Wednesday, August 30, 2006

what do you call us ??

where to start when to end how to finish what we have begend
what to type when to be polite how to spell what we have said
if there their then they're all right and writting well in the wind

we i you us them they those and that which is should be said ahead
but if it selves divided in sided between the mean and the good would
wood of course be free of life itself and yet neither live nor dead not born

but where does there goings ons go on and their is there where ever else it is
until the full force of love is exploded into the eyes of mine and yours mindless
wonder the full force of ideas that mean nothing between the few too with word I've

I've not sold out like a money machine could I've not held out for less then
perfect flawed by life and limbs of longness in the song mistical powers emerge
from freedom that can more so be better off then on the left or right of light
dark yet gray.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Time like the putty that xoet shaped with its hands

Time like the putty that xoet shaped with its hands or
the ideas that created its likeness and then disappeared
the form and functions of the likes of which have never been

yet there it was in front of xoet the window to anytime it would choose
what to look at what not to look at but when when what was going on
and when it took place perplexing as a seed in the ground and then a tree

the seed has to be planted yet the window was solid as a diamond masking
the definite shapes it formed and solidifying them into matter and energy
what had once been just a window to lookout now was a look into xoet's eyes

Greetings xoet this is you from the future, you made me what I am today
you gave me the ideas I have made real today, because of you I have survived
because of you I hate you for keeping me alive to tell you I hate you keeping me...

xoet was confused by the future xoet saying these things to It
why was It getting blamed for things it had not done yet but will do
only to tell it self in the past that It was going to make the same mistakes over.

xoet spoke to Its future self to ask questions of It this seemed to be the solution
when are you there now? And why is it my fault? how can I do it differently
as xoet talked to its own distorted image thru the window of time the distortions grew

The distortions grew like the mutant tree xoet planted long ago as
the image of itself grew to infinite dimensions, time flux, questions
kept coming from the image from the past and now xoet answered

I am not now nor was I then here and now nor then and there but.....
I am with you here now your time is less you future is more you grow
I am at fault for the fault for told was the fault I am now and will be so

I leave you with the following questions to ponder because I ask them too
when you know answers we two will be one again why is that unanswered
when the question divines Itselves into two are you still one of the answers

Soon you will no the answer is yes yet unknown to the first mistake made
left on a planet for dead why did you go to the lifeless rock you thought peace
you no know peace and yes there is only the end of where you were going to be

Now is one and time has past into the future of us created by we
We are one and the past has changed again for the sake of us 2
for even in between the realities of nothing and everything there I
I am into you a blur of a dream you had looking out the windows

windows to infinity where nothing becomes a real existence going
moving beyond that and before this there is ever present nothings
yes more than one and the answer is answered to be known nows
where the tree has died to become the seeds of life into and of its

Itselves divided inside the perfect posture where love and life are
You travel into voids as everything you become, nowhere forever
there is a way to slip before you see yourself inside the window of
time is not the answer but freedom rules the tides of lives and love

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

To the dead beef answering the telephone

Fine land when it tries to be solid extra light in my eye more echoes tasting like leftover giant bunnies that eat pennys and get ship wrecked on route one. Given that there are more than several constructions of what is real and what is believed to real then the unreal escapes just puts the meter together in the morning Sunday ride to nowhere left and right and between can not satisfy the time changes in water suffices as the bunnies fly into the space between voids none other then ten fingers and toes five by big five by five by five the sun race to sideways other than left or right bent into brokenness and rubbish that effects the compost pile where the ants live and eat and dine on left overs rubbish this is all lost inside my mind but I've already exploded yesterday again what up Dr who is this read compost pile of words as I empty my mind into the cup next to the dead beef answering the telephone pay for number six and then there are more echoes of tests so far that there sardines only the number was less than enough to perfect but unlucky not finding any word to describe the feelings of non-nothinging have you slept on the flight back from flying south for the winter where freedom is dumb acute girls in the radio talk like a polka that is played backwards like putting my tears back into my eyes as they try to escape the dr's pills that we never needed to begin with but take for the fun of ITself talking to It's Sunday carpet that hates you any way the sky cries again shipping its needs to the other side of the galaxy where things are exactly the same
like they are in Utah or nations and eating hammock that ever street as scattered barbecue sauce where all the spice is.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Views and reviews

Views and reviews of the experience call death explaining the waters in flow stopping into the end of knowledge and life is compared to a song that explains who we are and how we go from day to do the things called life as the next layer of the onion that falls aside like a untouched surface of our skin that still explodes with the burning sounds of your eyes on it.  Putting together things that are matter-less and easily lost to the pressures of a life that never end yet once it does the secrete is know as they are asking for the answer to the details of truth and lies that the thoughts we have in the calculus of love and death.  Presence and eye of mine is not yet surface interfaced without breaking the skin of the onion who’s presence that existed you does not know love for things do not make it know yet to anyone that has ever been real.  What is love or what does love mean or better yet who is in love that never knew love to be real.  Preposterous dialogs between myself and my gray and white matter that.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Even the little things are matter

Everything is spinning into the void of nothingness the void does not know how to accept itself as real yet it is not really enough to say that is what is real in the vast cosmos of our plan to be not as real yet really not be....Get it back here to be where it was not being extra weight there ought to be a limit to what we do and not do that there is no difference between them....Is this cloud real that is the haze between me and the computer or is that the problem with what is not there yet being real enough to see Thruway the haze faster than the ... in the end it does not matter what I type so I will type more to the end of this rhyme in time with my lime cola and try not to advertise the presence of nonsense....

Sunday, February 26, 2006

earth moods

making the earth speak is quite difficult but also quite possible since it speaks to all thoughs who listen with what they know and have known i seem to be cought in a loop ive talked of this before but dealing with dreams on the phone that i never call into the night lights we dream and have drempt

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

any of these things

I don’t have, had any of these things.  When does the price come down as, living life costs too much too?  Burning my fingernails in my coffee-n there is nothing left to sit on in this time warp called conic distortion.  Where does the ever-expanding explanation of music make sense to the different languages that are.  Paying the doorman again for the door to infinity I end up else where?  Read the red working ants as they burn there way into the lost shining sun that circles in their minds eye.  Ever green lines under the skies that grow and grow into mush.  This girl is bright this girl is now their right.  Perfection becomes the most imperfect thing that existed in the list of things to do next.  True believers don’t believe anything and everything they do believe is not real.  Proven trust comes past the endless flow of Buddha’s path that leads nowhere and that is where I have been but still are I am.  Flowing following freely into the abyss of bliss.  The boat floats in the tub till I pull the plug.  I’ve drown in my thoughts of nothingness that I can’t resist their effected drifts into the real.

Monday, February 20, 2006

That would not fly

That would not fly if you dropped it out a fifth floor window.
What if you test it with your washing machine?
I’ve upgraded the washing machines OS to a new level of understanding.
We can see other things that are not real yet we need to make them real.

Toying worthless pages – books have no meaning to Gaia the great.
The skin of an orange blesses our little hut with our mindless nut.
Trust in ever-wavering crescent tides of life and lifelessness turmoil.
Vast in understanding under the sands of timeless effortless expressions are.

Perched on a preaching stool inside the batters box of cookies.
Pronouned by endless corrections of it, is I not me or he.
Tongue in eye like candy in a bottle of juice is.
Is it not well enough to see the bouncing pogo sticks stick in the mud?

No not what I was thinking but what I thought again and again over the days of lifeless existence where things don’t matter but matter is a thing we must create with the energy we have left and right I am in saying so.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

zzzz sss pp r ONE

green is read and red is seen with out the light of nite as fall off the moon too soon burns my eyes in the sky where troopers patrol the scrolls of lifeless embryonic fluids we coercion into voids less filled with drums and base fish evolve into view of nonsensical disgust covered in dusty crusts when nothing is real yet they go on to there empty lives inside there mindless nine thoughts repeated over and over in time to see the next wave where there are days that go by into the ever moving rivers eye like a spoon of sugar in the coffee cup slowly stirred and spilt into your mouth dripping inside of you till the moisture is no more but a ocean of dirt drying still the fish find this amusing our loosing our mind to that tenth thought of drinking a bird baths shallow drift into the edgeless edge of nite's day begins here and there and overhears it again

Sunday, January 15, 2006

the tiger sleeps by the phone




waiting by the phone till over come with sleep

Forcing myself to laugh

It is not funny no matter what way the cookie crumbles the cookie crumbs flake away like ripples away from a stone echoes of thoughts and feeling that seem so unreal like an umbrella the loneliness of blissful not-ness ever alone in a water fall of evening ripping my heart from my chest I frolic like a butterfly in the blizzard of overemphasized nothing no's of snow escaping into the volumes like sitting in a laughing birds pocket where the gold is in the sky as crying makes no senses and feelings of not-ness given up the chances at last there is dreams in my life like evolving diamonds as they exploded into the are on jupiter's beaker where it was made to consume the doom of lives endless tail of sadness and loneliness brisk ware the hair escapes from my head into the chin of my mouths tongue hard to expose the lows hard to feel that moving on feeling of falling into the sordid tales of wu and you you you .... ever real ever right there in my face and my place is not mine but blind into the light of that good night in everywheres we were to see the free that support art as an artist dies and ant can not tell right or left but when the up and down of cycles ride to the end of the night and evening even the night off the right a wolf screams blue and a glass shatters like my heart bent to break again....

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

A package of timing sticks

A package of timing sticks

Speech slowed and held back, recalistrant
They don't allow me what to say what I said
The priests talk around it obliquely
Burn the dog well to eat oh boy

Chip that rock in its hard place and
Put what's left in the glass pipe cake
Pose for the picture and smile on film
Cry for your life and fear the other

Otherwise you know how to die it's the work>
Of a lifetime to judge yourself
You love yourself the least of all
Wrong you know it's not to cool to pay

Exposed to your fall I grew it high
Split by your spitting on me I change
Sounds like you know I know you know
Spill the colour on the puddle to be

Be well and live too long it is song
New realities shapes make thing s real again
Scared of fire and pain that line is finished
Wiser than that to committ a comment

Say it aloud cry for my eyes have seen
Knest thought qool would be clean well
Hate is lost to the conformity in the now
Junkies hate the pain and love the insanity

Tears that say goodbye to another past

8-11-97
3:21am

Tears that say goodbye to another past
Think of her in a past dream forever
She is gone and yet I remember and go on
It is so hard to say good bye forever

A familiar place ago so small a chill
Just a wish for me to wee you again
Think on a stone from the moon I see you
There it is and I remember it well

Rocks to break again to hard to place
She is in love with him and you know
He loves none but the memories
When it thought of you you knew me

I have ideas that change as fast as
I write what I see on the page two
Can't tell you who is writing now then
She stairs at the spoof of that love scene

He'va round cool pull am I the other one
Too go to many spilt well together
Row to the rail of a real town hee!
The wind blew me free from your whispers

Awhile ago a river ran there now as open
Here it is there it was for go the sunrise
Close you wet eyes for the morning
Comes together in your minds eye

Dreaming of this special cloud colour

8-11-98
2:25 am

Dreaming of this special cloud colour
flying to that space i begin to fall
fighting what i fear and lost again
I cry my self asleep in a dream of fear

when she is there, She is not there but here
The colours flow like a river over my head
White exposure is like the water's fall
don't touch them too closely for they know

Splash that puddle you call your mind
and make me real again to do it all over
Specks of peace fall fast to the ground and die
their texture makes a rainbow look dull

To explain what remains is a trick of riddles
i tell the same story but in different words
Quite souls make their way to and fro
A shadow is neither right or wrong! just gone

Again i make another mistake remembering it
if i could forget, i would, I can't, so i won't
I left this here just to remember i forgot
It is just as easy to love but why so

Dissappointed in that colour you think in
when will you change the smell of time
That preset of emotions remains one
No life ever placed here could know him

poem 1 from hard cover hand writen poems book

8-9-97
6:00 am

As i took my last breath
I thought how greatful i was to breath again
At last i breathed it out and was done
It was all gone and it longed for another

To late to see the other side yet
To soon to come back through
Too much to know i don't want to know another
Too far to be gone alone in space

About the same few words i choose
That dream of emptyness without you
In a moment it all comes back together
you know when it goes beyond your mind

Not mine to loose i let it go too far
Standing, Knowing, Seeing, Being -> Real
Each choice is gone by to either side of Reality
My eye closes to lose the colour blindly

Waiting to make it open again, Time passes
The colours still remain behind, Time passes
Texture, Shape, Style, Size -> Change
It is new again and just more Real

I took my last look at that Ultimate God
my soul exposed to the one out of her
I closed my eye and it was over and done
Never to be again that last look

Monday, January 02, 2006

my blanket with me underneath

there is an empty way left today were we know
calling you frum unda da banket like it or not
wonderen thompin in the waves of realities
we cant effect sybialic associations relates
howeva lives in levels of strife w/o lite
remain insain from pain of the same
the universe expodes a few more
braincells in my hell of night
better put a sweater on
with out the 2 letters
i write my dears
what is clear
without
fear
of
1

this is an audio post - click to play

this is an audio post - click to play