Archive for June, 2013

crowded cityFor his sun,

it is a fire
incinerates
rising… falling…
froze in perpetual states

And her moon,

punctures a hole
in his dark sky
threading him through
Luna/’s evil needle’s eye

But their stars,

call him back home
from where he stands
stardust castles
strewn across the Margate Sands

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-R2nUgYueVc&feature=player_detailpage

http://zenspeaknine.com

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Forgets memories
She became far too pretty
For the likes of me

I knew her back when
Her darkest moment of Zen
How I called her friend?!

My projected wife
Insatiable lust for life
Cut by a dull knife

Thought she/d stay awhile
Now, can/t spare me a smile
Sheds skin as if style

Walks with the in-crowd
Places where I/m not allowed
For they/re pretend-proud

 

I drift out by myself

I sell out from myself

No one nowhere else

ss

The sun will burn away

The world will turn away

Here we holy hell

s

This skin does not want felt

This air I never felt

Done deal being dealt

s

The truth they never tell

Whisper but do not tell

Sit there by yourself

ssss

ss

http://zenspeaknine.com/

©2012 ZENspeak9 publication un/incorporated

I project my ideal-self outward.

I stay as true as possible to that imagined state.

I use that to align my moral compass.

In that, I answer only to myself.

But my self as it fits into the patterns around me.

There is no recognition of archaic superstitions or stifling bureaucracies or unjustified wars.

I refuse to accept them as a part of my reality.

I am now a minister in the ministry of the art of peace.

 

I’ve been thinking about the Tractatus a lot.

The problems that arise with language when asking the big questions.

Who’s to say what truth is?

God?

Love?

How can you have an intelligent debate when there’s no sensible question posed?

And in sensible I mean, not able to be measured by the senses.

Therein, lies the inner purpose of art.

Through many mediums, it wrestles abstract images into creation that our brains can associate with.

 

Old Bull Lee always said,

we’d be better off to let the artists run the world.

I always loved Bill.

It makes a lot more sense than letting bankers do it.

Let people whose entire existence is not based upon generating revenue have a say in things.

 

Back to Wittgenstein.

 

Think of the abstract language thrown around in politics.

Hope; freedom; change; equality…

Who better to capture the abstract than an artist?

Who better to bring those types of ideas into reality?

 

Be true to yourself and you will be true to others.

Heard you tell a good story

I guess, forget my memory

…now I remember

Seeing either the back of you

Or the back of your hand

Never a good look at the face

There will be no fair trial for you

The police sketch I’ll trace

I am awake

I can still see the pictures hanging

Feel them looking down on me

The air so clean, so quiet

So simply deceiving

Hiding horrors while fans just echo

Listening; knowing sleep would be soon

& that stale room

Never forget that room

I am awake

Remember being strapped down

In a room with no windows

Other than the one on the door

Covered with a piece of paper

Blank & taped &

Secured from the other side

A doctor finally came

He had a real colorful tie

I am awake

& the fever that builds & burns

Everything; incinerating

Everything, in its wake

Can not even speak its name

Once exorcised

Its reach is legion

For a mighty foe I have made

Fear will give it reason

I am awake

& the anxiety that crashes from crescendo

Living, running, knowing

Any moment may be the last

Breath breathed freely

& the streets are never far behind

But you can’t stop

Like the power of Christ compels you

Better off in the padded room

Nothing but time to think it through

I am awake

The concrete madness

Of thieves & rapists & murderers

& a guy that tried

To staple children to the floor

A horror show where everyone is a maestro;

A virtuoso; connoisseur of the cuisine

Friendships reduced to potato chips

Where all there is, is a dream

I am awake

& those sad faces we lost

Forever slipped through the sands of time

& to think it was all so simple

You just get what you give

Bodies demised, bruised & riddled

Now memories in sacristies

Never to fully live

Only here to take

But now we are awake…

Of Brahma

dreaming a cosmic dream

the cosmic dance of Shiva

nothing absolved

rather dissolved

into n…n…

nothingness.

space

Innumerable incarnations

linked by heartbeat

beating to the war drum

perpetual

too familiar

psychic phenomenon

deja vu.

space

I know me

&

I will remember you

Shall our paths ever cross

space

… the jewel of a planet that our universe has gifted us with. What a privilege it is to be born in a human body and to live in this enchanted realm; floating on the ocean of the cosmos, and to have the opportunity to learn, grow, and develop here through many lifetimes.

Because we all have been here before.

And we are all struggling to remember.

Graham Hancock

This money is not gonna/ flip

Before this apocalypse hits

Revelations are never televised

& here our lives are

In hock to the divine

All the world/s gold

Won/t decrease that debt/s size

Wealth, no matter the cost

Leaves the soul lost

Turns the blood cold

Buying & selling suicide

Need a new drug to mainline

Break barriers that divide

Facilitates genocide

Builds walls to confine

Indiscriminate & color blind

Let that archaic hatred finally subside

John Lennon said,

Give peace a chance,

Before being shot from behind

He/d say it again if he had not died

Remember the call for revolution #9?

Imagine imagination

The only essential

Material wealth is but detrimental

Our mental is what needs to flip

Before this apocalypse hits

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