Tag Archives: psychology

Making sense

I can touch with my spirit. My spiritual hand wisps across consciousness like smoke from a fire.

My minds eye stares through the physical realm as you begin to evanesce and intentions older than time reveal the aurora within.

I hear the tears of history raining down on barren fields crying out for an ocean of love within the peace of a raindrop flooding humanity.

I’ve tasted your world and it’s plastic attempts at recreating nature. It’s just texture to chew on while the mind reflects on the succulent joy of flesh and bone, bark and sap, mixed with blood and air to replenish the earth.

My sense of smell warns me the path of men is no place for a man and within mankind there is ignorance. It’s the man, not men, who stand alone with the wind in their face who stoically avoid the fetid intentions of the pack gone rogue.

I think, therefore I am is an eternal beacon to remind us to make sense, use sense, and be sense within a world gone mad. Ancient winds remind us we can touch without hands, see without eyes , and taste without our mouth. We can hear the world without ears and smell death without flared nostrils. The world is within us, all we have to make sense to feel it.

Kill Boomer

Boomer, what an asshole. Nobody ever really liked him. He was some quasi hippie/Brady kid who ended up taking a corporate position where he bought into the “American Dream” mostly to be cool, or know someone who he could feed off. He never was a hippie, but went to “Woodstock” on money he borrowed from his parents cause he heard everyone would get laid.

The problem with “Boomer” is he’s a pariah. He isn’t a leader, rather a follower with enough dollars and status to have a say. Begrudgingly the avant guard tolerates him for the mutual benefit, he becomes wealthier and more powerful and they gain some legitimacy.

I got this headache reading an article on “Trump” not hearing the music. I knew the deal as soon as he kept mentioning “Dylan” and the Nobel literature prize. By now, due to Nobel board members confessing, we know there is a political consideration that goes with winning this award. After Obama won his it was obvious that the award was sometimes awarded for what the Nobel committee hoped the recipient would accomplish. So in the end the prize is part of the avant guard’s movemen to influence culture in countries they’ve never visited, except vicariously.

Boomer isn’t interested in the prize. He’s more interested in influencing who gets the award. Then he’ll hold that award over the recipients head and coerce him /her into attending parties where the recipient can elevate the influence Boomer has over the award they’re having the celebration for. It’s always about Boomer.

By now, Boomer has influenced hippies, yuppies, techies and any other “ie” you can imagine. He sits atop an imaginary throne in a housecoat looking at the photo’s in old issues of his Playboy collection dreaming he was a young man when Marilyn was still high.

This “liberal” movement has an unchanging history of some quasi. Socialist utopia where everyone can paint, sculpt, or play in a band. There is no money, folks barter with wine and “doobies” for sex and services. Like the guy from Canada who started this rant with his article, they all would live in a community named Habitat 101 and share common fallacies by dragging up ancient philosophies and twisting them into a yoga that only celebrates how you can contort your body.

The danger of Boomer is he’s still alive. We should have kept Abraham, Martin, and John and laid waste to Boomer. We all would be chanting to a different chakra today.

Anyway, watch out for this dude. He morphs easily into many different forms. If you see him hit the gas or give him a shove on the escalator. If you need an alibi call me. I’ll testify he was just an old guy to slow to get out of everyone’s way. I’ll tell them I was afraid this would happen because he rarely considered his actions past the effect they had on himself, and therefore put an enormous strain on his cou… I mean friends, if you could call them that. I’ll testify he has made enemies of his friends, but bought favor, therefore creating an infinite number of enemies.

Once he’s gone we can reign in the avant guard and put them in some art therapy classes in a community we’ll call habitat 69. We can paint the wall around it psychedelic and hand out some “window pane” for breakfast. Then we can finally appease these idiots without too much undue stress on our trip.

Addict

Tomorrow, yesterday, anytime but now
I’ve other things that must be considered
And you, you’re the rock I roll around

I’ve considered our fate and mourned
You’ve become part of my composition
Intertwined in my desire to consume.

You deny me while obsessing with my touch
You’ll lie for me, even cry for me tears of dust
I don’t mind because a minute doesn’t pass with the thought of me

I’m no longer a mistress or arm candy
I hold your passion like our lungs hold air
You breathe my essence with every twitch of nerve.

I’ll be with you forever like the death of a loved one
You’ll tense at moments without me streaming through your veins
Deny me if you want, I’ll be in the mirror and your dreams.

I am the addiction
And you are the addict
And so we part ways reluctantly

Voices

Entangled in an audible nightmare
Where my mind can’t see
Why my brain just stares.

Take my life, my limbs even
But leave my mind to me
And the sanity I’ve Been given.

Firm ground slithers
From under my thoughts
As the air withers.

And suddenly the noise is white
While trees smile and faces grow
Into a darkness void of night.

Island

Now, more than ever, you must be an island. The wind and waves are foul. The warmth is a false blanket for shivering in the rain. Storms come and go, and even though the sun will shine again, it will be on debris.

I listen to the thunder and the crashing of waves intently. All I hear is noise. You can’t learn from wind and water fighting to be heard, all you ever get is wet and cold.

This is separate from chaos or anarchy. They have a purpose, a goal to attain. This storm lacks the elements to become nothing more than a nuisance. Nothing can become of noise without a coherent voice.

It’s not enough to stay indoors and create a drama from what unfolds behind sliding glass doors and vomit into the glow of a glass brain. You have to free your mind from that fish bowl.

Step away, find an anchor on high ground where the noise is distant. Find that place where you can see the storm for what it is. Stay above the fray and when you feel the spray of the crashing foam, move higher. Stay on firm ground.

As time passes and the storm subsides you can watch the different elements and how they recede or sweep away the debris. Once you know how the storm develops, devastates, and departs you’ll know better how to fortify your island.

From this point forward you won’t be fooled by soft breezes or passing clouds. You’ll see right through the surf into the churning froth underneath. And when the storm comes you’ll be prepared for the truth. It’s just weather. Blue skies and sunshine are alway glimmering above the tantrums of nature.

I am an island. I am is more than a statement. I am is a manifesto that I created the land I stand on and although forces beyond me may revolve around this earth, this place is mine and nothing can shake my resolve that truth is like the sun, ever present and undying even when it’s clouded by the nature of others.

Universal Guardian

Miles and minutes are the twins of time and space. The distance they wedge between our bodies can’t deceive the space between our spirits, that is the illusion.

It’s out there, we’re out there everywhere
Not a single space unoccupied
And all we see is air, because memory can be the curtain of fools

Within each of us are the collective echoes of all that is, it has to be denied to walk with now. This battle for the seed, the soul, is guarded by the spirit of mankind, which knows no time or space, it’s infinite and eternal.

Remembering can be a function or reaction. The space between the two is where the spirit lives. Like a sentry guarding a tomb it stands silently, eternally vigilant walking unseen, yet reverberating within us. Our soul can be stolen, but our spirit belongs to the universe, waiting for nothing.

Walk with your heart wide open to the possibility that biology is a collection of historical facts, lineage is an evolutionary illusion, the spirit is where time and space have no quarter. It knows no boundaries, because you thought.

Self Less

Self, a universal mind alert
Moving in shadows
Leaving dust swirling
Around darting eyes

I Am self, strong and proud
Withering behind ideals
Crushed by culture
And the desire to be

You hide your self
In pockets of emptiness
Stuffed with decayed dreams
Fidgeting copper coins with bony fingers

My self ruminates in the sunlight
For all to see and mock

I don’t have to be you
Or anyone else hiding behind flesh

And smiles that dimly light a facade
Don’t glow, they’re merely coals
Warmed with yesterday’s fire

But the eyes tell all, windows to the soul as a scrim for your self.
Open your heart to your mind
And learn what freedom reveals.

Don’t fear our selfs, they’re one in the same. Dissected by station and aspirations that tear at moral fabric
Like a fat man dressed in a small suit.

I’m above and beyond being a symbol of time, culture, or class.
I live now, for this glorious moment
Because everything else is a dream.