Eulogy

Given god’s dependence upon the turn of the moon,
the cast of stars set too soon:
as true to Truth as any tale can be,
fate and fortune eased in upon the wind, transcended sin,
sending thrumming chords drumming across astral coasts.
Judges coalesce; shimmering ghosts progress into Being,
gathering in the Between
scenes from a life’s full stream…
we Sankofa birds fly free of human need.

Omni-dimensional dreams bless unreflective lives,
counter all guesses and unruly messes
with Truth,
reproof at wasted opportunities and willful
delusion, the fusion of broken illusions
crumble Soul’s pride;
afraid of goals set beyond the highest heights.
Ego slides by on red tides bearing ravenous death
breath, by poisonous breath.

Blessed moments crest in orchestral harmony,
timpani’s boom, life’s promise of doom
surpassed
by joyous occasion,
the harmonic accompaniment of heaven-sent Souls
present fated journeys past all impossible goals.
Dark mountains, treeless plains and dusty city streets
mark space, reveal traces of karmic debt
just in time to collect the bet regarding the outcome of
the Revolution,
the Final Solution
and, or, as the case may be,
the Alpha and Omega Resolution.

The stakes of pre-life agreements
countered by imps and demons well aware of the plan,
willing ever and always to lend helping hands
to a stumbling, bumbling and weak-minded man
held aloft by Souls mate in Salvation;
timely arrival, mutual survival, a synchronistic revival
against the night, benighted frights and unholy delights;
the Divine resolution, the sublime and humble solution
of countless lifetimes
together, forever
entwined.

Heart screams.
Tormented, torturous trials and tribulations,
the Stations of the Cross bear stark witness
to the relief of godly bliss promised in the afterlife;
after all this pain and strife there better damn well be a prize.
Souls realize that in god’s eyes the willful sty is life-spans wide and
dimensions in height,
all the while Omniscient sighs preside over terrific times,
soothing silence within precedes the arrival of the Divine.
Pentecostal Spirits sing songs awakening god within,
the twin to ego’s excess, the Omnipotent eternal,
the diurnal wanderer bears witness against
myself…
weighing deeds and intentions,
life’s companion bows down to
the beautiful and wondrous crown of Omnipresent renown.

Tones resounding joy pierce
hearts, rending agony
as Soul diffuses in subatomic resolution
regarding the metronomic dilution of a lifetime’s pride
cosmically-encoded and rendered obsolete.
Life-mode ends, Spirit sends for us
without fail,
true tales end with nothing resolved;
no agreement or dispute of content need become
involved.
Each Soul’s path to Light,
our personal and spirit-centered Calls
and Passions mask the similarity of task.
And yet, the shared sense of destiny and Becoming became and
all our stories are, were and will always be,
the same.

macrocOsmosis

battles fought above and below

all there is to life
is loving slow
and living without sin
from alpha to the end
only then shall we begin to fly
upon eagles wings
astral minstrels cry
while crooning soulful lullabies
to the moon and angels up on high
Ephemeral chariots
cross emerald skies by day
like judas escariot’s sire
was betrayed in every way
by base desire and the denial
of a liar who walked with feet of clay
my soul has grown deep
like a river
langston said
ethiopia cried out
we must give unto the dead
not with a whisper but with a shout
without doubt
ancestral souls fine-tune genetic goals
while double dutch b-girls
skip lifetimes in one trip
commit high crimes tight-lipped
demonic phonics rap like stetsasonic
bombastical fantastical beats freak
like mystikal out on the street

feral crackheads lie
in search of the next high
flying by on bat-wings
drenched by the stench of corruption
lynched by the mention of destruction
lust and pride take a dusty ride
through death valley
and dark urban alleys
a baby’s wail signals travails
wafting upon the night’s breeze like
seeds of death and disease that
freeze the leaves of skeletal trees
stilling breath and
slumber’s ease

on the other side of light
wonder marks the sight of
brighter days and mighty waves
in a towering fury of utter purity
all-encompassing love
accompanies the dove
rising ever above heaven’s gate
tupac told us it was too late
to try to change the hand of fate
no slate is clean of mortal sins
nor are we free of thoughtless friends
the heart senses trends
we can’t begin to hear or see
nor can we pretend that we are free

little things matter most
but like embittered ghosts we
refuse to toast life
the sweet moments without strife
the sight of a child’s
wide-eyed smile
the delight of living without denial
trials and tribulations
face our nations
stationed on the brink of disaster
the master calls and faster we ride
through torturous hell we slide
losing sight of the real so
precious moments we must steal
from alpha to the end

only with ourselves must we contend

awakening redux

into the light i dream

of awakening
beyond cares
that sift through thought
like autumn leaves
leaving whispers
voices echoing
in corners of consciousness
dusty without love
sulking
awaiting tomorrow

questions of how
to live my life
when i am constantly
dreaming of the past
or future
how can i see clearly
when the compass of my thoughts
is spinning out of control
when my sight is blurred by
wistful fantasies of
what might have been
or what could be
if only things had gone
or do go
a different way

who is to tell
which vision to choose
of the myriad choices
that confront me
my emotions confound clarity
and a moment’s anger
becomes a day’s regret
and then it’s gone
and another has come
another chance to move
into the light
to release the darkness
that fell
when i chose to go down
the lesser path
knowing full well
where that road would lead me

words of wisdom
stumble across my tongue
tripping and falling in hopeless disarray
as i try to erase
the scribbled writings of a lifetime
try a new way of thinking
in place of the old

the past
must remain undeniably so
the future
must be left to fate and circumstance
what is now
must be cherished
and experienced to the fullest
what is love
must be loved with all of my heart

dreaming lucidly i awaken
to a new kind of living
and i see the world with new colors
unimagined
and beautiful
beyond my wildest fantasy

the choice is mine
to leave behind the
shadow of myself
and carry forth
the essence of who i am
recreating myself anew
with each moment
regardless
of what is to come

the undreamt of shines
in light of truth
and a long and winding path of dismay
will end in joyous discovery
awakening every synapse to possibility
before i return to
the waking death
and dress myself in lesser garments
of muted clarity

tommorrow must be different
or it will not come
for it will then be a repetition of today
and of yesterday and
all the days past
the lessons that have battered my soul
without remorse

a daunting reminder that
what is done cannot be undone
but also a prescient recognition that
upon awakening
the world will be different

if only in light i dream

 

Til God Come

Sometimes ya jus’ gotsta put ‘cho game face on, nah’mean? Ya gotsta jus’ look somebody in dey eyes an’ be somebody sides yo sef. De troof shall setchu free, dey say, but sometime de troof gotsta be locked down fo’ a minute while ya deal wit dis here, right here, right now.

De troof on lockdown.

But ‘chu gotsta deal widdit sometime, right? De worl’ don’ stop turnin’ fuh nobody, no how, no way, no suh. At leas’ not til’ dat day when God cum back roun’ dis way.

In dis worl’, some’a us lie sometime jus’ ta get by. Some’a us lie cause we feel we gotsta. Mama wanna know if dem greens hit de spot an’ you cain’t tell her dey be runnin’ through you like a freight train! It jus’ don’ work dat way! Ya still gotsta get ‘long wit’ folks and jus’ livin’ makes ya say thangs an’ do thangs dat ‘chu don’ wanna do, but at de same time, ya kinda gotsta, nah’mean?

Der be folks too dat lie cause it done got good to ‘em. Dey do it all de time, to everbody, jus’ cause dey can. It be fun to ‘em, an’ even more den dat, it be done become part of ‘em. Dey be lyin’ ‘bout what time dey got up dat mornin’, what dey had fo’ lunch, who sed what ta whodiwho an’ who dey shackin’ up wit’ too! An’ dey do it jus’ cause dey can. Folks like dat is behind-front mixed-up fuh’sho’, but mos’ times, dey don’t be hurtin’ nobody but dey selves, God willin’.

Den der be doze folks dat be lyin’ up sumpin’ harmful. Ever word dat cum out dey mouf’ is pain, spit up from someplace hidden, deep ‘side dey selves. Dey eyes be scary, lookin’ thru a body like twaren’t nobody der’. Der be sumpin’ wrong widdem so deep dat der ain’ t no makin’ it right. Sumpin’ dat make ‘em dif’rent from most’a us. I figger mos’ folks got a lil’ thang inside dat talk to em, nah’mean? Let’cha know when we right, an’ let’cha know when we wrong, too. We be ignorin’ it mos’ times but it be der all de same.

My daddy tol’ me dat deys Demons walkin’ roun’ dis here Earth, right ‘longside us normal folks. Dey look like us, smell like us, act like us too, mos’ times. But dey ain’t us. Dey’s damned, jus’ like ol’ Lucifer an’ his potnahs back in de bible days. Chose de ways’a de worl’ ova de ways’a God. My daddy sed dey is doomed ta walk de Earth til’ God cum back roun’ dis way.

Dem folks wid nothin’ ‘hind dey eyes ain’t like us. Dey b’long ta de Devil, heart an’ soul, jus’ like dem fallen Angels. Prolly related to ‘em somehow, might even be dem, far as I know. Some folks ya jus’ don’ mess wit an’ ya know who dey be. Dey be havin’ money, power, strong in de thangs’a dis worl’. Tellin’ everybody how ta live dey lives an’ all. Watch out what’chu wish fo’ an’ who ya ask fo’ it. Some’a us ain’t us, when you thank ‘bout it. I reckon looks mean less den a lil bit when it comes ta tellin’ who a Demon an’ who ain’t. Dey may be crackas, niggas, red injuns or even some’a dem yalla folks from cross de water, but dey sho’ ain’t us. Some’a us be dem.

De las’ thang my daddy tol’ me fo’ he passed from dis’ worl’ ta da nex’ I ain’t neva forgot. He sed ta me, ‘Son, thangs in life ain’t fair an’ folks’ll rob an’ cheat’cha jus’ ta get by. De only words dat I kin say dat’ll las’ ya pas’ my dyin’ day is make sho’ dat ya always pray an’ ya betta watch yo soul til’ God cum back roun’ dis way.’

I Am Knowledgeable of Joyfulness

Sat (I Am) Chit (Aware) Anand (Bliss)

I am Knowledgable of Joyfulness

Inner journeys
revolutions past the Infinite
Awareness

Pure joy rising
Stillness born in the darkness
of the Soul’s
night

Knowledge born
in search of Self
inner voice awakened by
coursing waves of
Joy

Who am I?

What am I?

Silence beckons by
star light

Thrumming odes of
pleasure gently strumming
super-strings of Sitar song
humming chords  of
Eternal Love

pleasure

bliss full
in nature’s sublime

Oneness

The Solitary Wonderer

Supposing that
all stars are really
the echo of
children’s laughter
sent soaring heavenward
to shine back down
upon us all
reflecting light as
the essence of love
leads
the solitary wonderer to
wonder if
twinkling nexuses of pixie dust
illuminate the heart of hilarity
sending faeries and dwarves
giggling
bending double to kiss the leaves
of four-leaf clovers
the roots of which tickle
the sod-leavened toes of dryads
standing, swaying in sensual breezes
upon the banks of rivers and streams
serenaded by nymphs and nematodes
nibbling delicately upon the
essence of life itself
all rivers lead unto the sea
laughing and chuckling waves crash
upon shores of living sand sifting
shifting between levels of
consciousness being the epidermis
of Gaea the seas free her soul
to be
to shine in brilliant splendor upon
the heavens reflecting Sol’s love
a dance of intimate knowledge and light
neverending delight
stardust we are indeed
and the laughter of children contain
everything in life
that the multiverse
needs.

Technician of the New World Order

I am a technician of the new world order. My face is legion. I am soul-lost. My heart beats with the cold, mechanical precision of a computer chip. I am digitized. I see in stereo-vision and hear in surround-sound. Currency is the lubrication for my joints and multi-media driven information overload comprises the detritus of my mind. I have no original thoughts. I am vapid and void of creativity. My life has no redeeming social value or portentous, cosmic meaning. Rather, I am an automaton. A scion of the future. A creature of the new millennium.

I dream of violet and azure seas, capped by frothy, pirouetting waves. The mirrored reflection of midnight skies – awash with the sparkling flames of the great, white, milky way – confound my vision, splashed across the dark formlessness of the watery void. I dream of sands, brilliantly white, and coconut-laden palm trees that rustle gently in the salt-tinged breeze. My dreams mock my reality. My days are spent in endless repetition. The fruit of my labor is redundant. My skills and expertise are negotiable. Daily, I recreate myself as a simulacrum of myself. My true state of being is unknown. Illusion is my reality and reality my dream.

There exist in this world others like me. Our work is endlessly opposed to that of the archetypal Other, the eternal. The dark, muddy formlessness of primal creation drives our hatred, our lust, our fear. We are charged with the implementation of the future by the extrapolation of the present and the obfuscation of the past. Now is my only reality. We toil within small, gray cubicles; teh maze-like cells of a vast, tetragonal matrix. Each engaged in the same task, each working towards the same goal.

Our goal is the total annihilation of independent thought and action. Our way is the way of the future. The way of linear, time-driven progression. Only through technology shall my personality be saved. Only through technology shall I reach the utopia of my own creation. Only through technology shall I behold the face of my God.

Blackness is everywhere that I look. Engulfing me, overwhelming me. Oozing with psychic potentiality, within and without. The ebony shades of darkness – drifting, haunting – of sleep. Of dreamless slumber that threatens to consume the whiteness of my consciousness, of illumination. Only by courting sleeplessness shall I persevere. Only by denying my essential being shall I achieve true knowledge of self. Only by denying my past will I know my future. Only by embracing the material shall I approximate the spiritual. Only by becoming the white will I sublimate the black.

I am a technician of the new world order. My fear approximates totality. Clammy sweat nourishes my body and the viscera-encrusted talons of gibbonous madness tear at the essence of my being. I am afraid of the creature I believe myself to be. I am afraid of the creature my dreams tell me that I am. I am afraid of the creature my dreams tell me that I can be.

Within my mind lurk phantasmagoric vistas of panoramic delight, wonders to engage the senses and engorge the carnal appetite. The pleasures of the flesh beckon me. Tender tragedy. Painful ecstasy proffered with heartless abandon. Tempting, physical delights exemplified by the myriad full, creamy thighs and deep, moist caverns of lust filled by colonnades of primal passion. Open pores, sweat blinded movement pinioned by sighs and the sound of wet flesh slapping, sliding, fingers groping, grasping, caressing, holding.

My need is all that is real. Infinite eyes, receding into whiteness, lust-filled, heavy-lidded, somnolent and hypnotic. They bat provocatively, possessing feather-like lashes stolen from the carcass of a maggot-eaten bird of paradise that tickle me shamelessly. I suckle upon the earth’s nipple, vast and bloated grotesquely with the blood of the unborn, the milk of malignant narcissistic existence. The flesh is everlasting, saturated with satiation and perverted compulsiveness. Nothing outside of myself is real. All else is illusion. Only my need is undeniable.

The world we create by our very existence reinforces the unreality of true being. The paradox is inescapable. For if my life has no meaning, then the meaning of all life is in question. The cell within which my reality is bounded is representative of the collective grid within which we, the technicians of the new world order, lie fallow, awaiting the fertilization of a spiritual seed. The futility of independent or creative thought follows naturally from this original conception.

My life is without intrinsic purpose or ultimate goal. Therefore, identifying exterior purpose has become my goal. With that realization, my purpose is clear. To obscure the purposefulness of life from those who would seek and embrace it. To reinforce the reality of my perceived surroundings in empathetic resonation with the beat of my own soul-lost heart.

I am a technician of the new world order. My mask is that of a clone. My soul is unknown. My heart beats to the vibration of the world’s soul, for it knows no beat of its own. I see the world through dark and accusing eyes because my own are colorless as bone. The dreams and aspirations of the Other are the lubrication for my joints and their lives, the stimulation of my mind. I have no being other than that created to nourish my inner purposelessness. Rather, the light of my whiteness is sustained by blackness. I am a technician of the new world order.

the basement

mirrors twist my reality sideways upside down and all around as the circle turns and my soul burns in the embers of another ego-trippin’ episode of pain and heartache, black american style. the cadence is counted by fleetin’ affairs and distant loves, bereft of a dove’s purity of existence by willful fire and callous desire. dreams flow like streams and pleasure obscures the treasure of a perfect love, hidden within by layers of sin and distant chagrin. i go outside myself to come back in, spin and watch the sky as love dies the slow death, nagged ceaselessly by false expectations come round again like an old friend, faithful till the end.

round and round i go, tired, but checkin’ the flow as life wanders past, pausin’ in fits and starts; some parts comin’ clear, albeit framed by fear. i check my stylo every now and then, recognizing my patterns, my shame and my sins. in seeing my reflection in all that i do and say my truth is flung back in my face, no waste of time or space in this eternal race every sweet taste of pleasure is chased by demons of lust and loathing misplaced.

i gasp with bliss as i am soul-kissed by greed and the seeds of material need that bleed the blood of my ancestors. their tears trace paths of mercurial fears through the haze of my self-induced daze. i lie to myself about myself as i wait – in the meantime – undulating beneath my own caress, undoubtedly blessed, whinin’ about fate as i commit the ultimate act of self-hate. gratuitous spiritual masturbation murders afrofuturistic nations, melanated gods and goddesses of infinite conception, victims of unconscionable psychological deception, imparted at the cellular level.

as a metaphor, music soars loftily, in tune with my doom. the neurotic treble tones bone the bass clef, which acts as the most def function, linking sexual harmonics to junctions of material compunction and unconscious urges that surge to be purged.

such is the state of my slate and i progress in spates of determination, persuaded yet jaded by life, served cold on a broken plate. the warmth of unconditional love passes through the glass. divine, white light shines, multiplying sight and i revel in its soothing glow. the past and future intertwine as joyous laughter denies the sorrowful cries that overlie my sighs of soul-ache, crooned soon after.

love permeates all, has since the fall of divinity to the physical plane, i am but a link in the chain, a lock in the mane of god. i am risen and i traverse death aloft on the breath of life, above strife, selfish gain and gratuitous pain, above love denied or quantified.  today, i pray.  amen-ra.

 

One Pure Love

One pure love
in search of you
One pure love
a promise true.

Deep as breath
centered

soul still and quiet
as the Abyss

filled full to
overflowing

heart’s tender promise
spoken true.

Pervasive as
air

permeating consciousness
sublime moments
unending

rising upon borrowed
wings

shared across
time.

Living in search of
one pure love

living in lieu of
self-knowledge

living in light of
lust realized

living inside of
Self

lost
seeking love.

Seeing you inside of me is more than words can tell, more than minds can believe outside of experience, outside of knowing that completion means my weaknesses are your strengths and, together, we manifest oneness of will, of desire, of thought, of action, willing to work it out despite doubts, seeking to share one’s Self inside and out, for better or for worse being a statement of purpose not only a verse lost inside a prayer yet unfulfilled, a charge for hours unbilled.

Waken me
come the dawn

and together we will face
the morn

eyes wide open to
truth and light

as we fly
out of the night

into the day of forever’s
promise

realizing truth
as proof of G-d.

High as the sky
we live our lives
seeking

wondering
yearning for more than we
possess

finding it only when we
pass the gates of extreme
duress

and bring forth echoes
of the best

that we possess
we sacrifice all to live our love

we take the fall
to fly like doves

Just you and I in life
we gain

Leaving behind
all strife and pain.

One pure love
in search of you
One pure love
a promise true.

Of Rocks and Willow Trees

Even rocks have religions: of spring rain and moldering eons, sifting through layers of sedimentary deposit in search of soul’s salvation. The monumental girth of mountains, such stupendous avatars of a pebble’s truest aspiration, soaring heavenward, thrusting forth shards and stones of Gaia’s  uttermost solidity, sharing the secrets of eternity’s  whispered  words in  sublime syllables of  synchronicitious portent.

The songs of willows, branches swaying gently, sighing, in the breeze of the wind’s soft and sensuous caress, calling out to the myriad species of tree, deciduous and coniferous alike, dryads locked within, beautiful, brown skin gnarly and wondrously intricate, chuckling and spinning tales of wonder and amusement as the moon and the stars look on from above.

Watery denizens inhabit the depths, oceanic or stream-bottoms strewn with the refuse of life’s open call, evoking Creation herself in waves and currents of cacaphonic complexity, swirling in confusion as anthropomorphic anomolies add ascerbic emanations to the stew of chemicals and molecular potions brewing magical concoctions beyond all perceived purpose, or even the most febrile of humanistic portents, doomed by specied miopia to organic obsolescence.

The airs and aethers converge, multi-dimensional existence exuding essence, permeating creation, space extended beyond material condition into spirituality beyond season, evoking dichotomous reasoning combined, resolved by resolution in the choir of Earth’s multitudinous denizens, singing praises to Heaven above.

All of God’s creatures rejoice in Creation Eternal, life manifest as conditional consciousness, urges and genetic predispositions crystalline in purpose, pure, apriori spirituality coalescing in momentous occasion, codified as religion surpassing intergenerational denominative descent in approximation of ascention, the goal of all life, all incarnation, all re-creation.

Life as manifestion upon the physical plane negates specied egocentricity, the grass, the seas, the sky and the trees, all possess the conscious ability to Be, all they are, truely, seeking elevation and solace beyond these shores. Freedom of choice, the knowledge of Good and Evil, black and white, yin and yang as the blessing – and curse – of humanity complicates reality, the mores and traditions passed down through the generations denied validity by the radical evolution of egocentricity, decrying the existence of spirituality, elevating the Cult of Me, mistaking subjectivity for objectivity, denying the connection between We…

…sublime simplicity, indeed. Close your eyes, open your hearts and feel the need, to connect and share, in both love and warfare we seek belief in something higher, better, truer. While deep inside we know that it is all so simple, to follow the example of the birds and the deer, the insects and plants, to grow and to live, secret destinies realized beyond the mind and its convolutive meanderings, realizing that even the rocks have religion and know neither Heaven nor Hell.