Out in the dim lit streets, down the alleyways of the mind, the eye was set on the jewels of the ditch, the misery of time.. Hollow dreams brown walls slim and slender thought wavering around the edge of the town, he left. Worn from the ways in the canyon and dead in the light of time, age took him towards the grave with a deep psychopathic sadness spread across his pages like a glove. Hands mangled bones reaching for a few aged breaths of meaningful air but there was nothing there, a couple of recurring memories of solid endless fantasies swimming around his scull from somewhere up above. He died a long time ago but his body kept moving thru the day like a used ford. Right from the beginning he was doomed to end demented, the world threw him round like a toy, like a bottle of beer, a cigarette butt, a scattered dream meaningless and feared.
That was the life of a man, a man somewhat like you and i, groomed into accepting the dirt in his blood, acts hidden beneath, decisions forced by the very allusions of love. He was thin in the head, with a heart of solid silver, a mind of shallow space, clear, no colour to his skin. He was a 20th century man, almost dead.
Back in the streets of the mind you can feel the souls weave thru the night air, hope wilting in the hearts, long crescendoes of despair slowly penetrating the cells of life. The end is beginning again, the 21st century is in full swing. Love is at the door, faith is emanating from the walls, paint is bright and thick.
You with your honest lies, facts formed for from the privileged ones. My history with your polished shoes, your razor blade manners, your quest for power, a fools day on the golden screen.
I hit the streets in the rain, wind brushing up against my coat, slivers of light beaming across the sky, dim views rolling across the road. Miracles lifting off the floor, turbulence humming from the brain, a whole fleet of merchants pasting their wars in advertisements for the blind and truth hiding within the crevices as usual. This is where i was born free of commitment free of germs free of life and there you entered like a saviour like a saint like a fool. I laid across your hallways and forced walls inside my veins, i loved your bricks and toothpaste and i gave out your embraces to the midgets in the ward just like you asked but one thing i just couldn’t do was to eat your jet-planes and drive your convenience stores torn into the new world. I refused, i would rather die than kill myself like that. You, you big fucking idiot to think i could fall so easy, death wasn’t that sacred and you knew it, you too were hiding here inside somewhere close by. I could feel it, i could sense the desperation from afar, i could tell you were me right from the start.
The candle burnt to the end, the bridges lifted down to the core and the whole universe scrambled inside out and the end kept beginning over and over again like a lost snail but there was more and more that came and went and then it turned over and started all over again, repeated this endlessly. I stood on the edge alone watching, there was no one i could recognize, no one to put my finger to. The walk to the highlands was low and mean. I didn’t know if i was coming or going most of the time and when i heard that last bell ringing from across the heavens i knew it was time. I shut up watched and listened but there was nothing but darkness, no sound, no nothing just blank, a blank everything and some remnant of me. That was it, i turned , i suppose i did and then the music began, bad obnoxious pounding rap metal crashing in my ears……..what the fuck, what is this place, where is the eternity you promised, the love dangling across your eyes like an iron fist. God, you were something, looking out at the world like you owned it.
It was still raining hard across the streets, wind brushing up against my face, there was nothing left to do but to walk on and that i did.
Poems falling into broken ears, breaking ears, weary tears thru the years, and trying so desperately to own me.
I’m out here wandering between the branches thru the open air in the nigh-time of your early dawn. I miss your soft voice against the kitchen cabinets and your sweet smell when you brush up against my will. I love those moments when the air is perfect, memories soft, pure. I want to be there, i want to be there always, i believe in the impossible, the totally unlikely time that lays still between the leaves. The young, with dreams for no purpose but to exist to be as it is to care for nothing, for nothing is in need. Yes this life has taken too much of me, my soul, pieces scattered into data office machines, factories scheming dreams lying across futures that have already tattooed a bar code across my forehead. I want out, suicide this mess, i want beauty, the heart of these trees, the seed of freedom in my eyes.
In the afternoon the streets are quiet, the hill side is fading towards the night, the people are wavering in and out of the hazy uncertain horizon. I can see clear across the globe, the sky, into the heavens where a creator is looking thru me. I see as it is.
All things, fields of forests of ancestors with their yarn woven within the mind, truth exposed everywhere like mist hovering between timeless branches. My being within everything, my time all time, dissolved as water does, her love kissed upon the soil in rain, her ambers of life eternally me. This is the place i long for, this here where the streets lie still and the song of the forest is forever sung.
Audio reciting ‘the only thing that is the same’, by Patrick Wey
the only thing that is the same in this universe is zero and even that is debatable when you’re on one side or the other side of the law
I moved away from the familiar past into a world where friends were few and loneliness was often found in the silence hidden aside the walkways across the avenues. I almost found solitude if it weren’t for the e social networks, nonetheless there were many moments of calm creations; when there is nothing left to prove things happen in a different way. Streets open up with unimaginable events, people surprise you, animals speak out loud silently, birds fly for no reason, insects have some strange purpose one will never know. Dreams keep surrounding you with images that don’t have to make sense, the disease of man seems bearable and things just are.
Out west the air is clear once you travel beyond the atmosphere, nothing is perfect in the mind, mirrors just appear and the road unravels like a rug finely woven with magic and mystery like a heaven sometimes rejected for hell.
I love the smell of success as well as anyone, whether it be in the mind or in the pocket, it just seems simpler with out the travesty of catching money for your thoughts, it seems the toil of labour for jewels is degrading, a useless waste of life if you don’t even have a family to sit with for dinner. It’s hard times on the road, being human, forced to find an identity that doesn’t exist, a purpose where there is no meaning unless you deliver one for your self, create a home for your phantom soul to relax within.
I am me, the creation of numerous years searching to not search, moving to find nothing, a life completely vacant of hope for humanity, hope to cope, a path to end all paths, but i am stuck here, in a mind forced to believe in stuff this world is made of, a victim of conditional love, a surviver thru many a storm, a man growing old in body and simpler in mind. There is no escape but death and i love it, the times twisted bend out of and into shape, i love this life, most of the time.
Lyrics
Most of the time
I’m clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the signs
Stay right with it
When the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don’t even notice
She’s gone
Most of the time
Most of the time
It’s well understood
Most of the time
I wouldn’t change it if I could
I can’t make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation
Right down to the bone
I can survive,
And I can endure
And I don’t even think
About her
Most of the time
Most of the time
My head is on straight
Most of the time
I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion
’till it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion
No matter how thick
I can smile in the face
Of mankind
Don’t even remember
What her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time
Most of the time
She ain’t even in my mind
I wouldn’t know her if I saw her
She’s that far behind
Most of the time
I can’t even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her
Most of the time
I’m halfway content
Most of the time
I know exactly where it all went
I don’t cheat on myself
I don’t run and hide
Hide from the feelings
That are buried inside
I don’t compromise
And I don’t pretend
I don’t even care
If I ever see her again
Most of the time
The judge, he holds a grudge He’s gonna call on you
But he’s badly built
And he walks on stilts
Watch out he don’t fall on you…..b dylan
Believe in nothing to believe, but if you must, then master the system and then let it disintegrate and walk on.
The man with the brain slowly edged himself up upon thru to the ruins of definiteness and held a glimpse or two of the wavering minds lounging in the cafes along the avenues. He was weathered by the storms of the twisted perspectives attached to the paint upon the canvases of the ancients to the post moderns and otherwise dangling off the limbs as dreams, possibilities, awakenings of white on white on white – canvas.
He had a coffee as usual and glued together a few words as they swung by like intruders off the modern capes flowing in the winds. He was done, left for the highway.
Crippled roads searching for a language to heal their weary words he rode the obscure train lines headed for the coast and sang endlessly from one tune to another songs never sung, beliefs never believed, then disregarded it all and sailed off into the night sea backwards. That was me just the other day and now i am someone else again, back on the streets and watching the new people dressed in old clothes and talking with worn out words saying ban that and take this and do this and stop that, same old, new language. The forest is calling the silence is here; gone again.
There is a better way than being right or wrong, it involves the focus between the ear and the heart.
Here, take this poem and smash it against the wall. Let the dreams fall off your branches, let the dying die and kiss that delicious sky just one more time again. Tear up the roads, crush the path of truth beneath your fingers and walk out there one more time alone, be that there, just exactly what you need, what you are, coming along into the morning light. Here you can see the sailors streaming across the space of time and the jokers the thieves the saints all floating by with their treasures all wrapped up secure and tight across their backs like a disease. Hey, come on now, you don’t have to stay down here worried about what can never be, get to the edge of time and drown there….
I just returned from a cluster of years travelling down and up avenues, across highways of success and despair, thru plains of serenity, stupidity, galmour, inner power, crippled minds and all for what? some formulations embedded into my head about what it’s all about….i suppose.
Dreams broken floating in pieces along canals of my brain and definite ideals standing tall rusted in silhouettes against my mind and a heart being pumped with emotions from some distant scene fading into a future that will never exist. That’s the life dying every moment living full like an empty glass.
I love this place and all its peculiar shapes, plastic boats and time ships made of pure imagination travelling thru space from one certainty to another in obvious conflict along a desperate way. I love the way things melt into one another leaving hardly a trace of the reasons for being here. I love this investigation and all its strange conclusions about things that can never be known, like who invented me and why would it and what does it matter anyhow. I love it all and i love love and the way it hates to be fooled and then hugs me again in the end.
Streets are filling with celebrities, clowns, sailors, virtual warriors, tattoo queens, shamanists, sacred chocolate gurus, image experts, musical authorities and velvet dreamers; avenues are taking turns winding bending heading direct towards highways of perfect thought, pure serenity, dangerous times and happy afternoons.
And just one more thing…..whoopse, it’s nothing much, forget it.
