Tag Archive | afterlife

Advanced Placement Afterlife

Impressions of Life and Afterlife

The ‘Accelerated’ they were called way back when.
I was but a mere idiot due to my grades.
I was coerced to worship them. Damn them today
And the teachers who fucked with my mind in that way!
From the callously perverse school system cascades
Condescension toward those ‘less than’ time and again.

Something happened to me my last year of high school.
It’s a loose-fitting fragment that moves while in place
As a traumatic episode. Mister Feeney
Chose to instruct the whole class to make fun of me.
My life changed in an instant. I left in disgrace
Both from school and from home to escape ridicule.

Sometimes I can’t remember that. Others, I do.
When it happens, contempt for all pumps through my veins.
I did manage to graduate with no time lost
But not from that same Catholic school. I had crossed
Their red line of defiance. The nightmare remains
One of psychic incontinence. It’s sad but true.

 During my brief hiatus, my sick teenaged mind
Felt enough guilt that it thought that it could assume
Quite another identity… go back to school.
Since I had advanced knowledge, I’d have to be cool.
Thanks to God and the angels, I was plucked from doom.
But I must prove I’m not stupid to humankind.

This is not about pity. It’s coming to light
Of the full realization that I am of worth
To myself and the whole world, as all people are.
I persist in the myth of the mind superstar,
Using it as a weapon, also to unearth
What my soul needs to express. It seems only right.

So, how bad a residual can this become?
I’m hellbent on displaying this cursed intellect
In its absolute brilliance. Do others seem bright?
Most would pale in comparison next to my light.
On your grave, Mister Feeney, I’ll give due respect.
I shall defecate gleefully, you rotten scum!

If you know me, do not make the stupid mistake
Of thinking that I’m stupid. I’ll Lay You To Waste!
Just because it’s been twisted, my mind can do harm.
It also Commands English with masterful charm.
Don’t you dare look down on me, or you will be faced
With the wrath of an intellect none can forsake.

Pluperfect Precognizance

To suggest writing being channeled to earth from spirit

I continue to write even since I am gone
From the earth plane. Explaining this I can well do.
All of time is eternal. I write from a place
That knows nothing of substance nor wanting for grace.
That this world is both here and there is more than true.
I will do my best writing where it’s always dawn.

And it ain’t always dawn here on this wretched earth
With its lethal life lessons and lead-laden laws.
Here is my remote office. There is where I live.
While I’m out on assignment, my best I do give.
All the work I am given is of the First Cause.
I compose in contentment until my rebirth.

As the soul disengages from this earthly plane
And I yield to due process, my words dissipate,
Like the flesh I have borrowed and things I have done,
Back into the whole clockwork where all had begun.
Nothing said is immortal. Should this be my fate,
Life becomes an enigma. There’s nothing to gain.

How do I reconcile this? Or is there the need
To make meaning from meaning? My recycling will,
For the most part, eliminate work that is bad
In the viewpoint of others. Had I a comrade
In consumption, perhaps that does improve my skill.
Counterparts in eternity do intercede.

After Death

TheMagicRealist.com

After Death, what becomes of me? Am I still here
To grab hold of another life without a break?
Or do I become nothingness, absent of thought?
No one living knows really, yet so much is taught
Of the nature awaiting all. It’s my mistake
If I claim to be certain my knowing is clear.

Each of us is a pamphlet of many pages.
It’s a system of thought one may cater to heart.
Each page is of a different self. Some are more dense
Than the others. The purest self needs no defense
Due to its lack of seeming a viable part
Of our being and doing and earning wages.

Every page will disintegrate except the one
Least attached to identity with time and place.
That page is the pure spirit – the long narrative
Of existence eternal. What more can I give
To improve the condition of my human race?
I can speak of my own journey ever begun.

“Disturbing… NOT Surprising”

TheMagicRealist.com

Should I leap from a pot into obvious flame
Just so talking head news folk and brilliant experts
Will stop sating the obvious with sarcasm?
And they don’t seem to have much enthusiasm.
Disturbing is surprising, as long as it hurts.
Have ‘disturbing’ and ‘boring’ become quite the same?

What a fine thing to get paid to sit on your rumps
Before cameras and people to fart from the face
Your opinions on tragedy and status quo.
Spell that shit to your family. They ought to know.
All the hellish news is worth some verbal disgrace
But if it’s not surprising, how still the heart pumps!

People dying in plane crashes all due to greed…
How severely we’re sodomized all from within…
These are mere talking tidbits ‘til more breaking news.
Can’t we clean up our language so it won’t abuse
And lull into complacency our will to sin?
When the water gets too hot, then will come the need.

Past And Future Lives Of Children

TheMagicRealist.com

Sometimes children will speak of a life lived before
They became part of this life. It gives people pause.
They’ll recall how they died and what killed them and such.
Some become quite insistent and we don’t pay much
Of attention to their stories mostly because
We think that they are made up of folly and more.

We don’t have to believe them and neither do they.
Whether true or not makes not a big difference.
Nature’s veil is designed to cocoon us from all
But the present and this life. Our focus is small.
If we recalled our past lives, turmoil would commence.
The torrent of confusion would cause great dismay.

It’s a good thing that children forget who they were
Before they became who they are now. So, in time,
Memories of the lives lived before dissipate.
We then focus on this life and what we create
So that getting through this life won’t be a hard climb.
We succumb to the circumstance that we incur.

Powerless

TheMagicRealist.com

Some cheap-suited-assed bank pawn behind a small desk
Who is one third my age has the nerve to treat me
Like the club I belong to is not worth the time.
Thanks for giving me something to process. Since I’m
To be rendered nonthreatening, then I can be
Free to curse you in ways that are truely grotesque.

One would think that your mamma knows well how you work
Like an indentured maggot. That makes her a fly
With no sense of a conscience for what it has laid.
The dried snot up your nose gives away the charade.
You are more worthless than this verse, yet I will try
To get through to the meaning and not to the jerk.

So, I’m made to feel powerless. Ain’t life a bitch!
I cannot slap the piss from your arrogant face.
Nor can I disrespect you in any damned way.
Pray that our paths don’t co-mingle on your off day.
The McJob you think highly of is a disgrace.
Your engaging their power will not make you rich.

Good JuJu

TheMagicRealist.com

When one speaks of Good JuJu, what could that imply?
Probably it was hijacked and sold as a slave.
But, at present, it means magic of the best kind.
Esoteric immersion can be self-defined.
To receive information from folks past the grave
Is a most common practice. Deception is why.

In the dense, fleshy body, one can conceal truth.
One can hide behind masks that the ego has made.
People don’t ordinarily read others’ minds,
So we tend to get tricky with games of all kinds.
We can even be driven to drink The Kook-Aid
And bring heartfelt resentment to the polling booth.

There is lots of Good JuJu, the best antidote
To the sickening mojo that would have its way
Were it not for the talents of some gifted few
Who, with enhanced discernment, and keen insight too,
Help to sort out the truth from untruth day by day.
Simple freedom from fantasy they do promote.

No One Is Gone

TheMagicRealist.com

I could look at it this way… I’m not here at all.
I exist in a non-place, so ‘here’ cannot be.
From that non-ness of space-time within the non-place
Every soul that wants wisdom will gladly embrace
Any opportune chance to emerge physically
To live life on a blue-green, immaculate ball.

I existed, then, long before I became flesh.
Every thing that exists comes from that which does not.
What defines the eternal is infinite speed
In a world I deem finite. I harbor the need
To converge the two worlds and give all that I’ve got
Then return to the not-world, that I may refresh.

I existed forever, but right now, I me
In a physical casing subjected to laws.
The earth body is finite. It will turn to dust.
It obeys that law faithfully. Indeed, it must.
But the life force that is me considers what was
Then moves on to meet others whomever they be.

Customer Service

TheMagicRealist.com

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.

Interlaced Video

TheMagicRealist.com

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.

The Black Widow Is Benign in Spirit

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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.

Earth Trek

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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.

Imagining The Imaginary

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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!

That’s Not Allowed Here

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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.

The Human Xenome

TheMagicRealist.com

Stop a bit for a rest here. There’s room for just you
And perhaps a few others whose asses fit well
In a seat that is child-wide with arm rests that slant
So that those who would think of reclining can’t.
Will our public park presence continue to smell?
Does the rest of the park think that we are a zoo?

On the other hand, who cares how others may feel?
We do things our own way. Our forefathers said so.
If confederate monuments obstruct the view
Of our moving past hatred, could this be a clue
They should stay there until all who love them will go
To the next life where no one here will hear them squeal?

As we take our last breath in this walk-around dream
We will care least for trinkets of causes and wars.
We will see that our broke bodies and our weak minds
Are of volatile matter wherein no one finds
Any spiritual solace. My witness is yours.
This fine park we partake of is temporal in theme.

We Are All Being Played

TheMagicRealist.com

This matrix, indeed, is a video game,
And we are all players who are ourselves played.
Every particle known within parts that are mixed
Leaves most men in a state where their minds are transfixed
On the question. That’s why our success is delayed.
Our perceiving and knowing are one and the same.

What is outside this game, then, if all this is true?
Does some One entity have control of us all?
I believe that all consciousness is a great sea
And within it all, there becomes you – also me.
Consciousness will transform when it answers that call
But it can’t be undone or created on cue.

So, this Great Sea of Being – the souls of us all
Who have cycled life’s circuitry throughout its build,
Are in consort to see that we play our game well.
When we listen, we’re open to what they will tell
Of the bliss that can happen when life is fulfilled.
They don’t play us against us. That would be our call.

Algorrhythmia

TheMagicRealist.com

How long do I keep up this foolish façade
Of believing I’m worth what was offered to me?
I took a big gamble thus ruining my life
In pretending I’m healthy enough for a wife.
I continue to screw up as people can see.
Thought I’d followed the program, but things turned out odd.

How does fate keep the terrorist from finding me?
There are those who are worth more. Had they had the chance
To grow old with their loved ones as worthy folks may
I’d be that much closer to my judgment day.
Life’s puzzle has proved such a strange circumstance.
There’s a reason for ISIS that I clearly see.

That I blither my ass off, can anyone know?
I can piss in pitch darkness and other things well.
If my stream should strike something at least I would know
That there is something out there. That might help me grow.
I did want isolation while burning in hell.
I’ll admit I’m a fuck-up. That’s not a hard blow.

Not another frog’s out there. No one knows I croak.
I was let loose to blunder my way through my days.
Easily I hurt others on my reckless path.
What procedure could probe at the heart of my wrath?
It’s one tough black sheep syndrome. I’ll get through this maze.
I’m one well-tempered asshole. It seems that’s no joke.

How Wonderful I Am

TheMagicRealist.com

We are wanting so much to awaken in you
Your memory of how beloved you are.
You are pure love and wonderful in every way.
We kick back and adore every song that you play.
Sing away, precious angel. You are a rock star.
It’s a pleasure to Be You. Your pleasure is true.

We just can’t sing enough about how good you are.
Not a thing you could do would deter us from Love…
Not a bow-legged stumble down life’s clumsy path…
Not a judgment in error through life’s aftermath.
By our measure, you shine like the stars up above.
It’s our promise that that what you seek isn’t far.

Do take care, fleshed ones. There is nothing to fear.
The whole universe backs you in whichever way
You decide is appropriate. Who then are ‘we’?
We are those who are dead now, yet ever to be.
We’ve discarded our clutter, so we’ve much to say.
And when you choose to hear us, or joy is sincere.

Reintarnation

TheMagicRealist.com

Does this count as a life? I don’t care either way
But only in the terms of the marrow and bone.
There’s too much going on; there is thickening air.
If the purpose of life is to love and to share,
Have I done much of either? I quest on my own
To unravel life’s mystery day after day.

This good life I am given may be near its end.
What sensation of taste does it leave in the heart?
I don’t care that I’m going; it bothers me not.
It is where that I’m going that soothes me a lot.
I just hope I don’t have to come back and then start
A whole brand new exposure to re-comprehend.

This damned world is a trip. Any creature would say.
And it ain’t like I’m troubled or deeply depressed.
I’ve just seen enough traffic on these busy streets.
I behold mass congestion’s miraculous feats
And I come to concluding that I should invest
In a starship where I would just then warp away.

Backfire

TheMagicRealist.com

When a Fire gets going, what’s there to be done?
The first thing might be: Get the Hell out of Dodge.
But a fire can move at the speed of a thought.
It’s ignited by anyone feeling distraught.
One could end up a guest in some rogue fuselage!
Does it make any sense, then, to call 911?

One may speak of the first bomb – that bursting in air,
And the horror it rained by the dawn’s early light.
Some powerful whoop ass did cause earth to cower.
Who’d have thought that mankind could have wielded such power?
The big war was won, yet things just don’t seem right.
We now spew whoop ass worthiness instead of prayer.

The fire that burns from the will of the heart
Is the same in the atom that makes of the flesh
A carnal aroma – cooked meat in the air,
And mass devastation and death everywhere,
As memory filters through smoke laden mesh,
And consciousness struggles to make a new start.

We do call ourselves righteous and let others know
That we don’t take a beating then run away pissed.
We have enough nukes we could blow up the moon!
If and when all world leaders will reach that point soon,
There’s potential for Fireworks… Hard to resist.
And the earth will survive us, as once long ago.

Vetting Spree

TheMagicRealist.com

Hasn’t anyone heard of a Vetting Spree?
Aren’t you bored with just shopping and watching TV?
A few troubled nations are helping us some.
What’s the matter with others?  Our best blessings come
When we’re aiding our fellows cast out like debris.
A great moat has evolved of the vast, raging sea.

We’d applaud the world media drowning you all
With our plight, had we free hands and some air to spare.
Perhaps no one knows what a drowning is like
But the will to survive, unlike riding a bike,
Will consume the soul wholly.  Does anyone care?
It is much like a lynching designed to enthrall.

I am better than seaweed and now it’s just me.
My family and friends have all drifted beyond.
Lungs are salt water packages shipped Next Day Air
From a world left behind in a pit of despair
To another one where no one needs to respond.
I’m worth vetting, then letting my humbled self be.

The Point Not Taken

TheMagicRealist.com

Two separate beings converged into one,
I stand astonished.  Which choice is clear to me?
My one self sees that its life someday is done.
My broader self knows that all has just begun.
I’m a soul in a briefcase hand carried most casually.

Though born to wonder… to share what I feel,
Sometimes I wander; I’m lost along the way.
To know what is not just as well as what is real
Is to know that one may have something to reveal.
But to share it, indeed, I’ll put off for another day.

I know by now that I’ve been here before
At this same juncture.  The sign before my face
Now reads rather oddly as life does at its core.
The next time around, will I even up the score?
The true self knows every journey is one of grace.

Wellbeing knows all who travel aground.
The signs are plenty and placed along each way.
If I just yield, then my bounty will abound.
I’ll know my worth, and I’ll speak without a sound.
Perhaps then some may hear what I have to say.

Homegoing

TheMagicRelist.com

We don’t call them funerals and haven’t since when…
Our departed are happy as we should all be.
Life’s a woe upon blessing and grace mixed with pain.
Their time dwelt among us… Our loss is God’s gain.
We believe that all people will someday be free
When we dwell in the home of Our Father again.

We are ‘home’ on this earth for a brief little while.
We are made of the earth as the gingerbread shack
In a made believe land where sharp contrast abounds
With the purest of music and God awful sounds.
We have faith in our Lord and know He has our back.
When we leave this dear earth we will do it in style.

The service is much for us, and that we know.
When we cheer our freed loved ones whom now have moved on
We moan and we wail from the pit of our hearts.
There’s no stammering, stuttering, stares or false starts.
Living deep in our souls it still seems that they’re gone.
Our tradition has changed little since long ago.

Engaging the Bang

Engaging the Bang

It’s a bang up job Someone’s doing out there
And quite Big, one might add just because it is so.
So who am I, then, to get bent out of shape
Over little stuff making me act like an ape?
But, perhaps I am one. That is something to know.
That’s because evolution’s a bit of a scare.

The Bang is the thing that becomes all of now
So long ago all that remains is a glow.
But it’s not an explosion occurred in one space.
Everywhere, all at once, became time within place!
The stream of creation continues to flow.
The quest without quibble’s to figure just how.

But, I’m not Dr. Tyson. I’m just an old man
Whose parallel path didn’t reach the same goal.
Accomplishments scarce, I have no one to blame.
In the years that remain, I reflect just the same.
There’s a dampening voice in the pit of my soul.
To go out with a bang is not what is at hand.

Farewell, Judge Soprano

TheMagicRealist.com

A justice departed, seems moments ago
What with all that can happen within a short time.
I am someone whom you would have treated unfair.
Your body not cold, yet debate’s in the air.
Your replacement’s the issue; so is it a crime
That a nigger selects one amid present woe?

I am sure that by now you don’t care what goes on
With the sculpture you’ve carved of this thing called the law.
There’s a thing about justice one must understand:
There is office for everyone – even the klan
In a nation so free that it sticks its own craw.
I will learn to look past you before I am gone.

My disgust, now, is only with mankind – not you
I disliked you, dear justice, but now that you’re gone
As politics scavenges fruits of your passing
And as arguments for and against are amassing
The prayer is the hope that we dare to move on.
Released from this world, now, you have broader view.