Tag Archive | new age

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Please Die, Old Men.

You old men are my brothers in age and in ways.
It’s a shame that you mirror me. I do lay blame
On myself for ignoring the stench of my time
Indicated by hatred and well-ordered crime.
Old white men when in leadership are much the same
And they’ll honor that sameness ‘til their dying days.

The mere sight of you sickens me quickly by now
So I have learned a lesson important in life:
There’s no sense in expecting that truth will unfold.
We The People rely on whatever we’re told.
When to fathom your souls causes me mental strife,
Then it’s way past the time that this world should allow.

Get the Hell off God’s green earth, you nasty old men!
Drag your sick hags behind you to your waiting graves.
I don’t care if you go first or I do, just so
You are barred from my consciousness. Drop dead and go
To the nether dimension. How my heart behaves
Reflects how much I’ve wasted again and again.

There’s no justice… no honor, nor fair due process
Meant to deal with the raw truth until you are gone.
You’re a withered old structure in body and mind.
To return to the dust soon would be awfully kind.
It’s the young who are here now who must carry on.
As we old bastards die off, the world suffers less.

The Book Of Simon

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a book about Simon. It is tree bark bound.
Though I have never seen it, it seems to be real
Because what it is full of is every command
Wish or quizzical whim whether sudden or planned
That a person could think of. It finds great appeal
Among those who run leadership into the ground.

Simon says I’m a citizen of this great land.
So be it! I will do that. No problem with me.
But if Simon should tell me that bad folks are good,
That tells me to do nothing. Who would say I should?
Since I’ve never met Simon, I cannot agree
That he has my best interest as part of his plan.

Those who know all about Simon play his game well.
I do not run for office. I bark at our law!
Justice is silly putty. Can this Simon see?
It is reshaped the way one would want it to be.
Simon says that the shady one has not a flaw.
That is not a commandment. My conscience can tell.

The Sense Of Thought

TheMagicRealist.com

Are there only five senses? I think there are more.
Many doors of perception are open to me.
Each presents as an organ – a simple machine
That reacts to vibration. It stands in-between
Yet another sense organ and reality.
Can the brain be a sense organ I would ignore?

A gelatinous mass of neuronal concourse
To the path kundalini may travel in trance,
It’s a sense organ complex enough to cause thought,
And transmit and receive such, if we are so taught.
If some person is on my mind, it’s not by chance
But by translating vibration into thought force.

So, the purpose for thought is precisely the same
As the reason for seeing and hearing…. By way
Of the movement of molecules, we make believe
To the best of our being, all that we perceive.
As we craft our conceptions we dare to convey
Our subjective most episodes deemed as fair game.

By The Way

TheMagicRealist.com

By The Way, there is no news occurring right now.
There’s a recurring respite from running the race.
There is time to recover what living has lost.
By the way I perceive, I’ll recover the cost
Of believing that in this world I have a place.
It’s the way toward contentment if I but allow.

By The Way, I feel freshness in life-infused air…
A far cry from the chaos prepared as a gift
From our sponsors. They keep us too grossly informed.
When the news starts to age, they will serve it lukewarmed.
Rather than entertainment, I need a damned shift
And a place I can go to that no one will share.

There is peace By The Way as it is in the heart
And wherever the centered self happens to be.
Every way can be helpful in shedding some light
Upon how well I’m doing and feeling despite
What may seem to be happening most vividly.
By The Way, I can always go for a fresh start.

Don’t Fret

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t play the guitar, but at least I don’t fret.
If I wanted to learn how to play one I would.
There are plenty guitar stores and people to teach
A worthy word technician prolific in speech
How to master the six-string. Perhaps I’d feel good
If I gave a performance that none would forget.

Good musicians don’t fret when there’s hard work to do.
They will take up their instruments and go to task
With due diligence until they’ve learned to play well.
If they make a mistake, not too many can tell.
Enough time for much practice is all that I ask.
There is much here to play about. Fame may ensue.

There’s one thing about fretting not fretting the neck
Of the beast that I make of life. How can I play
Everyday as in instrument crafted by me?
Having no expectation, I think, is the key.
Can I make my own music and play my own way?
Simply, it is a way to keep passions in check.

Mysticism And The Occult

TheMagicRealist.com

All of life is dichotomous, and life is all.
That’s the basis of knowledge and all to beheld.
Within knowledge and knowing, there’s that which is not
To be known without being. When locked in the plot
Of the drama of consciousness, I am compelled
To become all about it. This then is my call.

To contact and to interact with the unseen
Is the purview of both schools. In that, they’re the same.
I’m aware of the mystical. It is a state
Wherein I am connected as I contemplate
Pure existence. Contentment is its only aim.
Blending in with the greater good is what lives mean.

The occult, somewhat different, is meant to control.
To manipulate forces with gestures and speech…
Incantations or symbols – this is the desire
Of well-tempered occultists. What they may acquire
Are some insights that no other methods can reach.
Though some mystics would say this is bad for the soul.

Lying Star Choir

TheMagicRealist.com

We mistreat a fine angel who walks upon earth
By not seeing he’s perfect in every which way.
He’s a nice guy… mild-mannered and with a cool head
Meant to judge with a heart that is rooted in dread.
Did our battered choir boy throw a tantrum today?
Is the innocent girl coach deficient in mirth?

If a judge on an interview acts like a ‘bitch’
And she’s female, her ass would be escorted out
To ensure that none present are exposed to harm.
When a male does, it more so should sound an alarm.
What has given this white man protection from doubt?
Why has such mundane business become a sales pitch?

Should The Court be a choir? In one way it should.
We The People are one voice of manifold tone.
And The Court can reflect that. No voice should be loud.
To our system of justice all can be avowed.
In some time a star liar will fall from his throne.
Even with confirmation the outlook is good.

Talking Heads

TheMagicRealist.com

Talking heads talk to talking heads throughout the day
About all that is newsworthy. People must know
Every detail of tragedy as it takes place.
Media will abuse you and shout in your face
Just to get the damned story to air on their show
Before anyone else does. Why is this our way?

Talking heads are paid big bucks to say what they say
Because they have been saying things for a long time.
They are qualified heads… some with talking degrees
And with egos attuned to sharp shooting the breeze
Yet, without common decency, talk is a crime.
It helps keep women silent and truth locked away.

I don’t want to come forward. I’m not made of steel.
Neither are my young children and our privacy.
I can’t count on our congress to safeguard my word.
If the FBI checks things, why is that absurd?
Trust and faith in my system is quite hard for me
And my strong sense of duty reflects how I feel.

Watch The Miracle Happen

TheMagicRealist.com

It’s a miracle that I have made it this far
In a world of much color and lots of fresh air.
And the sound of my breath can put me in a trance.
I don’t think that I’m random and placed here by chance.
As I focus my breathing, nothing can compare
To the peaceful state I will reach. I’m up to par

When it comes to escaping… I will do my best
With so simple a process of power supreme.
God grows me from the inside and works his way out
So it’s easy to find him, not having to shout.
Could the miracle be to live life as a dream?
That would be the whole point, as through him, we are blessed.

Miracles are a normal thing. They are not rare.
It is when they don’t happen that something is wrong.
I just need to make myself aware of such things
And the blessings that time out for deep breathing brings.
Afterwards I will feel that I truly belong.
One who lives by the miracle lives without care.

Look At Everything The Way It Is

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I decorate raw truth to improve its looks?
There’s a reason expressions of color take hold
And reshape my mind as if it were softened clay.
Using adjectives is what folks do every day.
Much of discourse is bullshit without the blindfold.
It will pass as nonfiction, so people write books.

 Two friends met after twenty years being apart.
One declared to the other, “I’m doing quite well.
I’ve a Mansion in Meaningville and a mink stole.”
Said the other, “That’s Wonderful!” That is her role

Because she went to charm school. She is trained to tell
Everyone things are ‘wonderful’ right from the start.

Whether mountain or mole hill, they both are the same
Through the lens of reality and nothing more
Than the will to see clearly all things as they are.
One big challenge in life is to not to stray far
From what I am observing. Is this such a chore?
If I am misperceiving things, I am to blame.

How To Succeed

TheMagicRealist.com

There are two basic forces at play within me.
One is self-preservation – the need to build walls
To keep that which is not self from taking what’s mine.
Separation is useful. In it I define
A safe structure. The ego self rarely recalls
Where it last left its faith in things that it can’t see.

At the same time, expansion does motivate me.
I must break through the walls that define who I am.
This does seem rather opposite, yet it is fact.
They’re two sides of the same coin with meaning intact.
To detach from what’s limited is a program
I would do well to follow and most faithfully.

To succeed is to balance these two forces well.
Walls are built to be broken then built up again
And again until all involved come to some sense
That there’s no movement forward with all the expense.
I can say I’m successful, and truthfully, when
I can grow far beyond self, yet within self dwell.

Father And Son

TheMagicRealist.com

Family is like the mafia. It is a crime
When, organically, we’ve cut a deal to be here.
Family should remain loyal. Blood ties should be strong.
When we outgrow biology, we get along
Much more amicably with the ones we hold dear
And our moments together will endure through time.

Pledge allegiance to one’s own. Is this nature’s rule?
It is true, and it limits all that I can be
If I give it importance that it can’t deserve.
If my guidance is wanting, does that strike a nerve
In the pit of my being? Most regrettably,
If I claimed to be worthy, I would be a fool.

Man must have a young buddy to carry his name…
Someone he can be tough with and tender as well.
Often times there is friction as he comes of age.
When he must outperform you he’ll find his own stage.
As the decades march forward warm stories they’ll tell.
I do learn this in hindsight and feel little shame.

Don’t Believe, Don’t Disbelieve

TheMagicRealist.com

Will I be born again? Have I been here before?
These are questions I could ask, or I could care not.
My keen eyes don’t have vision. It’s me who’s inside,
Just as windows can see things. It’s they who reside
Squarely on one side of them. Is this what is taught?
How I wish this were so. Then we’d suffer no more.

I know I’m not my body. It is loaned to me
By the Mother of all matter born of this place.
When the loan time expires, I will pay it back.
She’s the best at collection. She keeps perfect track
Of all molecules managed in her time and space.
I exist to incur the loan most frequently.

This is only a story to those who have not
Had the kinds of experience to offer claim.
Don’t believe in the story if it makes no sense.
But don’t disbelieve either for your own defense.
To consider what’s said to you is not a shame.
Wise is one who observes and is open in thought.

Children And Teachers

TheMagicRealist.com

‘It’s a living.’ Some conclude that this is the case
As they try to make ends meet and pay off their loans.
It is stressful to work eighty hours per week
When their students’ wellbeing is all that they seek.
The most effective teacher is someone who owns
That our young are most valuable to the whole race.

It should not be ‘a living,’ yet we make it so
Through glitches in the systems that lock teachers out.
Education/Production… They both are the same
To the bodies that rule in the financial game.
Children should be what child-rearing is all about.
Teachers’ pay should reflect that for all that they know.

Does this make too much sense? Is this why it’s not done?
Something must be amiss in our handling of things.
If we had volunteer teachers, would that bode well?
They should have wealth already so in calm they dwell.
If we can’t treat our children as if we were kings
We should not welcome them until growth has begun.

Being Human Is Super

TheMagicRealist.com

Do I like being human? The question is moot.
Sometimes I feel like Superman; sometimes I’m weak
With my grip on reality. Nevertheless,
I delight in the wonder that I may express
Without effort. There’s no sense in my feeling meek,
As my writing, at times, can seem rather astute.

But is this an illusion? It’s human, at least,
To believe I control things to mitigate fear.
I can make it my costume and face the stiff wind,
Then hope that my identity is not chagrined.
When it’s found I’m no hero, will my fans still cheer?
When in tune with my nature, is my fame increased?

If I learn how to manage my thinking and heart,
Then I know that my actions are taken care of.
If I can do all this, then I can stroll through hell,
And find it of scant interest, but no place to dwell.
Humans are possibilities to express love.
Thinking ‘I’m only human’ is not thinking smart.

A Sweet Relationship

TheMagicRealist.com

There is sweetness and bitterness carefully mixed
In a strong psychic potion that makes the heart glow.
It begins rather physical. Senses behold
Possibility for chemistry to unfold.
Those in tune with their natures cause blessings to flow.
When in each other’s presence the two are transfixed.

One cannot extract sweetness from some other soul.
If you place such a burden on someone you love
Then resentment will fester until such a time
That it comes to the surface where it will begrime
What had once been as pure as the white turtle dove.
Those who tend to be needy cannot meet their goal.

Your expression of joy is your best loving gift
To your partner, deserving of all who you are.
Sweetness comes from the inside when one feels alive.
If two lovers can know this true love will survive.
When in wholesome commitment, no dream is too far.
Both will have but the will and the joy to uplift.

Dimensions Of Mind

TheMagicRealist.com

There are many dimensions of the human mind.
To be very specific, they number sixteen.
Those of Eastern tradition adopt this belief
While the West waxes mindless, befuddled by grief.
Sixteen bank accounts may make a person feel green
Even if sixteen dollars is his worth combined.

Broken down into four, it’s a much simpler task.
There’s the Intellect which is a double edged sword.
It can dissect a problem or cause lethal harm
And sometimes it’s a challenge for it to disarm.
It’s a tool that, when misused, can cause some discord.
For a while, it’s a beacon; then it’s a death mask.

There’s Identification with all that one knows
Whether it is illusion, delusion or fact.
There is Memory conscious in each living cell.
Everything that the species knows, each cell knows well.
The dimension of Being is rather abstract.
It is purest in essence, as nothing it shows.

It’s not I who’s informative. It is my race,
Both prolific and human. Perhaps I’m its voice,
Not opposed to explaining things that I have learned.
If I write from the ego, no fame will be earned…
Nor from otherwise. I live life’s drama by choice
At this point. No kind act shall reveal my disgrace.

Solicitors, Knock At Your Risk

TheMagicRealist.com

I’m not running for office and neither are you.
And I know you don’t think this is Beverly Hills.
I don’t need my damned soul saved. It’s doing just fine.
You’re a fool if you think I don’t know the divine.
Most professional pests seem to get their cheap thrills
With their in-your-face tactics and hullabaloo.

My FICO score isn’t at mark of the beast
And that’s none of your business. Don’t patronize me
With your slick condescension. I hear very well
Hidden language that lurks where the sea plankton dwell.
Just because I exist you won’t charge me a fee.
Those who prey on the poor see their profits increased.

I don’t need my damned lawn mowed, dear neighbor of mine.
Your con game is as thick as the prick in the suit.
Keep your eyes off my yard and my yard off your mind.
Your kind gardening guidance is of your behind.
When to all I’m considered a tree bearing fruit
I’ll assume all are hostile rather than benign.