man, a shattering of woe against the shoreline of synonymous
due applause - or kindred with the devil,
burrowing to circumstance the saharan shadow,
tipped shortest via noon,
                    how experience
    humanity without a language,
that god brokered, and not sanctify
Pontius Pilate as the saving grace?
  lava mea mani mundi -
wash my (mandi(ble)) hands clean (purus) -
aristocrats of Pompeii... ugly *******;
       differed - as was the price
of entering Oxbridge.
                 which is why the content
of dreams was questioned, rather the context...
because who was the narrator, after all?
                  why didn't Freudian theory
question the narrator, but instead superimposed
itself as the gravitas narrator: combining both
content and context of dreams?
                   i find it scary that Freud
managed to toy around until the point where
he found a dysfunctional dummy staging horror
that lacked all necessities of a ventriloquist
       framed toward a subplot: embedded in needing one.
  is Freud the only person to provide narration
for the phenomenon of dreaming?
                i still find dreams caged in Kantian noumena...
i.e., why do they happen in the first place?
        i think it's strange that dreams occur in the first place,
that's the context question,
  Freud already answered the content question:
****** Pythagorean truce: it's called all geometric shaping
fits the answer: *******.
      yes, that's me done & dusted...
                           i'm just wondering about what need
we have within Darwinism to dream... what are
the evolutionary downsizing benefits?
isn't dreaming a delusional cauldron that disturbs
our will... or is Hollywood dead and our fancies
are no longer fanciful... what would a history
of dreams reveal, merely Joseph as the sole
dream architect?
                     Freud was but a man,
he said something about the content of dreams,
he didn't say anything about the context of dreams,
i can't find anyone to explain to me
                a need for a context and a need to dream...
i guess the people who dream are as easily
impregnated with a summary of Voltaire's Candide...
that this is: the best of all possible worlds...
          sure, but inscribe upon this world
a concentrated censorship of dreams...
       let me dream the last thing i might see
and give it all the mechanics of what others dream of
to the tilt of fully-embraced enhancement fakery...
             i will still not understand how you managed
to lodge a photon inside my cranium, or why there's
a need for me to dream, that's Freud point + on the content,
but that's also Freud point minus given the context...
    not if i have to hammer a thousand nails into
planks of wood will a dream matter to me....
             by god, make your money from analysis
dream content, but you'll end up a pauper analysis
dream context... are our lives so dandy and simple
that we retreat from political hierarchies
                            and what needs to be addressed
and with tails dragged between our hinds
                  we create foci for translating dreams into
a realism that can never be realised, because being
a realism, it's only a superficial version of
the pain that reality is?
                  yep, so much "wording",
and how many breaths did you inhale and exhale
while i said that? me too, on words: too many.
             Freud can have his content-invoking
affirmation of life and the subsequent prejudices...
but Freud cannot have a context-angling depravity
     to forward life, and consequent pejoratives
being suitor:
             for those who dare not think
                    are easily converted to dreaming...
and those who care to not dream,
   are ushered into the most obscure thinking
   that has not parallel with celebrated thought
akin to Einstein or Newton... but then again,
the celebration of dreams have only one representative,
and he's biblical... oh sorry: mythical.
yet that's where it all begins,
and it is a great sacrifice... to abandon the comforts
of dreams, in order to think uncustomary
   or even murky, uncelebrated thoughts...
                         to think the mundane and non-applicable
insistences... and then dream nothing,
and then see humanity's impecible practibility
  in the do rather then the lost assertive of be,
for humanity does the most, and is the least...
  for every hundred of do instances,
there's but a hundreth of a be instance worthy a mention;
meaning? do the plumbing...
       chop the timber, fix the electric...
                    no one tells people to reach a frantic embodiment,
or calls for an impersonal god that might leave them
   personal & authentic... everyone always asks for a personal
god that leaves them impersonal... robo-tectonic akin
  to Islam... thus ascribing: quantifiably nihilistic...
                   is my life too unbearable to continue or
unbearable to convene such a life, and quote:
  "simply nodded" on my Christmas greeting card...
******* cha cha cha...
                             i ain't a trebuchet,
but i'll swing a plum with a pair of knuckles
should you need more lip-balm for a smooch;
i'm just jittery about the date you'll test me.;
because the other-half-of-me was particular
about that dietary schematic of anorexia;
some said it was cool amphibian akin to ambiance
and hence the strobe light and break-dancing epileptic:
                       coffers full of chuff!
o lookie lookie, who the ****** unit of the
daffy bunch: quack squint-mc-dire...
no wonder she says her name's Chelsea postscriptum.

I saw a vision I stood in modern time on my feet but in the spirit I stood only where immortals breathe in
The sacred land of ancient days the Native American people came to life before my eyes there was a
River nameless but of truth the mighty Euphrates or more correctly the river of life heavy and rich
Were these waters glory stood bank to bank the mesquite and cotton wood seemed to be made of
Silk they flowed dreamlike as flags over a free land the day was far spent and in the dying sun she came
To bathe but not in the natural waters but her quest was to worship the great spirit in which all true
Cleansing occurs she wore the dress of her people white doe skin with red and turquoise bead work
And her reddish skin did glow she sent a treble across the distance to where I stood when she lifted her
Hands of faith and hope skyward in surrender beauty untold before materialized upon the burnished
Sand all of nature fell silent as she called on the Great Spirit stillness took on new meaning vastness was
Restricted drawn back from it natural means to this tiny spot of ground the air charged with the deep
Longing of her soul the trees crackled as heavy mist descended mellowness pervaded this place made
The wood the rarified earthy throne of God himself as she spoke oh the face shown with uncustomary
Wonder did the unexplained become common knowledge for her it did in this grand display of
Emotional release she bridled the breeze before horses were ever found in this land she drew heaven
Down all was quiet and empty in this clearing and she filled it with noble words that honored Him who
Deserves all praise we live on error and garbage when we should be feasting on spiritual riches to know
All that is yours it takes you joining this Indian maiden come not rehearsed and filled with self but as the
Lowy penitent subscriber for his free gifts these most treasured thoughts came as I watched a young
Woman praising our great father remarkable circumstances that are your birthright if you only exercise
Them God bless you

White Dove

I saw a vision I stood in modern time on my feet but in the spirit I stood only where immortals breathe in
The sacred land of ancient days the Native American people came to life before my eyes there was a

River nameless but of truth the mighty Euphrates or more correctly the river of life heavy and rich
Were these waters glory stood bank to bank the mesquite and cotton wood seemed to be made of
Silk they flowed dreamlike as flags over a free land the day was far spent and in the dying sun she came

To bathe but not in the natural waters but her quest was to worship the great spirit in which all true
Cleansing occurs she wore the dress of her people white doe skin with red and turquoise bead work
And her reddish skin did glow she sent a treble across the distance to where I stood when she lifted her

Hands of faith and hope skyward in surrender beauty untold before materialized upon the burnished
Sand all of nature fell silent as she called on the Great Spirit stillness took on new meaning vastness was
Restricted drawn back from it natural means to this tiny spot of ground the air charged with the deep

Longing of her soul the trees crackled as heavy mist descended mellowness pervaded this place made
The wood the rarified earthy throne of God himself as she spoke oh the face shown with uncustomary
Wonder did the unexplained become common knowledge for her it did in this grand display of

Emotional release she bridled the breeze before horses were ever found in this land she drew heaven
Down all was quiet and empty in this clearing and she filled it with noble words that honored Him who
Deserves all praise we live on error and garbage when we should be feasting on spiritual riches to know

All that is yours it takes you joining this Indian maiden come not rehearsed and filled with self but as the
Lowy penitent subscriber for his free gifts these most treasured thoughts came as I watched a young
Woman praising our great father remarkable circumstances that are your birthright if you only exercise
Them God bless you

I saw a vision I stood in modern time on my feet but in the spirit I stood only where immortals breathe in
The sacred land of ancient days the Native American people came to life before my eyes there was a
River nameless but of truth the mighty Euphrates or more correctly the river of life heavy and rich
Were these waters glory stood bank to bank the mesquite and cotton wood seemed to be made of
Silk they flowed dreamlike as flags over a free land the day was far spent and in the dying sun she came
To bathe but not in the natural waters but her quest was to worship the great spirit in which all true
Cleansing occurs she wore the dress of her people white doe skin with red and turquoise bead work
And her reddish skin did glow she sent a treble across the distance to where I stood when she lifted her
Hands of faith and hope skyward in surrender beauty untold before materialized upon the burnished
Sand all of nature fell silent as she called on the Great Spirit stillness took on new meaning vastness was
Restricted drawn back from it natural means to this tiny spot of ground the air charged with the deep
Longing of her soul the trees crackled as heavy mist descended mellowness pervaded this place made
The wood the rarified earthy throne of God himself as she spoke oh the face shown with uncustomary
Wonder did the unexplained become common knowledge for her it did in this grand display of
Emotional release she bridled the breeze before horses were ever found in this land she drew heaven
Down all was quiet and empty in this clearing and she filled it with noble words that honored Him who
Deserves all praise we live on error and garbage when we should be feasting on spiritual riches to know
All that is yours it takes you joining this Indian maiden come not rehearsed and filled with self but as the
Lowy penitent subscriber for his free gifts these most treasured thoughts came as I watched a young
Woman praising our great father remarkable circumstances that are your birthright if you only exercise
Them God bless you

Strings are attached to each of my joints
All you have to do is tilt your wrist
and I am propelled into action
I surrender all control to you
And you are happy to commandeer
and play the puppeteer

You move my body to the beat
Leading me wherever we go like a herd of sheep
Time inclement of fluid movement
Synchronize perfectly to the dramatic music
the ****** always sends my heart rate into a frenzy
like a series of erratic stab attacks
I anticipate the end
as my feet are raise farther from the ground

You make me leap like a deer
running with such fear
from the cruel inventions of man
there's no time to think or hesitate
the dread begins to crescendo
with the power behind every violin
as I succumb to your whims
and dance like a sylph
weightless and wanton

Manipulation is a game you relish in
and you always put on the best show
You use my body better than I know how to
and you write out the script of my destiny
putting force in my step
and stretching me to express love
in order to vanquish the demolition of empathy
when humanity can no longer feel much of anything
but the anger and guilt and the emptiness of apathy

Hypocritically, you pay no heed to me
The things I abide as you paint your vision
Never cross your mind
I am simply a prop you molded in the image of your lover
the one that rejected you after years of chase
the moment you had her went to waste
and the longing never quite went away

My body was a product of your creation
but I still like to call my soul my own
you chipped away at me with such determination
and I shed curled wood instead of tears
as you carved my features with haste
making me into the form you wanted me to be
but you left nothing but a blank slate for my face
so you could put others in my place

I let you play with my limp legs
Finding disgust in every touch
but I find no reason to reject it
No energy of my own to deflect it
My arms bend to hold you the way she never wanted to
but these encounters are merely sets of occurrences
that have been written off in your script
as being scant of any meaning

I am your prototype but never the real thing
And in this cage of fibers I can rarely call my own
I begin to hate the matter that made me
and you, my creator, for having the gall to maim me
into a very disposable little trinket
because that's all that you see in me
and your influence is hard to shake

I feel weak with my self-inflicted derision
and the cultural mess we've attached to gender and labor division
creates a self-fulfilling prophecy of limitation
that I can't seem to burn from my mind
so your direction and guiding hand
helps me feel like less of an ignorant swine
as you introduce me to the art of feeling
I put up with your demeaning ways
so long as I remain the star of your play  

These sets of scenarios give me depth
and I embody all the roles you throw at me
but there is such emptiness in playing pretend
and experiencing and expressing beauty
when I am devoid of my own free will  

I have some comfort in mild mindlessness
because the infinite possibilities cannot intimidate me
and my inhibition cannot confine me
to a small fraction of what I have the potential to be
when you are there to steer me

I let you color the world for me
and put words in my mouth
but they are never able to pass through my lips
and you pay little mind to what I feel
when emotions are reduced to signs of hysteria
I attempt to articulate the fear through my body
As you manipulated me to express
lust, unrest, distress

Matter collides with the power of your inflections
the vibrations of your voice
sets in motion uncustomary emotions
that you awkwardly subject me to
as you pull me into situations of speculation and scrutiny
and turn dancing and passion
into a practiced routine

You view me as a rag doll
a petty squirrel
whose job is to be seen not heard
who suffers in silence
and takes it like a girl
If being wooden is a curse
being a woman is worse
because I never quite compare as far as intellect
and I long to prove myself wrong
but I am still like Pinocchio
trying to turn myself into a real boy

Hedonistically I wake up wondering what the world will do for me
Rather than what I can do for it
I have no ambition for greater things
I don't wait for my hour upon the stage
But you prop me up on your knee
And force me back into the light
Showing the world what you have done
Boasting of my blessed life

I am introduced as a product of you
A thing of delight
but never worthy in my own right
I never move until you force me to
I stay in the same place just in case
you need me for a new performance
a means of entertainment


In your crazed state
you gyrate the axis
sending me dancing at a violent pace
the sweet sentiments overlooked
and your fanaticism fuels a fire of fear and fury
a furnace that brings light to my indifference
and I feel my eyes are open now

You have been bottled up just as I have
in this dreadful dynamic of reliance
you used me to release your repressed ideas
your rejected love and your animosity
But no matter how much sympathy I have for your cruel art
When you try to rest your head on my wooden chest
My body rises with a need for revenge
And I snap my lid shut and decapitate you
So I can finally breathe on my own again
And detach these strings that bound us
as slaves to infatuation

Knowing me, you know, you should know
I am bottled, my silence uncustomary to your ears
Past the nights when love soaked my voice
The sky's light-show is out tonight, lightning storm
Your pout, your snarling laugh, your light, your intellect
Thunder crashes me back to my loneliness
You are thunder that warns of rain coming
Water vital to a desert
Little did I know only I can bring the rain
That will cultivate and germinate my lands