Back 4/16/2022 & Later On The Train 1. Listen: Learn from the shape of the pen as it outlines sprawling dream- like imagery. The constant: A state of awakeness aware of recollections of other states of awareness/keness. Non-lucid, real? Death of the hourglass Ink: sprawls the pen sounds: Escape the lips A dream is a dream is a dream A life is a dream a life is a dream. From this baseness with closed eyes and an eclipsed limbness, Learn from the shape of the pen. 2. The cost: Obviously, All the scraps of human life That make up your body And your mind too- Don't forget that lustful martyr, that scheming owl, conniving seeker of knowledge, feathered-head thrust in the sand seeing only sand consumed surrounded by it screeching in dull chambers, "Sandy moral, I seek you, Enchanted morsel... ENLIGHTEN-MENT! Bless my hand!" And it points to just more sand. Desecrate both productions But heed the zip-line and oceans And in doing so somehow find compassion instead of misanthropic blankets where the mother's chanting and beating of the drum is turned into screams of nightmares. 3. A language that can't be taught much like how, speaking, or even just thinking, of a truth, makes the whole thing reek of lies But time: like a slow edible high, creeping up on me from behind very stealthily with Premonition. -beckons this insane "thought" that perhaps this boundless suffering could be cut down with returning doubled-down guerilla warfare, Agincort, a flank, a rally decisive of ultimately nothing. 4. But here I spy a conundrum... It seems that breaking the hourglass while stuck in a loop of frames of your hands just prior to the smashing of the thing requires an understanding and appreciation of the very time you wish to destroy, eradicating the individual. Such paradoxical components to the mix that makes up the very definition of eternal joy and wisdom at first see, radically counter-intuitive. But just wait: This impossibility is only seen in the sand. Patiently see a dripping of the separation-feeling's uninvolvement shadows darken of the beast Raised from lurking Yet so cynically it raised its shell and exposed its weak points so you drunkenly follow this poor salesman to his home and swing violence. 5. of course, individually speaking, this could all be a fraud and I'll find I've learned nothing. But something somehow suspends me from supporting my sanctions on socialist countries. These treacherous commies cannot escape me! what's there to worry when relatively speaking, we just left the ocean and started a chain of events that lead up to the separation of church and the Union? The world's destruction seems insignificant as harmless as a fly poking its way in to skin. So I will continue to give myself positive affirmations as the stealthy high takes over my brain like 10 eggs to 100 to 1003. & Later, On The Train The fog on the mountain tops far beyond the swamp that surround the railroad tracks on the train going back to the city I'm leaving behind familiarity And diving into concrete cold Nothing feels real there But in the country the fog is warm If I never left it would have consumed me If I never came back I'd get lost in a dream A physical manifestation of balancing my emotions passionate cold, hopeless and warm chasing my dreams in a dead world Surrounded by people I don't know The trees screaming my name "Don't go, don't go" But I have to let go Life is peeking over my shoulder watching the pencil move and loving how it flows disinterested in the words, (that's a me thing, comprehension) It only enjoys the motions exhibited by a kaleidoscope of biological processes and years of bacterial build-up in the gums. Ahhh... look at it go, how poignant! Like a flower wilting or the wind pushing trash across a street or birds flapping wings or boulders staying still or mushrooms growing in betwen leaves of green. Unfinished Song I might write a silly little song I might write one that has some meaning But I prefer to be discrete I'd rather it not be up to me I might fake my death like my professor did I might go pick up the drums, now that he's gone I might find some other way to have fun One that doesn't have to do with songs I might just go and live my life chase my dreams another time an endless acquisition of numbness and precision no one's here to tell me what is right Where I Seem To Stand Now Where I seem to stand now... is on the crux of imagination and clear vision. I seem to exist both mortally and infinitely as I'm thrown from dream-scape to dream-scape I had to stop here and remind myself to let go of fear * each gripping me with fascination of cluttered phenomena * which I did and this is a clever victory. I seem to stand in the center of a spiral and I am learning to get out of it - for better or.. Let's admit it, Is having delusions about being delusional an indicator of delusion? I have these dreams that unhinge my understanding of reality, and my mind is blown wide under the light of each day I'm so confused and my biggest fear is Delusion!! A decision is made Oh trees, I am a man of action my nature compels me to plunge myself into shadowy hells far from your embrace, if only for the proof that nothing's real anyway. If only to walk away with the fact that yes, I tried. And when I finally return to the place where nothing ever happens I will appreciate the stillness. An understanding is reached Life is what happens between train rides to and from a feeling of home- One cannot exist without the other Like how the wilting rose lives inside blooming petals There seems to exist a continuity in all opposites. Birth and death, joy and suffering contentment and longing- There is a line that can be drawn through it all Maharj-ji says: "SUB EK" (It's all One) One. Only one thing going on. And on and on and on... Ahhhhh... so. This poem never ends. Home