monopoly on miracles

I dont understand the words. Yet I don’t need to understand the words.

He has that magical happening of pouring his heart and soul into the sound and delivery, and the assembled flock doing the same, speaking their essence through strings and keys, are equally beautiful. They dont need words. TO make me feel something. TO make my heart heart feel their heart. To blow wind into the sails of the raft my spirit has built when heading out towards the horizon and meeting a storm so savage I am left barely breathing spat back out on the beach, yet knowing the only truth of my existence if found seeking where the horizon meets the water I float upon…I have come to rip out my top feathers to tie together branches to make my raft of driftwood, as I have long been aware, the only mantra is ONWARDS, EVER ONWARDS…

Twined top feathers,

its Ladies like Keny Arkana who revive in me,

the idea,

that we are all pieces of Nature.

No matter how hard we try to be something different we are told is called Human…

That Human we are encouraged to be and then shown through example,

in shitcom Friends and the modern offspring of brain-dead mainstream found on every screen///

is cunning and selfish,

expressed in smiles which show on the lips never below our outline,

which we are directed to become.

algorithms carefully designed to ask and decide for you which side you are on.

Pick a totem and lift them up as your lame Jesus wannabe routine.

The man who is historically recorded as demanding the monopoly on miracles.

forget Hercules, Pan, Pele, Dionysus, Xipe Totec…forget them, just love Jesus????

mega narcissist glory boy.

which if a story or man who ever lived,

has injured millions since.

DO we need these words…any words???

Maybe Burroughs was Write, in suggesting during living one of his many lives, that our Words are THE VIRUS.

Moving freely, but infecting their hosts, making copies of themselves, then seeking to infect others.

And I am not sure how far he went with this,

but I will add or confirm, that we should END ALL WORDS.

Learn from the NAture within us all and abounding in all species which survive us, somehow…

Our words have proven the worst man made crisis of the existence of well beyond our own homosapien dominion…they have destroyed to a footnote in obscure record obscure poet scribe we consider minor or less interesting than instafuck and fukbook…and they plague us in our wake and haphazard attempts to remember how to dream without words.

If we are to try use this word virus to turn it against itself,

to avert us turning against each other,

language and the virus it has become takes on a duality and potential cure for its manipulated poison.

We should be looking at the stars,

focusing our resources on living in steady flow with the nature all around and within us,

any potential poison/beneficial science should be supported only when it is 100% focused upon sending missions into outer space to try make contact with the rest of the universe.

to play pleasant and curious for aliens, for new planets, for new magic…

we have not been given the Universe of incredible marvel and unfathomable mega potential to merely gawk at,

in between social media likes….

I’d rather we get to aliens before they get to us,

for I worry that they could find millions of people aiming their cameras at themselves,

then sharing it with many to say ‘hey you! look at me looking at me, and like me!’

When I am naked honest with humanity,

I find more sadness than value.

Its why I heed the call of the waves and wade in to become less mankind more animalkind,

whenever there is absence of WOman to inspire my feral passions and protected by metal zeal last call of a  heart seeking softness,

as Woman is the closest I can get to the thunder and lightning.

delving into ketamine but also the life around this volatile saga of confessional art brutal,

may help relate, but its more the scene of the underclass,

it is not needed to feel this confessional art…

walk into nature,

lose your clothes and words…and listen to the wind.


And yet…just when I am to listen to my own muddled advice and cull the quill,

try ending ALL WORDS,

virtual or otherwise,

I find the timely return of a poet as sincere as the wind and rain,

whose powerful, unique flow and crystal clear reflection of society resonated with me deeply many moons ago,

he then resurfaced after his initial surge into my sphere,

too focused on the lovely and sweet and gentle,

but now…he has emerged from the mega rough as potent and true to the cause…

Humanity should quiet down,

and listen to Lif…







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