So finally I remembered again. I remembered that I am a spark of a sprinkle of a segment of sagging solutions to the sun. I remembered the big bang and I followed the why not all the way back to the origin. I cannot possibly explain my story to anyone. I cannot tell you what it is, but I know deeply and truly that it is. The power of mental force and belief is the very shape of our souls and it is absolutely everything.
But oh how the west wind blows today, tomorrow, from the east, the test the tease of the racing black waters of curling cocked tree holes in time. and all of the times lingering, tinkering with touch and taste, tingling from the tide and twisting with the ease of a thousand river sleeves. the sides and sneezes of slithering, slicing bits of laughs and lusts, ancient crusty rings around the surface of your mind and all the cerebral rain that wants to take the reins, grasp the change, make the charge and lead the sirens through the alarms. a tincture of trust and a mason jar of misselaneous muscles to attain, to regain, to wrap sideways around the flesh of your fireskin, the soothing spine of your burning bones and the busting bursts of birthing breaths that sing from the clouds today, tomorrow and the east. the north, the south, and all directions from a to b to being to becoming to boundless energy bounding through the sea, curdling through the cracks in the clouds and crisping across the cuddled roots of redemption that ring into the earth, wrapping and trapping fistfuls of solidarity to say i am here. i am growing. i am ground and i am round and i am laced around the toxic tinctures that trap themselves in truth. i am a today and i am full of tomorrow, grasping, rasping with raspberry reality and strawberry sweetness suddenly soft and serenely cerebral. connect, collect and correct the silent remorse that wrestles with the wind today. that whispers on the wishes of was and has, finds hasbeen and tosses willbe under the wisps of willowing, billowing white today. todaysnow. and all the snowy remains of today’s ghostly grimace, the grin of goodness and the greased greatness that gallops apace across the pacing wind. back, forth and someday- through. snow tracks, snow eyes, snow breath today. today a day of broken spine of the universe sprinkled over the streets. today a day of cloudveil cowering inside the courage of cold. today only a bucket of white, hot tomorrow fuel. today, snow and wind. wind and breath. breath and belief. belong.
and then its just there. and then its just here. a beaker full of breath and a burning sensation of bursting lullabies goodbying and good buying. the freshest, the fruitiest, the fumbliest. the fruition of fundamental friction. the function of fun and the furnace of a forestry of ferocity. little word, little worlds, little hang nails and high tailed high heels and hocus pocus of the poking prodding praxis of approximation. the word store and all the prices the little meanings might cost, want to toss, want to frost and froth and force. all the freedom of frolicing and freeing. all the finality of fierceness. all the truth of time and all the bundles of rhyme. little lingering love taps listening to the litentious shores of sureness.
she said yes as she pulled the ocean around her like a walking cloak
like a walkie talkie, like a talk-time machine motioning her from the movement
of mysterious motherpulse. she said i have time for three more truths
before the lying lifts me into the lungs of love. before i lie down on my tufted tangle of time
and twist about tongue-tied and tortured with too much trust.
turquoise swaths of swishing swirls of sentience. and all the little
through the glass onion, the muffled union of reunion and relentless fire of causal creation cocked head missionary missiles and all the missions of mind to remind to remark to rehash, relinquinsh. what do you want and how to do you want it and how does the flow float from here to there to everywhere to time to breath to all the resounding, revolving words and what do they mean and what is the freeflow and what is the float of fluxing, flapping, tiny twists of time and truth are the words today. tossing you into a rain fire and releasing out the ripped up tunes of toxic fumes and tunneled tragic trumpetting triumphant triangular trios of trousers and tricks of the trade and torrents of tangled tongues. time comes in the pressure formed between the preoccupation of my ego presuming that it is anything but emptiness and echoes to find that the words only come from the sounds of the syllables and the reflection of the refractions of my reverberating rhythms- not mine, but sister time’s- the revolution of release and the repentance of repetition. reptilian renunciation and you are creating exactly what you need to create in any given roller coaster- now you just have to reveal it. reshelve it, rename it, reproduce the response and how your mind tingles with yes this is it. what is in excess and what do i want to want to create. what i ACTUALLY want to create is what will flow out of my body because it HAS to get out. what i want to create is based on how i want to grow, what i am jealous of, what i subconsciously feel would validate me, because maybe i think it’s not enough just to channel- but that someone has got it into my head that i should edit, edit, and that should be a skill. maybe i should try it. wrap my head around the moon and try to get it to touch the other side. try to sieve my saved surreptitious surrender to my own sanity and thrust it towards the world in a way that they can understand. art not for me anymore, but for the collective. so that they can collect bits of my soul, rearrange them, release them, and find themselves within them. so that we can all understand each other in new ways. who jolts the impulses and why? and begin to trust that its all there. that it isn’t the form i’m headed towards, but the sheer responsive awakeness of my creative soul- that is what i have cultivated. and now we have to look the opposite way- what is wanted, what is asking for what part of me, what do i need to keep awake at what moment, how do i need to keep my whole soul wet so that i can offer all of it and any of it to whatever is asked. clear the excess, focus and connect to what is asking me to respond at any given moment. that is my next step in evolving my creation. my creative instrument. the me of this body, time, and place. and how words suddenly solidify and process. and how the mystical magic of mind moves everything. how to finally, finally order and arrange and connect. to the collective unconscious. bring yourself to the light. light up your northern lights and find the aura of your aurora. edit. unleash the beast, find the flow, begin to cut and paste. edit and erase. and that is letting go. and that is giving back. and that is trust. and that is how i evolve. notate your notations. your notary notion of nothingness. ok, now trust. and give it back. before you start living again, learn how to give.
your skin is fleshing and fishing and wishing and rattling, tattling and tweaking. twirling now, hurling now.
And ultimately, we must move towards this collective, this collaboration, this connection between and of and around and through. To jolt you out of the jingling jungles of judgment that hold in this creative fire. To juxtapose, to revamp, revitalize- to thread that connective tissue between
So creation did it, didn’t it? creation lit the fuse. fused the fumbled fragments and fermented the forest of freedom. creation held us tight and swung us wide. creation creaked and crawled slowly and sweetly until it edged and ebbed its way through the evolution mobile.
all along the river’s edge i race i ramble i twist i scramble. i look for my safety and where i left my sanity. i pounce and denounce all sacred swaths of hormones and hobnob truths that pull on my plastic edges.
the good news is no more words can find me
where i’ve gone, where i’ve left the tumbling tracks of tenuous tidal waves
the trenches of truth and the turbulance of terror
laced and wracked with wrath and facets of faces
little wringlets of love trapped inside all of our teeth.
today was a day of desperate pleas to the proud and the pure. today was moist and malign and magnificent. today held a boundless bounty of bindings together under the beautiful brainy brine of the birth canal named time. today space and time met for the first time to say hello, to say the sayings of twisted twigs and twining appetites. she said take it in stride, she said layer it with pride, she said, she said, she said all things will purify in time. she said all sayings are just repititions of the fraying edge between gravity, greed, grime and gorgeous.
Theres a dabilitating joy coursing through my veins raining through the training wheels of science and subjectivity. And i am in the middle, at the alpha-omega 3 acids of nutritional spirit. of spiritual food snowing from the frost bitten sky. skying and sliding and sneezing like acid bits of beauty and truth. i saw the truth and it was wearing the disguise of disillusionment and dis-wonderment. and there was wonder, sitting by the stream of sanity, petting its new fir coat- the skins and wet hides of hiding animals. the sanctuary of sound. and i hear this beat, this furry strong heat icing out of the wind- it’s buried in the temperature and its swelling around our swollen lips, our tongue touched eyelids and our woven weird webs. we are the wind-bearers. we are the truth torturers. we are the twin birth of duality and the oneness of an open heart. of a flowing start, a rebirth, a re-death and a re-membering.
i found the fingerless gloves
sitting in the snow, sliding in the sand, sweetening in the sound of
your syllables, your surreptitious surrender to the sun.
let me be everything. let me be true. let me be winter wind. let me snow. let me be everything all at once. let me be here. now. always.
the body soul mind connection is all one is all everything is all true. THAT is it. that is what the divine is- CONNECTION. any form of connection, to anything. and thus comes love.
our words are our magic, we need to give them more weight.
our rituals are our souls, we need to fill them with meaning.
our religions are dead, resting on the dregs of old, retired, relentless words. drained of power, sucking the poetry from ourselves, relying on trite patriarchal concepts of the need to force fear down the throat of our holy bodies. EVERYTHING in life should be sacred. our spiritual force should be ALIVE. our sacred rituals should enliven our very souls into action, into power, into creative chaos.
praise chaos and creation. and praise, yes, that’s the right word. for it creates a level of awareness which engenders a vibrant thanksgiving. a great giving of mind. a level of mind and body connection which is tunneled through the imaginary realms of collective unconscious which connect us all. which free us all. and pray for the power to appreciate. be careful and be AWARE of what you praise and why…what you give your love to, your adoration, is then filled and endowed with a certain magical significance. do not give power to the soulless fragments of plastic dread which fill our neurons with deadness.
honor and be true to the unbelievable power of belief and of mind to shape your very reality, and thus the reality of all those around you. be TRUE to it. find YOUR truth, for your reasons, based on your sacred path through the dense jungle of your body and mind. the more honest and truth your belief, the powerful your mind, the more magic your thoughts. and thoughts not only change the world- they ARE the world. this cosmic breathing that is tunneling through the stars wants to hear our dreams…so make them BEAUTIFUL.
i cannot fix this terrible terrain. the way i will give back to this earth is by honoring the sacred and unimaginable gifts of life i have been given. by recognizing that my creative powers crackle with flame, that my breath is burning with the ash of the stars, that my sight is seeing the millionth arrangement of the most miraculous assortment of mind/matter jumble that organically flew out of one infinitesimal spark 13 billion years ago. honor the desires of the billions of neurons dancing and singing within you. yeah, maybe its cosmic consciousness. maybe that’s fucking FANTASTIC.
be ecstatic. be alive. be aware. be awake. be. and be INDIVIDUATED.
my brain is cold, but this fire inside me is cackling with weightless freedom.
open open open. give give give. live, lust, linger and lick the edges off the top of the wide, wishful, whimsical world. FUCK yes we are starshine and earth bones. being part of this wheeling great mother is an unimaginable, undefinable, infinitely majestic miracle. so fucking wake up and greet the STAR that is giving us shattering patterns of light.
roll out of bed and let your bones chatter with matter. grumble out the godless and feed the firetraps tingling inside your truth.
i worship art.
In the settling star fire canyons that light up the universe, there remains one call from deep within the rocks- hear me, love me, see me and my fire. Give my life back to those who called it out of creation. Create my being out of the breath I am. Let your wind do nothing so clearly as love. Let your force be everything but the truth, so that the great vast mystery may hold your tender groping hand and wash you through the whistling river of light. Let your leaves drip and drop to the ground, rainy and golden and pierced through the heart by some great being that wants to see the core of the tree. That wants to rip off the turbulent clothes of nature and get to the bare bones. Get to the bare bones. Fill those bones up with the mineral heart of revivification, mummification of sorrow and mutation of borrowed bitterness. Renew through the rolling thunder of rebirth. Rehash the running fire of clear, clutching, clean hearted yes. I am part of a yes that tumbled down the mountain named no. I am kindling a sense fire to bring shadows to my serene bottle of reality. I am firing up my freedom to let it fuel a little box of everything and nothing. I am sitting on the edge of edgelessness waiting for the world to collapse, for the grain to shimmer and wind itself back up the walls of air that stop and stare at me as I move through them. The silent, cerebral sentience of the invisible world of air that surrounds and sustains me. The curling white drops of acid love that wriggle themselves into the world, tuck inside every root, root inside every branch, branch out into every tunnel of flowing water. All the water and all the pain and all the forms lost inside formlessness. Call them out. Call them out to be seen, to be expressed, to be driven to the edge of their seamlessness and finally made form. Made color, word, repetition, rhyme, rhythm, to be made a story. Seamless, sentient and full of sense. Meaning mongering. This is what we were made to do. To call the creation forces out of the wild, tame them through our trimmed and trapped mind holes and funnel them through our youthful lenses into something we can read, we can hear, we can see, we can sense. Into something we make sense of through our senses. We are the sense aliens. Silently heaving through the stars.
It’s only a matter of time. A matter of measureless mindfoam. A minute miracle mineral named matter. Mine the mind. Mind the minefield name time. Wrap the rain around the rhythm of your brain. Drain the silence that strains you through the thorough into the threadless, the sweet serene bottle of breathlessness. The fire of fiercelessness.
Anticipate the ancillary, artillery of your arteries awakening up inside a blossoming field of burning white hot ash. Of billowing curls of divine sliding trash.
I see the star shine in the trees. I fill my cup of wonder up with fresh ashy embers of life, swelter them, swim in them, and let my skin fill up with soul, squeeze myself out over the sidewalks of the glimmering streets of stunted home vision and I stand back- stare at the tracks in the concrete and wonder whether I am made of metal or made of mind or made of matter or simply seabrine. Or is it truly that celestial center of the rainbow named time.
I am part of my own great whimsical wonderland. I am practicing wheeling out like a top, tipping out my truth and gathering up more torturous tongues of taste. I taste the dream.
Drag the magic out of your spine, its sitting waiting, sipping a cup of hot sea.
This morning is purplebluemagenta and curled with little winged fantasies of being alive. This being alive monster is a strong strange catapult into my birth chamber. This is life and this is warmth and this is all the little words that stung around the slicing burning edges of my mind today. Today, tomorrow and all the words in between. Here’s to another day of grass green giving and gargantuan golden flows of embers of love floating from the sky all the way back to my eareye canal.
Everyday there’s a long white luscious dream train that comes to take me away. That comes to whisk me into the world where no time exists, where all of life persists, where all joy runs and slithers through my veins and where all mountains of love come avanlanching down through my spine. Everyday is divine and every rhythm of this majestic weathered world leads me home, leads me forward, leads me to this broken open, golden fleeced, tiny tucked life force named love.
To the powers of night that give way to the powers of indefinite definition of fire and flood- I say hello. I say rip me apart and put me back together. It’s cold and I need warmth. This is entropy and I mean war.