Love in Flight

love, wallpapers, desktopWhen she and I
are One.

Once upon a starry night
I saw a woman both
dark and bright
her essence lit up the
midnight sky
my heart did race
my soul did cry out 
“It has begun!”
as I recognized the 
arrival of 

“Do recognize this 
beauteous soul
a blessing of love
to make you whole
in days long gone
in lives last lived
we shared the dawn
learned to forgive
we broke our fast
on air and light
the lives we’ve shared
of love in flight.”

Moments momentos
of sepia-toned sighs
of bold cries and warm
smiles life’s delight
cherished beguiled
souls soaring Phoenix-like
into the sun
twin fiery birds

Alike in so many ways
all trials overcome
what Divinity above has 
ordained let no man
shun let no plan proven
undone become as 
subtle plains of intention
reflect the sun
so shall She as We 

Once upon a brilliant morn
I saw a woman
my heart was torn
between my pain 
and open wounds
to leave the stains
of life’s monsoons
behind and move into
the light and live the
truth of love’s full

Where She and I
are One.


The Eye of the Sun: Crux of Illusory Being

3rd density illusion-ation
de-forestation of souls simply
oblivious to time-lines crossed
and re-crossed
alternate realities tossed
aside, manipulated
like carnival rides by
despondant Demons
too selfish to ascend
too needy to flee
the pleasure of this world
for the safety
of Eternity.

Mind and soul manipulation
body’s capitulation to
the Grind,
never minding the senseless
nature of consumptive anger
time outside of mind,
remorseless tuning of the Divine
4th density soul-tripping,
emotions boiling like stew
on a slow brew
percolating like blood wine
and unsolved crimes.

1st density stances,
consciousness incarnate
dualistically with 2nd density plants
cause celebre of animalistic trances,
timeless romances with the flesh
the test to achieve, trees
dogs and cats believe,
incarnating up-station
into a 3rd density nation
relations unbound,

Up 1/4
the fatal retort is
as 4th density entities
consume us like beef,
engorge themselves on
our emotional wealth,
plotting stealthily
chewing souls like
kanda leaves.

Mind manipulation and
forever rewinding
our minds,
traveling back to the future
and forth to the past
we gasp,
unable to catch our breath
as if we were high off
Crystal Meth,
unaware that we’re barely inches
from death,
every moment we refuse
to foment awareness of
Reality as it seems to be,
regarding our status as bio-chemical
pieces of meat.

Devoured like flowers
by Buddha,
pureed like tomatoes
on dry ice
by the Christ.

Damballa fries us up
like sauteed impalas,
Yemaya deep stews
prayers and sniffs the air,
adding a bit of sea salt,
for flair.

3rd density linearity is
the Crux of Illusory Being,
4th density entities
have a different way of seeing,
past, present and future
laid out like a line,
they dip in and dip out
changing lives

every time.

Alternate universes diverge and
discourse as our choices
compound without
buyer’s remorse,
despite trauma and heartache
we forge through the dark
unaware of Reality
like cows in a park,
chewing cud, so contentedly,
till the Ranchers arrive,
their Predator‘s eyes glinting hungrily
to claim the cattle’s lives.

The food-chain ascends
until reunion with The One,
ultimate knowing
always flowing
until ignorance is done;
soul’s discipline demands
emotional control
the mode of Ascention,
becoming aware of the
Predator‘s mind
the only defense against
being eaten this time,
until Reunion and Oneness 
and we each chose to
fly, never looking back,
into the Eye of 
the Sun.

Summer Haiku

Cicada Song

cicadas humming
droning, summer’s voice moaning
singing solstice songs

Oak Song

Live Oaks swaying soft
shivering rustle of leaves
whispering wet dreams

Rain Song

cool bursting nimbus
grey-blue boiling release
sharing liquid love

Night Song

Stars shining brightly
Sending the light of love down
bathing hearts and minds

Summer Song

Languid days dawning
shimmering mirages seen
hot sun burning strong

The Psychosexual Suppression of Jismatic Heresy: A Darwinian discussion of disutopian dreams

Disclaimer: This write is reflective of a particularly crass form of societal disfunction and the incontrovertible completion of a sub-cultural, material cypher. The philosophy, ideas, language and imagery used herein may be disturbing to many.

The Psychosexual Suppression of Jismatic Heresy: A Darwinian discussion of disutopian dreams.

By Mark Rockeymoore

Something real is going down.

And, from my perspective, only invectives suffice, the objective, to determine the price, to understand the spoken lingo. Awakened by dread, a coal-black Mandingo swings his long, majestic dong real strong, then screws a set of pale-skinned twins, impregnating the void with Potential on steroids. His melanated seed spreads like weeds in the Garden of European Delight, whispered calls of frenetic need sent skyward, computerized, explicit fantasies sold to fulfill insistently dark desires.

Freckled and powdered Mavens of Lust grow mechanical wings and ply their way south of the border to quench their own distasteful disorders, seeking out dark, Tropical Kings, their pride on open display. Delight us, these women say, eyes gleaming by night, shying away from the light of day. Elephantitis-inflicted dicks sway to the tune of moist poontang smacking wetly, lacking only the peculiar discretion to freshen up before fucking, to question their lust before sucking and then trucking back up to the Midwest, whispered conquests the test of their racial tolerance, no jest.

Some days, months or years, there’s just that kind of energy in the air. In many ways, we thrive on fear, invoking eternity with our Thousand Yard Stares. Nobody cares about creatures designed to die, and some days everyone you meet wants to either fuck, fight or cry.

Stare into the eyes of insanity and dare a motherfucker to jump.

Yes, you heard me right. Open your eyes, employ your Second Sight if you’re lost. In this space, all morality is tossed to the side, for it is only within sublime, anarchic halls that certain value systems lie. I could care less about your personal vanity – your humanity or your obvious and reeking insanity – and, as you can probably tell, I can give a good flying-fuck about your dislike of profanity.

No matter where you go or what you do, there is someone there to confront you with a crazed glint in their eyes; realize that events conspire to make your motions meaningless, leaving you dazed and confused, wondering what the Hell is going on. On those days, it is easy to fall into negative stasis, attempting to map the trap of energization and deprivation, engaging in the conduction of negativity through action and word, shouting, fighting back and lashing out in retribution for what you might have heard or intuited about the ephemerality of Existence itself.

Afterwords, you feel drained, denied the light. Born of parasitic forces, the brightness is obscured by the shade of egocentricity, and the satisfaction of the desires flares, sending us spiraling into disfunction.  Such is the conjunction of life and death, these are our crosses to bear – our breathes to share – and by descending into the darkness we finally find our sight. Violence is an end unto itself. It requires no justification other than that which leads to an altercation, fuels its fire or any thought or action that results in an increase of pyrokinetic energy.

In the attempt to keep it friendly, I offer you this bone to pick: blessed, born into strife and sickness, shotgun dreams send us screaming into the night, leaving a bloody swath in our wake. The stakes are high as vengeful Demons of Disutopian Conception threaten transgenic monstrosities as some future-perfect formation of human identity – engorged upon the Horn of Plenty – born of Nazi dreams and Eugenic streams of thought. Who is to blame? When we all are responsible for our choices, is the victim as responsible for his or her victimization as the victimizer? Is the power-play a drama of equality? Is the implicit choice a subliminal acknowledgement of life’s Darwinian aspects, the survival of the fittest a sublime treaties on theHierarchy of Souls, with the Nietzchian Ubermensch striding across the globe, crushing Mud People and lesser beings beneath his jack-booted stride, his blonde hair blazing like the sun, his ice-blue eyes as cold as his martial soul?

The End of Days beckon the Apocalyptic, sending shivers of ecstatic dread screaming down their spines as they genuflect before the Royal Phallus of Imperial Destiny. Blood-spattering, brain-leaking, viscera-tied pouches of goo and gore drip drops of nightmarish conception upon the auric splender of perfection, eating away at Eternity, awakening Leviathian. Broken borders seek completion. Shattered hearts tinkle softly upon the floor of our salvation, sending apoplectic spasms, shivers of slivers, shards of icy intention, seeking the warmth of hardened hearts like love seeks the highest state of Being-ness.

Welcome to the jungle, where beastiality only means you fuck condomless, cocks spewing poisonous semen into pussies puffed grotesquely by putrid pustules, imbued, by the force of their own distaste, with the power to birth hemophroditic avatars of super-human conception. These are the Dreams of the Denied, those who seek to fill the hole in their hearts with the pain of the whole world. Laughter takes on a demonic tone when they’re in charge, and eyes crazed with insane delight shine with a preternatural glow, intent upon denying you your life.

But this is all as it should be, same shit, same night, same mother-fucking useless-ass fight againt egoic self, intent upon immolation and the denial of our Heaven-sent station, let alone the birth of an elevated and enlightened Nation. Watch me stroke my tumescent soul with long, silky fingers, cooing ethereal sighs of passionate lies designed to stimulate my inner demiurge, my ability to purge myself of my inconsistencies, and, upon orgasmic release, spurting jism to the four corners of the earth, imprisoned by schisms defined by my impending death and the pre-set conditions of my inevitable rebirth.

I break the bank to steal the show with stank-ass codes and mortal body blows. I then press restart and proceed to crush hearts, I was the one who took your virginity and played the part, eviscerating your dreams then ripping the seams out of your doubt, stripping your expectations of flotsam and dross, shouting Amen! when your most personal boundaries were crossed.

Kill the Sacred Cows and eat off Buddha’s plate.

Piss on the Tomb of Mao and cuss out a Head of State.

Seek to cultivate chaos and anarchy will rise, the tide will exorcise the unplumbed depths of mind and soul, Twelve Steps required to reach the goal. the Thirteenth Gate reveals the way, the path to reach a Higher State. This world exists to fuck your dreams, to kill your steam, to dull your preen. But shine on still, in spite of the odds, devour your last meal and enjoy the facade of civilized behavior that masks the real, the Executioner’s mask, eyes glinting of steel. Damnation is promised, salvation, unreal. Creation is endless, Eternity’s the deal.

Don’t you get it yet?

If Eternity means InfinityPerfection is Unreachable. So get on your knees and pray, enjoy this day. Even Angels die, while we try to transcend.

The End.


Good Night Poem

Child development baby sleeping

Image via Wikipedia

It’s time for bed
and dreams so sweet,
rest, sleepy head,
the night, to meet.

Visions of laughter
and loud, candied toys,
days of bright splendor
and tumbling boys,

little girls singing
on playgrounds of clouds,
church bells ringing
and parents so proud,

butterflies ridng
on dragonfly mounts,
lullabies lighting
slow dreamtime counts,

eyes drooping gently,
slumber soon to claim,
fingers clasped intently,
visage clear of blame.

Innocence seen
in a child’s sleeping face,
life’s febrile dream
floating gently, through space.


It’s time for bed
and dreams so sweet,
rest, sleepy head,
the night, to meet.

Visions of laughter
and loud, candied toys,
days of bright splendor
and tumbling boys,

little girls singing
on playgrounds of clouds,
church bells ringing
and parents so proud,

butterflies ridng
on dragonfly mounts,
lullabies gliding between
fluffy sheep counts,

eyes drooping gently,
slumber soon to claim,
fingers clasped intently,
face clear of blame.

Innocence seen
in a child’s sleeping face,
life’s endless dream
floating gently, through space.