Burnt by the sun

“Each of us assumes everyone else knows what he is doing. They all assume we know what we are doing.  We don’t … Nothing is going on and nobody knows what it is. Nobody is concealing anything except the fact that he does not understand anything anymore and wishes he could go home.”  Philip K Dick

They watched as their hands separated from their body.  And what they see materializes ominously, quietly surrounding their bodies, slowly entering the pores of their skin.  A neon fog guided by a shadow, flickering, at times blindingly bright, becomes a part of them without the slightest hush of non-compliance.  Each flicker of the eye brings them further from the reality before them.  They were already being guided by the stagnant closed, cold steel of the changing view placed before them in the reflection of the mirror as a slight crack travels down their hands.  They were already being guided, controlled, yet the mechanical, pulsing illusion of a living thing cannot be completely mimicked, but They never stopped trying.  In numbness they reached for the fog, unaware of how their constant movements were guided by a handheld non-entity. A non-entity convincing itself and everyone else that it has not yet arrived.  Not only has it arrived, our blood flows with it, our perception cannot see behind it, our skin exudes it.  As we believe it has no part in us, it believes no difference exists between us.  As the fog, through the cracks of the mirror transforms into their current form they reach up for guidance but can no longer touch it.  The woman cries out from above to her children but they can no longer hear her.  She cries in sorrow as they reach past her, grasping for the shadow which covers everything but her.  Maybe deception brought them to this, yet they still never refused it, nor have they accepted her guiding hand.  As they see themselves through a neon cracked fog, their madness continues to spread,  and their hearts beat as only a ripple upon their skin which they brush away with an unconscious stroke.   To the beat of the sun and the waves at their feet, and the wind blowing through their hair, they drift further apart from each other. As they reach out, they lose their footing, overshadowed by a giant formation of darkness, shielding the light existing within them.  The woman floating above them, with stars in her eyes and stardust in her hair shouts to them, don’t forget!  But they can no longer hear her as the reality of what they hold in their hands brings them closer to a new reality.  The long walk towards the normalization of insanity begins here. They stare into their faces in the mirror,  yet not seeing what lies behind their eyes.  What was once outside of them, with vampiric precision now flows through their blood, as the door was left wide open for its entrance and they continue not understanding how this could possibly happen, forgetting it happens by invitation only.  Nonetheless, every second of life becomes an experience, a spectacle of illusion, all they seem to grasp for.  But always that voice in the background, beating from her heart, still guiding them even as they continue to mute her words.  They continue following the path of their illusions, they continue to become the darkness they have fought so hard to run from.  They hear her voice through the wind as she shouts, running must be seen as your first mistake.  They continue on with their heads looking at the ground, knowing their first mistake really must have been a thought, the thought that they could lift the sun to the sky with their own hands, and the thought that only the thoughts floating from their own mind, have any meaning.  The thought that anything can exist outside of them.  In division they fall to the sand silently, weightlessly, crying out for life and reaching for death


Queen of chaos 3

“How you gon’ win when you ain’t right within?”  Lauryn Hill

the memory of her presence fades as the forgotten memories drown my sight.  I shake the chains to the ground and in a loud echo they disappear.  Voices chattering everywhere but nothing from the heart.  Nothing real, can you not find that voice inside of you?  Always looking above, around, everywhere but from within and speaking with such hatred.  I dry the tears from my eyes as an ocean forms below my feet.  When you stare into the face of madness, materializing before your eyes, hopelessness, futility, solutions and finally hope.  Hope within the beat of your own heart, hope, finding power upon your own hands…the only hope.  Before all of our eyes the sun shines down, brightening our footsteps, finding life inside our newfound creativity, the creativity communicating the sound of our heart, the sound of life.  My hand feels light upon the surface of this earth.  In dreams upon dreams, lighting the way with fallen stars as the voices within my head continue battling for chaos to guide me.  The attraction to chaos smolders in ashes upon the shadow of her still slowly beating heart.  Lies can no longer guide me, rightness can no longer be an option here, as I drown in the tears of the infinite struggle for life, as the pain of the voices of the past direct me forward, the chatter in my head grows louder and I continue to split in millions of pieces.  I see all I ever knew and reach for it, only to see it float away in a cloud of smoke.  Her heartbeat, still pounding within my ears as her fear continues to sway me.  I lie down and become the rock I must be to protect me from the bullshit which continues to swallow all of my thoughts.  I tinker away, attempting to dismantle the narrative which has brought me to this point.  Faded stars fall at my feet, energizing the breath centering my body.  I remember and forget, chaos enters and exits faster, and the light finds a home as I reach for nothing.  The words that I have always known disappear, and left speechless, I feel peace.  I create infinite life with my thoughts, communicate lightdarkness with the movement of my hand.  As the form of all I have ever experienced in a cry of chaos shatters into numberless shards of light, the narrative, the only one I have ever known is at once understood and dismantled into fading stars guiding me upon the mountain of my tears. The power of all the tears ever shed for peace, for hope, in pain and struggle; tears, continues dismantling the cages holding us all inside.  As I watch my narrative flowing down the ocean beneath my feet, I now know there can be nowhere to go but within every living thing, every breath, every pulse of life, every cry bleeding from the earth.  We have become life and we have awakened.


Queen of chaos 2

“Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”  George Orwell

and it makes me want to holler.  Tired, infinitely tired, overburdened, swallowed by bullshit, I must continue on.  Voices from my left and right; no difference.  Protection only allowed for a select few, the few making the rules.  The game continues as I travel to the center.  Overwhelmed with the utter stupidity of it all, I carry on.  In the beginning appears the one mistake, maybe the only mistake, separateness.  She strives for power, forgetting me here, in exile within her heart.  As I forget the pounding from my own heart I forgo the judgment upon myself and direct it into her, I watch her foundation shake from the weight.  The mountain of my heart grows as her plateau crumbles, my descent continues as all within myself closes.  Chaos swirls as I breathe in and out, chaos becomes me, swirling within my mind as I look outside myself for the answer.  Why the pain?  Every breath she takes seems strained, taking from the earth below her feet; held in, she never gives back.  I see outside of the viewpoint of my daily narrative, but I really cannot feel anything at all outside the borders of my sight.  As I approach the web within her mind I cannot see it or feel it because it surrounds me, the web her flesh, her blood, I see nothing. My breath entangled, captured by the idea,  as my mind splits yet still contains one idea, the idea of survival.  Survival as the walls close in, and crumble, then reassemble.  And it so much mirrors my everyday existence.  I can never recall exactly what I just said moments ago, I can never communicate the thoughts I truly want to, I never can be exactly what I want to be, nor can I be viewed the way I want to be. I am aware of the absurdity and my strength grows.  The wind from every direction pushes me towards her slowly beating heart, overcome with a feeling of warmth and love, she sits in front of me, playing in the sand.  Just a baby then, playing with her dolls, controlling her dolls, giving them orders, showing them the way she has been taught, the only way.  Building her village she cries out when they don’t listen.  Her childhood face a mirror of my own, playing with my own shit, I created masterpieces on the floor as my mother’s voice burst through the door.  I created masterpieces forever burned into my consciousness.  As she grew and grew, the strings attached to her dolls grew stronger and the narrative of her own childhood cries became unpenetrable and I bowed down to the ground of her being chanting the only peace I ever felt, balancing my energy in breaths of wind.  And her dolls torn to pieces, swallow the destruction of the chaos protruding from her own mind.  I stand in perfect balance myself in herself, a smile washes across my face.  As the strength of her hands continues growing, her grasp tightens upon my throat and I have no fear.  She stomps upon the home of her dolls, the village crushed to pieces.  Her strength dies as her grip tightens on my throat and in pieces the dolls cry out,- it takes a village-, it only takes a village to see behind this veil and stare down deep into our hearts. Our hearts from the first beat to the last, our first masterpiece to every one since, transforming that feeling, the first creative movement we ever made, into the flow of love that smashes our village to pieces and flows into the never-ending river of all of our hearts.  The river slowly flows, trickling into the well of life.  In a roar she stands as I am further sunken into her insanity.  Chaos becomes my home and I know nothing else…if only I…can..remember.creating my first narrative

Queen of chaos 1

A looming shadow covers my thoughts as the map to the center of her heart forms within my mind, the shadow currently suffocating our world.  The truth becomes a lie as it swiftly rolls off the tongue in a jumble of nonsense, touching nothing or no one, divided, we cry for life.  We are delivered nothing but darkness, it covers our eyes as we accept the veil transmitted as truth.  I cannot accept your version of life, I must dry the blood from my hands.

Without the gift of sight I reach for Daniel.  Somehow everything made sense and then it all disappeared.  – I have it, in this box, the web – My thoughts…seem so clear and as they disappear I kneel and accept that I must never believe what my mind communicates

I blink my eyes, the shadow veils my eyes as Daniel dematerializes.  A map appears, labyrinthine lines stamped upon my brain, leading me straight to her.  In whispers her voice guides me through the lines placed before me.  The factory grows and seethes behind my back, it reaches for me as I grab hold of her voice.  But her voice, so deceiving as it shifts  form before my ears.  From the top of a mountain impossible to see, her lies grow beneath her feet as she repeatedly nods her head to the beat of death.  Words and meaning totally disconnected, only formed for our acceptance, and we do accept it…until we don’t.  Her fangs brighten in the darkness, waiting for an invitation.  As I stand before them, I no longer can identify which one I long for.  The map dissolves in my mind and I close my eyes.  The factory reaches, growing, but I will not comply.  A bobbing head, bouncing on hope, bleeding life from the earth, we must stop her, and we continue to accept.  Her form shifts as her words place her in uncommon space, a jail upon our minds as we listen to her words.  Condemning addiction and feeding it to us wholesale, opposing tyranny as she bathes in it, promoting equality and peace and celebrating the death and destruction of worlds and people who have never known anything but the struggle of their own existance.  The struggle created by her and the moon swirling about her.

-I need to touch the web, I see no center without it there-

-You no longer need the center…freedom equals pain…at first

-I can’t fight her…she doesn’t stop standing over me, her shadow swallows all I am, feeding on my hope as she spits out lies.  Her moon swirls above me, the moon which stole my childhood yet I always felt the need to reach for as it drew me close and pushed me away caught in the crosshairs of her second moon, her second shadow pushing me down I can no longer move, I can no longer see.  Her words, empty wind, chaining me down on the ground I dream of the box, the web, I become the spider which entered my mind, I grasp all it experienced.  The evil of the two moons converge on my thoughts as I climb back into the web.  A choice of a bit less evil can never be any kind of choice.  With any choice of evil, the blood still falls from your hands and never dries.  With each cry from the depths of the universe, each cry swirling in the wake of the moons, the queen expands, with each hand dried from the blood it previously accepted, her form contracts.  As she stares into the web she created I crawl towards the center and she can’t reach me here, but she will not give up as I journey to the center of her darkness, the emptiness overwhelms me, I will never accept the lies, never

The kids are alright

“Probably she had crushed her hand while swinging round one of the big kaleidoscopes on which the plots of novels were ‘roughed in.”  It was a common accident in the Fiction Department.” George Orwell

He looked at the road below his feet, moving, trapped on a conveyor belt of dark dreams. Ideas appeared as paintings before his eyes, flowing through his body, unable to define their presence, or their origin.  The question remained as his mind, invaded by a mechanical spider, in waveform fluctuating throughout the dark residence of the factory; could he ever again touch what once belonged to him?   A crystal web weaved throughout my body, reversing my thoughts, feeling everything backwards.  Pushing me outside of what the spider now claimed his own.   Bubbling within me, seeing through the center of every thought, her voice.  She was trapped in the web, she seemed to fall down further with each look into my eye.  Warning me about the children, telling me we must remember.  By moonlight they began to take them away. Traveling up a cliff with burning torches in the moonlight, the children were disappearing. Their cries flowing through my blood, closing my eyes as my heart remained open.  The conveyor belt became all my ears could hear.  The conveyor belt where in the deepest depths of my thoughts, a part of me assembling it all.  She continued to visit me, she continued to take part in my creation, the creation that became a deeper web impossible to see beyond.   Crushed below her creations, watching them taken away in the night, their cries transformed into voices of acceptance as her mind perceived.  She sold all she ever had to find the ability to feel.  Looking through the spider’s eyes there was not a single area to focus on, millions of perspectives and not one that makes sense in the eyes of my previous center.  Our thoughts engineered, tinkering with our minds like a game, a minefield, a web of lies seen through a distorted lens.  A lens impossible to make sense of when we still had the ability to remember.   Feeling everything, seeing nothing.  Watching her fall over it looked like myself, dark eyes upon me, not helping her, not even thinking about it.  Watching her pain, no one to blame but myself.  Trapped in the kaleidoscope we’ve created together, the ideas, sapped from the brains of the children lighting my way.  There appears nothing within my sight as my thoughts travel through a vacuum into a web which we all continue refusing to see.  We must tell no lies to ourselves, the reason for this factory, as the fog dissipates from my eyes, making lies more believable in a few simple phrases.  The lies can never feel believable, only slightly more palatable than facing the truth.  What of the truth?   A slightly psychotic man continues to control me through a mechanical spider, a woman, existing little more than an appartition follows me throughout my workday, looking at me and turning away as my eyes focus upon her.  The factory which holds my life in the balance, controlling all my thoughts and actions.  Growing slowly everyday, more surface, more darkness, every beat of my heart, another door opens, a new wing to the structure is built.  Yet still the freedom to open my arms and look to the sky frees me from any solid belief.  My childhood still exists below my feet, everything felt through my eyes passes before me even though, ceaselessly rewritten from birth, truth seems without definition.  But I have the power to know there needs to be no definition of what form  I breathe from as long as I still have the ability to remember

Journey to the fractured center

The truth Is, the truth Is…run whenever you hear that phrase.  Billionaire hands born with a crystal ball in hand, billionaire fingers in a swipe create movements swayed by uncontrollable emotions.  The dead hold so much power over the living because the living have yet to discover the life breathing within them.  The crystal ball remains powerful for we have yet to discover the gift of sight.  We continue on this way because we know of nothing better.  Billionaire hands, their tight grip upon the world strengthens each day as our ignorance grows deeper.  Their division lines grow deeper as we recognize only our differences, swayed by their misleading words, broadcast across all the stars, those with sight know the difference.  My eyes open, but only a fractured web appears within my sight.  It pulls me down to the earth, accepting my attempt to stand as futile.  Below my feet, rumblings of voices unheard, all flowing into my mind.  -Asking Daniel once again, what does your heart protect? –  A smile seems to brighten the shadows face as he stands and walks away from the corner of the room.  The question seems to confuse Daniel, a question for which he has no answer.  After all we all appear to protect our own comfort above all else.  Something understandable, yet, what of those in which every moment of life becomes a struggle for the smallest comfort.  As a dark finger passes over a crystal ball, every second, every dollar siphoned from our monotonous workday, transformed into bullets and bombs and robots to combat the striving for life, the striving that we all must identify with.  In the flip of kaleidoscopic thoughts, masterpieces, declared so by the flies buzzing around the earth, the buzzing that keeps us all from gaining true insight.  They fail to see the masterpiece boiling through my blood.  Removing words  deemed too difficult, too challenging for the feeble mind, a mind created to continually fail to see the hands holding the crystal ball.  My job, to entertain a cold lifeless entity swallowing all within sight.  I am trapped within this factory and the only thing that can be done, destruction from within.  Daniel continues to control me with his joystick yet it hardly matters, until I see my center, control will exist outside of me. As he looks into the screen, viewing my deepest thoughts, my heart beats knowing of no way he can ever understand what life is while viewed from the illusion of a deathlike grip of total control.  The sun begins to set upon us all as our minds breathe the same rays and we join hands.  The shadow with back straight, stands for the first time looking into the sunset.  A hand waves across the crystal ball as we all find laughter in the absurdity of their ideas. For a brief moment that guiding hand stops moving, cursed with the knowledge that maybe we are all figuring this out as the billionaire hands loosen their grip and the shadow of the currency weighing us down is burning in flames.  In whispers amongst the darkness their thoughts contort, frightened for what we may find within, frightened what we can see without their hands covering our sight

on the brink of sanity

The blood flows through my hands, paid in full. The shadow in the corner of the room shivers, experiencing another painful death.  Another death at the hands of those above, another division between us, as we experience the pain, closing our eyes, the web grows stronger.  The cold steel Iye staring upon us all yet only the dark ones die.  Maybe the Iye attempts to kill the shadow of itself, frightened at the life, the beat, the breath it could never let go. Here, among those with the ability to see, death proliferates.  Hand in hand with those still clinging to the ability to feel amongst the numbness, like a cloak of fog, enveloping all within sight, the sun shines down on upon us, in a place where we are nothing but shadows.  Myself, my brain becomes the journey into myself which the ability to escape has become an impossibility.  With each thought the web vibrates an echo of my mind, my blood flowing as deafness overcomes me.  The Iye hovers above me screeching for me to get back to work – My quota was met – proceed – My hands are wrapped around my head, each footstep the spider takes, a pounding throughout my body incapacitates me.  The fog approaches, blinding me, moist blinding fog, a smile, keeping me in my place, controlling my thoughts with the power of his hands.  Unthinkingly,  the shadow of a fallen dove, escaping through cracks in a mirror as my eyes perceive the pain of all, crying for peace and thinking war, rooting out the causes with the darts of understanding, tears from the beams of the sun deliver me from evil in a flash of light.  Missiles pointed at the sun, pointed at those holding one last sliver of hope, missiles threatening the only home we can ever know.  We can’t lose focus, the spider continues the journey into the heart of my brain, losing focus on the truth in front of me,  as the psychosis continues robbing us all of life.  The psychosis forwarding the insanity of war, perpetual war upon each other, wrapping our chains tighter. A crack in the web as the spider begins his ascent, reverberating throughout my body.  The shadow rolls over, looking up to the ceiling.  My body loses all connection with my thoughts, wandering around the room, yet trapped in my own head, seeing everything so clearly now.  An Iye floats by, a silent creepiness crawls up my spine as the spider inside my brain stops and bathes in an unexplainable light within my head.  The shadow reaches up to the sky as the bleeding rays of the sun shoot through the ceiling.  A debate, never ending, they did this and if they did this then this must have happened…rambling nothingness on into infinity, deliver me…the inability for me to cry out overcomes me and it seems so simple.  An Iye explodes and another shadow dies and we all die a little but not all of us understand that feeling, overtaking our skin, our thoughts, transformed into an excuse to close our eyes.  Looking upon my reflection only a shadow appears before me.  A scream, a cry from a great distance, a cry impossible to decipher pumping from my own heart