The dryness of my mouth
Feels the ***** sound of darkness
It screams
Freedom

Like the youth knowing more than
What it has been told

Each sand of darkness goes to sleep
Peacefully

But we know its
Sound

How the taste makes our stomacs full
Of disgust

Pinching our most inner thoughts
Our eyes see
drying them out

How the earth blossoms with green spinach
Is that not a sight to see?

Everyone sees industrialization, (pipes)
Machinerary
You will pull all of your hairs out
To see that is reality
Pumping our fuel and water for money

It hurts to see my pain in my eye
I just want to see the end when it ends
I want to see the cold rusty me
The dryness to be, the biggest part of me
The ego that ran; to be free
And the horrible pain in my chest
Has became essential
And even if i sing my poems
It will be crazy to believe me
So i say let's sing it together
Since I'm already crazy to think that this pain will ever go away
It's mixed up with my blood
So that leads to cutting my hand open and letting the pain be a blood bath
I wish I could be alive to see that
Full of satisfying emotion.

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted *****
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreadful cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but not from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless.
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

sample precursor: there are three binding directions of a chemical group (e.g. CH3) to the benzene ring - the ortho-, the meta- and the para-... but i'll ask a different question: what is copernican north what is copernican east a copernican west or a copernican west without a "flat-earth" / how else to read / navigate a 2D map going from point (a) via vector (c) to point (b) along the short-cut of the hypotenuse - which, isn't a short-cut, but the logical conclusion of walking neither the middle path nor the right path, but the logical path? we're no astronauts... we didn't see the proof... we can only entertain the "idea" of a 3D object we live on, but we're still strapped to a "flat earth" in order to navigate... endless stories of how GPS tech. fooled people off the edge of a cliff... "flat earth" is no reverse psychology ploy... i'm no ******* astronaut... i never stood left right or center on the moon to have the foggiest sense of admiration for that awe-balancing moment that leaves so many deluded in it being otherwise: first come first served, last come: what's there's to serve that last man if not merely the drudge-report of a commute? besides... trans- and cis-, why are people borrowing from chemistry and attaching gender to what is exlusive to chemical compounds? look at them... pop chemistry... cis-trans isomerism... fine, let these people have that... my new n.e.w.s. (north, east, west, south): orthography, something clearly missing in the anglophone world (no diacritical markers, i and j do not count)... ergo? orthography = east... paranormal = west... since the west is obsessed with either aliens or hush-hush military projects... now... both north and south are meta- coordinates... on the basis, on the basis of what? two words really work well to establish a foundation: from ars poetica? metaphor (borrowed from a change of mind - meta- and -phren - mind, a change of mind, all mental illnesses are changes of the mind, alternatives to alleviate the stranglehold of the commune of the greater picture known as society)... but... there's also metaphysics... which is in the interest of philosophy... how else not to explain the obvious, how else to treat both the reader / audience as the well informed genius(es) but mistreat them as would be grander genius(es) if the socratic endeavour of "pretense ignorance" was not to be established? it's a hard juggle... east is already well established in orthography, west in paranomal... literally: metaphor - a change of mind, literally metaphysics - a change of groundwork physicality of things... a rock remains a rock in either "heaven" or in "hell"... metaphysically there seems to be a direct translation... this is why i'm terrible at crosswords, this whole puzzle structure of either working from a direct definition to the word itself, some random geographical posists, some historical posits, some outdated out-of-vogue words related to specified period idiosyncracy, a tinge of the therausus... my current crossword is an interchange: meta-phor, meta-physics, meta-phot, meta-physics and on and on it goes: even with the isolated prefix of meta-, if i return to the words: as they are... would: denoting a change of thinking (state of mind) or... denoting a change of physics, i'm met with metaphysics, i.e.: a branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles... sounds like a priori physics, yet all i can fathom if i wrestle this word to its casual use: isn't it a posteriori physics?! the what comes after physics? i should think that most people understand metaphysics on an a posteriori basis rather than an a priori basis... hence the question: what happens when we die? last time i checked: death happens last... birth happens first... any question-worthiness (according to heidegger) should begin at: the beginning rather than begin at the end, in the same way that all questions should be sought in a medium of predating the dates of events, rather than with a spirit of hindsight, hindsight belongs to the "what if" of history in that dynamism of expressed time... on the canvas of an infinitely expanding space: we seem to be riddled by a very cul de sac concept / expression of time: our quill - given that ****** didn't learn from napoleon when it came to russia... perhaps finding out what copernicus found out: "we" figured: get me off this ******* celestial carousel where i can't even feel the dizzy immediate of a ferris wheel! again: i'm terrible at crosswords, sudoku? no problem... but words: if not gushing out of me, waiting like a lizard predator for a linear narrative spew? count me out... i don't play with words, i use words... i'm a wordsmith, hence the ethnic origin denote: słowianin: slav - i don't know where these west-saxon punks derived their etymology from: słowo = word... *****-liquor juice teens thought it was: oh fo' sho' smart... still: metaphor, metaphysics... metaphor... metaphysics... disgruntled with the immediate compound readied for pop use... meta-physics... the vector is the prefix... why do philosophers push metaphysics so much, but in turn rely on the crutch of metaphor? to change their mind, if metaphysics is an abstract theory with no basis in reality, then the schizoid / metaphorical mind is an abstract in an abstracted theory of the mind - which has "no" knowledge of reality, or rather: "reality" excludes such a mind from ever absorbing an expression in it... a schizophrenic can't explain the reality of a person who can solve crossword puzzles... just as someone who solves crossword puzzles with a fear of alzheimer's: who treats the fatty tissue that's the brain as a muscle... given that the cells of alzheimer's disease are killer proteins... proteins as the antithesis of white blood-cells that feed of fat tissue... after all: what else could the brain be if not fat and water? slow burner... first the sugars, then the more complex carbohydrates, then the fat: last? the proteins... the process of starvation... you want up? you want down? again: metaphysics / metaphor... ta meta ta phusika... the things after the physics... so what's with the inverted: prior things? hence people associated a life after death... hence how philosophers have to escape into the poetic realm to quickly change their minds on the definition... a change of mind is much easier than a change of what physicality entails... most spew metaphors but keep on course... after all: given the genesis of the metaphor, a metaphor is just a tool, a humble stop-off pause... born from humble poetics: it's only a literary tool, it's not some grand pillar of morality associated metaphysics, which nonetheless dictates: first principles come last and last principles come first... here's my crossword puzzle: metaphor, metaphysics, meta-alpha, meta-beta, metaphor and the meta-alpha, metaphysics and the meta-beta... etc. etc., i will not solve this crossword puzzle, even though it doesn't look like a crossword puzzle... it's a narrative crossword puzzle, i'm just looking for the sort of fixed point people associate with prime words: red, left, blue, right, up, fox, dog... words of readied vocabulary, readied vocabulary dissociated from puzzled vocabulary... i want to established a fixed permanence of the dissociated close proximity grounded in the meta- prefix of the words meta-phor and, meta-physics... i'm starting to find this impossible, given how the words have dissociated themselves from the grounding in the meta- prefix... phor alias phren (mind) and the whole gush of isolated metaphysics of beginnings: meta a priori vs. meta a posteriori - and of course: meta a- apriori... hell if i can't solve crossword puzzles: since i already have a crossword puzzle in my head... what am i to do? try writing pop?! a dog does what his master orders, a jester tells a joke his king would find amusing... i'll just treat this enclave of an audience as a bunch of people subscribed to ulterior forms of voyeurism (dissociated from pain / pleasure gratification, esp. that of a ****** nature).

.you know like in latin you had the interchangeable tongue twisters æ and œ? well... english resurrected one more... au... oh stralia... auntie; ******* hell i've been speaking this since aged ate and i still can't get my tongue into that phonetic plughole... or what's that onomatopoeia for: it really hurts? awe... nah... aw... aw... well no cute kitten about to say aww.

well it began with the usual... i wish i didn’t...
sitting in the autumnal garden
drinking coffee and eating a nicotine croissant,
watching the fog recede into nothing
while the earth showed its naked cleavage
after what seems like centuries of arcane dryness
befitting a story of an egyptian idol...
then the panic set in...
what to cook?! what to cook?!
my mother is away visiting her parents in poland,
who celebrate the feast of all saints with the usual
tackle formidable in poland:
forget the paris fashion week, forget the london fashion week...
forget the next gucci advert...
all the action happens in poland’s annual all saints’ fashion week...
through the cemetery (ahem) cat walks
(more like death on rollerblades donning a tutu
and looking fatter than size 0 models)...
because that’s when the fur coats are worn,
the make-up is heavier and everyone comes
to discuss the materialistic jealousy of a small town...
it is a small town after all...
death knocks with all the nine cat’s lives just to prove
the point...
anyway, so i’m the head chef, and in panic
i search for a recipe... i’ve only got pork on the ready
in the recognisable frozen state...
but i also have shrimps... tiger prawns...
so i look through the usual suspects... thai green curry...
ah ****! no coconut milk!
what’s it going to be? prawn korma curry
(better mild than hot i say, with all this maple syrup
and honey colours about... talk about decay),
active ingredients? chilli powder (1/2 tsp), cinnamon
(1/2 tsp), turmeric (1/2 tsp) and ground almonds (2 tbsp),
there ready... looking suntanned my gorgeous twirls of seabed manure...
enough to spare my father making himself sandwiches (i always
disguised my “dyslexia” by associations... sandy witches...
the t broke the barriers and the floods entered)...
with toasted nannies / au pairs... relatives of some sort...
then onto writing my father’s invoices:
project plaistow hospital and some housing development near
the city airport... beckton we call it... backwards and forwards
stink crowned with drinkers regurgitating on the pave...
now that is a *******... recycling centre or horse manure?
then to tesco... for the nightcap...
oddly enough tesco has become a friend of mine once more,
i divorced the turkish shop, they added 10 pence to the polish beers,
now i’m on the sedative medication of this bottle bavaria beer
and whiskey... 1 quid for the former... 10 quid for the latter -
i’ve sold my soul! never mind...
then to the beacon that’s home... it’s night... it’s spooky...
it’s essex: that non-touristy place in england people with passports
never dare to visit, shambles.
well one thing came out true... none of the above though:
you ever consider the theory of the aeroplane syndrome in writers?
you know, like with rock stars you get the full package,
you get the aeroplane and the retrieved delay of the engine mushroom,
but with poetry (which is competing with music,
philosophers just wait in that queue for the cheese, wink, whine and wrinkle)
you only get the sound... that delayed mushroom...
you see the poet but never hear him...
it’s a typical delusion i’d call parallel or even adjacent to narcissism,
you walk down the street and the closest you come
to someone recognising you is a stranger uttering out: ‘hey richard!’
‘name’s matt mate.’
‘oh... sorry.’
it’s this aeroplane syndrome theory... it’s perfectly acceptable...
you have the image but don’t have the delayed sound...
you have the delayed sound... but you only get a photograph...
you have the english national health service mental health unit crisis...
and then you have people shunning intellectualism
trying to cure people by burning / not reading philosophical books;
the day ends with drinking and reading
an article about keith richard’s antics in the sunday times’ supplement
and the thought: well i gave her a stabbing chance
at feminism... she thought the active ingredient in anti-contraception
pills was placebo... she phoned and gave birth to me...
i said abort... you’re no post-teen mum at university, you won’t be...
******* was great but i’m not that much of a match from a cosmopolitan magazine quiz
(as duly taken on my way from st. pestersburg to moscow to see
metallica play), plus there are no roofing jobs in scotland...
the scots have mountains already... there’s no point building
scratched sky skylines with mountain ranges nearby...
so even though i went to a catholic school...
i did my first redemptive act by reading about gnostic heretics...
and not getting confirmed being the second...
i would have not taken first communion... but playing the xylophone
at the nativity play was too much fun...
plus it is the only salvador dali bit of the story...
after that you have st. sebastian...
plus you see where this is going... the greeks translated
the tetragrammaton into the gospels
of st. matthew, luke, mark and john...
and the romans were duped into the legality of
things... first name, second name, confirmation name...
surname.

Beyond a beginingless beginning.
It was but was not any "god" or "goddess".
It was but was not "deva" or "devi".
It was but was not "angel" or "demon".
It was but was not a metaphysical being of any kind.
It was but had not any name nor could it be named.
It was but had not any face nor likeness.
It was but had not any body not corporeal form.
It was but had not gender nor ***.
It was but was not incarnate or disincarnate.
It was but was not existent nor non existent.
It was but could not be described by any words in any way.
It was but had not depth nor height nor breadth nor volume.
It was but could not be measured in any way.
It was but could not be imagined.
It was but had not materiality of any kind.
It was but had not immateriality in any way.
It was but had not space nor lack of space.
It was but had not direction nor lack of direction.
It was but had not nothingness.
It was but had not somethingness.
It was but had not anythingness.
It was but had not beingness.
It was but had not light nor dark.
It was but had not wetness or dryness.
It was but was not nowhere.
It was but had not somewhere.
It was but had not anywhere.
It was and then it manifested the nature of its essence
and became the endless Universe and all that was in the Universe.
All that was incarnate.
All that was disincarnate.
All that was physical and metaphysical.
All that was existing and non existing.
And still it was.
It manifested itself in ignorance of its own nature as the Isness of the Universe,in order to participate in the existence it had created from its own nature on an equal and fair level with humanity.
It gave of itself by incarnating a small piece of its own nature into all human bodies,both male and female ,equally but different,at conception and then it made them all ignorant of their beginings as it made itself ignorant of its own beginings.
And then it set these Isness incarnated in human bodies the riddle of the existence that had arisen from its manifestation as the Universe and all that was in it.
It posed these three questions to Humanity and itself.
1--What am I?.
2--Why am I here?.
3--When I know what I am then what is my purpose.
The Isness of the Universe set each individual Isness incarnated in a human body the task of realising its own nature,which was a part of the nature of the Isness of the Universe, so that each individual Isness could then show the Isness of the Universe its own nature incarnated in a human body,female or male equally of any skin colour,dancing the dance of life,singing the song of life..
The principle governing our joint action on creating the Universe and all it contains,especially Humanity,was that before you can reach the heights of Existence you must  go through the depths of Existence.
And oh boy are we going through the depths playing these Mind games?.

www.beyondenlightenment.co.uk

It was but was not god nor  goddess.
It was but was not deva nor devi.
It was but was not angel nor demon.
It was but was not metaphysical being of any kind.
It was but had not any name nor could it be named.
It was but had not any  face nor likeness.
It was but had not any body or corporeal state.
It was but had not any form nor lack of form.
It was but not incarnate nor disincarnate.
It was but was not existent nor non-existent.
It was but could be described in words in any way.
It was but had not depth nor height nor breadth nor volume.
It was  but could not be measured in any way.
It was but had not materiality of any kind.
It was but had not immateriality of any kind.
It was but had not space nor lack  of space.
It was but had not direction nor lack  of direction.
It was but had not nothingness.
It was  but had not somethingness.
It was but had not anythingness.
It was but had not beingness.
It was but not Isness or non-Isness.
It was but had not light nor dark.
It was but had not wetness nor dryness.
It was but was not nowhere.
It was but was not nowhere.
It was but was not somewhere.
It was but was not anywhere.
It was and then It manifested the nature of Its essence
and became the universe and all that was in the universe.
All that was incarnate and disincarnate.
All that was physical and metaphysical.
All that was existent and non-existent.
And still It was.
It manifested Itself in ignorance of Its own nature as the Isness of the Universe,
in order to participate in the existence It had created from Its own essence,on an equal and fair level with humanity.
It gave of its own essence by putting a small piece of its own essence--the individual Isness-which is equal and autonomous and individual and independent--into all human bodies,both female and male,at conception.
And It made humans ignorant of their nature--the  individual Isness--
as It  made itself ignorant of Its own nature.
And then It set humans and Itself the Riddle of the Existence
that had come from Its manifestation of its nature as the universe and all that was in it.
It posed these three questions to humanity and to Itself.
1--Who am I?.
2--Why am I here?.
3--When I knowhow I am then what is my purpose?.
Who am I?.
Like all humans,and for the sake of fairness,
It manifested Itself  into ignorance of its own nature also.
The Isness of the Universe set humans the task of realising their own nature--which is the individual Isness--as an equal individual autonomous and independent part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe,so that they could then show the Isness of the Universe Its own essence and then share existence together.
The principle governing Its action in creating the universe and all it contains, especially humanity,was that before you can reach the heights of existence you must go through the depths of existence.
Why am I here?.
Obviously I am here to answer the first question.
After answering the first question --which can only be done existentially and not intellectually--
there would then be the third question to be answered.
The answer to the first question lies in regaining your existential nature--the individual Isness--as a small but equal,independent, individual,nameless,formless,genderless and non-physical Isness formed from the Isness of the Universe which is free from Mind and Conditioned Identity.
The answer  does  NOT lie in amassing the false knowledge of all "religions" and "political systems  that the Mind and Conditioned Identity have created in order to mislead the individual Isness from realising ,existentially,its true nature.
The Isness of the Universe  did not want a world of maniputed puppets,as the Mind/Conditioned Identity,does but in order to achieve fairness in solving the Riddle of Existence,it gave humanity these attributes and the ability to live out their opposites.
Freedom of Will.
Freedom of Choice.
Freedom of speech.
Freedom of Truthfulness.
Freedom of Association.
Freedom of  Debate.
Freedom from Violence.
Agreement to Disagree.


www.beyondenlightenment.co.uk

It’s the beginning of the monsoons and of the week,
A clouded chilly one with the clouds blanketing the sun.
I’m struggling to get out of bed and into my daily routine,
Running late as always, there’s never time for fun.

The first rains of the season were not welcomed with a smile,
Cars, Buses and mopeds splashing and spraying water all around.
People cursing the rains and others on the roads,
Racing to the office is not as easy as it may sound.

It’s a dark dull day with no sunshine to light my path,
And the rain to rob me of the dryness I had left.  
As a child I remember this being different in every way,
The rain bringing me cheer and happiness, never indulging in theft.

Stopping at a red light, all wet and soggy,
I see this small figure making way between the vehicles standing.
On every window and door she knocked with enthusiasm,
This little girl hopping around in every puddle landing.

Trying to sell the water lilies she had in her hand,
Not letting the frowns or the drops of rain her spirit lower.
She shines off all the hate and the disgust,
Through the muck and water walking to sell this pretty flower.

All of the dullness and gloom she got rid.
A smile on my face and in my heart she brought,
This little girl with those bright water lilies,
Like the flower she sold, all eyes and hearts she caught.

Bringing smiles and spreading fragrances in times so dull,
The water lily blooms in the muck and conditions degrading.
So did this little ******* this dark rainy day,
Returning cheer and happiness drained in the rain by blooming.

In the rainy dark night,
Two hearts having fight,

In the silence of the night.
Their heartbeats screaming more than thunderstorms.

Remembering their first kiss
In season's first rain.
Smelling each other and kissing away each other's pain.

Remembering the long drives,
And dancing together,
Getting closer and closer to each other.

Remembering the nights,
They spent holding each other,
Reminiscing promises broken one after another.

Remembering the day,
They last met,
The date Feb 14 and the year was '08.

In their eyes, there is love,
And some tears,
Will they meet again? Like some fears.

They were meant to be,
But now it's clear,
They have to leave and live their fear.

As the raindrops became dry,
They were meant to say goodbye.

Wet season becomes dry
But dryness is not permanent;
It's a test.

And when one embrace the vision,
There will be a provision
Unto him, due to his higher calling.

There is a revival
An awakening of the soul
There, justice shall submerge
And it shall be a payback time.

For to where a revelation lies,
There will be power and inspiration
And the keys to the multitudes:
Faith, prayer and obedience.

Dry your eyes, your tears are too much for the clouds
They can't hold anymore sorrow,
or they'll fall toward the earth
Lay on my lap,
though it may be soaked, unlike the clouds,
they could use some more substance
Before you know it, tears of laughter
and joy will overcome you.
Almost overwhelm you to the point of dryness.

*Dry your eyes,
your tears are too much
for the the clouds to handle.
It may just have to rain.

Across the ocean, you meant nothing to me.
You were a destination, a photograph, a wish.
You plagued my winter woes with your heatwaves,
jumping into creeks in your underwear while I wrapped myself in another blanket, cold Canadian ice princess.
You slept under stars in close contact with beautiful nature, beautiful life, beautiful people, while I stared at them, upside down, from my window.
And then the big dipper dumped you into my lap, head on my chest so you could feel my heart beat and I could tangle my fingers in your hair.
Photographs aren't supposed to come to life.
Beautiful smiles and messy blonde hair are for fantasies and dreaming and rainy days, and not for my bed or my guitar or my lips
But there you were.

For two weeks I thought and rethought and plagued my heart with goodbye is coming. He will fly away from me. We are not birds meant to be caged
We are wanderers, nomads, free-spirits who need no tying down or tying knots,
And I want to tie myself to your bed post with barbed wire because it hurts that much to leave you anyway.
But you leave me.

And there you weren't.

There you weren't as I made up my mind that it's okay to love a nomad, as long as you're one too.
And it's okay to love a bird of flight, just build yourself some wings and follow
But I was mistaken, I was wrong and I was three steps behind you.
Because when you said "I'll see you later" you didn't mean later
You meant get out.
And I still don't know if you're scared or if you just don't want me,
You don't ******* want me.

High as the plane that brought you here to leave me, I stand lace clad, smoke screened and alone.
High enough to feel my lungs contracting with each breath that made my tongue taste less and less like yours,
High enough to feel my knees click where you held them once,
One time,
Because that was all it took.
I couldn't get high enough to stop retracing the lines that your fingers made up and down my sides as you felt the curve of my body for the first time.
My limbs were barren, cold, antarctic as you left them when you took your warm, summer hand away.

So I turned the shower up all the way, until it burned enough to feel like I was boiling my skin, baptizing your sinful touch off of my innocent body.
I burned my arms and legs until they cracked.
They cracked from dryness, even after I wet them with my tears,
And my first,
fourth,
tenth glass of wine.
And I threw the bottle against my bedroom door.
Watched it smash,
Wished it was me.
I'll clean it up later.