Empty, and insanity.
A world, an imaginary bliss.
A mindspace, nothing to believe.

sometimes the worlds i enter
are not the worlds i’m meant to be in
i can’t deal with this pain
too piercing to be real, too solid to be fake
sometimes I regret getting into your mindspace
the chaos is too reasonable
too logical too orderly for it to be what it should
it pushes me away strong-armed memories
password protected secret files
stored in colour coded vaults
can’t break down the walls
all I want is to regress
back into myself
and stay there-rocked shut
you can’t pry me open
I’m lost in my mental pandemonium
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
        14.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Sophy’s mom sent her a giant case of “Fun dip” - a thousand packets of sour, fruit-flavored sugar. Is there anything more junkavore a parent can buy a child - well, ok, an 18 year old?

She LOVES them and so does Leong who’s from China where, apparently, you can’t get useless, non-nutritional snacks. The two of them are running around, all sugar hyped with their emo-grape-chemical-lips, sticking out phosphorescent-green-tongues and threatening to tickle everyone with cherry-red-fingers. It has me wondering, should I switch to dentistry?

Our college prep has moved to a new phase - with just 16 days until we move back into our residential college. We’re suddenly sleeping-in. It’s nothing we planned or even discussed, it just started happening. We go to sleep around 10pm and sleep until 10am - or later. I think we all subconsciously realized that soon we’ll be back to sleeplessness.

I’m peachy - in a great mindspace - these days. I’m well rested (see above), we’re killing our sophomore prep - even the physics, my period was a nothing, we spent over two hours in Ulta sampling perfumes, I have a new Macbook M2 (see below) and I painted my nails in tropical colors.

The FedEx man rolled up yesterday. “Anyone expecting something?” Anna asked the crowd of roommates attracted by the driver bringing packages to the door, two at a time. No one was expecting anything. Eventually he’d delivered 8, back to school, M2-Macbooks (2 in each color) - one for everyone - from my Grandmère.

If that sounds needlessly ostentatious, then you’re thinking she went to the mall and paid full price, but she probably just traded Tim Cook a half ton of lithium or something - one of her companies mines it - in Chili - I think. But still, my roommates were blagabloo.

I picked a starlight one. An odd thing about the new, flat Macbook Air design is that you can’t pick it up with one hand - unless you hook it underneath with a long fingernail - what are guys going to do?

i sink through fields of red crimson cord, strewn across my own mindspace
synapse detached through joint stimulating electron particle repulsion
soul and heart and hearth and home
dissolved in a soup of blind, driven, unREMORSEFUL feeling

bleeding blood that appears not as blood, trailing in stream(er)s from a decorated float
appearing through veiled social distance, bleeding through to dark spots on the jeans i haven't washed since last week
appearing as an image, mirrored reflection with just a
hint
of deception
(as though i'm not really here, i'm not who you think i am you will me to be,
i disappeared when you last left me here, last left to chase your own sun
i disappeared slowly, as if melting, dissolving, being swept away, dust filled
i disappeared in the wake of the last tornado to sweep through this yawning town
this blip on my radar
this phase that fazes me not as i walk jaded, unfeeling, uncaring, unmoved
i disappeared and now there's no trace of me left to answer)

i retain my poker face from guys' night out, though now i don't have to tell you that tonight i need to be alone, no,
tonight i
w h i s p e r
it
as if you're still listening

Today was a dark day
I am hollow as always
(Except when I'm bursting at the seams)
It seems...
That we always come back to this space
This empty mindspace
Sorrow and numbness
Fueling my dumbness
What if brain cells died every time I cried
I would be doomed
So we enter the gloom
Today was a dark day
And tomorrow will burn my eyes
Light and love will be found all around me
Fueling the fire
I already have everything I desire
So today was a dark day
But tomorrow will be sunshine and daisies
I always hated daises
But I soak up the sunshine like a cat curling up in its warmth
You bring on the cold
But I'm here to weather the storm
I will always return to the sun
I will always come back to the moon
I'm a sword sheathed in darkness
But I'm getting ready to glint and shine
Happiness will be yours and mine

Subject enters trance
Subject enters trance state
Subject enters entrancement

Entrance word opens mind
Mental kind
Mind kind, man kind, male and female

see that fe,
see iron, the processed bile,
from certain ores -  see a detail

allowed the ancient few who read
all the ancient writings, as we read
French or Farsi, today, we the augmental.

Augmented I, exo-mindful chooser bot,
software, with a calcium lattice frame,

any curious child could have been shown,
by way of instructions, seldom read, ready

do the drill. Do it again. Do another whole
day. Being particular as to what use is made

of my pronominal reality state, my real estate.

Non moi. My ever after all of that. This.
These
times that try men's souls, since this means
of forming information along bendable old bones,

Once, in the dreamtime's local translation mindspace
timeless,
nothing was.
Nothing was evil, and that was good, a chain construct,

mind chain, prior to any sense we readers hold chains
to represent, closed torqued rods of iron, formed
on the horn of the anvil, the only known anvil,
for the making of such things was closed knowing,

must be earned, this epithet, honest, most honed,
among the dull stone scattered across my plain,

Mam, re, remember,
Mamre had a plain called by his name.

Terebinthine Oaks, con-secration acknowledged,

by whom, asks my little boy, who knew which oak
Jacob buried the stolen idols lied about under,
for shame.
For shame, he who wrestles still, with the will
to be the bherer of all my own shame, amen.

Nothing hidden that shall… should we quibble?
Known is known,
and should one choose one may make a plain
from a point
once,
stretched this far. And holding… ad in fun item,
Chotsky for any one to open worm cans with.

Open mindspace dreamcatcher lounge,
down to the casino,
wonder if we just pretend to gamble,
take a chance,
wanna dance, not a chance in hell,
and now
we know this is not that.

does
the caged soul
in the lantern
make you wonder
if all things
bright and beautiful
were to be seen
but never felt?
or did your
scheduled interruption
of ludicrous
malcontentment
waltz right into
your empty mindspace
and pluck your
pretty eyeballs out,
because, well, i
obviously convinced
him to, and
what good were
they, anyway?
you never
saw me
storm into your
vaulted life
with half determination,
clear the dust
off your subconscious
so you could see
the constellation;
you city lamp,
it hurt your pride
when you learnt
to look inside
and found an
excavated void
of vice and
nowhere you
can hide,
tell me, was it
arduous to decide
to climb
the cliff
and learn
to fly?
i'll tell you why:
that vengeful
little bird
has acquiesced
without a word
to aim and
shoot you in
the leg, then
watch you grovel,
watch you beg
until you shatter
onto the floor,
heartbreaking
piteous and poor,
like a broken
autumn leaf
but it's not
pretty anymore;
molten wax
around your ankles,
i'll let you
ornament my
candle stand,
let you burn
right through
the night; i
should've known
my little
counting stars
were far too
bright, too fluorescent
for you, feckless,
worthless, bewitching
scrap of pretty, vain
frustration.

Life; a story you're writing, conscious of the fact or not
We can choose abuse being snake bitten and rot
raising tense stresses into a self-induced blood clot.
Yet I won't relinquish one single red drop, to a moment I don't give consent to
Faith bled through having left school for not wanting to have to wear that bruise
Rent's due, hop out of the pool put on your shoes and proceed with the program
even if black and blue
I can squeeze in a nap first though, yeah? Coo'

Z speaks heat keeping me from lucid, leading me to secretly seek guidance from the druids.
They said I need to travel to a mindspace less polluted.
Dance with your soul outside the confines of institutions.
Stop with the concept of timeframes, and shooting blame at the moon
It is you, and has your back at high noon with a bird's eye view
Respect it's ability to shine true, seemingly alone in the dark.  
The evidence grew, pulsating passion pushing you past the place you first found your spark
This is your territory, now is time to chart.

It's all a game, and you write the screenplay ruled even by the thoughts you don't say
Feeding energy into the flame that has lead us unto elevated states.
The ground shakes and high richter reading earthquakes break your world apart
Rocks into sand into dust into nothing, to realize the only truths were not in your brain,
but rather your heart

With every reflex bursting from nerve-endings, there's satisfying new start.
Inside infinity within forever your being is slowly seeing its' mark.
Release the resentment and anger that lays wait in your brow
For existence flows in whatever reflection you allow
Right here you have the choice to either fly or drown
So believe that all that ever matters, is **now

how is it raining

when you are the sun
shining bright and lighting the world
dissolving darkness into colour

when you fill my mindspace
poking out through every crack
chiseled by those who came before

when you evaporate my memories
making me forget the danger
of getting too close too quickly

because when comets fly around the sun they burn

Who am I?  I is a letter not a word. a letter is unique.  one of 26.  only 26.

I have never felt like one of…anything
to say one of…means when you are not there you are missing

you are missed

I have disappeared many times
but I have never been missed

The earth is vast.  But my space is narrow.  A cave.  I see only projections.  To me.  You.
Who ever you are.  Are what you were that day.  Nothing more.  

I am a bad habit.  The result of a bad habit.  I was never intended.  I have no tongue.  My words are garbled.  Misunderstood.   I have no ears.  Your words do not exist.  To me.

Eternity is a circle.  Inside a square.  And I feel the breath of a dying angel on my skin.  Cold.  Like the reach of desperation.  Hope is one finger raised to heaven.  And a cliff.  You choose the finger.  

Guardians are a myth.  No one is watching us.  

I am listening to Interpol again.  the first record.  when it was a new sound.  and you could get lost.  in it.  you wanted it.  but did not know what it was.
what do you do when you meet your own resistance?  do you mingle and merge?  or do you run and hide?

Now, what we were thinking
we could do together, for fun…
we can't
with this tech, too soon- we tried
Audio recording started: 1:12 PM Wednesday, November 8, 2023
Ifery is, this is a magic pen and can contain audio,
I'll have you know, I imagined this,
I'll have you know, so farther down you know it gets back
to the time when Amazon Web Services read all the small print
and the metadata associated, socially servicing aching needs
Information wants to be free
Little Shoppe Feed Me, we few old fools recall the vegemental
protest at the time,
we could feel dead trees in our hands,
how wrong I was is a crime. In reality, I did my time, on the line,

and I'm still on the line, and life ain't been no opioid dream,
soft hmmm
seems drunker, this
repositioning for interesting clause, riddles are blessings, not lies.

So this is a twist to tighten, widdershins loosens,
guilden rule. Righty, tighty.
Who said that?
Right
mechanical me mind, hear-sed
By whose authority do you make crys
for peace, where no crys were?
Smoke Fire
Is something wrong old man?
Is there something of yourself you see,
afar, as seen
on TV, No Country, Pretty Horses, Road
weary
been there, in that novel state of mind,
new to mankind, only a few centuries old,
the art of lying to make an unthinkable, thought.

A meme, make a meme, flash a fict, a second thought
Per haps make up a mind, and let it form in mindspace
time to time,

we catch a novel experience unfolding compacted
scrolls of gnosis knots blown to cover our tracks,

through the highest parts of the dust of the Earth,
embedded capital classificators exist, many signs
mean almost any thing that stands to prove patience

works.
Wait and see.

I waited until I was certain someone among everyone
loves the idea that dying is not to be feared, never was,

it is part of life, and, I dare say, done right, it is the best.

Alone and lonely are not the same feel,
see a said word as a said word, is a thought.

First, principle principle, pal. First ever eternal pre-time
instant wisdom pops up in the mind of Christ, allatime, man.
Magi
School, we live,
we learn, we linger, listen, did you wish you
had done more good, did you think you earn
rank
play the role you audition for, or go home, old man.
Serpentine wisdom bent left on a bet, my point.
?
Okeh, I got a back up, in case we disagree and bring down
the conceptual internet with wizardly gamey loungeers, seek
-erefteaaaaaaaaahhush

lurkers averse to flame wars.
Does the name Barry Rudd mean anything to you?
Does the word Hiroshima evoke images for you?

When the Spaceshuttles were built in Palmdale,
the assembly hangar was so voluminous a bubble
as to create a micro weather system, in the building.

What the Arpanet imitation game intended to use it for,
was as secret as any cold war secrets are, timelocks slip.

When AT&T was as real as any evolved ideal communication
of private information on a secure as money can make it,
network, hyphenate at will, the economy, stupid,
one that can survive mutually assured destruction, 1954.
Contract for the concrete, stamped 1954
Let time slip, be the boomer kid, like on TV in the commercials,
real every day as Silver Dollar Billy Baxter, totally typical, Jungian

Ranking higher, trending below Freudian slips in eugeniusisity
Your Holiness,
no, I
insist, stand for nothing less, a title,
for a soul, so, easy, you imagine, no, it was not so easy.

It was never imagined easy, now it is.

That makes it easier, believe me.
- he cops watch out
Oy, feel the old rage,
at Ed Childs's child's nursing home,
Al'heimering mindtimespace adrift, ifery
wasery, we can remember laughing at knowing

Ed Childs was a quiet man, for real,
and he went into real estate, when Hamner and Limonite
was in the sticks.

I can ruminate on wealth and worth, healing and measuring
worth of the scar to prove the contestant worthy,

boomer bunch panting
Queen For A Day, golden Cadillac, drool
old school applause-ometer….

I can take it from here,
but who's listening, 'm seemingly directional point concept
precept point widdershins introducing true cause chirality,
is up or down turned sideways,
a property of asymmetry,
you see, we work inside a set of six cardinal, pivotal points,
each of us, and all of us,
can make sense of most anything at once
we think ourselves sane, all at once, or once and for all,
go bigtime Alzheim extremist POV, being, happy
with the package.

A joint for a retired K-9 cop in Anaheim, a boomer,
never dropped out, nor tuned in, went with the game,
got good enough to know when to quit, and then he gets

Alzheimer's. Just so happens, thoughts, wishes or prayers,
chants, incense, any thing you think might help, does help.

It's a very ancient kind of love,
a love that laughs at fearing death, as we laugh today,
at children dressing in roles from mystery religious oathes.

Jesus, says in his own time and voice, I told you so.
We both laugh; secret oath wink.

-------------------
From the sign on the bridge saying
life is worth living, no 1-800 rukidding
- any body could but it was William James
- madjathinkit
Yeah, novel events grow stale if they sit,
mistaking thinking and doing, as mirrored
in the realm where prayers are answered
and made up minds are tested for repurposing.

Perhaps a variety of a general irreligious fine mind.
---------
That's a thing, back to the Hangar, now, you know
where you go when you link through the poet facet.

Here, below the western highside of the great basin,
we dug-in, we hired The Boring Company,
all telepathically, to investigate the likelihood
of any mortal good ever eliminating the evil nature

nurtured in warring cultures time immemorial,
-seditselah
eliminating cost of living, leaving being all we do.

matrix, make up your own mind, live with pain

and that's just not right,
and we twist the entire story out the window
and into thin air we know is there, because,
cause being aitia and I agree we be causing

so much silliness of the original intentional sort,
as to make old men wish,

the world were not so reassuring, until

we all selah and listen holygnosishitsreal, side reality,

minds intwined in mysterious old stories, when gay
was only happy, and buttoned up, as secret Edwardians
would that it were forever so,

oh, ** **, ye'll deal with a devil for a tale, you tell me,
let me test yer mettle, curse god, and die.
Iyobe
Did you think that and continue, such faith,
commends ye to the circle that eats, what the bull eats.

We intend to think our God's thoughts, right after,
hot, steaming prophetic gnosishit, not gnosisnot, that's
strange
very
strange, did I catch a meme from Sunshine Superman,
should 2525 arrive.
Just in case.
This was all worth it, this time.

I tell myself
As a man of sense and reason
'Ghosts and gods do not exist'

I'm not afraid
Of movements in shadows
Or the wrath of fiction work deities.

I'm too busy
Haunting my own mind
With toxic self awareness and self made demons.

calling all nyc empaths,

whose mindspace's

grating like a subway overpass.

the noisome level of this ghostabout,

whose reminiscence slithers against the

doors of Passover.

booming rushes with no hour,

a freak composer sounding

down poised instruments.

with invisible motions.

the acoustics of darkened stages steadily

stirred by an incredible silence.

of a growing audience meditating

without distraction.

Counting blessings,
slowly
re
thinking this
or that is mine to enjoy, take joy
make joy, from… and then
re thinking
what if I think where does this joy
rise from, for it is in me, at the sight
of that seeming right,
the leaves shining, seen, shining green
in front of me, a bumper to absorb
reality and leave me just a bit
to see in foveal clarity for the briefest
time.

Once, upon a time, there was a child
who read a thousand stories of heroes,
by the time he was ten, then
he became an old man, root, branch and
fruit from those sown dragon teeth and dual
whirlpools passed through,
diva sirens and mushroom clouds
from hookah handed down, with golden
crown,
crown of creation,
did we dance to another's music,
or did we all sing one song, some one
heard it first,
what a cost, wiseman saves civilization
and no man knows was he wombed or un.

Do we evolve to sit as caterpillar,
in Dodgson, artful resistor, deacon
with a daemonical twinkle to lucify

nonsense so well it fits his wordswork fine
Jabberwocky, high church, like Rupert,
the ever ringing church bell, do tell,
can we think peace is made up
one mind stretch touch at a time?

I'm apt to say certainly, and think nothing
of knowing if I am certain, I am not the quest.

And you are not the ion, so we sense
nonsense as a mass, message in the mindspace
wave-ishly lapping at the edges of life,
the pearling years of contemplation,

temple time taken as granted, by no diligence
done with more than easy entreatment
being the effect I sought in prayer,
I wished to know the truth that makes free,

no sorrow added, no **** taken,
no fame or riches earned, but accepted
as inevitable as thanos -- our cultural ethos

RIP Stan Lee, what a legacy you left.
We have convergence of all the globes mythic
resources, fitting in fiveside symmetries

too close to images of some life form
to be hidden in truth hiding liturgical ritual

walk the walk,
read the rule, know the story before
you go off half-cocked… multiplexities of
pearling for sheen, see we intend to shine,
by reason of some promises in the first ten
chapters of Solomon's collection inherited

by readers in the American Southwest,
where I was reared, near the Hualapai
and their near cousins along the river,
the dammed river, by then,
when the order of the world was being
agreed to in Geneva, I think I heard,
and fought for in Korea, and Viet Nam,

dams were being bumped by billy goats,
in a song sung by Sammy Davis,
nosense seemed saved by Ben Hur
quite the crazy time to be ten, and literate.

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3345144/when-we-met-in-the-funny-papers-i-took-notes/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3121608/worth-the-debt/

Legends are stories told as told as told, as long
as any sense
feels the tug. Eh, what's on your mind?

I dunno, what's on yours? Hmm, am I double minded,
of course, science is clear on the bilateral dialogical inception
in the real world of science and recycling natural processes
evolving on the same idea as time and space.
- branching out, as from one neuron receptor toward
- another new idea, that just
- occurred as you were breathing out,
- do that again, think it feels like pigeon superstition…
Bird brain ontologic, BTDT the symptoms once called senile
imbecilities- logos uses severed from any aim at all,
just for enjoyment
making peace a thinkable once upon a certain mindspace
morphing wave of recoknowns taken long since
as sacred secret knowns, all sealed when the final Tanach
was closed to any private interpretation
"Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the
earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?" WW


feels familiar, lying devil. Whole raft of traits long registered
as one of those familiar spirits, an instant in reality
lust to know will to learn,
that zips past attention right into recognition
so it feels
like we have had this talk, different words, perhaps, but
these ideas, we have thought these same words perhaps

and now time and chance has this little bit match that,
and we admit a flood of mere… MERE the measure,
wee bit more than no account, merely a mention,

AS if ie whatifery, not likely, ify, de-ify… why certainly,

we all have some point in now, how else could you read?
By my faith, hey? I wager wonder,

if you pay my worth, am I richer for knowing in advance,
like insider trading with Famous Amos for recipes.