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Wednesday, May 31, 2017

it is (haiku) 5/31/17

itness of isness
self-conscious, made of it
consciousness, it is

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

trump profile checklist 5/30/17

( ) reptilian brain accounting implied.
( ) reactionary ready is always in response.
( ) fear focus is formally featured.
( ) since fear is setting frame for observation
impulse timing is the essential launch pad.
( ) understand that topic is not about content
but totally about the delivery of ventilative tones.
( ) therefore deduce is to initially decode,
as for the true source has no surface evident,
for cognition is the cover-up.
( ) all details mentioned are dedicated frill.
( ) aberrant behavior exhibited topical media distraction.
( ) authentic themes are skewed as emotive subterfuge,
but this, as a reality pretend, is emotionally real.
( ) to comprehend, hold larger frame of relevance
than acknowledgment has presented.
( ) the act outs are always solicitous and invitational.
( ) use of a political ponzi scheme in plain sight.
( ) honor afforded as received is this distraction as honored.
( ) rhetoric offered is to attempt reaction captured.
( ) all forms of presentation are egoistically implied.
( ) fear mongering is potential leverage attempted.
( ) verbosity is worn as a weapon of choice.
( ) terms of engagement determine entanglement.
( ) dismissals are only a form of temporary detachment.
( ) giving a matching reaction is evidence of seduction.
( ) shared fear is an emotional ritual
for bonding towards cause.
( ) sighted vulnerability is potential allegiance noted.
checked ( ), and checkmate . . .

Monday, May 29, 2017

that which mystifies 5/29/17

sure, I had sex with you,
both real and imaginary.
I wanted to swallow the saliva of intimacy,
not for the indulgence
or for the pleasure,
or for the release of hormonal drive.
I wanted, through that hall of mirrors,
the seduction of trust offered and exchanged,
the glitches to self love, realized and released.
I wanted access to the hotbed of embers from being,
for that which exists before, during and after,
the statement of person and this act-out called living.
I wanted from where spirit exists,
where that is which rises and falls
to the rhythm of life after life
through those mediums of personage and circumstance,
beyond where petals of past lives
have provided and now, fallen,
to the bloom of spirit
up from the rootedness of soul.
I wanted the whole picture cleared
before it ran off into stories, individually told.
I wanted that one sound that we all essentially are
coming from you, through you,
as you are, the all of us, as that oneness,
and for me to then realize, to sacredly realize.
sure I had sex with you
as if it were a method of breathing in the divine
but in no way was it an act.
I am not sure it was an action,
maybe a compulsion on my part to ask of you,
to ask through you,
to even disrobe from the distance needed to be asking
and be of you as you are of me.
even so, wanted to be beyond the act-out,
the metaphor, the literal,
the figurative, the experience, the draw,
the pursuit of emersion, or memory taken to heart.
to be before mass, our mass, has resemblance or carriage.
I wanted the full emptiness of a wisdom
to embrace the all by being from within it.
I wanted the within,
without the glimpses that experience offers.
I wanted the endless pouring of giving and passage
as if the universe passes through us undefined.
so much so, that there is no more the burden of being
as if separate and undisclosed,
no more next moments, for finding the smile of time
no more the lapses into experience upstage presenting.
I wanted no more gender,
not human as the divide.
I wanted my lips sealed,
as the last savage utterance cast,
my self dismissed,
as any sense or sensibility of need,
to be combustibly whole.
I wanted the before, measure had an existence,
before oneness had dignity and composure.
I wanted the wormhole of yearning to ignite,
senses dismissed, self sense discharged,
spirit without distinction or boundary,
soul as the one breath of all.
and you thought I just loved you
and not through you to beyond the all . . .

Sunday, May 28, 2017

look up (haiku) 5/28/17

today's morning sky
forgot to use a night cream

revealed, facing me

Saturday, May 27, 2017

the me’s of the other 5/27/17

I live with the one who thinks for me.
that one that risks the all of it,
goes out into the void, blindly so
and grapples with the unknown,
the unquantified of nonspecifics,
the integrals but undeclared
and then returns in a gifting fashion.
I also live with the one of me
who presents thoughts,
supposedly stolen from the think of me
as a seamless supply of ideas,
a conveyor belt of endlessly presenting.
they then are also supported by the cast
representing the interior broadway show of ‘me’.
there is the prompter, the cogent,
the inner-speak whisperer, the illustrator,
the mentor of meaning, the contrarian,
the morality editor, the memorabilia lobbyist,
and of course the also-unnamed.
a basic busload of me’s invisibly on board.
can’t loose them, can’t convert them
can’t indict most of them either.
they all seem preoccupied unto their own.
I have not given up or given in.
we seem to travel on as the disguise of me.
if there is a group picture taken,
I am not ever seen straightforwardly.
I am hiding out inside, behind my eyes,
buried away behind the metronome of breath
and the onslaught of moods in passing.
I feel, at times, carried along,
irrespective of my feelings, mutedly expressed.
can’t get to words or interject
past the stampede of thoughts in passing.
what they have as language for me
is but jabber for then as fulfilling.
I have what they call longings, yearning
and, at times, a craving, passably they ignore.
yes, I do have a me,
a keepsake as a possession, I suppose.
but know this,
you can never know me
or even possibly know of me.
that would be sacrilegious in their terms.
but know you are me, where we are one.
all of the me’s are of dedication
but are also time-bound in frill.
where we are one is heart to heart of one heart,
mindfully dispersed as each me-preoccupied.
where we are one, before, during and after,
is, as if time were a wardrobe, worn to witness.
this will eventually return us,
undressed from me’s.
simply living as the one,
without any of this,
the me’s of each other . . .