I drift out by myself
I sell out from myself
No one nowhere else
n
The sun will burn away
The world will turn away
Here we holy hell
o
This skin does not want felt
This air I never felt
Done deal being dealt
o
The truth some never tell
Whisper but never tell
Sit there by yourself
I project my ideal-self outward.
I stay as true as possible to that imagined state.
I use that to align my moral compass.
In that, I answer only to myself.
But my self as it fits into the patterns around me.
There is no recognition of archaic superstitions or stifling bureaucracies or unjustified wars.
I refuse to accept them as a part of my reality.
I am now a minister in the ministry of the art of peace.
I’ve been thinking about the Tractatus a lot.
The problems that arise with language when asking the big questions.
Who’s to say what truth is?
God?
Love?
How can you have an intelligent debate when there’s no sensible question posed?
And in sensible I mean, not able to be measured by the senses.
Therein, lies the inner purpose of art.
Through many mediums, it wrestles abstract images into creation that our brains can associate with.
Old Bull Lee always said,
we’d be better off to let the artists run the world.
I always loved Bill.
It makes a lot more sense than letting bankers do it.
Let people whose entire existence is not based upon generating revenue have a say in things.
Back to Wittgenstein.
Think of the abstract language thrown around in politics.
Hope; freedom; change; equality…
Who better to capture the abstract than an artist?
Who better to bring those types of ideas into reality?
Be true to yourself and you will be true to others.
Heard you tell a good story
I guess, forget my memory
…now I remember
Seeing either the back of you
Or the back of your hand
Never a good look at the face
There will be no fair trial for you
The police sketch I’ll trace
I am awake
I can still see the pictures hanging
Feel them looking down on me
The air so clean, so quiet
So simply deceiving
Hiding horrors while fans just echo
Listening; knowing sleep would be soon
& that stale room
Never forget that room
I am awake
Remember being strapped down
In a room with no windows
Other than the one on the door
Covered with a piece of paper
Blank & taped &
Secured from the other side
A doctor finally came
He had a real colorful tie
I am awake
& the fever that builds & burns
Everything; incinerating
Everything, in its wake
Can not even speak its name
Once exorcised
Its reach is legion
For a mighty foe I have made
Fear will give it reason
I am awake
& the anxiety that crashes from crescendo
Living, running, knowing
Any moment may be the last
Breath breathed freely
& the streets are never far behind
But you can’t stop
Like the power of Christ compels you
Better off in the padded room
Nothing but time to think it through
I am awake
The concrete madness
Of thieves & rapists & murderers
& a guy that tried
To staple children to the floor
A horror show where everyone is a maestro;
A virtuoso; connoisseur of the cuisine
Friendships reduced to potato chips
Where all there is, is a dream
I am awake
& those sad faces we lost
Forever slipped through the sands of time
& to think it was all so simple
You just get what you give
Bodies demised, bruised & riddled
Now memories in sacristies
Never to fully live
Only here to take
But now we are awake…
This money is not gonna/ flip
Before this apocalypse hits
Revelations are never televised
& here our lives are
In hock to the divine
All the world/s gold
Won/t decrease that debt/s size
Wealth, no matter the cost
Leaves the soul lost
Turns the blood cold
Buying & selling suicide
Need a new drug to mainline
Break barriers that divide
Facilitates genocide
Builds walls to confine
Indiscriminate & color blind
Let that archaic hatred finally subside
John Lennon said,
Give peace a chance,
Before being shot from behind
He/d say it again if he had not died
Remember the call for revolution #9?
Imagine imagination
The only essential
Material wealth is but detrimental
Our mental is what needs to flip
Before this apocalypse hits
There/s a young kid
A life addicted
& he/s just buying time
There/s a rich guy
His friendships he buys
& he/s buying their time
There/s an old man
He lives if he can
& he/s on borrowed time
Picking up the pieces to a tattered existence.
Torn apart by the American dream.
There are days when even the pen feels abstract.
Where to go?
What to write?
I used to do drugs; until the drugs started doing me.
But I believe that suffering helped maintain a link to a certain breed of humanity.
No matter how insignificant or self-inflicted that suffering may be.
And when we know,
we have a duty,
to teach what we know,
to those that do not know.
Keep writing…
Keep dreaming…
Keep believing that there is more to life than the big payday.
Prophetic doom-
versus-
wishful thinking…
Duality…
The absolute influence…
The powerful spontaneity of self-manifestation.
Find artistic merit amid this dank and daft existence.
The great experiment of chemical combustion has failed us.
Signs of light emerging,
through the end of the tunnel-vision of commercial reality
Scratching and clawing…
Hanging on, tooth and nail…
Reliable predictability of misery.
Blank walls…
Empty stares…
Assembled bricks…
Back to the wall…
Too high to see over…
Resilience in the face of artistic adversity.
Mirrored reflections of my past psyches.
Experience is more important than reality.
If an individual witnesses God, it does not matter if God is real.
The significance is the experience.
Wittgenstein wrestled with defining truth; the meaning of a succession of events, and how that meaning fits into the current construct of reality has defined our truth.
Reality gives truth meaning.
He was right.
If an association fits in a reality, it is true.
However, ultramodern reality has skewed our definition of reality.
For instance:
We employ numerous double agents in the United Stated congress; agents that daylight as representatives for the people before moonlighting as inside traders on the stock market.
Moreover,
They have a license to do such illegal activity.
This is really happening.
But there is no truth found in this reality, other than the experience that is occurring in reality.
We do not need truth to experience things in reality.
Define truth.
Redefine reality.
Experience consciousness.
Reality does not dictate consciousness.
Consciousness dictates reality.
Let it be true…
As a boy I lived with the Incredible Hulk
What the other boys would give
But they know not his way
He/d just smash and sulk
Those days I had little dare
Until just recent
He was married to Jean Grey
Before she became Phoenix
Jean was having an affair
With a young Scott Summers
Hulk angry despite what he say
Smashing things
Smashing people
Smashing lovers
I turned into a Daredevil
Didn/t see Banner much those days
& Jean would always cry
& scream out why
& drag her psychic nails through my mind
Already a stuntman
I became Batman
Plotted & contrived devices
Dug a deep cave under the madness
For years I lived in the darkness
Forgot old tears
Discovered new fears
Growing more strange over the years
You could say I became a Doctor of the Strange one day
Spoke invocations
Experienced possessions
Performed exorcisms
But I grew tired of being strange
Became sick of the dark
Gathered my loot
Bought glasses like Clark
Constructed a new suit
Red cape & all
I became Superman
& out the blue
Up,up, and away I flew
Fly like you/ll never fall
©2013 Lulu publications “ZENspeak”
My entire life is measured by blank sheets of paper
I prove my existence with a piece of paper
The judges summon me with a piece of paper
I announce my love with a piece of paper
I sell my words on a piece of paper
My life’s worth is counted in pieces of paper
I wipe my ass with their toilet paper
