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that's how you came,
and that's how you'll be
paint on a canvas
wild, in front of me

mind clashing and
dancing, feelings
from up above, or
from the deepest dark
gutters of endless belows

you are something else
and I'm nothing of the sort
you'll have me in shackles
and bandages in short

but a bruised up
toothless smile
will rest
for a while

on the drifting
Crawling for miles

protons smashing
mingling, mingling

in space made
in randomness
and darnkess's embrace

but there's no sense to
make of what's happening
to me

I could go on
for hours
and you still wouldn't see

these things come from
these things soon to be

from dimensions
from foreign clearings

a fraction
of seconds
For fractured

suspended in
in existing randomness

we can't control
how we came to be

but it's your choice to

it's up to you to hear me
trains and trains and trains of thought
Come in, come in my friends,
Let us talk of gods and men.
But I must warn:
I ride the dragon Confucius cannot tame.
We soar on winds the Buddha cannot calm.
I frolic free on Jesus’ throne;
Secured in stone of my Olympus home,
Whose whence and why I can not know.

So come in, come in my friends
Let us talk of gods and men.*
If you come to teach and learn,
Come in, come in.
Let us share our common yearn.

Else go away so as not to waste my time with God.

                                                           ­             August, 2011
August 2011, written for a couple of finely dressed, very polite Mormon boys on their mission who invited themselves into my home. About five minutes after I welcomed them and handed them a copy this little ditty, they scooted out with tails between their legs. I am sure they correctly soon realized I was a hopeless case and not worth wasting their evangelical time on, as there are much more receptive souls out there that would better appreciate the new words of Jesus they offer. Plus, as I am sure they were warned, people like us might just be the devil himself or herself. So I think they were right to skedaddle out of here for their own protection. For all I know, I could be the devil, citing Buddha for God's sake.
As above, so it is below
Do you feel the vibrations?
Now, what is it that you know?
Is this your truth, obscured by sacred words
Spoken from the mouths of unwashed Beasts
Dressed up, disguised
As Monks, Poets, and Priests?

It's all very simple
Orderly and neat
The Universe is a closed system
You must look within
If it is Truth that you seek
You have always been
Therefore, you will always be
#thermodynamics #mandelbrot
 Oct 2014 Christian Reid
Vivid cultures dancing
like jellybeans in a frying pan.
Pop like a violin
flow with the rhythm of the sandstorm.
Spinach leaves sway in the depths of the ocean
like worms
hooked through one of its many stomachs
filled with plastic bottles.
****** honey bombs flavour
the ink that spills across
the landscapes.
The faithful worker bees
Had paused for a moment to drink and reflect
-And from here slipped into slumber deep.
We climbed in eagerly,
Soaking exhausted bones,
Frozen feet burning with warmth's sweet kiss
Tiny bodies swirling around us
Wings, fur, curled up feet.
They had paused too long,
Perhaps drunk on nectar,
They had slipped.
Or perhaps,
Restless with the hive mind
They claimed their only escape.
To float in the infinite
To spiral in ripples of unknown
To curl up, small, lifeless
And be gently, lovingly lifted up
In angels' hands
Caught ever so softly
Our sorrow arisen
And for a moment
Of our own mortality reminded
- then they were flung away
to decompose elsewhere.
Somewhere more convenient.
"Let's make a bee grave"
We mused, wishing to be respectful.
As eulogy we talked of hive minds and sacrifice
Of the selfless, tireless work of the bee.

*Thank you,
For the honey
For this cup
Of tea.

— The End —