my catastrophic soul

pondering my anti-existence
i; in the sharp stab of what i foretold
and the deepening fault of Mine, this inkling
of a total universe.

i'd like only to be as wise
as the ocean. i'm so exact
to the temperament of water
i find it in my eyes.

i pretend i am
my own lover: weep, baby,
unfold all those unkind thoughts
but gently now,
i know your fragile, too.

these components

my collected self vs.
my whole self.
could i be getting closer to
my soul-self
under one astrological incarnation?

these furious memories:
i've been to earth.
i've died.
the human SELF is to story-search;
there is no wrong in spiritual discovery
but i tell my desires
of possession-abandonment
to suppress themselves
for the worldly-void of impulse.

i let the soul rest
and take on
personality.
i let myself feel heated--it is
more obscene to my mind
than kindly refrain.

it is too effortless for I
to believe in the Holy Neutral
so i let the fishes rage.
i let myself
unkind,
speaking of myself
as if i were proper subject matter.

i speak of it
because we are them same
and as US
we are every subject
that matters.

i do not want to detach
as human
from humanity.

spiritual gain is human loss.

i want to feel every emotion, i want
to orgasm. i want the dilemma and drama
of morning thru night.

it is most spiritual.

there is bitter love
and sweet fear.

there must be for these words exist.

my scattered self;
my silent self.
the confusion of incarnation
is what makes the most sense.
these changes and feeling the same,
these normalities and the slip to sanity
vs
the natural.

when i awaken i will smile in reflection.

Tumble this

The ideas you have of me
are false
You forget me, you beg
your rid of my foul

Those that think of me high:
the delirium untruth
Those who have spat at my soul:
this dream of conquer

This load.

The ideals I have of this world;
that when I don’t understand something
but still consider it creative and full
I am satisfied with earthculture.
When I hear the sound moving, truly,
or a speaking book, image, sensation...
There have been many sensations.
I feel comfortable with the IDEA of human.
I feel sane within the chaos of mental evolution:
I picture the gods (with rejected belief in such Titans
just, that
for the moment’s reality they are tangible).
I picture them in conversation,
in beginning and creation, and
making love.

This heave of insight.

I am loud, breathing
Or at least, like that in my mind. My thoughts
get more concrete. I am relieved but reluctant
to let myself fully escape from the abstract. I try desperately,
search for my True Mind
to static and devour:
let dizzy enlightenment stay.
I am nauseous, hesitating
the fag is getting closer to me,
but I want this smoke.

These waves.

It’s sounds like I’m psychedelic,
off of earth for this hour to look down and actually see beauty—
but be fooled for I am just
laying in bed.

a condensed soul-to-body conversation

what yesteryear's am i thinking of;
these places;
i think of flavor: and discover a hidden truth
to life as in
using flavor, i could let my mind consciously delve
into a sense further and deep, because taste itself
could take easily the universe of Time

no,
listen:

i discovered something fantastic
about being SENSED crazy
like i swear,
cock could never feel as good
as this Expansion of Mind and Existence
i pick
and pick
at a habit,
and surely,
it always does
find me.
fold into existence
you'll know it's happening
you know it's raw and experiencing
you know
your face just aged
a little you're face
has planted its fold.
okay,

but why are there such mysteries?
why am i always
so
cold
so provoked
by human nature:
i'm exactly like the world
i'm a soul when i'm not alive
i am
a destination;
apparently Somebody thought of me
and thought the Trip worthwhile. fuck.

my mind had tranced so deeply my body ached
and further ached, another sense growing deeper
and bloodyfuck deep
like, hah, now my mind has spilt
i must attend to somatic duty,
ease my tension
quit
thinking
for a while
for comfort
for reminder
of this flesh,
which
most times i think awful.
cold world,
stop reminding me i'm so vulnerable.
oftentimes i do not understand
this world.
the city
the scene
the wilderness.

the happenings of a story
are in the works
or whatever.

i let my body drift here imagine where i let my mind go

if I'm misshapen now beware
my days of coming.
this flesh will abandon youth
with haste and nasty telling:
my eyes will speak of every high
my skin will lie to you--
my presence
will be
surreal.

I take the load
and know
this simply
of the parallels I'm approaching.

in my ideals the foolishness and
adventure I face myself with now
will reflect extraordinary.
in my fantasies i live an awkward
and important life.
I take the load.
I inhale it large.
I can feel my body aging,
I can feel my soul getting a little younger:
soaking into my mind
and taking on the project of somacy
and as my Self now grows older
the balance of experience
and spirituality
drip into each other.
The void behind my consciousness
decays and takes my human with it.
The soul and mind reconnect:
I search for death to find genuine
youth.

Now, experience.
Get this living through and conquer
so that this TRIP is learning:
colourful and birthing to
True Enlightenment.

the magician

Love is lusting
and the God of Love does lust.
Fearing its maker, fearing even,
the things it creates.
There is war in outer space.
You humans must comprehend
how high
you can really get.
Now, the sky. Now,
be in movement.
Hereditary mental deficiency.
The blind norm is consuming
in action, but courageously,
the mind is thumped upon.
Humanly pure humanly thoughts
and emotions are
raging and forcing exit.

I beg my body to let go of my mind.
I would be me, again.
I'd be of no identity, and beatific.
I think of myself in ecstatic joy like this
though I remain trapped
in this consciousness.
This is the escape I search for--not
city-to-city dwellship
begging for the tangible rockload
being at the point to conquer
then flustering away.
It's thrilling.

I think of the worship my human self has
for the higher Thing of soul.
I know, truly,
that creation is creation.

I'm speaking to you from the box.
Once you get outside
you understand you've only moved
to a larger box.
I think to myself, I think: what of
this existence?
This numbing stream, green trip,
there are worlds
and there are livelihoods.
I am living an era of one of them now:
I watch myself.
I don't
like
myself.
I have ideals. I do not function.
I am without euphoria.
I want this place, okay?
You must learn love. Keep from suffering,
though that is life.
But, what is peace
but boredom?
It is pleasant though vulgar.

War inspires art.
It's wrong.

We are within a twist of existence.
We are hesitating from enlightenment,
we are mischievous
and limitless by story.
Do you understand why Earth is called Mother?
She has birthed us, we are her every feature.
The sky is bold. It is the expansion.
Boxes.

I wish I could tattoo my aura:
the infinity sign over my head.

to elaborate on later

the world
i've said it before
the world is my most adored.
when there's jazz playing
at the Cambie beside the drinking Cambie
i've got the noise in my head.

a stranger said to me today: i wish
everyone was more like you.
and i felt insecure.

i am beginning to sense something new
and something emotional: grown up loneliness.
drastic and different from the childish innocence
of being alone in younger years.
i know now that i have experienced hurt
but this knowledge is purely reflective.
i wonder
how much
pain
i am in
now.

toking is joking

we lounge madly getting minded out
with laughter and constant laughter.
i put on blonde on blonde
not that i'm too into it,
but that its great
and on its rainy day opening track
he sings: everybody must
get stoned
and everybody in the room
tokes at the same time
and gets
a little
higher.
i laugh to myself
and wonder
if everybody else
is smiling
thinking the same thing.

compassion is the way

my manager says: no, we can't buy pot on the company for the staff party because we'd need a receipt for it.
kloe laughs: these girls actually have a place that gives receipts, man, be careful.

wind, blow that other way

my room
mate
is naked
in the other room
completely
with a camera
in front of her

i interrupt
for a quick lifetime
for a smoke
and steal
a lighter
from the set

today is an extra
terrestrial day.
i was worn like a Day
and psychic-lady
from the Arms Forces, Global Unit
sits in front of me
on the bus
and looks.
she says of the crippled woman
who just took her exit: what a lovely
and proceeds: everyone's getting in tune
it's like a dance, a jive,
and everyone will pick up.

a small asain mother with
a bouquet of flowers speaks up, too,
laughing and joking unless we all have two
left feet.

i smile
i gleam
i know she sees me
i have bright colours on
and a oversized symbol of peace
embroidered into my bag.

i carry myself in peace

at least at this most pictorial situation.

she introduces herself to the driver, and walks off
at the same time i do
in her badges and uniform
and bohemian accessories
bleached hair zipped back
heavy, hard, jaw line.
heavy, hard, voice.

i am blown away.
i am on my way
to pick up my passport.
i am purely intoxicated
with the magic herb and
this is an extra
terrestrial day.

my roomate is naked in the other room
she's posing for kicks.
she has a yin-yang of good and bad circling her
i am in this next room
reflecting on my afternoon so far.

2:37 pm: i sign off and go back to collect
my laundry
at the soapmat.

shocking incapable.
i don't put out for the disease
i'm perfectly ashamed
to share some of my thoughts;
vulgar, mischievous,
blatantly untamed.

Nervoucious Rex.

my calm unbearable, i'm sure
i'm seething like water underneath.

i'm at a very traditional cafe:
i've already today met a gorgeous soul.
i've interrupted my broken thoughts
with that which are My Human
and ponder the Beauty of the girl
at the cash.

Oh my.
she's wearing a girdle under her work shirt.

let me observe in this book and be nasty.**
Oh,
maybe not outloud.
but write provocative and most provoking
because it isn't wrong
to disfellowship thoughts that come
without morality.





**the last sentence I copied from my handwritten book