It’s all a fantasy program. How are we localized here? This stays. It comes and goes in the realms of sleep. We are in a huge tin can, and escape is impossible if you follow the seams.
We don’t even know we’re in here. A big accident gluttons our text eating up forever. This is existence proper, with hot sauce. This is existence on earth, and we suffer here.
How is it done? How are we fooled so early? Not as sick as existence proper. We last a long time in our menageries. The fairy roads to existence startle all of us. It’s all a sparks’ weaving fairy dance putting circumstance in place the settled fact.
It’s a picture show to tell you the truth. Now where is that projector, and is it being filmed as we speak? Something’s funny goin’ on. Can you find existence in there? Can you even get at it?
It’s a big story-house in space that we can’t find the light of, and we are trapped in our rooms of single seeing. Better men then me have pulled these cords, but this is my poet’s worth, but these are my poet wings.
Where does it all lead to and why? Do we even find out at the end of the movie? I can take you farther than Earth in the rounds of Earth, and I can show you time in a bottle. You would not believe who we are outside where we imagine the universe. It’s the secret of the ages, and we carry its wind in our sails comin’ back to itself.
What prolongs the long game, and what makes us suffer so? Can I tell yah? I just did. The tell-tales of existence, I’m there. I’m in the picture show with you. Can you guys see that?
All since childhood I went busy with it, the message I’m supposed to give of another. It makes for short poetry. Where are my feelings for me? It’s been the subject of my lifetime. Self-centered rides there, but so does a vantage point to study life, the name of existence on my lips. I can only see me as the protagonist of this drama, only imagining what it’s like to be another. That’s not self-centered fact.
I live here: watching the world go by the center of myself. You do too, and I’ve found this out myself: our integers are the same. What makes a person a person fills both our bottles and crashes them at the same time.
The social hierarchy will not let me poet to you the discovery we are the One. I cannot wear a poet label because I have not yet been given it by the crowd, and I bleed to tell you things.
I’ve been all over this place, climbed the mountaintop, sojourned in hell. I have been on broad rivers of mankind, and I have suffocated in stinking swamps. I have entered duality to wear them both till kingdom come, and then I get saved by the bell. Reach inside me and see I’m writing the papers of existence, and I help existence be.
I’m fighting for my room. You cannot harbor the truth, the truth of anything in its bare-bones reality. They will get you for it, the powers that be. Reality is being fed to us on a silver platter with cyanide, and we all believe the lies.
I’m easy to take down. I’m the most hated scapegoat of the day, but that opens up truth in a man, having to face himself to society’s mirror, and you are sincere to the test. It can open up worlds of seeing. It can make you love humanity when your self-love has joined the same.
We stand on great big tests today that eat our lunch. Never a lie’s been told, the dinjins will tell you and mothers and fathers all over this land and governments and snake pit operators. Oh my little child you are safe in how we rule things. You must dog eat dog and get out there and compete for bread. It’s greatness of your kind. The devil dance on a great mankind, and we will go to war to prove it.
Now let me tell you somethin’. It’s all subterfuge. We are avoidin’ what makes Tommy safe, Wendy grand. We have to flower in our room to humanity my dear, find the Self in everyone, and let that be our guiding light to discovering God lookin’ at the world through our eyes in the fullness of his vision here on earth. I just told you the truth, what’s happenin’ in the evolution of time on earth, in the world play we’re all a part of. That’s the secret that all existence hides. Can’t you see it yet?
Control ball, now you record it. When night go for it Nithish, knock phone numbers. If he gets caught he’s killed. In Tamil the people who put worse seem very powerful. I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just in good English we’re learning to mince the Devil with words. / I’ve localized the economy, and I’m takin’ English to new heights. It’s not artificial anymore, a poem that comes from inner sights.
I throw that devil out, but I show ‘im to yah. I don’t play with bones. I heal them in your shelf. What you got in the closet, I ring around the rosy. I’m not here to play dice. I wanna get to the bones of reality so that we can live here and not ruin each other. I wanna talk about it, you know? I wanna get down to bloody business. I wanna show you you a danger to let’s all grow up.
Will you find me? I’m blacklisted for that. Let me cough. That danger I present is right there among you. I’m not pullin’ any punches. I wanna heal myself and be free. I mean I wanna be a proper human being, no longer stupid. I don’t wanna block my own trail, get mad at the world because I stumped my own toe. I wanna forgive you for the same stupidity. I wanna look out on the world and understand the miracle of each day. I wanna see you in it the very Self I touch with myself, no cigars. That means I’m right with you.
I hear my stomach growl, and we all feed on each other like it’s conversation. I’m learnin’ not to do that. You would not know I feel you when I’m just some guy you’ve met on the road, or you’re my landlord or niece. I cry for you sometimes. Okay I cry for you a lot. It’s really rough in here, you know? There’s just so much pain. They got buried in an earthquake, a daddy holding his little child dead in a news story. Can you imagine how that felt?
I’m tryin’ to wash away the tears that we symbolize time, and I’ve found out somethin’. This is just a single show in a movie house with infinite theaters, and each one pulls on the next, and each one supports the next. We are its base, the last of the free worlds before Hell begins. Of course we suffer. We support Heaven. Our blood, sweat, and tears hold up Heaven, all the ascending worlds. It’s not cruel. Existence has to have everything in it. I don’t think we can measure how big it is, and we are not the only world that suffers, and we’re just innocent little children, dumb like animals.
There’s a comic plan, and our universe sucks on the Void to bring existence out of nothing. The devils rose, an unforeseen consequence, mad as hell existence be, and they rape us in broad daylight, and we don’t even see. We are a banquet of the Heavens and the Hells, and I am sorry; I can’t gauge all the worlds in their ascending hierarchies or their status in Hell. I’m tryin’ to take you somewhere— understanding.
My little boy wants to know why there’s pain. Do you know what they did to him? It woke me up. Now I’m a fish out of water, a foreign man in not my land. I’ve been shook up. I don’t hear my music. It’s not my culture I see around me. It’s not even my language. Do you know what that does to you? It takes you out of your little world. You have to confront reality more on its terms. You can spend more time in the environment of your consciousness, / because you’ve got a strange world out there that doesn’t speak to you momma’s titties.
You ever live a life for spiritual change? You wanna get enlightened? I wanna be my true self above, whom you are too, though we’re individually wrapped, but I’ve gotta be emptied before I can be filled, you know? That’s enlightenment. I put myself to the task. I’m not sayin’ it right. My soul puts me. You gotta get there. It’s the only way out— up Don’t you remember your last death? It’s what everybody talks about on the other side: “Goddamnit I missed it again!”
Look I’m not some spiritual shoes you must put on because I wear ‘em. Now I’m really tryin’ to get out of this— suffering. Now I have seen enlightenment’s tale, sat right in those shoes, not long enough to stay there, and I have seen Myself overhead, sat in that Sun and watched it ray out, and I’ve found the soul inside, made the inner journey to Spirit in innermost us. It just accentuates your suffering if you get these little tastes, ‘cause it’s so plain in your face you’re not there now. But you want suffering to end? Can you hear a threesome with your hands and feet? Any one of them will get yah there. Realize time as a vehicle to get there.
We are not animals you see, and this is not a world buttressed in the Void, astonished at its meaninglessness, wondering over its one-trip pony. There is so much more than Earth right here upon Earth. The teeming worlds sing to us in our sleep. We make contact with the dead. Even in life’s little room, we make measure with immensity. I’m givin’ you God, what we are becoming, what even matter becomes. It’s all there.
Once you see God you’re safe. Bullshit. Every devil in the neighborhood will come to fool you, alarmed for the end of their rule. Sometimes a world devil steps in and makes you pay for every man’s sin. Here’s the bull: if it’s all God who are these? Knowledge of God is terrible, but you forgive ‘im for it. You’re in a movie. Neo seein’ the Matrix, you get there. What a goof in moviemaking— take that Matrix and make that a real steak that traitor’s eating. / Take that Matrix there. Oh the bones of analogies, you can’t make them right.
Bhakti, do you hear it? I’ve got it for the whole damn thing, but if I stump my toe I’ll cuss you out. Well, I’ll least look mean at yah for a minute. Yeah I’m still in school. World knowledge does that. It makes you right with God, not some moral timekeeper, the whole damn show. Okay I’m signin’ off. Pleasure doin’ business with yah. I’ll see yah on the rebound, when another poem is born from the matrix of my be. Got that Sin Wood? I’m not countin’ sin. I’m fulfillin’ my obligation as a poet, and I’m sayin’ look at this in the bowels of language that’s there to say it right. Musical or not, I’m gifted speech.
Answer it with a question: what is bigger than the Whole? The unimaginable sink. You get lost there, frightenings on the tail ends of nothingness. It really makes you think. It’s too big for sky. It’ll shake you up. It’ll make you cry it’s so alone, so unimaginably deep. You want it like you want your very self, coils of room on which existence is but a fin to glide it sleekly through nothingness. Will it put out its eye of existence and just be its lone self nowhere be? A frightening thought.
Okay world, can I comfort you? Everything has to be in nothingness. In existence all is, from the most horrible to the most profound bliss, and our world is but a tier in that world stack, and we are That you see, that unimaginable thing on lone oceans.
Have I reached you yet? Good, let’s go. We have to reach forever in a day. I’m on bended knees, and I’m not embarrassed about it. You there, little animal, prideful nation, take down that war. It’s time for exultation in humanity. Do you feel yours? It’s always hands on, good poetry, right where your heart is, right where you feel. That’s the name of the game. That’s where we find each other. I love you did you know that? And it hurts, you know? It really does.
Die in some way take care of those who absolutely have to have us. Those are our children. I’ve got one now. He’s 12-years-old. His name is Nithish, and I will move Heaven and Earth, overcome the world, to put that little fella clean out of suffering and back where I sacrifice myself to take care of him, the intent of this poem. I’m worthy to be there. I’m his daddy. You see us upon the roads of time I love that little boy. You don’t know the arrangement.
Alright Aristotle, put the boy to sleep now. Alexander’s got a big day tomorrow. Put the poem to bed now. Alright Aristotle it’s dawn.
A Crash Course in Reality: A Poem Tower, Healing Circle, Art Project
Life Curtains
You like that art that puts you in the front yard with our children. So we can gaslight them to death? I’m a chapter on raising them right, and this is a book of love.
So, you’re gonna still feel us out in terms of money? Wow, cultural understanding, let’s put it down on paper. A cultural misunderstanding, I’m all over you.
Baby what’s wrong? Marvel Comic books cannot capture in my life the will of a single day. I’m being thrown against the wall by Titans.
And you expect me to believe such a dramatic intro? The hard part is think on it. Today is the day the world comes to call in your kitchen.
Take a little child and bash them up against the wall, that outta do it. Now put God there. Who hurt the child? Do you sure you know?
You are the principle of the inner fire. You will meet them in the stadium of your room, and a divine poet enters the room. Where is he at? Put down on paper he’s gonna rescue his boy. Put that in your hands, after he opens up for you consciousness.
Right there you find this book is ready for you, holding out a can up here.
Nithish, a Tamil boy 12-years-old, being raised by both his parents and I, an older American man and a spiritual aspirant in India 20 years, I his primary parent since he was seven, has his life upended when his parents suddenly take him from me his ‘grandfather’ and allow no contact whatsoever, and they do this simply out of a growing jealously that reaches its boiling point when, in a meeting with the mother over their wanting Nithish to be with me to only one day a week, I mention to her a video he’d given me that his mother made of his little brother masturbating and what he’d been telling me about his father molesting his little brothers.
There then ensues almost four months of his parents taking revenge upon the boy and upon me, and the boy is beaten, psychologically manipulated, and put under constant supervision and control over those months so that he will renounce me and not tell on his parents for abusing him or his little brothers. The book culminates in a meeting with the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry, India.
The story is told by the 54 Facebook posts I posted during those months, each post a chapter of the book, and the posts are a mixture of English, Tamil, poetry, prose, photography, and video, my poetry and the boy’s, the videos from the boy’s YouTube channel and from mine. The boy’s material he created months before he was taken from me, and the creative material is a very clear and startling example of prevision, the boy writing poems, raps, and a song to his future self so he will understand what is going on and wake himself up from the brainwashing, as he describes in poignant detail the abuse he will undergo in the future by his parents and his ardent desire to get his life back and return to the lake from which he was taken.
Whether you believe in miracles or not, you will be made to confront unarguable examples of the boundaries of nature being crossed and the future laid bare, in this case by a little boy wanting to stop being hit and controlled constantly, just wanting life to go back to normal and to be a boy again.
Through the lens of the screen we interpret reality. This is how we get our gun. It’s how we conduct business. We die that way. It’s a world in front of our face that we miss, we need to listen to. What’s reality goin’ on around us? It swallows the moon.
We’re just stale, happy, TVs in the room. It jogs us. It casts us aside. We come to our computer to participate, or put our cellphone between us and the world. Does that make TV better? We market our lives sittin’ in front of a screen, and it can be so tiny. It’s not there you know. You are.
We translate screens all day, and we don’t know their rash. It doesn’t solidify us. We just get all choked up on a reality ration card. We think it excites us. This does us in. Get your notebook and interpret reality with that. Record your inner life. Your outer life will still be there when you get back. Those events jingle. You can feel them with your hand. They are real to you, and they’re awesome.
They seem boring to you because they step on the ordinary. They have miracle all over them, if you know how to look, and do you know the world draws nigh to you when you do? You see things that are extraordinary, synchronicities between thought and life that you know somebody’s lookin’ at yah the universe can’t hold. These are certain stairs, and you reach a height at noon that reveals to you God.
You can’t see this on the screen. It’s too confined in there. It doesn’t have reality’s picture on it that blankets you with stars. It’s not where you’re at. Oh you can move between thought and the screen like you live there all grown up. You can ride lightning’s ways. You can figure out the world in the emptiness of its room. You can sit and enjoy yourself. You cannot hold hands with God.
I’m showin’ you this on TV, and you just dyin’ to practice it in the real world, ain’t yah? You want to see God. You want to see thoughts larger than man. I’m tellin’ yah they’re there in the dry, material world. I’ve picked up a book and opened the pages of reality with it. That’s my own damn TV, where I sit in reality and wait for the next full moon.
I sound good to your reason-sense, but you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. It’s green there. It’s got flexible and still on it, and it’s a whole wide afternoon, or a mornin’ that bakes bread in reality’s oven; an evening there whispers to the stars. You can’t get that look onscreen. It’s not tangible, real. It tries to trouble you, get you to play basketball on digital courts. You are mad at me no?
Let’s blame the room. We don’t know how to put it right. It just bleeds us to make our reality all fucked up. We have digitalized each other, and this is worms. We’re not even real people inside the machine. We got lollipops on we want other people to lick. See me there?
Where does poetry go inside the machine? It changes its meaning. I’m starin’ at you now, wonderin’ how many hits I get singin’ in a dark tunnel. Would you meet me there? Would we get out of the machine? I think we would find somewhere to be humans again not under computer programs and not onscreen lives.
I do stay long I do stay up here in the companion of see. My day’s because of it. My time online are my thoughts I’m tryin’ to have me killed for. I’m not the only one puttin’ you in touch with yourself with my reality TV Episode Donny.
We’ll say I was parkin’ and I saw a Muslim guy stare at me intently, would you believe this is page one? I’ve gotta get yah outta here. So I turn the world upside down in your ideas, act strange with the written word. Can you see me happy? That’s most of my flower. Now I’ll see where we’re at. I’m not hatin’ anybody. I’m lookin’ to end hate so you won’t hate me. That’s a noble enterprise.
Left the school of bang your head against the wall, of put out your left eye, and so for nothing less the reality’s keeps, and if you see an American Jewish woman walkin’ down the street, you wouldn’t war with Israel. Know whadda I mean?
Wow, I think I’m healthy for the next line: we are all one family. We do business together that way, on and offline. He’s gonna put it in a bank watch this. Why don’t you just leave it here? Goddamnit, could you put a photo at the top of the page that is really, truly there because you like me? And you enjoy your meal, Ocean’s Eleven, and there you have it.
How many realities of life are there? A Boeing 747 in each one. It’s on a fascinating, fascinating mountain not far from here. Okay. It’s in this poem. Let’s go get some sleep after the intro. That’s not how about you rule things. Your consciousness is up there. I have trouble accessing it, you are the poem. I reckon then go, go where your prime takes yah. It’s right there beyond the screen.
You just can’t do it. What about an online pass? We breed poems, and I talk about accessibility. It has that special sauce when you’re committed to a short story a movie a play. You don’t frontal lobe it. You’d like to know that word. You thought you thought ahey? [line heard sung] Leave me alone. Alright be quiet. I’ve gone back to being somebody’s poem on the internet.
It’s to help you open the world. I’ve almost gotten you this evening. Yes I’m quitting. I put more butter in my reality’s screen to get out of the ego’s refusal to its environment. Rest assured, I just want God there the vision I have always.
A quiet you find yourself in, a silence that can see the stars, these are the momentary hush that come together to you for reality, that grasp tangible God. These are the momentary links that give you all the nature of man. Wind with me to that summit. I arrive there the quiet in your room. Lift with me a moment tangible God.
Reality sucks—
someone who has not been initiated into the mysteries,
the world’s suckless stuff.
There is just so much to reality.
It’s not slow motion.
It’s got things on it.
A dog licking your feet can be paradise
leanin’ down on yah,
the boy snuggled up to you
a ballon
of how the Earth feels
in sun’s arms,
the writing of a poem
the feelings of the universe
taking note
it’s good to be alive.
Shut up,
I don’t trust you/believe you. [phrases spoken simultaneously]
Reality sucks, doesn’t it?
You think I was in his pencil box
I think that’s the only thing you look at.
Walt Disney,
can we say he had fingers?
Of course he did.
He just didn’t put ‘em in his movies.
He wasn’t concerned with reality.
Now where do we look at to be true?
This is a strange one:
I’m molten lava;
I make the world a better place.
This man’s sexual sins,
his penis as it looks at children,
Krakatoa.
My God the music in this program,
it sets the world straight.
Read a few poems and see.
Can we heal pedophilia?
Can we change the world?
I hold you accountable on this blog!
I’ve pulled down my social media pants
and given you something to think about.
Where does reality lie with us?
It’s bigger than sin,
our existence.
I call you on your shots.
You take the world and make it a paper-mâché.
You take a black kidney and throw it away.
You don’t know how to face reality.
I’m on your gun.
You just squeeze people,
take them in the social room and make them comply.
You are not concerned with what works better or what works best.
You want people to believe you/obey you. [phrases spoken simultaneously]
You think I’m talking to a police officer’s gavel,
or the lawmakers.
Can we address society?
Blog reader,
don’t get angry,
but
you’re the society I’m talking to.
And you thought Big Brother’s a government.
Flag my blog.
Bring us to the border with this.
This is terrible.
Nobody’s ever a piece of paper.
We are living, breathing, human beings,
each trying to make sense out of life.
I’ve taken my disorder and done just that.
I’ve gotten at the world that way.
I’ve figured out things,
taking my penis as a flashlight.
Tell me that’s not the quick of our social selves,
the genital stick up.
It brings heart matters to bear.
It lollipops the whole world.
It gets us clean,
if you dare
to shine God with it.
Am I making you sorry
you’re such principle ass keepers?
I can show you how to be human,
and you don’t rob anyone
of their meaning in time.
You only rob meaning to rob meaning.
This is America.
We look down the gun at pedophiles,
and my don’t the world believe us?
We don’t care how spiritual you.
You have no right to say anything.
I don’t think you know the Apostle Paul,
for surely if you’re not Christian,
you’ve been raised in a Christian country.
How many Christians did he kill,
before he outshined Jesus as the principle Bible teller?
Would if he killed children?
You know I’m talkin’ executions.
Now tell me I’m dirt,
and redemption’s impossible.
I think you killed Jesus.
Wasn’t he a victim of sexual sin?
And they shot him for it.
I’m sorry I don’t believe in your goodness,
in your virtue.
I think you’re just as mean as me,
when I held a boy down and ruined his life,
and he cried.
What did I say?
How detached from reality I was.
I couldn’t feel his pain.
I’ve wanted to apologize.
You don’t know where we have to go
to heal this thing called human.
We have to get down into the blood,
into those spaces where we are cut off from one another,
where human doesn’t fit,
animal reigns.
Somehow we have to transform those moments.
How to bring people there?
We have to get down into humanity’s stuff.
And do we do that with Hitler killing Jews?
It’s an example we wear
to try to stop this among us.
How many Jews say that?
Where are Jews today?
Still under the gun.
You don’t want them there,
and you want to protect children,
and you want no more atrocities.
Am I right?
Where do we go?
I’m showin’ yah.
Will you just listen and not shoot.
Will you be there for me too?
It’s a reality seer,
the direction of our travel.
Will you see that?
Will you know it’s there?
Survivalist,
I’m so sorry I failed the test.
You don’t know what I’m doin’.
You just think I’m a piece of paper.
I’m taking my very life and placing it in your hands.
I’m obeying God.
I can’t get any bigger than that.
I have the greater love.
I’m not sorry for it/ashamed of it. [phrases spoken simultaneously]
It’s not a box office hit.
I think you’ll shoot me for it,
but I’ve given you the formula for world change.
This poem is just the beginning.
Have you seen it yet?
There is no one we cut off from humanity
if you don’t want anyone cut off from their humanity.
I can’t say this loud enough.
I need you to see reason and the purpose of Jesus,
come to terms with your humanity.
It’s a rising sun.
It doesn’t hurt people
that wipe away guns from your eyes.
It stays away from harm altogether,
if it can help it.
Can I reach you?
Can this just be the two of us sharin’ bread?
I’ve put my life on the line.
Is that worth nothing,
the sacrifice?
I got this house
full of living people inside,
and I love them all.
I’m a house keeper,
and I field house.
It’s my primary reality,
where I spend the most of my time.
They don’t know I’m under the gun.
I don’t defeat them.
I’m their Santa Claus,
and a whole handful are dogs.
They are so innocent.
What are you going to do with that,
tear out everybody’s hearts there?
I want you to know the people you kill,
if you should surrender to armed impulse
to uphold a reality you don’t live up to.
Now I continue with my life,
even if you don’t mercy me.
I do not know what God has in store,
but I think Jesus died on the cross so I don’t have to.
Tell me you only feel outrage.
Tell me that’s all you feel.
You’re alarmed over me.
I don’t think you’ve gauged a piece of paper correctly.
I am not the danger one here.
You are the gun.
You are not lawlessness.
You’re something worse.
The force of good in law
you turn to slay.
I haven’t had a chance to say this:
how we doin’?
If I just spit on you,
is that feeding time?
I really wanna make you happy with yourself.
I want to show you goodness that does not kill.
I want to hold your hand
and give you a reality that doesn’t suck.
Open up to the depths of life.
Get out of right and wrong.
We’re up there
in the sky
in splendid love.
Can you meet me there?
Can you come to my garden?
I’ve planted so many roses for you.
Read each one.
Hi Luna.
Are we nuts?
Hi Lisa.
My Rottweilers I’m showin’ yah.
I’m in the way with them.
They finish me off.
I am so in love with them it hurts.
I worry over their human.
It’s my job with them.
I’m bringing them to us.
I think some know of the possibility.
There, I hold a boy’s hand
in a Rottweiler’s fur.
It’s such a clean love.
All that beauty,
I don’t need to take it and eat it.
Regal a Rottweiler is,
standoffish
in Time’s Square,
but I can get into some lovin’, you know?
This change,
a boy is glad and bears it.
He doesn’t have to hold himself there
a freight train.
He gets that good love a Rottweiler gives,
and they just steal your heart.
No here Luke,
follow Us.
This is brain,
the trail towards enlightenment,
come boy. [heard sung, my voice and guitar]
What does the red line mean?
That fundamental safety line,
no one
violates.
What tempered glass is the horse driven?
We actually go to spiritual enlightenment.
You grow out me.
But how?
Run in the house
the consciousness
of Christ child.
I thought about it.
Know,
a national thought a ride.
And it is a blessing isn’t it.
Until it becomes the official record,
some Disney Land that you’ve come out with in the world,
that will be your attack point
this is reality bliss.
Now tell me again you’re America land of the free.
Fort Myers Beach,
is it the origins
of a better society?
A beautiful place,
thank you for the sun
golden.
He discovered that his Crimea life had to change.
I’m not talking about the pencil box.
We’re seein’ movies:
all eyes on the outer scene and you're in the movie.
How do I concentrate?
Remove obstacles.
Look at your life in purpose.
Don’t just stand there and stare at things.
I don’t know how to engage this.
Look at that rice on your plate.
Does it need you?
Yet it exists.
I need another metaphor.
There’s a dog in the corner.
It’s barking.
It’s baking.
It’s just lost in its own movement, you see?
You put yourself in everything you’re lookin’ at.
Can you give a free look,
free of charge?
Just look,
no questions asked.
This is less painful.
It’s not up and down.
The Source is just a remover of boundaries.
The Source won’t last long on my time.
I’m a question paper.
In this instructional video,
can we suddenly lick my nose,
make mean somethin’?
I wanna apply this to life
in the substance of my hands.
We process thought
so your hands help the world sunshine.
This even in the substance of your genitals
and how your dick holds the world when you look out upon the world.
Why the sudden graphic video?
Attention readers,
I think I got yours.
Once we go down there it’s hard to come back up, you know?
even in a poem.
I study reality whether you believe it or not.
I put divine values on everything.
Now I’m learnin’ to not bother with me.
A thousand runs will there it is.
We don’t want to invest reality with our stuff
in the substance of our see.
We want to be free in that look.
It’s like the doorbell rings,
and you’re not concerned about it.
You do not enter the picture.
Can you get that look?
It’s hard to bear/keep. [words spoken simultaneously]
There are so many things pressing on your mind.
This is thought control
at its most basic.
Can you see reality from here?
It’s got lines in it.
Crossing them means you.
A monkey sees that
swingin’ from tree to tree.
You can’t see that in your living room.
You’re not involved in yourself in reality,
unless your reality needs that look.
It’s screamin’ at yah.
Can get that look
on death row.
Reality has you by the balls,
and you see yourself too much.
This is freedom from spheres.
You have a long way to go
to freedom yourself,
oh world of my sunshine.
It’s not a substance of thought.
Your reality changes
the ground of consciousness has.
Wow, this is frightful
if you haven’t bubbled into it over time.
There’s no room for it,
with your leavin’ everything,
and you don’t know how to handle zero,
and everything’s still around you.
We’’ll get to that later.
It’s the culmination
culminated elsewhere.
This poem doesn’t go that far.
Here you just let go
of you as you stare at things.
photo by Donny
Anyway I’ve got a limited ordinary sword. [vision putting the image for poem here]
I can’t seem to see the forest for the trees.
It’s hot stuff,
because it’s got so much reality behind it,
but still there’s ordinary consciousness there.
Can you count the trees?
Can you even tell the difference
between a reality bin
and ‘can you see the trees’?
I am a lineman for the county. [heard sung by Glen Campbell, “Wichita Lineman”]
You’ve tripped up everybody—
a line you make.
Will it ever join reality?
We’d have to look at my poems awhile and see.
No one’s taking them to the picture show.
What form is that?
Can you get rid of me?
You’re not packaged reality.
I think the reader said that.
This is traditional English in the mass.
Where do all these bubbles come from?
A larger reality
that makes passes at reality
and even cowardly reality.
Much more was in conflict after Zelenskyy’s assassination.
Can we make Zelenskyy any bigger?
Planets and rallies in the corner,
the poet the symbol is a metaphor of.
This is so on your feet.
This is so operation from your mystery.
His society refuses him to speak.
You heard his poetry anyway—
lessons in accountability.
Alright throw him away for now,
and just look at bare reality.
It’s there behind the poem.
She was always ahead of the Path.
Can clear at any moment,
and she just keeps engagin’ in stuff until it does.
Do you want to see my failure in things?
It’s listed on the net.
And there it is.
Man it came to me at dawn:
I am now gonna make it to the top of the world,
with or without you. [heard sung by U2, “With or Without You”]
Do you hear my drivin’ point?
My freedom from midnight,
from all expressions of evil.
Can you hear that power?
It’s right where you least suspect it.
It’s in your living room.
Pick me up will yah?
Get into the rest of that television
mobilized for enlightenment.
Cheerio.
You can say he went to the doctor.
A lot comes out of that.
Good and clean,
those are the eyes.
Hallelujah.
One of the ones that let me in,
that touched my soul,
profound mailbox.
I came homeless
year after year after year.
We’re good.
We don’t understand your concept,
the jolt in the room.
Let’s keep busy
so we don’t have to reply.
Is this license
to just take the trouble to ignore someone?
Seldom I got a reply.
The root task
and how profound it is.
It’s indeed the world.
It’s indeed larger than the universe.
I can’t carve this out for you.
I can only sing.
I don’t know the Rumpelstiltskin of your life’s work.
Your struggles are a Banyan tree to me.
See the consciousness there?
It has handles on it.
Study books and thought process,
I don’t think you’ll arrive at the explanation of the universe.
Can we hold a tree?
What do we do with time?
How do we say the world to ourselves?
Do you hear the inner speech?
It’s spoken softly in so many inner ears.
You’re readin’ it.
It’s what you hold in your hands
in an ancient text of wisdom.
Not everyone has the fire.
Not everyone can read the text right.
And we’ve come back to your story:
not everyone has the inner fire,
though they long to see the universe as it is,
though they long to be more than what they are.
Can you grasp this?
You light it that way:
the object of your romance with time
the inner fire
to see the Invisible.
I think you’ve accredited universities with this task.
I think you’ve stopped at representations.
I think you’ve stopped at outer process.
Hidden meaning.
Self-doubt see
in your own blue pen.
Who am I cooking?
Jessica Frazier
the academic.
Have a little
finger pointing in your own direction.
The TVS fixed.
It was incredibly difficult.
Why do you believe in miracles?
I’m standing one.
You hear my measurements?
The boy in the yard.
Bigger then reality
I have not made them.
For years I’ve been sending emails to scientists and academics, or I’ve commented on a tweet of theirs, usually with links to something I’ve written involving inner exploration. Less than a handful of times have I gotten a reply, and when I have it’s just to express thanks for reading them, not to engage me over the importance of such experience. This is the latest example of such an email. If you’ve been reading my latest poems, I’m trying to show where we fail as a world. Here, it was not from reasons of moral outrage, but it was one of the titanic: the best minds aren’t. It was from an ‘expert’, i.e., a person influencing world opinion on an official level, in this case a person assigning meaning to the world, not listening to someone trying to get their attention, someone who just might have something valuable to add to the conversation. Click on the link at the end of the email, read the article, and tell me that’s just not possible.
[Subject of email] “Communicating with someone, and learning what they have to teach us…
learning to adapt our view to the information they give.” From your YouTube video Gadamer. Hello, I’ve just read your article in Psyche“Ancient Indian texts reveal the liberating power of metaphysics”. I’d like to get to the heart of the matter as quickly as possible please. “We can do something extraordinary: our mental parts can climb out of the window of the body, and up into the higher levels of reality.” What a wonderful statement worded so well, but are you speaking literally of actual hands on spiritual experience, or are you talking about using your imagination and having high thoughts? I think it’s the latter, and it’s precisely here your article doesn’t capture truth, that being what’s actually going on or has. “I might live in 2022 in Oxford, but I can share the experiences of persons in Thailand or the US, and imagine different lives I might have lived. With the help of scientists and philosophers, I understand levels of the cosmos that lie beyond the senses, and can access realities, values or ideas that cannot be destroyed with any mere physical body.” What it seems not only you are missing, but also the scientific establishment and the humanities, as university teaches them, is that it’s possible to have the experiences that the mystics (or metaphysicians describe). They are not only basing their ideas on the use of their imagination or on their thoughts. Many if not most are basing them on firsthand experience. Furthermore, though beyond this email, the authors of the Upanishads and the Vedas did not compose their writings but heard them via the inner voice. Do you know the meaning of Agni in this context? In other words, the texts came whole and ready made from their inner vision, one or a few lines at a time, and they wrote them down, something not possible unless you’ve had the experiences the texts they wrote describe, what would open a Rishi or seer to such inner vision.
Although I can give ample examples of the latter, the inner voice writing one’s seer-poetry (you can look that up if you want), I will only give an example of the heart of the matter of the email. It would be quite something if you even read it. There’s just so much vying for our attention, and something from out of the blue and from someone unknown, well, that’s usually what automatically gets sacrificed to the expediency of time:
Harm's End 