B101 … UnderWaves

Disjointed paragraphs attempting to survive, like a night in big-streets….like a natural chemistry trip….like life.

The undercurrent moves quietly and leaves a rush of wave in its wake; a mass like this changes landscapes and worlds. Some bubbles rise as poetry of flight from the deep, some too heavy fall to darker depths and others, much lighter and more awake, transform into light of a stratosphere.

The underground is where it all begins with the disruption of thought and the constant bending blending of ideals, the heart of the bohemian, these rough waters crashing up against the norm. This is change forever moving the mass into clearer skies, momentarily calm waters and clear destruction.

Waves Along the Shore Line

Unlike the waves along the shoreline, the mind has created a segment of delinquent controllers, egos worth more than they are, warped entities creating systems wholly for their own benefit. Whereas natural tribes of ancient times when all were for the many; our world of disjointed men, estranged with greed are creating thrones for their own alone.

A web of corruption strings a similar bloodline across eons of lies. An old displaced family sits naked on the horizon of negative evidence surfacing. Their platform is crumbling, the plan is crushed, time is slipping into the early dawn of clarity. They’re finished, just waiting for the future to catch up to itself. No sense in wasting words along main street, the restructuring of minds will do as they do. Up ahead is sucking the past into itself, a part of the future is predestined, a part is not. The way it is, the spirit is pushing us thru, nothing is for certain in the fields of thought, only the heart with a wounded ear lying silent up ahead creating these bends.

Cries in the Eyes of Nature

A day breaks into a single syllable, a crow cries out for help, the moon is sliding beyond the clouds, my mind is slowly wandering thru the haze. In the ditch of time a weary spec of hope lays dangling off some leaf hanging in dry air curled up beside itself and me. What is going on?  A tree from a distance answers unclear into a breeze blowing free across the valley and i hesitate with my love and shake a while into some worried walls standing alone along a few avenues inside. “What’s goin on”, again i say to nobody listening.

In the forest she lets her self fall into thin air, the rough bark of a proud cedar speaks of lost loves and choices regretted while the soil snuggles up close with attention, the whole scene is smattered with situations, conclusions and of course, mystery. I walked over to the long sea and felt that depth within, that sacred space where angels speak and devils fade with the wind. People think there is someplace along this path where everything is all right, perfect but soon get left alone in the middle of a space where only nothingness spreads. They hurt and quit and accuse and leave for some foreign somewhere again.

I found an image to show you, some forms curving in and out of themselves, creating a meaning tailor made and cheap, easy and sharp. I expect you to have it, a sort of gift for hanging around all these years. I know you didn’t understand the game quite as well as you may have and there were times too often to mention that you would swear this doesn’t make any sense at all, useless, detrimental to your safety, your stability amongst your peers. I get it. I don’t hold it against you. I wasn’t thinking of how it would separate us. I was just surrendering to the flow, that suction into the night, that sensual luring into the mystery, thru all that fear and insane light.

Bridges Against the Wind

I’m leaving for now. There are other delights brushing up against my mind, soft thoughts falling off the walls, bridges against the winds of change to admire and loves waiting, still, along the waterways of illumination. I feel sad somehow to wander off so abruptly and i do have you in my mind when i say, “i loved you”, sometimes with all my heart and sometimes with it busted up inside and hurting but it was the best i could do in those moments faintly falling into that night of beauty and black. There will be others to replace these holes where things once were and others to mingle minds together as often lost lovers do with memory and dream.

When everything is said and more words just trouble time, possibly one last warm embrace could carry us to another dimension, a place where everything is in the right place, a place where there is no need to remove, replace, re-do, a place just right the way it is. Possibly one last breath of your love could smother my soul forever. That alone, could give me the strength to die from here.

days pass, avenues arise…..

The Duncan Garage Cafe and Robert, Magician.

It’s a gray day of light rain and a shallow moist wind blows free across the sky. I sit here at the Duncan Garage Cafe with a coffee and the 39 Days of July softly slides thru the atmosphere from across the street to today. A quiet folk singer possibly on his first debut creases the view of sound easy, almost unnoticed. I sit with some dreams scattered across the mindscape weaving in and out like a blanket secure warm questioning. I sit with this soft rain and each one of these fine drops sifting thru the memory of the universe for someone like me to pick up on a few thoughts and heave them around in a welcoming skull to develop a scene or two.

Tanxxxx bounced across the street with a bunch of whole paragraphs shaking up the air like a gray day does. Conversations we both shared in delight, in a day like this. That was yesterday somewhere gone now for who knows how long into one of those delicate drops of slim water. She was a rare beauty lost amongst the rest of us and missed.

Hanxxxx in a real reality swung thru a Garage Cafe door, the door hitting my table and almost knocking off my coffee mug and spilling a hot coffee unto my computer as Tanxxxx once did. Strange, the way realities move across the pages and touch space of whole worlds apart that i get to see, feel, live within. Hanxxxx is a Garage freind, a beautiful pre-mid aged woman with a couple of kids and an energy well conditioned in the shamanic witch realms: including the mystery of local indigenous plants and their dimensions of magic. We shared stories of myths intertwined with scenes of ourselves mixed up in synchronicities too bazaar to not notice or forget. Odin, crows, magic mushroom scenarios, all interconnected woven like a macrame net from the over-worlds of universal secrets. Neither of us knows anything for sure, and we know that, and that is everything in such discussions……not to end up in false predictions and philosophies made of steel, plastics and fluffy air.

She departed in good spirits and left me here, free, alone again, of course, naturally.

It’s getting lonely, the years are smothered with endings everywhere. In the autumn-years things change slower knowing they have this darkness closer, approaching. That is one of many descriptions that enters the present space more often than before. This is age aging, nothing one can do about it, just stay sane into the mystery hanging around, accept everything as a wall would. Be quiet more often, attention with no intention.

Shanxxxx popped into view from out of nowhere, what a pleasant surprise. I knew she and her cat Mojo had returned from months of adventure in Costa Rico, and Mexico as Sasha, Kachi and I. We have a lot to talk about and rescheduled a time  to mull over our experiences and relations with the structures of the world ever encroaching into our minds so forcefully, regrettably, dangerously and all with some twisted beautiful love. The order of novel plans seeping into our worlds like a disease, a virus look-a-like, unreal in nature and persistent and something you can’t ignore. Possibly Mexico will suck us back, possibly things will change more smooth, easy to move about without political-biochemistry cursing our natural nature.
It will be nice to hear and feel her love. Life is love in the end and kindness is ultimately the way to be, so we shall hear soon a little of what we think we know.

A Silent Silhouette Across the Waves

In other realms there are moments one would die for, one does die for. There is a love that is so intense it creates everything, silently and with beauty no mind can know; only the heart beats this drum uniting all, the pulse of reality, the pure essence of all change, the winds of peace and time. This is where the earth mother warms the wombs of life, speaks meaning into the freedom of spirit. I walk into this mystery with the night, alone, slow shadows spreading across this perfect landscape and sweet beauty stretching along the horizon thru waves of eternity tingling within my mind. Sleep and dreams thru nothingness engulfs me.

It is such a shame so many have lost true faith in our mother, replacing her with mechanical intelligence and its false prophets of deceitful reason circular, cursing the free spirits with chains of altered genetics and deadly chemicals. This is the nature of the many of man in times as these.

Rising Down Along the Streets in Innocence

I could have done so many things, if only i hadn’t fallen into this land of wonder, this hole of insight and torture, this love with you and all your dreams, all your charms, your sweet fragrance. If only i had walked across the plains of time alone, across the landscape of multi-coloured space, across this universe on a silver leaf, a love true and simple forever to the end. Here i am closing in on the last flight with you, all your evenings left on the broken shelves, your sweet desires lifting, letting go, your love entangled and worn. I am content to move within this, it’s been a good long life thru the forests and desserts and i’m ready to float now within your dream. Lets’ be on with it, the night is closing in, the birds are whistling their evening tunes and the sky is folding in on itself, i feel your love healing my soul, your heart filling me with serenity. blessed nite.

Listening to the sounds of the past, friends weave thru the psychedelic moments and the rooms of smoke and alcohol and music and dead on blues filling the blood of wandering souls everywhere…….memories last breath fading softly across the harmonies of change.

‘There is no meaning behind anything, it is all out front, in plain view smothered in mist, disguised as hidden’, says a long echo swirling down from the halls of eternity. There is a reason for everything, it is often said, yet the minds reason crumbles when it stumbles upon a hearts knowing and honours it with the label ‘coincidence’. The minds logic habitually gets nervous and falls apart when truth comes crawling around for no apparent reason; a little mystery, a big mystery, ‘it must all be mystery in the end and the beginning too’, says a defeated shakin reason.

Thoughts Falling on Walls and Halls and Stairways

We have been fooled into thinking that everything worthwhile must have a structural continuity as definite but i, doesn’t think so. If that were true every word would be condemned to not jump around in the alphabet and the selection would be enormously mathematically limited. Sometimes new letters need to be created just to exaggerate realities imagined, stretch the truth within its own waters.


I move from one paragraph to another like the days move into the weather. Nothing is prepared for the future like flexibility. The constant awareness of change, change is the continuity of mystery, never knowing anything for certain is the game with players like reason, intuition, nonsense, and paradox with a goal post of endlessness, just to excite the realms.

Explorations of a Photographic Artist

When i was a young boy, i dreamt like a dreamer does, destroying any perfection with perfect sense, like seeing the world upside down; lying on the floor and looking up, and there, sitting on the top of a wooden doorway with my feet hanging down into the plastered ceiling, walking across the ceiling-floor past a fountain of a dangling chandelier to my lookout, the lintel top of a window, my ledge to rest my excited elbows and to look down upon an upside down world fall, fold and bend perfectly normal into the streets. That, many years later developed into an art form of upside-down puddle reflections….i suppose.

This story has no beginning with no end, just the feeling of unsettling moods intertwining themselves like one breath to another, deep, shallow, short and long, slow, soft, panicking. The earth moves like this thru the cosmos with man constantly attempting and endlessly failing to limit eternity into some form of context, as if infinity was a concept.

Covidity has the world by the balls. The art-craft of virology has lifted some to the highest fears and drowned others in delight. The ideal of science has sworn minds into straight jackets, taken people to the edges of insanity where devious creatures roam. I stand alone in my understanding, separate in my heart, connected to the trees of life and love. I walk with an immune structure perfectly connected and intelligent. I own absolutely no fear of dying, it comes and goes like the wind. I am free in my silence, i am the right to live as life, octaves above worn science, religion, philosophy and thought. I am life love…..sometimes, i see it that way.

times are rusting, wearing thin – beauty hiding deep within

Possibly the next metamorphosis of man will be to rise above the chains of thought and its persistent nature of believing in itself and creating illusions perceived as real. Possibly man will transcend the insidious nature to control its environment in rigid design. There appears to be a time-space continuum where the creator and consciousness are co-creators for no apparent absolute reason but to exist to live within a substance similar to what we might attempt to describe as love as its essence. All is speculation but there is this gnawing feeling, weird knowing, that there is much more than this, this strangeness so strange with multi-layered eternal-mist our mind construct can never know. Off to the space where ‘nothing is real and nothing to get hung about’…my all time favourite lyrics….wish i had written something so beautiful so real as ‘strawberry fields forever’, but at-least i understand these words, here and there, at times when time falls apart, dissolves where freedom flies. ‘Let me take you down’. Thanks John Lennon.

It’s so strange to see people walking around masked in the hot sun in circular reasoning…….waiting i suppose for the next deadly viropox, and another boost into the new trans-human world; digitized. From research it has been acknowledged that there has not been one single virus isolated anywhere on this planet at anytime. It is all presupposed conclusions abstracted and media-ed across the globe to fill the pocket books of a chosen few and ultimately kill off the useless mass of eaters for some warped agenda by a group of psychopaths that believe they are entitled to own the world. The masses appear to not be able to conceive of such a simple plan to be real, to be executed with such finesse from the poorest serf to the executives of matters, governments and saints. They continue to refuse to see the possibilities and press on, living within their dystopia entertained and hypnotized, couched with their indifferences like a herd of snails…..and in rare occasions for short moments, i as many, have slid into this safe shelter under a shell moving slow across the fields of time; but short lived.

We See What We Want To See, But That’s Not Reality

Covidian delirium erupting across the wastelands, i sit here with my mouth on fire and a tongue feeling ill. They may own the main stream, but they can never touch the pure spring, the source of the hearts will.
Children and folk sacrificed on the lab-slab of political medicine as tattooed angels and mans lambs walk in herds doing the right thing, waiting in line for the safe jab, obedient and fooled by the very authority they adore. This world is messing with the world, roll back down your sleeve, we are not sacrificial lambs, adjust your trust to a higher science that respects the creation that created us, nature is our sacred earth.

Autumn Sasha


i moved on, turned the page, had enough,
my god it’s empty
damn, filling up quick
memories, dreams, alphabets
old shoes and avenues
here i come again
patched up and ready
clear skies and you


writing and images by patrick wey

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