panama-rose
American
I have a very uncontrolled and anxious spirit, taking the route which nourishes me with the desire for adventure. / / I have studied and experienced the separation of the very minds we encounter within ourselves. The ego, the *ID* and the superego. Coming out of an experience after experiencing a lone mind, it has shattered my view of reality entirely. We are so open to interpretation, and so is this life. Your life, my life. Life in general. What a beautiful mystery we are a part of. What an experiment we have been blessed to gain from. / / My goal in life? To live now, to think now, for myself. As Leary has said, "question authority". We should always question authority. Including the authorities that control our mind. The authorities within. / / You are beautiful.
Free love is unaccomplished by humanity
dismal
strangers to the union of everything in its completion
capable of congratulating eachother for our beauty
our success of being alive
giving the inspiration to make ourselves thrive
survive
we crave the eyes, the arms of a cleansed spirit
to grasp us tightly
studying our similarities
there are so ******* many of us
dying to hug one another
sensing eachothers sadness
drinking our soul away due to the madness
of it all
it all
the world and its biggest mistakes
taking away the ultimate freedoms
replacing them with work
hard earned money
selfishness
ignorance
replacing the freedom with lies
and we know we are being manipulated
but we do not do a ******* thing about it
I always wonder why this is
Fear
let it be clear to us all
that we are being treated unfairly
as if we are dirt
being brushed away from the shoes
of the ones who keep us shackled
the ones who are unblemished
consoled by ultimate security
let us know one another
let us feel eachothers minds
let us express our love
let us disregard our hate
let us be free
let us be ******* free
we are beautiful
we are equal
only nature owns us
only nature loves us
the authorities have rabies
that are destroying their logic
we are rising with intelligence and awareness of this
I only wish to comfort those who feel they are alone
I am here to protect the sacredness of unity
we are not alone
we are not alone
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
Be wary of the
paradoxical, neglected sentience among the departed minds
Seek the route which makes accessible...an absolute truth
oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, calcium, nitrogen, phosphorus
The composition of life
The creation of awareness, drifting from your nature
live irresponsibly, expose the fear to danger
it will devour the inessential anxiousness
and set yourself free
release from obligation,
release from routine duties
the masquerade of conditioning
no longer possessing you
bare spirit,
confront yourself
See the illusion, its deception
of your perception
remove the veil and feel
intensified anguish of the acknowledgment
of authorities dominance
to invent and forge manufactured minds
to divide us, impregnate the beauty
with depraved psychosis
then label it with sanity
taint them with vanity
to take the present moment
as an opportunity to breathe
here and now, everlasting liberation
reality, what is sincere?
What is truth?
It’s an option you determine
sight, holy sight
creating this world, this dread
this opportunity to break loose
undress and **** the reality in camouflage
reborn through a perceptual experience
the wilderness is within
the blinking 4th dimension
will soon carry us away
to an enigmatic change in sensory perception
the ego, self importance, it will pass away
is there a choice, a selection of setting?
When you zoom out of earth
examine closely the size of this
universe, we are microscopic babies
from the womb of infinite mystery
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Let’s take a silver train underground
to the back streets of Atlantis
thru the corrugated iron roots &
then to the peak itself, to the
saddle of the last ridge past strewn
boulders,
finally meandering thru cascading snow
wearing miner’s hats on the perpendicular
dark night &
going up to the edge of the Southern Cross
where we reach at last the pure white
glistening glaciers &
begin to chant over bones in rags
of Scorpio
Armless in the sticky substance how could
they ever have had a chance?
Permission will not be required
only poems of blood offered to
the memory of TREE
It is not ice which is eternal
but the fury of the absolute
separating the void from the spirit
of man,
uplifting like life when it is used
against itself,
that is, Radical Love -- & again, we
are reduced to living beings
Caught by the instant
we are taken away
We live in the imprint of the flame
& we are helmeted within the internal
blackness
where the ray begins its passage
across the indignant sky
Vain clouds uncaring in a tangle of
crossbeams
culminate in the hermaphroditic mirror
of the epileptic dancer
asleep
And during sleep
the light is joined
to the light
It is all a matter of getting up
and then to abandon the pain
It is there that the journey beings
in the self generated flame of
Spontaneous Combustion
(Swayambhunath)
The main line running counter
to the triangle comprising the
MAELSTROM, the DOLDROMS & the
SARGASSO SEA where sleeping Atlanteans
dream forever,
this line, this battlefield of the ages,
crosses the divide of my most wandering
backdoor heart.
We will all have to go
if we want to reappear
in the rhythm of the ritual
It’s the wheel of fools spinning
over my bed
If I put my left foot first
they will find a way to call me
by that name
tracking tremors
like glyphs
on drunken walls
in the negative palace
just before taking eave
of my senses
the white powder dissolves
in the sunlight
& making noise like a peacock
he hops on one foot up the mountain.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
My heart feels like an uncut diamond
Though it is still the same, it is not the same
Someone speaks of a bridge to be built from Tangier
to Algeciras or is it Gibraltar?
"Yes & then a highway to the stars or more likely
an elevator to the Underworld," says Yellow Turban
To White Jellaba as the exhaust fumes from the bus
engulf them, leaving behind not even a single
shadow.
Is that Mel Clay in a white jacket turning the corner?
No, it is a figment of my imagination escaped from the
asylum.
Is that Ian Sommerville walking backwards up the street
as if pulled by a giant magnet?
No, that is Wm. Burroughs making electricity
from dead cats.
Is that Tatiana glistening on Maxiton?
No, that is the sun dancing in the sugar bowl.
Is that Marc Schelfer wavering on the cliffedge?
No, it is a promontory in the wind of time
about to fall in the sea.
Is that Beethoven's 9th Symphony being played
up the street?
No, it is the sound of the breadwagons
rumbling over cobblestones
Is that George Andrews with two girls in hand
looking for bread?
No, it is an unidentified flying object about to land.
Is that One-eyed Mose hanging by his heels?
No, that is the hanged man inventing the Taro.
Are the dead really so fascinated by **********
Yes, that is how they travel.
Is that Irving in short pants looking for trouble?
No, that's me unable to stop thinking.
Is that Kenneth Halliwell looking for Joe Orton?
Is that Jane Bowles looking for Sherifa, Rosalind looking
for her baby, Alfred searching for his lost hair?
Is that the wig of it all, the patched robe of my brain,
the wind talking to itself?
Brion is dead and Yacoubi is dead, and I am a not unhappy
ghost remembering everything, the warp & woof of memories,
her yellow slip, her shaved **** her idiot child.
Dream shuttle makes me exist everywhere at once.
The blind beggars led by children keep coming.
"They all have many houses in the Casbah,"
chant the unbelievers ******* on sugar.
Words keep coming back like Bezezel for **** Lictcheen
for oranges, like Mina, like Fatima, like Driss Berrada
dropping his trousers for an injection in the middle
of his shop.
The trunk is full of old sepia postcards,
barebreasted girls smoking hookahs etcetera.
We speak of the cataplana, the mist which obscures
even the cielo you cannot even see the hand in front
of your face.
We embrace, he says he thought of me only yesterday,
he says there are always nine such men who look like us
in the world and that we are the tenth.
We speak of the gold filets in the sky over Moulay Absalom.
The garbage men in rubber boots go thru the Socco pushing
wheeled drums of collected garbage.
An unveiled woman wobbles out of a taxi and heads home
before sunrise.
Paul couldn’t believe that was a Karma Street,
but I will never forget it.
And Billy Batman, who made the best hash in the world,
he dropped a loaded pistol in Kabul, shot himself in the *****
took some ****** and lay down to die.
Now I must get up from my table in the allnight Café Central.
No more Dr. Nadal, no more window with red crosses & red
crescents.
The water thrown from buckets runs across the café floors
& over the sidewalks & I drop a dirham into the hand
of a blind beggar singing in the dark on the American stairs
From Anais Nin’s A Spy in the House of Love—"The women wear fireflies in their hair, but the fireflies stop shining when they go to sleep so now and then the women had to rub the fire- flies to keep them awake."
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
Imagine Jean Cocteau in the lobby
holding a torch
Imagine a trained dog act,
a Rock and Roll Band
Imagine I am Curly of the Three Stooges
disguised as Wm Shakespeare
Imagine that I'm the cousin of the Mayor
of New York or the King of Nepal
(I didn't say Napoleon!)
Imagine what it is like to be in the glare
of hot lights when you are longing for dark
corners
Imagine the Ghost Patrol, the Tribal
Orchestra --
Imagine an elephant playing a harmonica
or someone weighing out bones on the edge
of the desert in Afghanistan
Imagine that these poems are recorded moments
of temporary sanity
Imagine that the clock was just turned back --
or forwards -- a hundred years instead of an hour
Let us pretend that we have no place to go,
that we are here in the Cosmic Hotel,
that our bags are packed & that we have one hour
to checkout time
Imagine whatever you will but know that it is not
imagination but experience which makes poetry,
and that behind every image,
behind every word there is something
I am trying to tell you,
something that really happened.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC