Saturday, May 6, 2017

Of Cities and Citybred Monsters
By © E. Antons Benjamiņš, 2017

It has  come to be that the atheist-controlled community of government has become the fake Godhead over the community of Nature. Likewise, government has made itself to become the People.

The Great Grandson of God* (a play)
*God—see Post Script
(A retelling of the story of King Oedipus)
Episode 2

Praise, praise!
A great welcome
to our Savior!

Your name,
King Oedipus,
will be in our songs
For ever!
Though you step
With a limp,
A thousand children
Run for joy!
No more will their bodies
Lie rotting at the foot
Of the chasm
And send horrid odors
To tthe Sphinx’s nostrils,
and send tears
To God’s eyes.

King Oedipus:
My dear children,
My sons and daughters.
Cityzens of Thebes!
What disturbs you?
Why do you listen
To conspiracy theorists
And fake fairy tales?

All is well in Thebes.
Our city is growing
By leaps and bounds!
You can see and tell this
By the fast
disappearing forests,
And the fields
Of golden grain
And rings of
Well deserved
Gold swinging
from the tassles
Of our belts.
The treasury of Thebes
Is brimming.
Your taxes
Are decreasing
As Earth rewards us
For being her good.

Why are you
Listening to this frog,
This preacher,
Whom I blinded,
Yet let live,
When I freed your children
From the yoke of sacrifice?
He’s but a conspirator
Against your welfare!

What is it
in his croak
That compels you
To come and listen to him?

(King Oedipus turns toward the preacher.)

You, there, frog,
In the white shirt,
I’ve forgotten your name,
I think that you
Have croaked
Your theories
long enough.
Why do you disturb
These good people
Of the wood?
Why do you take advantage
Of their shy nature
And come speak
As if in their place?

I hear no pleasing thoughts
From you.
Perhaps the time has come
To stuff you
Up a hollow log
And burn?

The priest:
Mighty King
Of sacred Thebes!
My name is Tiresias!
I feel and, therefore,
I speak
On behalf of the herders,
Whose herds are
Being driven over the cliff
For the sake of
By your tax collectors.
Even donkeys
for their skin.
True, your warehouses
are full of elk furs.
Your fields
of golden grain,
King Oedipus,
Have shorn the land
Of its forests,
Gone are the elk.
Their milk
used to sustain us,
Their pelts kept us warm,
The fur about
their mother’s teats
that gentled the noses
of her calves,
Made our pillows.

Thebes was our Jerusalem.
Now Thebes
no longer is Paradise,
She’s but the rough whore
Who used to ma-damn
The women of Paris.

See, O mighty king,
The people pray
To be free
Of your unholy city.
They would rather sleep
On the moss of the forest
With their herds,
Than alone
on the cold streets
Of New York
Among humanized  beasts.

O King,
Pity your people!
See how they
Prostrate themselves
Before the altar
That in its depths
Hides the dream
Of the garden of gold
You’ve taken from them.

Of course,
it is not gold they seek,
But in their hearts
Filled by emotion
And devotion,
Call on the Sphinx
To return!

See, O King, their offerings
of butter, cottage cheese,
And honey.
There is olive oil
Flavored with garlic,’
And loaves of bread
Broken and crusty.

But the Sphinx
Fails to come.
Only flies and wasps
Come and make think
Something is awry.

O king,
There is talk,
That you,
Meant to be
the God of Thebes,
may be
at death’s door;
the Sphinx
will return only
if the sacrifice
Of children is renewed.

Smell the incense’
Of burnt feathers
O King,
your servants burn
to cover up the smell
of rot that comes
from your leather factories.

King Oedipus,
You saved us once
(so we believed),
Come save us again!

Though you put out
My eyes,
It is but a small loss
If you come to offer
Your life
in place of our children,
be they infants
or soldiers.

King Oedipus:
What blathering nonsense,
Old man!
Maybe you feel,
But you think not!

I think,
Therefore I am King.

(King Oedipus turns toward the supplicants.)

Dear children,
I have forethought
And sent
Prince Creon,
My right arm,
And the Queens brother,
To the temple of the Sun,
to consult with
The daughters of the Sun.

The maids will read
The message of the acorns
Thrown at my inauguration.
Now grown
into saplings.

The wisdom
Drawn to leaf
By the oak’s deep roots
Will reveal to us
What ails Thebes.
I trust,
It is nothing but
An unholy conspiracy
Which this
unholy old frog
farts and disturbs
with stink
Our ever growing city,
The center of
Human creativity.

(O! O! O! O Gods!
O hear! Hear the lie!)

O hear!
The guards are
blowing their horns.

It’s likely Prince Creon
Has returned.

King Oedipus:
Let us hope,
He brings good news.

I hear his footsteps.
If there’s a smile
On his face
The news is good.

King Oedipus:
Greetings, Prince Creon!
What news bring you?

Prince Creon:
great King Oedipus!
How goes it in Thebes?
Indeed, I bring news.
Very important news.
Let us go inside
The fort.

While I brush the dust
Off my sandals,
I will tell you,
the message
the daughters of the Sun
have asked me
to bring Thebes.

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