weasel prancing:>> Seek to be near only what has got heart, poetry, meaning, wisdom…and rage>

The decision to flee was made with little thought. With my position on this barren hunk of rock so far from the realms I would like to visit or return to, which suggest an alien adventure, my compass spinning, all I could do was seek the promise of a hint of feral with ease of embracing slithers of tropical paradise….perhaps the same formula applied to the change of two wheeled devil steed, as I have done whenever my haggard, one fang left howl of a wilderness spirit has scared  and scarred the bambi heart still crying, sent running for cover, to convey that SHE HAS GONE…too quick, impulse, instinct, primal need to not replace, not forget, but find new challenges…those that love with their Everything do not move on, they just keep moving.

Zombie vanquished. Colombians arriving, too soon for knowing them truly, and then the yankee young guns charged with care of my hound, flight beckoning, work frenzied, DRINK DRINK DRINK…and when I awoke from my dizziness I was met by a playful stocky wild eyed native with my name written on a crumpled sheet of paper…french mother and head held high daughter…fatigue leading me to play the mangled jester…and then we were at the LAIR…

Nat The Lioness, the panther woman of my day dreams… snarls ‘dont care whats on your wrist unless its original thoughts’…which makes me shudder, as I have fallen foul of another who had on her wrist and above, projections of anything but original thought…I was in deep reverence of the Lioness the first time I heard her say ‘Vicious wild animal’…

I understand and accept that my idea of feminism is different from many others. So be it…I am content to focus on the Women who emerge as daughters of Pele and Lilltih, and know I must try harder to avoid my natural mocking, ugly haughty routine to the pretentious self righteous ghouls masquerading as progressive, ‘woke’ scum, gathering buttons to press and prove appalling with every gulp of pseudo do-goodery to be shared on twitter and instagram, more passionately than to do any real good when faced with adversity beyond a screen…When I should be giving them Anais Nin…This is horrid, I know. Yet I also know that this idea of expectation to accept women as less hideous, generally speaking, than most men…is at odds with my impression of humanity. is rather cynical, regardless of gender. Not YOU all, but WE are all prone to ugliness.  I am not saying embrace this. I am suggesting ACCEPT THIS.

I raise the bar too high with KRS ONe…for he is more comfortable pounding on the REAL. I maybe sometimes draw close, and I share the same morals, the same values, but I lack his humility…I get ranted at by elfin women I will always love for failing to buy into every same totem, draw a line at hysterical criticism meant to spur me into action. I cringe and rage at mongs talking of troubles they have taken from social media…rather than personal experience of LIFE OR DEATH. ANd clearly I need to work harder on myself…As my assumed father used to tell me, Il Saggio… and its a shame I have lost his advice near and dear, other than in echoes, found only when I am pushed into my shadows. And realise they are too primal and filthy for polite consumption.

True art of the WORD needs no moving image video…POS says it right and true and wild.

I fought only to find
I’m not right in the mind
I’m left, I mean I’m fine
Just not so fucking blind


 

SO I landed in this cabin cottage, snorkelled with the frenchies, more enthralled by the nubile femininity than the 4ft urchins and wild colours of shapes which make no sense to the land life, all wondrous...And yet, as I try to tell this saga of horror contrasted with snippets of some kind of natural bliss….I come across Brother ALI>>

Listening to his poetry makes me humbled. For this chap can distill into purity only found regularly in the thunder and flash floods and mud slides…which if heard, felt, faced… hurts and saddens, into wail and warning of our current and common plight, which I only ever find within my own output in unprepared, abounding too violently, scribbled on screen or tossed away paper emissions.

 

 

The true folk of the wilderness are absent of looking for social media programmed trapdoors to condemn someone as a fascist or bigot. They exist solely in values of heart and soul. Loyalty. The complete absence of layered conjuring of filter between the primal howl and the world around us. They not just know, they expect their kinfolk, to bare their fangs often…those closest, they expect the worst of, and come to find mutual ground on accomodation of shared wild…For its the only way they can know and feel and smell and hear another creature, as anything close to Tribe, the same species, fuck the outline…most humans seem more poison centipede and killer wasp in character than some atavistic husk of ‘Humanity’, as something of value and moral and decency. The foxes are more civilised than most humans. As are the wolves…And always the butterflies.

That wilderness shown, in flashes, in floods,

is the only way we can ever feel connected to any shared sense of our NATURE.

Savage, wild animal…

My idea of feminists is women doing what men have traditionally dominated, with no fanfare just mega talent, which does more to remind me that gender is of little relevance, when it comes to Values, Nature and ARt. All that matters most.

They have no interest in spouting masculine toxicity memes.

Nobody should be treated any different…unless…unless…unless…they have revealed themselves more selfish than we all are…and moved to hurt you or another who they assume will not strike back, and done so unjustly.

There can be honour in striking when injured or defending another.

There is no honour in striking those who have given you their trust and belief. Only dishonour.

And what those prone to lash out against any who confront or challenge them fail to understand,

for loyalty to even their own words, heart to ink or speak, is gossamer, if even found by any measure, connected…

betrayal is eternal/

On this score, I can be trusted as a source.

As I have found myself blinded to a betrayal,

primal urge and poetic zeal and weasel wannabe Romeo who still projects Bambi on a ferret…

the combined leaves of which given a false SUN,

a sociopath girl MOON,

cradling a child seeking a father,

Eve and Lillith projected on enticing curves in the candle light I had once eagerly devoured day and night…

and innocent, wide eyed and fluttering lashes,

my heart opened and the mind was lost,

until my entire world was close to burnt to the ground

and something fierce rose from the embers,

which I fought hard against accepting,

was SURVIVAL…

The only question I now have of people->

DO YOU HAVE ANY HONOUR.

if not,

I’ve learned to find the quiet shadows,

bear fangs from there,

say nothing.

those that love with their Everything do not move on, they just keep moving…

Seek to be near only what has got heart, poetry, meaning, wisdom…and rage>

 

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