Its another day full of dread gone by
fluttered into the night---
yet to be greeted by tomorrow of wonderbeauty.
Not to be seen for free, but bought with participation.
Perceptions of everything's cannot help but be so hazy.
But then again if I did have a full awareness spectrum
I would have called upon suicide long ago.
And then again, and again (sliding from the serpents tongue).
I, a weak mortal, wisps of broken hair and fragile skin
beaten by the wind, tormented by cold,
and browbeaten by heat,
there’s so much weighing me down.
For what reason is there to be scared at loves embrace?
By its presence - sent whirling into an
affirmation of life so meaningful
that one cannot forget it.
Whisperings in silent darkness of voices unknown.
Tantalizing, yes, but not to be feared (more comical then the latter!)
Whispering to you to rise to the virtue of laziness.
The antithesis of all that might stand in truths way.
‘Apocalypse’ is an unveiling.
Much misunderstood as an end.
Terence McKenna is now smiling from his enamored Faberge egg shaped UFO.
A full participant in this single love emission of tyrannical laughter.
Venial sins are forgiven as follies.
Is it so reckless of me to write anything of real meaning or value?
Impossible. It is everything.
There is a reason it is called everything.
"Yes, death is strange, apathetic one.
"The notion of inhabiting the earth no longer, turd.
"Mere carbon. It is the spirit which counts.
"From the primordial scream of the birth of the universe to now, there can be honor."
Should I be so naïve to believe I can be content
With the notion that we never loved in the first place?
To jest would bring travesty.
Heart becomes faint at more than lost time.
The way cannot be spoken. Your own.
Follow verbatim and you will receive an affirmation of life so meaningful
that you cannot forget it. Almost too grand to call less than perfect.
Wouldn/t even go as far as to call it a discovery, or an epiphany.
Maybe stoned. Oh, brother.
No longer scared at the face of love.
Its presence is collected, and put in a pocket.
Hierarchal strong grip is muddied.
The Shaman has seen the end- It all works out.
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