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Mass Predicted Hysteria by Reverend Nemu February 10, 2012

Posted by vscorpiozine in New Poets.
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Mass predicted Hysteria
by Reverend Nemu

 Hysterical Mass Producer

      Produces Mass Hysteria

Olympians oiled and omnipotent

      Wrestle mountains to the ground.

World Cup willing its fill

2 x 3 33s

      Number me not.

Our goals struck out in 2012.

What mounts?

Where are the mounties and the mutineers?

Shakespeare sings and Brittany Spears.

Olympic Games with hand grenades

      With suicide bombers.

Will we work ourselves into a nuclear frenzy?

CCTV covers every corner

      And SKY TV every angle

            Spotting the ball precisely,

Radar reading along the lines

      and everywhere red buttons

            setting off alarms.

All the worlds cameras and all the king’s men

      Couldn’t stop Armageddon again.

Bomb in a suitcase

      Anthrax in the air

            And HYSTERIA

The goddess escapes from the King’s dungeon,

      Smashes a cup and scores a goal.




                  Teaches about leeches and leashes.

The princess page bawls inconsolable at the console

      Playing games,

            Loosing games.

Wild sexual forces screamed at TVs,

      Football fans fucking across pitch and wavelength.

The match flares into fire,

      Cameras probe intimate regions.

A pillar of fire flaming in the distance

      Static since handing over the Promised Land

            Torching enemies remotely with star wars and astral shields,

                  And friends alike.

Jehovah. Leave those kids alone. Capricorn

      Struggles with the mount and finally beholds

            The sun.

Climb clear to the top of the rubble,

      my devil.

Triumph and victory be yours

      And the sky is torn,

            Blaze of ecstasy.

Our devils fry under the lens,



                  And eventually castrated.

Poison and more poison.

      Poison fumes and poison vapours.

            Poisoned people poisoning people.

                  This the wart on the finger.

Bio & Afterword from Reverend Nemu

 Poetry is one of the languages to describe something just on the edge of understanding. Along with the language of maths and mysticism, it is syntax for spaces we haven’t fully explored, and for ideas we don’t have a vocabulary for yet.

Personally, I would probably be screaming about the apocalypse on street corners if it wasn’t for the internet. “Apocalypse” literally means “lifting of the veil.” It is where the veiled is revealed, how the unconscious becomes conscious, and how discoveries hiding in the shadows have their covers dissed. An individual apocalypse happens when a brain pushes through its normal restraints into non-verbal consciousness. It can be a eureka moment in science or an inspired poetry session, trying to catch shards of infinity in your notepad. These individual apocalypses add up and reach critical mass periodically in history.

I first became interested in the apocalypse fifteen years ago whilst baiting Jehovah’s Witnesses on my doorstep, and my fascination grew into a book called Nemu’s End: History, Psychology, and Poetry of the Apocalypse, which is all about this process.

I am available for weddings, funerals, fiery sermonising and mash-up grave dancing drunk on doom and discord.

You can read my book and my blog here:




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