Calling Free ThoughtPosted: October 26, 2010
Your mind will learn to answer most questions if you can learn to relax and wait for an answer.But hours arrive by the second without permission and time jumps like a broken typewriter…
…All the while loneliness roams across the continent like fog horns over still oily waters of tidal rivers. Vulture wings husk in the dry air and he, the dying jackal slobbers silver under a desert moon.
I remember when the copulating rhythm of the universe flowered and pulsated the room.
Gentle pink as dawn, pink as candles on a little girl’s birthday cake, pink as spun sugar, pink as a cock pulsing in a red fucking light.
Beyond color, Be. Be just and if you can’t be just be arbitrary, leave for unknown places with unknown purpose where everything is free to enter or to go to.
Abort the night, jump the boarder control. There are no foxes here to slum the gutters. I keep the line in sight as bodies come in masses strong as sea currents…go…under….toe. Go under toe along the city shore, the human mind always seeks more as all roads lead back to the core.
Who said we are anything more than cultured apes? Watch, learn, seek out new tools, travel and trace making shapes…
Chasing hands of time in circles and discovering horrors and miracles, echolalia gospels.
City Pharaohs riding night buses through London Burroughs.
Strikes in desert dark, a reptilian eyelid flips up to an ivory moon where creatures breed and bloom with absolution and Onassis. Awaken my skin, awaken to heat, go look…nest within and rise under a sheet of breath, breathe hoops, join the loops, cherish soulful scraps salvaged from candid confusions while masses make of objects of us.
You see, mortality is reality. Life is random ramblings and time concepts, hourly confines caught in between linear lines. Within the circle, the turn, the arc, the seed, the center is everywhere, the circumference nowhere.
Travel back to no mans land, push my soles int the sand. Travel across husk moon journeys.
Carry out rationality in straight jackets and buy fresh fruit from the packet.
Pluck oyster pearls from perils, put your hands to work, espy thy neighbor. Ride out on a doxy Dionysian whim with insect awareness – to be precise with the dawn. Do not seek out what is already within…
…Time is cyclic not linear. We are all sacred geometry, the mirrors, the minors and the gold. Brothers and sister who are slaves to liberty – seek out your words, they spell your freedom.