Last Thing On My Mind part. 2

When the penny dropped it was not so much of a shock, it was the tide turning leaving rock pools of minnows and crabs stranded in their new made world waiting on an adventurous child to collect them in their bucket and throw them back to the ocean. Back to the beating wave Back to the Constance.
The words pushed this weary world to the brink of collapse. The volume of opinion would almost always translate to do you agree or disagree? Are you in or are you out? Are you left or are you right? Do you believe or do you not? Will you suffer this rhetoric? Will you take these blows? Will you cry when the last tree falls and the wind rises and the topsoil dust is blown to sea? When the bubble bursts then will you believe? So: small, fragile, obedient simplex life form. Will you rot when you die? Will you remember then what it was you wanted to say? Oh sea of green and sky of blue and dancing clouds and bird songs tune and flowered meadow and microscopic beauty, layered and layered complexity. Did you even notice? Did you not hear that last cry of that last ember of the last fire? We were there; we can say… we were there…. When the light was blocked, the shadow`s cast and the dark shined deep. Negative translucence bound to the sway, recreating the void day after day. Patterns shrouded, cleaving the sane, convinced they would never see light again. Weaving dreams from this world to the next, believing the seer who speaks in tongues, whilst the fairies flutter and splutter and die. Caught in the cross fire shamed by desire, hung for a lie, she just wanted a life, same as you or I. Awake. Awaken. Awakening. Sleeping. Dreaming. Creating all, consuming more. Realizations drip, squeezed from the rock, calciate water, the flow stemmed by mass, tricked by time, crust formed.
A belief with no purpose,
A stumbling giant decimating all that deny.
A train with no brakes racing to the end of the line,
A Formula found then hidden for profit, nature destroyed.
An unjust law that serves no sense,
A truth that is a lie.
Children run, their imaginations free, a collective belief, when the children are running, all is safe. To collectively believe a possibility will lead to a singularity then the probability becomes our inevitable fate.
She knew something about me, something I couldn’t conceive hear or see, it was something to do with good energy and a big heart, maybe giving love in a considered way. She knew I would know more of this latent gift had I the ears to hear or the eyes to witness, maybe yours I could use, if you lent them, if my loneliness weren’t so deep. She fell into the arms of the devil, he promised to keep her warm and safe, he promised to keep her in a place where she couldn’t escape, she knew I could not see, I feel shame for my blindness, shame for my lust, I will repay, I promise…. The options are all real and all inevitable, we have the revolution occurring right under our noses, the choices available are tenable but need to be carefully considered. To continue on this path we have beaten out to the place we are, will create a false sense of comfort which when removed will hold the majority to ransom, a silent ransom insipid in its demands, yet ultimately ruinous. Consumerism in its present form is unsustainable and invokes much destruction in its wake. There is such weakness in greed. When overfed we lose the will to fight. Fear overtakes our base instincts and protection becomes more important than creation. Protection becomes pointless when the object has no true value. We end up obsessing about looking out for an ideal of an ideal of an idea, which came to notion for necessary development but now redundant it should be discarded. We hold on to our ideological heritage, as though it was alive, it is not. It is out dated and dangerous. It was just a name they called, just a name. And with a name they split us down. Down to the ground they split us down and when we were split they split us more
They split the earth they split the shore. It was just a name they called, just a name. Boys will be boys with their drums and their dangerous games. Play with their fists clenched to the sky, impossible to tame. All or nothing, all for nothing at all? Breaking the bounds with the whip of a cane. Shadows of anger they wont darken my day oh the games that we play. All or nothing, all for nothing at all? With the flip of a coin we can turn it around. A hop and a scotch, lets burn the pound. Bullets for grain can we please start again? Without all the blood shed with out all the pain its not all for nothing its not all or nothing, its not all for nothing at all. This life giving force, this contradiction, the opposition, the friction, my joy, my pain. As the flint chips the spark, once cold now hot, once stone now flame burns anew until the fuels expired, then tired it is time to die. Some residual warmth gives rise to this life giving force. I want to love you and be loved by you. I want you to come and put your arms around me, whisper in my ear how dear I am, what a man. I want to make you secure, to give you children. To live this dream I hold strong inside, to realize happiness truth comfort and warmth, to be we, to wake up next to you and make love, to satisfy heaven and hell, to be all, this is all I want. And so we wait… Memories for friends, edges sharpened with passion, dulled with pain. Recalling this life lived that carries all, that sheds the skin, which contains the lines that remind. Then… tight smile pressed to the lips of a moment reborn, relived reunited with its keeper, this is all we have, is there so much more to be? Synaptic creation distant revelation finally understood. Then lost to the present… Lost to Her with all She gives with all She takes. Lapping waves lick the bow. Peace ensues. Comforts choice to duck and weave to soothe beyond the stories told, searching for old truths. All else abandoned save the cutting word whose rudder guides tormented soul round deep-set woe. She sees, she says, God like posture, crumbling face as Venus fell, self sharpened sword the guide to hell, then God or Devil whose to tell but truths spat from friendships tongue on eager ears to learn. That spark that lit the gas that broke the rule That magic moment the explosion. That spark that shook the earth made new from old Magic stone magic wind.
Blow these words and hold to earth this truth I speak.
These dreams I give. Magic brook of magic water carry this message to all that touch, to all that drink and wash and mind full think.
I take your gift.
I offer mine.
With this trade we will survive you and I.
…Olive boughs support me, geckos for friends, platform strong and true. Undermined by ants nesting in the heart, their formic rule. Full moon silvered leaves shimmer in the gentle breeze. Woven sharpened stakes protect from fall. Love surrounds this matchstick castle, supports from below and lifts from above, contains the heart that beats the wings, which carry this dream. I can hear so much more, elevated in these branches, friendly conversation from three sides, the collection of rocks from below, dishes clatter in the female flurry, the after lunch hurry to clear and clean. Whilst the men sit beneath and talk of love and hope, the party lights are being lifted with laughter’s pull, ripe olives clatter on the deck of the tree house…. which creaks…. a piano plays… birds twitter…
Sunshine blasts, birdsong soothes.
Words flow, sewage like from a filthy mouth, noises aggressively punching the air, their purpose to control, to satisfy this megalomaniacs perception of reality, sharing with me and all the sad melancholic story of human failure, underlining the facts, a mirror of the truth
as the singular story is projected onto and into the sphere of awareness it is made real, it is believed and re-iterated copied and shared, consciousness taking the form of those cold thoughtless utterances.
A fractal pattern emerges the world over, all inconsiderate sentient thought melds into the constant, its spell cast, the change has occurred, it is a tidal flow gathering momentum and strength forcing the weaker elements to be absorbed and conditioned, a tide of belief on an ocean of creation, waves of consciousness following the very same patterns as the vast watery oceans, stormy, calm, turbulent, tidal.
The tale is of love, fear and release… birth, life and death, there is always a happy ending in this story and for this one must first accept death as a release, a time to be joyous of. The prime misconception adopted by our belief system is that death is an unfortunate mistake, this is the breeding ground of fear and fear is the brother of hate and the sister of misery. Their Mother and Father are pure souls of pure light. How can it then be that from such a high lineage can such devastation of a beautiful story occur.
I look into a dewdrop; the wonders I observe in its split second of existence are infinite. I see a fractal of light; the information contained within this fractal is all that needs to be. Outside the fractal exist the pattern, the flow and ebb of nature. Everything follows the same rules whilst simultaneously writing those same rules. Everything is and always will be just as it should be.
Blow through me breath
Fill me with love
With your call
I embrace my death.
So onwards and beyond the incarnation of the king again and again, infinitesimal creation for as long as belief is believed. For as long as desire drives the definition of thought and the proper order be allowed to flow….
I nearly die on a daily basis, realities cavort with imagination and the process of dissemination begins so then on submitting to transformation I cease to be what I thought I was and need to live again, pushing the boundary of the concentricity, attempting to squeeze an ellipse, an altercation, knowing the need to burst the bubble.
Futures prevail in my world, searching for the voice, the common sound, searching through the vice, spinning round and round… and so I journey, half blind, half stupid waiting for signs, a sky trail making an arrow, the definitive message from god? Or a bulbous bug poking its head out through the vile shit pile, winking with its one gelatinous eye gesturing to the vivid imagination. Or the rain to spit its drops of life, charging the ions in a playful way, hosting the reincarnation just one more time, it is only another day, another day in another life of another fool waiting for a sign.
I want to open the windows and let escape the stale suffocating air, give way to the past, embrace the future to create a new era in my story, to stop the bleeding, to sutra the wounds and let the scars form their protective nerveless sheath. To see with new eyes and hear with new ears and to sense the friendship of a companion, a fellow traveller as lost as I in their search for tomorrow.
We are constantly called to witness things already known; so no longer am I the witness but the judge, sent to judge you and myself. Emotional confusion blinds the consensus with protectionism strongly defended, under these illusions no sense can be found or made. To disconnect is to observe, to observe is to guide the action and so the judgment. The only real truth comes at that moment when the brain is starved of oxygen and the soul rejoins the whole, learned or ignorant, this is the only moment of truth.
Between here and there an ever changing constant we journey, we gather our evidence, we evolve to be a caricature of ourselves. We choose, we procreate we win, but mostly we lose. We devour, we rarely replenish, and this over consumption is our present action being judged.
The collective issue, our variegation topically is minimalizing, our consciousness is predictable, our needs are many and our wisdom is aware yet generally stupefied by drugs and lies.
The purification of the diet is the immediate solution to all ill; the cleanliness of the skin is another.
The fear creates monopolies that are easily exploited, to love our fear is to accept nothing is ever lost, only ever transformed…
Fortunes will gather as a cloud, attracting and collecting to a point of saturation, then with one drops release the storm is unleashed, the energy spread being the food of seed from puddle stream river and sea distributed evenly to all.
Cosmic geometry as witnessed through various hallucinatory agent prisms have unveiled to me the tremendous definitions within micro cellular patterning that display the trait of, as above then so below. To witness the truth of your story is to learn and teach lessons otherwise unknowable, possibilities we all share simultaneously but due to foreseen denial by aggressive bodies that alienate this perspective with modern media from realities eyes.
I like to believe in a happy ending where the spirit flows freely, consciousness consigned, collected and delivered to its self. This moments dream must become the next moment’s realities vision needing to be transposed.
Time for reflection has passed. Time for action is well and truly here. A taste is all it takes to remember who you are, a flavored memory to withdraw to, a definition of the initiation of a moment, the benchmark that needs never be seen again. Memory jolts electro spasms transcending time, delivering the future to what was and will never be again. Triangulating then with now and nothing…
The morning took me with a start, drenched in cold clammy sweat, stinking like a rugby match I set off on the six-mile hike from my house to the nearest super market. On my march I met with two old acquaintances, each an archenemy to the other, both driving identical expensive cars, the first picked me up and gave me a lift there, he was a proud authoritarian, the second picked me up and gave me a lift home, he was perverse. The first bemoaned his younger sons laziness and puffed out proud as proud for his elder son. The second praised his sluttish daughter as a princess and saluted his son’s study into the rise of the third Reich. Both of them the financial elite, neither of them had the faintest idea of the consequence of their ignorance. I arrived home happy with my fruit and nuts and dates… knowing the change was close, knowing many would be lost…
I can feel old in this company, a lumbering carrier of a forgotten truth, intrigued yet embalmed by what the future holds.
Life, is a conversation best held drunk with company set to agree, a united exploration of possible fundamental recognition of past problems beautifully crafted into solutions.
I was given a gift, a piece of meteorite, a present from the heavens. I was told that it would act as a beacon for like-minded aliens who want to help further the causes set, a beacon to attract them.
There is no running away, fates path paved ahead for the lupine straying adventurers conversations, chance meetings leading from one possibility to the next, the like minded attracted and inducted.
Yesterday was a collection of these events. The first obtained the key to a dream.
The meteorite seems to be working, the aliens are coming and we are forming a plan. The eyes of creation bore in to my awareness, gently prizing me away from the pillow of my slumber.
Emotional intelligence is a considered notion. It expects us to identify the individual aspects of our ego, then to rationalize between beneficial personality traits and destructive personality traits.
When the terror comes home and settles in the cave in my heart. When the rain pours and the sun never shines
Powers rise from the core of the abyss
Energies designed to change the future
Futilities cascade away; matter becomes s u r e a l
This is the time that the vision speaks and settles its cells in my frame of reality,
The picture is of my choosing to paint.
Delivery is awkward.
The mud is thick around my feet.
I can’t lift them I am stuck.
The wind is blowing the wrong way.
The rain cuts my skin
Turmoil reigns
Who am I?
I am You. You are I We are they…
)!