Writings: Dedicated to all of our 5th dimensional ‘exiles’

Dedicated to all of our 5th dimensional ‘exiles’ (and also to the whales!)


Dominion is no excuse for cruelty (though we seem to think it is).


Every generation another big army attempts to take AFGHANISTAN and for whatever reasons we are given, the end result is still always the same, GRAB CONTROL OF THEIR 2 MASSIVE CASH CROPS, POPPY AND HASHISH, worth BILLIONS, on the ‘black’ market so that the money doesn’t have to be taxed nor reported to Congress, which means black monies for whatever other mischief those governments wish to get up to. Why else are these world renowned survivors, who’ve never attacked anyone, ALWAYS BEING OVER RUN BY BIGGER BULLIES? What else do they have, and why are we always, but always fucking with these people? Our vaunted ‘morality’, a most convenient thing when we need it, is no excuse for GOING TO SOMEONE ELSE’S LAND ARE TAKING WHAT GROWS THERE, on their own land, it is hypocritical and evil, fuelled by the greed involved in controlling all of this money, mainly for the evil pharmaceutical industry (as propaganda and to keep us on their side, we are told that most of the poppy plants wind up on the street, clearly a lot does, most however winds up in hospitals and dispensaries, and so pharma is the main reason we go to war, as well as to control the black drug trade, it is also why we have our God awful alliance with Pakistan, who we also sell illegal weapons to and God knows what else). Should we just be more honest with ourselves and simply admit that we do not wish for those same monies to be controlled by our ‘enemies’, we’d actually be more successful. We flounder in Afghanistan mainly because we lie and have no business robbing these people of their civilization’s gross national product (though it may or may not be ‘gross’ to you). Imagine where they might be now were we, the west, to leave them alone and leave them to their karma. I am very proud of the immense toughness and resilience of the eternal, ancient and even blessed Afghan tribe, and an Afghan’s curse IS A HARD THING TO SHAKE OFF EASILY IN ONE LIFETIME. We are told TO THE VICTOR GOES THE SPOILS, what other spoils do they have in Afghanistan? Please wake up, our karma demands it and our self righteousness is weak and transparent. When this country is spoken of, EVERYTHING BUT their giant resources in crop value is discussed, as if, as remote a nation as they are, we really care about anything else…..


Efforts draw enemies and if enemies you must have, the best strategic place to sit is directly inside their mouths.


If enemies you must have, then enjoy having them, they sharpen our wits and keeps the mind from dulling. Who would be a man needs a stropping belt to strengthen his blade.


We can only kill our masters, for whom we kill resumes control of our lives.


Once they recognize the ‘chemistry’ (a fancy word for karma), a woman will try to get to you, BEFORE you can get to her.


One can only name lightning, it cannot be defined. To quote the great enduring maestro LAO TZU, ‘THE TAO WHICH CAN BE DEFINED IS NOT THE ETERNAL TAO’. You dig?


Time is both friend and nemesis whose antidote is patience and thrust.


Dear BERNARD MADOFF, call me, we can make a deal!

 


Who would kill a fool inherits one and who would rob a man of his life, wanders the world in search of his own.


Pissing off the right people is progress.


‘Profiling’ serves racism more than it does time and now that we are over the hump, our camels are less thirsty but still hungry as hell.


I am very proud of the Mrs Maitreya, who helped me through some deeply ugly and disturbing times. Today she receives an award, a citation for being a friend to a whole country! We welcome her 33rd year with gratitude, appreciation and respect!


One can be weakened by too much charity, though never by too much clarity.


Our excess greed contributes to the instability of nations including now, our very own. Our greed then of necessity becomes a political issue.


Excess greed encourages exploitation, one that rapes and molests the soul. Naturally, as all men must, we pay for these molestations with good old fashioned karma.


My dear sweet sexy, perpetually 49 year old MADONNA. A-Rod needs from you only this concerning the KABBALAH, SEE THE DAMN BALL, HIT THE DAMN BALL. Anything more complicated than this, Superstar ballplayers do not need, you can Kabbalah-size his ass AFTER the YANKEES get their monies worth out of him. All of that exotic shit is for entertainers like us who can afford to go into long batting slumps because we do not play professional sports. Alright? You know I adore you so don’t fuck this up. SEE THE BALL, HIT THE BALL, DRIVE IN RUNS. More mantra than that would be detrimental to his gift. And if you do brainwash him, see if you can get him to believe that he is Lou Gehrig or even his genius teammate, the great DEREK JETER. You in fact and Elizabeth Taylor might be the only people with more rings than the master Jeter, a class act all the way, and I am not a Yankee fan, though I am a fan of a once in a lifetime player like Derek. Maybe it’s a mulatto matter, I really can’t say. I still hold it against the Yankees that my grandfather adored them and they absolutely sucked during the last years of his life. I never heard a faithful old pastor swear beneath his breath more than when the Yankees were playing, and this would have been the younger team at the time of Craig Nettles and the great Thurman Munson. Then my grandfather died and the team got good. Was it the Yankees or was it my grandfather? He shared the name of another former great ballplayer who played once for the old WASHINGTON SENATORS, Frank Howard. For whatever reason, I idolized my grandfather and his bushy moustache that all of his grandchildren would be tickled by when he would kiss us. We never talked much, he just seemed to get me and I, he.


Restlessness is exercise.


Dr. Frankenstein was certain, after just a little bit of deliberation, that it would be in his best interest to next create a lawyer.


There exists a kind of radiator which is more ‘eco’ and looks just like a thin wall mirror. I’ve seen them. That means, literally, one can look into the mirror and with justification say “ MAN, I’M SO HOT RIGHT NOW”.


Who has only recall , memory, teaches philosophy. Who has felt and known it teaches truth. ‘TRUTH’ is very real. ‘THE TRUTH’, is a far more tricky proposition. There are a million truths, break off yours and ride them until their rails give way. Then take the next train until it too falls apart. The only truth that can matter is your own, otherwise it can be but your ‘philosophy’, and while a little philosophy is good for the mind, it does little or nothing for the heart and its dreams.


No one is really looking for philosophy anyway, we are looking for grace. Philosophy was just another trick I learned was helpful getting girls into bed, they love all of that philosopher/sensitive poet bullshit. Mainly what philosophy did was to slow my mind down enough for other people, facts and theories to fuck with it. Who knows themselves and is willing to carry it, already has their own intuitive philosophy down and needs another like they need 2 penis’(not including the actual 2 penis gentlemen that we wrote about last year).


Give a real man a choice between loads of money, and one last night with a fine big assed woman, and the MAN would take the last night….


In truth, there are already far too many philosophers and not ever enough poets.


In most cases, ones TEMPER is all the philosophy one requires. Keep it sharp and do not be afraid to use it. TANTRUM YOGA works!


There is no truth to the rumour that I plan to outsource my next chapter to the Indian subcontinent.


Things are alive and if we love them, even more so.


I have never met a great musician who wasn’t at least to a degree, an ‘animist’. Musicians develop a relationship with their special instrument and come to know that it is alive, that it is a living entity accompanying us along the road of our expression. An instrument, once a piece of wood, is not disconnected from its natural essence simply because its shape has changed. The same can be said about us.


Evil wins if you spend more time trying to figure it out than just squeezing the damn trigger.


It is the evil who best understand evil. Some things are not always to be understood, just slapped.


I even suggest that our Xbox and Nintendo games evolve gradually as our usage of them since it is in interacting with our personal energies that the intelligence programmed into the games learn how to adjust and respond. I have witnessed that players who play at a higher level on the real field, seem to have an AI effect on their game personas. AI interacts with our personal magnetic resonance field and after a while the game itself advances towards us, as we advance towards it. Things are alive and it is naïve to assume that the writers who write code into the programs are finishing them, as they cannot, though they are PREPARING a basic framework whereby our native intelligence can then begin to communicate more rounded dialogue and interaction with Artificial Intelligence. We state that we regard these forms of AI as interactive platforms for the greater growth of consciousness. We shall in future give birth to MAGIC BOXES capable of helping us more broadly interact with our own subconscious’, our latent desires and our fertile dreams! And it shall be based almost exactly on the simulated game technology we utilize in our private spaces now. God’s miracles are technological as well, as technology too is a vital offspring of nature and her robust cornucopia.


Simply put, AS YOU EVOLVE THE GAME, THE GAME EVOLVES YOU. Splendid is this, since it is also the exact same equation as exists in LIFE itself.


And the next leap, stable we hope would have to be the design of real AI clones who grow closer to us the more time they spend absorbing us. Or if you are an asshole, you would just have your clone raised by grandpa, perhaps for a fee. Though imagine, as your best therapist, your own clone, much more detached from your issues. We are going to have to deal with this matter in a mature way soon enough, nature may leave us with little chance but to take the leap of faith. God created the Angels which created man. Therefore as legacies and inheritance we shall too be expected to step into the shoes of our creators and YES, ASSUME THE POWERS OF GODS. We had to wake up to it eventually, it is our karma, our bold leap of faith.


It is not any more moral to bleed than to hold it.


We say our prayers and chantings before bed as it raises our vibrational levels beyond where other spirits can get to our minds while we sleep. It is a regularly occurring phenomenon, people attempting to break into our minds, to assume invisible subtle control. Some people even smoke in the mornings to relieve the mind of intervention, to breathe out what may have crept in while we were unaware. Psychic attack and control is how most of the world is controlled anyway. They just don’t know what to call it. Likewise brushing the teeth before bed raises the level of the mind while it sleeps, as the mind too breathes through the mouth and nostrils.


Simply trying to find God already shows how deeply lost we already are within him.


We can have all the love we want by first accepting the love we have.


Only a song can do justice to a woman’s beauty and its timelessness. Even a portrait by a master painter will challenge at some later point, her sense of time and beauty and she will bear anger that what she was once captured as, she is no more. The song however that once spelled her in capital letters will still into the latest of ages as the song was not meant to capture the beauty of her looks but the beauty of the heart, which for as long as it stays young, reflects youth back to those who lay their eyes and hands upon her. A portrait can but capture time, the right song frees it.


I try to always keep a spare light bulb next to my bed when I sleep, in case I wake up in the middle of the night with a bright idea!


The ‘initiates’ come to see that there are in reality no ‘mistakes’, just other considerations that got to you before you could get to it.


The most daring escape a boy can make is into manhood. Great and flapping lip service is paid to it, but the journey is fraught with landmines, excuses and the fearful of it.


There are as many chances to get to YOURS as YOU can conceive. Opportunity knocks once but for fools. To the wise, every day is a fresh chance to redefine what opportunity is for you. For some, opportunity is a supermodel, a once in a lifetime mind game. For others, she is a simple school girl still seduced by bubblegum and lollipops. Like with a woman, never beg opportunity, as opportunity doesn’t like being begged any more than any other sensible person. COMMAND IT! It is how men live, it is how children of a great father live.


Unless you give it to them, no one has the right to detain your spirit. A spirit IS A MAGIC CARPET!

 


It were an awesome thrill to have been able to meet one of music’s all time greats, one of its most enduring inspirations, the grand, lovely maestra DIONNE WARWICK. What I and other musicians have learned from and through her can encompass an entire encyclopaedia. To have been served by grace to have spent a little time with her moved my spirit to flight, she certainly doesn’t have to sing to be able to lift the human heart. We are grateful, my wife and I for what of her time and energies she were able to allow. For me, it were like being in the presence of a revered teacher from the university of music. I am still somewhat riveted and it turns out that not only is she as well a major fan of the master SINATRA, but shared with me that Ol’ Blue eyes and the maestro SAMMY DAVIS JR. took her under wing and wouldn’t allow any bullshit to get to her. 
WOW!


In whatever we do, our greatest vice is the judgement of it.


We take our manhood, no one gives it to us.


I were asked by a journalist what I wished written on my tombstone, and I replied : IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU ARE STANDING TOO CLOSE TO MY GRAVE!


Once, as a guest of a native American ‘sweat’ ceremony, which for them is sacred (I were invited due ostensibly to my own native American blood, and the ‘elders’ of the tribes request that I be included to grant a renewed blessing to that portion of my bloodline, for which I were and remain grateful). After a great ceremony where the full moon ruled as sergeant of arms and the wolves rang out in a chorus of lust, I asked one of the elders of the tribe what was their smoke, other than tobacco. He looked at me earnestly and without guile and said, “ Whatever we can find.”


They also use tobacco branches and leaves inside the sweat tepee much as sage and eucalyptus is used. It, inhaled in that environment, pure, is quite a heady and cleansing experience. I don’t much like smoking tobacco, though one cannot deny its power to shift energy, and the natural wisdom of the eternal springs written within its code. We if Christian and honest have an almost devilish nature that opposes anything which seems to bring to another person, something which we do not. And we wrap this jealousy then in moral abrogations to scare and guilt from others those simple pleasures which provide them with what we cannot and then suggesting that it is wrong to value certain pleasures over other people when in plain truth of life, there are some people worthy of our love, while being twice as many pleasures. We are only obliged to what is true, even if it damns us. All that damns is but a jammed blessing coming undone and coming back twice as sweet as bitter it previously was. Who will not stick up for their pleasures, deserves to have them swept away. Truth tells us that we cannot love by command, we love what we know and feel we love and do our best to tolerate what brittle portions remain in constant demand of our attentions.


My ‘artistic expression’ is just a fancy word for what happens when my spirit speaks in tongues. And I cannot dictate how and when I speak in tongues, but I do know who I speak for, which is why we leave our expression to its own rhythms its own language. It is not a language that I write but one that I witness and share.


And since a man cannot serve fitfully two masters, obeying the voice of tongues, while trying to please the record man, is like kicking a football and having the football at the same time.


Man’s mind was not designed for it and peace at the same time.


Music is the force of flames which are the spirit of illumination. Music/tone were the building blocks our own creator used to create this universe and Angels love to serve the power of music, they even sometimes ride its crescendos like surfers who hang upon the lips of breaking waves, tumbling down them like cascading rivulets of grace notes, there are even certain angels who actually live within the notes themselves and are the souls of the notes themselves! All representation is alive so the notes and tones of music literally are on other levels of existence the houses of the holy. We are deeply grateful to our Lord that we got a chance to serve the holy temples of music and those souls who can feel in their hearts the love that music by design has for their spirits. It is in fact true that our auras, our electro-magnetic robes, our Technicolor dream coats, are sound recordings being monitored by angels which serve us, and which some others in the people realms can even hear. I could no longer stand to attend the blasphemy which were being constantly asked to dumb down my approach to music. There are spiritual penalties for that kind of violation, when you know better. And better that I should be beaten by man, than by my own spirit, which might even kill me to teach me the greater lesson.


Every tone is represented LITERALLY by another Angel of mercy.


When you share your illuminations, you receive more. It is the law. What light brings shine to me, I bring likewise to you. What you keep, I gain and what you throw back, I keep.


Trying to beat a man back from his, only shapes a real man for it.


I never trust myself more, than when I don’t know what I am saying, but saying it with conviction nonetheless


But here too is an odd spiritual fact. The more I swear, the more cleansing I receive!


…in fact, sometimes a good ‘Tourette’ outburst can be damn good for the soul. Though we were taught otherwise, life has exposed another truth. We sometimes keep a lot of shit inside of us and we need at times to talk shit to let it go.


SOAP cannot cleanse all things. Some things only DIRT can cleanse. A word to the wise and watchful.


Though taught not to swear, sometimes it is simply wasteful of the vocabulary not to. …and in rehearsals, caught between KATIA RICIARELLI and MARA VENIER, I thought that I had passed through the gates of hell and were now in paradise’ waiting room….I got no ‘beef’ with a full figured girl (of whatever age).


Though with dirty hands and a broken heart RIMBAUD was as Angelic a figure which has appeared in literature east or west, and we are still catching up to him. He hated himself, he bore that karma, yet his love of the illuminated word more than surpassed what in truth his time deserved. Him too having noticed that, he ‘died’ early.


For me his greatest rival, our master Rimbaud, were not another writer but Mozart.


The master RIMBAUD once wrote (just to wet your knickers a little): ONE EVENING I TOOK BEAUTY IN MY ARMS, AND FINDING HER BITTER, INSULTED HER.


HE IS A PATRON SAINT for all writers, poets, lyricists, ad copy men, speech writers, what have you. He is also a master humorist, you feel that when his spirit is around. He too serves spirit, call upon him if you need!


The previous quote was from Rimbaud’s meisterwerke, A SEASON IN HELL. It reinvented the use of poetic language and blurred distinction between prose and what was not.


So stop being a jerk and read him, he were a poet’s poet and he would have seen himself in Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Robert Johnson and Son House, to name but a few of his favourites.


For you literary nerds (don’t blush, I know you are out there!), first read the grand master GOETHE’S ‘FAUST’, then read A SEASON IN HELL as were it ‘continuation karma’ of the previous illuminated scroll. These guys flat out rock and rock is a vibe, not just a music!!


We are what we digest, so don’t just read the New York Times. Read the larger overviews which the great legacy of writers live out their lives to detail. Why is it news when it happens all of the time? But Rimbaud doesn’t happen all of the time, nor does such felicity of spirit.


You don’t have to act better than someone to aim to your own level. Aim yourself according to your imaginations reach. All ‘imagination’ means really is levels of memory we previously forgotten. Imagination is only memory perceived.


We can only live in our own realities, just as we can only live in others imaginations.


Getting others to exchange their reality for another imagination is what vampires do.


The colonization of the language is the first step in the colonization of the mind. Language control is mind control condensed into form. Let your tongue stay loose, if anchored.


It is ill informed to believe that CUPID aims his arrows only at lovers (which now he does in his SPARE time). The main use of his bow is to aim the truth at bullshit and watch as it explodes. Love is like this, it abhors the bullshit that suffocates our lives and removes us from the truth of our sensibility. Cupid mainly now sub-contracts the ‘romantic’ work out to the younger cherubs. The love which matters to him is that between spirit and its own true nature. He will be taking aim at a lot more, as we are living in a time of deeply fertile cattle ‘cacca’, and the only thing it is fertilizing is more of our ignorance and greed, and the desire for more fascist control. And we can count on it that every time the people find a way to break free of our oppressors, they cannot act fast enough to infiltrate our freedom and regain control of our attention span, with the same old, same old, FEAR BASED TEACHINGS AND WARNINGS. And no one was more sloppy at it than the Bush administration. THE CHICKEN LITTLE PRESIDENCY, whose sky was always threatening to fall, yet when in New Orleans the sky did actually fall, he napped. THE REDISTRICTNG OF THE AREA made its flooding a highly desirable act of God. And while we were in the hunt for those OTHER TERRORISTS.


LOLA FALANA! And if you don’t know, ask your father!


It were also a pleasure to have met one of Italy’s finest, the incomparable Miss IRENE GRANDI!


As long as we are eating, WHAT we are eating is less important. What we are eating is the next priority. That we can even afford to determine whether we be veggies or meat eaters is itself a disease of affluence.


ONLY BEASTS GET FED! Everyone else has to eat.


This space reserved for Bernard Madoff to deposit some of the ‘missing’ money!


The service and attitude of SKY-ITALIA is horrendous, embarrassing even. I in effect pay them to make the entertainment portion of my private life as unpredictable and miserable as it were when I laboured under SONY’S heavy rusted iron hand. So much for the IDEA of democracy and fair trade practices, without competition, business goes weak and limp. And whatever they say, I knew when it were being touted that the satellite network wouldn’t be as consistent as the old land based terrestrial system which were more reliable, if LESS SUBJECT TO EXTERNAL MANIPULATION! I can live much easier without a thing than living uncomfortably with it, and besides their programming (if that is what these weak shows of distraction can be called) really sucks and vapidly. Everywhere 800 channels, and hundreds of forgettable fluff ‘puff’ shows. And all based on copying other shows that we aren’t watching either. And remember when CUSTOMER SERVICE actually served the customer and not just the fears of the manufacturer?


No one doesn’t grow through death, though it is life that can prove arresting.


Swearing is worse if you are lying. If telling the truth, it may even be useful. This applies to adult members of our congregation. Young children mustn’t swear, unless of course they are child actors, which of course makes it OK.


ALCOHOLISM IS NOT IN THE DRINK, BUT IN THE ‘THINK’, more on that later….


….yet, we would suggest that its better friends are therapists and exorcists. It is a spirit which haunts those who drink, usually a family spirit beating a family member for enjoying itself this way. We aim to relate that alcoholics are haunted by ‘attachments’, not by the sauce. A man was made to handle his own remedy, as well as to know which remedies are their own.


Most families do in fact have a ‘family witch’. Those who can get beyond it are often those considered not coincidentally, the ‘ black sheep’ of the family. A word to those who wish to be free.


..and when the family witch is destroyed, our sense of balance and measure return, and we are far less haunted. The family witch does not have to be a deceased relative. It can be one still very much alive and kicking, usually against your will. Though, when so, they are almost always acting as an agent for a deceased and disturbed element of the family bloodlines. And yes, families can be blessed with ‘good witches’ that actually help them and will them to greater visions of themselves.


…so in conclusion, ALCOHOLISM IS WITCHCRAFT. Ask sensitive ‘seers’ and priests who cast out spirits, they too can ‘see’ this. Since the medical profession doesn’t pay my bills, I am not obliged to repeat their business mantras. ONE DAY AT A TIME MY ASS, rather, one witch at a time….


It is a blessing if you do not like the drink. IT IS STILL A BLESSING IF YOU DO. Yet, when our minds are disturbed, we blame everything BUT the mind and its disturbance. God can even be approached to turn your demons into balanced pleasures, just don’t tell this to the Protestants, who are constitutionally opposed to all of man’s human, temporal joys.


After a certain age particularly, the best diet to have is to eat and drink whatever the hell you want, whenever ‘self’ is calling for it. We largely have allergies when we have more complaints about what we eat than gratitude. I am a man and a solar child of Heaven and by rights and design, should be able to eat and drink what inspires me. Notice that where there is an overabundance of food in the world, there are more ‘allergies’. Notice that those that are starving know little of allergy. But then again, maybe I’m wrong and the starving are those who have become too allergic to food! Anyway, as a man, it is pussy to have a food allergy, what it is, is a food ‘attitude’. We have far too many opinions about what we eat, and not enough thanks. Remember, if you can even afford to turn your nose away at food, you are really, really blessed. Allergies are emotional, as are all attitudes in general. EAT, DRINK AND BE MARRIED!


When I had more opinions about food, I suffered those opinions. Now I have fewer opinions and therefore fewer digestive ‘issues’. As long as I am attracted to it, I can now eat, drink, smoke or lick whatever the hell I want and my gratitude for it precedes any digestion problems. And if I’ve done too much, my body always lets me know. The fewer ‘theories’ about food we have, the more we can digest the food we have. I also takes pains not to over eat, as I don’t like that feeling in my body. And sometimes, know when to ignore even that, and stuff yourself like a greedy stuck pig!


I believe that it were the visionary master WILLIAM BLAKE who suggested that a man could never know what ‘enough’ was, until he first knew what was ‘too much’.


If you are driven by your vision, drawn to a vision then you are quite naturally a VISIONARY. It is no more complicated than that. Most of the evils of the world consist in blinding those with visions, unless it can lead directly to someone’s bank account, or not disturb the sleepers being robbed and constantly ‘gamed’. Our job is to ignore it, and press on. If you can see it in your mind, THEN IT WANTS TO BE SEEN. Get on with it! And yes, your vision is just as worthy of airspace and earth time as any one else’s.


With God’s help (with ‘witch interference’), we aim to begin our next and possibly (probably), last chapter of ‘NM’. It shall be titled: ‘IF YOU LIVED HER (with me), YOU’D ALREADY BE HOME BY NOW’! And we suspect that that will conclude our episodes of our ‘Death Mask’ project, this upcoming final chapter 5. Your attentions have brought grace to us, and we thank you!


As improbable as it looks, Elephants and Mice are very close, and they see something of themselves in the other! An elephants fantasy is not to get any bigger, but dreams of life so small, that they can get away with anything, as mice so successfully do. Mice ain’t looking to get smaller and would like to be elephants, big and bold enough to not have to squeak around. And there are fewer traps waiting for the elephants. They because of this work together a lot, an arrangement that works for both quite well.


TIME MOVES FASTER WHEN THERE ARE NOT AS MANY CORPORATONS CONTROLLING IT.


Time can be ‘harnessed’, but cannot be controlled. Time takes time to be time, it knows its value and cannot be bullied.


Alcoholism is also karma. Karma is never punishment. They are our meditations.


Love was intended to lead the dance, not follow it. Who tries to push and shove love around gets bruised heavily in the process. Neither is love a requirement, but an option. Your meditation is what you say it is.


Trying to describe love is like trying to describe every single individual on planet earth. No one definition can do justice to it, it is that vast and ephemeral. Some loves can handle ‘agreements’, some forms of love wither under it and were not meant for agreement, but to just be felt, acknowledged, and like the quick glimmer of a silver belt buckle being flashed by the sun, off on its way again, to induce another ancient memory, to swallow and digest another smile.


I can fall in love at the newsstand with many of the dashing and elegant women who people up my Milano, and I can walk with it in my mind for a while before surrendering to the understanding that I have already invested my insanity in a relationship and then I am spared another potentially dangerous misunderstanding with another woman concerning definitions of love and the expectations which accompany them. It is one cause to be a hopeless romantic, another to be a naïve fool.


Sometimes love between two can be destroyed by trying to do something with it, to turn the love into more, into an arrangement. Some love vanishes between people the moment they open their mouths. We can also love others with whom we will never get along, and it be those lovers it best to avoid. Postcard lovers they are.


In a relationship love is not necessarily the most important thing, loyalty is. Sometimes, it can be said that the relationship does not truly begin until the initial euphoria of love wears off, a ‘honeymoon’ period which nature provides in order to get us to procreate. Then, faced with one another, without all of the special effects of new romance, we then begin constructing what is called RELATIONSHIP. Anyone can succeed in relations when the love is thick and new, it takes a man and a woman to maintain the affair after the initial high has found its way back to the foothills of earth.


All SUNS in the solar system are actually under contract, and cannot extinguish themselves before their contract is up. And down to the last solar second. In between contracts as Suns (they are a specific energy, not everyone can do Sun work), they often enjoy time off as Oceans as well as the life within them. Dolphins are all originally Suns between contract. As such they are all able still to ‘walk between the worlds’, and are far more powerful than we are yet willing to acknowledge , as certainly it would humble us and where we place ourselves in the cosmic order of things. Cats are also Lords of Karma. Scientists will one day come to find very similar constituent energies between CORAL REEF’S and the outer crust of the Sun. Quite surprised they might be. (Sorry, sometimes my inner ‘Yoda’ comes out and we find ourselves phrasing in such a way he might, see, do you?)


..then again the character of Yoda was said to have been based upon one of my great and enduring friends and maestros, the brilliant JIDDU KRISHNAMURTI. And so it goes, the beat goes on, if not always the applause….


We who serve spirit are only obliged to take the shape that the flame takes when it appears. We lose the flame trying to form the flame. Only ‘inform’ the flame and let go.


JIMI HENDRIX WERE AN INCARNATION OF LORD KRISHNA.


Gods youngest Angel is time. Compared to some of the other angels, it is still a newborn.


I have never met a creative talent worth their salt that were not also a MANIC DEPRESSIVE. It not only goes with the turf but seems to create the chemical stimulus in the body which enhances creative rationale. My depressions are only creative incubation periods, and just the other side of the meditation. It also gives you a ready excuse to blow off a lot of other bullshit…


Pushkin, bitches, Pushkin!


A man was created to handle many things. A woman’s hysteria is not one of them. The question isn’t whether we are delusional, the question is in whether we are getting paid for our delusion…


Delusions of grandeur has led many a man to service to his Lord. However we come to him, he accepts.


If we surrender our crosses prematurely, we wouldn’t know what to stand on.


THE MOFO THAT THINKS HE IS, IS!


SENTIMENT STEALS!


It is a blessing to be involved in games and enjoying them!


We are not always given to be in the midst of situations whereby we can engage in INTELLIGENT RESPONSE. Sometimes, the moment draws quick its flashing silver gun and we can only RESPOND. One can always try to make the response look intelligent later. The only point in second guessing, is to reshape the appearance of the first impression.


HIDE SOME HERE B.M. THE IRS WILL NOT THINK TO LOOK FOR IT HERE!


I ALSO ACCEPT KRUGERANDS!


(FORESHADOWING, !!!!!!!)


A ‘managed’, secure space for your INCREDULITY!


Future hostilities are arrested when we play more games together. We even foresee future wars being fought as competitions online and being managed and monitored by groups of money managers!


If it be so that behind every great man is a great woman (step forward Madame first lady Michelle!), then it must be equally acknowledged that behind every fool, is someone mean.


Denial of desire is still desire.


Love is logic and like love, true ‘logic’ doesn’t always make sense, but does make ‘instinct’.


Our lovely planet force Venus may bring lovers together, but only Mercury can keep them together. Our friend Mercury rules communication and temperament, no 2 qualities are more important to relating to one another.


A ‘badly aspected’ planet only shows a debt to that planet. Those who stutter for example show a debt to Mercury and by surrendering to Mercury’s service, they too are served and healed. Some of our finest announcers, broadcasters and singers have overcome their ‘stutter’ and have set new standards. By surrendering to our ‘affliction’s, we are moved beyond them, and we further stimulate and inspire. A bad aspect to your planet only gives you a head start on knowing where your service and ultimately fulfilment lie. We are here to be blessed (and not just to get our assess kicked)!


My ‘emotional volatility’ is my biggest ‘problem’. It is also the joy of my salvation!


None of these prophets invented light, they just came to replace old light bulbs.


It simply seemed important for this life to illustrate that one does not HAVE to go through the past to get to one’s future. I was not created and birthed by charm and circumstance for my ego alone but for purposes of illustration. We cannot live by our Lord’s grace AND too much logic at the same time. A little logic goes a long way (though not as long as Larry Little ‘66’), too much logic stalls and constipates. It’s about the mixture of LOGIC AND MAGIC.


I remain a huge fan of the genius of Rod Steiger, one of our most illustrious thespian masters. While I lived in Malibu, I used to ‘gas up’ at the same station he did, so one day tried my luck and introduced myself to him as a big admirer of his craft. He were a gruff, gregarious old school beach bum type, he almost always had on shorts and looked like he was waiting for high surf and he drove this really funky Volkswagen Cabriolet that he was ubiquitous in and appeared an extension of his own personality. Even when he spoke to you, one could feel his emotional range and volatility, one could also feel a very large and active spiritual presence, whatever it were that he himself may have called it. We had a mutual friend in common, a local Malibu jeweller called Ron, who used to employ a good friend of mine, a young man named Patrick, an American from the Irish root who looked like the spitting image of late 60’s John Lennon. One day, while Patrick and Ron were in their store, the master Steiger came in with some jewels of his and his wife’s. Upon being told what time to expect his bounty, the master thespian, a giant of the ‘new cinema’ which still informs this era, looked into the face of Ron, with his mug pressed close, and said: “I’VE PLAYED A POPE, A GANGSTER GODFATHER, AN EMPORER (NAPOLEON), AND A PRIZEFIGHTER. WHICH ONE DO YOU WISH TO FACE, IF MY STUFF ISN’T READY IN TIME ?” I were told by Ron that he asked to meet the Pope. “THEN IT’S THE POPE YOU’LL MEET YOUNG MAN, BUT DON’T EXPECT A BLESSING!”. The master ‘died’ after I left the beach community. Though I can still see him driving his beloved cabriolet, even in the 5th dimension where he now is!


Even at the age where I met master Rod, he still looked like, if he were up to it, he could take you out with a good punch. He had forearms like Popeye and if you got on his wrong side, a temper like Bluto. I erred with caution and remained on his sunny side. I never told him who I were and he never betrayed that he cared or was that interested, he clearly cared that my intelligence was in awe of his own and I became an unexpected friend, if an erratically seen one. Malibu is known as a very closed community, and deeply protective of its own, but once they let you in, you kind of stay in, even if you have left, and once she gets into your soul, like it or not, she stays in your soul. The smoke alone is worth the price of admission! Anyway, the master STEIGER is an American genius, a real one and it were a pleasure and honour to have had the chance to meet his vital energies while he yet embodied them himself. I were told later that he took to me as quickly as he did because I reminded him somewhat of SAMMY DAVIS JR, who I later found out used to hang out and get ‘bloated’ with some of these other American icons. I had told him that I were a writer (no less true), at which he seemed content. Check out his world, he really was/is the bomb.


Socrates, Homer, Beethoven, Alex Pushkin, Alex Dumas (of COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO and 3 Musketeers fame, the legend, not the candy bar), were all like your new President, mixed race vehicles. Sometimes, consciousness loves working with harmonic mixed genetics, much for the same reason that nature herself favours best, when push comes to heave (for survival purposes), a ‘mutt’ or ‘mongrel’ dog. One can often draw upon the more that the DNA positioned itself for. Not for nothing were all of these men, very heavily politically watched and censored in their own times. Though alas, there is certainly no harm at all loving a beast likewise for its ‘purity’. There is likewise a ‘purity’ in being a ‘bastard’. I were born a bastard, and damned proud of it!


…and so was the vastly underrated musical visionary of IRISH extraction, PHIL LYNOTT. We have Oliver Cromwell’s brother to thank for what there is of so much mixed exchange blood-wise between the Irish tribe and certain West Indian ones. And life has taught me that it is not wise to count out either an Irishman or a West Indian. Google why Cromwell’s bro-hams…… We also must thank him for having through his cruelty and white slavery, helped nurture and develop the blues and all that it has touched, as what constitutes its foundation are the mix of strains combining mama Africa with what the blessed mariner CELTICS developed with their wits , over time. Not coincidentally, most white musical masters of the form, were driven by the magnetic resonance of their ancient Celtic bloodlines. History has not been kind to black stories, but the old Celts were trading with the ancient Africans long before we were allowed to know that life even existed outside of white population centers and particularly there were a AFRICAN PYGMEY tribe which were renowned mariners and traders and specifically found great allies in the Viking bloodlines as well as what became SCOTLAND and the small but great IRELAND. The term ‘black Irish’ has roots in the West coast of Africa. They also traded DNA, which were at least to consciousness, half of the point at least…….


The myth of pure bloodlines is largely that, A MYTH.


ABORTED CHILDREN, if they choose, get to spend as much time as they like as Dolphins in the sea. Some souls even use it as a ‘shortcut’ (and remain there). Many Dolphins house the CHERUBS, who are a real and very powerful tribe. Many cherubs in life there are accused of being eternally young or childlike, even ‘childish’, some can even seem immoral. But don’t be fooled, even the most fearsome devils fear the Cherubs and their powers greatly. I have one as a teacher who never looks older to me than 6 to 8 years old. Sananda, when he appears to me looks age appropriate, though of no determinant age, while my view is that (I love Ironies) Maitreya, his father, is even ‘younger’ than he is and so much ‘older’ at the same time. Maybe we’ve gotten it all wrong. Maybe God is really just a small boy, though no less powerful, great and real!


The similarities between a human and dolphin foetus are no coincidence…


There are ways to protect yourself from PSYCHIC ATTACK (prayers, chants, yoga, etc), though its perpetrators still have to pay for it with their own stingy mojo.


Where does the flame go when the candle does? It waits patiently for another candle, another strike! And flames never ever go out, they merely ‘disappear’ until another call. In truth one cannot ‘start’ a fire, one can only ‘call’ one and witness it appear. Now, there is today’s little lesson in WHITE MAGIC. The flame vanishes (and rests) in mid air, as it is in ‘MID AIR’ where flames study and rest between occupations.


And this means that the same flames which once witnessed the birth of Christ, are yet still living and can verify for you themselves, the grand miracle that his smile was. Even as an infant, he charmed flames…. So the flames that were are as of yet the flames that are. And do not believe the HOLY FIRE to be allegorical, in the many various and creative ways in which it manifests, the HOLY SPIRIT, THE FIRE, is very, very real and no less physical from its holding dimension than a log fire is in our own. It as well be the FIRE spirits who are allowed to inhabit human forms, who spontaneously combust. The key is to be an earth, water, or air spirit so that when the Holy fire hits, it burns bright but doesn’t burn all the circuits to smithereens. And we can spend whole lifetimes meditating on how to hold it when it hits and not betray ourselves as young and pointless fools…


The same can be said of MERCY. (SHE is an angel of form and one of the sisters of Grace, her other sibling being our sweet dear PRUDENCE)! …And PRUDENCE is ruthless in her lack of guile.


DOLPHINS, INTERDIMENSIONAL AS WELL AS GALACTIC BEINGS, also serve as ‘Coma Guards’ for those souls arrested in comas. Silverfish exist for writers arrested in ‘commas’.


Do not abandon your faith simply because you do not FEEL faith, anymore than a mature man walks away from his wife because he doesn’t feel the love that day. ‘FEEL’, comes and goes like breeze. Were breeze always breezing we would not know breeze. You come to know faith best when you come to trusting in its power, whether or not you feel it, as we trust in the power of love to sustain our vision of our lives even when we do not always love the life itself.


A Cat’s greatest joy is found when it gets out of one bag and into its own! To let your ‘cat out of the bag’ is a process that many of us meditate lifetimes to achieve and seems to be largely the purpose of our physical existence. Memo to the ready : HAVE YOU SEEN THE ‘WHITE PERSIAN’? I have seen the ‘white persian’, and should you see him in your dreams (he stands often upright, is the size of a ‘normal’ cat and has piercing turquoise/pale lavender eyes and his eyes are always mesmerising). He comes to help you release your cat from its bag. He can also help save your life.


And to have seen the BLACK PANTHER, is like having seen another face of God.


Tradition I can observe far more easily than custom.


Caught between the Angel who controls your desire and the demon which controls your will, choose the Angel.


Few demons there are that rob, beg and steal like ‘nuisance’, who slowly drips the blood into a stupor, wearing you down by degrees.


“Master, why does it have to hurt so much?” “Grasshopper, the question is rather, why do you let the hurt get to you?”


Pain is the value we give reflection.


One man’s garbage collector is another man’s intelligence gatherer. One man’s store clerk is another man’s spy.


If they truly moved us and died young, then their death was usually no ‘accident’, though it may have been reported as such.


Whom the Gods wish to honour, they present with a long life. Whom they wish to enshrine, they kill early.


From whom you accept jewels, you accept ‘terms’. So be clear!


An artist’ sacrifice is usually held against them. Yet, it is from this loneliness and neglect that hopeful, vibrant rays of new light are created. It takes thunder to produce lightning. Thunder is an artist’s ‘puppet-master’.


Anger kills more people than death. Death just gets the blame.


A statistical fact: DEATH KILLS VERY FEW. DEATH DOES NOT COME TO KILL, IT IS NOT DEATH’S JOB TO KILL. DEATH MERELY COMES TO COLLECT.


The real killers in our world are anger, shame, abuse, neglect, pain, misery. And none are greater killers than judgement and confusion.


We are nought but painted frosted figurines which sits in an Angel cupboard. And when the Angel takes a shine to his toy, we are animated and spirited off to life, perhaps a new adventure!


The fearful flee from death, but the wise keep it close. I have grown closer to death, it is a wonderful friend and advisor, and has seen all that there is or can be, to see. We ‘die’ easier knowing that death is not a cause, nor a solution, but a trustworthy friend, who walks us from these fields, to the other fields which are a part of GOD’S ESTATES.


This space reserved for a good ‘BLOW-OUT’ FART. ‘TIS THE SEASON!


Children who get sick a lot are betraying that they are growing up in a challenging, less supportive environment, where the control of their will is the name of the game. What undermines a child’s emotions and confidence, undermines their health and stamina. This may follow them for life.


Jesus reminded us that “Man was not made FOR the Sabbath, but the Sabbath was made FOR man”. Ergo, we are not created for our systems but our systems were created to enhance us and so if our systems are failing us, we should simply unplug from the grid and change it, demand changing it. We were not designed by the Angels to fit into concepts, nor would a man walk around in a pair of pants made to fit a boy, he would demand something which acknowledges his size. If your hunting dog is limping and lame, then drop the hunt and just shoot (and eat) the dog instead ! The Chinese would agree.


A tough life produces a tough head. Tough is not an angel of punishment but an angel of mercy.


The sweetness of the wine comes not only from the grape but as well from the mercy with which it were squeezed.


For the grape, the winepress is not its end, but its new beginning.


For the grape to be swallowed it must first be believed. And for it to be believed, it must itself believe. …and so perhaps the raisins were the doubtful ones….but in whom time still saw a use for the sweetness they held on to, where the wine surrendered.


METAMORPHESUS IS PRESERVATION!


BOY WERE I MISTAKEN
WHAT I THOUGHT WERE PEARLS
BENEATH THE TIDE
TURNED OUT TO HAVE BEEN
BROKEN BOTTLES WAITING 
FOR THE BLOOD STORED
IN MY ANKLES.


MAN, DID YOU SEE
THAT SHOT GO PAST?
THE ASHES SAVED MY ASS
AND MEMORY BLAZED 
ITS SENTIMENT PAST, THOSE 
ROUGH SACK PILLOWS WHERE
THE PIRATES BLAST, THEIR
CANNONS AT MY SOLAR MAST
BUT HEY, THEY MISSED AGAIN!
AND AS EVER I REMAIN TWO
STEPS AHEAD OF DEATH
A HALF STEP AHEAD OF SIN.


AND SHOULD PRISCILLA
IN HER SILVER DRESS
FAIL TO IMPRESS THE MERCY MEN
WHO WITH GUNS DRAWN, EYES BLAZING
PULL UP IN THE STATION, HUFFING
INFLATION, IN THEIR BEGGING
HAND, A BOWL OF STEAM. THIS SCORE 
IS HER LAST, WILL BE FOR SOME TIME
IN THE MEANWHILE,A MORBID SMILE
ROBS SMOKE FROM THE SCARLET
APRHODISIAC, SHE SWALLOWED TO
WIN HER COATTAILS BACK, SHE’D BEND 
OVER BACKWARDS, IF REVERSE WERE
HER SPEED, SHE’D TUMBLE HARD 
FORWARD IF PANIC WERE HER CREED
BUT ALAS, SHE LEAPS WITH HER FAITH
TOWARDS HER TRUEST DESIRE, HER
DEEPEST NEED. This will insure her survival, 
Then she’ll forget this and renew her revival!


And should her dragons fall from too many stories high
And lose fresh blood in the roiling, churning tides
She’ll still remember the ribbons she commanded
And used like lassos to corral her beasts and who
After a while would plan feats, of danger, of laughter
And parallel feasts. Even should those dragons die whose
Fire once awakened her meadows, will she still in the 
mutant ghost worlds fly and gather the fresh milk of her shadows.


Those last few ‘poems’, are the OXYGEN POEMS.


The question isn’t whether you can convince a Tiger to believe that it is a pussy cat. The question is in how long will it amuse him?


Tiger rhythm, Tiger law is lived at the pace of its own amusement. The Tiger does not believe that he were made for life but that life were created for Tiger. Even from the deepest of sleeps, Tiger can create new worlds. What man believes about Tiger, to Tiger, is only what he knows that man believes about himself. To Tiger, even the sun is ‘TIGER’.


The Dolphins are the Solar masters of the seas, while the whales are the Lunar masters of the waters. What the trees are to our living lung systems on land, the whales are within the living waters. They are huge lunar lungs and filters for the health of the water. And a word to the prudent, as karma goes, it is not wise to bait them unnecessarily , as spiritual consciousnesses go, they are no joke, not even a little bit. …and when they are feeling under siege, they have a way of making things happen in our world, which we may then attribute to ‘acts of God’. Science, when ready, may find it interesting to look at the patterns connecting seismic activity and the ‘ley’ lines connected to whale migration. We may then began to witness a whole new respect for them, their wisdom, their power.


Even the waters themselves obey upon command the will of the whales. To the beasts of the seas, they are grand masters and revered.


TO ‘KRYON’ OF MAGNETIC SERVICE! TA-DA!!!


The ‘BLUE MEANIES’ are real and are fully in charge of the music business.


And as it happens, a thieves greatest conversion comes after they run out of things to steal!


If you were to purchase a book written by the man many consider Russia’s greatest poet, Alexander Pushkin, you would more than likely see a picture of a white man on the cover, usually a portrait of some other mofo. One book I have of his contains a picture done by the master Ingres of another person entirely, a sculptor (???)! We are grateful for the ‘watch’ads’ that finally give us a glimpse of him. He were very proud to be of mixed heritage, his fathers blood from an ancient aristocratic Muscovite family, his mother a direct descendant of a man called (with esteem), ‘The NEGRO Of PETER THE GREAT’. Bought by the great Peter as a slave and rumoured to have been stolen from a royal Ethiopian family, such were Peter’s fondness and trust of this slave that he rose to become his chief of engineers and a general and all from an Abyssinian bloodline. Even in his day, Alex stood out because of his heritage. He were equally proud to have been Russian. He were simply one of the world’s grandest, ranking with the other world figures such as Dante, Goethe, Schiller. It is about time that more people know the truth of our shared history. Mulatto, black, movers and shakers of society are nothing new, though our American history has been quite stingy in acknowledging anyone’s contribution to history besides their own. EDUCATION IS THE PLACE TO ACKNOWLEDGE ‘REPARATIONS’.


And any artist in any age can tell you that ARTISTIC LICENSE DON’T COME CHEAP. There is a price we all must be willing to pay, to avoid that deepest of the traps of hell, mediocrity. It be easier to rise from the bowels of poverty than from the ranks of the mediocre. It’s even mathematical.


The ISSUE is not the issue, our unwillingness to see beyond the issue is the ISSUE.


I subscribe to the conspiracy theory now floating around that the BUSH INCIDENT utilized a 2CD SHOETHROWER. Slowed down to its slowest speed, you can almost detect a quick handed 2cd thrower get off the 2cd shoe in Godspeed. We now must inform our intelligence analysts to be on the lookout for the latest in shoe technology, the BOOMERANG SHOE, which had it been in the hands of the Iraqi minister present next to Bush, would’ve allowed him to throw the shoe as if to hit a journalist, but boomerang back and strike the President. We ought make sure that Australian journalists are more heavily vetted in the future. Apparently, even the rest of the press conference could hear the fellow engaged in an old school Texas style beat down in the other room, which we assume deliciously may have been the HOSPITALITY suite, and loaded with refreshments. I wonder if they allowed the shoe thrower some refreshments after they dried the blood off of his face. Or maybe not. Is the guy on FACEBOOK?


Does this portend (much like the Cedar revolution), the SHOE THROWERS BALL!?


Much like began the famed, fabled BOSTON TEA PARTY, does a shoe throwing revolution now begin, where we take to the streets, storm the embassies and wield our shoes while decrying that we are fed up and cannot take it anymore? Will there be a ‘harder’ corps for boot wearers? Will we then be sold out by the SANDAL BRIGADE? And can we trust them now?


Your family is so big that when they use the car, the windshield wipers stay on (for the sweat baby, for the sweat). The car should receive a medal of valour for hauling their big asses around.


The laws of street fighting are simple, WHO HAS THE MOMENTUM, HAS THE VICTORY.


And whether you throw a shoe or a fist at a man, once you wake up his beast, it’s on !


For as long as we have our mothers we have our tears.


..and again, real men don’t throw shoes.


Philosophy is a stepping stone to self knowledge. Once we have crossed our breach, know who we are, once we ‘get with’ ourselves, the river has been crossed and we can then choose to maintain or release ‘belief’. We can then believe in anything, or let it all go as incidental to the witness of a life, and remember that there is nothing worth believing in more than ourselves.


There are many rivers to cross, the degree to which you believe that there are more answers to find. Once you accept that the ‘answer’ is you, you can stop crossing rivers and pitch your tent where you may and watch, in their due seasons, the blossoms salute you with their stately imitation of exuberant exclamation points dancing their acclamation!


Be it ever so literate, most philosophy is hesitance.


Yet, what philosophies you adopt, make sure they come at you straight, and not crab like and sideways.


The great temples/cathedrals were designed to the shape of our prayers. It is mathematical.


Prayer takes a conical shape, seen from space.


You can pray a lot and still be an asshole.


Of pestilence and death, death is the lesser evil.


Be assured that the DAYS do not exist for time, but time exists for the DAYS. Time were invented to allow us passage through the DAYS. Time is not holy, the DAYS are.


A ‘god’ can control and manipulate time. None but GOD can control the DAYS.


Time may be precious, may for some be sacred, but it is specious. Nor is it dependable, its measures varying, it contracting and expanding when convenient only to itself. Time is the plaything of mortals. The righteous seek only the counsel of the DAYS. Time is ephemeral and as such, not counted. The DAYS are always numbered, counted, catalogued. Time vanishes, only the DAYS are eternal and never fade. We were not contracted to work for time, we work our labours for the days, and we will trust the days for our reward, if we have earned it.


Even ‘weeks’ and ‘months’ are constructs often more concealing than revealing, and say nothing really of the push and pull which exist between the dance of time and the DAYS. Your consciousness will in time come to know the fullness of the DAYS and the trust we place in them. Each day is another witness to the days necessity, its urgency, its complaints as well as its natural tendency to round off all tears with olives of understanding.


For as long as we do not own our desires, philosophy flourishes and while we own and possess our desires, philosophy fades, much as does the wan appearance of the streetlamp, after the dawn has broken open the sun like an egg hitting the frying pan.


If you are not sure about who you are, ask the last person you cheated, they will usually have a good idea.


IN SLOW MOTION I AM THINKING THIS
THOUGH IN DOUBLE TIME MY EYES
ARE BLINKING THIS, IS THAT A SHOE
I SEE? IS THIS FOOL TOSSING OXFORDS
AT ME? I LISTENED TO MY FATHER 
FOR THIS? LUCKILY THE ‘ALLIE’
MISSED, OR I’D BE EVEN MORE 
PISSED, O SHIVA IS THAT A SECOND
SHOE (DUCK, THAT’S WHAT I DO),
MAN, WHAT IF I’D GOT HIT? ITS
OK, I APPEARED ‘NONPLUSSED’
(BUT THAT’S THE LAST SECRET
SERVICEMAN I TRUST).


AND WERE I LESS VERBOSE WITH MY VERNACULAR
MY PRETENSIONS WOULD BE LESS SPECTACULAR
AND THE ROW, ROW, ROW YOUR BOAT OF MY DREAMS
WOULD CAPSIZE AND FLOW, TOWARDS WHAT BEACH HEAD
I DON’T NOW, THOUGH, AS LONG AS HAD I VOWELS, SYNTAX
AND SOME ‘FLOAT’, THEN MY ASSISTANT COULD SWIM, AND
ON THE SANDS, SCRATCH OUT WHAT I WROTE. MEANWHILE,
LIKE DRIFTWOOD, QUOTATION MARKS SLIP PAST, TAUNTING ME
WITH LINES THAT WILL NEVER LEAVE MY LIPS (AND BE HEARD)
I WRITE THESE LINES BETWEEN SIPS OF TEA WHICH FIRST FORM
IN THE MIND, THEN DRIPS, AND MAYBE A LITTLE LIKE PIG FAT, 
CONGEALS, BUT I AIM MY ARTICLES HIGH, AND LIKE PATCHWORK ,
OF WHAT I CAN REVEAL, END MY RHYMES LIKE THAT.


SO, INSTEAD OF SINGING
HE BEGAN TO SIGH
HE DIDN’T KNOW WHY
SOMETIMES A TIDY SUM
IS SOWN, BETWEEN THE
LIGHTNESS OF BEING
AND ITS WEIGHT
ON THE BONES, AND
SOMETIMES, IT’S JUST
TIME TO GO. THE LIGHT
AT THE END OF EACH
SHOW SAYS,’EXIT’&am