It’s been said truth sounds like hate to those who hate truth. Now, if that ain’t a paradox, send me to school! Does this mean that falsehood sounds like love to the ones Among us who serve mendacity by the tons? That one’s truth is another’s excuse for a duel Is a symptom that manifests from early youth.
I am prone to dig deeper to get to the core Of that which is excitable, pleasant or not. When big planets drop by and move in for a year I could choose to expand my affairs without fear. There are things about passion that scare me a lot. Though I keep on complaining, I do ask for more.
When the elements fire and water touch base The emotions are heated to levels above That which cannot withstand being liquid in form. They expand with a power apart from the norm. We can be broken down to be rebuilt in love. It’s a Jupiter/Scorpio thing taking place.
The Pi-th root of infinity, should it exist As a variable that traverses the mind, Is a root counter rational. And it’s not real. Even though it’s not real math, it does have the feel Of the essence of living among humankind. Within seas of infinities, none are dismissed.
Any root of infinity should be the same As the sum of infinities, meaning, them all. That is, if it could be quantifiable stuff Where one gets to the point where one says, “That’s Enough!” Yet, indeed it’s a concept one couldn’t call small. It does draw the mind close like the moth to the flame.
By the numbers, I number among the ignored. That is nothing to cry about. I will be heard As my meaning has function with my heart and mind. Might that happen this time around? I am resigned To a life of fulfillment transfigured through word. There are worlds of infinities to be explored.
That resistance is much like impedance is what I believe non-hair-splitters believe is absurd. Opposition to current flow through any coil Is not like through resistor where current must toil. Free electrons are volatile – easily stirred Into motion. They book when their path is clear cut.
There’s resistance to life. There’s impedance as well. I’ve both AC and DC afoot through my nerves. When I wish for my dreams to come true, but I doubt, I’ve got AC creating impedance throughout My inductive creativeness. My flow deserves Resonance in its purpose wherein I excel.
I can deal with resistance in life when in tune. I can sense the direction my life force has faced. When I feel heavy heat loss with energy low, I’ve got too much resistance impeding the flow Of the best life that I can live with heart well-placed Within earth’s human circuitry where all commune.
Many landscapes and seascapes avail themselves to Simple pleasures of living that people enjoy. Many lips go for kissing or catching the breeze. There are spaces for tulips along friendly seas. Whether tulips or few lips, each harbor the ploy Of accessing the inner self like an old shoe.
Two lips land locked could be but one half of a quad Where the missing half seems not a task to conceive. Or two lips can be literate, light and at ease With the spirit of nature who’s willing to please. With some tulips between lips some hearts do achieve Some small measure of happiness. Does that seem odd?
It’s the toss of a coin, sometimes, how things evolve. Often life seems a game of chance hostile to will. But it seems, at the same time, that I’m in control Of what happens in my life and with my own soul. That control comes from within – the voice that is still. With a lifetime of life scenes, I’ve nothing to solve.
I do most things online. I get digital sex Through a modem equipped with touching technique That sends chills up my spine when I’m getting things done. When it comes to my laundry, my cycle’s begun. I upload it to DigiClean once every week. It downloads clean and folded, according to specs.
But sometimes I have trouble converting my load To dot lnd format. This causes me stress. I know Customer Service will lend me a hand. They are always so friendly, and they understand That although my ill applet has me in a mess I will soon have clean laundry within my abode.
Often times it’s the codec that culprits my cause. They get changed much too frequently due to the way Bits of data treat fabric, synthetic or real. They know nothing of texture. They can’t up and feel. A fresh codec for cotton does brighten my day. When one does laundry online, one obeys the laws.
“Nuke the HELL out of life, but God, save those stem cells!” If one thinks I’m a nut case, just look where I’m from. I would not call one nigger who’s blacker than me Unless done in endearment most positively. One would think common sense would out weapon the norm. That, it seems, is where I am – between parallels.
We’re a species of contrast all up in the face As the web of technology quickens its crawl. Worldwide media trigger most worldwide events. We’re confounded with coverage at our expense. Hair still stands on my neck when I hear someone’s drawl. I’m a nut case as well as the whole human race!
I can’t fault human nature. I’m one of its kind. What I can do is closely observe what takes place. I’m a student of human behavior. As such I delight in interpreting life very much. And I do that quite well. I can always embrace My well-cultured indifference and firm peace of mind.
Have I been of good service? I’m nervous to know Because I’ve grown so old in a very short time. Have I done unto others what they’ve done for me? Have I taught them – or they, me – a new way to see? Have I wasted my time with my making verse rhyme? Valued Customer, should I remain here or go?
Many crossroads or turning points scatter my way. They reflect my decisions made well in advance Of my birth in the physical realness of earth. Each new vantage point offers one choice of self-worth Or the other one where soothing has not a chance. When I choose incorrectly, do self I betray?
My reflection on earth does not fear to be wrong. It is but a mere image of all I’ve become. I cannot make a bad choice. No end is in sight. Consciousness is eternal. My future is bright. My decisions in life amount to the grand sum Of a soulful surviving. My life force is strong.
There are zillion quadrillions of stars, so they say – All the ones who have counted them one at a time. I believe them. I’ve no call to doubt their fine work. I respect them for work that would drive me berserk. From stardust to star system, each star lives its prime Then returns to its dust state for instant replay.
Now, how many fresh thoughts does one think in a day? It turns out, not so many. Our habits say so. We think thoughts we thought yesterday, most of the time. More than most of those thoughts are not worth a broke dime. We think thousands of thoughts a day, yet we don’t know How to think them effectively, to our dismay.
Every thought ever crafted from day one ‘til now Still exists in the cosmos in its stardust form. When our stardust-like thoughts trigger others the same, A new thought with momentum will burst into flame. Still more thoughts that are like it converge in a storm. We can keep our thoughts bright as far as we allow.
Should I carry my tool in a spare vestibule Under armpit or next to my lower left nut? I could hide one inside my collapsible shoe Then when I click my heels I could put a hole through Any short mother fucker who thinks he knows what Makes him bad enough to take on such a damned fool.
I’ve a right to conceal it – my fearfulness streak. It’s a feeling I’m used to. It makes common sense. Everyone has one’s own set of circumstances Wherein fear reinforces and heightens the chances Some gun will go off in the name of defense. I must conceal my fearfulness or I’ll feel weak.
So, do carry my way. Guns are here to stay. And it’s not like we’re civil. We’re wicked and wild. We’re a cumbersome species who can’t get along. We need plenty of weaponry to make us strong. Guns and gun control can be left up to the child Who would see them as folly and wish them away.
To maintain a wave function, there’s unction involved, Of the kind that is foul like the breath of the bowel. When gratuitous bodily functions persist, Then events that are current should drift off my list Of life scenes I engage with. A healthy avowal Is one I’ll not take lightly if life seems unsolved.
Live does seem rather gross. There is spit in the air. Folks are hocking their guts out for others to see. But it’s just my perception. I see it that way Only if it is helpful in making my day The way I and those like me would like it to be. Were there not others like me, life wouldn’t be fair.
Life’s a function phenomenal – much like a dream Where the mind excretes heavily upon the soul. To endure a wave function would take strength of will. To collapse one effectively, one must have skill. In the grim art of winning at every sought goal, There’s a point where one thinks that one’s will is supreme.
A long series of ups and downs marks this sort trip Through a life that is lived induced into the next. One half cycle is joy, and the other is pain. I experience both to my truest self’s gain. But my true self in spirit can never be vexed As the half cycle negative, true self will flip.
Any life situation I see in some way That is not to my liking – a pain up the path My true self doesn’t go there. That’s why I feel pain. It does see things quite differently, without disdain. As it processes sine waves, the cool aftermath Is full rectification with zero delay.
Life in spirit is positive – nothing but good. It’s our good times – and bad times – that do make it so. I can translate the pain any way that I may. But I know that my true self just knows a great day. Though my negative half cycles hinder my flow I can know they will pass as I will and well should.
Without faith and with shoes on, I walk across time. Half way past holy bullshit, I always find more. From the fake polls that tell me that Clinton should win To the priests who spunk little boys (Ain’t that a sin?), I know faith is a mystery dressed as a whore. It’s complexity makes for a rich paradigm.
I can take what seems solid and firm to the touch As mere referral points that in time will dissolve Into nothingness, just like the space in-between All particulate substances that can’t be seen. God has given each soul its own puzzle to solve. As for seeking consensus – it doesn’t mean much.
Yet, it means much to those who would have me believe There’s a God who’s outside me who’s bigger than mine. We are followers. That’s why we’re tended like sheep. We are strung out for someone’s commandments to keep. Any fool with a message will suit the world fine. Faith is oft’ an elixir to numb the naïve.
One would think I’m a colon or that it is me As I move about backed up with scowl on the brain. If I find myself trapped near the end of my gut, Seems my bowel is an asshole who’s tired of the rut That we both made together while waxing insane. My behavior’s atrocious, as I can well see.
I gave up on the action paths. None will work well. I’ve popped shitters like Skittles and chased them with milk Of magnesia. I’ve tried tons of ex-lax and more. I’m so hell bent on crapping, I’ve got my own store. I would like stuff to flow softly through me like silk. But it seems that my blasted pipes are shot to hell.
On the other hand, though, that may not be quite so. I create my reality whether I’m trapped In a body that feels like it’s felt its last days Or in one that feels wholesome in all natural ways, When I clean my vibration, that bowel will be zapped With a blast of pure energy. This I well know.
I would hippity hem-haw and yippee tie yea If I had but in inkling of what is in store. With my ass in a sling that’s attached to nowhere I’m a fumbling freak phantom no one can compare. I’m a goofball – a catcher’s mitt right to the core. Yet, I’m not in a ballgame. I can’t even play.
Serendipitous circumstance falls upon me In a way that seems clumsy – like part of an act. But no one can screw up quite as well as I can. I am male and I’m hetero. Am I a man? I can’t take people’s judgements as matter of fact. I am here to seek balance. Thank God I can see!
A Fantabulous Fumbling through life like a breeze Through a house of cards ready and willing to be Cast in disarray, yielding to requited bliss, I’m a laughable life. There is naught to remiss. So, perhaps I was born to get others to see Maybe nothing. In such case, I’ve naught to appease.
I am radio active. I am a half-life And a wavelength that’s shorter than my eyes can know. I am half here… half not here for each moment passed. Some converge into now, and I wish those would last. I’m an incomplete being most moments although Every moment’s reception is sharp as a knife.
This is not Dress Rehearsal. I’m rarely on stage And my act is not drama, for that can be judged. I believe in this half-life I live here and now And I chose it wholeheartedly so I’d allow Ample room for becoming. But I haven’t budged Since believing I’m measured by some other’s gauge.
It’s a half-life for me. I won’t get it all done. A complete fully functioning being I’m not. I prepare for the next life. This life is not all Life that I’ll ever live. That would be living small. As my world sees right through me, I could be forgot. I’m at home with my half-life. It’s better than none.
I’ve got too much too chew. It came out of the blue Or oblivious. I don’t know which one it is. Simple greetings befall me as well as small talk. By default I’m committed. There’s no room to balk. I’ve been offered a chewing as well as a quiz Once again I’m amazed by what I’ve stepped into.
This huge bone I’ve accepted seemed small at the start. Or perhaps my small eyes see most anything big. My eyes get me in trouble. My loose tongue as well. I do act on my own and create my own hell. If my eyes could see big things as small as a twig Perhaps then I’d be shielded from hurt to the heart.
I should bite off a large chunk if I think I can Get my jaws wrapped around it not seeming the fool. Yet when I find that I’ve bitten off more than I Could digest in a lifetime, I’m ready to try Anything that might stop my becoming a tool. I can be of good service and still be a man.
It’s a match made in heaven, this cosmos and I. We delight in each other’s benevolent grace. Unbeknownst to no one, I’m engaged to pure fun And my life is worth loving and living ‘til done. There is more time for rhyming with leather and lace. If I could, without wings, I would take off and fly.
If I but allow it, I will feel all the love That flows to me and through me and makes myself whole. When I love myself first, then my cosmos responds Often instantly. This surely strengthens our bonds. Our relationship is such that we are one soul. There is heaven between us as well as above.
My dear universe sees me when I am unseen In my own separation from what it knows well. I am loved by this universe and understood. When I’m out of alignment, my silly thoughts could Cast upon me some cheap psychological spell. My soulmate is the universe with heart serene.
A decisive device is one that can’t act nice. Its decisions it makes with no input at all From the user who just wants to get some things done. I do not go for gaming nor surfing for fun. And it gets so aggressive and makes me feel small. I can’t deal with a dick headed devil device.
Don’t peek-a-boo to me with messages from Your right corner, peripheral to my intent. You do tittle my gaze as if I were a cat. You should know that I’m human, and what’s wrong with that? You continue to dick me. Indeed, you’re hell bent On securing my madness so then you will cum.
A divisive sufficing may be what I need. My decisive devices can get me perplexed. When they tell me they’re doing things I don’t want done Should I gather my privates, then turn tail and run? I can’t figure out why things are so over sexed. I shall guard my virginity as I proceed.
Please allow him to introduce himself to you. He’s a man who we hear from so once in a while. He’s mild mannered most times and there seems nothing wrong. Though he’s human he feels like he doesn’t belong. As he nurtures that premise, his thoughts become vile. When frustrated and helpless, what is there to do?
One could contact the Bureau of What’s Wrong With Me If in fact they would have a solution for him That would keep him connected to all human kind. But that kind of solution is so hard to find. He will tell us our futures and his are quite dim. Could it be that no one gives him reason to be?
I will take life’s frustration and deep numbing rage To a limit below where I start to see red. I’m a butcher. We all are to some small degree. When we realize how horrible butchers can be We will cease disregarding. We’ll limit the spread Of the butcher’s performance upon bloody stage.
My caress is a wash unto those of my kind And my kind could be all kind or no one but me. One can think about kindness awash in pure love. Surely all kinds can do kind things sort of kind of. I can’t keep life from washing straight out to the sea Because we’re locked together. Our souls are combined.
It’s awash in some contrast. My life’s not a dream. Often times I’m impatient and damned to be right. In the long run my life could explode in my face If I don’t learn to concede some battles in grace. Life before and life after this life is a bright Reawakening to self-fulfillment supreme.
Life’s a lockwash. I’m screwed down to earth, as it were. I am taut way past finger tight. Pressure is keen Yet it can’t be perceived well unless I express It in some way appropriate – not to excess. When released from the lockwash of life there is seen All that held me together for life to occur.
To others the greatest of gifts I can give Is my happiness. Not that I have other things. There are gifts that I give that have value to some But the gift that is lasting is when I become Mostly happy and joyful about what life brings. Am I happy toward others? That’s how I should live.
I do seek joy selfishly. It’s the best way To develop discernment in going about Meeting others and caring about how they feel. In releasing resistance my whole life can heal. When I meet folks I want there to be not a doubt That my motive is hearing what they have to say.
I must be in my joy or else I cannot be Of assistance to anyone – not any way. What I’m offering graciously is part of me. Now, if I’m in a bad mood, it’s easy to see That I’m out of alignment until the new day. Mostly, though, I’m a present who’s offered for free.
Simple joy is the goal that we’re all working toward. It’s the reason we do anything that we do. It’s the basis of love and for finding things out. It’s the reason that with lofty dreams we’re devout. What we think will bring joy is what leads us all through Bouts of painstaking diligence toward our reward.
It may seem that’s not so often times when we’re not In alignment and open to be, have and do Anything we desire no matter how grand. And it takes some adjusting to well understand How our thinking and feeling can offer a clue To achieving our dreams that cannot be forgot.
We perceive joy uniquely – each in one’s own way. Whether knowing or not where our motives lead to, We are working toward joy every step of the way. We each recognize this when we’re willing to play In accordance with what makes the heart sing anew. We all work toward the same goal each and every day.
Not a flame do I see through the walls that bind me To my own belief systems and to my ideals. No sensation of heat do I feel at this time. It’s been creeping up slowly – a gradual climb. Yet the only thing that could be fast on my heels Is whatever I’m running from, were I not free.
There is no constant sameness of torment I feel. But if I chose to feel some, my walls would agree. They would burn away quickly and leave me exposed To the flames I had feared and had kept my mind closed. Life has given me purpose to burn and to be A well-tempered perceiver of that which is real.
A comfortable room that does not have a view Of the torment and peril apparently so Is my space of recluse as I sort my hell out. Do I fancy self-torture? There should be great doubt. I seek solace in knowing what most others know… That the hell that’s apparent cannot be so true.
My manhood is so huge I could call it my pal. I do treat it that way and it does that for me. My big pants surely can’t be as big as my balls And my man knows his way around feminine halls. When I bang any bitch she will cry out in glee. I have no trouble getting my female canal.
If she likes to slurp schlong she must have a deep throat. My man meat is a muscle of mass and much more. She will beg for my cock. She will give it high praise. She will preach of my peace pipe the rest of her days. I will slam dunk that hallway until it is sore. Should she lapse into coma, then that’s all she wrote.
Women know that my screwing is lethal indeed. I’ll have them blowing snot bubbles before they know What the hell ever hit them while prancing in place. As for any bitch my dick is her saving grace. She’ll be speaking in tongues in her long afterglow. I am damned good at humping and cranking out seed.
Your Mistress Therapeutia is always on call Since the time of the dawning of Woman In Charge. This puts Man in a frenzy. His dick at stake As he fears minds of women may be more awake And in tune with humanity’s worth, by and large. Men should stand right behind them with hearts proud and tall.
Strong Mistress Therapeutia knows management well. She is built to build families from foundation to The most creative folds within nature’s cortex. The embellishment of nature’s loving vortex, Women’s bodies are sacred. This fact rings anew As the women forthcoming are willing to tell.
I can live for that coming of age once again When the warrior Woman commanded the tribe. And there weren’t many wars because women kicked ass. Many wars went unfought due to critical mass Disengaging in tune to a more loving vibe. I’m delighted to see women challenging men!
If the caveman appeared in our vast world today Would he think he has died and gone to the beyond? Would he freak at the flame from the short burning stick And be awestruck by big buildings made out of brick? I would think he’d be baffled and slow to respond. Once he’d gathered his wits he might cast them away.
This high-tech world we live in is wondrous indeed. It’s evolved many lightyears in such a short time. But the schism exists still between what we know And that which is inscrutable – stubbornly so. If comparisons make sense, we could reach our prime In the upcoming eons with freedom decreed.
When it comes to good ‘woo-woo’, we fashion the best With our psychic phenomena kept under shroud Because when they’re exposed they are subject to scorn. Yet in clashing with science new insights are born. Science comes up with weird stuff and speaks it out loud. Then a new understanding is put to the test.
Erudite is the errant one well on the way To a system of numbering cast from the norm. A translational piece of the puzzle fulfills All the needs of machines with their digital wills. It’s the binary linguist who must outperform Any functional program machines must obey.
It’s that ‘there-or-not’ language machines speak so well. On and Off is a concept that’s novel and sleek. Ones and Zeroes are alphabet soup to be fed To the processor where they are carefully read. Bits of data through systems is somewhat unique. But those numbers get cumbersome, as one can tell.
That’s the reason for Octal… And Hex, by the way. Both these systems can translate big numbers to small. Just a hand full of symbols – so easy to read. And machines understand them so they will succeed In performing efficiently for one and all. Hex and Octal are systems that are here to stay.
Seems the widow’s a bitch when she’s not had her fill Of the lover before who escaped to live on. Life is cruel on all levels – not just with the bugs. We can suck dry our enemies and give friends hugs. It’s the widow, in this case, who’s gifted with brawn. She decides who she eats by the whim of her will.
But it’s only in this life the bitch is so mean. Though to her it’s the natural feminine way. From the next life she watches her babies evolve. She will never behold them. It is her resolve To make sure that they all get the chance, come what may, To experience living among nature’s green.
Her next hubby’s the next meal though he’s not aware. She will need a full stomach to make babies grow. By the same token, hubby is poised to move fast. Once the romance is over, he wants life to last. But if he doesn’t make it, he knows where he’ll go… To the afterworld where creatures live without care.
Can one twiddle ho-hum in a trance while at sea With the water so calm it could put one to sleep? When I’m not in the moment I tend to miss out On the fortunate happenings jumping about. In this sea we call life we can go for a deep Understanding of ourselves and what we can be.
I’m too busy, sometimes, with my head in my work, That I seem to be sitting still as life speeds by. Life can rock the boat gently to give me a nudge. It can wreck it severely and I am the judge. I can choose to be present or not even try. That I’m offered the choice is one valuable perk.
Life is cast in a richness and wetness of flow That surrounds and consumes everything that exists. All of life is connected. There’s nothing apart From the whole of creation ‘til now since its start. As I navigate life it’s my soul that persists In its quest to find meaning and joyfully grow.
Please excuse me kind sir. I’m in search of a place Somewhere in this fine city. Can you assist me? What I have is this old map here. Hope you don’t mind. I believe in this thing. It will save my behind From a fucked afterlife. So, I’m sure you can see I’m strung out on salvation and tons of God’s grace.
What is it that you say? This old map I possess Has no relevance to where most things are today? I have studied this map because God told me to. And these long-ago landmarks should give me a clue To whatever the Hell my God’s trying to say. So I need to stay ancient. I vow to regress.
Could it be that the folks who lived so long ago Had their own source of guidance in tune with their ways? I can’t find many streets. Some no longer exist. When I can’t find my landmarks I often get pissed. Perhaps it is much better to live out my days By my own inner guidance who’s easy to know.
We can learn much about joy by watching our young As they take in each moment as water to sponge. Their wellbeing is guaranteed. Life is secure. And however they take life, their feelings are pure. When provided a fun pool they eagerly plunge. They’re composers. The songs of their lives can be sung.
How they do it is something we could take to heart. We’re like broadcast receivers – the way we behave. If I’m tuned to one hundred-point niner FM AM stations elude me, indeed all of them. I must tune to the happiness consciousness wave If I want to give any good day its best start.
Indications that we and wellbeing are one Are expressed in our feelings of passion and glee And through exhilaration for each moment new. Who’d have thought that our kids have the healthiest clue To our living in joy with our spirits set free. Everything about living should be based on fun.
These are the voyages we’re eager to take. Is the purpose in coming to figure things out? Some folks tend to do that and should think it’s ok. Why not know what the parents know while we’re at play? After all, where we came from seems mired in doubt. As I gather my data I feel more awake.
I engage this amnesia made into a dream Much as most other folks who partake of the same. Somehow, I know we know one another quite well In some other reality where we all dwell In a place where we greet one another by name And all things of magnificence are as they seem.
Our continuing mission is just to seek out. We are gifted with strangeness and newness of heart. We’re new life. We are civilized some of the time. And at others we treat one another like slime. We begin each away mission with a fresh start And a brand-new adventure devoid of doubt.
By my visualizing my favored outcome The most meaningful action is always inspired. There is not a whole lot of my crafting a plan And then working to work it as hard as I can Until I’ve lost ambition and grow to be tired. I will focus myself where desire comes from.
As my wanting feels good to me, that guides me to More of thoughts that are easy and make me feel good, From that place of alignment, I am guided well. My soul hears divine messages clear as a bell And my work is to make sure that they’re understood By the ego who may not believe all is true.
Action that is inspired is joy fulfilled. There is great satisfaction in moving with ease And in tune with one’s spirit. As life starts to flow All the dis-ease about me will then up and go. I accumulate valuable life expertise Even though I’m imperfect and often strong willed.
What the Bleep is this ‘Secret’ upon open scroll Placed there eons of time ago and with great care? Does the cosmos make puzzles for us out of spite? When we finally rectify them, are we right If we make of these writings a gospel affair? There’s potential for folks to give up their control.
No one else needs to know what I’ve learned of today. Not unless they are with me and singing my song. I have no urge to preach to a choir who hears Only that which they should notwithstanding weak ears. When I keep the tongue tempered I cannot go wrong. I speak only when there is something I must say.
It is not necessary for one other soul To go hog wild and nilly to learn all about Natural Laws of the Universe as I observe Them in action among all the motives I serve. I am the attractor of my life, no doubt. No one else needs to know this stuff to make them whole.
When I acknowledge things, I feel so very good. It’s a fact that, when taken for granted, I may On occasion make cursing and swearing my work. And it makes not a difference should I wear a smirk. I must be strictly mindful of where my thoughts play. I must quit my downsizing things – that is, I should.
To appreciate things is the secret to life And I’ve heard this said many times over the years. Since I’ve heard it enough times do I live by rote? There’s no way for my living to cause me to gloat. I’d appreciate all things to banish all fears And live happily ever and immune to strife.
I become the whole person who appreciates. Over time I do thrive and my spirit is free To appreciate good things I notice each day. I fulfill every reason to be swept away In my own way of being a creature of glee. All the good things of living, my heart celebrates.
Some men love to spank Hanky when Panky is steeped In some other dank business that’s not of their own. Seems all warnings of blindness one never will heed. He will keep on performing his most selfish deed. He will wrestle that monkey until it’s full grown Then he’ll yank it some more until it has bo-peeped.
I would think it sound nature to find full relief In whatever which way one must do what is done. No one has any right to climb anyone’s tree. One could train a good squirrel, though, to do it for fee. So whatever will put your hotdog in the bun. Do it wildly and proudly, and don’t make it brief.
One would float a bad boat with a lead overcoat So it’s not recommended, but all else is cool. And whatever will make that drunk chicken stand straight Give the thing a tight fistful, for passion won’t wait. Don’t get caught with your pants down. You’ll look like a fool. What can surf through one’s channels is done by remote.
Is it daytime or nighttime? It’s not that I care. I could glance at the corner to know which it is. By not caring, I’m knowing that I’m on my game. I can write through the night knowing from whence it came. And its source will not let my mind turn into fizz. I am constantly working. To me that seems fair.
All this work that I do… Who and what is it for? Did I fall through a crack in the cosmos somehow? Who on earth gives me license to do what I do? There are others who do this… perhaps better too. My authority comes from the ones who allow Every being alive to achieve what is more.
Not a timeclock is present here in my workspace. I’m kept track of by bosses not seen with my eyes. They know well when I’m working. It’s all of the time. Even while I’m unconscious I’m driven by rhyme. All I know about time is it seems that it flies As I’m doing what’s best for me at my own pace.
Is there cause to cause mayhem though it may be June? I should consult the Wiki folk. Maybe they know. If I did a quick Google search perhaps I’d find All the months when there’s hem so that I’ll stay behind When those ripe for mayheming are willing to throw All their sense toward the seizure by light of the moon.
It makes sense that mayheming be done during May Just as long as the heming is kept up to par. If they outlawed June heming by April next year Then would late April heming produce lesser fear? Heming is much like J-walking. Some people are Good at crafting slick short cuts to get through their day.
I’m for heming in May – not in June or July Because warm months are those good for frolic and play. I may mayhem in September as it cools down Then partake of Oktoberfest while I’m in town. Seems there’s no other month for mayheming but May Though it’s outlawed in all months where Now does apply.
I can find satisfaction within a small space That is cordoned off mindfully upon this Now. There’s no need to search hither, nor thither nor yon. I can find something blissful to happen upon Within any life circumstance. I can allow Satisfaction to happen perhaps any place.
One could say that such mind trick would not work in hell. That might surely be true if indeed one were there. One could cry out in torment and billowing pain Then remember he’ll never flash flood due to rain. When I focus on good stuff, life’s not such a bear. As I look for some novel things, I do quite well.
I can think of dear Abigail with her cold nose And the fun ditsy dancing she does in the rain. This – alone – makes my heart warm and fills me with joy. I am not sentimental. I’m not being coy. Simple logic dictates that there’s always some gain In detecting my clues as the Evidence shows.
We all want to be healthy. I know I sure do. That is why I eat only things I can digest. Knowing that is not always the case, as I’ve found, Sometimes I may consume what’s been cast to the ground. What I swallow in error may keep me depressed If I fail to eliminate all that’s untrue.
There’s a lot that is not healthy all around us. I will pay some attention with caution in place. With a mind like a trap, though, what I focus on Can resent being caught and in no time be gone. Though my health and my mind are tools I do embrace, Staying healthy seems mundane – a chore to discuss.
I’ve an inkling for doing what wants to be done. I’m my healthiest when I’m creating for fun. I am earthy, so dogs in the back yard are cool. Whether student or Prof. I find solace at school. I am grateful I’ve no urge to tell anyone That no work can get finished unless it’s begun.
Get the Hell out my face! You say Hitler went where? I can’t take for a second what you say as true. That dark ne’er-do-well bastard killed millions without Any sense of remorse and much terror to tout. When it comes to such scumbags I take grim view. He should suffer in Hades for all that I care.
One can rest assured Karma somehow is at work. That is if one believes in such things in some way. Some believe that all deeds when performed while alive Are deleted from consciousness like a hard drive. As we step into spirit no discord can stay As a part of our being. Thus, death’s a huge perk.
Those who know we attract what we most think about Know that feeling repulsion or righteous disgust Is a thing that comes naturally to mankind. What can trip one and get one caught up in a bind Is not knowing above all to willingly trust That a God who is loving can heal any doubt.
This one big simple question out-questions them all – Is it good that there’s contrast, or should there be none? We discern with our vision what’s dark from what’s light. We compare subtle textures to see which feels right. If we didn’t have bad times, we couldn’t have fun. We perceive life by comparing big things and small.
There’s no struggle nor effort involved in the flight. When the prize is in reach I locate it with ease. My vibration is in tune with what can’t be seen. It consumes what I’m after. My senses are keen. If it weren’t for what’s not there, I’d flail in the breeze. I must know what from whatnot to get through the night.
The big question is, Can I survive knowing that Everything that I’m living depends on how well I can tell what I’m wanting from what I do not? I perceive life by contrast. This matters a lot. I can navigate life like a bat out of hell. There’s no blindness about me, nor will to combat.
I’m your Fork Out of Dodge – a proverbial guy. I’m dramatic and forceful when it’s time to go. Any fork undercover is grateful to be Among those expelled first from Dodge most rightfully. It’s the city most thought of when getting to know The sensation of terror. The question is, Why?
Stuff can happen in any town. Why pick out one To become the example of bad scenes to leave? And since when does one’s safety depend on the fork? People fork off in Kansas as well as New York! Yet these questions are moot. I’d do best to conceive My own clear understanding. It’s better than none.
I’m a Fork on the run and I haven’t got time To be hanging around when the fan is turned on. If you haven’t a fork who is stranded in Dodge Then relax and partake of yourself a massage. I will fly by the night. I will not wait ‘til dawn. I am destined to grow toward a new paradigm.
When the TV is turned on it has a nice sound And a quality image through cable or air. It may think that it knows not from whence it evolved. It may ponder deep questions that will not be solved. It may think that no signal would cause it despair. But that’s NOT how the thing works. It’s not reason bound.
If you killed the TV… with a sledgehammer, say… It would still get a clear signal from the One Mind. But it wouldn’t receive on this physical plane. It would not even function in this strict domain. Yet the signal that lived through it is left behind. The One Mind that’s transmitting has not gone away.
I’m aware that I’m conscious. My brain lets me know Through perception. My senses tell me what is real. I don’t think my receiver receives on its own. Something Must Be Transmitting that’s yet to be shown. When my brain turns to dust, the One Mind will reveal All its secrets as I leave my hardware below.
What’s the point in my living? I will die someday. That’s a fact that I’m good with, but while I’m alive Do I have any guidance toward what is my goal? Does the soldier-like cell by itself have a soul? It seems now that I’m living, I’m doomed to survive. Did some Masterful Being design it this way?
Toward what end is my being? Should I be the best And the fastest among others who are like me? If the cell is a soul – one who likes to play sports And who fancies competitive games of all sorts Then the cell has allowed me to physically be. Should I feel like I’m special? Should I be impressed?
Mother Nature’s Machine is subconscious intent Of all life that’s now living and all gone before. It’s a psychokinesis done on a large scale. It has gained much momentum so it will prevail. My sole purpose for being here is to add more To the whole of creation. That’s how it was meant.
It’s an ogre, this thing that we call the unknown. When we try to define it, we go on a chase Down through black holes and rabbit holes in hot pursuit Of a unified theory no one can dispute. One can say that the universe is a fine place To consume worlds of wisdom that all may be shown.
One can think of a world that consists of pure thought Where the objects are thoughtforms… ideals and the like. It is populated by intent and belief. With no issue of substance, one lives without grief. One would not think of hiking or riding a bike. One could run away thinking and never get caught.
It would seem a mysterious world has been found. There is only a small bit of matter to see Of this vast spatial fluid we travel within. There’s a lot more that’s unseen. This is a big win. Could it be that dark matter and dark energy Are the spirit world? That would be rather profound!
Nature is to me natural. Why call it wild? I consume what I need just as all living things. That’s except for you humans who’ve covered the land And take more than you need by increasing demand And where most live like paupers and few live like kings. That which I would call wild is the race who’s defiled.
Never mind your grand wars and your carbon footprint. One can witness your savagery in many ways. And it’s not that I fear you’ll take over the sea. You’re too focused, dear humans, in finding some key To ‘unlocking’ what’s natural throughout your days While ignoring what could be your most favored hint.
I’m not wild, silly humans. I live in sweet bliss Under currents that take me where I need to go. Every once in a while, I come up for fresh air. I would say to you humans that I’m more aware Of what’s wild and not wild. You could venture to know. Get your thinking in order. Your terms are amiss.
Bright First Quarter Red Moon means it’s three months past June But the night isn’t scary one fourth of the way. It is one Fourth because that is all we can see. It’s the First by Cartesian count, some would agree. It is Red as earth’s mad shadow upon it lay. It’s the night of the goon versus that of the coon.
As the Red Ass gets fuller, let’s say to one half Is there anything possible that can be done To not notice what all goes on up in that sky And to not give a rat’s ass for not caring why? I can keep the mind sharp… the heart focused on fun. That quart butt in the sky is by now just a laugh.
I am not an astronomer. I just look up, Something natural to most when there’s sky to behold. I must know what I’m seeing by way of moon light Could be just an illusion. That seems about right. It is fascinating watching this moon grow old. My advice for it is, “Suck it up, buttercup!”
Not a thing that can happen can happen unless I believe it can happen in any small way. Of the things that can’t happen, there’s no way to know Because, by disbelieving, it can’t steal my show. Nether things not imagined deflect from my day. I believe in my God Given right to express.
The words ‘screed’ and ‘misprision’ I heard of today. They don’t sound quite like curse words, but I could be wrong. These are words of a high order, not often used. In the context of government, often bemused, There’s a deep need and hunger for getting along… To get what’s not believable out of the way.
I believe what can happen and can’t are the same. There’s no way that the cosmos will up and take sides. And the cosmos is not playing games with us all. It responds to all living things, big ones and small. My believing in something by default divides Me from others who don’t in this consciousness game.
There’s a thin veil that separates heaven from earth But we talk about ‘place’ as if it’s absolute. The great world of the spirit is no place at all. It would seem quite impossible for one to call From one side to the other. That’s forbidden fruit. One’s belief is the only connection of worth.
Just in case it’s the only connection one sees It is all that one needs. Often faith it is called. I can speak to aunt Martha who passed years ago And who now offers fully what she’s come to know. One good thing about faith is it keeps one enthralled With sublime possibilities pondered to please.
One can build a contraption to link the two sides In a manner consistent with physical law. But our clever devices are left in the dust By the spirits who made them. We’ll just have to trust That our knowing what’s ‘over there’ could drop one’s jaw. We contact them by default as they are our guides.