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.\

Monkey.

Send them in. Send in the army of headless reptilian parasites. Allow them to suck the life out of every colorful entity within the room. Allow them to reap personal benefits in storms of egocentric winds off every fabric of life that breathes inside. Watch them strangle anything green and anything that grew from seeds. Witness the destruction of the psychedelically infused walls that keep the room linear, and shiver as the cold wind blows in from outside. Send them in right now. With scarred hands and eviscerated livers, they will smile coldly when they see it all falling down in front of their own lifeless eyes, and they will cackle with malicious glee when millions of generations of thoughts, images and words will all condense into a clot of nothingness.

But a TV screen shimmers outside their line of sight, but within the same room. It is now playing a slow, sad melancholy tune; a tune that cries of lost love. Something the creatures within the room will never be able to comprehend. They are unaware, as they stand in a circle, with their hunched backs, laughing away at the sight of nothingness around them - the reality of chaos. They are unaware as their backs are turned away from the television that is about to explode into a million little pieces.

A deafening explosion, and a whole ten minute bout of silence later, all that is left in the room is chaos.

Chaos creating chaos creating chaos.




The passage above is an analogy of the simplest truth that mankind always knew and will know till the day it call comes to a gracious end. Well, gracious in terms of the sheer magnitude of chaos that is bound to ensue.
Chaos that leads to chaos. Which leads to chaos, which leads to...chaos.


It is a rather bizarre analogy, but you get the point.

Interstellar Overdrive.

Meet me at the equinox and sing me a lullaby. Put me to sleep at the inner edge of outer space where I can just crawl into a fetal position and watch as the black holes reveal their secrets to me in full blown technicolor. Give me a stringed instrument painted in black that blends with the interstellar darkness, that I can strum as I feel the breeze from a beach that I conjured up with my imagination, blow over my face, smoothening my wrinkles. Take me to your leader, and help me help him with helping me to rise up into cosmic ecstasy, beyond where the sand can dampen my hopes, beyond and above to where only my infancy has let me go to. Drive me somewhere infinitely awe inspiring, where the sheer beauty of the cosmic magnificence around me would overwhelm me so much, I'd be left reeling for eons to come. Triumph over me as I drown in my self loathing verses, pushing myself to a personal breaking point. As a wise old man once said impulsively, it's always beyond your abilities to watch nebulas bloom as the winds of astral knowledge weigh your eyelids down; it is as impossible to achieve as to divulge in your own deep thoughts, unpertrubed by interfering obstacles that would otherwise condemn the pleasant breeze to a harsh blizzard. Just let me feel the warmth for once. Liberate me from this madness.

Thank you for listening.

Let it Rain.

Enraptured by the impregnated black clouds.

Smothered.

Leaning against the rusted railing

Cold.

Feeling the wind wash over her
Cleansing her of all her inhibitions

Feel the rhythm.

She trembles with anticipation.

The Pulsation.

The ashes of the sky goddesses
Are about to soar through the gray skies

Follow me.

In a beautifully long arc
Into the false sense of warmth,

Below, far below.

The extended arms of the miserably lit landmass below.

Sacrifice.

Gazing intensely into the eyes of the coming storm
She channels her frustrations
Into a solitary ray of Feeling

Your freedom.


And loses herself
In the throes of the oncoming thunderclaps
And loses herself


Beautiful hallucination.
*Thunderclap*


In the embrace of the cold droplets of
The tears of the Ones above.


And loses herself
Within herself.

Within.
Within.
Within.


Submerge.
She whispers.
Drown me

Within.

The Only Car.

Inside the fire,
I struggle to speak,

with

Styrofoam cups of whiskey blues,
Smoke left hanging in the air.

Gloomy as it may be
Drive the car I must.

Congested throat,
It's like I swallowed a boat

Dreary eyes and
Faltering feet

I Scamper out of the way to let the feeling pass

Just a little pin prick
But I am sick.

Taut nerves.

Catch a glimpse
Can't catch her eyes.

Keep driving my son.
Keep driving.

The Road To Nowhere.

In my infancy, all I saw was flashes of technicolor strewed across everything that seemed real.
Brilliant arrays of vivid bright light then creeped in to my field of vision, letting me see beyond what the predestined haze of obliterated grayness let me see.

I am going nowhere.

My life is but an intensified chess game between the forces of good and evil; I chose my path solely because the dark auras of social stigma pushed me roughly across the borders of black and white lines of self actualization, into a universe where everything is just a matter of following the herd into the pits of raging fire.

I have ceased to think for myself. Brainwashed I am, by the millions of tiny atoms of media-infested force fields that stray deep into my minds, erasing my ability to conceive for myself.

Stranded I am, on this rock in the middle of a great raging ocean, driven by a furious urge to throw it all away and get swallowed by the depths of blue, never to be seen, never to be remembered again.

All my life has made no sound, except for the bells I hear on odd occasions, noticeably louder each time, signalling the end of our time. It is too late to fight off what has taken a cold grip on my life. It is too late to unburden myself of the chains that hold me down to the ground. I am being led into a void of nothingness.


I speak for the world, dear readers.

We are going nowhere...