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Sananda Maitreya

SanandaMaitreya.com ...

My dear Carbon based Life-forms…

Paramecium and now you don’t!


You do not have to be insane to serve the music, though it does help considerably.


The worst form of fascism is bureaucracy. Death by paperwork is more prevalent than death by bullets or bombs..


They are just as blind, if not more deadly, those who choose to see but the good in everyone. This is where sentiment steals. ‘Good’ is often a mask.


I once uttered out a small blasphemy, I cried out “JESUS ON TOAST!!”, TO WHICH THE INNER VOICE OF Christ replied, ‘You know, you really shouldn’t take the LORD’S NAME IN GRAIN like that.’


You may fear it, or you may have it, you cannot do both.


Used wisely, TURMOIL BREEDS PRODUCTION.


Smart mothering includes this exchange: ‘Mom, why do we eat so much garlic in our diet?’ “Honey, so that we can recognize one another in the dark, should the lights go out”.


Our greatest baggage is not in our pasts but in our concepts of the future. Upon reaching the age of realization, different for each soul, that the future is a pain in the toukas, life gets richer and assumes a more creative and dynamic shape. There is great spiritual and emotional wealth to be gained by letting go of the future and living the days as they come, making only the plans that have to be made and allowing life to surprise. We are reinvented by surprise more than we are by calculation.


Your father couldn’t get into college because during his interview, he were asked what his opinion were on the DADAISTS, and he, annoyed, asked what his father had to do with any of this.


The chief Israeli export is mischief.


The quickest way for enemies to become friends is to start a business together. The quickest way for friends to become enemies is to start a business together.


It doesn’t take National Geographic to tell you that the Cuckoo bird don’t like sticking their heads out of the clock, until they know exactly what time it is. Time can’t be early, nor can it be late and if it ain’t time, it ain’t cuckoo.


Nor can Cuckoo bird afford to just stick his neck out of the door to see if the time is right. Something always waits on the other side of the woodwork.


Don’t forget to drink up, this reads much better when you do.


Mercury is winged mercy (and there are no sparrows to spare).


The crime gets bigger as the fool does.


Anything that brings more awareness to the self and alertness to the mind, bridges to clarity, are all welcome in my republic, which by the way, thank you for the downloads, as I am now looking into financing a military takeover of a small central European nation and declare myself and my wife, the King and Queen of something. Anything with a crest, a seal, a stamp, perhaps a little vintage ermine, some wild game, fresh vegetation, nothing too out. The good news is that with the economy being as it is, there are more than a few older royals ready to sell out and cash in, and may even invite a take over, a nice pageant filled military coup, something the friends might like seeing while taking tea and at least as vivid as watching on HDTV. It seems taking over a country allows them to keep the numbers in the books a little differently, and the royal accountants are known to prefer invasions for this very reason. Confusion being obviously of much use to bookkeepers and their mysterious ways. The next investment is the purchase of my own lobbyists. You have got to have lobbyists these days, it is all about the lobbyists. If you know of a small but prepared private army, please contact me at WWW.NIGORMORTIS.COM. Like good housekeepers, efficient military units are hard to come by. As a contingency, in the event that I cannot find a small nation to invade, we may then decide to use our private militia to take over a TV network, or perhaps EMI.


I’ve done my research and apparently there is no truth to the rumours that EMI are seeking a copyright to collect a royalty every time the word BEATLES is written or said.


We write from our baggage. Without our baggage, we’d have no stories to tell, only those to repeat.


We sing from our baggage, our baggage our are blues.


Among those things rare to be heard: A black woman who says to you during sex, ‘Go on, pull my hair!’


The ultimate triumph is in becoming ourselves. Nothing takes greater courage. Nor patience and humility.


When you have to tip toe around people, especially as a child, your life takes that shape. Life follows in the footsteps of our attitude. Our attitude is the extension of our vision. What you can see for yourself, you can have. Attitude is the lightning rod. Right attitude seduces the flow of right action and the thunders of discovery.


Freedom is an instinct, not a commodity.


A lot of life is wasted looking for answers where there are only constantly shifting puzzles, even to itself. After a while, the mind starts to assume the shape of the puzzle. Puzzles have the right to exist in life. You are not obliged to them.


We are no more insane than the cultures which breed us. We are all out of our minds. Insanity is entirely relative.


The worst form of racism is ANTI-HUMANISM.


The essence of the soul and the spirit of music are one. They are the double helix of the other.


Band spokesman ‘Dr. Jiggles and Mr. Hype’ of ‘THE NOCTURNAL EMISSIONS’ released a statement in an attempt to quell some of the controversy the group is experiencing with their record label Ominous Recordings, who are threatening legal action to get the band to tour, in support of their latest release, ‘Sticky Nightfall’. Explained Dr. Jiggles, “We are a post existential rock band and for us an audience would just get in the way. Audiences are for poseurs, like people who would spell poseur with a U. Touring is so last era and I don’t like room service, We have a lot of allergies in this band”- Asked if there were a solution to the impasse with the label, Dr. Jiggles said that in order to preserve the band’s integrity there was discussion of auditioning look-alikes to take their place on stage and have them play to the backing tapes, which Jiggles said they would be doing anyway, were they to go on tour. “What difference does it make whether it is us or our representatives, it is all about the brand anyway, let them wear it”. Replied label rep G. Olmos Cummings, ‘The label respects the band’s integrity, it is just that they may come to find that an audience can be a convenient thing to have’. Told of the labels’ reply, Dr. Jiggles gave this succinct retort. “COURTING AN AUDIENCE IS ASKING FOR TROUBLE”.


Rumours have also circulated that in retaliation for the lawsuit, the Nocturnal Emissions may stage a ‘GIG-OUT’, where they agree to tour the venues, then lock out the audience while the band sits on stage tuning their instruments. The band are also rumoured to be threatening to make their next contractual record release a recording of all of their business meetings with the label and calling it ‘Situational Art for Farts’.


And out cried the lonely royal princess, ‘A linguist, a linguist, my kingdom for a cunning linguist!’


So what if she went SLEEVELESS IN SEATTLE? We mustn’t forget that the Constitution of the United States guarantees the First Lady Michelle Obama, THE RIGHT TO ‘BARE’ ARMS.


POEM ACJ-1411:

By what quandary
In the pale of your eye
Turns my quizzes into
Lullabies, rings, on droplets
Of water lilies tumbling?
Your moonlight lisp
Is mercy stuttering
On love’s abandoned wings.
I am through
With stumbling,
My feet are fluttering,
The milk on my moustache
Has gone to cream,
And these are the dreams
That require less numbing
To blow the nose I’m thumbing.
(or so it seems). Dust rises in
The tailwinds, then falls
By its own weight, sneezing
Out what breezes it were forced
To negotiate in the rain.
What treason exists
It freezes, the rest it rushes to
Celebrate.
Uttering what it pleases.


G.Olmos Cummings has confirmed that the label Ominous Recordings will be supporting a tour for new signing, THE COUSIN WITH THE MONEY. Lead singer ‘Rowdy Doody’ and guitarist ‘Standing O’, announced through their new website that they were ‘delighted’. ‘We like people’ wrote Standing O, ‘We are not Post Existential’. They are currently in tour production putting their backing tapes together.


Meanwhile a spokesman for The Nocturnal Emissions, their lawyer Doug Deeper, said that they may be willing to compromise and meet the label halfway by still refusing to tour, but sending their merchandising and an opening act (as well as an accountant to explain their business plan). Said the spokesman, “The band feels that this will give the fans a chance to spend time with their ‘merch’. Intimate time. They are proud of their stuff, they make good stuff and feel that it can stand on its own without the music. They have a feel for fabrics. The boys are planning to put a backing tape together to go with the product called, MUSIC FOR MERCHANDISE. The band feel strongly that fans get in the way of the music”.


The next 3 ‘poems’ are a portion of my Lazy Poet Stew:


1)-She was never a rose in fine clothes, more like a rogue in vogue whose cloak and daggers strike repose and for whom it may be supposed is possessed of derision and God only knows and to whom siren wails are customized religion and sandstone the diamonds still gripped in her throes. She bathed in bloodstains that seeped from the drains of Spain, as from a spigot. A bigot with words, I’ll admit it. And I a pigeon toe, batting for my chirping cricket and finding my clothes in the thicket.


2)-They have fathomed that to fail is just if the bank goes bust and if enough confusion is thrown at us before the cage is opened and out leaps, startled, the addled blade in the shoulder blades thrust. At this stage, dooms-dayers, nay -sayers, and riders of the purple sage, who chafe at charges against the winds while smearing their blood across the range, folded like leaves by the rushes on the page and by rouge, pinafores and damp face blushes, mutual white hot kisses, manually, for trysts such as this is (where graveyard camels hide in the mists of oblivion, straining the wrists of the cupped hands of Christmas).


METAMORPHEUS BREAKS:

She knows that your time is due
This is upsetting her,
So she’s upsetting you.
That’s what they do
When the goose has lost
The house and shoe.
Stay loose and bake,
In your own stew,
Shake if you must.
Stay within your
Sauce, take the sack
But avoid the loss
Otherwise, you’ll quibble
(and ‘incidentally’, floss).
Don’t count the crumbs
From the bread you break,
And neither drool nor dribble
What trees absorb your hanging moss,
And in whose sap the veins
Of birches bleed, whose
Sticky hourglass of moments
Passed now display a
Feast of centipedes
(frozen, if not flaked
in a critical moss perhaps).
Avoid the dull of dingy raps
Spare yourself the cost,
Which stammer out
Instructions that stale before
They rinse, that pale before
They ride the pony’s they
Never quite convince, that
Hammer fists and their
Limber digits into slaps
Of invective and its gloss
And its scars on the wrist,
And the pus of the
Wound it taps, and
Turns to renegade snaps
Which shelter us from loss.
This we will admit:
Eat well, get your sleep:
If it came upon the midnight clear
Then it arrived here just as deep,
Like the sediment which
Settles on lobster traps,
Crusted shells and grit.
I’ve seen more crap
..than I can stand
So I write and wait, in loose pyjamas
..watching the tide roll,
the ripples enunciate.
Past the ampersands
and commas,
..punctuating the moment
Before it gets too late.
The lines are blurred as the lines are drawn,
I step aside as spawn. One, broken hearted
(by what they heard),
The other huffing because they got outsmarted
By the ceramic Moors on the lawn,
Who finish the indexes others have started
A step before they’re gone,
(like Astaire tapping out
The winds of fate
Who howl because their
Vowels are slurred).
And whose whispering takes its toll
On the tall sails which on high waves call
Towards what wilderness this is.
METAMORPHESIS: In whose endorphins sit,
The sum of what I make of it.


There is no real spiritual law which doesn’t have its corresponding witness in the law of physics. They inhabit each other’s coin. Even ‘miracles’ are witnessed by nature’s mathematics.


Spirit always favours the simple equation.


Where there is conflict, there is also common ground.


While we work, the brain works with us. When we do not work, often the brain turns against us or shuts down productivity. Work is not only a man’s birthright, it is also his most dependable form of salvation. Who holds back work, holds back sanity.


Creative visualization, matched with patience, has the power to affect situations. Know this.


See yourself in a different world and that world forms around you.


We are all in the middle of our own swim. Make what waves you wish to see.


An economic irony is that the poor are really big business to the banks. Who rarely if ever see any of the money that their poverty generates. If the poor did not exist, the banks would have to create them, or forfeit a tremendous revenue stream and other political advantages.


Those we love never die. They blow us a kiss, remove the flame from their candle and follow the smoke trail back to their sacred rest. We come to collect and bear witness to life, not necessarily years. Death is always tremendous relief to a spirit called to its rest. A chance to return to source for some good loving, some repair. A chance to share stories with our friends in the other fields of joy.


In truth, there is nothing wrong with our economy. It is the system it serves that is freaked. We are a bright people and OUR ECONOMY WILL ALWAYS FOLLOW THE LAWS OF INGENUITY unless rogue systems destroy it or our collective will. It doesn’t matter what we call ourselves, it matters that we wish to survive and prosper and free ourselves from systems of enslavement.


If a married couple stay clear of their sex for too long, it breeds indifference. Indifference is the nemesis of all relationship. You gotta stay on it. It is a man’s meditation in marriage to keep his vibe up. Indifference spreads and teaches the children that love is cold and distant (which they may then take pains to avoid).


Our greed tends to be clear and plain. It is our lusts that are elusive, sneaky and favour intrigue.


In all relationship is a common ground of shared anger. The willingness to be responsible for your own anger is a hallmark of respect for your partners’ process. It also tips the scales of maturity in your favour. ‘Luck’ favours the considerate.


Most of our insanity, were we brutally honest, derives from us blowing our own minds repeatedly with the great stupidity of our destructive actions against ourselves.


Consistently selling yourself out will also leave you confused, weakened, disoriented. That is not a life for men. It is a life for ‘proto-man’.


LUCK finds itself best in supportive environments. Luck is by its elemental nature opportunistic and looks for trusts to inhabit. In darker environs, it strikes quick, like lightning.


If you can stick your hand through these lines, you might pull out a rabbit!


Very few real managers left in the music. Lots of bounty hunters.


A strong worded advisory: ‘POGGIO AI GENEPRI’ BOLGHERI TENUTA ARGENTIERA 2007. It doesn’t get much better.


Again, thank you very much for the downloads and additional support. I know that earlier I stated my desire to purchase a weather machine. It seems that it isn’t as easy as I speculated. It appears that you need security clearances for this type machinery. I asked the Americans and they told me to ask the British, who told me it was Ok if the Germans agreed, who told me to ask the Russians who sent me to the Chinese who told me to get the hell out of here or words close to that effect. I saw the light and decided to work instead with a tribal native rainmaker and have him teach me the steps. Now we are turning our attentions to buying a time machine, there being a loop hole in the security laws which would allow me to get one, should I find one before 2012. Problem is, only two verifiable ones are known to exist. The Israeli’s have one and the U.S. and Poland share another. Meanwhile I’m in contact with a man in Cleveland who claims to have a used time machine to sell, the provision being that he didn’t design it with enough power to take me anywhere past my last hangover (I’m looking for something with a bit more range, say at least 100 years in either direction). This would allow me to ‘Zelig’ my way through historic events. I might have been able to get to me while getting my cups together and telling myself not to bother. Become a lawyer and earn yourself a license to steal. Go back in time with hindsight and register all of the Beatles songs as mine before they did (and then ALL OF THIS and most of yours, WOULD BE MINE!). Most of all, I may have been able to reach the Miami Dolphin board members BEFORE they sold the team to Blockbuster who absorbed tons of market share while ransacking the public and ruining a once mighty franchise, who despite their cross promotional capabilities, did nothing to increase the Dolphins brand worldwide. They got rich while the team got wrecked. They preached morals while the morale of our brand went into remission. I MUST HAVE THIS TIME MACHINE. It is my duty, as a lifelong fan, to go back into the past and save my beloved team. (We hear that among the new ownership structure, madams Venus and Serena Williams have a piece of the team. Maybe Serena needs to go into the locker room and throw down her racket).


And as a favour to my friends, I would also use the time machine to go back in time and save them from unfortunate haircuts. For a small fee, we would also be willing to go back into the past and kick start the CHICAGO CUBS.


IF YOU HAVE A USED TIME MACHINE or know of someone who has one, contact my website:


WWW.NIGORMORTIS.COM No time wasters and space freaks please.


In context, a man’s cock should be celebrated. It is a most amazing thing to have and there should be great pride in possessing one.


I still fail to see what was such a big deal about a private citizen having their own weather apparatus. It is not as if I have a criminal record, though during my time in the record business, I have heard some criminal records being made.

Yes Virginia, there is a NigorMortis.Com, though we can not say what state it is in. We are certain that we do not wish for it to prematurely matriculate itself. We do not wish to dribble, that would be unseemly.


NOBLE ROT:

Our eyes were as big as our tears
I index fingered the ozone
While my assets were poked in arrears.
Tore a hole in a whole new reality
Rode the lease out on a principality,
A rogue’s own, complete with spears.
That taxed the wine stains on my bib
and in tribute ate my salary,
for armaments and settlements
that needed infusions of dabble
and scratch, and all the money
I made on my watch.
At best,
This exercise in dominance
Drew lines in the sands
that raised its rum towards
what pranced like gravel on the
Shoulders of prominence, so seismic, and
of such a hard way to travel,
So like splattered tattoos quivering
in the jellied moulds of
Love’s shattered weary arms.
And why is your mother hovering
Above the flag pole with her demands?
Watching her hair unravel,
while smothering,
what she can’t outsource
to foreign lands.
..Compliments! You are
Our millionth customer Sir!
The rest is now a blur,
my shoelaces I see now more than
my past , they said it wouldn’t
Last, the engine out-gassed, the
sails out-winded in places. So I’d
have to concur. No one knew
What to make of her
..whose shallows sank the war torn
Reduced to bunnies boiling
in the bath,
..Sane anvils
striking out the rhythms
from this Sibyl’s
demon wrath.
Who live outside their graces,
Who fly beneath the masts.
Storks on bended knee
confess to nothing,
Hard bastards they are.
Meanwhile I’m harassed.
We break a house in two
Like breaking into a house.
Sealing it with a wrecking
Crew, and a ball and chain
Which resembles you.


Am looking for a programmer to help write code for a new social network idea to be called FARTBOOK. This site will cater to the more fetishistic in nature, and those more comfortable with their body functions as points of social interest and interaction.


Testing, testing, 1,2, testing. Is this thing on?


An IRAQI minister of the government announced that the Sports Ministry would be dis-inviting SERENA WILLIAMS from a clinic that she was to put on in that war ravaged country. Said the minister, SAÏD SAÏD YES INDEED, “Since the incident at the U.S. Open where Miss Williams threw her tantrum, broke her racket, we feel that it is only a short semantical difference between hurling a racket and hurling an Iraqi, and we do not wish to take the chance that she may get upset and toss an Iraqi across the net, or to smash and break an Iraqi. She’s a strong girl and tennis is new to us. We have been through more than enough already. Instead we will invite MICHEAL PHELPS, we will find some water for him. I know someone with a pool. Hopefully he has no desire to harm or drown any Iraqi’s”. Reached for comment Miss Williams was quoted as replying, “Whatever”.


I had a chance to do a short sit down interview with SAÏD SAÏD YES INDEED by way of phone.
Interviewer: Rescinding the invitation of Serena Williams was a pretty bold move, you think?
SSY: For sure there are some disappointed Iraqi citizens, we too like a curvaceous woman with athletic thighs and big hair, but we didn’t wish to alarm the more conservative element of our very tentative society at this point in time. It is more of a timing issue. Problem is, the wife of one of the well placed ministers here was watching the U.S. Open and misheard the announcer say that Miss Williams had violated her Iraqi, it were assumed that she had an Iraqi working for her and in frustration, slammed him down on the court. Even if it were a misunderstanding, you know how political misunderstandings can become. We must protect the sensibility of our people, especially from the image of the violent American, as you might understand.
Interviewer: Why were she initially invited?
SSY: There is great interest in our country to adopt some American customs and then beat them at it. Tennis is catching interest here. Before we played a form of tennis called Golf. And the nearest sport we have to tennis we play when we are young children. We take a golf ball, two sticks and whenever a small puddle appears, we hit the golf ball over the pond with the sticks. Whoever lands the ball in the puddle loses the point. It was very creative as you never knew what size the puddle would be. Or if you’d ever find a golf ball.
Interviewer: What can Michael Phelps bring to your culture?
SSY: We like water sports in our country, we just have no water and when we do find water, we prefer drinking it and using it to cook our meals. So for us, Michael Phelps is like a man from outer space. And we can learn much about the Chinese from him. We too are a culture of smokers. We are hoping that he will accept our invitation. Iraq is a wonderful country full of great people, even if most of our country is still somewhere around our ankles, things are looking up. Praise Allah!
Interviewer: Was it true that you were considering bringing in Tiger Woods?
SSY: Yes! But that was before we screened some footage of him hitting the ball and surmising that his power and accuracy made him a threat to us. Imagine him hitting a tee shot and whacking an Iraqi in the head! We love him, but he is a political concern right now. He can really aim and hit that ball!
Interviewer: Well, that will be all that we need, thank you very much for your time.
SSY: Yes! We thank you too for allowing us to clear this matter. Anyway, I have really got to go, I think a bomb just blew up my dog!
Interviewer: So sorry to hear that, go! Be well!


We all know a few ANAL VENTRILOQUISTS: Those who can talk from their mouths and their butts at the same time.


In the interest of journalism and our readers concerns, we are pleased to report that SAÏD SAÏD YES INDEED did witness a bomb go off. Though his dog wasn’t harmed, the Doghouse was blown to smithereens. Seems that the well appointed and air conditioned doghouse was where Mr. Yesindeed stashed his porn collection and letters from old girlfriends and upon discovering this, the Mrs. Yesindeed, Yasmine, had it and all items in it blown up. Again, the dog was safely kept out of the range of the explosion. Mr. Yesindeed was also unharmed by the blast. He was unavailable for comment.


College drafts are slave trading. Modern sleight of hand edition. IBM are not allowed to ‘draft’ workers nor Microsoft. College athlete should have the same right to interview where he wishes to work. No one should have to go to work in Green Bay if they do not wish to work and live in Green Bay and a man who only wishes to play in Green Bay should not be penalized by being drafted by some team he doesn’t wish to risk his livelihood for, his health. Let pro ball clubs recruit and go out and EARN talent and not just be handed studs during stud gathering season. These men have rights more than being glorified show ponies and sharecroppers on someone else’s football field, baseball diamond. But socialism looks like this when it is the socialism club for the exclusive.


Once someone owns your past, your future becomes a threat to them and they may fight you to the death.


The main cure for modern madness is to drop all of the labels we place on all aspects of our very human behaviour. Then we have more to judge and more to medicate. The fewer the labels applied, the fewer personalities created, the fewer ‘attachments’ which the fractionalization of the mind encourages. Creating madness to be diagnosed and controlled is now a highly profitable science.
And hey, ANYBODY, would be hard pressed not to go mad in our world. It only really shows how sane you are for losing a mind created by conditions hostile to it.


Sometimes the light can only be seen by letting go of it.


I have done what preliminary investigations I can and can report that there are no truths to the rumours circulating that MARK ZUCKERBERG is starting another internet social network specifically for compulsive shy boys who never date called HANDBOOK.


..and it is another simple prejudice to assume that CHRONIC MASTURBATORS do not deserve the legitimacy of their need to reach out and touch someone besides themselves.


Good food, good wine, help us ground and absorb better our karma. Eat well! It makes life more palatable!


What I mainly remember about the 90’s in Los Angeles was that a lot of guys were walking around wearing construction boots but weren’t constructing anything.


CLARITY is a mind’s greatest gift to itself. With clarity, there is absence of judgement. In the presence of one, the other flees.


We hang on to what haunts us until it has driven us too far, but not until!


Do not get caught up in petty and stingy arguments. They never return the time you put into them.
Just walk away and let it keep arguing with itself. Rather keep your energies for the battles which raise your pride, and move your evolution on.


Evolution is not about getting better, but clearer. Evolution is advanced by clarity.


The successful author shot up from his nap on his red leather couch with a bit more than a start:
“O MY GOD, MY SOCIAL NETWORK IS TRYING TO KILL ME!” And with this he rubbed his forehead as vigorously as his mother would have, had she been there. Before dumping him and his father years ago for a stadium public address announcer. He rubbed his sweaty forelocks to the side of his head, as he did often when quite nervous, and thought about the implications of this total nap nightmare, at roughly 2:30 in the drenched afternoon. It had been raining since the previous night. The author, ARTHUR EDWIGE, recalls falling asleep the previous evening to a steady drizzle and a bourbon. Not much else. He also slowly begins to recall an email he received on his social network announcing that a large part of his group were defecting and signing on to join DAN BROWN’S Website fan base. He shook his head again as he pieced together, through peeved eyes, while staring at the water shadows dancing on slashed light spread across the wall like fluctuating bars, the dream which just shot him bolt awake. Being alone and not averse to talking his problems out loud, ARTHUR EDWIGE reasoned out: “OK, let me get this straight, those defector girls were telling me that a petition was going out over my own social network informing my guests that they were thinking of killing me and asking if there were any good ideas. WOW! They kept repeating like a mantra that I’ve ‘lost the plot’. And that they were going to get rich writing a book on how to stalk and kill an author. Then, the colour grey kept recurring and the number 23 and 5. Then there was that strange tall black dude with the pierced forehead and stovepipe hat! But those two girls, the ringleaders of the ‘revolt’ as they call it, the ‘legitimized revolt’, those two girls seemed really serious about cutting my balls off , what a crazy dream!” The author threw his head back and allowed it to thump slightly on the armrest of the couch, still a bit damp from the sweat of his mild distemper. He next threw his forearm over his eyes as if shielding himself from having to digest which dream were more real, the one he had awakened from or the one he just woke up to.
“O man, this is so fucked, why did I ever let the publisher talk me into that whole lynch mob as social network promotional bullshit, was I out of my mind? I don’t even like all of that crap, I write books!” And it can be vouched that the author was a successful writer of books, and a proud graduate of Amherst. His last release was an international thriller, ‘The Penitents Elsewhere’, and he had nothing but admiration for Dan Brown, though they wrote very different kinds of books, which were then duly outsold by Dan Brown by about 3 to 1. Still that left a lot of books and book related paraphernalia to be claimed by our protagonist, AE. “How the hell did I get here?”, asked the author, “Why Do I get the insane ones?” But as luck does strike and stroke those most who tend its claims, the author realized that with just a little patience and his own research, he could have the makings of another best selling book, one sure to beat Dan Brown this time, A FAMOUS AUTHOR KILLED BY HIS OWN SOCIAL NETWORK. YES! Now THAT might work. Again he shot up from his prone position on the red leather couch. “Yes, that’s the next book! What a brilliant idea, I get bullied by my homepage! I keep losing defectors to other authors, I get crazy bitches after my sperm, dead or alive, I could even get kidnapped by my guestbook and held for ransom to be paid by the publisher and other parts of the network! And then they start a stalking mission and target my supporters for assassination! This could get ugly, this could be great!” ARTHUR EDWIGE would remember to eat well this evening. He would sleep well tonight for sure, at least better than he had the previous nights trying to figure out why all of a sudden, some of his social network were turning on him like wolves before the matted lambs. A mutiny. By people always dreaming aloud his next book, then taking him to task for not writing it. What had he done but be himself , the inimitable AE? Now it didn’t matter, he got a book idea out of it and that count’s for something in these loose and crazy times. And a crazy world likes to read about itself as it demonstrates its crazy molecular vibes. Let other authors write about symbols and Rosicrucians, AE now had a far more personal story to tell. Even a riveting one. Of course, as long as he managed to finish the book before his website could get to him, and kill him. By what means would he die? ‘Determine what you wish to hear and then hear it!’ That was how his saga would begin.


This space sponsored by the intimacies of Adult Burping.


I stay away when I must. It preserves what I can give.


CALCIFICATION begins in the mind. Then it spreads where it might throughout the body.


AFFIDAVIT AND GOLIATH:
You,
With the loose coins in your hand
After spending all of Pandora’s bucks.
You’ve altered the time band with your
Acid, which has turned my tides into reflux.
Otherwise it’s quite tacit, the wake between
The eras and what it took to pass it. Swing
By, if your rope can reach me, while I swan
Around in my pond of tears, just leave your
Foetus by the lake, leave the breadcrumbs that
Marked your arrival with the mice willing
To carry the bread they break, but make
No mistake: These are the stunted willows
Which cry out to the whispered stars: ‘Send
Mars!’ And hurry before they snap the tendrils
of the pencils in their graphite flow, what fictions
and numbers hurl themselves beneath the scribbles
of what fingers grab it, scarring it into the shape
a halo takes, right before you stab it. Say a mound
of mystery appears and with opinion forms a question,
suppose I strangle you with your own shoes and call
it an act of passion? What if all of your scented pillows
were only mean acts of self satisfaction, which can only
permit what weathers are forecast by the grin that is ripped
from the grip of your fashion? Stockings, because those,
would bury you beneath the stench in your nose, sort of
‘French’, like finding a snail on the edge of the bench
while fingering your way past hose,
That time in your least favourite park, the one you got fucked
in, once in the grope of dark. Once, I got sucked in. A cavalier,
..a rickshaw without a charioteer, or a pot to piss in, standing tall nonetheless,
‘cause I was there. These trifles we exceed more with our courage
Than the wounds that bleed through our dress. And in this we bless
ourselves, to extract more as we resist the less, which subtracts
more than it caresses , and which addresses more than it dismisses.
(In case it blitzes, more than it presses). I feel like I’m running
in porridge, like in a swarming field, beyond caring.
..On the bitter outskirts of the forest, in a desperate search for an elusive source,
Of the wrangler who steals my force. I am conclusive, outsourced, daring
..my doubts, trying to factor my vectors out,
As the quarrels remain intrusive.
You,
With the jingle jangle morning now throttled
By your embrace. Please give up what remains of your
Chase. Before the ace in your line-up loses his bottle and his assemblage
unravel to reveal its face, while instruction is still infusive.
..A beer is still strong without lime. TURN YOURSELF IN, WHILE
THERE IS STILL TIME!


AN EXCESS OF BOURBON:

Also you,
Holding your breath while
I plead my case.
What know I of human race?
An Alien I, Who knew
Orion when he was a burlesque
Queen, slumming and calling
It research. Who correlated
Cleopatra with her dressage,
..most ‘bridle’ calls
Rehearsed. Who bribed
Orestes when he had arthritic
Wits and only arrested apologies.
..What need I of
eulogies? I carry hemlock, shamrocks
punk rock, debit, so my hymns are
locked with Socrates. My weaknesses
are well versed by sagging branches
On erstwhile trees their ash bark
Blanching, a table somewhere
Missing a leg, though its arms
Come out right in the counting.
My mounting
horses are stable, though
not all ‘veggie’,
..My bats are all loud, though
None are called ‘Reggie’
And the fables I wrap my
Virgins in have fibres
that reinforce,
their virtues wrapped in sable
before their touch disperses,
before it gets too heavy.
They sit now to eat at table.
The napkins and the menu
Are set and the rest we haven’t
Got to yet. And my pills
are making me edgy, competing
with me for my verses.
Meanwhile,
the glint of candlelight,
..the red checkered wine,
the compromise of night,
Makes gamblers of lovers
Before they bet, as it makes
The sheets they shag on,
Assert themselves with sweat.
(I’m conservative, my mattress,
Has to always have the tag on).


The modern DAMSEL IN DISTRESS is that beautiful crazy girl with the broken wing who has wrecked more men than have saved her. A spider whose web is darkened by the number of carcasses which once contained curious flies and sentimental insects.


Love is.


Only in MODERATION are the fuller meanings of life unveiled. Avoidance by hiding in either extreme, total indulgence, total abstinence, eliminates much of life’s memory from the mind and leaves it unfulfilled and looking to outside sources for sustenance and completion. Being lost constitutes looking outside for what is within.


There is no truth to the rumour that PAUL WESTERBERG is doing an AARP tour with the KNEE REPLACEMENTS. Apparently just somebody having a bit of a laugh.


IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW YOUR DESIGN, YOU LOSE YOUR MIND.


At all costs be what you are, or you will never find much in the way of fulfilment.


Controversial singer JESUS CHRYSLER of trans-gender Christian rock group THE CROSS BEAU’S, has announced through their group website that contrary to rumours he is not secretly a Muslim. “I am a strong advocate for Christian solidarity and for all Christians to be able to feel empowered by any Cross dressing curiosities they might have. Let he who is without a little perversion cast the first film. I respect the Muslim religion, though I couldn’t see myself wrapped beneath all of those veils. I spend too much on lipstick”. Their record label, HOLY GRAM, issued a statement of support for their most controversial and incendiary band, which consists of Chrysler on vocals and tambourine, Bass Drum player, Mal Adjusted, and Flautist and kazoo player, Willie Gettit. “WE support our bands and artists. There is a market after all for those who enjoy their contribution to gospel music”. The group, considered by mainstream Christians to be divisive and confusing for their children, will be undertaking a tour of Baptist churches in the upcoming spring. Said Jesus Chrysler, “We believe that God loves his freaks. The Easter season is a good one for us. And Halloween”.


Master MILES’ ‘KIND OF BLUE’, was the ‘Sgt.Pepper’ of its time. PINK FLOYD’S ‘DARK SIDE OF THE MOON’ was ‘Rock’s Kind of Blue. And Miles’ piece has transcended marketing genres and has become a Pop cultural landmark, just as Pepper has. Real music breaks its descriptive chains after a while, its growth as an object demands it. Organic truths continue to grow, even after the ‘wax’ has been sealed. Music is made up of the fine matter from which stems mystery and follows you as you follow your ongoing dimensions. As you ascend, fall or follow the levels, real music does, it accompanies you. What has transcended itself as ‘soul’s (or in reality black pop’s), ‘Kind Of Blue’, as American Pop’s answer to ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ is master GAYE’S ‘WHAT’S GOING ON’(which also shows a debt to COLTRANE’S, A LOVE SUPREME). It too is now a world treasure, a watershed. All of them connected to Miles. As for me, it were Davis whom I first met here in Milano, where I now live and work. He predicted many years before that we would find a life here and be amongst people with kindred sensibility (warped) . And he was correct. Maybe he simply hypnotized me as his music does. If so, it did me a world of good. The last time I saw him, in Boston, he played a concert that blew this reporters mind with what I heard offered of its infinite possibilities. I am certain that I heard much of the root seeds of Post Millennium Rock that autumn evening. A music above category, though not above persuasion. A music directly from the spheres. Even cloud-forms gathered closer to hear it. In one of his last concerts, I saw and heard the man run the voodoo down and it was delicious. It unfolded slowly at first, then with an increasing subtle clamour, erupted into space’s echo of what freedom feels like when the coils unhinge. What impending rapture is as it engulfs. It was absolutely magnificent, all things at once and nothing which could be described by a thick or heavy tongue.
It was MUSIC, pure and bold! Spelling itself out, unravelling itself from questions, freed from her fatigue, curves unveiled, breasts heaving their own sweltering fog as they stepped away from chains.
There is out now a great book which prevails to proclaim that KIND OF BLUE alone ushered in its own cultural renaissance, its own quiet revolution that affected every other sundry portion of what is now our stellar pop, post modern world. It has reached into ALL OTHER AVENUES OF MUSIC and mass communication would hardly recognise itself without it. It impacted the work of films, and all other boulevards of world media. His fertile legacy is still unfolding.


Meditation, in the time that it takes, is what confers knowledge on the difference between COMPASSION, and sentiment. Sentiment bleeds. Compassion does not. It shines and holds its blood ever closer to its own heart.


Our Post Millennium Rock is FREE RANGE. It is allowed to wander freely in the woods until its time has come. It is not a factory farmed music. Our chickens have no additives or preservatives, just a lot of attitude. Enjoy! (and we do not physically kill our game, we just insult them until they pass out).


GRAVEDIGGERS AND CRADLE ROBBERS:

We interrupt this portion of our pity
To bring you this news from the city:
Back to the country is back to death!
While the dying steal what’s left to deal.
Our yeasts and potatoes have quarrelled with rain
And been forsaken by the beasts
That slayed them, while politicians
Redefine the meaning of grain.
And corn on the cob, some say now
Sobbing, takes less time to cook
Than it does to explain.
With dice is how we played the crease,
That turned us into walking stiffs
Who in the midst of stumbling
Gravitate to the edge of cliffs,
Where unless the Eagles take
Compassion, we break our hearts
on the stones they dash on, moulting
the tarred feathers borrowed from
our fathers, whose blues licks
Cracked the tumblers with riffs
that squeezed the lightning
from their squalor.
..Clutching at a fist of straws
..as the lungs leap out to holler:
RELEASE ME FROM THIS LEASE,
SET MY WOES TO TOMBSTONES
BEFORE THEY CEASE ! I am frozen
In this chosen womb and in this room
I call a truce. I barrelled my way through
With my ass on fire, if lost I’ll find another
Ruse. These knuckles are kept loose
and lean, until I retire
and catch up to my peace.
My options myopic inside a womb
Where I keep my spleen, my self-abuse
And harbingers of doom.


And thank you all very much for the positive concert feedback and response to our shows and to those journalists and DJ’s for their support of PMR. We are grateful, as always and looking forward to the future!


And finally, a poem , in the spirit of political correctness for our deaf friends:

HEY YOU!,
YEAH YOU!,
TURN AROUND
AND READ THIS!!!
OR ARE YOU BLIND
AS WELL??!!!!
CAN YOU HEAR ME?


© COPYRIGHT SANANDA FRANCESCO MAITREYA
MILANO 23rd OCTOBER 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED

www.SanandaMaitreya.com