in dream-like states where
thoughts emerge from unconscious
whim, we carve stone sculptures
on opposite garden ends –

mine is a goat with webbed feet,
Carl’s is a duck with horns;
this is a meaningful coincidence

later, we play in the sand
with our wise inner figures;
he dances while I draw hearts

Slowly, slowly
I feel my soft edges sharpen from the touch of the world
The warmth of my heart grow colder from the ugliness it feels in the cruelty of people
And when I feel these things I lock away the million things I have to do
and walk
Softly, softly
Into the sun and trees and breeze,
Find the love in humans,
The kindness of the world
And allow myself to be soft once again

The smartphone is a portal
to progress and possessional obsession.
To behold all knowledge of the beauty of the human experience within the palm of your hand, yet to also behold;
brilliant tutorials from false idols on how not to live your life,
that captivate and obliterate all free-folks minds.
Ahh yes, freedom-the fickle *****.
monkey see
monkey do.
The smartphone has brought us closer than ever before
yet, when this little tablet of infinity shows you only what you want to see
(like a mirror to the soul)
pray you keep keen eyes upon your shadow
for even hugs can crush and families feud and through opinions and tribal captivations
we become more divided.
It has made us spend so much time looking down, that we no longer look up;
For it hurts to stare into the light.
Nobody looks into each others eyes anymore for the same reason.

it’s a want to own but
you are not mine to own

neither is anything else that speaks
in sacred codes

what the moon tells me comes from within
but it is not mine

what belongs to the world’s heart cannot be owned

In my magic library I find old Carl Jung,
read by voice
I may imagine my own,
reading in a polished Oxford accent, with the
or made an uh at every opportunity,
and no e ever unspoken {save after lone stretched vowles stretching}
each word forming as from a bubble of thought, with one
tangentle anchor point,
stretching down from that thought cloud emerging from the bubbles
bubbling
in your magmatic earthly being,
at the heart of you
where your fire
burns
piercing.
I speak, with authority, I hear me say,
I shall know I know
as much or more
of such thoughts
as these
Memories, Dreams, Reflections.
Old man visions loosed into ever, like
the preacher making many books,
vain, but enjoyable,
all the same,
after
mediating between me and the others,
out there, free in the sea
of opinions, bound only by fear of death,

to lives of quiet desparation, to ti esti in
separation from secret knowledge unearnible,
in one mortal life's longest
state of steady
concentration
on the point
of being.
at all
or having any part in this production,
blooming, ******
beat
of my heart, oh, hell no, hello
world...

we come with words formed in defeat,
defeat repeats the message
as follows
d'toes knows ken yond some kinda ying
yang warworths lisp ship cult prize thang.
Shib-o-let slow belly lethargy,
feel it in your big
toe, touch a stone and turn the cool side up

A papal bullishit bell curve

clang, gong.... wrong... good guess, give'er another go

****** right, too right, mate, take th'prize
sur
reality position superimposed over life as imagined

before the internet, but after TV... the inbetween time

seedtime, not harvest. Seed sown, unknown seed sown,
for better living, through science.

Side track: Bayer is famous for...
Xyclon B.
Right. The game of knowing going on as we wander, wondering
waht subtle subtility what keen sence of sharpness,

pointing a way, see... that pixel, upper left quadrant, in the per
ifery
edgy bit out of focus, can you

blink? Give us a clue, are we ludicrous by nature?
Are we only here to play,
to enjoy the grace of knowing God shat on all our filthy rags

and laughed as we danced around the fire,
lost in re
very very ify verity of varieties un en visioned until the release

The Alamogordo bit of my myth with you in it.

Initial response of any heroic application is denial.
No real hero wishes to be a real hero,
the day to day existence in a virtual eden, is fine.

When we get down to where jewels form latices far funner
than the jungle gym
or monkey bars of my youth, a prewar preparation,
proven to myself,
I can do this, grip and swing, and reach and grip and swing,

command the callouses to form, command the cells to signal,

more blood, more O, too. Oh, you,
wisdom coos, in that sweet way she does when we leave
those sure
bonds of earth and take a stake in heaven's will being done
in wisdom's main domain.

---
whole heart or no heart, the hero code,
probabble babble babble on and on an in fun

item left to fuggetchewwitcher doubus ****** haecceity
point.

Score. Thats the point of anything piercing everything.
It looks different from out here.

The World Needs Love
The Light That Warms Through People's Window Panes
Universal Messages of Peace and Care
Even though we might reside in different spaces
We are Human.
We breath passion to progress and live out the best
of days in our lives
Sending out just one signal
From The United States
To North Korea
To Russia
To Other Nations
People United
Never Divided
We shall one day
Hold hands
and United the World Through a Shining Light
That is True Heart and it's Shedding of light with the world

There's a secret saboteur,
         hidden within everyone
Fashioning his cloak and dagger
         for a twisted bit of fun

The use of his first artifact is
         to eclipse the Inner Sun
The purpose of the second is for
         tearing holes so light may run

Through an ever looming darkness
         which obscures the thought of hope
Extending brittle olive branches
         or frayed lengths of climbing rope, so

That his ploys will surely tempt you
         that you'll try, and that you'll fail
Til his sadistic plotting leaves you
         feeling withered, weak, and frail

So joyously, he toys with thee,
         to watch his sullen victim
And thrives upon the notion that
         thou never wilt evict him

For how such lavish luxury
         couldst ever thou afford
When thou art but a lowly serf
         and He, a mighty Lord?

But if you only knew the truth
         it'd surely set you free!
That deep below the surface
         he is you, and you are he.

So, discipline this phantom
         tell him that you've had enough!
He struggles in control of you
         but you have called his bluff!

So now, you shatter chains that bind you
         now you break the psychic yoke
So now, you seize from him the dagger
         now you rip to shreds the cloak.