coniunctio

blind to the truth of eternity  believers in nothing will always fret over others feeling heaven  heavenly are the ones travelling the arteries of the globe  re-carving the old paths  made of dust torn in robes

in a laaarge cafe more like a gallery narrow and metallic i met a girl who planned to fly away the only way was to steal a capsule  and leave the planet she had to do it under the noses of the bureaucrats the warmongers and their male bosses because she was a girl and not only a girl but a prisoner of the system itself what they were keeping prisoner was her intelligence kept in this grand cafe full of metallurgy  utilising geomancy to place fear within the others but she could see right through it they kept her a prisoner there because they were scared she would free the others this was true she would do it but she also knew that the only way was to save herself first to hide as if asleep for a time and when they came looking for her  to use her gown of grace to evade the guard she would flit slowly often like a candle flame and with the help of the others underground she went undeterred by the ignorant bureaucrats  she cli...

The Silver Feather Which Was Placed In My Hand whats that weird feeling you get when you start to do something and then it all falls in and becomes meaningless? is that real? or am i just being shy? am i just giving into the oppressors who say my voice should not be heard? i think this is the case, but maybe right now, text is the best way to get my ideas out.  well, I’m actually doing ok in terms of myself and how i produce art, beauty, truth and meaning. but the capitalistic conventionalists say otherwise. they say i must produce in their way, structure my song in their way, behave and move my body in a way comfortable to them, demean my own presence in ‘their’ spaces by making myself smaller. but i say no. this is my art this is my work and i will not stay shut just because i didn’t attend their classes and lectures. i attend my own lectures. every. single. day. of. my. life. just because my education isn’t accredited by the sons and daughters of former slave masters and...

snakes and lizards hung from the red rooms of your walls i kept having to hide all the crystal balls orange and black fabric grew out of curtains and behind posters we all wanted to get closer and closer writhing,,, the dark green snakes were on the mossy carpet treaded by too many webbed feet they treaded in black wet leaves from the garden leaves that smelt quite sweet thin orange paint glanced with smokey perfumes inside some darkness and pinch of gloom "but you guys forgot the ocean too soon.." i wished that place was spaceship they saw it as i wish didn't see like such a spaz maybe this isn't alcatraz maybe im being too sad can't be that bad then when i met Vertivert, she told me a new story almost turned me inside out i heard the inside-outside shouts when she sang i saw both our glorys saw the glowing glistening forgeries fury the darkness was still damp saw the eyes glow, then fell off my ramp to something truer when- the dank w...

notes on a discovery the pineal truth it is now an unequivocal fact that the felt experience of life can lead to intuitively accurate discoveries upon past assumptions and happenings. these past assumptions, and happenings create feelings for the human mind to dwell upon, deep or light, which allow us to see further into the realities of our existence and interaction with one another, nature (including the cosmos) and the ‘other’. as one human can only express so much, many of the discoveries of ‘truth’ and ‘reality’ are easily hidden from us but still lie often dormant but often active in our inner selves. we collectively ‘know’ of our true meanings and paths, for they live throughout all of time present at the edges of the universe (if they exist also) and within every atom of our structural being.   there in what my senses call ‘the aether of dark and light matter’ occurs every essence of our mysteries. our stories, thoughts, imagination, dreams, visions and so on. if one...

chalmes and ions in the pockets of nigh betwixt si calcifire, Neptune reaks in zen base fields of synergy. time overrules the factors of need and wilts the crevices whitch bloom. often each berry crept over lawn defacto. multiplying in symblicity. over dawn and hollow, under noon and rye. optuna leets bass shift in a minor c scale. never before has saturn been banned, yet the planes of serendipidy lye... still my contracts are dripping with seven eries.  elephant nonchalant write the palm. drift on a scry. same they are, same with a raft... night scales the opportune wish to dream its life open. left hands, maple tune and boss fried with a capital Fellow. tunes wait in the mirror for its long lost dove, so I reap with elements atop a barrier of corn. "seep your crest into thine", they tell me. so I sink into their indigo structures. "it's about a flock of bees". barren twist those rexerous hours, ever crescent, ever moving the fire. so Instead, "Imma ...

"A dime a time, Vladimir." They took a shot. Their eye was gauged out.  "Let me go on. Let me live a live. Let me be with my son..  Strip the merry poles of their ribbons. Who claims over this culture anyway?!" "Never more than a pound. A deal's a deal." The tallest aqueduct fluctuated in the growing breathing wind. You always feel safe. Forest canals were given, once, a former glory, a grand, "a superlative heiritage". It's nice to be seen on a structure with a planned name on their game. Tick box up. Done it. "What happened?" - by Northern lights, (one of the things I want to see before I fly away to the future). (Zero wide spread overcast theme. Blanket cloud: thinning.  People's opinions: Everyone's got one. ).