Jumped ****** and born to suffer.
Made to strip naked in the wilderness.
The things we knew splayed out next to us as we picked new constellations from trivial mountain nights.
The bus would later hitch up my soul and drag it screaming across the states.
I would soon follow.
Out there in the great beyond I found God inside an onion.
It opened before me and showed exactly how to get down.
Music madness mountain magic.
If only I could tell lies perhaps old strings may still be tied.
Silence...Sardonic.
A message with confused intentions.
My head split from the seed that was planted by a woman of white linen and knowledge of the plague.
Healing waters glowed golden as the silk of spiders made bridges that seemed just sturdy enough to cross.
But was not.
Give us peace here bluesy air dive bar cancer.
Give us peace here, distant fog horn monolith mirrors the fear of rare blood.
Give us peace look deep the fire speaks a vessel of the ancient.
Hold breath and see truth.
Breath out and send.
Once again.
One more.
No one is listening.

I was and am an after thought.
A languid sentinel sent by the Eastern Wind.
Let me tell you of spices and horse shoe accolades.
Exotic things that bend the mind.
The wheat grass is sweet..
Here, try this..
The great perimeter of perceptions break a second dawn in midday May.
Why are you running?
Freedom?
Fear?
Those nights on your back while white knuckling both sides of your bed hoping this time you don't float away become more and more frequent.
Well maybe for a reason!
The Wind is an esoteric whisper.
If you can bear to listen and tune to the shimmer shaking of space time making,
Perhaps it would bring new life to you...
Or, perhaps grandiose illusions..
Either way,
I once saw a prophet turn to paper profit.
*Magic tricks to be sure.

And you are the ocean aren't you?
This ceaseless undulation,
This orb of brine,
That floats in the speckless expanse of my other mind.
Your depths are unfathomable.
A planet of its own to explore.
What lovecraftian horrors do you hide?
What bio-luminescent wonders wander your depths?
Even in the darkest reaches, life pulses.
The transoceanic transmogrification that I partook in allowed me truth.
The salt ate my eyes, the wind burned my flesh, water choked my lungs.
Seagulls picked clean the remains but still I stood.
A ribcage still with breath.
No eyes to guide me,
No lies to see,
The ocean had drowned something already on the fringes of life.
As my bones marched a perceptionless place,
muscle soon formed around my frame.
Then skin,
Then eyes..
I found that I was whole and fresh.
Into still water I looked at myself anew and said
*"Hello."

Too much coffee or a bundle of nerves gone bad either way inside the confines of my lower intestine i hide the makings of interstellar war. nebulous hyperions hypothesize the comings of a gratuitus turbulant gravitational trebulation. The trumpets will sing im sure as i scream towards a silent night I am but a silent sight.
Wait.
I think im just nervous. Get this, its worse and, im trying but its.. Ya never know where friends stand aint done much for them been a long time since I found a new storm to set up in. lightning rods making neurons here we are,
i am a social *****.

The bubbling bravado of new hopes to swaddle are dopped and crushed. the fontenal of my chitinus exterior is pressed and my fear is here to be pulled out and dangled in my face it feels shameful.
Words pass the throat and are shreded by smoke stained teeth and i think if i fumble enough my bumbling lips may stitch the sentence back up and i might just make sense.

My hands are shaking again
My heart is racing and then
My mind races and bends
Anxiety is the buzzing bashful brother of exitment and bravado
Lashes out in spazzy gestures
And sends my head space on a trip to burning pastures
Bragadosious i am not
Bed ridden sad sappy ******
Pent up and
Woah
My thoughts derail again
Where the hell are my friends
They didnt go anywhere
Its all in my head

Twitchy turbulance tackling full force into tubluar pathways my blood
Is
Screaming

Saturated in steely blue clutches, sweating from the 75 degree Georgia night
strung up and washed out with a serpent woman that keeps bringing on the blight
Singing you a song of bliss and blinders.

A big brick red boot on your neck and a green collar that reads The Gardens *****
The Garden takes the taxes tightens up the lead and never relaxes
Hit ya where ya like, the pain is disguised, leather tastes like candy, The Gardens got ya hypnotized.
Your late night camping sight attracts the moon light parasite, that acolyte of appetite, Tonight your the Gardens Delight

You wanna run but she's got those hooks between your shoulder blades feeling like an inexorable **** of silk, smoke and skin.
She gives you every thing you need,
Fountain heads of intemperance and black out nights
Whole streets smelling like grease and charcoal charbroils
Men and women of dexterous lechery, feverous severance, and generous deference
Crystals for your cranium, high altitude dives and the lowest lows.
A cacophony of any entertainment you might want or need, just as long as its seedy.

The Garden keeps blinders on your head to make sure you can't see anything she doesn't want you to.
Try to remove em and the punishment is usually severe.
She might give you the greatest loves you've ever known and turn em to photographs, blot em with LSD and trip you out on memories.
And when you come back to what you think reality is she'll take those photographs and burn em up right in your face and leave you asking if any of it really happened while feeling like it was the realest thing that ever has.
She'll break you and build you up, build you up and break you worse. A cycle of bad things feeling real good.

The Garden will do everything in her power to keep you right here.

But if you can get all those straps and tight leather off, all those hooks and chains.. If you can escape her steely blue clutches,,

You'll finally see how wrong you've been done, and your still gonna want her back in some strange way..
but you might start to heal....
But know this.
No matter where you might run off to,
You'll still be hearing The Garden City call.
That siren song of bliss and blinders.