B93 … beyond the walls into free space…

People need a story with chapters of news swimming desperately down thru the editions of trust and hope.

All the psyco paths lead to the board room where the few seats sit, all the faces have been replaced and their motives sit hidden between the steps up to the grand pyramid between the walls, up to the big hammer, the one sick eye watching over the domain like a decrepit elder.

On the Same Side of The Wall

I can’t help you, i don’t have anything you want. The sacred is too far from your swollen eyes, the barriers are too thick with deep-seated lies, alibis, there is no way out for you. Sit in the streets of your glorified heavens and continue your crippled curses into that dangerous breeze and watch your paradise slip further below the tar.

I can hear the constant waves slowly melt away the pain, the silver sea, the rushing waters of life leading me, kissing my heart, taking me beyond, swallowing my self into the nothingness of loves forest. I hold dear the elusive feel of your touch and the caresses that glide across my heavens. I want you so bad in those moments when life is so close to death. I care more for you, then i could ever hold on to a self, as absurd as that may be. 

In the morning-light things come to me that i would never have suspected, dreams waver across the horizon of my eyes and i feel you so right, so beautiful i shiver in the ecstasy of it all, then it all disappears as if it never was and i’m back on your torn avenues.

It doesn’t matter much when it is all spread across the mind, fragments of disappearing dreams and fake love trying to glue it all together. I can see you there trembling in your tattoos, your brave cartoons burning conceit into your skin. I watch with amazement as you stroll past, reflections of your soul piercing thru the tar-lit roads. Useless and meaningless your day drags the news around like a knife and you cut open every wound you can find just to smother it with your foul facts tainted and corroding like a carcass.

One Man in Cobble Stone Street

It may be harsh, the descriptions of your ways, but it shall pass, that is as absolute as it gets. When the night time falls i’ll be watching from the side. I will help every heart that cries out and every soul dying in pain. The bridge between the weak and the wounded is moving into position, the banisters are flying high, up in the bleachers you can feel the spirit, the day has begun. A parallel universe right here on earth, the elite with their puppets and the good with their warmth, just like an ‘Island’………..alone, fading out to sea.

We shall leave a trace in history, that is fascinating, a sculpture of what is now. We are the thoughts exposed to matter of fact, tho the future may not have clear access to this reality, it did exist and we are the witness as transient as it may be. The fabric of our lives, our decisions, our loves and hates will bend within the weave of dreamtime. The truth appears as nothing more than a whistle from a mexican crow in an early morning dawn.

My home-town ‘the suitcase’ escapes the confines of land but my boot-heels are free no more. I have ended down in the lost and found for a recycled life that never existed in the first place. I am homeless, without the tendency to believe and a wandering soul that finds nothing for certain. Some say that it is a curse and some swear that this is true freedom. I don’t say much about it all but the past sure seems very far behind, most of the time, almost out of site, remnants scatter the open road but the last train is already on the move and my suitcase is stuck in the tracks.

 We should all look around more, be kinder. We are all racing against time. We all steal a few sentences from here and there and try to make them fit, into a paragraph or two. Sometimes it works but often it doesn’t. There is a lot of uncertainty in the galleries of life. The more you realize what you don’t know the more you know you don’t know, and that knowing is the key to uncertainly. Maybe yes, maybe no, that is inscribed on the trucks to freedom.

Friendly Cops of Merida Yucatan

Off in the jungles of circumstance digits are racing thru time. Art is on the run, science has crossed the sacred line, religion is a cluster of brain cells drowning in a lab-tube, music has gone into hiding, surfing thru the lowlands. Words of the poets are split into letters numbered and organized. Dance is given to the ward for safe keeping waiting til the way is clear. Down on wall street the social control is in the third quarter, the crash is topping out. You can feel the tension on the boulevards of the America’s, the numbers rising high as the fall is moving in. In the forest, roots are grasping for the past, leaves are growing rough, bark is terribly thin.

The lone call of the wolf sits high on the back of the beauty as the beast is crawling in.

Over the years the mighty kings of the jungle figured out how to control the herd. How to organize an agenda right down to street level. That is what has happened as of late and they know most will not believe it and not figure it out and in fact support it and torture the ones that are seeing the light. There lies the war, the separation of the people while they continue to play with the plan and have the media direct and project the moves. They figure it out with few adjustments, rearrangements along the way, according to the reactions of the masses, till they get it right, they keep pushing their narration. Any subversive dissonance is crushed along the way.

As in the peaceful canadian trucker convoy, which should be praised, by most is crushed, demoralized, sabotaged, made trite, useless, stupid and it all seems logical to most of the people. Where the news flows the people go.

Now, up pops a war, the convoy seems shallow. People imprisoned, bank accounts seized, businesses destroyed and mass minds support the tyranny as good solid government judgements. Most have moved on into the debates over the war, name calling from either side, arguments of which media is correct, amateur experts spread all over social media with their view points and any movement towards the more sinister agenda is labeled as theorists, destroyed and discarded by the majority. Only the masses can stop the movement of the agenda of the few on the many and they have them by the balls, their pay checks, minds, hearts and souls. So the raw truth stays hidden, invisible, discreet and scrapes along the floors of the plague. That is the condition of the world, shallow in the many and deep and dark by the few.

Maria Christina and her little boy…a new friend, a new light.

Zero point energy exists as the natural way nature generates and distributes the infinite frequencies and shapes of energy / spirit. Man has created a much inferior death-giving form of energy generation as an explosive system which depends upon a constant refuelling. This has produced various grids easily controlled by a few over the many. The natural implosive systems have been crushed, hidden, manipulated into secrecy. Explosive energy systems create in their wake the environments for death giving energies with the accumulation of pathogens, unfriendly bacteria and viruses.

The control of the world depends upon a web of grids, from oil, gas, precious metals, information, printed money,  genetics, humans and more. People are waking up at an alarming level and this has sent a fear among the few and therefore all the drastic moves as of late to secure their agenda. They have turned the industrial structures into a robotization regime and therefore do not need the large population of humanity. The turn-time has come to eliminate most of the herd. The plans are well on their way. They are the few with the illusion they have been chosen to execute these ancient old visions from their feeble elders and own our world. They have tricked humanity into silence of their agendas with persecution if exposing them. They know the nature of the human mind and the extremely devious ways they maintain to continue in their faith of things that just do not and can not exist. The masses have been easily fooled, manipulated into eons of wars around the world with greed as their closest ally. Money and power sits deep in the minds of the people, a few bucks to tons, they have you covered for a few dirty deeds, all in the name of good business and survival.

Beautiful Woman Friend of Maria Christina along the Beach Front

I’m done with it, find your own sketch of the future, the past has got you incapsulated and i quit. I am walking out alone. Take your dreams and shove them outside. I am through with catering to this mess. I am free from this, finally. I am running down the edges of your minds and sliding off into the distance, into the forests of creation, art on my fingers, colour in my head, words and paint and objects of no definite form gliding thru the open doors of here and now……i’m done with you.

Old images alive and real took me here. Here i am done with them. Lybia had it right. Take that new view and slap it till it dies. The moon is just a slight silver sliver tonight. I am well. The streets are sailing across the horizon, from Nantucket to Merida, Beijing, London, ….. i know my words are drowning in a sea of my own doin…fine, i can deal with that. I can take you with me if you want, set your mind at ease, fly straight thru the pages of time. You don’t have to be you, jump out, find a new breeze, move into your heart for no reason, let the momentum…………..be.

Kachi Leading our Way

I need these words to hit you hard, smash against your skull, dig deep into your soul. I need you to hear me whisper so loud its deafening. I want to be heard. I have no apology for striking out, with fierce force i have this to say…….wake up, join in on the chorus….’maybe yes, maybe no, that’s the only way to go’.

You have dragged me thru your views, your news, your sick minds, your eloquent facts. I am not blaming you, cursing you, begging you, asking you…..leave me out in your cold, really, i don’t mind. I have been out here for years and now you know it. I don’t care about your dreams, your fake fur homes, your ten cars, dinner parties. I don’t care about your news, your obsessions with fire-science, your heroes, their money, their power….i don’t care.

I care about you, your tender quiet heart, your sensitive wounds. I care about that silent love when it whispers in your ear. I care.

Down the streets of my youth, the air is thin. I can see my friends surrounding a lamp post with talk of mischief blowing around the light. We were free and there was nothing that could stop us from our love for the night. If there was a door to open we were there. We had cool cars, thoughts, we lived in the moment, winter or summer, we drove fast and never looked back, our life was being there, down the open road. Time moved more serious and the spirit of the sixties drove us as far as we could go. I laid my thumb out into the highways and traveled wherever the road would take me. Inside, the terrain went thru the changes of colour beaming across my skull, freedom as far as you could see and nothing and nobody stood between the shadows, the open road held my spirit into the light like a chalice.

Time kept coming and the changes never stopped. The road took me far beyond my reach, at times i was left alone, no comforts of a home, no soft love left in the corners of my mind, hard times on a road to freedom, truth dangling off trees, the forest there to save me. Time kept moving in, no moments to adjust, only the constant chill of the circle game whirling around begging me to turn, hold on……..but the open road kept moving and i was its sacred possession.

Shading Herself Amidst the Heat of the World

Now, much older, times have spread out across the fields of this mind and left me moving slower, the open road still pours its light down upon me and i still surrender to its love. Soon i will be gone and a new form will open up, an endless stream of open roads into an eternity. A part of me is in a part of you and everything, we are all together, indian, white, black, crow, rain, all of us will continue to weave this tree of life, and after life, into an open road, into a forever.

Friday Mar. 5 2022

 Sasha and i went to the Merida theatre centre tonight, a hundred plus year old opera house to listen to the local symphony orchestra. Thru the first couple of Ravel pieces my eyes wandered through the space across the high ceilings and layers of seats wrapped around the oval shaped ancient architecture. With eyes closed i saw words tripping thru time over smooth cobble stone streets, violins kissing the jungle air with sad joy of poems breaking the silence with form. The solid sounds held together with sacred notes embracing one another and covering my thoughts with grace. The romance of deep connections where words fall off cliffs, syllables dancing against the weight of love, the truth of air moving free in the moments of my mind. Impressions of soft sounds only a violin can speak, my thoughts fell apart in the dance of the cellos, my heart melted like desperate rain on an Irish coast. The way of the evening stood still with me inside the composition conducting colours across the horizons of my mind, layers of vague emptiness moving thoughts about like clouds.

Merida Zacalo

Later Mozart shifted things into a more grandiose world…….i fell back in time. After, we walked about the old streets of Merida and let our moods dig deep into the brick. We travelled across our brains protective barrier and swung our love into empty streets full with people. That was a mistake and we paid dearly for our lack of control and while the world didn’t flinch an eye, freedom bit deep. Our night ended back home with our dog happy as hell to see us. We fell into dreamtime with magical impressions filling up the night beyond the walls into free space.



March 7 2022 – Disassociate yourself, swim hard thru the sweet lies, taste the alkali truth. A fresh pure sea of life is the way of a healthy earth. We have been fooled into believing the wealthy scheme of an euclidean dream is the only way. It is the way of domination grids, a trick, an insane manipulation of the spirit. Be free, travel inside, trust the earth and a science that comprehends and copies nature. Modern science is ruled by a lab of money and a test tube of selfish control. Bio-interconnection to the digital realities will be the end of natural man. Beauty exists in a free world, a terrain of natural movement. Clean out your body, purify your mind, breathe well, eat well, exercise, save your self from the matrix looming close and live free.

Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

Thanks for the Comment


Sasha – Patrick

Some Extra Shots

Sometimes it’s that simple….
Heart Pain
Stern thought…
Always; It is about the Children


Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

4 thoughts on “B93 … beyond the walls into free space…

  1. Yes Patrick, nothing mutters anymore with that twisted “truth”….i am living my life with my free mind and free will…nobody can take that away from me❤ cheers my friend

  2. This one was a very poetic expression of your mental chatter and emotional reactions to your thought about what is.
    Your writing is like a river that dives in as many directions and depths as possible defying while embarrassing its own nature as nature does.
    Always elusive and somewhat inconclusive, going somewhere and almost never really anywhere, but within, oscillating in the waves of the current with no singular aim, yet ever so potent.
    Well Done!

    • Hey, hi my friend; no doubt, you clearly describe how i often tend to view refections of myself, as i pass by these windows across my mind heading towards somewhere else, unclear, uncertain but with a magnetism too dear to ignore; like a verse with out a poem, a lonely saxophone running over time, a belief without a name. Thanks for taking the time to listen and write words that do those things, also, as nature does………travel those twisted roads where eternity often slips over an edge or more. cheers….

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