We sort of drift on many layered waves moving in opposing directions leaving in the middle occasionally.. get in these grooves that aren’t pleasant, kind of burnish, or temperamental.

I regularly, when looking for a reason, find nothing but a question bouncing around itself. No expansion in a tin cup.

Love is a sickness and I may be clinical
Even without a point of reflection
Extending further, further still
The echo breaks my feelings into shards of glass
Frightening me dearly, the sharpness nauseating
Paling energy and it’d be refreshing to cry
             But weakness shames in this alleyway of
              fiends
And my friends are angels, I cannot grasp
     Glimmering pasts and greeted headings
  These corporate meanderings prescribed
                                         surely is no cure
Because these cruelties extend to all possibilities
   And uglies the flower, the exquisite of being
   Why you leave.. The little self leads
             Endless mirrors pushing you back

Those who thought it best to
swallow the traces of their roots and
float above so called ‘primitive’ gestures
found that the growth of those fibrous
nerves didn’t end in the guts of their
devourers. Soon enough they would reveal themselves once again as a reminder
and a revealer of what truly is.

We’re all standing in line
                            at the creature harvest
And I guess.
                          This is the best crop.
To digest..this process

Residual slime trails amongst
endless concrete plains
An excretion from yr mucus membrane
What an odd mechanic be your(yr) existence
Catching rays which may also be yr doom
And the shines glimmer on the dews
Shiny tip-tops: behold the grass towers
A city of stars along the lawns
Fowl performing melodies
Searching for a tempo, breaks the beat
Because it’s intrinsically
there, within, everywhere

..What was meant was never said and what is satiable isn’t fed upon. Long to be that faun in a misty meadow, lounging at dawn on the grass, gazing upon the peaks of eternity. What are we learning and what’s with the misuse? We tenderly abuse that which we dwell on. Claiming it a love letter, when a Better view reveals(in a peeling manner) that these are just clingings of a scrotal piercing fashion. Latching to these attachments as sacraments of dependability, nullifies valued spectacality. The pureness to the core of reality and the mess is a beautifully delicious birthday cake which never ends

Cats crawling in miserable contempt for the formulas placed upon the plate of their valves. Strongly resisting cryptic soundboards, longing for songs of the origin tunings. Sometimes is the mask of a soothing sort never forming to resolve to cure. Misplaced purity soars in all directions but can’t be detected with these clumsy instruments..

I hope one day our echos
can become new enterprises
and maybe I can be less self absorbed
Respond casual
Laze a bit, play with symptoms
Crawl around and sift through yr sand.

Instead of watching the ducks mistake my falling tobacco for a bite to eat

The heart of people
   It’s not an ideal
  No single concept can encompass it
  Reflecting patterns
   Yet defying yr notion of a set rhythm
    Lifting spirits, shattering planets
It will destroy yr life
         -How it’s perceived at least
      Our perceive, can’t be made to believe
         In fully
              Or bully serendipity
Flashing clips to form into structure
       Basic survivals
         Adverse to that can be Her Glory
           Nature
     Because the strive can equate to
          Be alive, not think it

Existence does not withhold It’s Will for ‘supposed to‘s.

I am a beast
                         A child of darkness
I exist in multiple realities
    
        It cannot be helped

in a sense we're just a present tense expulsion
Refuting the rhythms, playing escapism
     Thr'out's weaving flawless textures
       Mapping exact, luminous essence of gold

Purity reign,
                        process.
                         ­           symbol.
                                              ­inferred.

--So it's like, no matter whom or what, we happen upon is a reference and different aspect of yrself, having its own experience. Trying to figure out certain levels of understanding, depending on their function of balance.

                  That's a mighty sweater
                    to be displaying on that pop-up ad.
              And it's a ****** shame, somethings
                      even have to be mentioned

She storms and putridates
    
       Before the construction of the idea of the formation of the idea of material thought

  I get weak in the attempt to imagine

Sensations can be such a funny happening
              Extractions expelling
          Sorting and blend with memory
       Distorting to mythological understandings
    In a very broad way

  It was as if he was me
From a time not of this forming
   But theoretically so is everything else
And negation as well, needless to say
Playing around with the scriptures
              Trash piles up
  But it seems cultured enough
       And love it, let you be each-
    We’re all alive
       Crawling around eachother
             Just splendid.

When does, it but,
                when do happen
and what’s the formal order
I seem to forget frequently
about which Pork comes before which.

              I can’t seem to get this set, I guess

Upon a smooth, wooden ship
    Crossing many sorteds,
Playing with air flows and spectres of Fates’
             We linger, in a withheld suspense

    In rebellion of our empathy
Idolize tyrants for their fruiting audacities
       Comical dialogues
                       form heart soothing canon

     Squalls and all that other sea-legged rhetoric
             To be that proper link in a sense
Cheers to that me boi..

But will that be the better
           For the seeping synchronicities
     Swinging their hips

This rusty mesh wires gate
    Spreading into other focuses
Dreaming of subtle symbols
Excreting lovely notions
      Kind of float in my own stumble
  Exciting to see what’s next
I get scared and retreat sometimes
  But we all need sanctuary
                            from self image sometimes
       So what will this  stroll come to?
  And mostly it’s sorted ideas,
Fleeting fantasies,
              A whole lot of trying to think or do
Or something
   Forgetting is part of this process too
But I’ll stop to capture the moment
             The way the sun melted into
    Kind of fruity textures contemplating
        Lonely, but pure

The self-pitying poor me’s
That restless selfish agenda
Spreader spoiled butter
                              on a fine piece of toast
The boastful explanation
                            on a beautiful landscape
It needs no explaining
And interpretations are
subjective speculations only
Nothing of a permanent fixture
As is with a and the cycle proceeds
My feeding seems undone and useless
Fits feel necessary but I don’t have the space
And never will because
Excuses are easy to come by
What’s the point anyway?
The anointing paradoxes
all lead to the same Sufferings
Opening my arms to embrace it
But nearly everytime
The struggle’s met with more of the same
The fight in a boxful of mirrors
All showing those beautiful flaws
Of which I’d rather frown at,
                      than spring a chuckle
And I am a cuckold in all this
Because I grasp the branch
                  while being pulled in a current
Instead of letting the river release me

Fabrics weaved together
Tightly to form the ropes of time
Landscapes of memory
Holding accustomed affinities, signed
Snorting doubts to infinity’s reign
Who can I blame when I’m the only one
Cursing the numb for I yearn to feel the pain
Sensational pleasure. discomfort’s earning
All is forever
This is forever
Is now a never?

All that I believe is a cease
To be. I’m wrong and roam away
Freeing, in shambles, preambles of stay
Stagnant condition a rabid position

The Shaktic Yonied con-i-cative chronicle
Receptive magical majesty
Why do I insist to refuse the image
Which given to all for a being
I must, I must. but lust for sustenance
Greed gleamed gem, imaginative benefits
Illustrious acceptances held in receptacles
Analogous referrals for smarmy mastication
She: What a Be. The present of this presence
Shaking her out, letting go of these pretense
And obligative fashions
Of latching ons, to momentary ideals
Peeling them down, because permanence is the illusion

The banana tastes better without the Denial
Whittling woodwork
The sawdust agrees
We push, we push forth.. Hesitant to be forceful
Yet sometimes that's the force in it's own manifestation
When's the plan the being, and the being the plan?
Over exhausting contemplative complications
Isn't just a bean plant To eat the seed
And relish in her nourishment
But that want can be that active fault-line
Tectonically rupturing this productive structure
Impatience of the anticipating ambition
Crumbling foundation of her imaged experience

Perception is the adversary of all this malarkey
Projecting the doubt filter on how perceiving this reality
Realization of creation, the constant remembrance to strive
What's the precidence and where's my mind to?

Blind me!   Blind Me!

To forget the exhaustive duty

        Her beauty is so suiting
    Long to fruit.

To be swooned so soothingly

Pachydermal memories, sticky adhesions
Loosening the reigns of thoughtful ride
Outsourced skills seeping the membranes
In an amniotic suspension
The quest lays in retaining
Not to drain, yet keep momentum
As a leak at the bottom of the ocean
The strain refills
Full-filling circulation



The gentleman swims in the crowd
           Of his metropolitan pathways
              Imbibing, desirous affections
             Afflicting self response modes
           I shall surely like to be there
         But the train ceases to brake

Or abide. The subway scatters island thoughts
Motioning exward, refusal to mesh

          Though in mirth we blend
  Against the parent in congress with the goal
        Aligned with their strife
     He watch, the office traffic’s
  Yellow bleeding before all signal
Yet pushes forward pileups
His symptoms pertain; uneasy persisting exquisite

Ponder this well to understand more clearly

       that what we have as life

                is many-hued reflections

Am I a linger or a triggered scope?
Scored abundance of lust expanse



Sort of layered in a pictorial proxy
The substrate, mixed and sustaining.
Plain ‘scapes: the focal pointed sources.

Like a collapsing tool
who’s pieces are smaller tools
Making other tools, made of smaller ones
        Spiraling out ad infinum
Spreading out past their nonexistant boundaries
until there becomes a faint orange glow..
                                                          ­      All over.
          And over again.
Until it’s gathered to assignment all presence
Then it turns into a tool of tools, over defined and sparingly malignant.
          Over turning on itself and holding grudges
Striking insets of childish nature
While springs and leaves hold their settings
Meta morphosis exhausting possibilities in a lovely fashion
          Crisp dews and inner faerie gather
A collection of fierce love helping itself to every serving with little consequence

Don’t listen
And not to be contrary
But so that you can really hear
Because when we focus on listening
Drastic distortion
Valour’s whip
The strain confounds aurally
Open up to the forms
Waving in and out
Learn to be and you’ll see , hear , all that
Crisp and tender
In the lower jaw, throatish area
Kind of lysergic, if y’ve been there
But really,
                     really learn to listen
      
          Get blown away

Pressure pulled assorted mountains
and it feels like ever never really is
Beside faintly glancing
angles of indefinite presences,
laughing and holding false vigils
for meaning less gods and angels.

The narrow passageway that I define as a soul could be a single cellular unit in a larger -cosm of ‘I’ness.

         Or maybe I’m unknowingly the macro,
Forgetting the idea of creation, abandoning to sordid garbage, rolling in my own demise.

Sludgeballs build up
                       on the edge of a concrete pond..

While artificial intelligences beg for our distractions and I look so as not to neglect.
Speculate on the absolute purified version of that spectacly dynamic experience called love
Pale heroes dance in the shadow of the real
Feelings slowly become a concept,
ceasing to be a process
  
Lowly porridge injected with the image of vitals boiling onto the fire
       That’s what I get for making breakfast at night

Everything feels like rain sometimes
Just melting in, life adapting to the moist
Making the planet wonder, itchy
The metal rusts on an old chair
Mineral deposits forming daggers
That poke into the skin, wounded
Pressing lightly to create chills

A Cuckoo lands on the head of the corroded seat
A kin in the parasitic genre;
While the sparrow feeds its young, imagine
Lightly tapping the corrugated root
Myriads rejoice while others shudder
Change sprawls from ponds
Dessert bears no fruit that doesn’t pierce
Organic walls are weary
         and give off warnings


Shifting over and the light glimpses
Spells of lanterns holding
          knowledge in practiced perfection
Loving softness in the gentle coverage
And you have the courage to step out
          But I hear it’s going to rain tomorrow

And you hope it doesn’t
     hinder yr spirit in the matter,
for a trek in the damp
      can prove quite rewarding
            critters step out,
                   breathe in the ozone

I’d like to find a better tomorrow
In the forever, Now
Experience makes me shudder
Just to take the catastrophe like the victories

Because I felt romantic
I wept and swooned
Wallowing in thought puddles
Casting spells of enchantments
With little effort endured
Going too flaky within a whim

Sometimes in the middle of a dragonfly
   The bunnies know it daily
We exceed its ‘proper’ function
Hoping faintly for a lift
Sifting through the broken pictures
     Chewing morsels indignantly
Living for the ‘how ya doin’?”’s
Caressing notions, moments folding
   Lift me tender, lift me grasping
Give me love of once I was told
Crispy Autumns and the baggage swirls around
And around the corner_

There in the apple eyed store-shops
She passed just ever lightly
Words are symbols, lying ever
Telling nothings, imagery
      To behold is another crossing
Of ever momentouses and cross-haired intricates

Livening, battering, shocking, scolding
      Letting it stick and allowing to go
Go, go. Go through and ask for a bother
               She will do as It Wills.

Blood stains dye the carpet in
memory of popped bedbugs
The urge to scratch
lays beyond the vermin
No matter where it’s directed
it’s just out of reach
Some far off recess,
swinging on the monkey bars

       Mocking me

There we go, fell for it once again
Because holograms are so convincing
And I’m a pretense to the predicament
by being a participant
Licking candied sticks that inflame the ailings
The moans are a call to duty
Yet I’m unsure of what to administer
And the guinea pig phase is still in effect
So I should stop buying space on billboards
Until the ethicalities get stituated

I can eat all the moments,
in a moment
       as we’re slipping down the whole
Catch me in the action faulting,
  always wanting
skipping forward in revolt
     Reverse,
expecting always cautious,
           flowing nonsense instead always mixing with the tide.

Business stains and I’m partially a napkin.
Or is it?. Can’t decide either way.
The moment aren’t too for it anyhow.
The mountain drive is so alive with soggy
Nights of living in a pent up tent.

We reached it on a back road,
      I’d hardly call it bushwhacking
Slave drivers move in and you find
       out it was yr personality
all along

The beach were *****
        Crawling, sinking, lifting foes, the victor.
Speaking of subspecies and kin. As professor has.
         Spells of nausea in the back party
        Sorting through the masters
          Seeing whom is served most devotionally
Bhakti, la-la, la la la!
              Present moment I am all..
I am all
I am all, I am all

Lifting fingers place a spell
And webs form out like destiny
Water serving through the flames
Emboldening, triumphantly exploring understanding.

Lifting fingers, for an empty shelter
‘It was crazy what was said through me, it almost sounded..but it wasn’t.’
And then we  cross it, move things
around a bit, losing yr place
Slightly, cautioning; to feel through the mess

Plenty are, and simply so that I short circuit, Everytime

Severity and Mercy are contingents
We barely see the correlations but alas it's there
When I was a child I'd take naps during the day
As I dozed I'd get this feeling of absolute softness
Enveloped entirely in a rock-like substance
I tried so hard to come to an understanding
To figure out what it was
It was my secret feeling, a mystery
Now and then the experience floods me still
Like concrete sponge, oozing, yet, unbearably firm.

Perhaps it's something like that
Perhaps it's the ethereal non material substances forming into thoughts, ideas, actual manifest solidity
The essence of Binah trickling in through the astral
Formating, correlating, confusing
These aspects are tricky and I'm always in danger of forming fact from a theory, idea, notion..

Blessed be the weary for we may just get some rest.

Credited miscreants palpitating my algae
Horror box syphoning on another lost child
Meander ponders to the local guard core
And another soda loses its cool.

Yet again, and its thoughtless intonations
Pressing down on a symbol with no acuteness
We’ll make a present to the lost and wish upon a black hole tumbler
To be dead before you recognize
Is that what’s going on, Sam?