Tag Archive | food for thought

I Started Some Shit

TheMagicRealist.com

…I started some shit which started the whole word eating.
But I did not see that the shit was on me.
So I started to eat which started the whole world puking.
Oh, if I’d only seen that the shit was on me.

I learned how to puke, like a damned kook, and got rebuke,
So I messed with their minds and their behinds with things of all kinds
Till I finally shit which started the whole world eating.
Oh if I’d only seen that the shit was on me…

It’s A Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Some who don’t live a fine life may just want to quit
All because our comparisons to other folk
Are blown out of perspective. No life can compare
With another life. This only leads to despair.
The solution to pain is not going for broke
On the hope freedom comes from the act I commit.

A black hole with a force field becomes of my chest
As I strum the vibration of all that goes wrong
In my waking life. There is a way I can see
That if I would stop strumming, clearer I would be
At discerning the ways in which all do belong
To a purpose much larger wherein all are blessed.

It’s A Life – nothing special – a small grain of sand
On a beach of such vastness. I am not alone
Nor do I need forget that all grains are the same.
I respond to life’s tides and have no one to blame
If I feel disconnected and left on my own.
I am fortunate in having learned this first hand.

Is America White Again?

TheMagicRealist.com

Are we having fun yet? Has the whitewash begun?
I’m prepared for some drama. So, how about you?
It has been nearly two years since, by Putin’s hand,
We’ve a leader forced on us who sleeps with the klan
In a way that most people see all the way through.
We take blood with our soil. Our work is never done.

Have you fulfilled your promise? Have we become white?
To give thanks for our fairness is irony squared.
Why you made it so far may be to fulfill fate.
We have updated programming written in hate.
Who would grin at the sight of our folks running scared
Through the streets of our nation? How are we to fight?

Some men are given credit for where we are now.
All they did was add salt to the wound that exists.
So, we must own our whiteness and work from within.
We alone can deal with our original sin.
Fully funded and fettered with handguns and fists,
Can we deal with our whiteness and evolve somehow?

Erythro-Cyanotic Convulsive Therapy

TheMagicRealist.com

What we show to our children, they’re poised to reject
On the basis that they do not want their minds blown.
We’ve a binary system of government still
That reflects not all backgrounds nor popular will.
Current live through the nation is to the world known.
It erupts into madness. What can we expect?

We are AC’s and DC’s, the reds and the blues.
Our reps pair off like chromosomes as they perform
Their tough work notwithstanding the issues involved
That lay gathering dust and are not to be solved.
To relax in convulsion has become the norm.
In the ways we are jolted, we may change our views.

We should maintain the circuitry. Current through us
Can be managed and measured as cycles repeat.
When we’re shocked to our senses, will there be a pause
In our faulty behavior? Will we change our laws?
Our components, conventional, are then discrete.
Things can be quite as simple as minus and plus.

No Warm Flesh Allowed

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s no warm flesh allowed here unless it’s our own.
Pass the hate and the threat sauce, then let us give thanks.
Christmas means that Thanksgiving was one month before.
Somewhere in there, Black Friday we cannot ignore.
Those who dare to be thankful are those who run banks.
The palette of protection is way overblown.

Those who don’t have an appetite eat to their fill
Of apparent abundance by virtue and fate.
Those who do want a warm meal are welcomed in homes
That are not so beleaguered by fearful syndromes.
Are our best and worst attributes truly innate?
We need not be so thankful that pain is a thrill.

Flesh must be served with metal. Our troops must be there
At the border to wait for what seems but a few.
I know you can be thankful, though not with your own.
We are all right there with you. I hope this is shown
In a way that brings warmth and compassion to you.
God bless all the world’s people. Is this a good prayer?

Geo-Revalescence

TheMagicRealist.com

Mother Earth goes through changes… we humans as well.
She plays chess on her surface, and we are her pawns
As well as other pieces, like knights, rooks and kings.
As she wins, we recover and take care of things.
It would be without purpose to weigh pros and cons.
We are at the earth’s mercy and under her spell.

So, whatever we give to her, she will give back
In a way most appropriate. We can assist
Her in making things better through technology
And through globalized vision in democracy.
By the same token, we can do much to resist
Providential engagement and focus on lack.

Earth and life are both miracles. We are offspring
Of the strong worldly signal between the earth’s poles.
We can vibrate well with her or knock ourselves out
Of alignment with nature and live in much doubt
That this place is a paradise meant for our souls.
Earth will do well despite us as we do our thing.

Your Darned Tooting!

TheMagicRealist.com

If you think your darned tooting is something to be
An endorsement from me for your trying to play
That damned trumpet, you’re not only totally wrong,
You should give up the effort and take up ping-pong.
I can’t listen to you make that racket all day.
I have run out of earplugs most distressingly.

Your darned tooting your face off is stressing me out
And my ears have turned vicious defending their space.
They demand that my index fingers take a role
In preventing their suffering. They want control
Of what they are presented with. They can’t embrace
Your most discordant whaling. It sears them with doubt.

If you love your darned tooting, then toot as you may
Even though dead composers will puke in their graves.
Mom may find you have talent after quite some time.
As you learn about earth life, exposure is prime.
We are blessed in our seeing how all life behaves.
Keep up well with your lessons, but don’t make my day.

Don’t Ask This Question

TheMagicRealist.com

Both the mystic and mentor of physics exist
To find answers to questions we all come to ask.
Who we are, where we come from, and where we will go
Are among things that many endeavor to know.
Yet, we all have this knowledge. Indeed, we can bask
In rich inner experience that’s often missed.

The nature of my own experience is such
That I can’t find an answer from outside of me.
I can ask who you are, and that may make some sense,
But if I ask you who I am, that means I’m dense.
If I don’t know who I am, most shrinks would agree.
That’s why many consult them and pay them so much.

Very little pain ever comes from the outside.
Most of it is self-help, and consumption is high.
I alone am the path to the person I seek.
Each of us is a service of knowledge unique.
I’m a creature who ponders and keeps asking why
On earth would in someone else I’d care to confide.

Ascension Flu

TheMagicRealist.com

So much talk of Ascension – no mention of flu
When that’s all that’s been happening. God, am I sick!
I feel like the damned cosmos has taken a piss
On my sense of wellbeing. I don’t deserve this.
Getting through this Ascension is no easy trick.
To act somewhat enlightened is all I can do.

Some hot tea with some lemon and honey displace
Other methods of seeking alignment these days.
I have given my yoga mat some time to rest
So my chakra points will not be put through the test.
Kundalini is one thing I don’t want to raise.
Swollen sinuses have hijacked my inner space.

Have you heard of Ascension Flu? That’s what I’ve got.
Too much time spent ascending above the hard earth
Can result in the earth taking me to the side
To say, “You were born here, so by me you abide.”
Leave it to mother nature to mess with my mirth.
I’m all up for Ascension, but today I’m fraught.

Preexisting Condition

TheMagicRealist.com

Long before preexisting, butt fisting began
But instead of butt fists, folks who lead use their heads.
With the head up the rectum, the vision is dark.
The well-seasoned optometrists, proud to remark
That to preexist presently is how love spreads,
Can make of our fine health care a much better plan.

For the cephalic buttock, there is no support
But from butt-minded followers. They are the base,
Not that others are acids or potent mushrooms.
If things do appear alkaline, science assumes
That I should not be covered, except for my face.
If I smell what I’m seeing, I sell myself short.

For conditions beforehand to be well insured
We must have enough sense to wish everyone well.
Wellness can be contagious if we’re of right mind
And of simple compassion for all humankind.
To support the alignment of each living cell
Is to welcome the mindset that all can be cured.

An Elfen Plea

TheMagicRealist.com

All we do is make cookies. So, what is the deal?
We’ve been told through a tweet that our funds have been cut.
We’re not sure who’s behind this nor why it was done.
When we’re not hard at work all we do is have fun.
We’ve heard tell of a white house and some rabid nut.
We are creatures of peace. Are you people for real?

Some strange things have been going on these past few days.
Where do we get our news from? We don’t watch TV.
Carried on magic air waves, aroma is how
We support nature’s mission and stay in the now.
Who the Hell fucks with elves? That we can clearly see.
Potent anger can seep out in myriad ways.

We elves can prove our innocence. We can’t do wrong.
That’s because we are real only in the context
That is deemed to be righteous and willingly kind.
We are forever safe from one who’s lost his mind.
Who will get the next tweet when your white house is vexed?
If you’d just eat some cookies, you’d all get along.

Thorn Of Creation

TheMagicRealist.com

Pinnacle of Creation…? Are we the earth’s crown?
Seems I’ve heard that somewhere in my arrogant past.
We are made up of stardust. Although that is true,
We appear problematic from a cosmic view.
Climate change is no hoax. I can see that at last.
If we don’t find consensus, our world may burn down.

We are created equal. Does that mean we are
At the top of the life chain by virtue of wit?
There’s no chain in life’s balance. Its will to consume
Is its own sense of freedom to allocate doom
Quite at random. To nature we’ll learn to submit.
If we don’t, she may tell us to go fuck a star.

We’re the Thorn of Creation, at this point in time
And within the eternal. We ain’t about shit
Both in good ways and shallow ways in normal space.
We cry out to the cosmos. Bravo for our race!
We have rampant dominion. We can’t be unfit
Lest we’re given the pink slip for negligent crime.

Things Delightful

TheMagicRealist.com

I do find you delightful and rightfully so
Even though I know you’re not something I could own
Like another fine plaything. You are flesh and blood
And although I’m not sexy, I think I’m a stud.
Could it be that the best things are best left alone?
If it’s true it is something I care not to know.

Things are made up of atoms. Delightful they are
For the concept of building blocks that we hold dear.
We delight in our concepts – the things of the mind.
We must know that without them we need not feel blind.
Things delightful can in a flash all disappear.
Starting over with nothing must be quite bizarre.

God bless all things delightful and people as well.
We are here for a short while. We’re made of this place.
The earth is not a plaything. Have we gone too far?
Has the wrath of the Ricans spilled our caviar?
Can we claim our survival as one human race
Before our self-undoing? It’s too hard to tell.

Fecally Shaped Blunt Objects

TheMagicRealist.com

They should be not in office – perhaps on display
Behind sealed tinted glass with a clear caution sign
That describes all the dangers of staring too long.
To partake of their mindset would make of me wrong
In terms of my own freedom and will to define
What is truthful and like the American way.

Parents do keep such objects away from their kids.
Since they do that by instinct, then they should take heed
Of the same spark of guidance and refrain as well
From the thought of things fecal concocting a spell.
What is felt from our leadership is nervous greed.
Who they care most about is behind their eyelids.

When bluntness and fecality go hand in hand
And the natives demand more than leaders allow,
It’s the sound of a bugle. There’s raising of flags.
Most would not leave their riches and return to rags.
Such things should not be played with. There is a way now
To remove things of danger that threaten our land.

Esoteric Asshology

TheMagicRealist.com

Why are some people assholes while others are fine?
One would have to look into the sky for some truth.
If the sign of the asshole had welcomed the sun
At the time that the life of the jerk had begun,
That’s a sure sign you’ll need a stiff shot of vermouth
If indeed you must deal with him by fate’s design.

A quick course in asshology may be of use
Since this sign is prolific among all there are.
Those born under the asshole outnumber the rest
Of all other signs totaled. This means we’re not blessed.
So assholes are more plentiful clearly by far.
They cannot be contained. That is why they run loose.

Esoteric in nature, what assholes know well
Is how to make life difficult for those they serve.
Their asshology should make them bright asshole stars.
Pseudoscience can benefit from their memoirs
Written in the third person to throw all a curve.
It does feel like the cosmos is under a spell.

Closet For Rent

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ve a closet for rent. This place is heaven sent
In a house in another house within a third.
It has plenty of space even though it looks small.
If you have many children, you can fit them all
In the hamper included, although not inferred.
You can’t thrive in the street or a government tent.

You can make of this closet a new way of life.
We who live here already you’ll have to excuse.
We are mean and perverse. We may make you our slaves.
Like the immature cowboy who oft’ misbehaves,
Family members who bicker excel at abuse
And at making sure renters do not forget strife.

Pick those dirty clothes up, even though they’re not yours.
Keep the room that encloses you tidy and neat.
That you might get your own room is such a sick thought.
Should you come to own my house I would be distraught.
Your improving your lives means our utter defeat.
That is why we’re all human and quite big on wars.

How Cool Is The Coulomb?

TheMagicRealist.com

It is I who is E who is M times C squared.
I don’t have to believe it. I feel that it’s so.
When a group of electrons reach a certain size
They are then called a Coulomb. Now that’s a fine prize!
It’s not like he’s their daddy who lived long ago.
Electrons have had freedom before humans cared.

But why quibble with detail? The question is this:
Can electrons do harm to the things they flow through
Or the pathways they travel at nearly light speed?
Only if they are frightened by force of ill deed.
Back and forth through the circuitry, each time is new
With a frequency so high they can’t reminisce.

History does repeat itself. Electrons flow
To and fro in the same ways they’ve done all along.
The Coulomb is preferred over one who’s not cool.
If one runs out of charge, one may drift like a fool.
There is great strength in numbers. The Coulomb is strong.
It can keep us in darkness or make the bulb glow.

On Not Eating The Foo

TheMagicRealist.com

Don’t be eating the foo! That stuff is bad for you.
If you want to stay healthy, just stick with the rice.
The foo may contain pork snout and ass of the gnat.
I don’t mess with the foo. You can understand that.
Either veggies or raw fish or fruit will suffice.
Staying clear of the foo is the right thing to do.

There are many a creature who do act the foo.
Other creatures consume them and all that they say.
If their acts become fishy, full blown is the need
To protect what was gained through deception and greed.
We may look for a hero to come save our way
Of believing and digesting all we can chew.

What is far worse is eating the foo, I believe.
If you’re not good with chopsticks, you will not do well.
We are clumsy already with just forks and knives.
That may well be a good thing – a check on our lives.
To avoid indigestion and feeling like hell,
Feed that foo to the big bowl, then joyfully grieve.

A Cold Day In Hell

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a cold, bitter day in this hell of a land,
Reminiscent of Hitchcock and horror by noon.
It’s a day to keep cover and stay tucked inside.
Has the weather transformed due to withering pride?
As the Shift becomes Planck Time, it seems there’s no ‘soon.’
How this cold came upon me I should understand.

Constitutional crisis? Another blood bath?
It’s a day unremarkable given the state
Of the battle-worn psyche. I know how to feel.
To digest the reality of a raw deal
Is to be fed by duty to rectify fate.
What came first is the demon – not the psychopath.

I can swear it’s a bad day for no one but me.
I could say it’s a good day. It’s all just the same
As if all days were stardust of minuscule mass.
‘Such a headache to ponder what may come to pass.
I have faith in my country and shiver in shame.
I am chilled to the decrement of each degree.

The Human Condition

TheMagicRealist.com

There is plenty of time now to take a zoom out
And a break from the human condition I’m in.
There is freedom to go out and breathe some fresh air.
Even though there is plenty, some don’t seem to care.
Man will act out in ways of Original Sin.
There is no will to reason and no time to doubt.

It’s The Human Condition, the one that feels fear
From the slightest involvement in life every day,
That again disappoints me, although that can’t be.
I create what I feel, as I judge what I see.
All that goes on around me is ego at play.
If I looked at it that way, would life become dear?

I know well my condition, at home on a speck
Within vastness unspeakable to the hard brain.
All of human accomplishment has to make sense.
True enlightenment maybe will someday commence.
Is there fear that the notion is taken in vain?
Some fresh air and some solitude keeps me in check.

The Privilege Of Sport

TheMagicRealist.com

‘Tis the night before midterms. Across all the land
People watch the contestants as they duke it out.
They deliver hard blows to each other’s intent.
We determine lethality with each event.
Many polls are available to foster doubt
And provide information most can’t understand.

There is talk of a blue wave amid the fanfare.
I have had my heart broken in this way before.
But I can’t live my life with no semblance of hope
That the world can be righted. I have but to cope
With the game as it plays out. I help my team score
With my ballot, along with some serious prayer.

This one’s not like the other ones. I said that too,
Twenty-four horrid months ago. It seems like years
That I’ve felt like a loser on a losing team,
Somewhat laughed at and messed with quite to the extreme.
There cannot be a reason to nurture my fears.
And our spectator sporting is not for the few.

It’s The Enemy, Stupid!

TheMagicRealist.com

It is not the economy or climate change,
Nor the busloads of niggers invading our land.
It is not about faith in the red, white and blue
Spouted off by a leader who has not a clue.
We create most our enemies by our own hand.
We may look in the mirror and not feel so strange.

Who comes here from some faraway land to kill folk?
There may be one or two, if statistics are fair.
It would seem we’re the problem – not people outside.
If we looked at this truthfully, we’d shed some pride.
We’ve become awfully tribal. Most people don’t care.
We are prey to our own as our hatred we stoke.

Take a look at the enemy not of brown skin
…The poor ones wanting freedom from their oppressed lands.
They don’t come here to kill us. We do have our own.
They are ruthlessly masterful, and they’re home grown.
If you speak with an accent no one understands,
Know that you’re not the enemy we keep within.

Ditsy Dog Dogma

TheMagicRealist.com

If you do own a Ditsy Dog or one owns you,
You have much to give, one to the other, by way
Of much love and attention to every detail
Of each moment where truth and excitement prevail.
Therapeutic is that which can get us to play.
That’s the Ditsy Dog Dogma. It can be mine too.

I would not call him frisky. At that he would balk.
Energy is a substance he draws from the air.
He will prance like a dancing bear when giving thanks
Or whenever I praise his most marvelous pranks.
I do find him quite silly, but he doesn’t care.
He reminds me of that when we go for a walk.

Ditsy Dogs are delightful. Their hearts are of gold.
They are prime entertainment and good exercise.
Any mood that is sour, they will make it right
Through deliberate daftness and attitude bright.
And in step with their dogma, they are our allies
From the time we are children until we are old.

Congregation

TheMagicRealist.com

Will they meet for the last time or many times more
Than the law will allow self-destruction to rule,
Not unnoticed but ignored and pushed to the side
Among their congregation oddfellowed with pride?
To partake of communion, one must play the fool
For a leader who all think that they would die for.

They prepare for their teacher. His lies they ignore.
It’s the gist of his message alone with its punch
That excites them effectively. Cult leaders can,
By the way of deception, rewrite one’s game plan.
The great leader now chosen may be out to lunch.
But his followers will only have him do more.

Why do some drink the poison while others do not?
It’s a confounding mystery if it makes sense
On some level notwithstanding sheer disbelief
That the congregants gathered will ever feel grief
For their misguided loyalty to blatant offense.
Desperate acts of the cult leader thicken the plot.

Net Worth

TheMagicRealist.com

Contemplating my net worth, I come to a blank,
Since I bought it from Walmart, not Amazon Prime.
It is made of tough nylon and hard naugawood.
It did cost me a fortune. That means that it’s good.
You would think I was cheap if I paid but a dime.
So my net worth is high. I’ll take that to the bank.

Tell me, what is your net worth? Do you own your home?
Do you discard soiled underwear after one use?
Don’t be shocked by these questions. They’re not asked by me
But by nations with tariffs on nets shipped by sea.
Work translates to production. From that I deduce
That no work means less drama and freedom to roam.

Cast your nets freely seaward and into the sky.
Take in all that makes worthiness something to own.
I am worth who I’m worth to whom all that I meet
Except banks and insurance folk with hearts petite.
The value of the volley is vividly shown
By how well we remember that someday we’ll die.

The Mischievous Child

TheMagicRealist.com

Children want to be happy. Sometimes that looks like
One of many a headache throughout the long day.
We all cater to mischief as it brings delight
In a manner that makes everything seem alright.
We were all once like Krishna, contented in play
And calamitous capers conceived for the strike.

Just as girls will be girls, we know boys will be boys.
And all children are sinless in God’s loving eyes.
It’s big boys and big girls whose mischief can cause harm.
As adults we make lethal our innocent charm.
Tuning in to the inner child may make one wise
To the magic of merriment and simple joys.

Does my mischief have meaning or slap a mean stick?
On most days, that’s a no-brainer, but not today.
I’ll admit I have writer’s block, but it’s all good.
Since I’ve gotten this far without knocking on wood,
I would say, for today, I’ve had plenty of play.
It is in my best interest to end this one quick.

Restlessness Of The Natives

TheMagicRealist.com

Many natives are restless these days, it would seem.
Someone’s dialed up the heat in this fine melting pot.
We shall simmer within it, but others, beware…
If you’re fleeing from violence, we simply don’t care.
We are self-righteous natives. You people are not!
If you come near our border, like children, we’ll scream.

Holy Smokes! There’s a Caravan headed this way.
Those damned nachos are nasty. They bring with them crime.
They will all become Democrats and take our jobs.
They will dirty our streets and hang out in big mobs.
Even though they’re on foot, they’ll be here in no time.
We must now send armed forces to keep them at bay.

This old theme is familiar. The costumes may change
As we make of our goblins our most morbid fears.
We have been throughout history creatures on edge
And consumed with division and driving a wedge
Between one’s own and others. Our future appears
To be fateful. Then, trick or treat isn’t so strange.

Live Anger Free

TheMagicRealist.com

If my responsibility for how I act
Is an accurate image of just how I feel,
Then how come I don’t care if I’m driven insane
To the point where deep anger is hard to contain?
Livid hallucination is tempered surreal
And played out in atrocity for full impact.

People don’t carry buttons that they press at will
To control my emotions for better or worse.
That’s a bit of fake news I can live well without.
Human nature is troublesome without a doubt.
If someone else could control me, that would be a curse.
I alone push my buttons with unconscious skill.

I control how I feel. That’s a good thing to know
And to remind myself of more often than not.
I’ve a fondness for fooling with switches and dials.
I shall mess with my own and then generate smiles.
No one can make me angry, and they shouldn’t ought.
Since I know I control myself, I’m good to go.

Grow Your Intelligence

TheMagicRealist.com

The mind wants to believe things. It knows it cannot,
Because things worth believing are those of the heart.
What the intellect does is it helps us get by,
And the healthier it is, the less we will try.
If it tries to hold credence, it may fall apart
Or become quite the monkey and manic in thought.

The mind is made to know things it cannot believe,
Even though there’s a limit to what it can know.
It can know this is so even though there’s no proof
Because that comes through feeling – not being aloof
When expressing our thoughts as they leisurely flow.
The mind is good for focusing what we perceive.

Intellect is magnetic, induced to the brain
By the source of all knowing. Like leaves of the tree
Taking sunlight, the brain takes in all it can get.
As it gets what it needs, it will know no regret.
What we learn from our source is to know how to be
In the real world without fear and with little strain.

How Does Karma Work?

TheMagicRealist.com

Esoteric in nature, or simple logic…?
Karma has much to do with the way that I feel.
It determines not what circumstances I’ll make
But how I will get through them with little heartache.
The observer knows not what the truth may reveal.
The ‘poor’ leper may feel that life is a picnic.

The child brings it upon himself that he is born
With deformity? It’s not as simple as that.
Karma teaches his parents with him as its aid.
What they learn from him then is to not be afraid
For there’s nothing but ego that we need combat.
It along with the intellect instigates scorn.

When the mind is not active in such a big way
Then the decision making engine is at rest.
I may function by impulse and tendency well
And accrue not much karma nor catch any hell.
Life is fragile beyond what can be best expressed.
To know this more completely for now is to pray.

The News. Its Time Being Now.

TheMagicRealist.com

Here Jalad at the news desk. His mouth open wide.
Galahad with his greeting. His service to king.
Gathered up on the weekend. Bo Peep with her sheep.
Having scattered them worldwide. Her time put to sleep.
Bringing all that is newsworthy. Tweety Bird sing.
On the rock of Gibraltar. His heart filled with pride.

The top story the beanstalk. Jack taking his climb.
His mind sure and determined. His focus direct.
Too much wit for the giant. His head a migraine.
The way journalists speak now can drive me insane.
His ears hearing plain English that does not respect
Basic speaking rules. Behold the new paradigm.

His mind back on the news now from just a short rant.
Frankenstein at the meth lab. His day getting long.
Back to Sesame Street. Big Bird feathered in fame.
Then, Shaka, when the walls fell! They speak not the same.
Goldilocks when the rules change. Is she the one wrong?
Alice stuck in the rabbit hole. News rabbit can’t.

Live A Fantastic Life

TheMagicRealist.com

Life’s a cruise in the fun lane, at least when we’re young.
Not a care will become those of innocent heart.
There’s no responsibility but for the Now
Ever present and meaningful. Children know how
To make any dull moment a daring new start.
It’s the eternal spirit from which they have sprung.

We advance to the fast lane at some point in life.
Education and training accrued over time
Bring positions of power to implement change
In the conduct of others. This is nothing strange.
When we’re feeling delightful, to share that is prime.
But when we’re feeling badly, we’ll instigate strife.

So, can life on the fast track bring on some distress
On occasion? We know that it will, and it should.
Our well-built physiology and thinking minds
Give us reason to live well, as with other kinds
In complete multiplicity, as in childhood.
Simply being alive is a joy to express.

Church For The Halibut

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a place of communion for people of faith
With events that are centered sometimes around food.
To gavotte or to gallivant on the church grounds
Is a choice of delight when good seafood abounds.
We can put ourselves squarely in worshiping mood
Every day of the week, though we can’t reach the eighth.

But don’t go to church just for the halibut please.
The potluck of profundity purports to pay
Some attention to kinship and brotherly love.
As our palates are placated we look above
In thanksgiving for having a wonderful day.
To consume what is righteous is done so with ease.

So, do not, for the halibut, cut yourself short
Of the other fine entrees that come from the sea.
As five loaves and two fishes will feed the big crowd
It would take much more halibut than is allowed
By the church’s small budget unfortunately.
Go to church then to eat well and show your support.

Backslashed

TheMagicRealist.com

Cryptic language dot com, backslash, give me a break!
I have never been hash tagged. Am I then fresh meat?
In reverse I am forward slashed or italic.
When straight up I am pipe. That’s a pretty neat trick!
To succumb to the character taken by heat
Is to truly be taken aback for love’s sake.

The mere mention of back may put some on attack.
But let’s face it. The backslash so backhandedly
Slashes more than just web pages into their parts.
In some ways, it brings romance and blending of hearts.
Where else can it be useful? We could wait and see
What the sky of creation shines forth with no lack.

It’s ironic the backslash was made for machines.
Languages that they use give them means to perform
All instructions in order to give a result
That is slightly more accurate than the occult.
An appropriate backslash will weather the storm.
Life nor language is lacking by no given means.

What Is The Third Eye?

TheMagicRealist.com

Who knows what The Third Eye is? Don’t all shout at once.
Every ‘I’ is of upper case. All are the same.
If I think it’s a gland at the pit of the brain,
Those who know better would say that that is inane.
But it is simple ignorance. No one’s to blame.
To consider it physical is of no bunce.

Dialectical cultures depend on logic.
Constantly things are taken too literally.
There are energy centers along the brain stem.
There is much I can see if I just align them
To allow kundalini to flow well through me.
To see beyond the physical, that is the trick.

The Third Eye is enlightenment, and it takes time,
Dedication to focusing deeply within,
And a simple reliance on daily routine.
As I move toward the vision, much love I’ll have seen.
Truly nothing will work to get under my skin.
Such a lofty reward justifies the steep climb.

The Uproarious Laughter…

The MagicRealist.com

“The Uproarious Laughter…” The thing to evoke
From the pit of man’s dark bowel devolved from his heart.
It’s a mean, stinking laughter that cuts to the core
Of my being. Until now, I cannot ignore
My most lucid nightmare. People tear me apart
Led by that which delivers my pain as a joke.

I remember that laughter. I’ve heard it before
On the playground surrounded by nasty white boys
Taking pleasure in letting me know beyond doubt
I was different from them and that they carried clout.
It’s the gut wrenching laughter the sick one enjoys
As his gut remains tickled and eager for more.

It’s a stenchful child laughter directed with force
From the greed for entitlement and a safe bet
That deception and coverup shall ever reign.
The insane drunken laughter is seared in my brain.
It stirs up some deep anger. It’s hard to forget
Such a demonic laughter that shows no remorse.

Are we better than this or is this quite our lot?
This rhetorical query reports from the soul.
We could all be mistakes here. The dinosaurs were.
We may beg Mother Nature that she not concur.
We have been here a speck of time. What Is Our Goal?
In the scheme of things life here is our only shot.

Death And The Doornail

TheMagicRealist.com

We are big on comparisons. Why is this so?
It’s because we’re creative in manifold ways.
We’ll compare death to doornails and other objects
That were never alive once in all due respects.
Also mutton and dodo birds enter the phrase
That describes death by simile for all to know.

But is death like the doornail? There could be some doubt.
The doornail is a heavy thing, hard to the touch.
It hangs out in tough wooden things where it feels best.
Though it may rust in wet weather, still it is blessed
With steadfastness and presence. It doesn’t do much
But indeed it does something that we care about.

It could be that all doornails are living and well
In their silent dimension where motion is less
Than in other worlds. They might be having a blast.
How would people perceive from our world that is fast?
And to what mode of meaning do we acquiesce?
If a doornail should die, how on earth could we tell?

Inspired Insignificance

The Magic Realistlcom

The cosmos is the brain of God in solid form.
It is made up of nothingness on a grand scale.
What is nothing is space between what we can see.
And the things that we can’t see, most people agree,
Are made also of nothing in minute detail.
What would happen if God were to have a brainstorm?

Nothing does become physical. Word becomes flesh
In the Bang that is taking place now as we speak.
Nothing has not a barrier. It grows in size
Faster than light can travel. I do realize
We are not much to speak of, nor are we unique.
Our Inspired Insignificance is ever fresh.

This dimension is real. We perceive it as such
With the mind which is nothingness with consciousness.
We believe the perception. We haven’t much choice.
For this reason, do we have reason to rejoice?
A mere speck of existence somewhat in distress
In the vastness can’t be made to care all that much.

Perception is illusion. Consciousness is real.
We perceive through vibration. True Being does not.
We’re the neuronal processes within God’s brain.
We embellish his best and worst thoughts not in vain
But in humble acceptance of our tiny spot.
We have not but to think of our place as ideal.

Come Alive!

TheMagicRealist.com

A new life is upon us… a bundle divine.
There’s excitement and wonder with each coming step
As you find your way clumsily in a new world.
You are fully supported. Your fate is unfurled.
It won’t take long ‘til you’re filled with vigor and pep.
Once you pull it together, your newness will shine.

And along with the newness, there’s always some pain.
But for all, there’s more pleasure in life as a whole.
Things that aren’t done are done now because you are here.
They are done not in pretense nor resident fear
That an act done in carelessness may cast the soul
In a state of remorse. Such a fear is insane.

We may crawl on the floor now and act like a clown
Even if we are old and the flesh may be weak.
Your new life brings fulfillment and reason to play
Which had been for a long time not part of our day.
Nothing other than pleasure is all that we seek
And the new playful teacher will not let us down.

We have not much to teach you. Your soul is your guide
As you mingle among us. We owe much to you
For your gift of pure life essence. All we can teach
Is what’s not worked well for us despite what we preach.
You remind us completely that we’re alive too.
That is why our young teachers do bring us much pride.

Phallic Meltdown

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m a man. I am proud of that, and I should be
For no reason particular. Maybe because
Men are strong and in power. Is that how it seems?
Rather than be blind sighted, turn on the high beams
So that traffic oncoming is lost in the laws.
I’m a driver. I know that. I wish I could see.

Men can sometimes be assholes, but always we’re dicks.
It is true to our nature to pound and to thrust
What has caused us arousal, often on demand.
Would life improve for all if men could understand
Where the women are coming from with their disgust?
When they speak to us, it seems they’re dealing with bricks.

Women will light the dick candle now having seen
That no woman is safe from abuse, then attack
By the sharks of the media and lawful men.
May we melt into meaningfulness once again?
When our parts become waxen and light do we lack,
Then our time is upon us. None will intervene.

Is Responsibility A Bondage?

I was once a young sailor. I did it for fun
At the start. It became then a means to survive
And provide for a family. So, this was life.
In a few months I’m blessed with four kids and a wife.
If I’m bonded to sea life, that should not deprive
Those affected by my choices of life begun.

But, it did. Time has passed now. I’m safer inland
To respond to life other most wholeheartedly.
To respond is not bondage to pent up desire.
The responsible one is one who will aspire
To what may look like bondage to those who don’t see
Life as binding by nature, perhaps as was planned.

Though, I could not plan life in the way it’s evolved.
Each new moment brings new choices, also the chance
I may make them in error. Still I must respond
To experience. There is no bondage beyond
What I make of an otherwise good circumstance.
There will come a time proper when all is resolved.

Leave It Alone

TheMagicRealist.com

Who can do anything better than I can do?
And to whom would it matter… the one who’s in need
Of some sense of divinity among his own?
Some good counsel for me would be: Leave It Alone!
One can start a religion if one has a creed,
But it has not much meaning to me or to you…

…Nor to any huge fan base unless there’s exchange
On some level that indicates we all belong.
If one offers a blessing, do not take his hand
To your head in the hope that you will understand
The value of a blessing and rightness from wrong.
Good can turn into bad, or at best, somewhat strange.

A feeling of inclusiveness straight from the heart
Generates spontaneity for a kind act.
Tenderness in the moment is not a decree
Yet it is for too many a commodity.
When giving and receiving become a contract,
We may hope to get closer, but we stay apart.

Marx And Communism

TheMagicRealist.com

There are rich folk and poor… There are those in between
In most free market systems. The economy,
As a network, responds to all systems the same.
If I don’t have enough, I alone am to blame.
I can’t rely on others to take care of me
And Big Brother is easier heard than is seen.

Rich and poor, black and white… ac/dc are ways
That I choose to perceive life and society.
That is core to my programming and of this land
Apprehended from Native folk by savage hand.
To fully comprehend Marxist philosophy
Is to take the sick mind through an alternate maze.

One who has an idea may think it’s the best.
And it may be for robots, but not flesh and blood.
If to know human nature is part of the plan,
We know then that charity makes folks feel ‘less than.’
Thoughts of wealth generation do bring on a flood
Of specific behaviors that irk the oppressed.

Neither system is perfect nor is one more right.
Either one or the other if chosen can be
As an escort to solace or utter despair.
And whatever my circumstance, others do care.
That I know that I’m wealthy most inner mostly
Is a blessing to deal with to my heart’s delight.

Schidtfaced

TheMagicRealist.com

To be born and be human, one must have a name
And it is something given. We have not the choice
In which ones we will take as we make our way here.
If some knew what was coming, they would come in fear
That the names they are given might make people voice
Their obnoxious remarks, though benign just the same.

Linking faces to names… That’s what folks like to do.
It’s the best way to keep track of people we know.
A good face then can have a bad name, just as well
As the mug that resembles the bat out of hell
Can be blessed with a pretty name – one that does flow
From the lips like a butterfly… or honeydew.

If your name is a cumbersome one, it may be
That you also break mirrors remotely with ease.
One who has both these assets is lethal at best
And at worst a mere scapegoat that most would detest.
A good name with a good face may quite often please.
Names are not really faces, we all can agree.

Kanye Way

TheMagicRealist.com

Along with some Shinola, fresh bullshit will do
For a dick of pig leather, to give it some show…
And yourself in the process. Two dicks make a pair.
FLOTUS shouldn’t care much for this odd assed affair
But some wonder just how far this Shoe Shine will go.
You’re a playwright creative with plot far askew.

Every act has a motive. All scenes play a part
In the general mood of all as they perform.
So, one black feels like “superman” due to white dick??
Most of blacks that I know think you lay it on thick.
‘Simon’ shows blacks have big lips, and that is the norm,
But to use them as you do brings hurt to the heart.

It is clear that our POTUS likes men who are strong
In the ways that most dictators often display.
So perhaps he likes pimps too because they are crude
And abrasive toward others with their attitude.
Does the POTUS plantation perhaps give you pay?
Many scratching their heads know that something is wrong.

I don’t know much about you. The same earth we share.
That it has enough room to keep us far apart
In this physical plane is a blessing to me.
There is freedom to think upon your slavery.
When a young black naïve one sucks off an old fart
It makes those who’ve seen dignity cringe in despair.

From Which Well Doth Hell Speweth?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why to stay harder longer should make sense to me
Or should have some scant meaning to parts that I know
That know nothing of woe for not having retired
From a lifetime of work erotically inspired…
I cannot figure out. And this all goes to show
That Big Brother and TMI seem to agree.

Who the hell are they talking to thinking it’s me?
There must be a statistic to guide their campaign.
They will greet on my birthday and many days hence.
When I’m caught live on line, the ads can get intense.
It is not all that personal. I must refrain
From becoming too bothered by things that I see.

I need no bride from Russia nor Rolex device.
That may be because I’m not the one who they think
Pays attention to not much beyond what he sees.
They may spew as they wish. I will do as I please
And not be too resentful I’ll come to the brink
Of a backlash vociferous and not too nice.

Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew

TheMagicRealist.com

The best part of the bison indeed is the spleen
And the Pleistocene bison has one that is old.
Good gets better with age. How I wish it were true
All across the time spectrum, but that’s nothing new.
All I want for right now is to kindly be told
Where to go for some noteworthy bison cuisine.

I like Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew.
It’s gestalt to the gizzard. It dons the ribcage
With a cloak of endearment to utter nonsense.
It puts chest on one’s hair perhaps at one’s expense.
There is nothing that my silliness won’t engage
Even if my behavior is but for the few.

And cooked in with my bison stew there must be beans
In varieties plentiful for the best bowl.
I can be nice to bison spleen by marinade
Then when it’s fully stained pungency will pervade
Through the consciousness with only play as the goal.
Sometimes digestion favors peculiar proteins.

“Snithlitch!”

TheMagicRealist.com

What on earth is that sound as it echoes aloud
Through the canyon? It makes of my ears a new sense.
I’m not using my camera, yet that’s what I hear.
So how can such a thing make it into my ear?
The antics of the lyrebird pierce my suspense.
His supreme vocal talents perhaps make him proud.

Does he think that my camera is some other bird
That he wants to make time with? Might they then elope?
Or is he just a jester who likes to show off
His meticulous voice that no others can scoff?
If he does want to trick, it’s no matter of hope.
With his magic he’ll mimic whatever is heard.

So, ‘Snithlitch’ your cool heart away. It’s a delight
To partake of your presence and listen to you.
There are may neat things in this world to behold.
When I open my heart, miracles do unfold.
God’s most crafty creatures perform as if on cue.
I do honor them wholly. It seems only right.

Dead Language

TheMagicRealist.com

Why it’s called a dead language becomes grossly clear.
I must be dead to use it, and have it use me.
It did fall and has risen… this Roman empire
Though I’ll not call it wholly a truth rectifier.
It’s a speech of deception most arguably.
That is due to its nature to promulgate fear.

A big company must have a tight justice scheme.
In a two-party system, this works very well.
Each will speak his dead tongue as the other will wince.
Nothing ever translates but the need to convince
All the parties of relevance how to make hell
Something all can get used to, somewhat like a dream.

But it turns to a nightmare. Straight up the old crack
Of our binary system, unlike souls repel.
But outside is where I dwell. If death would have lost,
G.O.P. would blast FBI and at all cost.
Registration of right wings would triple as well.
Carpe Diem! Next month there should be some payback.

Take Off Your Shoes And Keep Walking

TheMagicRealist.com

If I ever sat down with a moment and spoke
Of my troubles and triumphs, would it lend an ear?
I suspect that it wouldn’t. It isn’t a thing
That is measured precisely. Scant hope does it bring
To the logical intellect that lives in fear
That a moment uncaptured is merely a joke.

Moments aren’t to be grasped intellectually
For the mind is a menace in manifold ways.
In each and every moment exists everything.
Every moment is dignity. I cannot cling
To a detailed analysis worthy of praise.
I must blend with the moment most respectfully.

Everything all at once in this moment makes sense
But that sense is quite limited if I need more…
Like complete understanding of all to be known.
I exist in a clockwork. Not much more is shown.
All that is has no logic nor meaning, therefore
I may think of my moments as sacred events.

Intellect is a pair of shoes – one with a nail.
As it sticks in my foot, I may think it’s a thorn.
But can I believe that with each step that I take?
I should take my shoes off, then I may come awake
To the knowledge that logic is illusion born.
If I can but walk through it, then I shall prevail.