made my strikes

I went bowling over the weekend and made my strikes... we had nothing left to spare. I dropped some van halen on the ears and a ten pound marble on wax floors, and that puppy found its way to the void and disappeared, taking a whole lotta sticks with it to the hereafter. My form wasn't very good and gosh, I didn't care about the arrows or the baseball game or the scorecard on the screen next to it. All I cared about was turning around to look you in the eyes and know you loved me.

simply colorful everything. simply all night long.

What will the weekend be like, i wonder,  going into it alone and willing with a working spirit. i guess i feel better working than anything else anymore, which may be different than i once was. you see i once wanted to be reckless and free of responsibility, and searched a way out of the static. i went alone then, too, but always ready to be with anyone rolling the same way, as i am now. like me they might hold your hand for a moment longer than others, or hold your eyes with theirs. tractor beam. attraction. being chosen could be sacred again, not a consumer driven concept in the great malls of material faith now centrifuges and research labs for the subtle senses, the homes of renowned empiricists now filled by squatters, a luxury activity exclusive to the partially brilliant who move to town from city and sift and shift through the yet to be appropriated. today i would roll more with optimists and cynics, anyone who wants to roll up sleeves and kick ass for their country for family for the home made feeling, keeping to something meaningful even if it's not how you pay your mortgage or rent, your car note, insurance, your phone bill and grocery, your internet connection, electric, wardrobe and water. we may even get out and vote in a couple weeks, after we smash the pumpkins and drive the point home to the vampires. bloody hell. six sense perception dwindling down to three or four. age and race, time and place, seen and heard and felt, we come together then go it alone, swimming slow, canvassing the urban element. leaves fall off trees to the sidewalks awhile, people run past screaming from deranged clowns, tight trance joints in the clubs spilling out past security. social security. no, the future and 2023 are not cold, computer, the silent ones are chosen. they patronize the magazine stand and the cafe. tractor beam attraction. open to living different, no real right or wrong, simply colorful everything, simply all night long. Well, they might hold your hand. a moment longer than the others.

three chances

Cancel my subscription to the mobile phone.
Cancel my subscription to the ozone layer.
Cancel my subscription to politics and gas.
Cancel my subscription to lethargy and cable.
Cancel my subscription to drugs and alcohol.
Cancel my subscription to tap water.
Cancel my subscription to other people's pain.
Cancel my subscription to being led on.
Cancel my subscription to recycling the same old crap.
Cancel my subscription to acquaintance by text.
Cancel my subscription to an inside job.
Cancel my subscription to middle east oil.
Cancel my subscription to grocery store mailings.
Cancel my subscription to cage free hens.
Cancel my subscription to ad-free tv.
Cancel my subscription to barnacled rituals.
Cancel my subscription to imperialism under wraps.
Cancel my subscription to liars and thieves.
Cancel my subscription to half the world religions.
Cancel my subscription to new and old waves.
Cancel my subscription to smoking and vapes.
And modern day slaves.

Give me an endless cup of coffee
Give me someone to love
Give me someone who loves me

Give me a song with no words
Give me a room with one window
Give me a book with no message
Give me a laptop with no hard drive
Give me a friend with no agenda
Give me a chance

And I will give
you one
two
three

to be who you said
you could be

Journal # 04.04.17 + Maze 2:17:1

Good to get yourself on 'a mission from god'  (Akroyd and Belushi). Or a mission from the buddha, or just on a spiritual mission. You can rise above this mundanity, all the plastic bullshit we encounter out in the world. I tell you what! I would not even get out of bed and didn't!  For several years rarely! I was shooting plastic into my arm. I was snorting plastic up my nose. I was fucking plastic dummies! I was smoking plastic. I was seeing plastic. I had to railroad myself into my personal mission from god. god was lowercase matte finish and unrefined. god had to be a weed that would drop roots and take hold. god only came when i fertilized my soil with shit! Wet plasticine dream semantics. And that's why I do what I do. Not that I don't love you. I do. You deserve every bit as much higher altitude, greater bandwidth consciousness as anybody! Settle at your own risk. I did and I could not get out of bed anymore. What gets you out of bed in the morning? The answer was nothing. Maybe plastic for a time. Still I decided to live, I don't know why. 12.12.12 came and went, and my heart kept pushing the blood through my extremities. My altitude was underground. So I was an unusual kinda freak and I'm sure I still am. But I was no pushover and they would have to make room for me. I ate my spinach and took my pills, so I could get out of bed and get on a mission. The mission was clear. You see it everyday. You can find me. Right here...  MAZE 2:17:1 final chapter... a reading...

toe touch

We talked serious about
light things

steampunk
anime
electronic cloud
formations 

you chose packets
i chose waves

you came over me like one
i carried you
to shore

you made me laugh
I broke many rules

building sandcastles
at low tide

we veered sideways
off the freeway
of great expectations

you answered a question
with a question

i will be your
valentine if
you will
be mine

you said
(playfully)
i said
(seriously)

after we touch
toes

be sure
and never
wash me off

you could be your own nightmare part - ii

Urgent!

There's still time to cop a feel off this felt sense priority. Better knock your socks off and touch down upon the concrete. Circulate energy through your feet. Watch the pavement crack, to the earth's elation. 

Feel the heartbeat. Flourishing.

Her people she had to attend. The gods and goddess would show in their own time. The wine would flow, Dionysian ambrosia. The nectar was reserved for all minorities of culture.


Culture wars her rush, psychology her fix. 

Anything organic went right into the mix. 

The masses needed only a pair of decent reading glasses. The sun would run the blender, and blend it all together. A purer form of condensation than any melting pot could render. The wind would drive the word, across the thousand tongues. Anyone who tried to protest, got an iron lung.

Prayers for rain.

Empowerment via numbers was mathematically guaranteed. Those who had sunken into stupor, very quickly they were freed. Premonition kept her sane. She meditated on the past, and then to the becoming.... not knowing did not worry her. The rain would keep on drumming.


Trudging through to sunrise, beyond the cloudy days.
Uplifted all her people, kissed by new sun rays.
See the children? They are dancing on the shoulder!

The darkness, now behind them, had only brought them closer.

you could be your own nightmare part - i

She found her knowing when tabbing through cerebellum's internal ledger. Frontal cortex set for auto-pager alerts. She envisioned a world she knew would never be. Those who disagree would be free to disagree. How fascinating the freedom was, to this world's masses. They witnessed it like men in night clubs witness ladies asses. Even in this world you could be your own nightmare. Learn about apathy, how not to care. Fill with negativity like a car up on gas. Suck up to the deacon, attend every mass. Learn to revere the most ass kissing fascists....

 She saw how her world could go way out to lunch.
She saw with eyes open her very best of intentions?  Could lead her off.
Beyond her wildest extension.
This caused her anxiety; she manifested tension.
The knowing she knew, was not playing.

She decided she must stand with her believers.
Or whatever you wanna call those who disagree with disagree-ers.