Power we are against remains strong, when we obey its rules to meekly protest with our avatars on Instagram…

I like to play,

appear to lack care in what I say,

just let myself feel and express,

the animal in me playing human then realising the mess,

that my beastliness has created,

and the human in me knows I have pressed every button labelled HOW TO BE HATED…


It shouldnt be like this,

we are animals not outlines,

seeking a pattern to survive and thrive,

not tattoos and scripts to tell the world what we are.


What of the call of the wild?

which lies and roars within?

Which blazes its own trail,

and doesnt sign into facebook upon waking,

but follows its dreams eyes closed or wide open?


The problem most face is the absence of encouragement.

To seek wisdom and guidance in the blizzards and gales,

in the serenity of butterflies, spring chorus of sparrows,

in the forest fires and avalanches.



they are seeking what to make themselves look and read and sound like….as an avatar.

to be accepted by a system of life led without living,

of consume,

of speak the script,

smile when expected,

assume the same will come in turn,

all interaction to fit within social construct geared towards the eradication of the once noble and wild  and free human spirit.



It has taken me 40 years to understand that people are of different depths. We are not all the same in this regard, of what matters most…FEELING. I have long known that we are not all the same in mind, intellect, intelligence, call it what you want, it is not feeling. And what has thrown me thither and hither, is never my mind, it is always feeling…

As Hunter wrote…the richest wine of life that can be drunk is Love, in a romantic sense, a passionate sense, hopefully the two combined.

Maybe the initial mutual magnetism is balanced, but there are hugely varying depths to what comes after. One can love deeper than another. One can say they love with all their heart, and the other can say the same, but but but…we are of different depths of feeling. What one buries as deep as can be, and assumes the roots become so connected, intertwined, they are as one deep down, the other is able to remove their roots and move them elsewhere when they feel uneasy, for they can only delve into the topsoil, and yet, they meant what they said, in mirroring the love…the other is left feeling like they have been played with. In the cruelest ways.

We do not all mean the same thing, the same feeling, when we say we love.

This is the biggest catastrophe of humanity, who have as their pinnacle of existence, an idea of love shared in perceived communion with another, so strong, that a cocoon becomes them, within which, nothing else matters, and its impossible to find where one ends and the other begins…


How much does a fox ponder the past, other than what can hurt him, which he will then avoid?

And most people see themselves above the fox, the furtive vermin on four long legs, yet we repeat our mistakes over and over and over.

Time is always slipping away.

Why waste any of this precious gift of existence with simulation which anyone honest as the forest will find disgusting?

Take guidance from the animals and the seasons and the hail and the wind.

Avoid the gurus selling an afterlife and the infectious arrogance of a product called enlightenment.

Look into the eyes of the little ones who have learned nowt of the adult manufacture,

and have as their guiding light in the darkness,

a reaching out to all other creatures of instinct and mischief and love…

and be like them.

Racism, toxic masculinity… and living with hate.

Have been codified on Facebook.

Made of WE ARE CHARLIE french flags,

of cause celebre gone lemming learning,

passionate regurgitation of prescribed opinions,

bickering bile of binary…


herded into believing their prison bars and scripts seeking likes on a screen,

is the righteous path of Liberty.


I’m bored with the plateau,

Aware of my plodding,

An ancient pygmy stallion refusing to accept decrepitude,

Seeking a blacksmith for re-shodding…


People keep telling me how I write so beautifully,

And I cringe,

Not because I disbelief them,

But my reality is that I pipsqueak fox cub roar,

to move others to react with their own hearts and spirits,

Not to pour towards me their hollow, but probably half meant praise.

I don’t seek applause.

I yearn for others showing themselves as fighting for the same wars,

Which flow out my pores…


Anything of true value is only spoken or written once,

After which its just ever more decaying life of the original vital sensation which found the poetry…

It didn’t create,

It found it, for yes yes…

I can relate to the universal love Spiritual Path Pete routine,

But only when they take on board the universal brutality.


And I will fight to the…dizzy crawling off the walls to bedtime…for my cause.

As others roar of their AUTHORITY OF TRUTH…

Born of killer priests,

Who get the deluded and reaching for anything but themselves,

to do their killing and raping and pillaging,

And I say…go ahead, die for your cause in my kitchen,

As I make my pizza and get another vodka…

And I quite like the devil, he had more life to him than your son of God…

Daggers fling from self righteous eyes of the church,

And I accept them, and say please leave…go die for your stain glass windows elsewhere, for jesus aint welcome here in the house of Xipe Totec and the goddess Pele…

Whilst we are working and patting ourselves on the back for providing,

focused on our nearest and dearest,

the world is burning…literally.

The world is where our children, our nieces, must live.

Unless we can work on an escape plan to a habitable alternative elsewhere in the galaxy,

and if anyone is working on that logical solution to the Human Problem,

they ain’t planning taking your children or my nieces.

Or the son who made me a father now far away in flesh,

but felt with every beat of my haggard heart.

I have now a triple vested interest in what comes after,

beyond offering love, protection, any advice which seems useful…


I dont attend marches.

I dont place WE ARE CHARLIE or rainbows on the avatar I wish I was.

Which to some makes me a nihilist…or cynical bastard…

for my mind works fine,

it probes and considers and my spirit remains wild.

A march needs to march ON SOMETHING,


to make any point beyond social media likes for sickening sycophant selfies.


Power we are against remains strong,

when we obey its rules to meekly protest with our avatars on Instagram…

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