We are consciousness, and only consciousness.

The consciousness that is somehow bound to the body, is conscious of everything.

Thoughts are like people moving around in the market place. Thoughts are everywhere and when we give our attention to thoughts, when our consciousness looks at thoughts, which are everywhere to be seen, which are all around us, we experience thinking.

It is very important that we understand that we are consciousness and only consiousness.

This way we can free ourselves from the prison that we are in but yet don't know we are in. Humanity is enslaved thanks to the mind. Not just because the mind exists, but because of the believes that we carry in the mind, which are believes that keep us limited. We believe things that are not truly true, and this keeps us in a kind of prison.

When we are born in a body, we are free and we are just consciousness, purely conscious.

As we grow, all the information that is already here in the world is ingested into our mind. As we continue to grow, and as all this information continues to grow in our mind, we start to forget that we are just pure consciousness. By the time we are teenagers, and by the time we start to become adults, we have totally forgotten that we are just consciousness and we live our lives in a little box because we limit ourselves with the believes that are inevitably conditioned upon us. We believe that we are this body and we are not this body. When i say we, i am talking about the consciousness, the pure consciousness.

And the problem is not only that we believe we are this body, but we grow the habit to think compulsively.

Anything in this world can become a habit, and for the mayority of humanity , thinking has become a habit.

So what happens?
The pure consciousness that you are is never pure, is never silent, is never fully conscious because first of all, we are taught to believe that we are the body-mind, and second of all, we grow the habit to always think by always having to judge ourselves to see if what  we are doing is right or wrong, to see if we are to be punished or if we are to be rewarded. And this supports and strengthens the believe that we are the thinker, that we are the body.

When we don't allow spaces of no-thought, of no-thinking, we forget that we are an empty sky.  

My effort on leaving behind all these words is to wake up as many people as possible.

People are missing a great opportunity.

People stay living in a little room when they can be living in a huge palace.

All that has to do be done is to find a little distance between thoughts, between feelings, between everything and always remain a watching presence. Now, we are always this watching presence, we are always consciousness even if we are unconscious about it. Even if we are unconscious about the fact that we are consciousness , we remain consciousness. For example, all animals are consciousness, they are awareness, but they are unaware of this. Their body limits them because it lacks intelligence. They are not fully and totally free and they can not be either. But at the same time they don't have to be. By nature they  don't have to be intelligent, they are fine just how they are and they are in the process of one day becoming conscious like we are, like the humans are. Still, there are many humans who remain unconscious of the fact that they are consciousness and only consciousness. Without shape, without form. Just consciousness, awareness, everywhere. This whole universe is consciousness and when this consciousness is merged to a body, the body is simply a contact point of the consciousness.

At some point, when the body of a baby is being developed in the mothers womb, a little spec of consciousness enters and binds to the body of the baby and this happens because through the human body, through a human experience, the consciousness is capable of becoming aware of itself and this realization is possible in any one life time, in any one human experience. But, it has not been so. It has taken many many life-times and many many people have not yet realized this. People can't even believe that they had a life before this life and that they can have a life after this life as well. People can't even conceive this. But it is true. People have been going life after life, obviously and naturally not remembering the past life, but going life after life not going beyond life. Not going beyond the human or atleast not even understanding, discovering, learning , what life is, what the human is. People remain ignorant and afraid because of the conditioning that they receive.

All conditions prevent the being from trascending their lives and consciousness because in our true nature we are totally unconditioned- free-beings. Any condition that is imposed on us goes against our very nature and anything that goes against nature is bound to have problems.  

And so my reason for saying these things that i have discovered to be true in me, is to help people remember or to atleast give people a new idea that there is the possibility of something more, of something greater than life, something with no limitations, something with no death, something that can not get sick, that can not feel pain, something of pure joy and peace , of pure love.

Every single human being is searching for this something, every single human being is searching for themselves. And they are searching because they remember. They have been themselves before. They are themselves right now. They are consciousness right now, but there are so many things in the mind that they forgot and they dont know. And when they hear something that is true, when something is said that points to that consciousness, automatically something is felt inside, something is triggered.

This whole search for truth or for enlightenment is a search for our own selfs.

It is a remembering process that happens.

Go into this search as empty as possible.

The less conditions you carry , the less knowledge you carry, the more simple and humble you are, the easier it is to remember who you are, because it does not take knowledge to know that you are consciousness, that you are awareness, it simply takes consciousness and awareness.

So it is important to be aware of everything, of every single thought that comes in and out. Be aware of the believes that you believe and the believes that you don't believe.

I don't know if there are people who for some reason are not ready to awaken, even though they can, even though every single human being can awaken, but,  there are people who have put too much into their believes, too much faith, and who can not even concieve the idea of dropping these believes, these investments. Now, the funny thing is, that even all these people who are unaware, are consciousness themselves. And it makes sense that these people who are unconscious , are here in the world so that other people can wake up, so that other people can learn from them, so that other people can see their unconsciousness, can see their behaviors, and use them towards their journey, towards their enlightenment, towards their shift of consciousness.  

"We are itself the consciousness presenting itself as human nature" - Mooji.

We , the consciousness, invisible consciousness that can not be seen nor touched, which one day was before Earth was created, that consciousness that is everywhere like space, over time has manifested itself in the world of form, in the world of matter and eventually through the movement of what appears to be time, manifested itself as a human being.

It is an invisible yet conscious phenomena that has managed to make a form out of atoms and elements, managed to make a form out of itself, out of elements of itself, and managed to create the world that we can see today. And seeing the vastness of the universe, we can see the many possibilities that exist, the many possibilities of consciousness to keep growing, to keep creating, to keep expanding, to keep evolving.  

One day i am not going to be able to express myself through Esteban, yet i will be expressing myself through other bodies, with other names. And i have been expressing myself through other bodies also, like for example one of my favorite man, Osho, Bhagwan. Osho is I. Osho is the same consciousness that is in Esteban, expressing. Now, we look different in the outside, our voices are different, our accents are different, but it is the same consciousness trying to express the same thing. Once we know that we are this limitless consciousness, we can start focusing on creating things. But right now what is important is that everybody realizes that we are this consciousness, because if not everybody knows this, then we can not create, we can not work to our full potential. Once we know who we are, once we know WHAT we are, we will know exactly what we have to do, what we can do, and we would do it with a quality that has not existed before. A quality of super consciousness, a godly quality. So before we focus on the outside world we have to focus on the inside world first. Before we can create beauty outside we have to create beauty inside, because the outside world is a reflection of the inside world.

If the inside world is not pure, is not balanced, then the outside world will not be pure, will not be balanced.

If inside of us there is tension, anxiety, fear, hate, anger, violence; this is what will be expressed outside of us. If inside of us there is love, wisdom, peace, joy, beauty; then outside of us there will be all of this as-well.

The problem is not whether we are thinking negatively or positively, the problem is that we are thinking unconsciously.

That we think negative or positive thoughts does not matter as long as we know that we are thinking. And not because we are the thinker but because thoughts are passing through the mind and here the consciousness that we are , "thinks". But it does not think as in it is doing something, it simply sees the thoughts. The consciousness does not even move, does not even blink, does not have eyes like these eyes. The consciousness just is, and the consciousness sees thoughts moving, occuring.

The problem is not that the consciousness is seeing negative thoughts, the problem is that if the consciousness is seeing negative thoughts, it believes the negative thoughts.

You forget that you are the awareness that watches thoughts, totally separate from the thoughts.

You are simply giving attention to the thoughts.

Like i said before, thoughts are moving all around you. You can not see or grab them because they are so subtle in their manifestation, yet they ARE energy in movement, they exist but in different frequencies of existence. And they are everywhere.

When we experience thoughts, what ever category of thoughts, it is because we are giving our attention to those thoughts. Every single thought is available to us. The mind is not just your mind, my mind; The mind is one universal facility, available to all.

And so, the problem is not that you are thinking negativily.

The problem is that you are thinking unconsciously.

Become more conscious of your thinking. Become conscious of thoughts. If the thoughts are negative, watch them. If the thoughts are positive, watch them. But don't judge them as negative or positive, dont judge the thinking. If negative thoughts are percieved, don't start saying to yourself  "oh why am im always thinking negatively? ;( " because this IS another thought and you are not watching it. Usually THIS is the thought that is not watched.

You watch a thought, for example, you watch a negative thought. This negative thought brings out negative emotions because thoughts are the cause of emotions. Emotions are energies-in-motion. You watch your thinking, you watch the negative thought and then you say, "oh this thought is bad, why am i thinking these thoughts? I should not be thinking this way, what is wrong with me?" that right there is a thought also and you are thinking, believing, that it is you!

Any judgement is a form of thought.

Anything that consists of words or symbols and even images are thoughts. It is all mind and the problem is that there are thoughts that are not being watched, observed, and this is keeping you unconscious and troubled.

There are many thoughts that we are not aware of.

For example, we watch a negative thought , we percieve a negative thought, but then the next thought that talks about that negative thought, we don't see because we think, believe, that we are the one who talks instead of remaining the watching consciousness that we are.

We are not the one who talks because we don't even have a mouth to talk through. We are simply and only consciousness. We use the human body as an instrument to talk and express ourselves but we remain the conscious awareness.

Those thoughts that are not being watched are keeping us from going deeper into life.

These unobserved thoughts are keeping us traped in the mind.

So if you ever ask yourself the question, what is life?
What is my purpose in life?
What should i do?
What should i not do?
If you are not out of the mind, you will not get the true answer because the mind is limited to these questions.

The mind will only give you that which has already been given. It will not give you originality.

Simply try this out:

When ever you are experiencing thinking, let the thoughts be, don't judge them as negative or positive thoughts, as good or bad thoughts, just watch them. If you do judge them and you say "*** why am i thinking that?! " watch that, watch that judgement. Keep watching, just simply watching, purely aware of every single thought, keep watching and you will start to feel a distance, a silence, a space.

See how long you can go from thought to no-thought to thought.
See how long you can remain in a silent gap between thoughts.
Watch your thoughts, watch your thinking and see how the watchingness slowly expands.
See how the silent gaps become longer.
And see the peace that these silent gaps bring.

In Japan, there was an ice cold assassin, that rose through the ranks of the Lin Kuei Clan.   Mid snow flurry, he could avoid every flake, and seize the brittle crystal without breaking it.  He could walk on snow without sinking in, japan's cold winter, is when he was unopposed and most ruthless--slaying debtee and their family.  His ice cold ego, came into contact with a shaolin warrior, who was trained to feel the cold, and never run away from it, nor get used to it, but feel the chill everytime without hardening his self.  Sub-Zero was defeated but not killed, and scorned to the Gods during a snowstorm, " I am the better, and was defeated by a lessor, I appeal to the powerful, give me the power of ice, so that no one shall adapt to my soul's chill, give me the power and my clan shall be in service to you."

Then a snow crystal fell, bigger than most, and he clutched it, and looked in his palm, the crystal was in the form of a pentagram.  The wind whispered, " The most cold and still realm of hell will be in your veins, if you partaketh of this crystal."  And the power of ice, that no man could withstand was at his disposal, and he was locked in a contract, that was unbreakable.

He rose to leader of the clan, and changed the color of the assasin uniform to the color of the cold region of hell, and he could not find the shaolin warrior who defeated him, and so slayed his mentor.
One hot day, his soldiers came back defeated, by a pearl diver, who refused to pay tribute to their mafia.  Sub-zero impaled the clan's soldiers who had their uniform in tatters--by raising jagged ice spears from hell.  The ice never thawed, and the men never fully died, but looked up at the high cieling from their bespearment to a mosaic of an icy and lonely realm-- a message to anyone who fails the clan--that you shall be pierced and preserved.  Sub-zero took the rest to pay a visit to the pearl diver who had stained the Clan's uniform with the blood color of disgrace.

The pearl diver, was in the bay diving down to the bottom for pearls.  He felt the water suddenly get cold, and swam upward to the surface, where he came in contact with the surface of the water, frozen over, and he saw the boots walking over the ice.  They were holding heads that leaked onto the clear ice underfoot and as the pearl diver struggled for air underneath, he saw the heads of his family dropped onto the ice.
Then Sub-zero kneeled down, holding his wife's head to the drowning pearl diver, and placed it on the ice, so he shall see the horrid picture as he drowned underneath.  The Clan took leave, from the bay.

The pearl diver did not fear death, but went mad, as he sank downward into oblivion, staring upward, rage took over his once good heart, and he turned away to look into the depths, shouting " Let me born again, so I shall live a life of fire, so that anyone who dares come close, shall be scolded, GOD OF REVENGE, LET ME BE BORN AGAIN."
The pearl diver breathed in the water unblinking, and his heart stopped, but still he lived as he sank reaching the bottom and there was a scorpion at his feet, and the depths spoke, " Let this scorpion sting both your eyes, and command the fire of hell, and be born again, to melt the ice."
He took the scorpion--who glowed hot in the dark depths-- and stung his eyes, his pupils went from his eyes, leaving milk swirls as his ovals of revenge.  " Now let it snip your lips and chin, so that you may breath the painfull sting of fire upon your enemies without singing your own flesh."

The scorpion greedily ate his lips, tongue and chin, giving him a mouth guard of skull.  " Now you are born again Scorpion, arise, and REVENGE."

Scorpion, screamed, no longer a human voice, but demonic, and grabbed the chain from his boat anchor, and climbed. Upon reaching the ice barrier, he touched his hands to it, and burned a hole and emerged forth.  He pulled up the chain with ease into the air from the depths, the metal barb on the end that served as an anchor, was now for impaling hearts and not the sea bottom.  He snapped his arm and the chain coiled around his arm, ready to sail out to impale and bring his enemies up to his eyes, so they can feel the painfull sting of fire up close, and see Scorpions eyes.
He walked to shore, his feet singing and melting Sub-zero's ice as he walked.
His walk was illusive, as a flickering flame, Scorpion could not be percieved directly without mesmerizing, as a fire in total darkness.

He reached shore, and found a Clan member, he harpooned him with his chain and barb, and brought him close to his face with his chained anchor, and melted the henchman's face with his hot breath.
He stripped him naked with his curved pearl knife, and donned the uniform of the Lin Kuei, ice blue, then the uniform turned yellow from his hot blood underneath, turning the uniform yellow as if it was boiled alive in a ***.  Scorpions' veins serpentined on his forearms, his muscles always a'sweat and full of blood .  The color of his revenge was yellow, mocking the blue Lin Kuei's uniform with the color of cowardice.

He tracked down Sub-Zero to his Clan hall that resembled the cold layer of hell with victims adorning his walls and floors that were pierced by ice sculpture and still a 'quarter alive staring at the cieling.  Sub-Zero felt the slight thaw of his ice, and knew the presence of Scorpion.  

Scorpion flickered from the torches that bedecked the walls, and burnt the guards throats with his hands so they crawled around uselessly.  When a clan member espied the demonic ninja, Scorpion was behind him, breathing on his neck, and the guard fell to the ground in three pieces.

Sub-Zero's throne room, had no torch, no fire, and Scorpion could only enter without his flame illusion through the front tall doors.  
" You have fought your way into my layer, just to realize it is a glacial tomb assassin," saithe Sub-Zero.

" Scorpions demonic voice echoed to him, " YOU HAVE MURDERED DOWN THE PATH OF LIFE, BUT THE PATH WAS THE THROAT OF A DRAGON, AND I AM ITS BELLY, YOUR TOMB OF STINGING ACID."

Scorpion took Sub-Zero's eye from him with his harpoon chain, and beat him mercilessly with kick and punch.  Sub-Zero's summoned ice but it only melted near Scorpions hatred.  But the water from the melt, slowed Scorpion--so it was hand to hand by their opposite powers, negating their satanicly endowed powers.  

But Sub-Zero was the creator of Scorpion, and so had the advantage.  Being beaten, and his face smashed, his nose flattened to his face, exposed rib slats, and his testicles smashed, Sub-Zero feigned mortal injury and non-defence as Scorpion walked up with his milky eyes to do his finishing move.

Sub-Zero's forearm protruded in injury from Scorpions kick before, and formed a sharp dagger, and this dagger sunk in Scorpions brain from beneath his chin.  Sub-Zero won with the treachery he knew best.  But Scorpion's body turned to hell's flames, and melted the layer completely drowning the wounded Sub-Zero, killing him, as Scorpion himself died the second death being extinguished in cold water of the clan layer.



They were sent back to hell, and forced to stand side by side of eachother, as Satan's servants of fire and ice--still donned in the Lin Kuei assassin robe,belt, and face-guard.
All of the magmatic, scolding statalactites dripped behind Scorpion who stood before the entrance to the fiery region of hell.  He stared forward with his scolding white phosphorus eyes.

Behind Sub-Zero, was the still and frozen layer.  He stood next to Scorpion, to the entrance of his own realm, with pupils bordered by ice frozen rivulets.  The proximity to eachother was their hell, and Satan was their master.  Scorpions pyscho hatred heat always attacking Sub-Zero's callous cruel cold, and vice versa, so as they never became adapted to the terms of hell and eternity.

Tired of the sleepless nights
Thinking if my percieved reality is a
reflection
Of my desires
Or if we stand here flesh and bone
Paranoia making fresh wounds of the scars
left...
From the last time i adored false idols
But the song of the siren drew me from the
night
And it fed me the nectar of its fruit
So her venom now flows through my veins
My every thought laced with the poison
whoms cure lies in the sirens cloak.

Creeping up, a silent foe,
Breaking him down, nice and slow,
Crushing all his hopes and dreams,
Bravery fading, silent screams,

Fighting on, war and peace,
Just to get, a partial release,
A little confidence, suddenly lost,
One step forwards, the ultimate cost,

Walls built, a safe distance,
Hiding the world, from his existence,
A man in a cave, keeping away,
Building the courage, to battle today,

Invisible injury, a runaway train,
Mental illness, significant pain,
Weakness, it's how it's percieved,
Colleagues find...It hard to believe,

Lack of remorse, absent support,
Pushes him, to obvious thoughts,
Attenion seeking, he was no more,
Discovered today, by local law,

Tears shed, guilt ridden hearts,
Talking history, picking him apart,
Realisation, lack of due care,
Former colleague...

Empty chair

  ----

Trying to find the words to explain the poem. The message is there. Think about your actions to those you see every day. The ones that annoy you, for their quirky behaviour. There is an untold story behind each of us. Some suffer in silence, some try to seek help. Compassion and understanding is within us all. The unseen illness is a killer.

I last saw her in Santiago
******* drunkenly in a Sub urban taverna
parading conceited pride in a twisted union
with that *******  heinous maniacal harlequin
each in vainglorious throes of their imagined septic mindfuck
Debauch celebration of collaboration of succubus and incubus

Some days she is saying Haloa in Hawaii
adorned as Sainti Maria the ***** now as Madonna
spewing words like a dove acting like a Nun in a Convent
the fiendess with two faces hiding her ****** like the ace in lace
the malignant serpent crawling in the duality of her neurosis

I last saw her in Santiago
In a sanctity of the poisoned insecures with exiguous minds
consumed with flaming fears she begs acceptance for inclusion
******* for percieved reflected glory from her fathers' jailers
The subjugated souls of chai wallah lives on in grandchildren

So when Santi Maria flirts from honey to beehive
Ready to ***** and part thighs and brain for minor pointing gun
Feel sorry for a damaged child devoid of a prime core never made
only obeisance to past rulers whose discarded cast-offs she wears
Her poems  enchants but its virulent tools she takes in her body

I last saw her in Santiago
A slaved two-faced pretender who sings like a nightingale
In sub urban dives she postrates to friendly pats and gropes
Melting creeps and hot tigers begging subs for a heady drink
Brilliant yet blindsided to **** on knees as her children will too



Copyright@LaurenceA20thSept2018Allrightsreserved.

remember that time
laying in your bed
back when you we both thought we knew
and you stroked my stomach and kissed my hearts
variously placed of course
cleavage. stomach. hips. sleeve.
lustful sweet "**** me now"
boundries not crossed but completely jumped
eh, **** it.
but for now... your hands?
here...
and there.
remember that time...
you smiled and i laughed
made the moment
...laughter.
"ahh ****, ****."
it was just a dream.
snap. back to the percieved
whats the point if i'm going to remember every smile,
moan and laugh
replayed...
over and over...
****...
i'm fertile and *****.

The concept of a whole person is an enigma that evolves within a culture . Often it is not a transitive concept and can only be conjuncted within it's social setting . In fact the realities of social fragmentation make most all concepts of a whole person universally inapplicable .

Literature is often a good tool for developing an understanding of a culture and it's inclinations . In a cultures folk tales , plays , and fictions you find authors making a deliberate attempt to portray the basic dramas of their society .

Greek myths are a vivid example of this ; they are literally frought with characterizations . In their development these multitudes of characters weave into an elaborate tapestry that depicts the developing Greek moral ethic . The intricasies of the analogous content are brought across in a multitude of forms . Names were very important and a major force in clarifying the concepts being presented . The multitudes of characters portray a multifaceted understanding of the human psyche . The chauvinistic banality of their culture and it's gods is graphically depicted against the backdrop of their developing ethics .

It is difficult for a modern man to construct a vision of a whole person from a strictly ancient Greek point of view . The obvious anachronisms envolved make such an attempt partially ludicrous . Contrarily the bulk of their characterization paints a vivid picture of their primative social state .

Of course while the Greeks were muddling through the multicolored quagmire of human frailty many societies where learning to master the powers they had developed through centuries of strict adherence to religious and social mores . The development of their socially biased realities make many Greek nuances seem decadent anachronism . Rather than deitizing their baser natures as the Greeks had thay had learned to master them and turned to new paths to clarity . Spiritual pragmatism and lack of comunication nullified the social attributes of many of these extrapolations on positive orientation .

Jung preaches that man has an innate need to assimilate all external sensory perceptions . I find this untrue . In fact I find it self abortive . Human beings have a complexity factor that is individual and must be protected from overload ; man's moral ethic is a tender and deludable feeling directed by empathy . In the hectic world of modern mass media this tender individuality can become dwarfed by the percieved need to obtain social acceptance . Whole civilizations have become deluded by the flow of their complexities into an outright denial of their moral ethics .

I find this partially estranged condition prominent throughout social history . Children are brought up to respond to a vast realm of presupposed social ideologies and are not allowed to venerate themselves until much of their conscious matrix has been established . This of course makes self evasion an easily attainable goal . Sometimes politically speaking the actual goal . The mind satiated by it's social framwork is the ideal tool for a socialistic or tyrannical government .

To me the value of social history lies not in it's application as much as it's illumination . All the fragmented pockets of human coalescence should instill an understanding of man's posibility factors . Man's inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his annihilation .

Modern man has learned how to use tact in instilling the acceptable social mores . Solviet psychiatrists have spent years on perfecting these social sublimations ; children learn how to make their personalities conform to the accepted mean . I think that the true nature of a well rounded being lies in an ability to reject the fragmental nature of these instilled mores and develop a more universally acceptable social orientation . Does the son of a ku klux **** member have to hate blacks ? The obvious answer is no ; contrarily socially acceptable orientation is a product of environment . This is the pitfall of man's evolution as a race ; his inability to rise above the quandary of his immediate surroundings with all of their overwhelming complexities and demands to become a cognizant and empathetic being . There in lie the keys to his future .

This does not necessarily define the well rounded person . A well rounded person must be able to cope with his immediate surroundings withoutan abject denial of his empathetic being .

I believe well roundedness lies in thoughtful orientation and a well centered understanding of self . One need not be socially active as long as they are thoughtfully cognizant . Obey the golden rule ; you can not allow your objective orientation to supersede your subjective empathy . You can't allow yourself to be thwarted or overcome by your peers into being something they might want to make you because temptation may overwhelm them and you will become a transient tool in their succession .

We get put into groups by the colour of our skin,
Judged if percieved as 'too fat' or 'too thin',
Singled out for looking different to them all,
Perhaps you are seen as slightly too tall,
Name calling and looks spotting is all the rage,
Ridiculous really in this day and age,
Both genders 'beauty' reviewed time and time,
This generation is certainly out of line,
They define peoples beauty by the medias conception,
Letting it alter their personal perception,
The pain they cause to the people they prey among,
Your faith in humanity would nearly be gone,
Who should show these people they are doing wrong,
What they have been causing all along,
Societies segregation and marginalisation,
Creates for us a serious realisation,
History is repeating again and again,
This same thing was happening way back when.
To be yourself today, is something they tell us is not okay,
We need to stop these people , tell them, soon it will be our day.

The pain felt because of pride and the need to be superior
To revenge some wrong percieved is not right no matter how turned or explained
If you can't be supportive you are not needed so move on
When looking for death and trying to stay positive I must remove that which pushes me toward the goal of death.
Why, why would you do this or be this way you have hurt me more then I can forgive or ever forget. The one I love isn't supposed to hurt me or the ones I love, but to hold me up and support me but you can't.
So we are done with the petty self serving hatred you carry yourself in shadows living in darkness and emptiness. Though you won't be alone you will find some man willing to accept your hatred and anger ignoring their own self respect to accept hour abuse.

Maybe, people think i like to talk a lot,
but there's no real consequence in what i say;
if you listen very carefully,
you can hear the silence in my words.
You may realise that the nothingness you hear
is really what i am trying to convey.

I am very unlikely what you have percieved me to be,
i'm not a contradiction, or a justification,
i'm not an ephiphany, or your solace.
I rarely make sense to you, but i know i understand myself
i'm not too good at getting across what i want to say,
sometimes i understand i'm not built that way.

I am not attention seeking but demanding,
I am not confusing just misunderstood,
I am not what you think i am likely to be.
Happiness is only a thought away
a determination is what is needed per day
don't try to understand me, when you can't speak me.

the bright side
of the moon
is something seen quite rarely
the bright side
of the moon
is percieved as never scary
but let me tell you, dearest foe,
brightness is riddled with woe
happiness is just a myth
and being sane just lasts a blip
when you're stuck inside a mind
where all your thoughts are crude; unkind
wanting to escape this pit
isn't frequent, never a hit
i like being here;
the dark side of the moon
( in fact i'm in my house, trapped in my room )

For all the plants that never get the chance to dance in the wind
For the wilted who spill, drinking away their built up sin
To those who choose not to speak in order to avoid disaster again
I dare you, to put down your sword, and pick up a pen

Defenses guarding false pretenses anchored by apprehension
Left my soul suspended in the smog of a ***** dimension
Purging through pores and unlocking my mind's doors
Left me to believe in things I could not accept before.
Eye put on a pair of wings to elevate and see what was really in store

I chose limitless bliss and unending warmth

No longer was life a chore,
implored by something more
lured by an unseen force

and with all three eyes I now adore

..Knowing I am a fractal
could-be casualty
swallowing humanity's vain reality
drowning out the worst in me
cutting all my puppet strings
from the cloud that had power to make me bleed

noticing symphonic synchronicites
I jumped in the river and floated downstream

inhaling sweet oxygen no longer dying to breathe
For when we try to release, we see peace as it comes naturally
we've been searching for tranquility when it exists in you n me.
the modified god with unlimited ability
Yet even the highest high can go blind when we lose the will to dream

I can't be there for each road as it bends
But I know as of late, can't say I've been a good friend.
So with every ounce of love I can extend
I'll meet you down the river, at what seems to be the percieved end.

You will meet an eagle eager to offer you a feather,
dip it in ink.
Write out every single pattern of you weather,
and let it take you to the brink.
The frequencies within and around will astound as you use shears on your own tether,
Faster than you can unconsciously blink.
At last you can relax knowing it gets better forever,
For together we won the right to think.

I (Reverie)

Thisbe senses diamonds in the dusk/
Turner protects himself with cozying ash created from the minerals of adoration

The street is a hundred constant cinders
Communicating with mystic language
Repeating itself

While the newsstation weeps
And front yards hold their damp cheeks
Cherishing the child who is now gone

The envisioned tower, embarassed with its Windows n lack of decorations/
Not even the cobwebs will settle in vicinity!

A paranoid Sculpter cant sleep and so takes to Spanish poetry

"You're giving out your tarot cards to
Yusuf what will he do with them!"

A mother says to her child who
Incidentally goes blind in that exact moment

An epitaph for the ashtray sitting precariously on the stainglass table on the porch where an
Empress seeks shelter
Carving at her senses with
Violent monologues about religion
Courtesy her friend

(A stranger to risk,
Some tired dull balloon rises up within her consciousness going higher and higher!)

II (December in Moods)

Mauve temporarily fills the room
Your soft breathing brings an elation
To the dresser at the foot of your bed
I can't rest here beside you
I want to kiss you
And your sleep

The discontent arrives
In shrouded form
You resign yourself to the kitchen watching logging trucks forever heave around the bend of forestry
Threatened with the possibility that they'll lose balance and collide with the house

I visit during Holidays with marigolds and fantasies of Asia
& with sweetness on verge
of imancipation
You kiss my face
attempting composure
As the radio promises
That this Winter will be especially
Frigid.

I apologize for my arrogance!
In losing friends, betraying my past beliefs for
White wine & phenomenology

You recite a foreign anthem with whispers, curious of the mathematics of romance.
Questioning yourself but especially yourself in relation to me.

III (Josephine, Burial)

In contemplation
A dog listens to nearby whistling
Of a young girl home from school/
In six months she'll fall victim to the divorce of her family/
And in twelve months
Accept that her mother had a lot of problems
It isn't her fault
It was never her fault/

In sixteen months she'll chip her front teeth on the coffee table

In three years she'll decide on a better first name
"Josephine"
In four she will legally change it and

In five the previously mentioned dog will be buried
With his owner's favorite scarf

IV (2015)

The August heat causing distant roads to waver in illusion while
A home catches fire

Luckily not my own

I save my mind one night before it loses itself to pure imaginative flow
In midsts of 108 repititions of the Gayatri Mantra
I remember that!
The portrait of a french woman robed in sunset colors is taken off the rotting walls of a Cabin, auburn with evening rain.

Silence!

V (The rosebush blushes while being painted)

Yggdrasil is being renovated a few blocks away & a garden is unable to answer
For its
Unusual poetics

The local raincoat impressionist observes
A fantasy hidden in the soil
Nurturing itself
With percieved
Infant curiosity

I (fabrication)

Arthur Quincy folds his arms together
Sensing that interfering desire again!

Cant shake this fugue
Or forget the bad stuff he used to take/
Its a lingering presence/

The residual ash in his eyes blinking coffins & dazzling premonitions to the other smalltown poets writing in
Their kitchens to the sound of
Wheatgrass dancing outside in June and
A vacuum's warm considerate hum
From upstairs.

Post office on strike and
Cars being made with straw MAN he thinks
What happened here???
The day crossed out with faulty watches
And parkbench *** fantasies
& the crude laughing regular here
Sipping his tea
Wondering if he'll ever be as much a hit with the ladies as he was in the 1970s

Former beggarman Quincy lays himself out in an empty parking lot feeling invulnerable to the snow

As it collects over his shirt he whistles a happy tune from a date he went on before

The great sourness shelled him out of
Social fulfillment.

Now he keeps to himself
Making stories out of his bedroom and
Crying
crying for
His first love &
The laundry place shut down now wheres he gonna go/

Old Quincy used to smoke expensive tobacco but has since decided to save it for whenever he remarries. Or a brilliant morning where the neighbor sleeps in so he can sleep in too.

The view from his window is a continous rotation of wet crows who peer in and for a brief moment see the man's hands to his head making sure his hair hasn't fallen off yet..
House walls heavy with age
expose themselves occasionally
With an after image of past inhabitors,
The essence of their dry lips
Or olive cotton sweaters hanging from a rocking chair,
The enthusiasm of a corner lamp
Unappreciated by all
Past and present.

II (veteran romantic)

Arthur Quincy shelters his mind from strange ideas
Or conspiracy he hasn't "lost it" yet at least!

He has a hobby of painting the active society and
Expresses mood as colorful clouds
Floating out the skull of us to
Blend in an energy pollinating the
Deli and antique shop and yoga studio
V A P O R
to be swallowed by accident and catch the empathic disease of the
Depressed and jubilant simultaneous,
Makes easy living confusing and
Impossible to achieve in an absolute way!
He carries this belief
When interacting with others
Arthur Quincy understands
That balance is key to fulfillment
(so far as his life is concerned)

However, hardly anyone has seem him laugh and so assumes he doesn't have the ability to.
In reality he saves his joy and holds it to lift his lungs from despairing all day long to be released
Late afternoon in the comfort of home
As a display of feral bellows and supernatural ecstasy. This seems somewhat overromantic and exaggerated but someone has claimed to have had the rare pleasure of witnessing it!

Arthur calls the same address once a week, an anonymous voice speaks from the line opposite and while mysterious
It is clear he adores this voice. He adores the unacted subtlety and passion in this voice.
He smiles when he hears this voice which is simply enough.

Nearby those naive poets use Arthur as a muse sometimes too directly
Often referencing rumors of his hermetic life
Or retreating into his headspace
Unrealistically blowing his experiences into fable
And turning even his stirless sleep into a fabulous fruitbasket of language.

On the surface he appears forlorn and
Bitter with the winter gradually molding to his skin. Like anyone can tell you he has felt this before! Haven't you? But through all the stories and impossibilities of Arthur he is reserved in his
Knowing of important things. He is reserved in revealing that he not only knows how music sounds but where music comes from. He never reads the newspaper out of habit to feel in-the-know. He never lies about his feelings or his intentions.
Arthur exists in the
Glow of himself
And persists on breathing the glow of the street,
He is a wordless poet and veteran romantic.

III (funeral)

One day Arthur passed away a few weeks from Thanksgiving.
His name put on the paper he never read
And examined by a young girl
Who was only hearing of him now.

"Arthur C. Quincy/ 73/ passed away this Saturday. To be remembered as a quiet and misunderstood man envigored with the lightness only percieved by a rare and special few"

This description came as a surprise to those who knew Quincy as the claustrophic and uninteresting grump
Who's sidewalk idlings were unexplained and strangely hostile.

He saw the sky and its shifting canvas,
He saw the distant cats leaned on balconies impressed with the daytime ambiguity in firestations and libraries.
He would conjur a grin
From the passive conversation between a mother and her son.
He once saw two strangers fall for each other on the bus! A conjoined sun had bloomed between them.

Just a few attended the funeral. Upon inspection of his house following Arthur's death, someone found a will left for Helen Ashbury. A 55 year old woman who lived a three day drive away in Michigan..An identity to his weekly telephone fantasy!
It assumed all of his belongings to her, among them a military grade flashlight with his carved initials, a photograph of his time as a lumberer signed to "Peter! All the best in Costa Rica" and a copy of W.C Williams collected poems. Where folded on page 206 as part of the poem "Orchestra" was highlighted

"I love you. My heart is
innocent.
         And this is the first day of the world!"

Eventually Helen Ashbury received the news of Arthurs passing, as well as these things.
At the sight of the poem she wept,
the man she only knew through a voice after years of correspondence.
Upon being questioned she refused to explain their meeting in the first place. That was a special time, a time which the public would misinterpret or slander with rumor.
While Arthur wasn't widely loved in the town during his life, he was a popular topic from death on. As more information came out! Serving in world war II and his companionship with a parisian ***,
Who shared the wonder of the rooftop and spoke on the value of tea as a food replacement.
He once met a girl there at a dance and in a show electrified with lust they moved to Lucienne Boyer without the knowledge of who would win the war.
He had a son with her, Who resided in France most of his life as Quincy regrettably
Abandoned their situation to
Pursue other things, in his journal he admits his wish to have connected with him more, referring to his leaving as the worst mistake in his life.
All of this masked behind his firm neutrality. His walk lacking suggestion and his wrist without the delicacy of a painter (not that people knew he painted and so didn't pay attention to anything like that)

He was buried by noon. Some say his son was at the funeral. People gave their partings, and Helen wanted so badly to say goodbye to him. Instead left with his curios and his infinite voice.

IV (i'll be around)

The following year at a yard sale Helen came across a series of musty and used records. In the stack of them was a Cab Calloway compilation. Nestled in his desperate wailings and hi-de-** was the track "I'll Be Around" a slow and patient song that Arthur sang to her once. She recalled that night with ease, and felt her shoulders sink at the thought.
The album was $4, on the drive home she watched the trees shake with the wind, their leaves transluscently pale at the angle she was going. She could feel a weight there in her chest. The weight of him, of his heart supposing itself onto hers magnetically. She rolled down the windows and let the wind surround her, blowing her blonde hair back and forcing her to squint a little.

"I love you. My heart is innocent"

she recalled the poem he left for her. Of course not written by him but it felt as deeply personal as if he had.

"-and this is the first day of the world!"

Helen lifted a cigarette out from her purse. The drag extinguishing immediately as it's trail left the car. A bewilderment slowly consumed her.

All thoughts are individual. It is impossible to take the energy and apparatus to which that energy is transferred through to develop a thought. Therefore no knowledge is taken, all is perceived to wit a schematic and the apparatus developed by our brains to develop the thought. The thought is then subjected to the body and undergoes scrutiny to provide a relevance, priority and application. Therefore it would be safe to assume that all knowledge is neither subjective nor objective but an entirely new word that could exemplify itself as "Understood as developed by ones own." Where I got this schematic for this idea was in counterance to the percieved robbing of thoughts and ideas from books and ideas. Would it be proper to call it the same thought? No. Would it be proper to call it a reaction? Only in the most mechanical of senses that is cause following effect.
This idea would be to liken to a computer having a file copied from one machine to another, while the content remains the same in its physical interpretation on the screen would completely change. As if being opened by two seperate programs. And we are not talking about the files being the same when we talk about ideas, ideas are consequences of what is perceived therefore consequences of the that is copied. Ideas are the effect and in their way, an individual interpretation by how the schematic of an idea is followed by what is transferred.
This idea in itself makes up for the massive hurdle that is misunderstanding between two people, each hearing fundamentally the same things while producing two differing ideas. In summation, an idea is a scrutinized original built on the schematic of that which is perceived and is each independent of a person and their surroundings.

Remember when we were kids?
We'd climb as high as we could in trees,
And never worry about the fall out.
We reached farther for things we wanted,
Farther than we do now,
The world was our playground,
Our jungle,
And i see we've lost our advantage now.
We were once able to believe in the extreme.
If you wanted to be a doctor,
All you'd have to do was believe.
But once we got older,
Life took us by surprise,
Showing us that if you wanted to be a doctor,
You had to bleed out your fees.
The extreme lived among us,
But not like old fantasies,
A gaping grim grotto,
All us kids had believed.

When you choke me...
My sight begins to shift
Dark red spirals and firefly esque spectacles
Asphxiation.
A carnal pleasure in books read in jest
But when inacted, thrills my body to be numb to all but one sense...
You look almost supernal, they say what we enjoy was sent from perdition.
Above me jostling, By the way we moan i can tell...
Some primitive sriek and an attempt at communication
Gets lost in between the sheets of our bodies jubilation
A partnership made between lkies and temptation.
My hands keep on slipping I grab and start preparing
your hair a frenzied mangled sport
my tongue is pressing ever forward
Our arms are wrapped, a lovers embrace
A complete release into a solitary state where actions become sounds
and shivering is garunteed.
the only time a scream is allowed during laughter
My
Sight
Begins
to
shift
A pale white angel porcelain like figurines, perfection only percieved she kisses and
scratches in acceptance and gratitude.
Dark red curls and deep green pasture like  iris's.
Gleaming with tears and startled by my endless
Captivation!

When you choke me...
My sight begins to shift
Dark red spirals and firefly esque spectacles
Asphxiation.
A carnal pleasure in books read in jest
But when inacted, thrills my body to be numb to all but one sense...
You look almost supernal, they say what we enjoy was sent from perdition.
Above me jostling, By the way we moan i can tell...
Some primitive shriek and an attempt at communication
Gets lost in between the sheets of our bodies jubilation
A partnership made between lies and temptation.
My hands keep on slipping I grab and start preparing
your hair a frenzied mangled sport
my tongue is pressing ever forward
Our arms are wrapped, a lovers embrace
A complete release into a solitary state where actions become sounds
and shivering is garunteed.
the only time a scream is allowed during laughter
My
Sight
Begins
to
shift
A pale white angel porcelain like figurines, perfection only percieved she kisses and
scratches in acceptance and gratitude.
Dark red curls and deep green pasture like  iris's.
Gleaming with tears and startled by my endless
Captivation!

so freeing,
yet so uncertain

will they look back,
will I look back
and judge

delivering the death sentence
condemning the past

how could you be so naive
so immature
so oblivious

the images
the scenes
stencilled, scratched into the surfaces
will they always be there
will they always make me
        twist and squirm and turn

so dramatic
is this real (or is this just fantasy)
which perceptions are true
and which are just percieved

the time
it draws closer
the magic
will it stay?

how to contain the magic in a moment

the last receipt

Throughout all of time, and even at one (or any point); There was you.
For me; time swirled in memories of fixated moments in time, surrounding me and attempting to distract the reality of time as I percieved it.
For you; Time was passing differently yet somehow you began to understand the fixation of time at certain points .
Such a distraction for you, you've told me.
Despite the vast distances of space, you and I will be joined by the intersection of moments in time; revolving around each other, coming closer and closer.
Till that moment, shared in time,
A most wonderful singularity.

One day, I'll remember
The poetry I read when I was young
And how it inspired words
Of long ago tomorrows

And one day, I'll remember
The songs we sang in so many yesterdays
The way we stayed up all hours
Wasting time with silly rhymes like these

And I'll remember the words we spoke
Barely uttered over candle light
The way it gave great insight
On how we'd percieved turbulant times

And I'll remember the wisdom we gathered
How we saw patterns change and falter
And how we deciphered the mysteries
Buried beneath early morning sunrise

But most of all, I'll remember
The way you smiled behind silent eyes
Even as you'd lean on me-
Wiping easy tears from your cheeks

I'll always remember
Your carefree melodies
How your high notes
Always filled up hearts and souls

I mean it when I say I could never forget my friend
Because pieces of you will always be beside me
Engraved into my mind, carefully
Etched by time

We can flit about in inexhaustible
fury and the fervor of life is ours.
Entranced between the gates of conciousness and
natures infinite lust for possibilities .
With wings strectched beyond  broad skies
antenna sense vibrations
we glide gathering energy from the sun, a driving force throughout the wood.
Sudden gravity and I can no longer glide
Was
this contemplation an act to enervate the minds restlessness?
Or am i a faculty in some other life forms rest?
Z cant find the answer to the shade of his wings
but the truth is in unique percieved reality

What is percieved as
the simplest man,
Could be a man so complex.

The most fit beast in the wild,
so strong, so protected,
could be the most sick.

What is a dull forest,
Can turn quickly
Into; a child's nightmare.

Darkness is friendly,
Until you go out,
And see it for yourself.

What may seem like the coldest winter,
May be a warm day,
to those with smiles.

The wolf's howling,
can scare away,
or invite home.

Why can't things just be simple?

i feel like i'm dreaming
all the time

like somebody took it upon themselves to throw words at a wall
and turned what stuck into doo-*** scatting nonsense
which was then assembled gracelessly into a scathing neologism
something that scrambles into some semblance of an inner monologue and circles my tongue like treacle or a lab rat's ****

and if this is the scattered fantasy that my brain cells have scraped together from that primordial soup
then i don't think i want to wake up and see the aftermath of what feels like an eternal loop

but it's so scary to live life like a browning dulux colour swatch
businessperson's rolex watch
vignettes of vague consciousness vitally percieved through a time machine of moments and a swelling kind of grief grieved
for the moments inbetween that are lost and i'm pristine in an ocean of dark marine wondering where in my head my emotions and i have been

i can't ******* remember what i had for breakfast but i can recall that i feel like i've come last
in some kind of riddle where the clues are in a language i don't speak but could read with practice and anguish and the rhyming becoming more linear and fluent but i wish i could tell you what i said's congruent
to this fairytale drowsing that makes me feel alone and i think therefore i'm in a state to atone

i can't wake up
i'm going to throw up
similarly i think that i don't want to show up
tomorrow
i'll see you when i'm better or better yet never but it won't last forever
right?

There is no such thing as freedom because you can play God
because he only pretends to sit in his sofa castle
laughing at your foolishness
eating your baby noodles

Anyone can play this game but I won't stand for it
because spilling their guts makes it criminal
because it makes me liberal
like it's all okay

Their cynical smirks and superior rationale
burn me alive into a ******* Charleston
I curse them all and **** them all
and I am ****** for it

Words of evil percieved only as evil by the weak
because killing and ****** is a neccessity
a demand for destiny which the world stages
it's freedom for all but the just

I know I know nothing unlike all the other pigs
they can cheer and chortle because they're boxed in their world
epileptic to my hare-ful truth that means nothing
because I am an ignoramus who is free

To the glamour dressed diesel alcoholic
to the giraffe-wearing radicalist
to the artistocratic plum-picking *******
to the uneducated, ****-smoking secretary
to the briefless, cold-handed ******
to the green-spiked punk with a polarized attitude
to the one who sent nukes overseas to G**bless other countries
I pity your concealment; your pathetic, two-dimensional box

For I know nothing, so when you find me
Sit me down, and shoot me in the ******* head
Because you wish you had nothing like me

So find me and burn me on the stake
Huff the audacity my smoking flesh omits
Breed your Reptilian filth over my dead body

Where's my strength?
My motivation
My drive
My will too fight
I've lost it all before I have even started
Clearly slower than most
My mind is foggy
And I forgot what my reason was for coming here
I'm lost
Distracted by nothingness
I waste my time speaking nonsense
"wamp wah wamp wamp"
My thoughts are all twisted beneath my brainey veins
They convulse trying too find a way to break free
They're trapped
They don't undrestand
I have percieved these beings in many shades and never understood completely
Though I can comprehend
I can't put it down in a physical fashion
I loose all my sense among beauty
My eyes trace theirs
But they can't see me
I smile and keep walking
They'll never know whats beneath this flesh.
What rots my soul too the core,
I'll never know.