On Sunday evening we joined a secret society. I can't tell you much about it (but I can point you to Lawrence Leung and Andrew McClelland's Somewhat Secret Secret Society web site for further elucidation).
Last night I dreamt of latter days,
of daunting times with smoke-filled skies,
a city--more a metal maze--
lay stretched before my eyes.
An angel stood beside me there
commanding that I listen well
and write its words of deep despair--
its tales of future hell:
"The faithful, fevered by a bush
and fallen rum, did visit awe
upon the east--dominion's push
flew willingly to war.
A Texan searches long in vain
for powers hid beneath the sands;
yet finding none, can still maintain
his lust to conquer lands.
When Leonardo's heir arose
his words appeared in every store
to show the code and thus expose
conspiracies of yore.
A prince now weds a hated maid
while sneering at his erstwhile bride
who fell before the camera's blade
intrusively applied.
A pilgrim pole with voice divine,
who nurtured aids and damned the gay,
two-sixty-fifth of Peter's line,
lies dead without decay."
"Um, dude," said I to break its flow,
"your sense of time has gone askew.
This shit's all in the past, you know,
so tell me something new."
"Impatient man! Be still," it cried,
"Heed all my words and don't forget
'tis you who'll face this evil tide;
You ain't seen nothin' yet.
See, now the signs of Satan's spite
appear in comic garb arrayed,
for in this city's clubs tonight
his servants ply their trade.
They seek to hide their evil game
by seeding secrets by the score
and hosting cliques, benign and lame,
to mask their monstrous corps."
The angel paused and grasped my head
its pearly palms constrained my cheeks;
"You must record the names", it said,
"of whom this omen speaks.
The first's an infidel, filled with hate,
(and languishing for lack of lays)
the libidinous Lawrence Leung; of late
he's peddling wanton ways.
The second's Andy 'handy hook'
McClelland, clever cutlass whore,
whose raving jolly-rogering look
has never helped him score.
Don't fall for their 'society' ploy
the somewhat secret secret plot;
you'll wind up as a mindless toy,
with all your base in their employ,
your brave society: their decoy,
You'll take the heat while they enjoy
fresh groupies in the cot."
"Well, thanks," I said, "that's wise advice."
I paused a moment to reflect:
how many souls will I entice
to join my secret sect?