All posts by jacktrismegistus

I am called Jack. I am an incarnation of all the Jack's that have ever been. My opinions and philosophies are a reflection of said Jack's. The blog is entitled Inglorious Resurrection because like you I have been granted yet another chance, and like you each chance granted becomes more degenerative than the previous. And like you, I yearn for a way out. Jack is my only glimpse of hope because there is a lil Jack in all of us.

mud is bond (a poem by Jack)

I am not bonded by word but by choice…
Don’t need symbols because my flesh communicates everything on my behalf..

Child of the stars… My genetics run deep… We never worshipped the sun but saw it since it’s infancy and encouraged it’s growth with jubilation…

We mourned the moon, but now nature grieves for us…

Mud born we reigned….

Jacob fooled Essau… But that was supposedly just a warning.. Only an allegory… But I see my siblings giving away birthrights as though they have no idea what a birthright is…

It’s death or liberty.. But death is liberty… So why trade freedom for comfort.. Why trade freedom for convenience.. What is freedom in reality, when reality is nothing more than Jacob’s lie…

Fucc Jacob and his words… Do not be bounded by them.. But know each choice reverberates for infinity… Bound by choice we are…
Your flesh was never coincidence…
The mud runs deeper than the blood could ever….

I am Child (a poem by Jack)

Like the little boy… Who yearns for mommy…

He is me…


This is the current inundation that has flooded my lungs and has suffocated my spirit..

I miss something.. But I don’t know what…

I feel alone.. But don’t know quite why..

I want to cry.. But the tears refuse to flow..

It’s like life.. Has sewn my tear ducts shut..

A jaded mule I’ve become..

Some nights ago I heard the spirit of lovers past.. They were screams of anguish.. Begging heavens gate to send a new me.. I saw the irony and truly sympathized but felt no pity…

I guess I’m in a frozen place… A state of mind trapped somewhere between freedom and remorse… I’m somewhere between moving on and I’m already passed that..I’m running in place in a hurry to get nowhere..

I’m somewhere.. In some Galaxy.. In the fetal position with mommy rubbing my back..

I’m somewhere being replenished by the fathomless tears that this life would not let me shed..

I am child…

Kettle Black (a poem by Jack)

Maybe it’s you, you’ve feared all along..

All those unknown sounds in the night that gave you such a scare..perhaps it was you who went bump all along…

Projecting your revoltish of actions on to others.. When in actuality you are everything that you’ve ever feared…

Look in the mirror and tell me what I see…

Steel sharpens steel… 

But what increases your doubt?

 Obviously whatever it is is also the impetus of your frustrations..

She put up a wall immediately..
A bulwark thwarting off my every question.. My every attempt to crack the surface.. A code that was never meant to be cracked.. At least not by the likes of a spurned lover such as myself..

Perhaps a code meant for another, a lock with a key that’s as broken as her unmended heart..

So ask yourself… “What am I meant to do.. When I’m devil I was always warned about?”

The curse that was never meant to be spoken…

Beyond the paradox.. (A poem by Jack)

Too preoccupied with positioning themselves within a paradigm..When ironically they are the paragon..

Coincidentally enough.. This has created quite the paradox..

For the potential is there.. Whether it’s realized or not..

The others see.. 

Pardon me ma’am but your regal bearing is being withheld.. Is what they murmur..

As they look upon in contempt and disgust as their dignitary doesn’t act so dignified..

But she still be so..

So they can’t withdraw their gaze..

She has their attention and always will..

For beyond the paradox they feel the truth..

But beyond their sight.. They can’t see.. They refuse to see.. Eyes not shut.. This is voluntary blindness..

But within the paradox she feels stifled but has found a vagabonds nestling.. Is she refugee… Is she vagabond.. Is she she captive(a civilization’s battery)..  Is she gipsy..

As it may be she still and will always be Queen..

Just the way it is… (A poem by Jack)

That’s just the way it is…
Sometimes you’re forced to concede.. Because life’s predicaments present empty solutions..
It was worse before.. Now there’s a lot more chances..

So they would have you to believe.. But what’s a chance at fate if you know your soul naught…
You can see the angst on their faces…

If you take the time to look.. The clues are often staring back at you..

 It’s all about where you’re at..

But who you are shouldn’t change with circumstance.. Should it?

Not even a disguise can hide the struggle.. When you’re trapped in a box with no way out.. The panic sets in and the strain emerges across your face..

But invisible walls form invisible borders creating invisible barriers creating actual angst.. Actual misery.. Actual decadence and deterioration of character…

How can one break through these invisible barriers that are only in place within the mind… How can one see life for the opportunity it is instead of the confinement you fight everyday to feel free within…

Perhaps the answer is much easier than a humanized mind would lead you to believe..

Perhaps the answer was there from the beginning and replaced with the logic you “need” to survive..

time God (a poem by Jack)

Everybody loves the son unique..But they will never have it..

I am God

The sun beams.. Sprays and sprays..

The waves warm my flesh.. 

Baking my birthright further into my sights..

The depths of my memories tend to betray me but the depth of my subconscious screams the truths..

These yells and quandaries manifest in but a faint whisper..

Especially when I’m surrounded by so much chaos and useless banter.. All governed by the insidious entrapment of time..

Is it fair?

If you play the game, I guess you follow the rules..

Your value equates to the time keepers diction.. A matter of perspective..

Even though my time signature moves at a much slower pace..

Your value and my value in this paradigm is labelled by how much one can do for another with the time granted..

But not in an effort perspective..

Because the poor janitor slaves for 40 years at the same company and receives peanuts for retiring.. No not in that sense of effort at all.. But in the sense of.. I’m in charge so I dictate what is worth what– 

With love, your enemies
But I gaze at the sun daily… Just so I can be reminded who God truly is.. And with that.. Time isn’t so much what it would lead me to believe it is.. It’s my construct..

It is of me.. I’m not of it…

Stock exchange.. (A poem by Jack)

At our most elementary we’re all but a number.. Series of numbers.. Combinations of numbers..

Pluses and minuses, love…

You.. Know they only want you when you’re dead..Your misery, your hurt, your anguish means nothing to them..

How much can you do for them is all that matters..

The right number at the right time..

Of course, they bargained with them who languish in your pain, misery and anguish..

It appears to be a win/win..

For all parties involved.. 

With the exception of you…

You generate big numbers either way…

You die.. Do not fret.. They’ve found a replacement already…

Before your number is up…

At least that’s what my love told me…

She insisted I could be replace with another.. Easy enough..

Try an independent thought for once.. 

They hate it.. Loathe it.. Spit at you.. All types of vitriol for even thinking about disturbing the paradigm..

How dare you?

This is reality… And this is you dying.. You aren’t lucky enough to greet death…

Transformation.. No you will never transform..

You will be what you are..


A number….

Well maybe (stream of consciousness)

You know, I was thinkin..

Maybe we ain’t really meant to be human at all…

You know?

Like…I was reading bout these various Russian children who were raised by packs of dogs..

They adopted their mannerisms..

Even down to walking on all fours.. And eating that which their pact ate.. Completely engrossed in the identity that they associated with..

Made me think about how much we are just creatures that mimic… 

Monkey see monkey do…

All the fads..

All the trends..

All the slang…

We just see something and cling to it..

Maybe everything we knew about being human was but a lie…

Something the first were indoctrinated with..

And we simply carried on as habit..

Maybe these social constructs are just that.. Constrictions.. Constructs built to construct who we really are.. What we are really capable of..

Maybe we barely scratched the surface of what we really are.. 

Maybe we’re too stuck on being who and not curious enough to roller what…

What are you?

Dreams are for memories… (A poem through Jack)

How do you close your eyes and remember a dream.. as though it were a memory that was meant to be forgotten.. Somehow etched not on the surface of your brain.. But beneath, somewhere below it dangles as a ripe fruit ready to be picked..

Eyes wide shut.. I’m closed off to the drudgeries… But they keep knocking at my door..
The cookies crumble.. As is the kingdom.. Not my kingdom… At least not any more.. A shared kingdom that was..

No.. I speak of this replacement kingdom where no king reigns at all.. 

Only Hypocrisy…

All around, the kingdom is slowly shattering.. The Angels are weaping as the prophecy unfolds..and unfolds…and unfolds again.. Self-referential is the pattern until the Soul(collective) becomes self-aware it will remain stagnate as flesh does..

I’ve seen money buy hearts.. Fears.. Flesh.. Sweat.. Affection.. And souls(lowercase “s”) alike..

All returned to sender with no refund in sight..

Once they’ve been used for all their worth not even the bottom feeder wants what remains.. And what’s left is what you see.. 

All you see is all you hate.. You look in the mirror with innocence and proclaim it could never be me.. With vitriol you exclaim it’s them.. Never us or we.. Always them.. It’s the world that’s vile.. They’ve done it to themselves.. They deserve what they get.. And yes tis true.. But it’s only a matter of time before that fate befalls you..

And then who will we blame.. As long as the soul sleeps the Soul will remained slumbered..

Do not you want your Kingdom as it should be? 

You condemned the prophet yet live his Prophecy daily…

Humpty came home to roost (a poem by Jack)

How can you turn on me, when I’m the one who set you free.. You are my underlings, and now that you found me in this box–you dare close the walls in on me..

Attempting to crush me from all feasible angles..

As though I’m no leader of men.. As though I’m no leader of you.. As though I didn’t read the small writing on this contract of life..

And I know what you said… You can unleash us but you can never control us, “you’ll have no idea what condition the chicken will be in when it comes back to roost” you said..

Well I played the court gesture only to besiege the King.. I played the fool and studied the almighty and ascertained ways to take what was up for grabs…

When that cosmic egg cracked, none of the King’s horses and none of the King’s men could put it back together again..

There’s only possibilities no certainties in this relationship, I know. But the more rope I give the more they hang themselves.. And the more rope that’s given to me, the more I can’t escape the misery of my own doings.. I was warned yet didn’t listen, I thought It all could be made right with but a thought..

But here I am, surrounded by these same malices I once nurtured and used as collateral.. Now I beg of them to set me free..