We are all moving so far away from our instincts that we are becoming our avatar,

our social media output,

our regurgitation of scripted responses,

to scripted responses…

There is no love in facebook.

There is no love in Instagram.

No matter the heart signs,

they are part of the same script,

manufactured echos of something that lies larval in the many which means something more than a hollow click on a virtual screen.


If you are placing any value in ‘likes’,

you are sleepwalking in mong-land and so far away from the essence of anything related to soul and spirit,

that you have lost any idea of self.

You have become a product of the machine.

How many people are looking at the world and wondering what the fuck is going on?

War and Mass Fakery are everywhere,

people are talking of love as they do of their favourite fast food,

they are paying for ink on their arms outlined with hearts and love and assuming this means they are love…


people are killing each other, and we are paying for the slaughter,

the earth is at war with US,

and we are paying for the bombs.

The very least we should be doing is looking at ourselves in the mirror,

in the eyes of those we trust to speak honest as the forest,

and seeking to show that same honesty in turn.

Which is too much for most,

easier to stick to the script.

safety in number…of drone.

Those that love you dont need to say it constantly,

they show it, they mean it always in everything they do for you,

and you can feel it.

which might mean snarling at you when they feel you are doing wrong,

it might mean just being there for you when you are in agony,

it always means they want the best for you…

And then there is the love between two,

which is infused with want,

with a touch or glare enough to make the flesh hungry and throb,

with desire or madness or soft sweetness flowing out the heart,

which no other creature on earth can inspire let alone embrace and become one with…

you find a mere hint of that,

precious and rare,

you must give your everything towards it…

come hell or high water.

It will lead a man…more often than not,

to his ruin,

yet what is worth seeking more than the richest wine of life that can be drunk?

Until you realise the well you have dived into the bucket and thrown your heart into the darkness below…

is toxic femininity personified as bambi prancing in the lavender…

And then you have a choice>>>

play the noble knight with a wench,

raising your wounded soul on a broken shoulder,

spluttering in your death throes at the walking away enemy with your blood dripping off her sword,

and squealing ‘come back! kill me again!’


accepting that your compass was wrong.

Keep your spirit wild…Always, in all ways>>>>

I am myself.

Which sets me apart from the drones,

for more ill than good,

urges me towards the others who speak their own voice,

where I seem a weasel, never a unicorn.

and those that cling to their icons,

to their transcendence…

im yet to meet such an acolyte not bursting with bigotry.

Ill continue searching for those in human form,

who hold dear and near always,

not the words of MANKIND,

but the instincts of the wilderness…



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