2 juveniles 1 adult
A mini van, sliding doors;
Intoxicated by the alcohol
Driven by the adrenaline
Eyes glued to the windows,
Looking for an enemy:
One of them smiling
Describing violently how he's going to put an end to them;
Driver trying to calm them down
One last time we drive around
If you see them
start Hopping out
Light turns green
Heads turned right
Car brakes screech
Car door slides
One cocks back
And That's the end of that
We are all sycophantic suitors of death
Chasing that wasting rot and decay
In a roundabout sick sort of way
Suckling the toxic tit of excitement
Rushes and blushes demure and debasement
Faster and faster till haste becomes more than mere waste
Diligent drug users sucking up smoke laced with nicotine
Embracing and tasting various brands of caffeine
Red meat and carbs pretty woman and fast cars
Working to damn much and playing twice as hard
Climbing mountains, hunting new types of prey
Starting fights riding wild and rough waves
Too much sun or not enough UV rays
Waking up early and going to bed late
Silence and stillness is not the enemy of the state
But we are all just chasing the only thing that could be called fate
We all die to damn young but I’d like to check out late
there are so many questions to be asked.
theories of the universe
flames of passion consume the artist
enrage the curious
tickle the delirious
the hill in my throat
sinks into valleys
with mustard grass that flows
prairie currents rippling through the peace
swooning deep and wide into the canyons
a diamond has many cuts and edges
facets cannot possibly describe you
how do I help a man,
drowning in superficiality?
would not I rather
let the ocean lick him
the fires prick him
the truth consume him
a rather passive existence
its all generic, like tissue paper
and my hope an eagle
perched on the branch of the universe
its all spontaneous.
When you're right you are the majority of one. ~ Ralph W ..Emerson
Fascinated with the irrational non violent part of the world.
They swore on the mossy jade gray grave of their ancestors to always vote non rational. To avoid violets in unpleasant dying shades. That tuesday they even invented a cunning slogan: "When roses are in bloom, my spaceship goes ka-boom!"
This took them to many places. Abroad. Skydiving. Honolulu wave floating flowery delights. Many smoothies. Gems. Glitter. Noblesse novelty. Swift pleasurable trips to Jupiter and its moons. To collect the magic dust for eternal youth. To chat with those old chaps on Uranus about the trendy hierarchy among celestial bodies over a pint of that fabulous interstellar foamy cream dream.
In the fancy Jupiter Eye area they were really excited to met Wonderful azure and pink divas of undisputable deep wisdom; who claimed that Any Reasonable Questions of any value worth discussing are Futuristic in their Super coordial nature.
Super imposed hyper realities were the topic of most relevance ... when suddenly ... out of the thin dark matter superliciously slick space craft materialized on one of Saturn's rings and started broadcasting 5th- 125th -Dimensional heavenly divine music. It was the Supreme Healing Antheme - "The infinity healing song" directly transmitted from the galactic center of the Divine Milky Way in coproduction with Glittery Andromeda. The galactic radio stuff were happily taking a brake from the usual hectic program and was having a relaxed time telling half completed stories around the campus fires.
First tale was about a very personal journey through mists, fortunes and unfortunes laid through disappointments which can be called awakenings. Magical and mystical experiences were attainable only to the initiated ones. So the ears listening were fewer than a handful of sands laying around unknowingly innocent on Costa Rica sandy beaches.
We have never heard the sequel part of this amazing tale fulfilled with beauty, advantures and dangerous minds exploring the new frontiers ... we were lulled to oblivion sleep with cosmic chimes ... so we never caught the immense importance of ... something about they wanted to reduce.
Since they forged and burnt down the ingenious plan for the energy resources equally shared between galactic citizens, science is totally helpless. Flailing. The paradigm of evidence is choking on its basic premises of hyperproduction. Unproductive ideas were flawed with the lack of control over objective realities. For overcoming this terrible dis-ease, modern tribes used neurolinguistical experimental dance upon electrified wires which was exactly the Shamans Argument for succesful leading lives within the realm of the virtual comunion.
Cohesion, strenght, disperesed centralised focus and liberty ideals of such bondings were overflowing and beyond total supervision of the contemporary android policies. Refined logic and politeness were opposing discs on the shelf of reciprocity law of cosmic karma. So ... many beings were starting to glow with inner beauty emanating telepathic messages of love sharing and respecting other living beings lifes and their prosperity, blissfully healed with Heavenly Divine Infinite Song.
It was wild, bio versatile ecstatic dance bursting with fresh ideas and translucent emotions. Beings were constantly in love, falling in love and ascending towards Unifieing Field of Love. Reinpowering the realm of Imagination. Manifesting goodness. Various styles of love, art, ecology and anarchy were brothers and sisters in arms. This was regularly happening on '''´The Brightest Planet of Living Mysteries. Self exploration for a human: A conscious one-harmony voice living in pleasant bounty with all other consciousnesses was the new moral maxim. They'd do also Everything for the Happy ~go forward into the light thing!
Ease your way into the day.
Being Mindful is the way they say.
Focus on Now, we don’t have long.
Meditate or sing a song.
For ten long years it’s been pipe and slippers (without the pipe),
And Ages have passed since we were nippers.
Slowly we all fade away,
For time cannot be held at bay.
I wonder what it’s all about,
There has to be another way out.
We die like flowers according to science,
There is no alternative to our compliance.
We may or may not be ruled by God,
But so long as I live I don’t give a sod.
Easy days and a set routine.
Do my best to keep my house clean.
Nice pub lunches four days per week,
A peaceful living is all I seek.
You may say I’m set in my ways,
But I’m contented in my twilight days.
✨ it's time for renovation; it's time for us to make a change.
• friendships are work, honour the flowers that have decorated your path and don't be reclusive.
• however, being alone is simultaneously essential: carve out pockets of unabashed loneliness, yearning, and self-reflexive intimacy.
• write with less mythological standards. your favourite authors wrote drafts, pages and pages of nothing. no one emerges like a phoenix.
• persistence and self conviction are how revolutionary girls go public, spaces of uncertainty and lapses of effort are how revolutionary girls become real & effective. do both.
• use the good silver every day because every day is all there is.
• maintain your own standards of success and never trust rich people/the police/men in authority.
• do not imagine that revolutionary ideals make you above the hu$tle: money is dirty but imagining leftism will absolve you from labour is even dirtier.
• don't stay in your lane and play by the SJW's rules. it is better to actively engage in discourse and say the wrong thing than not say anything at all. the paranoid ego will destroy activism.
• live in the impure spaces, grip hold to contradiction, language is always performative and alienated, no one "means" what they "say".
• feel the fear and do it anyway; do it wrong; do it with rigor & recklessness.
• you will never be bored because you will always have books to read. • the past never leaves: there is no time in the unconscious: everything that has ever happened is always still happening, and so don't judge yourself for still being in pain about things that happened a long time ago: "a long time ago" doesn't really mean shit.
• never apologize for crying; never apologize for not wanting to have sex.
• remember girls own the impossible, the void, the image, and when this system falls apart, we rise. we rise anyway.
I saw you lying prostrate in your bed of bones and crumbs
the white sheets were stretched to reveal your garbage heap,
your nest a collage of street trash
you hoard yarn and plastic dolls with missing eyes
combing your hair with toothpicks and cleaning your teeth with vinegar
You blew the layers of dust that settled on your window sill
And your prickly legs laid tangled against your cool walls that had been painted over too many times
The paint would chip off into peachy piles
The original wall, an ancient artifact, poking through for air
You smash the little bodies of spiders under your thumb
smearing their entrails against the glass
studying the life you’d just taken against the rays of the sun
And I watch as you tear off your fingernails, their jagged edges scratching down my back
I try to fall asleep to your hums and shallow breathing
drowning in your little commune for the lost and forgotten
the relics of the city
Your little kingdom of pots and pans, of skeletons and guts
and red-rimmed eyes
I wrap my arms around your sticky skin, it’s greenish hue playing tricks under the light of the moon
I’m merely swimming off your coast, marooned on your island
watching you from afar, among your treasures
A problem I have
I’ll gladly admit,
Yet, the question of stopping
I'll never commit.
Some people want wealth,
Some people want love;
My concept of happiness
Hides in the drugs.