I am by every measure a heretic,
would have been burned alive in many long gone eras,
even now, in many countries,
not just were I in Kabul,
but were i spouting my rambling ANTI EMPIRE ROUTINE,
in WAshinghton, or London, or Melbourne…
I fight to make any semblance of kinship count in the wakefulness.
as I know my dreams matter…
they are as real to me, and more hideous and bizarre and magical and meaningful,
than all the luke warm exchanges,
of the wakeful, on or off a screen.,
where I find most adhering to scripts…
Why do so many speak to me like a politician?
Or with words they have been told to write from the latest ‘meme’??
They mean at best fleeting warmth,
and yet I am looking upon them heart wide scarred open…
any nourishment warms me,
then the next collision,
I realise that a still innocent part of me remains my weakness,
for i have too many deep bonds to those who dont lie,
and i can simply never anything but despise the all too common duplicity and cowardice of humanity…
to even express what they feel and think for themselves,
if they still can…
Immaculate hate on the front lines of these perilous times…
Cyne’s poetry is often the purest Proper Art I find on the land beyond the thunder and hail demanding we dont cower, but…
recognise our connection to NATURE.
A voice from my tribe back home, for good and ill, but raw, pure honest as any forest….
Its that honesty I seek,
not just in any I wish to draw close to me,
but in myself…
And nobody wants to show themselves like the wind through the trees,
the tides in a symphony directed by the Moon,
yes yes, lets leave nature honest as we become…
seeking the best fit for society?
seeking what our peers will tick boxes for, when comparing our partners to fuckbook memes?
I cannot do this.
I cannot embrace the prescription of what I should say,
where I should go,
when to take fucking selfies…
I have been too exposed to the wild.
of both humanity and beyond,
the only step which makes sense,
is to head towards where the ocean meets the land,
hope for the best.
Or…to continue and blossom my seeking of those others,
who are sickened and appalled,
by what has become,
what is expected,
of the many around us.
Remain in the city as the urban fox…
Why stop dreaming???
The alternative is to accept all dreams, all hopes, all deep yearnings, all eagerness to blossom any hint of flirtation into all layers of societal expectation stripped bare with only wild animal lust,
snakes coiling in heat,
absent of which,
I will keep throwing myself in the waves,
dancing naked in the rain,
writing myself more a reflection of my ever more desire for regaining my balance of existence as an ANIMAL,
as the stellar light and warmth encourages,
my calling towards shedding all my humanity,
and I stride into the waves…
emerge a new man,
in calm, gorgeous marvel of the sky, the sand, the water, the trees..
Our dreams in wake and eyes wide closed slumber,
matter as much, often more than how we move in our Wake.