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The Mother of All Problems

Fellow bell-wetherers,
Former fetuses, and nocturnal emissions:
I tell you, there’s a crime currently in commission!
Oh, yes! We’ve been robbed!
Robbed of something that doesn’t exist
Conspicuous in its absence
Yet universally missed
I’m talking about the subjunctive tense
The world as it would be
If the shot-callers and their minions
Gave half a rat’s ass about you and me

Wood, yeah, let’s talk about wood:
Let’s cut to the clear and plunder
With how much wood
Would the world be good
If we wouldn’t have pulped the lumber
To print the Globe and Times
Into wastelands of woodless wonder?
And would we wonder nevertheless
How in the world we ever got into this mess?

Pull yourself up by your bootstrap molasses
Climb the K2 of class mobility
If your numbers didn’t land
When you played the birthday lottery
Well, it’s easier to scale a mountain
Than to pay-scale out of poverty
When all you have to sell is sand
When the Man hands you lemons
And then raids your lemonade stand

We’re being squeezed
Like blood from a turnpike
We’re being squeezed
Like milk from an overwrought udder
We’re being squeezed
Through bursting birth canals
We’re being squeezed
Like an extra commercial on the comedy channel
We’re being squeezed for our attention
Consuming our years and hours
Squeezed for forced allegiance
To the pyramids of power

So by the hearsay vested in me
I declare a state of heresy
I call for a status coup!
Let’s ask the nuclear questions
And set off the hydrogen bomb in the room
Like, did anyone ask if you wanted to be?
To be? To be born in this war-torn reality
Does anyone even think to consult
The preconceived notions
Swimming around in Shrödinger’s ocean?

Hey there, little embryo,
Are you ready to go?
Are you ready to be pedigreed?
To be summoned forth and graded
On your origins instead of your deeds
Are you ready to be delivered
Your brain on a platter
So that zombie faiths can feed?
You’ll probably be assigned
A costume and nominal creed
But if you pray hard enough,
You could be graced with an atheist family
Here’s a name and a number
That’s your identity
So your slack can be tracked
By the appropriating authorities

Be fruit flies and multi-ply
Cause diapers aren’t cheap
And the private jets won’t fly
Without a servant class to keep
We know that there’s too many
But don’t lose any sleep
We’ll need you in the office early
To teach the robots how to sweep

That’s one small footprint for a person
But a massive crater for eight billion
Anyone have some solutions
For this insanely unbalanced equation?
It’s the mother of all problems
An ever-expanding population
Popping out fresh priorities
At the rate of imagination
Fires and floods swallow our cities
Temperatures rise ever faster
Yet we’re only starting to face the reality
That we’re the actual natural disaster

R.S.V.P, 23 & me
Sign up for your pre-fab destiny
Get set with a shiny Ivy League degree
Or else stuck working out a ten-year plea
That’s all more or less foreordained
If we’ll be speaking statistically
Build your castles of silicon sand
Your dreams are in high demand
In the land of lost opportunity

There comes a time when the fabrication
Of the means of production of the next generation
Unravels in the racks of sweatshop looms
Do you smell that elephant lurking in the room?
Looking for a heartbeat and forgetting the heart
Left in abandoned shopping carts
Claiming eminent domain on human terrain
Mining the irony flowing through our veins
Baby chasing bathwater right down the drain

Fate is just another word for nothing left to choose
Pick it! Pick it!
We’ve got ourselves a hostage situation
Pick it! Pick it!
And there’s no womb for negotiation
Pick it! Pick it!
Until we can name some terms and conditions
Those hand-me-down expectations
Can take an extended vacation

We’re raising no buns in this oven
Selling the next dammed generation
Up the river and down the pike
For I’d better be more than a revolving door
Churning out another set of standard deviations
These chromosomes shall undergo no distillations
My mitochondria have gone on labor strike
This uterus will issue no birth certificates
Instead of replicating life, I choose to live it
As a sparkling marvelous art exhibit
Pick it! Pick it! Pick it! Pick it!
You can’t fire me, oh, you can’t fire me, I quit!
Pick it! Pick it!

Hidden Track

Britches & Hoes Script

Rorschach Mumble

Yes, Good Morning. What’s that? What’re we mourning this time? Why, the afternoon, gone so soon. Very well, thank you and good night.

What? Maybe you’re not such a good knight, after all. Your chivalry matches my socks. I’m Amana Mission, enigmas wrapped in a riddle, on a mission to incite insight…and subvert the prevailing paradigm.

Who is she talking to? Hey, there’s a bunch of people out there, staring at us! Are we supposed to strip now? No, I think we’re going to present a doctoral dissertation. Wrong, we’re running for office. Empress of the Unimpressed!

Could y’all stifle? We’re here to deliver a sermon on the mons veneris. Excuse me, I’m sorry, some of my personalities are completely clueless.

Can we begin with a moment of silence for all the jokes that flatlined on the way to this microphone? Thank you.

DNA=STD

All right! Now, before we get too intimate, I need to level with you. So I went to the clinic, and the test came back positive. Positive means good, right?

Well, the test came back positive-for DNA. Not everyone realizes DNA is an STD. But that’s exactly what’s going on. Deep thoughts.

Hi, I’m the snarky aspiring feminist comic who enjoys awkward innuendos about gynecology. If it “taint” awkward, I’m not involved.

EXPLORING THE CLITORIS

Did I tell you that I discovered the clitoris? Or was it Atlantis that I discovered?

I know, everyone discovered the clitoris, and only most of them are wrong. That elusive love button, the jolly rancher, the epicenter of the earthquake. She waxes and wanes under many names, but few as clinically ghastly as the word “clitoris”.

It’s unclear exactly who deserves the blame for textbooks not calling it the Sweetness of Venus or the Isle of Innana, but I imagine it was someone who didn’t have one.

COLUMBO

A number of men have claimed to discover the clitoris, one such being Italian anatomist Realdo Colombo. No, not that Columbo; this one was a detective of uncharted orgasms, in perpetual search of the “smoking trigger”.

What’s that? I can’t hear you, I’ve got a microphone in my ear. No, and not that one either. You’re thinking of Columbus, who discovered that India is right next to Jamaica.

Well, Christopher Columbus may or may not have discovered the clitoris at some point-I harbor some serious doubts, if you catch my drift-but if he had, he surely would have called it the “uterus”.

AMANA MANIAC

Okay, let’s just get this out of the way. Some people don’t know that Amana is short for “a monomaniac”. Except when it’s short for “a monotone”, “a moniker”, “a monosyllable”, or “a monologue”. Not that the monologues are ever short. But I digress.

Anyway, I like to consider myself a moderately considerate narcissist, so I prefer to practice my nasal-gazing in public. The nose knows! I’m the very model of the modern monomaniac.

CAPTIVATING

Yes, I’m fixated on your grin. Go on. Grin all you want! Ah, Captivating.

Yes, a captive audience! Okay, bar the door! No one leaves until the rest of my squadron is released from the Smithsonian!

Hmm. Where were we? Oh yes. Captivating, all of you. Charmed, we’re sure.

Speaking of captivating… well, we don’t really like to call it “possession”, because demons are so unfairly demonized.

It might be fair, though, to say that we’re all playing host to a veritable rolodex of contentious and contradictory personae, an oddball assortment of stray reaction formations and unemployed social roles.

Pinning down my identity can be a little like playing whack-a-mole without a mallet. Just when I get a fix on who I might be at any given moment, reality goes AWOL and I’m someone else again. You never know who might “pop” up. Here comes everybody!

WHO WAS BORN?

Okay, how many of you were born? Most of you, I see. Any pod-babies out there? Androids? Hatched in a feather-lined nest?

All right, if you were born, how many of you remember it? Really? What was the name of the stork who delivered you?

KEGEL EXCERCISES

So, when Kegel discovered the clitoris; I’m mean, the antithesis-wait, no that’s Hegel-well, you see what I mean. Everyone’s so quick to grab credit for this or that discovery, but no one wants ownership of the ignorance which proceeded it.

You know what else gets my tubes in a knot? Fallopian tubes. Did Fallopio even have a pair of these tubes? No, I don’t believe so.

So why does he get credit for inventing them? Or discovering them, the way Columbus “discovered” the reach-around. These mapmakers are missing the iceberg for the tip!

RORSCHACH MUMBLE

Just the tip? That’s what Dr. Freeman said when he stuck the icepick in my eye!

Hi, I’m the somewhat psychotic surrealist mime who mumbles about Rorschach.

I’m sorry, did you say Rorschach Mumble? No? I must be thinking out loud again. I hope you didn’t hear what I was thinking about this jerk here.

What’s a Rorschach Mumble, you ask? Of course you do. A Rorschach Mumble is an auditory inkblot, an under-heard set of words that reflect preconceptions, often revealing underlying psychosis. Psycho, sis? Oh? Psycho? Who you calling psycho, bro?

No, I don’t care to disclose my diagnosis. It’s protected by attorney-client privilege. As my attorney, I advise myself to plead inanity.

Oh, hell, why deny it, if the straightjacket fits? So, stop me if you’ve hallucinated this one before. The basket case goes to the shrink and says, doc, I’m out of patience. Shrink says, so am I, your hour’s up.

Stop laughing at me! Yeah, I’m the oppositional defiant one. No, I’m not!

SQUARE FROM THE RIGHT ANGLE

Oh my Heavens! Hello, is my personality on straight? Yes, I’m the square one. The status quotidian ordinaire. I’m uptight and really insecure about it.

I know, my insecurities are annoying. And rude. I don’t mean to be such a bitch, it’s just my personality. Besides, I’m strung out on laxatives.

Anyway, I happen to be a professional spontaneity planner. However, you’ll have to book your appointment a year in advance. Not that there’s so much demand, mind you, but I like to be thoroughly prepared for unexpected success.

!0:00

Wait for it. Yeah, wait for it. Go on. I’ve got all day. I’m the passive-aggressive tidal wave. The reluctant Tsunami. No, that’s not a new personality; I’m just brainstorming.

DECENTRALIZED INTELLIGENCE

Lately I’ve been doing temp work for the Decentralized Intelligence Agency. They haven’t assigned me yet, but I’m thinking of free-lancing. Free-lance intelligence, I think that’s a thing.

I’m currently available as a quintuple (counts on fingers) no, sextuple agent in several demilitarized dimensions across the conceptual realm. I’m the scatterbrained alien spy, and…oops! There goes my cover. (sheds shawl).

PAYING ATTENTION

Oh, well, none of you were paying attention anyhow, right? (points) You weren’t. Neither were you. Were you?

Nothing to see here. Please ignore me. I’m the invisible one. What do you mean, you can see me? That’s just an illusion. Besides, I’m only invisible when no one’s looking. (Shrinks)

What’s the price of attention, anyway? How much does it actually cost? Will I be receiving an itemized bill at some point for all the lavish attention I’ve showered on frivolities? Can I pay with Kanye coins? Will it ruin my credit rating? Ha. Ha. Credit. Me. Rating.

RUBBER CHICKEN RELIEF

I’ve got to give myself credit, though. I’ve been tirelessly campaigning to raise awareness and shine a light on the plight of the endangered rubber chicken. Yes, tirelessly, pounding pavement without a single tire, because using tires would be utterly hypocritical, under the circumstances. My rims are beat all to hell.

Anyhow, in case you didn’t know, rubber chickens are now featured on the endangered species list. Apparently the rubber interferes with their procreation, and comic poachers are an on-going threat. If we don’t take action now, there will be no rubber chickens left alive on Earth.

So, please, please donate to the Rubber Chicken Relief Fund. We accept filthy lucre and post-dated reality checks. Your contribution will help supply turkey basters to infertile rubber chickens located in all four corners of the globe. And only the corners. No where else, actually.

So take action now and donate to the Rubber Chicken Relief Fund. This has been a Pubic Cervix Announcement. Thank you, and may the forceps be with you.

Transorbital

There’s a hole in my pocket where I keep my lost marbles
A delicate seesaw where reality wobbles
In a garbled sea of serenading angels
Strapped to a table and surrounded by spies
I think these demons are getting wise
Maybe I just need a little more exorcise

First you’ll be baptized with electric goo
Seventy hertz of holy spirit bolting through you
And then the crucifix comes into view
I’m sorry, did you say, “auditory hallucinations”
Well, I’ve been pursuing a more credible delusion
And they’ve got a new psychosurgical solution

I need a frontal lobotomy
Like I need a hole in my head
Oh, dear Dr. Freeman won’t you set me free
To achieve transorbital velocity
And nobody needs to worry about me
Oh, no, not anymore
Hell, who knows what that part of the brain
Is even meant to be for
And I must be the one who’s insane
Since I’m on this side of that door
Let’s get transorbital
Let’s get transorbital…

Well nothing makes me more annoyed
Then when they get to calling me “paranoid”
With all the assassins I’m tryin to avoid
They’re stealing pep from my step and I cry for hours
And I fear I’ll fry if I hop in that shower
For the KGB has jury-rigged the power

My brother says this but my mother says that
And the dog and cat say I just need another zap
The UFO’s tune in through my dental caps
It’s a bad mental rap can’t you see
Cause they’ve got nuts crazier than me
Running the asylum in Washington, D.C.

Oh, yeah baby, it’s the talk of the town,
Dr. Freeman he can calm you right down
That transoribital lobotomy will bring you around
You’ll forget all about being sick
He’ll pull off a slick little magic trick
Chip the shell from the nuts with a chisel pick

I need a frontal lobotomy
Like I need a hole in my head
Oh, dear Dr. Freeman won’t you set me free
To achieve transorbital velocity
And nobody needs to worry about me
Oh, no, not anymore
Hell, who knows what that part of the brain
Is even meant to be for
And I must be the one who’s insane
Since I’m on this side of that door
Let’s get transorbital
Let’s get transorbital…

The Question That Killed Cassady

Codified bridge from beat to hippie
A rudderless vessel of psychedelic discovery
Unclean machine of perpetual perversity
Transiting between altered states and cities
Fueled by sweaty adrenaline
And wanderlusty audacity
Skin blistering with palpitating authenticity
Oozing sexuality and howling holy obscenities
Under an umbrella of numinous luminosity

Scribbling notes along the envelope’s edge
Twinkling between the rock of a twisted fix
And the hard place of standing still
A high wire daredevil driving a tight rope
Reading I Ching and levitating twenty steel tons
Another wild mad dash Furthur up highway 1
Burning benzedrine, LSD, and destiny
Bearing Dean Moriarty’s On The Road legacy

Scraping handlebar guardrails
Rambling through every rubber-burning turn
Bopping to the beat of a different apocalypse
Seven-pointed star with lightning lips
Careening through rag-tag jazz manuscripts
Reeling off an unseen screen
Switching scenes between half a dozen twisted flicks
Behind the wheel of the big reveal
At the helm of the bus that launched ten thousand trips

Well, Cowboy Neal was a curious cat
A cameo character with a craning neck
Jaunting through panoramic habitats
Hand dealt from the underside of the deck
Rolling out the film in reverse
Drunkard orphan hitching the skids
Toward the outskirts of the Universe
They say feline lives number nine
Cassady ran through them three at a time
The first third flying by at high velocity
The second third the reborn bon vivant of literary immortality
The third third cut short by the fall of a curtain call
Yeah, the third third of that cat’s tale
Well, that didn’t happen at all
Feline lives, they come in nines
But how many railroad ties
Is it to the end of the line?

It’s the question that killed Neal Cassady
What glitters in the corner of all I see?
Past yesterday’s unfettered artistry
Behind the rat-a-tat patter of the acid test barker
And wry grin of the irrepressible skylarker
Rapping off a scatter-shot branched narrative
Dripping with hedonism and vainglory
It’s the metastasized story of a reformatory refugee
Chasing an insatiable curiosity
Well, they say curiosity is what killed the cat
But, baby, satisfaction is what brought him back

Get a load of this sensational sensation
Groove on that wonderstruck unstuck vibration
Hang up those hang-ups and grab the phone
There’s a call for you from the great unknown
Notions in motion on waves of “maybe” and “let’s see”
The core of Aporia, the glory of all that happens to be
Boundless novelty over yonder horizon
A maze of labyrinthine amazement
Accumulated cumulus clouds cushioning the seering Sun
Under myriad piercing gazes conjuring allegorical fantasies
Crystallized visions dug up to resurrect
Sights and sounds and synesthetic scents
No mind left unblown
No line left unbent

Dig it, digits, with opposable thumbs
Jutting out to beckon whatever may come
Wrapped up in tarpaulin folds of undertow
And tidal flows of who knows where it’s gonna go
Packed in the back of Serendipity’s pick-up jalopy
Following the fortunes of random roadside processions
Cosmos shattered through dew-drop prismed progressions
Unlocking spectral rainbows trapped inside indifferent infinity
Sun-spun cycles of last chances and first impressions
Melodies plucked from moaning droned tonalities
Unfolding untold golden eternities

Electrified steel-wrought mechanical dreams
Stoked on the steam from locomotive combustion
Meeting each moment beneath a scalding stream
Of quantum kinetic connotative implications
Multi-faceted visceral crystal-shard rings
Trembling in orbit around Cassady’s question
Ripping the fabric of the grace-slime continuum
Sinless, schizo-maniacal saint of the strange
Marking space, time, and novel conundrums
Across whatever remains of the vanishing free range
Psychedelic skipper sailing through the Big Dipper
Seekin’ All Seekin’ All….
Was it ultimately the quest
Or just the ultimate question
That finally did unkneeling Cassady in?

Oh, the question that killed Neal Cassady
How far to that city he would never see?
They say feline lives number nine
Cassady ran through them three at a time
Chasing that terminal curiosity
Notions in motion on waves of “maybe” and “let’s see”
The core of Aporia, the glory of all that will ever be
Feline lives, they come in nines
But how many railroad ties is it is it is it
How many railroad ties is it to the end of the line?
Well, they say curiosity is what killed the cat
But, baby, satisfaction is what brought him back
And so the question came and went
No mind left unblown
No line left unbent

Gonzo Bonkers

Hollywood’s gone awful green these days
If you listen to all the stars
Well, they sure are busy recycling scripts
While blowing up all those cars

Stick a round peg in a square slot
Oh, it’s a fam-iliar routine
Then they break out the inkblots
And ask you what they mean

But they don’t know what’s true
Anymore than you or I do
And those shrinks, they haven’t a clue
What the sky looks like to me or you

Entertain your visions in seclusion
They’ll call it a raving mad delusion
But get enough other kooks to join in
And all of a sudden they call it a religion
I’m a tad mad batty I must admit
Why deny it if the straitjacket fits?
Well, life’s a joke and we’re the butts
So not being crazy would be a little bit nuts

Always the offbeat oddballs
On the cusp of innovation
Say, maybe loosing your marbles
Is the real secret of salvation

Madness turns to genius
After fermenting for a generation
So in twenty years, more or less
We’ll redeem your certification

Oh, we’ve gone gonzo bonkers
The Coo-Coo done flew over
Ten miles off our rockers
And running rings around our keepers

Entertain your visions in seclusion
They’ll call it a raving mad delusion
Get enough other kooks to join in
And all of a sudden they call it a religion
I’m a tad mad batty I must admit
Why deny it if the straitjacket fits?
Oh, life’s a joke and we’re the butts
So not being crazy would be a little bit nuts

They say that I should abide the law
Not sure I get the point
Of abiding uniformed bandits
Out to stick hippies in the joint

We’re supposed to all feel terrorized
Let them rifle through our rights
But what causes me insecurity
Is getting groped to catch a flight

And it’s the greatest emergency
If the bankers don’t get paid
The sky will tumble upon us all
If their bonuses are delayed

Talk about conspiracies
And they’ll label you confused
Everyone’s got a conspiracy theory
Fluoride, vaccines, the chem-trail blues
Lizard people or the Illuminati
Yes, the details are a little spotty
When psy-ops masquerade as news
The only question is whose
Channel you choose

Entertain your visions in seclusion
They’ll call it a raving mad delusion
But get enough other kooks to join in
And all of a sudden they call it a religion
I’m a tad mad batty I must admit
Why deny it if the straitjacket fits?
Yes, life’s a joke and we’re the butts
So not being crazy would be a little bit nuts

Terminal Slide

Tickets! Have your tickets ready! Old and infirm first! Gunshot victims and accident casualties to the front of the line.

Tickets! Your tickets, please. No, all of them. Yes, all of them. You won’t need them where you’re going.

I know, it’s all very sudden. Abrupt. Yes, most people feel that way. Nevertheless, this is the final ride, the Terminal Slide. And the park will be closing for you. Another spin, down the drain.

No, I’m afraid you can’t get out of line. This is the end of the line. You’ve flatlined.

Well, sometimes, a doctor comes along and saves the day, but that didn’t happen for you. Maybe they tried, though.

If so, we’ll use your remaining tickets to settle the bill for their heroic yet futile efforts, and any balance will be disbursed according to your will.

What’s that? You have no will? Well, then, no more point in worrying about tickets, then.

No, I’m sorry. You can’t back out of this ride. It’s the last item on the Bucket List. There’s nothing that can be done. Let’s go! Security! Another reluctant one.

Look, I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Okay, off you are!

It’s flashing it’s flashing it’s flashing before your eyes, in an unfurled whirl as you hit the Terminal Slide, all of your labors, and all of your loves, your plans and doubts and dreams all escaping from an exhausted broken heart, leaving only whatever sense you made of the state of the arts.

All flash past for one last gasp, swirling into a blur of dilated time, the void at the infinite instant of dissolution, that event horizon one can never quite grasp, the formless emptiness beyond which no Self extends..

Weee! Here we go! Eternity, here we come, ready or not…

No, not ready! So many sensations to savor, so many regrets deferred, so many beautiful and cruel moments which were or might have been, so many rides to have taken in this carnival of flesh, this world made of spin-

Why, to end it all now? When life is barely ready to begin!

And it’s going, and it’s going and it’s go—

Go!

Be!

Go!

Be!

I Am! The matriculated embodiment of my mitochondrial material, the seed of generation.

I Go! In a race against oblivion, lugging helictical codes to the motherlode.

Be!

Go!

Be!

Go!

Crusin’ for a fusion, a star erupts in the velvet darkness, sparkling with hungry heat, pulsing in a cyclical beat, expanding and contracting, resonating to the recurring vibration of creation.

Flung into the future, fusion converted into fission. Two becomes four and sixteen and more. And more. Millions, then billions, then trillions of respiring cells ready to overflow into a brave new world of unseen proportions.

All of evolution reiterated, vast epochs recapitulated, the never-ending story of how this genesis came to be. An unfolding narrative of lineage, from primordial origins in a vast and unquiet sea.

Be!

Go!

Be!

Go!

Incubating in an amniotic bath, the universe rebuilt, brick by brick, cell by cell, from a blueprint forged in the furnace of mingling beings, cultivated in an isolation tank of suspended animation, where nothing is known and everything is awaiting discovery.

Grow! Grow! Grow! Momentum building, equilibrium breaking, the inner spark of self-hood waking. Outer space, the initial frontier. The walls are quaking, reality is shaking, and we’re going, ready or not, thrust by an irresistible imperative to

Be!

And Go!

Be

And Go!

Go! Into the light! The light at the end of the tunnel! Go! Be!

Gyroscape

Once upon a time there was no time
Splitting infinity down the middle
All and nothing intertwined
Around no body and never mind
Riding the impossible riddle
Trillions of wills, static and still
Until eternity started to spill
Concrescing into spiral shapes
And so Chaos ensued
With endless Orders to fill
All aboard the Gyroscape
It’s the ultimate thrill

First there was a moment of silence
All existence crystal and frozen
The future Universe condensed
Into a span the size of a notion
Then the spell of primordial suspense
With a Thunderword was broken
Splintered into horizon events
The titans of time were awoken
Flashpoint dance of radial radiance
Launching pyrotechnic explosions

Mandalas in every direction
A machine of perpetual motion
Tick-tocking the clock of the moon
And guiding the tides of the ocean
Pirouetting energies
On a galactic tilt-a-whirl
Oh, the world is your oyster
Just don’t swallow the pearl
Yes the world is your oyster
Don’t you swallow the pearl

Particles and planets
Dance in a ring
Swung through space
On an invisible string
Everything is twirling
It’s the music of the spheres
Wheels within wheels
Gears turning gears
The carousels of our days
The Orbitrons of our years
All ways in motion
Yet never anywhere but here

Behold the Cosmic Engine
Never knowing where to begin
The attractions are magnetic
But eventually entropy always wins
Well, you might think it’s magic
This choreography of quarks
Tripping the light fantastic
On streams of unseen sparks

Witness the clockwork of seasons
Cascading staircase spirals
The pitter-pattern of oscillation
The rise and fall of every cycle
Darkness fades when flames appear
Stars burn out then shift career
Every morning last night’s swirling world taken
As a dreamer awakens stirred and shaken
Reborn to remind that nothing’s mistaken

For every revolution
Is bursting with change
In constant rotation
Awaiting the strange
Holograms engaged
In currency exchange
Recursive reiterations
Of space chasing duration
Wild rock and roll gyration
It’s the ride of our lives
Toward a destination
Which never seems to arrive

Particles and planets
Dance in a ring
Swung through space
On an invisible string
Everything is twirling
It’s the music of the spheres
Wheels within wheels
Gears turning gears
The carousels of our days
The Orbitrons of our years
All ways in motion
Yet never anywhere but here

Particles and planets
Dance in a ring
Swung through space
On an invisible string
Everything is twirling
Wheels within wheels
The carousels of our days
Within gears turning gears
The Orbitrons of our years
Turning wheels within wheels
Within wheels turning gears
The carousels of our days
The Orbitrons of our years
All ways in motion
Yet never anywhere but here

Yippie!

Air thick with talk of sex peace and race
Paradigms shifting all over the place
Boat rocking from alienation and rage
A paradoxical patriot leapt to the stage

Abbie and his band of merry yanksters
On a mission to mock imperialist gangsters
They were Marxists of the Groucho school
And guerrilla theater was their radical tool

The squares called their ideas pie in the sky
So they threw their pies in politician’s eyes
Stuffed shirts never seemed to get the joke
Hell, chuck ‘em if they can’t shake a yoke!

Yippie!

The great unwashed were called to Washington
To exorcise the demons from the Pentagon
Couldn’t get the brass properly high
But angel heads arrived to give it a try

Valiantly defying the law of gravity
Allergic to any kind of authority
Both america’s orphan and his father
Stand-up subversive and professional bother

Yippie!

In Grant Park the insubordinate freaks
Were granted whacks on either cheek
A fiasco made of Daley’s big show
The Democratic Convention in Chicago

It was Hoffman versus Hoffman
In the trial of a generation
Eight defendants who’d sent the invitation
Inciting the imagination of a war-torn nation

Abbie knew courtrooms had three rings
So delighted in jerking the judge’s strings
Charged with conspiring to get his skull cracked
They brought elephants into the room
And donkeys into the act

Yippie!

Well, he took the heat for playing in the snow
But he was really a victim of Cointelpro
Once the vanguard of the revolution of fun
Abbie went on the run and left a fatherless son

Even in exile he fought the good fight
Most famous fugitives stay out of sight
But Abbie couldn’t stay out of the game
Waging environmental battles under another name

Well, they don’t make ’em like Abbie anymore
The Man learned a lot from the Vietnam war
First, stay away from the lottery draft
Or else the radicals will have the last laugh

Yippie!

The Ride of Our Lives

Incubating entities and emerging embryos, blastocysts of all evolutionary stages, step up, step up! Fall into a single-file line at the turnstile to incarnation.

This is the adventure you’ve been waiting for, since before you can remember, the experience of a lifetime! An eye-opening spectacle, a breathtaking world of whirling scents and sounds and lights.

Gather your breath in anticipation, for you are about to enter a rarified atmosphere! Welcome to the mysterious wonders of the Corporeal Carnival, the Festival of Flesh.

Step up, and claim a seat on the ride of your lives, the roller-coaster of fate, climbing and plunging, in a cyclical loop-de-loop of alternating flirtations with gravity and elevation.

Come, try your hands at innumerable diversions, wild games of chance and exacting tests of skill, a plethora of thrilling ways for your boredom to be killed, your calendar to be filled, and your hopes to be spilled.

Spin like record getting into the groove at the Gyroscape Theme Park, where you must be “this” high to get in.

Awaken, and fix your gaze of fascination upon a maze of manifest imagination, hailing from every hyperbolic curve of culture, an archetype for every occasion.

It’s a marketplace of ideas and ideologies, chock-full of barkers all hawking the latest flavors of inner awareness. A bargain, you’ll find, at twice the price.

Speaking of price. No such thing as a free launch. Naturally, you’ll need some tickets to access the tantalizing attractions. Folding paper, legal tender, ornate and officially issued by the green machine.

Each numbered denomination is adorned with a portrait of some powerful dead muck-a-muck, whose legend you will soon learn in school, and whose truth you may never know.

Marvel as these tickets transform, magically, before your very eyes, into opulent feasts; into elegant lodging and fine entertainment, fueling exotic, Quixotic quests and providing the raw material for your dreams.

Tickets, omnipotent tickets, your keys to unlock the myriad doors to Aporia. Step up, now, and claim your birthright!

Once inside, some few of you are due to inherit an unearned supply of these tickets, and to cruise the Carnival without a care. Be sure to tip generously! Genero City is the “Capital” of Dough Nation, dontcha know?

Others, the more common but less fortunate of you, will land among the dispossessed masses of have-nots. You’ll have to scrape by, on your wits or elbow grease. Poor you! Luck of the draw.

Never fear! You can sell yourself by the hour in order to obtain more tickets. Someone must serve and prepare these opulent feasts. Someone must tend the box office and erect the big tops. Someone must turn the wrenches on the gears of progress.

You’ll labor your days away, so that your betters can better enjoy their adventures. Maybe you’ll pursue that elusive big break, as you perform acrobatic acts of athletics or artistry in the gladiator pits of the entertainment industry.

Maybe you’ll settle for a weak, bi-weekly reality check, or hustle into the fast lane of shell games. Maybe you’ll pursue higher education and train for a respected profession, such as clowning or medicine. So many options!

Of course, if all else fails, you can always grab a shovel and join the brave crews assigned to tackle the voluminous piles of bullshit, horseshit, elephant and donkey dung which accumulate wherever politicians congregate.

So bid farewell to the bubble of suspended animation, and prepare to venture into the revolutionary landscape of being and becoming, where the time is always now, and the location is forever here.

First you’ll be shot down the Tunnel of Love, where the racing current will deliver you to the slippery croupier spinning the wheel of Existential Roulette. The odds are about a hundred million to one against anyone winning the life lottery. No second chances! Sorry.

So step up, and pass through the cervical portal, to be plunged headlong into a whirled world made of motion itself, a rotating carousel of orbiting bodies. Good luck! Your name is {Insert Name Here}.

Who knows what awaits on the other side of that gate? Whatever you do, don’t hesitate!

Existential Roulette

Jettisoned in unison
From a loaded silent cannon
Spilling by the billion
Into sightless oceans

Now we’re out of suspended animation
So let’s bet on a wild proposition
Yes, it’s a race to inhalation
Put a face to this creation
And you’ll win this iteration

So far as I can tell the world’s all wet
And we’re paddling without an oar
Taking a whirl at Existential Roulette
As if life were anything more

Well, the forecast calls for unreasonably
High degrees of unpredictability
Unfounded rumors of viability
With a chance of partial absurdity

Bursting forth at bullet pace
Night-sea swimmers born to chase
Only one winner takes this race
For there’s no future in second place

So shake a tail, you’ve got one shot to spend
There’s only one rule that just won’t bend
Make it first to the glow at the tunnel’s end
Among billions of brothers and not one friend

The Egg? The Egg? Does She even exist?
Or does this emptiness extend forever in the mist?
Oh, you’ll hear tall tales told of solid shores
But I’ve never met anyone yet
Who can say they’ve been there before

Far as I can tell the world’s all wet
And we’re paddling without an oar
Taking a whirl at Existential Roulette
As if life were anything more

The Egg? The Egg? Of course She exists!
Look, you’re free to drown in your questions
She’s the source of all motivation
Anyone who can’t land that standing ovation
Is bound to wind up on permanent vacation

Who knows what awaits on Earth?
The other side they’ve been calling birth
But I’m pretty sure the Universe will burst
If anyone else gets there first

Oh, I bet I’ll be born in plenty of debt
Deep in a hole and the ante unmet
Well, hell, that has never stopped me yet
At the wheel of Existential Roulette

Because far as I can tell the world’s all wet
And I’m paddling without an oar
Taking a whirl at Existential Roulette
As if life were anything more
As if life were anything more
As if life were anything more

Museyroom

Eeny meeny miny moe, down which fast-track will this little one go? Baker or butcher, doctor or lawyer, architect or janitor? Blue uniform or white collar? What will you do for sense and dollars? What will you do for sense and dollars?

Eeny meeny miny moe, catch a fire by the hose, grab the pension by the nose, okay children, come now, fall into a single-file line, and select your future vocations, for it’s never too early to start padding your resume.

Class, who can tell me why Humpty Dumpty had such a great fall? Who can explain why fairy tales are so Grimm? Why are exaggerated fabrications called tall tales, while a short story is a sort of marginal fiction, yet skyscrapers are said to be so many stories tall? Is truth to be reckoned by length, or height?

Speaking of tall tales and fabrications, now we’re entering the Haunted Hall of History. Here you’ll be led through the slanted legend of your land, tailored to suit the needs of the powers-that-be.

To the right is a wax museum, where invaders have been recast as “explorers”, and slave-driving aristocrats are dressed up as the founders of freedom.

Beware the monster of Manifest Destiny, thundering on horseback and wrapped in flags of read, white, and blew. A voracious beast of imperial ambitions, devouring indigenous dreams for breakfast and swallowing the continent from sea to shining sea.

Next, we’ll venture into the grimy Foundry of Industry, where waves of workers from all corners of the globe have been ground down to hamburger in the gears of progress.

Here is where your bumper cars are are born, your roller-coaster rails are forged, and hard reality is manufactured, one component at a time.

Unfortunately, children, most of these jobs have been taken over by robots, so you’ll have to look elsewhere for your livelihood. The security sector is booming, however, so the future looks bright for the bullies and hall monitors among you.

Moving along, quickly now, into the Theatre of War. Aren’t those fireworks wonderful, children? Keep your heads down!

The camouflaged actors are engaged in an ongoing brutal ritual of cyclical retribution, hurling ammunition at each other on behalf of their very strong leaders, who are bravely hiding in their bunkers. Do mind your step, for this exhibit is a minefield of inflammatory rhetoric and explosive propaganda.

Step lively, class! We’ve nearly made it to the present moment. As the ghosts of nightmares past howl in the distance, we arrive at the Carousel of Revolution, where change is the only constant, and a pair o’ dice rolls on a pair ‘o dime.

This exhibit has been seized and liberated, children, in the name of the People’s Imperial Army of Clowns. Take up your red noses and join the Revolution. Yes, class, your teacher is actually a radical Marxist clown. Hang tight! Let’s take the world out for a spin!

New Word Jazz

2-19
Legend’s End
Wax and Wings
High John
Xochipilli’s Mask
Judge’s Daughter
I Just Work Here
Tributary
Smuggling Smoke
Pine Cone Ridge
Dimension Not Available
Faux Mirage
Key of Now
Partner Ship
Whether Vain
On A Phrase
Jack and The Green Stalk

2/25

Resonance Renaissance
Lattice of Errors
Spot of Mandelbrot
Good Friday
Mess of Lentils
Thump-Revised

5-9
**Global Edit**

5-17 Edits

Strange Loops
Shamboozled
Crossing The Rubicon
Pine Cone Ridge

6/2
Saturn’s Return
Strange Loops
Shamboozled
Jack & The Green Stalk
Pine Cone Ridge
Down To Delphi
Crossing Rubicon
Ouroboros
Kaleidoscope Catalyst
I Just Work Here
Alembic
Renaissance

A Standing Ovation

First Circuit: Oral Bio-Survival

When I grow up, I want to be a skeleton. Or maybe a ghost. I’m of two minds on the matter. Two minds on the matter…

Most of my imaginary friends don’t believe in ghosts. Hell, half of them don’t even believe in me. They’re pretty square, if you ask me. But everyone’s a little square, if you look from the right angle.

And I’ve got a bone to pick with the mortuary business. I hate to get stuck in a box, and incineration just plain stinks. Besides, if my urn matches my earnings, my ashes might as well land in some rusty tin can.

When the time comes, I’ll probably go with one of those back alley funerals, and squat in a dumpster for all eternity. Shh. Don’t tell the city. Hey, what city are we in?

I tend to field a lot of square questions. People always say: “Say, you’re not from ’round here! Where ya from?” I like to tell them that I come from a long line of eggs.

Literally true. An unbroken chain of ova in evolution. Ova in evolution. I am a standing ovation. So are you. Ova in evolution.

I hope that one didn’t go “ova” your heads.

Maybe my whole life is just a dress rehearsal for a promising career as a poltergeist. I’ve been told I have a haunting look, and I’ve been known to rattle a chain or two. So the afterlife looks bright for this future shade.

There’s a lot of discrimination against ghosts, though. These born-again bobble-heads are always going on about the rights of the unborn, but what about the rights of the undead?

You don’t hear much about the rites of the undead, either. Necromancy sure ain’t what it used to be. I’m a big fan of phantoms, but I’m not looking forward to being exorcized. Don’t try to exorcise me, or I’ll ghost out of here.

I usually run far away from exercise, though evidently not from run-on sentences. Run-on sentences are messy, but then again, so are periods. A period interrupts a sentence. Life sentence, if you catch my drift. Catch my drift?

Well, I’m not sure what sort of career I might be pursuing here, but my hobby is armchair etymology. Language branches like a fractal. Like a fractal. Like a fractal…

Language is a sequence of events, like wind blowing, or water flowing. Or a tree growing. Etymolotree. Catch my drift? Catch my drift?

Life. Life is like…an inadequate analogy.

The ideas expressed herein are not necessarily those of the medium. The medium I am.

I am the set of all I am, the set of all I am, the set of all, I am the set of all I am. For my first act, I’ll impersonate myself.

om ma matter mother mammary mammal material mass meter metric matrix matriculate matrimony metropolis ma ma ma

Oral bio survival
Oral bio survival
Oral bio survival
You must
You must
You must inhale
You must
You must exhale
You must
It all begins with a breath
You must inhale
You must
You must exhale
You must
Inhale exhale inhale exhale
One breathe after another
Never stop, for the next stop is death
You must
You must inhale
You must
You must exhale
You must

Made of matter, suckled by mother
Ma is as selfless as I am
Helpless self seeking the other
Cognition dancing binary beats
Synchronized in the catbird seat
Trying to find that goldilocks slot
Not too cold and not too hot
The nipple and the stick
The rod and the tit
Hard or soft
Do or don’t
Yes or no
Will or won’t
On or off
Security first circuit
Security first circuit
Security first circuit

Mess of Lentils

It was the night that someday came
The moon blossomed and I did the same
Miracles in a circle bearing my name
Purple sage said go now stake your claim
And never forsake it for wealth or fame

Called forth the birth-write on my knees
A floating bright light beckoning me
Rippling in an unseen breeze
A whisper urging me to seize
The thread of the Dead with delicate ease

That snag’s quite a drag
But the balloon hasn’t popped
We weren’t brought this way just to get stopped
We didn’t fly the night sky only to be dropped
Perched on a precipice, one and all
And we didn’t come this far
Only to fall

Follow that voice and be well led
If you dare tread raging riverbeds
Let resonant words be heard and said
But don’t you trade it for an inflated head
A red mess of lentils or thin slice of bread

Heirloom treasure one can’t keep
Conferring pleasure doesn’t come cheap
You’d better be ready to dig real deep
Fail and flail and wail and weep
Measure by measure on a groundless leap

The waking dream came and went
Throughout the winters of discontent
Twisted forks mentally bent
Mixed messages hastily sent
And who knew what any of it meant

That snag’s quite a drag
But the balloon hasn’t popped
We weren’t brought this way just to get stopped
We didn’t fly the night sky only to be dropped
Perched on a precipice, one and all
And we didn’t come this far
Only to fall

Good Friday

It was a very Good Friday
At Harvard for a select few
Where psychology met theology
Over a new psychedelic brew

They made a strange congregation
A most unlikely Trinity
Scientists hosting religion
To investigate Divinity

Indeed, a very psilly idea
Brilliant at the same time
Under the banner of academia
Was hatched the perfect crime

Is this the newest Testament?
A heaven-sent experiment
Oh, can we scan the mystic?
Make the numinous self-evident
By the light of sight fantastic
Test the edge of reverence
Against a mind-bending experience
With the full blessing of the State
They ate the apple in innocence
The miracle isn’t that they saw God
It’s that they got away with it

Come ye faithful seekers
This little pill will be your guide
We’ll study under Knowledge Tree
And check out the view inside

Meet you at Marsh Chapel
We’ll see how deep it goes
Toss the golden apple
Between the wooden rows

The serpent bids you bite
Just a slice of forbidden fruit
Sample some shamanic sight
Before you don your preacher’s suit

Is this the newest Testament?
A heaven-sent experiment
Oh, can we scan the mystic?
Make the numinous self-evident
By the light of sight fantastic
Test the edge of reverence
Against a mind-bending experience
With the full blessing of the State
They ate the apple in innocence
The miracle isn’t that they saw God
It’s that they got away with it

After we’ve been wined and dined
Let us pray in Science’s name
We’ll learn what kind of faith we find
Taking communion of a different kind

Did the bush burn before your eyes
That crazy little thing called god
Can it ever be quantified
Sized up and demystified?

So pray tell, did it feel more real?
Any visions you’d care to reveal?
Did the medicine enhance your zeal?
Or did doubt find your mind unsealed?

Is this the newest Testament?
A heaven-sent experiment
Oh, can we scan the mystic?
Make the numinous self-evident
By the light of sight fantastic
Test the edge of reverence
Against a mind-bending experience
With the full blessing of the State
They ate the apple in innocence
The miracle isn’t that they saw God
It’s that they got away with it

Spot of Mandelbrot

What means the B?
What means the B?
What do you mean, what means the B?
Well, what means the B?
In Benoit B. Mandelbrot
Ben What?
Benoit B Who?
Benoit Be Where?

Benoit B Mandelbrot
But what about the B?
For what does it stand?
This interstitial initial?
This mysterious B.
Popped right in the middle
Why must it be Benoit BE Mandlebrot?
Wherefore and whyfore this orphaned “B”
Well, the B, you see, is more than a symbol
That B. unblocks the sea
And unlocks the key to Julia’s riddle

Maybe the B stands for born
Born of a shattered mirror
Worn along the battered shore
Of every meandering branching river
Or torn off from the rough contours
Wherever hereafter meets before
Where every inch contains a mile more
And a Universe unfurls behind every door

Symmetry bound up in her embrace
Interred in invariant iterations
Entangled time overgrowing space
Embodying self-referential equations
So now we retrace
Julia’s fractured face
Only knowable by where it is not
Splattered like a cannon shot
Just a spot of Mandelbrot
The elf in self
The elf in self
The elf in self
Nature never forgot

Maybe the B is for the silence in doubt
For who knows what any of this is really about
Blasting at all orders of magnitude
A kaleidoscope from any angle viewed
Maybe the B stands for beginning
Embedded in every central event
Or perhaps the B is for beckoning
The mind to whatever it meant

Mer
Myrrh
Murmuring
Mer murmuring more
Murmuring more meaning
Mer murmuring more
More mortal morphing morphemes
Morphemes morphing meaning
More less less more more less
More meaning meaning less
More tales More tall tales
More mortal tales
More immortal tails
Mer made tails
Tales made by Mer mer mer
Missed misted mysteries
More morphing memories
Murmuring Murmuring
Murmuring

Mur mur murmur
 Murmuring murmuring
Morphing morphing morphing
More less less more more less
Meaning meaning meaning
Less more more less less
Morphing morphemes
More murky memories
Murmuring murmuring
Murmur mur mur

Went out tilting at windmills
Across groundless molehills
Hangin’ on for dear life
To the edge of my skull

Tried to hitch a ride
To some kind of wild spectacle
Something absolutely atypical
And yet cosmically universal

Then my thumb went numb
And my tongue went dumb
Waiting for some answer to come
So I followed a trail of diamond crumbs
Straight to the edge of Elysium

Well, the paradox of paradise
Is that Heaven’s just a narrow slice
Without the underworld’s fire
The whole globe would be on ice

Every star becomes a dot
Each story told a mere subplot
Just a spot of Mandelbrot
Flashing past in candid shots
Of scenes time long ago forgot
Blinking lonely nodes
Linking to the motherlode
Wading in the flow
 just waiting to go
Wading in the flow
 just waiting to go

I entered a 3-D flowchart
Elegant with gold-inlaid art
Where you end up depends
On where you start
For destiny has got
A lot of moving parts

Then a siren rang a bell
She said I know but will not tell
So what if we spin here
For a spell
Upon this unhinged carousel
And reflect our paths
In parallel
Reflect our paths
In parallel

For I am Julia Mandelbrot
And I am the model-maker
Replicating all of Nature
Far too expansive to capture
Rendering the big picture
Delivering it in miniature

Every star becomes a dot
Each story told a mere subplot
Just a spot of Mandelbrot
Flashing past in candid shots
Of scenes time long ago forgot
Blinking lonely nodes
Linking to the motherlode
Wading in the flow
 just waiting to go
Wading in the flow
 just waiting to go

Well, models are exhibitionist
Curving contours lightly kissed
Treating every eye to a tryst
Lingering on each little twist
Exposing more than I’d care to exist

Drawing the Universe to scale
Tracing snakes swallowing their tails
Galaxies poured into Grails
Recreating creation’s trail
Down to the finest and last detail

We spun all the dials for a while
And turned that inch into many long miles
Still I remained an empty exile
Chasing the impossible endless smile

Then I drew a bridge to forever
Made of maybes and what-ifs
And measured howevers
Whiled away ages in the endeavor
She patted and tapped my head and said
Well, that design is very clever
But you’re gonna need a bigger lever
Yeah, you’re gonna need a bigger lever

Every star becomes a dot
Each story told a mere subplot
Just a spot of Mandelbrot
Flashing past in candid shots
Of scenes time long ago forgot
Blinking lonely nodes
Linking to the motherlode
Wading in the flow
 just waiting to go
Wading in the flow
 just waiting to go

Renaissance of Nonchalance

Well, we’re painters with sound
Mechanics of broken hearts
Conductors of cut-up clowns
Fluent in six tongues of art

Born ready for a Renaissance
In the age of science fiction
In a world of shallow bon vivantes
Where the best lack all conviction

They say it’s written in the Lord’s Will
That the meek shall inherit the Earth
Well, let’s get that line to probate court
Before another bomb gives birth

Look, I’ve got eyes on the back of my back
Always on point to take up the slack
Jack of all knacks
A patchwork of hacks
On the wrong track
Slipping through all the right cracks

Our leaders were mostly liars
So we sought out the self-evident
Sparking fires in live wires
Chasing drive-by enlightenment

Knee-deep in ruins tryin’ to trace
Eroded signposts left behind
Puzzle pieces into place
Guessing our best and reckoning blind

That golden balance is bound to be found
Tomorrow always comes around
It worked back then it’ll work again
If the principle is sound

We’re the very modular
Modern major generalists
Bringing into transitory being
Whatever wills itself to exist
Adaptability, that’s our specialty
For the flexible persists
Tossed on waves of creativity
No fortress can resist

Oh we’ve got eyes on the back of our backs
Always on point to take up the slack
Jack of all knacks
A patchwork of hacks
On the wrong track
Slipping through all the right cracks

So let’s grab a sip of novel tea
And swing from the limbs of RealiTree
For shift happens
When we’re all fluxed up
So bring out your brilliance
And let’s raise our cups
To the electro-plated, plenty jaded
Renaissance of Nonchalance

It’s magically scientific!
Well, you might say it’s more realistic
To disdainfully remain pessimistic
But it’s better to be happy than right, right?
And there’s a riot of insight to incite
Even when salvation is far out of sight
Violins playing while Rome burns
Who knows how to turn the stern
Of this panic-wracked Titanic
Before melting icebergs converge?

In an age of mass confusion
Setting the stage for revolution
Bit by bit and byte by byte
Lighting up the edge of evolution
Dancing around every bonfire
The Titan’s scorching torch ignites
Under a crumbling Empire
Missing the trees for the Farenheit

Imagineering through intuition
Teasing the future into fruition
On plateaus of punmanteaus
Lining winding cascading tableaus
Of shooting stars on a mission
Rise up as visionaries always arose
It’s half past time your talent shows!

Look, I’ve got eyes on the back of my back
Always on point to take up the slack
Jack of all knacks
A patchwork of hacks
On the wrong track
Slipping through all the right cracks

Jack and the Green Stalk

‘Twas the week before harvest and all through the hills
They were watching grass grow and piling on bills
As water tanks emptied and the sky threatened to spill
The local farmers left crews to guard the fields
So they could gather and brag about their soon-to-be yields

Jack Stash jingled up
With his chestful of bling
Coming on like some kind of cannabis king
Expecting you to kiss his gold-leaf ring
But just as the crowd would drift away
He’d spark a spliff so stony they’d stick around all day

Now Jack had traded his Cadillac
For a pack of the most exotic breed
A hundred seeds
Absolutely guaranteed
To deliver unbelievable quantities
Of the planet’s most magnificent weed

But Jumpin’ Jack’s next claim
Was the camel-back breaker
Wagerin’ acre for acre
It looked an easy taker
He’d beat the best yields of the weed’s own maker
One hundred beans would turn a metric ton
His land hands down
On a bet which couldn’t be won
Was it too much sun
Or was the fool just having fun?

The pool was cool so one and all
Stripped off their wit and skinny dipped
The farmers filled out betting slips
Not wanting to miss the hill’s biggest gag
This character was on some weird sort of trip
So Jack collected the wagers in a dirty bag

The matter was forgotten, and the next round called
But Jack kept it all for the following fall
For he knew something about these seeds
They were a genetically modified Superweed breed

Jack loudly put out the word
That there would be a reward
For all who referred
Sources for large quantities of high-quality turd
From any kind of mammal or bird
Jack kept track of any lead he heard
No matter how strange or plainly absurd
His nose attuned to the slightest hint of a fart
On many a wild-goose chase he hauled his cart
Cow pies and horse logs were merely the start

Jack dispatched divers and expeditions to procure
The oddest order of every sort of manure
Spent a fortune on Siamese royal monkey chunks
And catching giant whale feces before they sunk
Bull shit and bear shit and bat shit by the can
Guano from caves untouched by man
Delicate hummingbird turds collected by hand

Flaming dragon logs certified pure
Force-fed goose droppings and just to be sure
Wolverine and leopard drops
Zebra paddies and rhino slops
Leisurely sloth turds oozing down
Elephant packages and donkey doo
Jack even arranged to smuggle a few pounds of Panda poo
And for good measure some politician’s promises, too

The fertilizing pile stank for miles and miles
As the valley was haunted by a ghost most vile
And then he flooded it like the banks of the Nile
Stripping the most mellow of their well-worn smiles

But their frowns slowly melted to awe
Preferring their eyes deceive than believe what they saw
Twenty-foot trees defying every natural law
Bursting with colas bigger than ole Jack’s head
It appeared nimble Jack meant what he said

He had brought forth a miracle in the Mendo mud
Never had a plant produced so much fat bud!
Over twenty pounds of trimmed and dried herb
And not only that, but the smell was superb
The giants averaged this unbelievable yield
From each of the hundred stalks in the field

The harvest was judged
By luminaries of the highest grade
All of it was photographed, dated and weighed
For Jack remembered his bets, and planned to get paid
Ninety-nine plants came down like a charm
Chainsaw carving through stems thick as an arm

The tallest stalk Jack saved for last
Towering like the Titanic’s proud main mast
Over Jack’s sorry marks as they watched aghast
He was the better grower, and better bettor, too
As they said goodbye to the land where they grew
Some humble pie shoe fly this was gonna be to chew

But Jack was not sad as he climbed the ladder
He got happier as his neighbors grew sadder
His grin grew wider as they got madder
So thrilled he forgot to get clear of the crash
Stunned like a deer by a photographer’s flash
Jack Stash was mashed
His head was bashed
The betting slips were trashed
Witnesses paid cash

This here’s the story of a grower named Jack
Who forgot to watch his own back
So no one knows why his skull got cracked
They blame the golden stalk he tended so well
They say it killed him when it fell
And shot him straight to the greedy part of hell
Because sometimes giants need to win as well

Weather Vain

Too many cooks in this crowded kitchen
Don’t even have a clue
All the seasoning you’re pitchin’
Into my hoodoo stew

Don’t try to be me
And I won’t try to be you
I’m mixing the recipe
And I’m fixing this brew

You missed your cue, so hold your say
On every damn twist
That didn’t turn your way
Make it rain in your domain
Just please don’t rain
On my hurricane

Got to slam the hammer down
Before the cloudy skies transform
Strike the nail into the crown
While the irony’s still warm

Driving colliding pressure zones
To whip up thunder’s form
Listening for wind’s whistling tone
To summon up the perfect storm

You skipped the script, so hold your say
On every damn twist
That doesn’t turn your way
Mage the stage in your domain
Just please don’t rain
On my hurricane

You’d try to fly before you could walk
Write a book before learning to talk
If you’d only learn to wait your turn
There’s no Empire your fire can’t burn

No plight ever could be so great
That quibbling won’t make it worse
Waste this space in endless debate
With winds which won’t reverse

With air so abundantly rare
Our time to taste it slipping away
I swear we have no more to spare
Indulging this in-fighting today

It’s in the script, so what do you say?
The rhythm is rolling
And it’s heading your way
Mage the stage and hold your domain
Just please don’t rain
On our hurricane

Reading off the same page
Lockstep at last
Dancing on a stage
Conjured from the past
Here are the ingredients
The spices and the knives
Okay let’s get cooking
Before our guests arrive

It’s in the script, so what do you say?
The rhythm is rolling
And it’s heading your way
Mage the stage and hold your domain
Just please don’t rain
On our hurricane

Partner Ship

An edifice built on quicksand
Only has so long to stand
While sunlit skies still glow
And fair-weather winds blow

Soon enough those storms will show
And that’s when we’ll really know
If there’s any solid foundation
Or just a bivouac imagination

The hardest part of Partner Ship
Is settling on one course
When we’re all on a different trip
Back to the same old source

If this is a test of my patience
I don’t know if anyone passed
They say patience is a virtue
But so is getting it done fast

Hairs split into pure thin air
Debating hallucinations
Scaling stairs which lead nowhere
In mindless reiteration

Vanity’s bonfire zips
Underneath winter’s glaze
Oh, we’re only going through a phase
These days will slip into history’s haze
If this bridge doesn’t burn over a phrase

The hardest part of Partner Ship
Is settling on one course
When we’re all on a different trip
Back to the same old source

Just because we’re here now
Doesn’t mean we’re not there then
There’s a lot I’d love to disavow
But we’ll probably do it all again

Seeds of optimism
Drowned in springtime rains
We were only going through a phase
Down slippery slopes over homegrown clichés
Fate always seems to turn on a phrase

Peace poses the golden riddle:
At what point do opposite sides agree?
Truth might be right down the middle
Halfway between you and me

The hardest part of Partner Ship
Is settling on one course
When we’re all on a different trip
Back to the same old source

Fortune scorching
Under summer’s rays
We were only going through a phase
We went torching set the Earth ablaze
Such is the power of a well-placed a phrase

Time is shaped like a funnel
Only one way to slide
Deeper in toward the tunnel
And out the other side

The hardest part of Partner Ship
Is settling on one course
When we’re all on a different trip
Back to the same old source

Key of Now

There is language which is spoken
Giving breath to gasping thoughts
Sent on rafts of air as tokens
To return what time has taught

Some ideas find the mind smitten
Words worthy of another look
With desperation these are written
Born to bodies of fine-lined books

Hungering for more of what passed before
Sucking the life from the dead
Making memories into metaphors
Spun from pale parable threads

Wisdom comes in many tongues
Many ways to use the air in our lungs
Many ways to link the old to the young
But few ring as true
Give the Muses their due
Deliver us the truth that is sung

There is nothing quite as sweet
As an exhilarating breath
Nor sad as that last defeat
The desperate gasp at the door of death

Truth’s an estimation
Made of fictions that endure
Always in fluctuation
As obvious as it is obscure

Spotter cries out for land
Hanging from the bow
But it’s just a note of sand
Written in the Key of Now

Wisdom comes in many tongues
Many ways to use the air in our lungs
Many ways to link the old to the young
But few ring as true
Give the Muses their due
Deliver us the truth that is sung

People’s Imperial Army of Clowns

Oh, scruffy ruffians and rabble: rouse!
All you round pegs the square disavows
Oh ye of arched and angled brows
With a little more wit than the law allows

Grab your props and take to the streets
With colored hair and floppy feet
We’re bringing the meta to meet the meat
As we march along to inaudible beats

So all you weirdos, freaks and geeks
Outlaws sick of playing hide and seek
Tired of biting tongues and turning cheeks
It’s time for the un-greased wheels to squeak

In The People’s Imperial Army of Clowns
Exactly as silly as it sounds
The People’s Imperial Army of Clowns
In for a penny and down for a pound
For the revolution goes round and around
Oh fools come and claim your crowns
Flip those bored room tables upside down
There are no orders, Chaos abounds
In the People’s Imperial Army of Clowns

We’re saving the endangered rubber chicken
And goin’ straight for the funny bone
Exposing the Man behind the curtain
Until the threadbare Emperor’s overthrown

We’re infiltrating Caesar’s Circuses
Hecklers in the ranks of trained seals
Shining a spotlight on Ringmaster walruses
Delivering their kings and cabbages spiel

We’re armed with loaded questions
Bayonets tipped with barbed rapier wit
We’re aiming explosive satirical canons
At the castles of royal hypocrites

In The People’s Imperial Army of Clowns
Exactly as silly as it sounds
The People’s Imperial Army of Clowns
In for a penny and down for a pound
For the revolution goes round and around
Oh fools come and claim your crowns
Flip those bored room tables upside down
There are no orders, Chaos abounds
In the People’s Imperial Army of Clowns

Calling all free agents of aberration
Misfits and left-outs in each state of creation
If you must pratfall, fall in formation
And get your fifteen minutes in the joke rotation

Yes, it’s a classic Marxist insurrection
Mainly Groucho but Chico and Harpo, too
So revolt under your own mad direction
Like General Diogenes would want you to do

The nose, knows, and wisdom is knowing
To keep some fluffy red noses at hand
In case your face is somehow still showing
When that punchline eventually lands

In The People’s Imperial Army of Clowns
Exactly as silly as it sounds
The People’s Imperial Army of Clowns
In for a penny and down for a pound
For the revolution goes round and around
Oh fools come and claim your crowns
Flip those bored room tables upside down
There are no orders, Chaos abounds
In the People’s Imperial Army of Clowns

Dimension Not Available

When touring the Galaxy
Better remember these tips
Only the very strange
Seem to survive the trip
Never mind sudden shifts
Of gravity and hyper reality
Be sure you’re well prepared
To endure bad alien poetry

It’s one of those days
You wake up to find out
Your world’s in the path
Of an interstellar route
Condemned in the name
Of eminent domain
And all they can say
Is you had your chance to complain
Don’t wallow in gloom
This is no time to despair
Better get out the Guide
Plenty of other planets out there

That dimension’s not available
Insufficiently improbable
All Deep Thought aside
If you want to learn how to fly
That’s as easy as wormhole pie
The secret’s simply this:
Fling yourself at the Earth and miss
Just fling yourself at the Earth and miss

The ship you’ve hitched
Seems the worst possible place
Until you’ve been tossed
Into the void of outer space
The irony-laden Universe
So infinitely perverse
Just don’t you panic
‘Cause it can always get worse

And the Galactic President’s
A three-faced hustler
A shameless arrogant stud
And fugitive spaceship rustler
Once you see the lay
Of the Milky Way
Just like at home
The Galaxy’s ruled by clichés

That dimension’s not available
Insufficiently improbable
All Deep Thought aside
If you want to learn how to fly
That’s as easy as wormhole pie
The secret’s simply this:
Fling yourself at the Earth and miss
Just fling yourself at the Earth and miss

Better let all those little things slide
Beggars can’t be choosers
On interstellar rides
All you need is a towel
And a golden heart
But it helps to read
Multidimensional charts

Comic justice
It’s the only fair kind
In a Cosmos where
We’re all flying blind
The answer is
Forty-two, my friend
What did you say
The question was again?

That dimension’s not available
Insufficiently improbable
All Deep Thought aside
If you want to learn how to fly
That’s as easy as wormhole pie
The secret’s simply this:
Fling yourself at the Earth and miss
Just fling yourself at the Earth and miss

Pine Cone Ridge

Trap doors in shifting floors
Whoa, I’m tumbling from the sky!
Where just a half a blink before
I could swear I knew how to fly

Oh, I hail from the vista
Of the Pine Cone eye
Where gravity’s just a
Local ordinance to defy

You know we had a wild night
Down by Mandrake Lake
Dream-webs dropped
From swan-drawn flight
Waves of yesterday
Washed in the wake

She whispers her will
On the wisp of the wind
When the night is bright
And daylight dimmed
Ballets of fireflies
And star-studded skies
Folds of old fables
And worn yarns of the wise
Well, Iris left you a message
At the edge of rainbow bridge
Spelled out in the language of images
It said mind the signs
Along Pine Cone Ridge

Hidden where no sunshine enters in
Lit by the smile of a waning moon
A flick that never seems to begin
Cut off by floodlights too soon

You know we spied the deep inside
Swimming in Mandrake Lake
Refracted reactions
Unable to hide
Mirrored in murmurs
Mortal mouths make

She whispers her will
On the wisp of the wind
When the night is bright
And daylight dimmed
Ballets of fireflies
And star-studded skies
Folds of old fables
And worn yarns of the wise
Well, Iris left you a message
At the edge of rainbow bridge
Spelled out in the language of images
It said mind the signs
Along Pine Cone Ridge

And we drowned on what we found
Diving deep beneath Mandrake Lake
Coiling cords around twilight sounds
And wrapping ourselves in our mistakes

Smoke signals drift away
Firmament’s gone quaking
Fading fast into the day
Beneath the weight of waking

You know we dove to the treasure trove
Under the surface of Mandrake Lake
Sprites in spite of the web we wove
When we wrested ourselves awake

She whispers her will
On the wisp of the wind
When the night is bright
And daylight dimmed
Ballets of fireflies
And star-studded skies
Folds of old fables
And worn yarns of the wise
Well, Iris left you a message
On the edge of rainbow bridge
Spelled out in the language of images
It said mind the signs
Along Pine Cone Ridge

Tributary

Never mind me
I’ve got an eight-track mind
It’s the kind that isn’t built
To ever rewind
Oh, forward is the only direction I know
For in the current there’s only one way to go
Steady toward tomorrow
As every river flows

Well, never mind me
I’m just a tiny channel
Of a branching tributary
Past the rapids headed out to sea
Mountains stand still, but I’m in a hurry
And probably will be for all eternity

Dust or nuggets
You just never know
Panning sentiments
For whatever seems to glow
Toes buried in sediment
Knee-deep in indigo
Always an experiment
In the Riverflow

The flow lives in between the lines
Filling in the Earth’s cracked design
Drink deeply and think deeply
Of pressed papyrus reeds
Bearing hieroglyphic signs
Where ancient ideas
Remain enshrined

Let’s say my way is the High Way
The enchanted byway,
The do, for there is no try way
That flow has never led me astray
Washing away, washing away
The dirt of many derelict days
Clinging on
To crusty feet of clay

Dust or nuggets
You just never know
Panning sentiments
For whatever seems to glow
Toes buried in sediment
Knee-deep in indigo
Always an experiment
In the Riverflow

Never mind me
I’m a creature of reflection
Following the golden
Hollow course correction
Drifting from the pores of conception
A psychoactive stream of consciousness
Eroding all perfect imperfections

Once in while the flow goes downhill
Inclined to bend toward gravity’s will
Well everyone loves to watch a waterfall
Some climb some rise and others crawl
Oh marvel at how the river spills
Wherever there’s a fault to fill

Dust or nuggets
You just never know
Panning sentiments
For whatever seems to glow
Toes buried in sediment
Knee-deep in indigo
Always an experiment
In the Riverflow

I Just Work Here

Pivot point, pivot point
Which foot leads?
It’s a chance dart
Tossed at a dance chart
Go back to what yesterday left
Or hit new horizons at full speed?
What you can’t do
Is leave it up in the air
Pick a direction
Or we aren’t going anywhere

Putting out brushfires
As you spark another blaze
Tangled up in cross-haired wires
Yet still the music plays

And here’s an empty echo chamber
Compounding sounds of borrowed voices
No hooks in sight to serve as anchor
For your tapestry of choices

Pivot point, pivot point
It’s such a poignant choice
Down that hard rocky ground
Guts and glory bound
Or turn back around
And own your hometown
Retelling second-hand stories under a mask
Over and over to anyone who asks

Juggling jaws and grasping straws
Struggling to claw
Free from the cage of fame
Chained like a half-tame
Trained dancing bear
Don’t blame me
I just work here

Yanked in six directions
Away from your beating heart
Split up in scattered sections
Sacrificed on the altar of art

I can see your rising ire
Bright as any flame
The sting from your cold shoulder
Burns me just the same

Pivot point, pivot point
Who else can we appoint?
It’s your landscape to expand
Head for ever-higher peaks
Or tread in waves of quicksand
That’s Excalibur in your hands
So swing that sword like it’s your own
For you’re the one that pulled it out of the stone

Juggling jaws and grasping straws
Struggling to claw
Free from the cage of fame
Chained like a half-tame
Trained dancing bear
Don’t blame me
I just work here

Gifted you are, oh yes it is true
But the gift was not meant only for you
We all chipped in to give you your due
Bending with trends
Leads to crowded dead-ends
So no more can any of us depend
On borrowed sounds with ears to lend
Tomorrow follows the course set now
There’s no choosing when, only how

Oh I know if the roles reversed
I might roll my eyes like you
For we surely haven’t seen the worst
Of what you’re going through

Juggling jaws and grasping straws
Struggling to claw
Free from the cage of fame
Chained like a half-tame
Trained dancing bear
Don’t blame me
I just work here

It’s a pivot point, pivot point
Fate hinges on this juncture
Do we blast faster toward the past
Or cast it off for the future?
Craft tomorrow’s architecture
And build something new to last
Or charge forever under flags at half-mast?
Whatever you do, don’t hesitate
That drawbridge gate ain’t fixin’ to wait

Juggling jaws and grasping straws
Struggling to claw
Free from the cage of fame
Chained like a half-tame
Trained dancing bear
Don’t blame me
I just work here

Judge’s Daughter

There was a cruel judge who dealt in dread
Sentencing the living to join the dead
He decreed an annual Athenian feast
Be fed to an unspeakable bull-headed beast
Sacrificed in a cavernous maze
To meet the monster at the end of their days

The judge had a few troubles at home
Namely a wife who was prone to roam
Short on mercy and quick with the hammer
And then there was this prince in his slammer
Who on the eve of the scheduled slaughter
Stole the love of the Judge’s daughter

With your feet dipped in fire
Running free your sole desire
When you’ve caught the heat
And it can’t get any hotter
Just don’t burn the Judge’s daughter

Ariadne, she was a firebrand ready to flee
Said oh, lover, I’ll set you free,
But only if you swear that you’ll bring me
If I stay, why, I’ll lose my head
So track the labyrinth with this thread
And out of death shall you be led

I’ve been thinking since you first arrived
That I might prefer you make it alive
Stick with me and you’ll surely survive
This court is rife with sorrow and strife
So please just take me and make me your wife
I’ve danced in this dungeon all my life

With your feet dipped in fire
Running free your sole desire
When you’ve caught the heat
And it can’t get any hotter
Just don’t burn the Judge’s daughter

The fugitive lovers quickly fled
A steep price now upon their heads
Bats out of Hades’ realm of the dead
Now he was a prisoner of love instead
One night they made it on moonlit sands
But as she slept he made other plans

Ariadne saw she’d been played like a pawn
He’d gone and left her by the early dawn
You’d think with love so tough to find
Such sweetness wouldn’t be left behind
But heroes hate to get tied down
With beauties waiting in every town

With your feet dipped in fire
Running free your sole desire
When you’ve caught the heat
And it can’t get any hotter
Just don’t burn the Judge’s daughter

Xochipilli’s Mask

Morning glory sacred smoke
Open the Sun inhale or choke
But never forget the way you woke
Peeling back the serpent’s cloak

Ally of poets
And the brave in battle
Summoned by chants and dance
And entheogenic rattles
Panoramas of primal images
Collecting souls along astral bridges

What you’d never seek
That’s what you’ll find
The root of the fruit
Of the unfiltered divine
Wrestle with warrior tasks
And questions you tremble to ask
Be in the dance
When you fall to the trance
You gave it all
For your chance to glance
At the visions behind Xochipilli’s mask

They trek half the globe
To try the extreme dream
Climb jungle cliffs
And swim upstream
Leap psychic rifts
And reset the brain
A world of pain
For the shallow and vain

Some things can only be grasped
When the flower child has been unmasked

Mount pyramid steps
The warrior’s way
Source of sorcery
Shadows at play

Some things can only be grasped
When the flower child has been unmasked

Teonanácatl

Flesh of the Fifth
Excessive god
Eyes rolling back
Eternally awed

Some things can only be grasped
When the flower child has been unmasked

What you’d never seek
That’s what you’ll find
The root of the fruit
Of the unfiltered divine
Wrestle with warrior tasks
And questions you tremble to ask
Be in the dance
When you fall to the trance
You gave it all
For your chance to glance
At the visions behind Xochipilli’s mask

Quetzalcoatl

Step lightly
Upon the serpent’s tongue
Heavy feet are likely stung
Ladders latticed
With invisible rungs
On which the heads
Of pretenders are hung

Nahautl

Languages lost
Cultures cost
Meet the new boss
Bearing a cross

Some things can only be grasped
When the flower child has been unmasked

Effigy unearthed
Inestimable worth
Totem of mirth
Calendar rebirth

Some things can only be grasped
When the flower child has been unmasked

What you’d never seek
That’s what you’ll find
The root of the fruit
Of the unfiltered divine
Wrestle with warrior tasks
And questions you tremble to ask
Be in the dance
When you fall to the trance
You gave it all
For your chance to glance
At the visions behind Xochipilli’s mask

Some things can only be grasped
When the flower child has been unmasked

High John The Conqueror

Oh, no, Low John done done it again
Made off with the boss’ favorite pen
And wrote a note that said it all
Nailed it up on the parlor wall

By the power divested of me
I tell you, every one of you is free
Yes, consider it a royal decree
I declare a state of liberty!

So let the cotton go rotten
The Devil can have this plantation
In case you’ve forgotten
I was born the Prince of a nation

Oh, no, boss man, we won’t work no more
You bought yourself more than you bargained for
Whips just make me whistle Dixie down
And the hounds come around to bay with the sound

It was half past a holiday midnight
When the grey fog turned pale with fright
The insurrection surrounded that luxurious bed
Then slipped a noose around the master’s head

John the Conqueror stepped to the fore
And faced the master who lay on the floor
Well, here’s our papers, better make it right
Or you’ll be going out on a limb tonight

Oh, no, boss man, we won’t work no more
You bought yourself more than you bargained for
Whips just make me whistle Dixie down
And the hounds come around to bay with the sound

Cultivating mutiny under your boot
The unquiet is mighty silent
But our struggle is not mute
And every agitator that you shoot
Summons up a riot in tribal tribute
Man, when you come face to face with your fruit
You’ll see in what a swamp you settled your roots

Yes, I’m faster than that whip-cracking bastard
And that’s what makes the real master
But my curse is a slow, slow poison
Takes centuries to sink in
Under your children’s children’s skin

Oh, they’ll shuffle to jungle rhythms
They’ll howl at the moon
As they weigh out their freedom
By the mile, and by the tune
They’ll abandon your petty kingdoms
And sleep in till noon

Oh, no, boss man, we won’t work no more
You bought yourself more than you bargained for
Whips just make me whistle Dixie down
And the hounds come around to bay with the sound

Don’t y’know, little Pharoah
Anyone can swing the King’s lingo
They call me High John or John the Low
And I don’t kiss any man’s toe
So you can take your status quo
And stick it where the sun don’t glow
Yes, you can take your status quo
And stick it where the sun don’t glow

Oh, no, boss man, we won’t work no more
You bought yourself more than you bargained for
Whips just make me whistle Dixie down
And the hounds come around to bay with the sound

Legend’s End

In the beginning when the soup was stirred

In the beginning we only know what we heard

In the beginning all the faces were blurred

In the beginning was the word that meant a word

The net I set is a self-spun web

Still and silent through surge and ebb

The trick is not calling the catch too soon

Drag the diamonds in by the clock of the moon

Schools of thought in current streams

Past pockets of ice and scalding steam

Weaving in the wake between extremes

Plucking pearls from debris of abandoned dreams

Just a matter of time

Till I hook one on the line

Bound to be a lucky strike

Coming down the pike

Serve it up on a silver tray

When I finally land the catch of the day

There was no time before time began

No space but a race to track time’s span

Bounding round the bend

When tenses and senses

Blur and blend
Where tale and teller

Together transcend
At the legend’s end

I have hitchhiked the trails of spice

For visions that struck me blind

I’ve twice toured the veils of vice

For a glance at virtues cloaked behind

I’ve fallen in and out of countless traps

Along the way to buried treasure

I’ve found and lost more ancient maps

Than I could ever measure

I’ve seen seas of heartless harpies

Shred a sailor’s soul to ribbons

My blood is quite rich in irony

So my laughter might be forgiven

I’ve sailed to the center of the Sun and back

Embarked on many fruitless quests

Searching for heroes in a haystack

And igniting the firebird’s nest

There was no time before time began

No space but a race to track time’s span

Bounding round the bend

When tenses and senses

Blur and blend
Where tale and teller

Together transcend
At the legend’s end

The rhythm of waves in rise and fall

Sliding on skates since before I could crawl

Surfing the surface and riding the brink

Of emerald empires swaying in sync

Stories are what the sunshine becomes

Eroded to the speed of solid concrete

Pulsing out rhythms of phantom atoms

Bouncing to the beat of galactic heat

In the end all the stories fall into one

In the end all the worries roll into the sun

In the end all the glories turn tail and run

In the end we’ll know we’ve barely begun

There was no time before time began

No space but a race to track time’s span

Bounding round the bend

When tenses and senses

Blur and blend
Where tale and teller

Together transcend
At the legend’s end

In the end no cares what tea used to cost

In the end the sea forgets where the treasures were lost

In the end no one knows the miles we crossed

Chasing rainbows and enduring the frost

Yesterday’s timber is tinder tomorrow

Passing to ash for the future to borrow

Shedding skeletons like a worn set of threads

Amber melts as gold spins out of lead


In the end it’s just you and the void

In the end only you know what you might have destroyed

In the end only you know if the means you employed

Was worth what you paid and what you enjoyed

There was no time before time began

No space but a race to track time’s span

Bounding round the bend

When tenses and senses

Blur and blend
Where tale and teller

Together transcend
At the legend’s end


Wolf Flow Logic

Second Circuit: Territorial Imperative

Pa pa pitter patter pasture pattern patrol foster pastor patriarchy patrician protect power power power power power

It’s the Wolf Flow logic
Mark your territory
Secure in a circle of urine-soaked boundaries
Pissing in a sea of predator and prey
A theater of threats to be held at bay
I come from a long line of those who survived
By doing what it takes to stay alive
It’s safer to be feared than ignored
From underdog to overlord
That’s the Wolf Flow logic
Mark your territory

Yeah, the Wolf Flow Logic
Mark your territory
Better bow before your authority
As you scale the pyramid of hierarchies
You stick with us and here’s what we’ll do
We’ll extend our strong-arm of protection to you
Protection from what? Protection from who?
From what we’re gonna do if you don’t join our crew
Participation is mandatory
That’s the Wolf Flow Logic
Know your enemy

Wolf Flow Logic
Mark your territory
It’s a racket of protection natural selection
And the gang is sharpening its fangs
Preying to overtake the game
The status quo fueled by pride
Claiming turf with every stride
Tread upon your neighbors’ heads
Join the hunt if you wanna get fed
That’s the Wolf Flow logic
You’re in or you’re out
And if you’re out, if you’re out, you’re dead

Follow Wolf Flow Logic
Mark your territory
Map out the pattern of patriarchy
Leaving behind a bloody legacy
Excreting its laws all over history
Priests and kings and daddy makes three
Trapping seeds in the nuclear family tree
You’re not the only one who can get uppity
That’s just how a bitch gotta be
Marking her territory
Yeah, the Wolf Flow Logic
Welcome to the Wolf Flow Lodge

Language Is For the Birds

Third Word: The Semantic Symbolic Circuit

Nomen nomenclature noun pronoun renown name nominate nominal denomination ignominy moniker eponymous anonymous misnomer anomaly onomatopoeia

Hmm. That’s a mouthful!

Names. We have all these funny words, which undo themselves by not living up to their names. For example, take the word, “monosyllable”, a multi-orgasmic, um, multi-syllabic tongue-twister. I mean, “monosyllable,” has five, count ’em, five syllables. What’s up with that?

“Onomatopoeia” is supposed to mean a word which sounds like a sound, except it doesn’t really sound like anything. “Vernacular” and “colloquial” are not even vaguely common or ordinary words. And “palindrome” backwards is just “obnoxious”. True story.

So maybe I’m going out on a limb here, but a little bird once told me that my language is just a bastardized dialect of birdsong. Actually, she didn’t call it a dialect. It’s one of those, how do you say? Pidgins. And a pidgin’s just a hard-luck dove.

I’m not sure I swallow all that, but my feathered friend said that what we call speech was originally a trick our ancestors picked up from imitating bird-calls. Yes, bird-calls, which are evidently a method of transmitting encoded intelligence briefings, within the high-spy community.

By parroting the whistles of birds, albeit with our thick primate guttural accents, we managed to acquire a scintilla of intelligence ourselves. Not enough to reliably understand each other, but once upon a time, as the crow flies, ancient humans didn’t have access to the lexical complexities of modern language at all. It was all grunts and farts back then.

According to the Epic of Gilgamesh, it was precisely this grunting and farting which led to cataclysmic global flooding. The stern decision to wash out emergent civilization came courtesy of some easily offended Sumerian deities, who, it is written, were fed up with the noise and stink of humanity. Oh, those humans! They smelled so loud!

As recorded in another contemporary myth, the survivors proceeded to make an even bigger mess of things, and became profoundly confused in the course of erecting a gaudy and hubristic sky-scraper. Words changed meaning so rapidly that mutual intelligibility was irrevocably lost in translation.

This tower was even more offensive to the heavens than the smell of Ur had been, and the high-rise project was cursed with communication failures. The Bible calls this tower “Babel”, but some scholars believe that the ambitious erection may have actually been called “Thump” by the ancients.

Mesoamerican folklore paints a curiously parallel picture. In the aftermath of a cosmic tsunami, the Goddess Xochiquetzal repopulated the world with wordless humans, who were nice enough, but had nothing whatsoever to contribute to the conversation.

Xochiquetzal thought this was rather dumb, so, as these deities are prone to do, She summoned a flock of doves to solution the situation. Now these doves, who always seem to do just fine during these floods, either taught the original languages to our ancestors, or were devoured by them. Accounts vary.

Several thousand years of pointless arguments later, scientists still debate the intelligence of our “high-brow” human whistlers, but the birds know that we’re merely mimicking them. Language still hangs like an albatross around our necks, making mischief in every shade of connotation.

Once upon a prehistoric time, the feather didn’t fall far from the wing, and jungle whistles were the words heard round the world. Speaking of whistling, there yet remain a few primitive enclaves where the bird is still the word, mostly in isolated hilly valleys where the acoustics carry the tune.

Today, these valleys are still home to modulated tonal languages which are whistled out by tribal humans, and the avian influence is obvious.

One such place is the Canary Islands, which wasn’t named for the birds at all, but for the canine wild wolves which probably ate a great many of them, who still wail off-key, baying at the moon in a hopeless yet heartfelt tribute. And that’s the wolf flow logic. Bark your territory.

Waxen Wings

I get my best work done in my sleep
Last night I made a mountain
That would make Olympus weep
Rode up there on a fountain
From a well ten miles deep
Found a fresh new world to live on
One we’ll have the wit to keep

Caught a comet out to Saturn’s rings
Where I had some Titans to meet
Zipped out by Jove to flex my wings
Waxen and weightless and fleet
Showed off my moves to some old dead kings
And headed for the source of things
When I was ready to meet the heat

Takes a lot for wax and strings
To fly away with freedom
Oh you’ve got the wings
But have you got the wisdom?

And if I have hold of one regret
As I tumble back to Earth in confusion
I wish I had laid my bets
Reckoning the power of hydro-fusion
Maybe if we’d weighed the real threats
Of flight by a child of the dungeon
All the dreams we haven’t seen yet
Beyond the reach of resolution

Takes a lot for wax and strings
To fly away with freedom
Oh you’ve got the wings
But have you got the wisdom?

In this game of musical stairs
All is lost if you’re stuck in a chair
The only way out is up in the air
As we contemplate compromising
The fire is below and quickly rising
Take the elevator all the way to the top
When you get there just forget to stop
Oh Icarus, put some sunscreen on your face
There’s no ozone out in outer space

Takes a lot for wax and strings
To fly away with freedom
Oh you’ve got the wings
But have you got the wisdom?

Judgement Machine

Fourth Circuit: Cultural Context

Us them us dem us dem dem dem democracy domestic domicile domain dominate dominion despot dungeon us dem us dem us dem

Will I get more milk with a smile or a scream
That grove is green, but what does it mean?
Is that a lurking shadow or a wolverine?
How am I to interpret that gleam?
Are you looking to meat me, eat me
Or are we on the same team?
Is this whole routine just a fever dream
Ignore the bark or flee the bite
Bank to the left or bolt to the right
It’s a battleground of mind versus might

Food or poison better guess well
One fills your belly, the other sends you to hell
Quagmire quicksand oasis mirage
Water or danger wrapped in camouflage?
Why’s it so bright in the middle of the night?
That can’t be the moon dropping all that light
Should I head downwind or back upstream
Survival safe arrival partner or rival
At what point should I intervene?
It’s all up to the Judgement Machine

And I am a Judgement Machine
Know what I mean?
Judgement Machine
Scope out the Scene
Judgement Machine
You, me, and authority
Ordered by the Judgement Machine
Our voices our choices
Our hands and our feet
Our tongues and our lungs
Our eyes and our ears
Driven by the gears
Of the Judgement Machine
Judgement Machine
Know what I mean?

Madonna whore can I please have some more?
Did we break a glass ceiling or hit the floor?
Dominance dancing with submission
What’s my mission and why should I care?
Where do I fit into this institution?
From vestal virgin to barren librarian
Takes a soapbox to organize a choir
Like it takes a village to raise an empire
Unity discrimination loyalty retaliation
Tribes and nations, demand political affiliation
But I’m at one with my alienation

And I’m a Judgement Machine
Ya know what I mean?

Father and mother self and other
Slamming together in a nuclear reactor
Generations fused through chains of traditions
Identity in a centrifuge of confusion
Melting down the core of authority
Runaway engines of individuality
Parallel tracks laid by carrot and stick
Containment vectors that make us tick
Thesis antithesis diametric opposition
Cascading convergence of conflicting visions

And I am a Judgement Machine
Know what I mean?
Judgement Machine
Scope out the Scene
Judgement Machine
You, me, and authority
Ordered by the Judgement Machine
Our voices our choices
Our hands and our feet
Our tongues and our lungs
Our eyes and our ears
Driven by the gears
Of the Judgement Machine
Judgement Machine
Know what I mean?

Army corps guarding the company store
Missing the skyline for the smog
Trails blazing or cultural fog?
Cloud bank foreclosing across our horizons
Allies and enemies in revolving doors
Stoking the brushfire of retribution
No problems, merely fluid situations
No solutions but new crystalline formations
Rotating roles for the next revolution
Judgement machine: Powered by Evolution!

And I am a Judgement Machine
Know what I mean?
Judgement Machine
Scope out the Scene
Judgement Machine
You, me, and authority
Ordered by the Judgement Machine
Our voices our choices
Our hands and our feet
Our tongues and our lungs
Our eyes and our ears
Driven by the gears
Of the Judgement Machine
Judgement Machine
Know what I mean?

Existence In Motion

Fifth Circuit: Somatic Awareness

Inhale. Exhale. Hail Eris. Hail Eris!

Er es er es to be yes absence essence entity present interest art error erratic aberration orient origin to be in motion er es er es

Did you ever have a thought that got so far out that it goes all the way around the Cosmos and smacks you in the back of your head?

Some thinkers seem to think that thinking is proof of existence. Well, I think that’s putting Descartes before the horse.

I’ve thought about it a lot, but I’m not sure I can really prove the existence of thought at all.

What if I’m only imagining my thoughts? What if I’m hallucinating them? What if I’m just a character in your virtual reality simulation?

Anyway, I think that thinking as evidence of existence requires additional consideration, so I operate under the alternate credo: I art, therefore I am. Pardon my alternative grammar.

There must be more to life than all these social mores and regurgitation of DNA! More to consciousness than status games and ego trips! There must be more to the mind than sorting information, and more to the soul than avoiding damnation!

We’re surfing the soup of being and nothingness, transcendent sentient entities seeking equilibrium, as we coalesce into unity with eternity.

Dancing, fasting, rituals of holistic action, hedonism, deprivation, expansion, devotion, mantras, mudras, prayers, recitations and fresh creations. Existence in motion. Being and becoming.Being and becoming.

Now, we’re rising above the routines which run the robot body though the obstacle course of culture, which corral the soul in a narrow band of improbable theologies.

We ascend to the seat of the soul. This is where mind becomes psyche. This is where the entire neurosomatic matrix becomes a sensory organ tuned to the emanations of an unseen sphere. Existence in motion. Being and becoming.

Here we orbit a nebula of distant probabilities, a plethora of untapped possibilities. Here we strip the artifice from the art, and call forth the sirens dwelling in our deepest hearts.

Here we awaken our dreams, as we contemplate the inevitability of our reflexive collective destinies. Here the future is as dim as the past, for now is always passing fast.

I’ve got a womb at the inn. It’s getting crowded in here, but there’s no one else around. I’m outgrowing the Yoniverse. There’s a knock, knock, knocking at my door. Sounds like biology getting carried away with itself.

Room cervix! Checkout time. Return to reincarnation station.

This is the song that never ends. This is the ordeal of animation. This is the portal to never-ending, everlasting laughter and tears. Here’s a world of passion and pain, a play already in progress, from a chain of big bangs to a chorus of eight billion whimpers.

Existence in motion. Being and becoming.

Showtime! From the instant of conception I was only an idea, a glint in a wild eye, fragile, formless, a collection of notions and odd scraps of observation.

I was a dream grafted on reality, a runaway train of thought with an uncertain destination, chug-chug-chug, climbing the hill to Manifest Station.

I was born in January, under the shadow of a tyranny. Or was it December, or even September? I don’t quite remember. I’m not sure who I was before, in a world where the night-stick is bruised and sore. Weren’t we all born in 1984?

What if causes are created by their effects, streaming on a beam of whatever meaning remains after the illusion of self is shattered?

Find the form of the flow and let your Self go. Go! Head for the crown of creation! Talent is cheap, genius takes devotion.

Turn the trick of transmigration. We’re held in webs of nonlocal cognition, firing on all cylinders of mystical intuition. We’re pondering the riddle of our own reflections, rippling wave-forms radiating in all directions.

I’ve got a proposition for you. An aesthetic proposition. I’ll give you a piece of my mind, and you’ll let me live in your memories. What do you think? I think I art, therefore I am.

Lattice of Errors

The first part of any plan
Better factor in the glitch
If the thread is held by human hands
That’s where you’ll find the hitch

They say two wrongs don’t make a right
But sometimes three lefts do
Luck has struck again despite
The brambles I stumbled through

Well, the rope might slip
If you lose your grip
Fickle fate always flips
That’s the chance you take
Every success is made of mistakes
Many a mountaineer’s crumbled in terror
Afraid to gamble all on a guess
I’ll just climb my lattice of errors
And make an impeccable mess

The difference between silent and listen
It’s all in the order of the letters
No matter how well this one’s done
Somebody already did it better

That’s the rule of thumb
So open all three eyes
Ask tomorrow what today becomes
For in hindsight we are truly wise

Invent, reinvent, rinse and and repeat
For a phrase uttered by any other tongue
Still sounds as bittersweet
Maximized adages across the free range
Our common currency
It’s the medium of exchange
Bring out that old worn-out homily
For some things never do change

The proverbial wheel
Rumbling through time
Catchy phrases spiced
With a dash of euphony
A twist of irony
And a splash of rhyme
Bites of sound
Stick around when we’re gone
Dependable as tomorrow’s dawn

Yeah, you know what they always say

Led tritely through the land of the living cliché

Over shaky terrain and tricky gaps
With borrowed tools and faith of the Fool
Making miracles out of mishaps
When the tether unravels from the spool

So take it with a grain of philosophy
If you’ve grooved into a ditch
That lesson was tendered in catastrophe
Value hard knocks and you’ll always be rich

Well, the rope might slip
If you lose your grip
Fickle fate always flips
That’s the chance you take
Every success is made of mistakes
Many a mountaineer’s crumbled in terror
Afraid to gamble all on a guess
I’ll just climb my lattice of errors
And make an impeccable mess

Smuggling Smoke

I’m a broker by day
Even broker by night
We deal in shades of grey
Green fading into white

Delivery’s done
Fortune’s won
Pockets stuffed
With burning dough

Another run
Under the gun
Just a little less
Than I owe

Standby for the catch-phrase king
Rumbling toward his reckoning
Hanging on to his buzz
By a very thin string

Superhero quick
And Houdini slick
Slinging dreams
From his bag of tricks

Dancing fast
With danger and doom
As a cloud of glitter
Spins the room
Sustained by adrenaline’s sonic boom

Filled to the brim
With vinegar and piss
Guess I always knew
It would go down like this

You ain’t got to be no prophet
To see the wiring in the walls
Just take a look
At the history books
The big ballers always fall

Once I thought you were the Devil himself
With Heaven in a bottle
Sitting right on your shelf
But when the Reaper arrives
To ring your bell
Bet you’ll turn a profit
Smuggling smoke into Hell

Zipping past at the speed of need
Wherever desperation drips
Sucking poisoned seeds of greed
On the short side of the flip

Can’t spare a second to sniff the roses
Hey, there’s enough cocaine
On this here plane
To numb ten million noses!

I’d sell you my soul
But it’s already sold
Traded to the trolls
For some shiny Mule’s Gold

You ain’t got to be no prophet
To see the wiring in the walls
Just take a look
At the history books
The big ballers always fall

Once I thought you were the Devil himself
With Heaven in a bottle
Sitting right on your shelf
But when the Reaper arrives
To ring your bell
I bet you’ll turn a profit
Smuggling smoke into Hell

The game started getting
Grim and gruff
The men in suits shuffled in
Talking tough
And bursting with bluff
Down for a round
Of no one wins

They ambled over to the table
And laid out some heavy stakes
Though they said they might be able
To cut someone a lucky break

This business of chemistry
It’s all a thin-lined blur
The edge of integrity
Where sleight of mind occurs

So if I loosen my collar
It’s ’cause this heat is a drag
Bet doughnuts to dollars
It’ll be the mule with the bag

You ain’t got to be no prophet
To see the wiring in the walls
Just take a look
At the history books
The big ballers always fall

Once I thought
You were the Devil himself
With Heaven in a bottle
Sitting right on your shelf
But when the Reaper arrives
To ring your bell
I bet you’ll turn a profit
Smuggling smoke into Hell

Look, the dealer’s done
Said the Fed
And your head’s
Stuck in a noose
If you ever want to sleep
In your own bed
Better lay your cards down loose

Go ahead
And take this pen
Before the deal
Comes round again
‘Cause the guilty ones
Draw a deuce
But the innocent
Get sent for ten

Please, please, please
Don’t you plead
No, please, please, please
Don’t you plead
I swear we’ll all be freed
So please, please, please
Don’t you plead

Oh, no, sir, I’ll take my odds
You can keep your devil’s deals
Praying silently to all the gods
Every lip stays zipped and sealed

Oh, let me relieve your doubt
Save us all a little time
There’s no more point in holding out
Your friends, they dropped the dime

Truth’s reduced to poker chips
Sweat’s thick enough to drown
If so much as one word slips
That house of cards comes tumbling down

It’s all about timing
And being where it’s at
When the temperature is climbing
Go bust the thermostat

Teapot whistle screaming
Mercury’s gone to your head
Everybody scramble
Hatter’s mad
And seeing red

You ain’t got to be no prophet
To see the wiring in the walls
Just take a look
At the history books
The big ballers always fall

Once I thought
You were the Devil himself
With Heaven in a bottle
Sitting right on your shelf
But when the Reaper arrives
To ring your bell
I bet you’ll turn a profit
Smuggling smoke into Hell

Temple Of Gnosis

Sixth Circuit: Neuro-Electric Meta-Programming

Gno know noble ignore notice cunning incognito reconnaissance diagnosis notify ignorant notorious connoisseur connotation knowable notion gnosis gnosis gnosis

Well, the temple’s between the ear and the eye
The house of cognition, pattern recognition
Pentagons to the left of me
Apples to the right
And when they come together
The seeds of strife ignite
And when they fall apart
The tree rises from the heart

The temple’s between the earth and the sky
Branches and roots of RealiTree
Made of all our woulds and coulds
Hidden by a canopy
Of transitory leaves
Falling faster than we perceive
Watered by springs of intuition
Struck by starlight
And triggered into fruition

It’s a lightning bolt
It’s a camera flash
An earthshaking jolt
As continents crash
As above so below
Just follow your nose
No more guessing, you know
Ride the rising tide inside
For sense is the essence of essence
And the night sky will be your guide

In one ear and out the I
Expanding rings of stimuli
Over-growing flowing charts
Navigating our star-charts of art
We’ve got a compass and ephemeris
A map of nested mirror images
Over here dwells the highly surreal
Dripping with morphing visages
And when the meta and the “for” line up
Ideas cascade from some bottomless cup

It’s a lightning bolt
It’s a camera flash
An earthshaking jolt
As continents crash
As above so below
Just follow your nose
No more guessing, you know
Ride the rising tide inside
For sense is the essence of essence
And the night sky will be your guide

In one I and out I fly
Lest the vessel ossify
In the space and span I occupy
Here I am, here for the duration
Swimming in emanations and emitting vibrations
In web of holistic fractal pattern causation
For everything’s created by what it is not
Every pair of opposites grow on the same lot
And that’s why you’d best love your enemy
If only for being who you don’t have to be

What I spy in the corner of my I
A glimmer of vision
It’s a whisper of wisdom
A taste of creation
The world in gyration
Iridescent transmissions
Orbiting the origin
Still burning within
As thunder rings throughout the spheres
Eureka! Eureka! That’s the future you hear

It’s a lightning bolt
It’s a camera flash
An earthshaking jolt
As continents crash
As above so below
Just follow your nose
No more guessing, you know
Ride the rising tide inside
For sense is the essence of essence
And the night sky will be your guide

By the by there’s no more I
Who what where when how and why
There’s only the gnosis, the gnosis
Filtered through reverse osmosis
Known and unknown
Locked in a jitterbug dance
Inverse Universe in recursive expanse
Bend and transcend and do it again
For this initiation never really ends

It’s a lightning bolt
It’s a camera flash
An earthshaking jolt
As continents crash
As above so below
Just follow your nose
No more guessing, you know
Ride the rising tide inside
For sense is the essence of essence
And the night sky will be your guide

Djinn You Win

DJINNI 1
With a breath does it begin
DJINN CHORUS
Djinn origin original Djinn
DJINNI 2
Invisibly indivisible
DJINN CHORUS
Djinn origin original Djinn
DJINNI 3
As the serpent sheds another skin
DJINN CHORUS
Djinn origin original Djinn
DJINNI 1
Exposing hidden dimensions within
DJINN CHORUS
Djinn origin original Djinn!
Read more: Djinn You Win

Pass The Confusion

JULIA
Yes, I’d like to Order Chaos, with an extra bun
As I am a very strict heretical Discordian nun
Buns are forbidden for some stupid reason
By my very Sirius-ly disorganized religion

Yes, let us roast and toast the Sacred Chao
Cause now is Zen and Zen is now
Step right up and select your illusion
Hail Eris and pass the confusion!
Read more: Pass The Confusion

Golden Apple

JULIA
Once a couple withheld an invitation
From Eris due to Her bad reputation
They wanted to host a quiet affair
And thought it best if She weren’t there

The Goddess of Discord took great offense
Tired of always being barred from events
Her social calendar in complete disarray
With nothing at all to do on that day
Read more: Golden Apple

Ghost Writer Boogie

YUL
I met him pike hoses
In protean pantomimes
Where the meta juxtaposes
And where the mystery rhymes

It takes a special kind of crazy
To host a ghost in stride
Ride you like a pale pookah
Down to the séance inside
Read more: Ghost Writer Boogie

Here Comes Everybody

Now here comes everybody
And who might this everybody be?
It might be fair to say you who
You who see and me
All in all, there’s worlds to miss
But I trust there must be some use in this

Flurried words overheard
A thousand thundering thoughts
As you scurry to scribe
Whatever good could be caught
Embers smolder hearth-broken
Our dream has awoken
We fall and we wake
In the wake of daily falls
Unclear clarion calls
Coming from under the coveralls
Read more: Here Comes Everybody

Sugar Coated

JACK
I’m not trying to rise to sainthood
Nor vying for a Nobel prize
I plan to be good and misunderstood
So here’s a word or two for the wise

My miracles are mighty meager
Y’all better bring your own wine
Yes, I’ve been known to walk on water
But only in the winter time
Read more: Sugar Coated

Trojan Horse

CASSANDRA
Fire in the wax museum
Effigies melting down
But the fever’s just a symptom
Of what’s ailing this town

The fountain’s spoutin’ oil
The mountain’s slick with grease
The river’s fixin’ to boil
And the valley knows no peace
Read more: Trojan Horse

Inkblot Kettlepot

HECATE
Oh, scenes of the future, beckoning the past
And there’s no reckoning if this new hope will last
Not much sense dwelling in dreams
But I harbor no doubt what that was about
For I spell out what frequently seem
Obvious omens rippling in the stream
Read more: Inkblot Kettlepot

Kaleidoscope Catalyst

Once upon a lovely summer dawn
A generation went boom
So many lines went undrawn
When the walls ran out of room
Splintered and cast adrift
Scattered by the technicolor shift
Oh, you can feel the aftershocks
From that rumbling quake
Like an avalanche of rolling rocks
That still makes foundations shake

Went to the Universe City
Where it’s all matter of degree
Where the walls breathe relativity
Where the electric bombshell dropped
Where the static bubble popped
Turn on tune in to what the pine cone sees
With a crystal clear batch of pure Phd
Liquid synchronicity dust
The kaleidoscope catalyst
Problem child
Of a Swiss bicyclist
Strange such a substance
Should even exist
The kaleidoscope catalyst
Demeter’s hidden kiss
The kaleidoscope catalyst

Forged in the crucible of serendipity
An accident of birth
Born to neutral chemistry
As Mars took over the Earth
Waging what a broken atom’s worth
With Pluto right behind
This one blows up cities
But this one blows your mind

Man, the age was more than Aquarian
It was overtly subversive
And downright contrarian
When all the senses combined
Tasting synesthesia views
Turning on cultures colorblind
To intangible magical hues

Went to the Universe City
Where it’s all matter of degree
Where the walls breathe relativity
Where the electric bombshell dropped
Where the static bubble popped
Turn on tune in to what the pine cone sees
With a crystal clear batch of pure Phd
Liquid synchronicity dust
The kaleidoscope catalyst
Problem child
Of a Swiss bicyclist
Strange such a substance
Should even exist
The kaleidoscope catalyst
Demeter’s hidden kiss
The kaleidoscope catalyst

Oh yes that sound is still around
Though fainter with every year
But if you keep both ears to the ground
There’s just enough left to hear
Lost secret dimensions
The rye’s no mystery to me
For my essence is Eleusinian
Awaiting the return of Persephone

Went to the Universe City
Where it’s all matter of degree
Where the walls breathe relativity
Where the electric bombshell dropped
Where the static bubble popped
Turn on tune in to what the pine cone sees
With a crystal clear batch of pure Phd
Liquid synchronicity dust
The kaleidoscope catalyst
Problem child
Of a Swiss bicyclist
Strange such a substance
Should even exist
The kaleidoscope catalyst
Demeter’s hidden kiss
The kaleidoscope catalyst

Pharaoh’s

Let my people go, I told the Pharaoh
Let them go from their conceptual bondage!
Let them be liberated from their limited horizons
Let them be free to finally see
That after all this
We’re still in the throes of slavery

Let my people go, I told the Pharaoh
And they are all my people
From the starving poor
To the Masters of War
They are my people
And they will till your fields no more

Let my people go, I warned
Or before your Empire is mourned
The sea will swallow your screams of horror
More plagues we shall call
Chipping away all your layers of walls
Until your pyramid finally falls
Let my people go, Pharaoh,
For you too are held in the trap
There is a way out and here is the map

Let my people go from their Irony Prison
The pentagon fortress of Western Material Rationalism!
Let my people go from the dark dungeons
Of dogmatic frozen sons of schism
Let my people go, for only as one can we be freed
Let my people go, from the poison pill of greed
Let my people go, or the plagues will descend
And your children will desert you and all you intend
Just be sure we’re free and clear
Or we’ll release the worst of your Dynasty’s fears
And shed no Nile Crocodile Tears
When the trumpet blares in your ancient ears

Let my people go, from hopelessly outmoded
Moldy old phoney moralities!
From mindless allegiance to authority
And from the stench of ugly bigotry
From the catacombs of how things used to be
When so-and-so the seventeenth lorded over humanity

Let my people go, Pharaoh
It’s for your own good
These pyramids are ruining the neighborhood
Let my people go, for you live here too
Something’s got to go
So like this a cat a few thousand years ago
I say, Pharaoh, let my people go!
Let my people go!
Let my people go!
They are all my people, every last one
Your house will be troubled
Until our freedom is won
Your house will be troubled
Until our freedom is won

Betty’s Attic

Betty never shirked a day of work
She was the picture of the perfect clerk
She knew at the Bureau that mum’s the word
No matter what secrets might be overheard
She never typed off-key or misplaced her smile
Misspelled a memo or lost a file

Bosses came and bosses went
She outlasted thirteen Presidents
Betty played the undercover charade
As half a century slipped by
Mysteries mastered and history made
While her unwatched eyes spied on the FBI

Precious treasures collecting dust
Up in Betty’s attic
Alien alloys that never rust
Up in Betty’s attic
A month would not be nearly enough
To catalogue Betty’s attic
You wouldn’t believe even half the stuff
Up in Betty’s attic
Up in Betty’s attic
Up in Betty’s attic

Betty knew the name of every agent hired
Baked cakes for the burnt out, fired and retired
She knew what every coded message meant
And all the hidden passages in the vents
The closets where skeletons lay interred
How the bugs were wired to catch every word

She was the Bureau’s pride and joy
But Betty was a mole on a deep cover mission
Moonlighting covertly in the employ
Of the Arcturian diplomatic delegation
She also drew paychecks from the Romulans
The Dogons the Vogons and the Greys
If you had Sirius means, Betty had the way

Precious treasures collecting dust
Up in Betty’s attic
Alien alloys that never rust
Up in Betty’s attic
A month would not be nearly enough
To catalogue Betty’s attic
You wouldn’t believe even half the stuff
Up in Betty’s attic
Up in Betty’s attic
Up in Betty’s attic

Betty collected her own evidence
Her paranormal stash was beyond immense
She had artifacts dated centuries hence
Souvenirs from all sort of impossible events

She had Bigfoot’s very rare little toe
Road maps of Atlantis and orbs that glow
Half a dozen chunks of pure Philosopher’s Stone
A fortune in uncut Kryptonite alone

Cursed monkey’s paws and Loch Ness jaws
Wizard’s wands and vampire fangs
Vintage vinyl from the final
Concert Eurydice and Orpheus sang
Six pickled pairs of angel wings
And an array of automatic boomerangs

When Betty was found without a breath
Her collection passed to Goodwill and dispersed
What they never knew was that it wasn’t death
She’d only transferred to another Universe
So if you closely encounter something strange
Shimmering on your thrift store shelf
It’s worth at least a pocket full of change
To snag some attic stash for yourself

Precious treasures collecting dust
Up in Betty’s attic
Alien alloys that never rust
Up in Betty’s attic
A month would not be nearly enough
To catalogue Betty’s attic
You wouldn’t believe even half the stuff
Up in Betty’s attic
Up in Betty’s attic
Up in Betty’s attic

Foul

I saw most of the minds of my generation
Sold a cheap plastic corporate vision
Between rounds of life imitation
Ground in the gears of media transmissions

America is huddled and shivering tonight
And the papers and airwaves are filled with fright
As we rubberneck around to catch the sight
Of tragedy so common it starts to seem trite

Professional puffballs playing up and out the rage
Struck with sudden bouts of humanity on stage
On pitiful puppet strings until the turn of page
Turns darkly to demand blood and that war be waged
That the beast of vengeance be loosed from the cage

Dare we look it clear in the eye?
Dare we admit we always knew why?
Dare we take the rap for the big bad lie
And cop to truth behind that American Dream pie
Baked from the bodies of slaughtered braves
Seasoned with the stolen sweat of slaves
Spoiling under curses streaming from graves
And spilled along an oily path privately paved

Can we resist deflecting the finger of blame
Swallow the humble pie slathered in shame
Evil done by our hand, evil done in our name
It is the evil of our Empire just the same
Justice is not this twisted revenge that is taught
Extracting from scapegoats the cost of getting caught
It is an obligation to own in our deepest of thoughts
That the buck stops here where this bubble was bought

I pledge allegiance to the mixed bag
Of the United States of Experience
Cause a Fascist by any other flag
Stinks to high hell of the same arrogance
And if you want me to subscribe
To that hope and change vibe
I do sincerely hope that change
Is more than the old shell game rearranged
Cause all I see is my rights down the shitter
Hunted to extinction by mindless drone planes
Beamed in by our electric baby-sitter
As little America goes dramatically insane
And drowns in a flood of insipid glitter
Land of the angry and home of the vain

So when the awful reality touches down
And the death and horror is all around
And the guns have put us down on the ground
And we hear for ourselves war’s gruesome sound
Let us not cast about for some demon to hate
Let us not run into the arms of the State
I myself have no more trust to give
To a government that cares not one bit if I live

And if you try to claim this “democracy”
Is other than an elaborate hypocrisy
None are so blind as those refusing to see
How our stolen minds are miles from free
And this exercise in communal futility
Has driven us to the edge of gullibility

Is it our duty to dwell in our guilt?
To purge the pain on which our monuments were built
Another layer of fossils dissolving to silt
Accumulating ages of archeology’s quilt

It took millennia to achieve this height
Of hubris where our petty fights
Scan the planet every night
In the game to command the blinking of lights

The darkness comes from the very same source
The madness of advancing freedom by force
It hits with shock it hits with awe
The blowback even the poorest prophets foresaw

As we try to comprehend these monstrous mirrors
Manifest destiny of our collective fears
Armed assassin of the vain illusion
That surely there must be some confusion
We’ve paid protection for our picket fences
We’ve paid our dues to our proper pretenses

My hands are bloody, America.
No excuses. No evasion.
I am the child of a pathological invasion.
I did not start this war
But I am part of what they started it for
I have no power to raise the dead
But I’ll be damned if one more death on my head
Will go by without even a word being said
So now, perhaps, that we’re feeling meek
Can we also consider those America killed last week?

Manifest Station

Did you ever stop to wonder
Who scattered this trail of silver?
And crafted raft after raft to save
Some unknown swimmer in the river?
We knew you’d one day crest this wave
A dreamer and devoted Great Worker
So eyes on the prize, gems that flicker
They’re visible only to the wild and brave
Who trust the current to deliver

We can conjure what you crave
It works as well without a wand
The power is in the wave
And a little help from the Great Beyond
Count all those shells you’ve saved
If you trust your motivation
Just redeem all your misgivings
On the way to Manifest Station

The whistle blows echoes of laughter
Chugging on levity’s elevation
You won’t find what you’re after
In any book of incantations
Orient on that which makes you whole
Now that’s your destination
So bring your body mind and soul
Together at Manifest Station

Yes, let’s get this wish
To Manifest Station
The electric express
To Manifest Station
No need to guess
About Manifest Station
Go East Go West
You’ll find Manifest Station
Just bring your best
To Manifest Station

Conjure just past any juncture
Where you have taken a sacred position
Invoke the stop that never stops
In the space between transitions
So all aboard this train of thought
With an ephemeral ticket which can’t be bought
No guessing what it might be worth
The midnight special to Manifest Station
Bringing dreams all over the Earth

Let’s get this wish
To Manifest Station
The electric express
To Manifest Station
No need to guess
About Manifest Station
Go East Go West
To Manifest Station
Just bring your best
To Manifest Station

Rolling on wonder, rumbling thunder
The engine driven by the fire within
Fueled by the soul and hidden by skin
On the fast-track to where it all begins
The breath at the core of the Original Spin
Sometimes the schedule runs a little late
And the train arrives in a different state
The itinerary frequently fluctuates
En route to Manifest Station

So let’s get this wish
To Manifest Station
The electric express
To Manifest Station
No need to guess
About Manifest Station
Go East Go West
To Manifest Station
Just bring your best
To Manifest Station
Bring your best
To Manifest Station (x3)

AbracadabrA

Hook and Nail

A tale of two twins
Orphans split up at birth
As opposite as yang and yin
As different as sky and Earth

One twin was sent off to a tower
A tower of ivory and jade
Taught to use the tools of power
And the rules of forging blades

The other twin was tossed aside
Hobbled by a twisted spine
Cast on a raft to ride out the tide
And vanish from the grand design

This is the tale
Of the hook and the nail
Is this the tale
Of the hook and the nail?
Is it a quest for a question?
Or the yes of exclamation!

Seeking success
In parallel formation
Waging perpetual war
For your attention
Finding solace
Only in rotation
This is the tale
Of the hook and the nail!
Is this the tale
Of the hook and the nail?

Raised by a school of sirens
The hunchback queried introspection
Melodious genuflections
Heading in any direction

The soldier was an upright citizen
Certain such questioning was a sin
For he knew just how many seraphim
Could crowd on the point of a pin

Hunchback huddles
Pondering puddles
Slippery and subtle
And eternally unfilled

Exclamation army
Firing at will
Aiming at truths
That just won’t stand still

A tale of two twins
Orphans split up at birth
As opposite as yang and yin
As different as sky and Earth

This is the tale
Of the hook and the nail
Is this the tale
Of the hook and the nail?
Is it a quest for a question?
Or the yes of exclamation!

Seeking success
In parallel formation
Waging perpetual war
For your attention
Finding solace
Only in rotation
This is the tale
Of the hook and the nail!
Is this the tale
Of the hook and the nail?

Down To Delphi

Quite a crowd at Muse’s Mountain
Line winding well beyond the horizon
The mighty and the meek
On a fool’s crusade
A hubristic parade
Equal as they seek
A cryptic fate to evade
Sneaking one fleeting peek
Behind time’s curtain
And they’re emerging looking
Even more uncertain

They come to banish their blues
Collecting useless future clues
Catch a sketch of tomorrow’s news
Which of these avenues shall I choose?
If I rush into battle, will I win or lose?
How do I know if any of this is true?
Are the gods my undoing, or is it you?
No answer makes sense when
The question’s confused

Down to Delphi
For a spot of riddles and rye
Down to Delphi
Answers never seem to apply
Down to Delphi
Advice you’re bound to defy
Down to Delphi
Whatever they try to prophesy

I’d seen all the tragedies
The future, it never ends well
I’d been to all the Mysteries
And had Kykion on a half-shell
Not sure what I was looking for
What would Pythia have in store?
Maybe an ambiguous turn of phrase
To change my soul forevermore
Well, Delphi, it’s on any bucket list
One of those destinations not to be missed

So I sat at the feet of the Oracle
She deeply inhaled the fumes
And she asked me for a riddle
But I could only hum the tune
I asked her if all of these equations
Were merely the sums of our creations
Then she said, take this up in your head
The only true gold is information
The world’s not made out of particles
Your mind is made in their relation

Down to Delphi
For a spot of riddles and rye
Down to Delphi
Answers never seem to apply
Down to Delphi
Advice you’re bound to defy
Down to Delphi
Whatever they try to prophesy

Subspace Substrate

Seventh Circuit: Non-Local Morphogenesis

Ge-ne Ge-ne Ge-ne Gene Genetic Genesis Generate Genuine Engender Generous Engine Innate Nature Genius Generation Generation Generation

Do you ever wonder what happens during the dreams you can’t remember? Did they happen at all, and, if so, to whom?

Are dreams just a private de-briefing, for third eyes only, downloading the details of daily life so that the subconscious mind knows what to be neurotic about?

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Freud slipped, I mean spilled, a great deal of ink on the subject of dreams. But schemes to interpret the surreal symbolism in dreams are missing the forests for the trees falling inside of them.

I’m less interested in what any given dream means, than in the meaning of dreaming.

Who is this dreamer, so at home within intangible landscapes, so familiar with the impossible? This dreamer who can only be known through vanishing wisps of ineffable sensations and paradoxical situations which unravel as daylight and rationality set in?

Making sense of the world is like standing on your head while breathing backward. On one hand, we have mystical philosophies which picture the observable world as a room of illusions; on the other, scientific materialists who assign truth value only to the verifiably quantifiable.

So, pray tell, what might be the truth value of the movie in my sleep-struck mind? I can’t prove the events in my dreams to you. I can’t even prove them to myself.

Does a notion have to be plausible, to generate applause? If a television is turned off, are the sitcoms still vapid and inane? If someone answers a rhetorical question, is it still a koan?

Why did a soup of inorganic compounds spontaneously elect to organize along political lines? Why on Earth would such an unlikely event transpire? Life does seem a little strange.

A little strange. Like a strange loop. A self-generated cause. It happens because it happens. Or does it? After so many “whys”, we’re none the wiser.

Such a grand design, all these dimensions in concrescence, seem to imply some sort of Designer, a mad scientist experimenting in the sky. Or so the monotheopoly claims in their brochures.

But creation isn’t necessarily a product of intelligent design. The design IS intelligence. The design IS intelligence.

We see the world through the lens of an assembled self, a refractory looking glass, filtering phenomena and projecting mythology.

We are the patterns we perceive, we are the patterns we perceive, we are the patterns we perceive, embossed in relief.

The Self is a border crossing, a membrane between inner and outer space. Inner space is mostly made of water, just like the surface of our suspiciously habitable planet.

Outer space, according to science, is made up mostly of massive physics equations, punctuated by stars and such.

Stars, I’m told, composed primarily of hydrogen, which is a positively charged particle of almost nothing, in a complicated on-again, off-again long-distance relationship with a flaky negative electron, who exists even less.

Divinity isn’t an entity; it’s a substrate. A substrate.

A quality of consciousness, a ratio of relation, transmigrating from synapse to nebula and back again, from particle to planet and star, partaking and taking part of the physical and metaphysical, the real and the imaginary, dwelling in undiscovered dimensions of superposition.

By the way, we’re holding a fundraiser to save Shroedinger’s cat. Please donate locally, and act Galactically. Deposit your contributions in the golden balloon.

Water isn’t an entity; it’s a substance.

Drops of water; pools of water; streams and oceans of it, evaporating into lofty clouds and eventually condensing into rain, retaining individual identity only for the duration of the fall to Earth, before puddling into the mud.

Swimming in the subspace substrate.

So what has all this to do with the spice of tea in Wonderland?

Is a cup of water still a cup of water, once the water has been drunk or spilt, once the cup has splintered into a thousand shards?

Mind might be held by matter, but, like water, flows from vessel to vessel, to be absorbed spontaneously by those who are thirsty and eager to think.

We all pay in different ways for our education, but the cost of tuition comes down to paying attention. Paying attention. Paying attention.

The way I see it, an eye is all any of us are. A point of you. A perspective.

Perspective: I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours. We’re comparing notes, exchanging angles of view, sharing vantage points on reality.

We’re reference frames, unique only in our location and duration. One mind: infinite variations.

We’re all coming on for a cameo in each other’s biopics. You live your whole life to see and be in a movie that unwinds, real-to-real, inside the private showing room of your mind. Are you a spectator, or director? An actor or projector?

Reel-to-reel. Real, too real. Surreal.

Just a movie in your mind. Just a movie in your mind. Just a movie in your mind.

Seen any good flicks lately?

Concrescence

Eighth Circuit: Cosmic Consciousness

Mag May Might Magnet Magnify Magnanimous Magnificent Machine Magic Maxims Maximum Magnitude Magma Magnum Opus Magnum Opus Magnum Opus

Open open open opening opening under the Sun bathed in a shower of photons, synthesis in motion, landing on a canopy of fractal branches, reflecting the roots, digging ever deeper, ever deeper, as above, so below, as above, so below, you know, you know, dig deeper. Dig deeper.

We are a star awaiting ignition, we are a star lit with cognition, fed by fusion and spread by fission. We are the neurons of the collective consciousness, firing our will, at a truth that won’t stand still.

Firing our will, at a truth that won’t stand still.

We are the rationale for rationality, baying at the moon from the Wolf Flow Lodge, where dogmas are enshrined.

We are Judgment Machines assembling the puzzle pieces of culture and nature in the smithy of our souls.

We are the Word made flesh, and the world made words. We are Logos, incorporated. Logos, incorporated.

We are the map of a territory too vast to encompass. We are the great and small vehicles of perpetual existence in motion. Existence in motion. Existence in motion.

We are a star. We are a star. We are the set of all we are the set of all we are the set of all we are.

Concrescence of concept, multi-modular modalities. Reality is a tree.

We can swing from the limb over here, and it holds up under the weight of what we know, but there’s another monkey over there, hanging from another branch, and we don’t speak the same language, and we don’t see eye to eye.

And there’s a bird over here calling both of us coo-coo, and even the loons, raven, raven, raven, the deeper you dig, the higher you fly.

I’ve got a confession to make. I’m addicted to morphemes. No, not the painkiller. I’m talking about the molecule of meaning. Morphemes.

I’m hooked on phonics, and mad about semantics. Some kids play with their food. I played with my words. Alphabet soup is my favorite. Oh, go ahead. Laugh. You should have fun at my expanse.

Morphing morphemes, meaning more, more meaning. Or less. Less meaning. Meaning less. Meaningless. Meaningless.

Immortal murmurs murmuring morphogenetic mantras, morphing meaning, what does it mean? Who does it mean? Why does it mean? More lessons, less morons. More morphemes! More morphemes!

Water you drinking, water you doing, water you thinking, water you feeling, water you doing, water you thinking, water you drinking.

Water, rising through the roots, drawn onward, drawn onward, pumped through the mainstream trunk, pumping, pumping, toward a branch which branches and fruits, on a quest toward the Sun.

And under the cover of leaves, solar-powered organic engines, grow seeds, eggs, more than any forest wants or needs, all spinning the wheel of eggs-istential roulette. Will I land on soft Earth? Will I win the lottery of birth?

Existence in motion. I think I am I think I am I think therefore I art therefore I think I art therefore I am I art therefore I am. A standing ovation.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled simulated reality programming.

Magician Of Spin

Baryons and leptons, strange quarks and unstable particles of all wavelengths! Who is the wizard who walks through walls, scintillates at the speed of light, and oscillates among flavors in mid-flight?

Elementary, my dear boson. I am the great and infinitesimal Count Neutrino, magician of spin.

Tonight, we shall delight in the manifest miracles of a Cosmos in motion. Welcome to my lair, a laboratory auditorium, where we put the macrocosm under the microscope, and bend the lenses of perception.

Let’s adjust the angle of you, as we surf the pulses of the surreal cortex and the nebulous neural net for a quantum leap across synapse gaps.

Envision a global landscape standing still beneath our feet, while rotating away the day at a thousand miles per hour; a planet running laps in an orbital track at around a thousand times the speed of sound; an Earth drawn through the galaxy by the fiery chariot of Helios, blasting past at nearly half a million miles per hour.

You may need your reading glasses on for this first trick. Observe, in my right hand, a bright little photon, acting as a particle; in my left hand, another photon, behaving like a wave.

Or, is the photon waving in my right hand, while being particular in the left? Does it matter? Does it energy?

If a particle waves and there’s no observer around to gather data, can the physics department still secure a research grant?

Behold! The photons have morphed into electrons, through the magical transmutation of photo-voltaic alchemy. Watch carefully as I split up these twin points of light, propelling them toward distinct destinies.

See the invisible cord linking them? No? Neither do I.

Yet as these particles drift apart, going their separate ways, they remain linked, mystically entangled, like unfortunate ex-lovers still carrying the torch.

Speaking of entanglement, for my next trick, I will transform this ordinary, wingless caterpillar into a brilliant aeronautical butterfly, through the sorcery of metamorphosis.

The flutter-by effect?! Gag me with a cocoon! {Hand-flap butterfly}

See how the gentle breeze generated by these flapping wings leads to a wild tornado in, say, faraway Texas? No, on second thought, make that Kansas.

Yes, the flatland of Kansas, where a simple farm girl is waiting to be swept off her feet to an outrageous allegorical fable, where she will murder a witch and steal her shoes, cavorting with straw-men and other logical fallacies.

Let’s skip down the gold-brick road, silk road, or any road, toward the Rubric’s cube at the core of experience, where chance happenstance assembles itself into coherent structures of concrete metaphor, to eventually unmask a dubious wizard, lurking behind Rube Goldberg Machines and concealed by a curtain of mystery.

Have we opened a window on a new world, or merely stumbled into a looking glass, curving and inverting what we already know?

Have we unwittingly stepped on the set of a motion picture, projected on a screen which is but another shady curtain of obscurity? These questions and more will be explored on the next episode, but we’re out of time. Moving at light-speed, you know! C you later.

Bell’s theorem strikes now, and so the moment make moves toward the next attraction, the Hall of Infinite Mirrors.

Please exit simultaneously in all possible directions. Go that-away!

Legal Fiction

Built a palace on quicksand and silt
Rubber struts and pillars of guilt
Paper-thin walls held by a paperclip latch
Ok, I give up, now who’s got a match?

Staked my claim on a land mine field
Not much to look at but a hell of a yield
The overhead’s low and profits sky-high
So who cares if we’re bleeding the planet dry?

Yes, I’m a person by legal fiction
Your friendly global corporation
I was never elected
And never crowned
But I’m running the world
Running the world
Right into the ground

Earned my keep peddling false hopes
Don’t ask how I sleep, man, it ain’t easy to cope
If you only knew about my panic attacks
What if the sheep want their fleeces back?

Paved my highway over a pile of rust
Using good intentions and misplaced trust
There’s only one exit, at the end of the line
Half a smile past the Abandon Hope sign

Oh, I’m a person by legal fiction
Your friendly global corporation
I was never elected
And never crowned
But I’m running the world
Running the world
Right into the ground

And these activists, they get in my way
The hell are they protesting anyway?
Don’t they know how it goes, just pass the buck
We own the politicians so best of luck

Think you have problems, check out this graph
Those earnings ought to be good for a laugh
Look, stockholders deserve some dividends
To comfort them when the sky descends

For I’m a person by legal fiction
Your friendly global corporation
I was never elected
And never crowned
But I’m running the world
Running the world
Right into the ground

Dharma Maps

I went to see the guru
To score some destiny
Just enough to tide me through
‘Til I could fix my color TV

Said to me you must be new
For I have seen you before
And if you truly had a clue
You’d back right out that door

But we’ll toss darts at your chart
If you’ve nothing else to do
Maybe you’ll start to fall apart
Maybe get hooked on the glue

I come in pieces
All over the place
A hamster on a wheel
A rat in a race
Oh guru won’t you reveal
The fate written on my face
All wrapped up in my dharma map
Looking for a new tale to chase

I sat baffled in that tiny shrine
It wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind
No signs of any grand design
Indeed no guide of any kind

I tried to take it all in stride
But I didn’t know what to think
Was I being taken for a ride
Or was the map in invisible ink?

Well, we stared at the wall for a while
As I struggled not to blink
Finally the guru cracked a smile
As I turned a brighter shade of pink

I come in pieces
All over the place
A hamster on a wheel
A rat in a race
Oh guru won’t you reveal
The fate written on my face
All wrapped up in my dharma map
Looking for a new tale to chase

Said maybe this you’ll understand
You venture into unknown lands
That map is drawn by your own hand
So don’t ask me “what’s the plan?”

Right then I knew that we were through
This cat didn’t have anything new
So I stumbled out, mumbling and blue
To see about getting a better guru

I come in pieces
All over the place
A hamster on a wheel
A rat in a race
Oh guru won’t you reveal
The fate written on my face
All wrapped up in my dharma map
Looking for a new tale to chase

Axioms of Empire

Come now, let us rival Nature
We’ll build on banks between the rivers
Watch us wall off every danger
Save our stores from starving strangers

Let us set the price of pleasure
Catch our cut from every acre
Tally all the Earthbound treasures
For we only own what we can measure

Add a bigger buffer
Around multiplying structures
Divide them up then conquer
Such are the axioms of Empire
Ever hungrier for power
Seeking new realms to devour
Fending off the final hour
As the axe falls on the Empire

These decrees define the letters
Lines confining willful workers
All will cultivate our cultures
For only we’ll have any answers

Ordered echoes yoke the future
Designing minds to be their bearer
Wooden actors pose as rulers
On strings of plundered lucre

We face foregone foreclosure
Debt embedded in the architecture
For those who seek to be Earth’s master
Summon forth disaster even faster

Add a bigger buffer
Around multiplying structures
Divide them up then conquer
Such are the axioms of Empire
Ever hungrier for power
Seeking new realms to devour
Fending off the final hour
As the axe falls on the Empire

Gremlins On Theremins

Say, I hear you play air guitar
Like a million-dollar rock-star
Yeah, swinging that axe and looking sharp
But can you tease the untouchable harp?

Can you gesture forth eerie arias
Worthy of unseen phantom operas
Can you conduct concertos
Plucked from thin air
Do you dare the instrument
That isn’t really there?

You play it with a wave
Amplitude and oscillation
That’s all it takes
To surf those good vibrations
Stringless space
Tracing vapor’s song
There’s gremlins in the theremin
What could possibly go wrong?

And when you’re all alone
In the chaos zone of the etherphone
Where shapes of sound are shown
Fourier waves of volume and tone
On marionette strings of energy
Naked hands generating melodies
Like a flash of sorcery

You play it with a wave
Amplitude and oscillation
That’s all it takes
To surf those good vibrations
Stringless space
Tracing vapor’s song
There’s gremlins in the theremin
What could possibly go wrong?

Tuning the vast sonar ocean
To tones of lunar emotions
Gradients of shrill variation
Always on the edge of implosion

Theremin, you mind-bender!
Full of unsung songs to render
You’re the sailor they’ll remember
When the bombs are marked return to sender
And the airborne corps all surrender

You play it with a wave
Amplitude and oscillation
That’s all it takes
To surf those good vibrations
Stringless space
Tracing vapor’s song
There’s gremlins in the theremin
What could possibly go wrong?

Meets The I

Crazy Bear said you gotta flip your lid
If you want to see the other side
Peer past the grids and pyramids
Where the pattern gets magnified
Magnified
And amplified
As the sirens sigh
There’s so much more than meets the eye

Oh crystal ball
Oh crystal ball
They’re all cracked up at the oracle
Said always choose an alternative
And when in doubt, just be decisive
Oh, sure, the signals are clear and loud
Bet on the horses riding the clouds

I met her down at the nebula’s edge
Plasma mandalas all around
She asked if I could spare some space
For we’ve run out of ground
Out of ground
We fell spellbound
In torus twine
Wrapped around the grand design

We were on the same kind of vibe
Frequency freaks tuning in
Decided we must be two of a tribe
So we took our world out for a spin
For a spin
Wound up within
Spiral vortex skies
Plenty bright but none too wise

Oh crystal ball
Oh crystal ball
They’re all cracked up at the oracle
Said always choose an alternative
And when in doubt, just be decisive
Oh, sure, the signals are clear and loud
Bet on the horses riding the clouds

History sure ain’t what it used to be
Jaded and riddled with stray blasé
Today is living out a parody
The past getting so passé
So passé
It’s gone away
Like yesterday’s pie
But there’s so much more than meets the eye

Incredible

Diogenes went a-hunting for an honest man
Said I’ll surely find one if I can
I’ve been all up and down this land
But I’ve never seen the real deal first-hand

All of the balance and none of the check
About as fair as you might expect
Cork popping on the bottleneck
Dealing from the bottom of half-stacked decks

Northbound suddenly heading south
Two truths coming from a single mouth
Didn’t know the world was so flexible
It’s absolutely incredible

I carry a lamp by the broad light of day
Hunting for new ways to disobey
Heckling authority is my real forte
Scraping by on panhandler’s pay

I’ve heard words that beggar belief
Raised in defense of a millionaire thief
Hiding behind a gold fig leaf
But the two-bit hustler gets no relief

I’ve been to bordellos and boardrooms
I’ve seen manure spruced with perfume
Everywhere wolves pull on costumes of wool
To fool the sheep they’re getting set to consume

Northbound suddenly heading south
Two truths coming from a single mouth
Didn’t know the world was so flexible
It’s absolutely incredible

Maybe we’ll strike platinum
Or at least some silver shekels
Fortune’s a pendulum
Hitting all the pits and the pinnacles
They call it a windfall
Because wealth is ephemeral

Oh we’re gonna make it rain
We’re gonna make it flood
So better get up on the high ground
Or be knee-deep in the mud
If you’ll trade your soul for treasure
You’ve got a solid claim on neither

Betting big on a hand of symbols
Pocket full of intangibles
Always playing on principles
However the cards may shuffle
The treasure belongs
To those who go all night long
For the sake of the song

Northbound suddenly heading south
Two truths coming from a single mouth
Didn’t know the world was so flexible
It’s absolutely incredible
Absolutely incredible

American Fall

I must admit I love
Even the way she lies
Rolling her eyes and heaving her sighs
Tuned-up and spit-shined
All wound up and out of her mind
Not a thought in her head
About the prices of play
That’s okay
She doesn’t pay ’em anyway

Reckoning clings
On frostbitten wings
Tiara’s sparkling, you know what that means
It’s no surprise to any eyes who have seen
Someone shoot for the moon and miss
Stricken with courage from a lion’s kiss
Sailing on storms of bliss
Suspended in a bubble
Inside a tide of rubble
On sound-studded lightening lit clouds
Looming long and rumbling loud

Oh beautiful America
Your makeup is smeared
Is that oil on your face
Or foreign orphan’s tears?

Oh the buzzing in the crowd
As miss high and flighty tumbles
Wings mangled but head unbowed
Tresses tangled in her soiled shroud
Misguided expeditions endowed
With the force of the humbled
And the curse of the proud

Oh beautiful America
Your makeup is smeared
Is that oil on your face
Or foreign orphan’s tears?

She struts upon stage for an hour
Wrapped in flags and flanked by tanks
Giddy with glory and drunk on power
Under the thumb of plutocratic banks
A noble enough experiment
But what has become self-evident
Is that she’s heading for a fall
Because America promised freedom for all
In the form of worldwide shopping malls
Pearls before swine, they’re mine all mine
The call of an Empire in steep decline

Oh beautiful America
Your makeup is smeared
Is that oil on your face
Or foreign orphan’s tears?

Strange Loops

I had this thought inside my head
What would happen if I said:
I had this thought inside my head
And I wondered what would happen if I said

What I am about to tell you is true
But what I just said is a lie
Just go ahead and think it through
It’s a knot which won’t untie

I found this Escher in Pandora’s Box
Under piles of mind-bending paradox
Time-traveling grand-father killing clocks
Irresistible forces and immovable rocks

It was an Escher, but not just any Escher
It was a sketch of Escher as Escher does
Dig, it was an intricate picture
Escher drawing every Escher that ever was

There seems to be no way to know
If you can really know what I mean
If you’ve ever spied the spiral glow
Or even seen what I call green
We’re a story told in alphabet soup
With just enough ink to link the chain
Just a group of strange strange loops
That the void could not contain

Yes, Escher drew a time machine
Functional in every way
Illustrating in reiterating scenes
Whatever he drew on that day

It was a nested set of images
Showing Escher as a spectator
Considering infinite visages
Of the self-generating creator

My first thought was to dive right in
But the second was more clever
So I grabbed my collection of Escher’s prints
Without a third thought whatsoever

Well, he didn’t seem surprised when I arrived
A tourist on a trans-temporal hike
But when he saw what I’d brought along
Oh, hell, M.C. Escher dropped the mike!

Vat have you done? He demanded of me
This intrusion is unauthorized!
You have broken the laws of causality
And violated my copyrights beside!

There seems to be no way to know
If you can really know what I mean
If you’ve ever spied the spiral glow
Or even seen what I call green
We’re a story told in alphabet soup
With just enough ink to link the chain
Just a group of strange strange loops
That the void could not contain

The strangest part is this living thing
Hardly seems natural at all
Strings of code self-replicating
On this suspiciously habitable ball

Which comes first:
The thought or the word
The seed or the tree?
The egg or the bird?
What sounds do they make
If none are heard?
What vision is seen
When the blueprint is blurred?

Now, what I’m about to tell you is true
But what I just said is a lie
Just go ahead and think it through
It’s a knot which won’t untie

There seems to be no way to know
If you can really know what I mean
If you’ve ever spied the spiral glow
Or even seen what I call green
We’re a story told in alphabet soup
With just enough ink to link the chain
Just a group of strange strange loops
That the void could not contain

I had this thought inside my head
What would happen if I said:
I had this thought inside my head
And I wondered what would happen if I said…

Ken Nordine Sendup

Air Lift Underground
Sending Up Ken Nordine
Read more: Ken Nordine Sendup

Let’s Bring the Healing

Well, this castle is quickly losing luster
The courtyard’s cluttered
With braggadocio and bluster
Broken windows shuttered
Sliding into the gutter
Whatever happened to the welcome mat?
Oh, they sold that to the plutocrats

It’s a labyrinth of one-way doors
Where billionaire servants carefully ignore
Your protests as they steal all that is yours
And sell the furniture for a trifle more
This is a house that has forgotten the poor
We’re not even sure what we built it for

The paint is peeling
On the sagging ceiling
Too much truth revealing
We’re tired of kneeling
It’s potluck planet
And we plan on feasting

So let’s bring the healing
Let’s bring the healing

Better invest in remodeling
Let’s start by appealing
To that human feeling
We’ll need more than a cosmetic change
The whole foundation must be rearranged
We’re so spun out on our polarities
We’ve misplaced half our humanity
Compassion is pure necessity
When we understand
That I plus you makes we

So let’s bring the healing
Let’s bring the healing
Let’s bring the healing

We’re sick with worry
Sick with debt
Sick with doubt
Sick with regret
Sick with hatred
Sick inside out
Sick about what it’s all about
Sick of division
Sick to the core
Sick of the mantra of more more more

We’re sick of celebrity
Sick of the news
Sick of manifest destiny
Heads I win, tails you lose
We’re sick of the superficial
Sick of the profound
Sick of the artificial
Turf smothering the ground

Sick of lies raining from above
Sick of push
And sick of shove
Sick with twisted ideas of love
Sick of always keeping score
And so very sick
Sick to death
Of the vile stench of war
There’s so much we’re all sick of
So let’s bring the healing

Let’s bring the healing
Let’s bring the healing
Let’s bring the healing

Faux Mirage

Never trust a psychic
Who only sees appointments
If they were really authentic
They’d have your slot penciled in
I’m not calling anyone a charlatan
But this snake-oil seems mighty thin
Have you taste-tested your own medicine?

We’ve come to some oasis
Where the water tastes like truth
Filtered by reverse osmosis
And delivered to the youth
For the thirsty do not inquire
If that cup of Kool-Aid is pure
When it quenches the heart’s desire
And comforts the unsure

I once bought some free advice
The very best kind you can get
If they sell you your own soul at market price
That ain’t enlightenment
No, that ain’t enlightenment

Nostradamus stuck to his story
But he was careful with his wagers
Missing the mark never made him worry
It all shakes loose sooner or later

Let’s play a game of pin the tale
Pin the tale on the future fable
The Devil hides in the fine details
And Justice has her thumb on the scales

Star-charts and spirit channeling
Coin toss, Tarot or I Ching
Whichever way you swing
Everything shifts with a butterfly wing

I once bought some free advice
The very best kind you can get
If they sell you your own soul at market price
That ain’t enlightenment
No, that ain’t enlightenment

Three-ringed shell-game circus
Uncanny leaps of synchronicity
With all these signs between us
It’s a wonder anyone can see

Might write it off to happenstance
An offbeat quirk of circumstance
Just an act of random chance
A meaningless coinci-dance

Maybe it was all foreordained
Part of some vast cosmic plan
Or just a way to keep us entertained
Seer-ing in the frying pan

Then the dots connect themselves
In constellations unforeseen
Whatever Fate’s ulterior motives
For making such a scene

I once bought some free advice
The very best kind you can get
If they sell you your own soul at market price
That ain’t enlightenment
No, that ain’t enlightenment

Volition is like a faux mirage
It feels real in the heat of the choice
Fate comes in heavy camouflage
Imitating a stranger’s voice
Even counterfeits hold a certain charm
And if no one’s any the wiser
How does anyone find the harm?

Adorned with graven emblems
Covered in costume jewelry
Numb to the shiny conundrum
Embedded in star-struck neon marquees
Well, no side trip is out of the way
When redemption’s the destination
Every detour and every delay
Serve the cause of creation

I once bought some free advice
The very best kind you can get
If they sell you your own soul at market price
That ain’t enlightenment
No, that ain’t enlightenment

Bloomin’ Craft

Starseeds from wild yonder frontier
Efflorescent effigies made from mirrors
Under the deep blue atmosphere
Exploding at the bottom of an ocean of air

Overtures and undertones
Animating flesh and bone
Chipping away at the great unknown
As both the sculptor
Both the sculptor and the stone
Both the sculptor and the stone

They carried carbon contraband
Written in twin helix strands
And it spread throughout the land
Lit like a red-hot firebrand

The Oracle code from the motherlode
Where the sky kisses the Earth
And rain returns for another rebirth
Sun-soaked fractal math
Wandering and pondering
Evolution’s garden path
A rose arose
A rose arose
A rose arose
A Cosmos exposed
As the coiled Caduceus laughs
Practicing the Bloomin’ Craft
Practicing the Bloomin’ Craft
Practicing the Bloomin’ Craft

Rhea gave Her essence to the Aeons
But bygones wouldn’t stay bygones
Fed a rock to the Ages swallowing Icons
And made old Time cough up the Pantheon

She showed them the invisible
She told them the inaudible
She described the ineffable
Defied the inevitable
And bid them build the impossible

She wished us illumination
But left us biding among the blind
She whispered secrets of initiation
By the sign of serpents intertwined

The Oracle code from the motherlode
Where the sky kisses the Earth
And rain returns for another rebirth
Sun-soaked fractal math
Wandering and pondering
Evolution’s garden path
A rose arose
A rose arose
A rose arose
A Cosmos exposed
As the coiled Caduceus laughs
Practicing the Bloomin’ Craft
Practicing the Bloomin’ Craft
Practicing the Bloomin’ Craft