If you judge me by the masks I wear,
you will be guilty of duplicity,
for the masks you judge me with
mask the masks you judge.
We are all hidden, as brood in fright,
standing on empty air, on an illusionary light
that swathes our pointless being,
we create layers and sub-layers
of unawareness and awareness,
that essentially add no factual insight
onto our self or being.
We are fools, fooling ourselves
and other fools, in an uninterrupted
movement we’ve called life.

Cease all judging and the masks collapse -
all foolishness is disrupted,
leaving nor awareness or unawareness,
just simple facts and being.
Live a physical life, through your valid senses.
Live a simple life, through your valid senses.
Live your life, and just your life, through your valid senses.
Be you, simply you, no more, no less than you,
and all will be made plain and be alright.

War is not the revolution.
Justice, equality, respect for self
and for everything that’s alive,
human dignity, compassion,
a balanced, healthy life,
and love, true love.
That’s the revolution.

this is your life
grab it with both hands
feed it with all you have.
don’t let it be dragged through the mud
nor numbed by glut and waves of others.
this is your life
filled with fears and pains and defeats.
still you smile and work and make love.
keep on walking.
wear your scars with honor.
there is always happiness ahead.
there is a tomorrow and other dreams.
this is your life.
have faith in yourself.
you are great.
more than great.
with the slightest sway of your heart
you can slay all your demons
and rise.

There’s something about hotel rooms
that just taste better
Their silent is more silent
You’re stacked and lined-up
and you still feel so out of the way
Have you ever made love in a hotel room?
Soundless, pricey mini-bars as foreplay
First light through those gauzy drapes
that don’t belong to you
******* on those crisp white sheets
that don’t belong to you
Room service forever waiting
on the tip of your fingers
through those granite goes dark Teledex phones

And the water-flow is just the thing
I guess they add something to the water
or it’s the way they boil it
there’s something unusual about it
that perfectly matches our skin
And when the ***** leaves
there's just no guilt
You won’t ever call her again
but there’s just no guilt
You know you were great
she’s downright pleased
and you feel on top of the world

We live in a world of noise,
of parallel and asymmetric movement,
where nonchalance has become the norm.
Sweet, melodious and pleasing
is our phony makeup.
We are animals that reject our animalness.

We dread nuclear, secular, red lights, cockroaches, love,
threats and non-threats alike.
Fear has taken us on its morning stroll,
and predictably we bark.
(The sun is almost up)  

We are turned on and turned off
by oil-, wind- and hydro-powered switches
that respond to clapping.
There are beige, mauve and burgundy
curtains to choose from,
and supersized french-fries, pots, and cars.
We have lost ourselves in a mess of options,
and strive incessantly to complicate.

We fly in formation
and flow through carefully placed
and beautifully colored rocks made from Styrofoam,
down an improbable *****
of over-romanticized hypotheses.
We are *******, ego-centric and nepotistic,
and asexually multiply.

Thought and all other wasted rationality
keeps the axes of our unsustainable and fanatical wheels
from breaking loose (into free space and true autonomy).
We create meaning where there is no meaning,
and scientifically and thoroughly flout
god and the truth,
whilst we absorb, photosynthesize, bear fruits and grow leaves
(we are still, essentially, vegetable).

With every step we go deeper, and faster and better,
and farther from our selves.
Hence, we barely feel.
We are deaf and blind and mute
and approximately frozen;
and dance, swirl, sing and scream
in our vague, whimsical life,
till we fall.

Our star, of feathered life, slept,
ever since ever, in wired, caged,
silvered walls.

On this epic day, first light still
pending, his beak still dry, his first
peek met – providentially to him,
alas to others – a door, wide open.

I can fly, I will be free! Of all
thoughts thought, none more
blessed.

Yet, fear, mounting, doubt,
insurmountable, without delay,
consumed his tender heart. Food, to
where, from where, and why?
Doubt is the killer of all dreams.

Yet, in this dawn of dawns, our
brittle hero, reasons unknown,
perhaps folly, perhaps not, beat and
beat, in frantic thrill, and flew away.

I decree, the secret of freedom is
courage.

The merchant is dead!
He is no more.
He’s dead.

But once, in time,
He was a young boy,
Guffawing on
Tethered rope swings.
Loved and loving,
Shy and silly.
His needs had not yet
Started to consume him.

He was a young lad,
A brash, hard-working lad,
At times, even flippant,
Yet passionate and caring,
When he met our fair Melissa.
His heart was instantly hers!
He adored her, nonetheless
Her heart was not free.
At such a tender age
He traded all for love,
For unrequited love, and
That was his falling.

He was a good husband, later,
When he married, another.
Fair and caring,
Plain and true.
He raised his children to
love and be loved, and
Worked till his body
Allowed him to.

He grew old,
As all and sundry seem to do.
All wrinkly and turned,
He had lived a straight life,
And had set his self free.
Yet, on his death bed,
As he closed his eyes
For the last time,
One breath to breathe,
He yearned for Melissa,
And smiling, died.

The merchant is dead!
He lived a life,
And died happily.