Imagination is a funny thing Can be a vile thing A wildling, can motivate Or desecrate With or without the evidence Mind makes its own proof Mind draws me in attachment Then makes me act aloof Imagination is a lonely thing Appearing individual and separate Travels as though disparate Never in one place Ever pervading space Remembering those I’ve met Ever scheming, making bets Ever brushing against yours Yet pretending we’re all bores How can we rely upon such a beast? For it’s our untuned vehicle Rattles over bumps and around curves Unoiled, rusted, nearly busted Soft, moth-eaten, torn-fabric seats Our minds have been used and abused We’re so confused, and we’re always Giving our power to those who prey Who eat away all day to get their fill Upon the lonelies, the innocents, the broken Those who have not awoken Those whose hearts have turned to clay Moldable, opposable yet breakable When dry and old and grey May my mind not go that way Imagination is a funny thing A lovely thing Can make you sing, When you fill yourself with love and understanding Gives you courage to jump Lets you float before landing And how can we access this happy mind alone? One that helps others Defends against crones Simple as this Control your mind Or someone else will
I think my leg would make a nice lamp soft, supple, curved, and round
a good squeeeeeeze
if you look me up from down squish in the right place – and in the wrong in front, a bright and lumpy face from behind, like every other PAWG near-perfect ass – not too phat in size nicely shaped when I fold in half showing off some thick-ass thighs and big-ass ribs an hour glass shape with small-ass tits deceiving, yes disappointing, almost entirely but most aren’t interested in being surprised or disappointed and so I’m left here unanointed unbaptized but virginal – ah! a wish! almost believable, but deceitful kiss when every swing returns a miss except for the three, a perfect strike-out who pitched to me? and filled me with doubt?
I think my arm would make a nice branch muscular, freckled, smooth, and strong
nice to tooooooouch
to whom does it belong? what soul could search and find a truly existent body independent of a truly existent mind?
no one!
could it be a limb to build a nest? could it be a place of eternal rest? could these arms wrap you up and hold you firm? or tickle-torture until you squirm?
and would you understand such impermanent nature? or is your reliance political, predisposed to legislature?
squeeeeeeze instead
evaluate
and don’t forget your mind creates
and ever empties your plate but also fills you up
objectify this human creation dismantle parts with imagination for the whole is empty but of name and our mind is non-separate we’re almost the same
let last words be of virtue, love a wish for other’s happiness and though I fit you like a glove we play this silly game of chess you read these words, you leave them here, we’re left confused filled up with fear
and then I pray and dance about and use this body, to move, to shout and once again I live so free to end all fears and misery all I’ve got’s one disbelief – how could it be only me?
I have entered the dream world it is dark madness ensues I’ve come unglued monsters lurk and a peculiar quirk has taken hold of me reality not what it seems
I have entered the dream state it passes over my waking eyes a film, betraying a wild guise a darkness taking over me absent absent is the light in a nightmare world full of haunting fright how could it feel so right!
I have entered the dream I see its walls surrounding me seemingly limitless, yet I cannot run further than my limitations in a meat puppet state I cannot wait any longer to start becoming stronger I must lucid make my dull dreaming mind I cannot afford to become unkind — not now! — and forget …
I must remember the dream has taken hold of me it’s pulled me in and under and threatens to rip asunder all that I’ve worked for all that my continuum has worked for to lose all I have and more futures of past work I cannot be the jerk that throws it all away and yet, I cannot be the one to stay
I must wake up!
Still, I have been pulled under I have metamorphosed as a cicada to scratch my way to the surface, crawling above ground to birth such sound and to shed such skin and skeleton like the selfless king abandons his crown! while in samsara’s sea they drown no more
I must wake up!
In the dream world imagination is the creator of all sights and sounds and smells and feels and fears and tastes and don’t forget the touches you don’t get — your mind creates those too in the dream world the artist thrives or dies depending on will and disposition — or is it now our despotism? for it is time I must remind (who?) it’s pure imagination — creepy factories aside —
I have entered the dream world and so I say goodbye to the ordinary people I once knew to the human race in which I grew to the good friends, in numbers few, oh how when I write, I will miss you! but only a solo journey ensues (the synonym is madness) for it’s certainly not entirely lonely with all those characters arguing in there
CAN YOU SHUT THE HELL UP FOR JUST A SECOND SO I CAN PRETEND TO BE NORMAL?
Nope.
Not fair.
This familiarity is based on past impressions with no guarantee of future impressions (& little return on investment)
you think I’d shift gears
Alas! like so many lifetimes before me I write I enter the dream state I strive I will realize my mind this time, with a qualified Spiritual Guide.
Lately I’ve been back in the forest, capturing a fraction of my experiences. Here is glimpse of my visions that demanded to be expressed to the music of CLANN. See the Youtube channel for more.
May your Saturday be filled with love, joy and expression!
In my mind
though light will rise, first darkness falls at the faerie court they see it all
understanding should not be confused with power in the deathless state we fearlessly devour
I’ve started to root my feet as I walk so as not to fly away my head is up inside the clouds and clouds aren’t here to stay
Appearing normal as ever I was so it appears I walk on ground yet inside my mind the streets transformed a different time, a long lost day, reality unbound
You see, I hesitate to admit the spontaneous overflow of emotion that overwhelmed me this past weekend uninvited tears and two ice cream cakes
Later and I feel better than before and stronger without falling feel I’m falling safely to the ground after being so far away in order to survive
That is the key. Traveling far away my way costs a little less these days when travel is forbidden on a political – I mean for-your-safety and conspiracy theories
Dismissed once more completely unlike twenty years before when a 9-11 call came to distress a nation continuously paying for the evil deeds it continues
To commit. So it seems unfathomable that I should be able to arrange words in a way they’ve never been arranged before since everything is repeating itself
How did they find their way here now to your hands to your eyes. How many parts of your mind are you using to comprehend this basis and how many senses are liberating you or simultaneously imprisoning you in samsaric pleasure seeking yet no endless bliss I could be anywhere in this warm hazy gloom I’ve created in this room electric guitar riffs and smoke lifts, incense and candles burning low, low like my gaze, low like the spirits of the masses drawing near the end of what some may call a “fucked up” year check it out as a meme somewhere
I want to be held by arms that love me even though arms cannot love and to pretend the body and mind want the same thing is deceit
Smokey blues, and my bare feet stretched over the back of the kitchen chair in front of me. Not warm nor cold and so I can no longer sense them and my mind in a trance disconnects from my body and in the flickering candlelight dance with the clear, thick sound in my ear I lose myself, I lose the moment into a single sensation of the moment tactile functioning ceases as auditory rapture plays a different sensation across the skin. What’s that, pores? Bring a friend! Goosebumps rise to no end.
If you run your hand against me now to this solo I may literally die of overstimulation and it’s not just the copious blooms of Mary Jane’s bouquets floating through the dark nor is it the magnificent high although it helps it’s this fucking art to heart music in ear and olfactory tickling dense breath via nostril and the trance of expression while simultaneously bearing witness to manifestation and expressing and perceiving the metaphysics of this existing in the future space of your present moment.
This tragically ignored dependency worse than the drugs used tonight has mutilated our minds into ignorance rooted deep.
And so this skin feels music as touch and yet feels touch not from within this dream realm which is impaired life, I feel the strings as fingers strum on skin and percussion as too much at times too intense but oh that brass really gets me from the inside out really putting the sax in saxual intercourse. The woodwinds in my hair and as whispers on my neck – over the top sensations that would give anthropologists cause to study: what drug is this?
And gypsy magic would be the reply because the music is the magic and the roots run deep the attachment runs deep
Yet rooting here I am attempting to root also so that I might not fly away this time, at least not today I’ve got busy work not time for play touching my hard nipples to rock and roll and blues outside of the dream the kitchen chair is damn hard on my ass and I have to adjust my position and leave the reverie behind.
The Halfwit Writer 