The Smile Of The Ancient One.

Shimmering like a wavering radiant dark moon over the dark foreboding ocean,
Thoughts flow from his eyes in the form of tears of ancient knowledge.
Speaks He does, The Ancient One,
Words of wisdom.
And yet no sound can be heard.



Assembled inside the arena, they wait for him like starved wolves.
Expectations are heightened and a mass sense of discomfit lies tingling in the air.
Speak to us, they cry out.
Scathingly critical.
They hold their glasses of wine, up in the air.

Speak to us, they cry.





And He speaks.





The crowd is silenced.
The crack of dawn rumbles in the horizon
And the highways of the mind are now open roads.



Minds wander
Wander to unknown avenues and cosmic entities and surreal places
In a trance, they sway.
Sway to the words of the ancient one.


Thunder and flames; lightning and smoke.
Swaying to the music.
Music of the words.
Blinding flashes of white light
And a trembling cloud spilling out a delirious fusion of vivid colors.
Sway to the words of the ancient one.


Vultures and raptors; coyotes and cactii
Rattlesnakes and boulders; the cries of lone wolves
Isolated and stranded, and yet surrounded by the wanderers
Enchanting night skies, desolate open spaces
The starlight.
Starlight.
Sacred starlight.


A flicker of a smile passes upon the wrinkled face of The Ancient One
He knows.
He shakes his head.

Picks up a wine glass He does, and pours himself The Divine Fluid.
Ayahuasca. Santo daime. Natem. Shori. Yage.


And in a tranced state, He joins his audience in the beautiful highway between this world and the next.











" I'm in the wrong body, the wrong form, the wrong thoughts, the wrong life. ... I'm the mask, painted and empty, nothing more than a vessel for other entities to see through. Talons curl into the eyeholes to twist and stretch me apart. My tongue is torn loose and my stomach ripped through my throat. Burning and liquefying. All is molten rubber, stinking and agonizing. I'm changing."

Lucid Dream # 1

\It forms red triangularly inclined pyramids at the edge of your corneas while the skies burn like flashing beats inside a dark cave dimly lit up by a spontaneous delirium of low fi sound that emanates across every perpendicular vortex that surrounds you when you dissolve into a multitude of crystalline drops and you toss your books into the air and they float on to the sound of a guitar that strums to your favourite tune and you think of monkeys mating towards a penultimate aim of unconscious expansion and the tantrum the grasshoppers are making with their monotonous yet varying decibels of lucrid screeches trips you out to a world where you see tarantula sillhoutes expliding across a white screen and your senses are taking over you and it feels like you're in a battlefield and a void all at once, someone coughs and someone speaks and someone mutters incomprehensible phrases to you as you chant childhood prayers you remember vividly like someone fed it to you.\