Many people wish to die
And I think I know why…

Why ‘cuz life’s just a shake
of the dice!
Gamble fortune!
Gamble faith!
Gamble health!
Gamble state!

Just don’t go a-gambling
for luck to sway, ‘cuz that’s
inviting a very, very
bad man to play

P.S. don’tyougoaskingifthediceareweightedoranythinglikethatbecausethen­you’refuckingaskingforit

Plenty, long - it is pitiful.
Is it never better than to taste of it?
Empty, numb - it is pitiful.
Is it naught that is more flavorful?

In the living glass of the universe
I am a liquid,
Drink the drink.
By the marsh like mixture of life,
Split the iris,
Eye to eye.
As the electric echo of an echo
Waves as expression,
I am a particle.

I am the light

By the gypsum rose grown.
I am the order borne out of the primordial.
In weaves & webs perennial,
I am the pyramid doubled.
By the barycenter offset zero,
I am without mass & weightless.
In the predeterminants of the hypermatrix,
I am a bolt of lightning and the thunder.
By the storm of the ocean struck,
I am a standing wave in motion.

Material and immaterial.

I.
At 3 AM, when prayer beads tick like Geiger counters,
my thoughts uncoil—copper-bellied serpents
tasting darkness with forked mathematics.
The mind's eye dilates. Space folds
like origami in reverse.
                          Here: the edge
where meditation meets vertigo,
where breath becomes sine wave,
oscillating between being and void.

II.
Two doors in the skull's quiet temple:
one opens on supernovas blooming like black dahlias,
one on atoms waltzing in their quantum ballroom.
Both lead down labyrinthine DNA spirals
to what we've spent eons fleeing—
that first serpent's whisper:
                               dissolve.

III.
Listen: the sound of synapses firing
like distant stars going nova,
each thought a light echo
bouncing through time's curved throat.
The heart grows dense as collapsed stars,
while dreams crystallize into sacred geometry,
snowflakes falling upward through dark matter.

IV.
Memory: that holographic river
where time swims backward through its own reflection.
I cup moments like bioluminescent plankton,
watch them slip away, pixel by pixel,
leaving ghost-prints on retinal nights.
Each lost second transforms me—
tree rings of light recording
what darkness taught the leaves.

V.
In the space between heartbeats,
neural networks weave myths from starlight,
encoding infinity in finite flesh.
We are legends dreaming ourselves awake,
ancient light translated into carbon,
into stories that birth galaxies
between firing neurons.

VI.
Observe the great devourings:
Universe swallows galaxy swallows star
swallows planet swallows society swallows self—
recursive hymn, eternal return.
Watch consciousness eat reality
eat quantum uncertainty
eat itself, until nothing remains
but foam on probability's shore,
glittering with all possible worlds.

VII.
Deep in the amygdala's forest,
where fear grows like luminous fungi,
I find fragments of cosmic egg-shell,
evidence of what we hatched from.
Each cell remembers its stellar womb,
each atom hums its hydrogen lullaby,
while DNA spells out in base-four code:
you are everyone you have ever been.

VIII.
When Brahman's eye blinks,
superposition collapses into now—
wave functions falling like autumn leaves
into singular moments of being.
Time is a spiral staircase
wrapped around a strand of RNA,
leading both up to heaven
and down to the quantum foam
where angels dance with quarks.

IX.
At the event horizon of ego,
where self meets infinite regression,
I dissolve like a koan in the mind of God.
The observer becomes the observed,
the cosmic dance becomes the dancer,
until there's no difference between
the meditation and the mantra,
the equation and its solution,
the eternal and the now.

X.
All is recursion:
Light waves breaking on consciousness' shore,
consciousness breaking on light's distant edge.
We are the universe's way
of witnessing its own reflection—
billions of eyes opened in wonder,
each pupil a black hole
drawing light into meaning,
meaning into mystery,
mystery into math,
math into music,
music into flesh,
flesh into light.

                    Again.
                           Again.
                                  Again.

A free bird I want to be
Despite the fears of freedom
Despite the unfamiliarity of the destination
Free as a bird I want to be
as the breath of stars.
In every heartbeat, a story lies,
In every soul, a universe of skies.
Yet in the echoes, we remain,
A whisper in the wind,
In the vast expanse within, we are kin.
No lines to mark where you end and where I begin
We find a truth profound: there are no borders in our souls.

A free bird I want to be
Our hearts beat in unison, a universal song,
In the dance of life, we all belong.
No walls can hold the spirit, no chains can bind the heart,
In the realm of the soul, we are never apart.
We are threads in a tapestry, woven with care,
Each one unique, yet all are there.
In the fabric of existence, every soul plays a part,
Connected by love, the language of the heart.
For in the end, we are one, there are no borders in our soul,
In the dance of the cosmos, in the flow of time,
We find our place, in the rhythm and rhyme.
A unity of hearts, a collective dream
A free bird I want to be
On wings of dreams, I’ll soar so high,
Beyond the clouds, across the sky,
Unbound by chains of earth or sea,
A free bird, yes, that’s what I’ll be.
In skies of blue, my heart will sing,
Of freedom’s joy, the gift it brings,
No cage, no walls, just liberty,
A free bird, that’s my decree.
In forests deep or deserts wide,
Above the world, where secrets hide,
With boundless joy, so wild and free,
A free bird, that’s my destiny.
With wings spread wide, I long to fly,
Touch the stars, caress the sky,
Unbound, unhindered, wild and free,
A free bird, I yearn to be.

The whale is a fish and a mammal in one
As white has all colors and also has none
               The grandest of creatures
               With paradox features
Unknown and untouched by the light of the sun

Why anyone,
who has seen the eyes of divinity
would ever think that they should leave
whatever space or place or mindset where
they found it, to deny intrepidly that,
without a doubt,
they sincerely believe
that they
saw nothing
out of the ordinary;
no mysterious magic miracle
meant to mean something
to the eyes of wonder
worn by children,
full of mystic revelry;
That there
in this world
with mind unmarred
nothing surreal occurred;
no mysterious light was seen
which no one else could see:
and (hold on)
dismiss that which is in his view of the world which he verily sees,
…and just … look away…
is strange to me.

Why would someone want to leave
the presence and the peace
of creation for some dream?

What motivation could there be to dismiss reality
…for some make believe world…  
that, in which, magic things - do not - exist?

I certainly cannot believe they’d look away intentionally…
Not me!

linguistic ******* as the emergence of furor poeticus
  :: out of phonetic oral *** comes lyrical transcendence


  /
acacia thorns pierce the skin
while shittim pierces the veil of the perceivable
as golden incense weaves across the sky
to a sanctuary where we unwind space & time

prophet's write of the vapor turning on lights
and horns shining in rays of synesthesia

magi mixed herbs under the desert moon
which mapped a path through golden the sand

bundle's of wild harmel wood burns
as sparks flicker & dance with stars
in a moon reaching bonfire

under autumn shadows
in the harmonic hum of the aboriginal didgeridoo
drifting on the streams of wattle-seed smoke
  gazing down as the earth unfolds and refolds
            in a cymatic origami cardtrick

out of the soil grows the ship
which flies above the starry skies
fruit of biblical implications
with seeds of knowledge
& keys to ghostly dimensions

    //
Thomas Aquinas
& Meister Eikhart shared the same eye
as you & I
peel wide the smokescreen
& spy through the looking-glass used by god
  which saw god
which was the eye through which the son of god saw
& wept at the stale state
  of the collective unconscious bots
lost in spirals of consumption & mirror reflection *******

this is not the godless wasteland
advertised by the screaming anchormen
    fear-mongers & alarmists
who sell panic by the gallon

with electrodes probing their temporal lobes
the prophets & shaman's
are in the asylums
labeled as ******'s for their visions of angels
& demons
& messages from the god's

an amnesiac species
chasing the neurochemical highs
shaped by evolutionary design
as a means to survive

barrel of monkey's biologically
swinging about nuclear powered technology
        alienated
that far removed from nature (forest. desert. ocean)
planning to leave the planet entirely


    Om Mani Padme Hung
    OM
    Om Mani Padme Hung
    OM