Just by looking at these words
I impress myself upon you

A cop-out?

Something imaginable to say
Something intelligible

We are one
Why would you try to deny
What you are?

Every time someone waves a flag
They don’t understand what they are actually of

And maybe that’s enough
Maybe that’s just enough

Could you love me for a day?
Could you play pretend?
Could you act as if our love will have no bitter end?

Could you love me for a day?
And then go away
never to see me again?

Could you love me for one day?
Like we're the only two
swimming through eternities blue?

Could you love me for a day?
And then when you awake
get dressed and forget my name?

Could you love me for a day?
Knowing that that moment will last forever,
in that time, and in that place?

Could you love me for a day?
Could you give me that piece of mind?
And I will try to be there when we die.

Could you love me for a day?
Kiss my eyes
and make me believe it's going to be okay?

Could you love me for a day?
Could you love me in just that way?

Could you love me for a day?
And I will let you escape.

Could you love me for a day?
Without a heart, or a cause to break?

Could you love me for a day?


Could you love me?



Could you. . . ?




For just one day?

They Built up their metropolises
Their hives
Forged through generations
And on the back of spent lives

Their very bones now a part of the structures
Remaining within their concrete tombs

Why?

Just so we can get fat and watch television?

Follow the paths that they have carved for us?

To create and build what we want,
If we’re lucky?

And what we’re forced to,
For very little pay or compensation,
If we’re not?

To sell our very life blood?

No, it’s not the artists that have sold their souls

That’s a great big lie
To make you too afraid to be free

To live and enjoy life as you please

That’s what they would have you believe

And so they danced with the forest children
Until they got bored and wanted to make something new

Something big

Something they could live inside

The cycle restarts

And it didn’t restart just for a single man

Or one

Or even a few

It restarted as a concept

It restarted as a reality far beyond the grasps of an intellect

Like a universal calling
But without knowing what number
You were going to get next

It burns in the fires of Babylon
down to the river Ganges
and bleeding onwards into the Styx

Where the flood of the Nile
Turns and bores it’s way backwards

It could be on any planet

In the dream of any species conscious enough to care

It could be made amongst the stars

It could be in the malls and the parking lots filled with your cars

It could be in the vessels of the unknown and in between times

It could be a flash in the pan

Or it could last a life span

That it was here at all
That was the point

It travels upwards and onwards

And to and fro

It has no concept of stop

It only wants to evolve as it grows and grows

It’s there and it’s us

It’s apart and it dissolves

To be one and to be all

Or to be none and nothing

That’s the question that our fears are quick to resolve

Looking into it
Until you cannot look away

That’s the madness that keeps people slaves

The cycle is never really the same

It’s more like a spiral that knows where it’s been

And to do this dance of life

I would do it all over again

And I’m sure that I will
Just for the thrill

After all this time
I can’t help but wonder still

Where it all will be found. . .

And so it will be
Just as it’s been before

Back into the forest they’ll go
To live in their never ending homes

Becoming the children

That they used to know

In relation only to himself
knows only what he can
Or what he thinks he can
Knot
He ties and a boars his prize
The hide
The island man
Has no fear to feast
No rain drops trickle for thirst's being to subside
The island man only has space to confide
Is technology up to its *****?
Does the island mind have enough for needs to be met?
Is there a need yet for island man to have not yet got?
Should island man go and get?
Island man looks for the stars
When he finds them all
Island man knows that they were never really that far
He looks back down on the clouds
And the effervescent ocean that houses his house
Island man finds himself at home
With all the other island people who love him so

If they call it freedom
But then they say
That if we don’t believe in their name
They’ll take it away

What kind of freedom is that to fear?

I would be unafraid

People go their whole lives
Wasting away for imaginary causes

What a shame it would be to find out it’s not real...

Or not

At least then the healing could start

People waste so much of their lives
As if indebted to the after life
That they miss out entirely on this life

Their actual very being’s existence

Don’t be a fool for someone who miss guides you
Open up your eyes to the world before you

For that is real

That is the true gift

The mind’s imagination is a powerful thing

It’s made up and has passed along side ourselves

Evolving along with us as we go

Generation to generation

And within our very own minds to mold

I choose to be someone who tries to understand

I rather be outcast for telling the truth,
As I’ve come to know it,
Then go along pretending I believe in false claims, imaginations, hallucinations, delusions, or unwarranted beliefs

But really I would rather just be understood

Perception is where one stands and observes

People are indeed a strange creature amongst all things

Be careful who you have faith in

They can only give you their version of reality

(If it’s even their’s to begin with)

Eventually we all have to make our own minds up

Fall back on programming

Or stand up for who we

Really,

Truly,

Are

Eternity goes by in the blink of an eye
When there’s nothing but darkness

When inspiration strikes
Will you be there to let it in?

Wether in the same place amongst the stars
Or veiled in a reality away
Vexing and churning futures from a far
Indiscernibly so, yet kept at bay

A beauty still that marks time’s passages
Awaiting till we can breathe the relief we seek
I sought answers within the messages
I looked deep with in and I took a peek

known words do fall short; descriptions falter
The mind’s order displaced to understand
This can not be faked, nor lies can cover
The answer never fades and is at hand

Reality proves itself flawlessly
While Being known indiscriminately

It would take a selfish man to lead to hell
to what he could have led to heaven.

words twist in my side
I will not to abide
I wish that you not hide
not here nor there
but at least in your time.

One moment, it will be kissing you on the mouth
And the next, it will bet kicking you in the teeth

How do pictures of the past move me still?
Inside I can hear her voice call through time
I stare out of clouded memories sill
Though clear as ever she shines in my mind

She moves in a way never seen before
Words of sin are on the tip of the tongue
And I dive into the oceans of yore
We swam happily along; love’s song, sung

Simple is the way it presents itself
Like an all powerful magnetism
An attraction so great ‘can’t be withheld
Nor would I want to withhold earth’s chasm

And patiently I await without her mirth
Anon, love geysers out the chasm of birth

The tendrils of time
Grip every part of my being
They keep me together and lead me on
I follow along between the journey of growth towards the light
And the path set forth within the mighty given mind

An over cast home that houses the soul
In relation between the spirit and man
I find within allegories that can withstand
As long as I have
Existence's helping hand within my grasping hand

On this platform
I brave the weary hearts storm
A drift amongst the sea of troubled words

Hoping for a life preserver to be spared
One that will carry me to safety
With the entire crew in tow

Alas, my love, you come to me
As the beauty that I had envisioned
And I hold on dearly
like the cancerian that I am

Like the gentle moth drawn towards the flame
Even as it’s eye’d wings begin to ignite
It cannot help but to flutter maimed
On wards, searing in the heat of the light

Making alas; night breaks into the day
The morning star peeks o’re the horizon
It’s sights become scattered in such a way
That nothing is missed, going forth; anon

Yesterday evening’s candle of the past
Sits dried, once alive; liquid pool of wax
Rests easy within it’s blackened burnt glass
Wick dwindled to unlightable black ash

And in lieu of all the death that surrounds
The energy, I’m assured, has no bounds...

Normal people aren't anxious and explaining their existence’s to everyone else wholly within their own mind’s. Most people don't do that. Some people do. I'm one of those people.

The abnormal fantasied reality within my conception plays exciting and often scary acts with peaking and valleying performances within. It's not real; however, I am real, so in a way it is. At least to me. And it's a reality that I face and must tame daily in order to be seen as “normal”. What ever the **** normal means anyway. Sometimes I want to run away and other times I'm too fatigued by trying to care. In stark contrast to when I get caught up in the whirl wind of passion and ideas and I want them to be tangible so bad that I sit and create. The mind loses focus. I look away for a second to make something else... That is if it's not another one of those times that I become so burnt out from the fires of present tasks of building the unreal into the real that I regress.

But I digress.

When I look back at what I've done, and it just seems like a distant memory becoming more and more distant with every passing moment of observation I can't help but get the stirring feeling to get caught up in the whirl wind once more and make a new idea. A new passionate thought forms and the creations can't help but take place. The moment is really the only thing I know for sure. It's not a dream it's as real as being awake, or at least I'd think that until it too becomes just another one of those distant memories; another one of those things amongst all things.

But perhaps I'm just projecting...

Senses; those funny things. Almost as funny as the mind that decodes their meanings. The human presence. The spirit within. the very soul. Like mine that has seemed to ache more than it has not ached. I look at all the things, big and small on the place where I currently reside in the universe that houses me. “Relative,” says one man. “Frequency,” says another. People say a lot of things. Especially to one another. What else would understand? Let alone who? Do you even understand you? I'd ask. A dog would pant, and I'd pat its head knowing all to well that we both got the meaning. So easy to try and do. So difficult not to. And if I changed the positions of the subjects it would be equally as true.

But that’s just the moment now as it would have it...

I feel as though I have a paper heart
And every time I write my would be mind's love on it
It scratches under ink tip's pen
And bleeds with no resolve

In relation only to himself
knows only what he can
Or what he thinks he can
Knot
He ties and a boars his prize
The hide
The island man
Has no fear to feast
No rain drops trickle for thirst's being to subside
The island man only has space to confide
Is technology up to its *****?
Does the island mind have enough for needs to be met?
Is there a need yet for island man to have not yet got?
Should island man go and get?
Island man looks for the stars
When he finds them all
Island man knows that they were never really that far
He looks back down on the clouds
And the effervescent ocean that houses his house
Island man finds himself at home
With all the other island people who love him so

My disorder is like a tree

There’s the trunk, the stability
Attached to it, beneath, lay the roots
That keep it grounded to the earth

Above,

There’s the branches with all their sprouting leaves
Struggling in their many directions at the same time
to grasp at the same thing

The rays,

Like my thoughts reaching out
Trying to understand the complexity
Within it’s beings existence

All the meanings to it’s origin,
It’s seedlings of creation blowing on the wind,
The fruits it has bore,
And the enduring labours that stand in between
What can be
And what will become

The ocean, the air, and the sun

Fall, winter, spring blooms summer

An order within disorder’s cycles

Intrinsically placing its faiths within the nature of it all

And here I rest in the tree’s canopies shade

My mind eases to this space within space

And I can’t help but laugh and cry at the same time

Hell, we're all there.
Heaven, Can't we be somewhere else?

(A meaning less image)

If a picture said a thousand words,
Then I'd write a thousand pictures,

Each one would contain one syllable less then the last
Just so I could get to the nucleus

Of what it truly means to express
Expressionlessness.

Ten out of ten, one hundred percent, an A+ plus

whoops, I forgot the period.

(Unless you want to ****)

Not trying is right up there within the top of regrets.

Hopefully you live a life,

One you will not want to forget.

No one wants to see themselves die,
but,
yet,
here we all are taking our own pictures.

If I write misery you'd eat it up,
you'd chew until you couldn't chew,
you'd swallow wouldn't you?

When I write love you have none,
you just become to what you succumb,
several takes away from dumb.

I could chalk it all up to beauty,
but the score board will tell what's there
even without your interventions.

It knows even if you don't.

No one will ever read every note I’ve ever wrote,
nor think every thought I’ve ever thought,
but when I say to you not to look onto your life with hate,
but to find the love that you deserve;
I hope you hear my hope.

I'm indifferent about this place.

I wish that existence's nothing would swallow this shallow apparition and that I could live high inside of a cloud on a planet that had none of the miscarriages that we call modernized life, for existence's sake, on a star that burned out before this was readable.

But that's just what's on my mind right now...

I know that from a human being's conception to their demise that they are pressing their consciousnesses into an image that's being totally misconstrued, and I know that that's no way to live, but it's life.

Now time to add to my story; see you in another 13.8 billion years so I can regale your consciousnesses built within their chemically responsive fold's housings, or perhaps rather a (for a lack of a better word) reconfigurable differently shaped cranium, or whatever non human jelly fish like organism then which would hold thee, but irregardless this is English and you have nothing to show for it but the allegations of judgment and communal stigmata that you probably don't even care to understand, nor bother to know why it even existed in the first place.

Simile if you know what's on your mind every time you have something to say on this plagiarist's controlled orientated  platform created by the people that some guy alive at some point ripped off and was sold to some other people that don't give a **** about their own lights.

Like if you like.

Comment only if you want your insanity to be on display.

Don't understand if you don't understand, or at least if you don't want to.

The mind is real.

Reality is real.

People often don't understand either of those two things, whether it be conditioning, or that it's a fire to bright to look into that they'd be happy with their average deaths.

Then that's that, but that's neither here nor there. It's in both places at the same time and a rant can be called such, but if I summed it down to one word I'd be called crazy.

So I won't let you in on it love.

(written drunk)

I rather turn into a bouquet of flowers then a basket of roses...

If that means anything to you then do what ever you will do.

Smiley.

Playing off of Shakespeare seems to be the case...

I don't know you.
You don't know me.

"I" Which I often said in life.

I’m in awe that I can not write fast enough for me to ask a question within myself, but on my thoughts they will be.

I'm just a remembrance of me that I'm trying to describe at a later time, but isn't that how it feels all the time?

Living in a moment just so later we can watch that moment unwind.

I wonder, when will time look me up?

Is it just inside of a thought--just within this dream; my own mind?

Reality plays coy when it must and a wild current when it wills itself to be.

But still this is real.

Looking above the fences of offences to try to see the luscious garden on the other side; the mind that gets filtered through the soul so as to put circumstances to the side and say what "I" really mean.

I'm me and I know what I mean and as I write me to know me I become me to explain it to me, and of me, to get to the meaning of what it truly means to be an I.