill one another!
Tonight I am going to make a bold statement, you don’t have to buy this lie, you don’t have to buy this lie.
If you are saying, I am a Christian, then I say your religion has nothing to do with compassion. You worship our failure, our extinction, you worship God’s inability to create something with stability.
NO wonder you think everything is damned and evil, you worship a prophecy written by the devil.

Like psychophant scribes you thumb and prune your worshiped words, convinced it is the reason you get everything you deserve.
You strive to keep a heretic like me ineffectual and you keep your boot on the neck of the homosexuals.
Calm down, this is not a blanket accusation, this is an informed observation of a society on the verge of destruction.
Not every Christian can be accused of these sins against man, and to demonize Christians isn’t my plan, I just want you to see the harm contained in this prophecy.
Did Jesus want you to worship this text, this seems like an addition causing Christ’s message to he hexed. A major contradiction in terms, the loving shepherd extinguishing us like germs.
I am asking you to let your Biblically trained mind bend and do what Jesus would do and stop Armageddon.


Tejun