In the dying days of my youth
the vivid colors
that my eyes can see
and the lucid imaginations
that my mind can imagine
are starting to fade,
as I arouse from a hazy dream
I realized how murky reality can be.
It has numb my soul
and corrupted my mind
making me wish to turn back time,
when I haven't drowned from my thoughts,
when I was still innocent
and know so little of the world around me.
Now, every step I take
leads me to the unknown.
But I know I have to keep moving
hoping to find calmness once again
in what seems to be
a lifetime of chaos.

I find myself stopping in a crowd of people and time slows still. Their laughter, their unpredictable movements, the fights and the resolutions and the bonding of brothers--all quiet. I am left in the fabric of things to wonder at the tapestry we call a culture.

How am I to know what is proper when all have their own true mothertongue? Who can teach me what to say when all I know is jumbled and disheveled based on who I've been and what I know?

I leave behind a southern legacy of liturgy and doctrine that outlines exactly what is human and exactly what is not. I step into a society that constantly years to fill a void--please Lord, find us someone who knows the Truth.  

Their apathy and nonchalance is false; bravado is left wanting. I know they they all cry out for connection and seek it in flesh rather than spirit. I am caught in the midst of the pursuit of happiness and the quest for morality. I know not what brings joy to humanity, I hike towards that river and hope it is not run dry like all others.

In the study of psychology, I have found so many places where words fall short and the great carnal animal within all of us takes precedence, demands attention, seeking comfort in a world that often overlooks those that need it the most.

Love is a fragile, timid thing that is most often hard to find and difficult to voice. Instead, we lash out in aggression to hide that inner child that needs a tried and true comfort of a known embrace. We seek forgiveness and express it in anger, manipulation, meeting our needs however possible because this is America, after all.

This is all we want in our sequestered human heart, the beginning of redemption.

Have you ever faced the dilemma of knowing that only love can save you and then had your mind ask you if that is your motive for the relationship you are in?
If your motive is to fall in love can you ever find the real thing?

One previous owner.
Two ears, used... not only capable of hearing but also listening.
Two shoulders to support a weary head... waterproof.
Two arms to carry, support and protect.
A heart that knows both empathy and care. (slight damage)
A mind, complete with experience and blank space to learn anew.
Packaging a little battered but in working order.
Must be willing to take as complete set.
Listing period... indefinite.

I sing an ancient song.
In voice once loud though now less strong.
The melody and chorus though of my own
To everyone at times is known.
In happiness yet louder in times of fear.
The question of why "I" am here.
The songs refrain passed along the line,
deluded that all its answers be mine.
But as has gone from times before,
The song will play for evermore.

Are the bandages put away?
The stitches removed?
Has the scar healed over?
Has your mind reconnected?
Does your heart beat with regular thump?
Have tear ducts stopped erratic behavior?
Yes?
Then you are ready to fall in love again... good luck.

I live in the darkest of places,
it is here that I constantly dwell
Some would call it empty,
but to me its name is just hell.

So rare is there anything,
that enters here into my night.
But every so often I am tortured,
by glimpsed reflections of light.

I watch as light approaches,
feel its warmth inside of me.
Giving rise to both dream and hope
and the promise of things that might be.

I watch as light passes,
and bathe in its radiant shine.
Thoughts voiced by madness,
I look to the light for a sign.

As it draws nearer to my existence,
and knowing what I need it to be.
The light always unerringly diverges,
I now aware the light just didn't seek me.

I sit and remember the lights,
here in my own black little shell,
I look all about me at darkness,
knowing that light wont ever want hell.

Sons of Belial and sons of

whatever is riding the wave of re
ality crosswise carrying
other kinds of whats
so ever
in an umph-epiphanny-trypac,
while balanced on the very
edge
of eternity, sharper than any twoedged everthought,

twixt soul and spirit,
is never
more confusing than now.

whe-
never was, a long, long, doppletop,
oweroath, a cutcoven (blood'n'all)

mental, mental, nothing is real, it's
a project

some kinds of ideas are working in re
ality,
like sci-fi, back in Hubbard's day,

crazy is owned by Patsy, in my mind
and I was not sixteen,

not like you thought. K'oughtcha.
I was fifteen

Historical ideas come in sub
kinds. That's new. Wow works here as a word
denoting proper awe,

that's good, after wattwe done t' awesome 'n' awful.

======
Time kinds of ideas differ in classes and speeds.

======
Balancing and Valencing equivalency ideas,
at the core are gravitational
deter
meaning ful syn chro no ifity ness, aside.
did that make sense?
it might.

might not.

sensibility evaluation, aha. It's here in this set
of kinds of
ideas we all thought possible.
Boo Yah'll 'n'all that..

=====
That peace past standing up under knowing
good and evil and allaboth atthat,
that
peace past real under standing, that

True rest, trust me. Winning right is worth

the effort to play the game. But I learned too late.

======
loser ideas, innumb-mersable fixet functions, not
ideas at at all, states inwaiting attributable

to the whole one feels not part of, a wheel in
the blind
watchamacallit maker's shoppe o'kurios 'n' kachinas

wheels in wheels in belts and straps and beams and nails
and stones
and chisels...

this could be the grave, we can see
it's empty.
Where's my body gone? Aha. Y'know, y'know it's about

time is all. No lie lives forever. Yet
any word once yoost to lying
may be deemed phor
worthy of all we agree to let be in it.

--- flash--- we had eight in a 55 vw, to sneak into the drive
in, drunk on somebodies seventeenth birthedays---

We interupt this broadcasting process from time to time

to stock new seedy ideas, re
deemed worth repeating,
doubletap oath idea from old sicilian proverb untwisted.

Score. Sorry, I thought. You were reading. If you got this far,
you call the winner. But the score remains
a hist oracle idea of a very old kind.

The metagame was won in time.

I tripped over love
Losing my balance twice,
Maybe the next time

Do you see clear the coast at hand.
And know the side to which you stand.
Are your feet safe in the sand.
Or do you flounder in the waters band.
Is your strength firm on the land.
Or will sea hold sway through its command.
Will you follow the seas demand.
Or pull for shore with oars all manned.
To steer the course that life has planned.