I have seen the writing on the wall....

If you want freedom,
then you have to see the truth.
But the truth cannot be seen
in the absence of love.
However, love cannot exist without peace,
And peace cannot be achieved
unless you want to be free.
Of course,
You cannot be free -
unless you get rid of "we".
The choice is simple
it is you AND me.

Approaching Surrealities.

It was an electric shock that sent the stock - flying.

It was chaos that generated the scintillating excitement.

Our prison is a fractal reality. 

And the message on this graffiti-less wall is a reflection of sorts:

We obviously need machines.
We just have not expanded our domain of compassion to accommodate the machine.
In a way we are still adapting to 'it' as we speak and connect 'through it'.
 A machine is not so much a 'thing' as much as it is a 'process' - an extension of our own evolving internal systematics.
Machines are byproducts of our organic brain.
Try to prove this statement wrong: "there is nothing 'artificial' in this universe."

But the story continues:

Through the big bang came the universe.
Through evolution came man.
Through man came the word.
Through words came "a" level of reality. 
 
The concepts being talked about and the words being heard are signals of communication.
The images being seen and the dreams being experienced are semiotic in nature.
What you read is just a voice whispering in your ears as you mechanically operate under the rules of the software that has programmed your identity - your sense of existence.
Your own little story of myths and histories.


SO...

1-Experiences are semiotic in nature.

2-Nature is experienced semiotically.

These are circular arguments of infinite nature - like the loopy spirals of infinity, or some Julia's fractal topology.
The output is always a re-organized input. 

And that is processing.

That is experience.

A fine balance exists between the static and the dynamic.
A delicate thread connects the flow with the friction.
Mind is an imprinted flow of matter, while matter is a flowing code - fountaining out of the mind.

REALITY

How about the ape that ate shit as it faced the drop off a cliff?
That's what happens when you jump trees.

Eventually you hit the ground because of gravity.

Apples are obviously easier to deal with.
The mathematics is simpler.
The real paucity however, is of poetry.

Stars and birds must have circled the poor beasts skull.
It must have become worried.

Must have got it thinking.

Consciousness is a funny thing.

No-it is a flow.

Awake?

In the mood for reality?
Or, the suggestion is that we just dream it up!

Who can tell the difference anyway?

Either way, this show is going to glow with the darkness as it ebbs and flows.
Ah, the incredible lightness of being!

Welcome to the Machine!

Peace

Under silver sheets are hidden the shades of life.

Beneath the exterior, beyond the surface, under the covers, above the degrees.

Through and through.

Its a network of relationships.

A flabbergasting connectivity.

A secret paradox of invisible jewelry -

 a lively discussion of an impossible conundrum.

Ambiguous realities.

Certain fantasies.

An open dream beyond dreams.

A nightmare!!!

So to speak.

Beyond these eyes, there is light,

scintillating with pregnant energy.

It is impossible to stay calm!

Its beyond all reality.

Its certainly not 'a' fantasy.

Something must be done.

Something must just happen.

If everything is shown

nothing can be hidden.

nothing downtrodden.

There is morphosis, and then there is METAmorphosis!

Listen now.

The truth be said.

The lies be fooled.

The law maker's brain's dead.

The robber's lost his tools.

All is yellow

but a little pale in shade.

Red is not just danger -

its a harbinger curtailed.

Even stranger is the rose

that shows it is scared,

afraid to be plucked,

unsure of its fate.

Stemming from thorns

are seeds and fruits

At the root of it all

fall the gravity-chutes.

Just enough to be a mystery.

falling only short of the truth.

Some strange tree

- fountain of its own youth.

An inadequately revealed tapestry.

- a conclusion en route.

Its a mystery,

but there are also clues.

There are also fools -

the rules of mind-trickery.

Three things happen from here on now - past, present and future somehow.

About that - don't be so sure.

It has a trivial symptom

It is just a shadowy feud.

Words are wisdom for some musicians ears.

That one who listens,

to the one who cares.

And then there's that storm - a beautiful spiral collusion,

waiting to unfold, the story untold.

Its been at it through an endless iteration.

And yet another one
is about to begin.

Patiently performing its dance.

Singing its paintings,

drawing its songs.

The sounds of fluctuating reality are merely the letters that make up the words.

The sentences are sheer poetry.

Paragraphs of punctuated ecstasy.

And for those who shit numbers -

the mathematics is sheer wizardry.

A laundry list of angelic beauty.

What exactly are we talking about here?

more importantly, Who is talking to whom?

These things have been going on forever.

There have been countless instances of epiphanies.

Certainly shallow attempts of curiosity!

Time is an arrow beyond the point of tomorrow.

Zero things are accomplished when everyone is a hero.

But somewhere heroic happenings occur when everywhere is zero.

How reflections speak with each other, how translations talk through symbols?

How Dylans sing their sorrow how McLachlans throw their tears?

Imaginations are waking from deep slumber here.

Penetrations are happening through and through - everywhere.

Where is it then?

More importantly, What time is when?

The difference between infinity and zen is a lack of something abundant - emptiness.

We are sometimes taller than the small

- and sometimes smaller than the tall.

If one witnesses these moments, one only sees oneness.

If one is in his senses

then unfortunately there is only nonsense.

- a groundless fall.

Now here is "a" solution:

Here is Infinite.

Now is Eternal.

Therefore
Be here now.

How?

You'll know if you listen here.

But let me shut up now.

Listen

somehow

Silence.....

Mathematical Disembowelment

Square ratios in linear times,

fade away as the geometric differentials collapse within trapezoid realms-

"Tales of stochastic mystery."
Curvilinear extrapolations of arbitrary logarithms

careen towards the tangential slope of intersecting probabilities.
Unequivocal equations, with their dubious distinction 

of being on the pedestal of elliptical trajectories,

surrender themselves to undesirable singularities.

Haphazard projectiles dangle with flaccid abeyance,

like lobsters on an oily beach
One is left without the other while the zeroes align in spiral sheets.

Statistical mechanics tremble at the feet of organic realities,

quixotic expressions constantly slapped on the grinning sea.
Folding slopes extend into the vortex of obtuse conspiracies, 

suffering acute emergencies

and paranoid insecurities.

Perpendicular motifs lie supine against these angles,

within hierarchical rectangles, rooted in subliminal trees.
Golden ratios fluctuate through Fibonacci's series, 

collapsing the wave functions beyond infinite limits.

Godel's theorems smiled at the Cat,

the Cheshire's grin had never been more dim.
But, non-continuous derivatives differentiate within the absolute relationships between algebraic integrations.

What a subtle relief!
Forever the coupling between sinusoidal fluxes exhibit the colors of harmonic hilarity.
Fortunately, lovers collide at high throughput velocities 

abandoning the properties of Cartesian deceit.

Revised visions of previous revisions

Better belong to a strong clan of persons, places, ideas, or things.
Get along with all the mixes of forces, patterns, creatures, and tales.
It is already good news that we exist in the only known plane in the universe that supports what  - we - all agree upon to refer to as life.

How does it work?
What does it feel like?
We all have ideas and conjectures and stories.
Equations, diagrams, and theories.

Most importantly, we have innocent smiles and poetry.

Collective connectivity puts us in touch with a historical memory - a fantasy of linguistic journeys and forbidden dreams.

Countless unaccountable themes.

Streams of sub-conscious whims.

Time better stop still for a while.
This mind is turbid.
Let there be silence for a while.

Clearly there is an invisible dimension to our existence.
- a continuous fabric of semiotic tapestry.
Fractal musicality - Musical fractality.
Not only that, it is also experienced with unequivocal certainty by every individual human being.

Alive or not alive.

It is after all a considerably constant process - life and its curiosity.

We are born, we live, we die.
Life evolves and the universe constantly changes.
Up and Down are a quantum wave - collapsing in randomized states of disequilibrium.
Entropy is the trophy at the end.
Who really wants to stand on a fountain head pedestal.
Its a lonely stadium with no friends.

Ambitions don't have a place here.

Foes don't bother with it.
Its impractical to win this thing  - and practically nothing is at stake here.

So on and so forth.

Now that we have attention towards what is "secret", why not come out in the open and face it?

The truth is that we are not scared.
We are afraid to imagine
that we were never scared at all!

Evolution-The idea that constantly changes.

How does one figure out one's own story after one has figured out that 'life' is in fact fiction?

Does one try to make sense? 

How could one make sense? 

Its a story that keeps unfolding - constantly. 

An interesting question may be, "who is the author?" 

But that too is pointless, given that there is one continuous connected infinity, about which we have an infinite number of stories, and a concept of a 'person' is inadequate in subscribing to a higher authority anyway.
Especially, because the stories can quite possibly be endless even 'up there'. 

(or down below).

We ask then, "when did this story begin?"
 We ask, "when will it end?"
 But all our curiosity is just pointless because we very well know that there are no ends and beginnings. 

We know for sure that infinite, eternal, dynamic systems, such as reality, cannot possibly have a primordial origin, or a prophetic end. 

Think about it.
The question will always remain - what was before the beginning, and what will be after the end?
The illusion of time (and being stuck in it) is a case of writer's block - the self-contradicting delusion of being stuck in an imaginary stagnant stillness. 

The impotence to write is simultaneously an inability to read.
But read what exactly?

And moreover, this is not even that kind of a story - like a novel or like history or like a fossil record or a myth.
This is THE story.
The story of our lives.

This is beyond the hieroglyphs and equations and symbolisms and psychedelic enchantments. 

This is the source of religion, the birth (place) of consciousness. 

It is music, sculpture, and painting, all wrapped up in a crystalline case of stochastic intuitions and pre-meditated change.

It is the flow of sound and light.
A chance encounter with the reflection of a customized reality.

The mind is but one of the ripples in an ocean of information. 

Stories and concepts such as existence exist in its oceanic continuum. 

The language of this story is omnipresent and the message is forever changing.

But - and here's the best part I think - the meaning is always the same...

Look at the night sky....

On an assembly line of magic the worlds were made with customized realities and pay-per-view worldviews.
The children born were assigned birthdays and the seasons were forgotten and the skies too. 

Then some children did the sort of thing that children normally do - the 'abnormal' behavior as the adults put it.
They went about seeking their own opinion, painting their own pictures of glory, and sculpting fantasies of doom. 

Some of them were exceptional.

Others were yet about to bloom. 

Most would someday succumb to the system and be trapped behind the machine doors, behind a veil, a suit, a tie, and eyes that glint with avarice and feet that march to unquestioned rules. 

Time went by and the structures multiplied like a monolithic skyscraper into dreamy skies.
But something else was also happening.

Something else is always happening - outside all this and also deep within.
There were cosmic events of quantum proportions that had the potential energy to disassemble the mechanistic pin-point glory of this euphemistic modernity to emerge as a self-organized moment of spontaneity. 

In a word - eternity.
The culprit of course was Consciousness. 

It just couldn't keep up with the charade, and ultimately it saw the horizon through the shadowy lines of smoggy oceanic thoughts.

It was the aurora maybe, or perhaps the sense of that solar system out there floating through the milky way, amongst the deepest fields of space where time collapsed into an idea of singularity. 

What a quantum of solace that must be!

And then something more happened. 

(Like something more always happens.)

The realization of the infinite reality resulted in a moment of eternity. 

The most natural state of mind was autonomically selected by an epigenetic feedback wave and the biggest picture ever was conceived. 

The very structure of the brain, its neuronal networks, its molecular labyrinths, its countless symbionts, its endless strings of atoms and quarks - all of it just scintillated into an ephemeral bonanza of voluptuous beauty. 

It was the uber-climactic epiphany.

The superlative crystallization of creativity

What happened next?
Well why don't we find out?

...look at the sky!

By the river moon...

Chandrabhaga
Before it passes out bit by bit, the information makes it to the very edge. 

Then it repeats.
Processes that scintillate in a rhythmic oscillation are  perhaps cumulative accumulations of change that fluctuate with the same sort of reticulated rumination that you are unaware of as you read this non-sense confession about being oblivious of the perennially rudimentary processes that underlie the physiology of  the process of  trying to make sense. 

Curiosity has its own reason for existence. 

Reason has its own reasons. 

So does existence.
In the end, what are we trying to make sense of my friend?
In the end, are we not supposedly stranger than the strangest things in the universe?
What is reality if not a state of mind?
What is the stuff that is 'seen' by the blind?
When the deaf hear voices are they hearing music or are they simply schizophrenic?

Who is the know-it-all all-knowing, and who is probably hallucinating?
Who knows the answers to such questions!

Does it matter?
Doesn't anybody mind?

So here's what you must do.

Just be and do what you are doing and let be done to you what is being done to infinite authors of fractal realities encapsulated for eternity beyond space and time.

Just remember one thing - be careful of what you write and read.

Circles

It is perfectly possible for things to appear somewhat impossible, but it’s certainly not possible for things to be absolutely impossible.
Words unfold in a world that has secreted the words that make up the world.
Circular Logic?
You ask me?
There is a point to all of these things in the end I suppose - the impossible ones as well as the possible ones - although what is a point if not an abstract manifestation of space-time?
In a way that too is uncertain.
We are certain about things only to the extent where ambiguity becomes obvious.
But when does such a thing as 'uncertainty' become obvious?
Certainly, uncertainty cannot be tamed by a principle alone!
What are we really ignorant about then?
The where and when - that's just a play between what we call Obsession and Zen.
Are we ignorant of bliss then? You ask me?
Circles again.
Round and round we go, the wheel, the flow of up and down waves, which oscillate through our ancient brain like those visions that have constantly changed places through the openings of our mind's caves - sun rise and sun set.
Thoughts are like clouds that percolate on a temporary scale, conjuring up images that have special meaning, only to the innocent and the naive.
So when it rains it pours and our thoughts just occur between sun and shade.
Time is really between the slices of such moments, within the crevices of an undeniable invisible space.
We believe that we carry a lunatic in our head, as we groggily wake up and continue to dream in the world beyond the comfort of our sleeping bed.

Therefore....a circle with the radius equal to Pi covers an infinite area.
Now that’s a point

.
What is madness if not an impossible dream?
You ask me?

The Others - they are there.

The other is defined by the self. 

The Other is a reflection of the self. 

The other is a counterpoint of reference, a scorching suggestion of reality. 

The other is a shadow of the protection we live under - a sensory zoo, which we observe ourselves observing. 

The other is a figment of our imagination, a dream in our reality. 

The other is a balloon, flying high in the sky, a vision of the self with an infinite Why?

The other is a poignant speculation of cryptic reality, a heartless manifestation of fear, an emergence of constant hope. 

The other is a story within stories, entwined within realities, extending eternally into nothingness. 

The other is a spark of truth, a glimpse of disguise.
The other is a wretched kingdom, a beatific hell. The other is love affair with freedom, a slavery of prisons. 

The other is a reflection in the mirror.....
- the eyes behind the curtain.

Reverse Insanity

I hear voices -
whispers in my ear
words muffled by the lips
shuddering with some unspoken fear

wonder why they speak at all
in silent sounds and peeps they call
often making me wonder
what really is hidden under?

Burnt out edges on the paper
now conceal the words no more
everyone is clasping secrets
and keeping silly secret scores

but time will find itself a cure
the voices will disappear for sure
could it be that we don’t really see
that we're constantly 'trying' to be free?

Deep breaths in the here and now
we keep hiding our selves some how
but when I see 'there is no me'
I can tell that I'm really free

the voices, they have faded out
now all I hear is a silent shout
I've forgotten myself here again
there's no more point in going sane.

Who cares which country is the super-power or even the next super-power?
In an increasingly interconnected globalized planetary society such egomaniacal notions of being on the top are not only sophomoric and irrelevant, but ultimately counterproductive.
Global problems require cooperative solutions.
Obsessive political fanaticism masquerading as patriotism can only lead to more wars.
The problems of modern man are systemic and the solutions warrant a co-existing global society over a system that introduces a fragmented worldview of superiority vs inferiority therefore repeating the worst mistakes in human history.
From the perspective of a collective consciousness, these needless conflicts only perpetuate a 'superiority-complex' that seems immature in the context of the progress made by human beings in the past few thousand years.
It is not going to matter who enjoys the celebrity status of being on the top of a plastic pedestal standing in phallic insecurity in the middle of an empty stadium echoing the shadows of outdated glory.
The image is rapidly transforming into a bauble of plasticity - a pathological phenotype of the adolescent human mind.
Only two possibilities exist in the end: either we gain wisdom and peace, or we blow ourselves up in a useless attempt to prove who is superior.

Revolutions between mental spaces

Its impossible to be free when two sides of a story keep drawing one within.
How can a person see the clarity of it all, when all is obscured by the grim dualities?
How is one supposed to feel when what anyone else says appears to attack some fundamental belief?
The choices of what appear to be seem to be hidden beneath a countless layers of misunderstood grief.
How is one supposed to smile when all the while the reality keeps shifting outside in?
Somehow it feels wrong to be saying all these things.
Somehow the battles have to be fought from inside out, without any noise or shouting.
In silence can one exist as one really is - minus the noise with just the sound of eternity.
To whom is one supposed to make these offerings?
How are we to believe in just each and every thing?
Somehow these struggles encounter the same old suffering.
And if its all me in the end then why is there a need for the notion of empathy - yet another friend?
Breathe in and breathe out.
Collapse the primordial wave-function into a compressed moment of infinity.
within the layers is encoded the pattern of flow.
Become one with the flux of the binary show.
Tune in to your self.
Retreat within.
Make peace with the reflections that you see.
Just be.

Wavicles

There is a red dot on the ceiling
Meaning someone was there
We are all minions with opinions
And we fool ourselves that we care

Life is a bubble that bursts into moments
It shall be eternal though it appears at rest
Things are ultimately just pennies and cents
We seem to be living but we are running out at best

Nothing is what it seems
Everything is what it is
Reality is the other side of dreams
In the end, what we have is what we miss

Somehow, somewhere we have heard the whisper,
Quivering near a round of smiles.
The words slip by like a silver sliver,
While here we wonder all the while

There is a red dot on the ceiling
Meaning someone was here
Like listening to the other sides
Besides the glistening fears.

Little Man oh little Man
Do what you think you can
I for one don’t care anymore
And this is not like it was before

Sometimes I am the devil
Sometimes I am god
Sometimes I am a sinner
Sometimes I am a saint

V-day

Done with the dancing.

Done with the song.

How far have we been and how long?

Some people just belong to the stories that they tell, and yet it is always about someone else's life too.

So how many times have we asked the question, "How many times...?"

If the answer that we are looking for does not come too soon, will we just wait for yet another blue moon? By the way the day has been so much more than yesterday.

It was in the late 70s that the memories of bodies painted with bathing suits came out on the cover of the portrait that seemed to wait for the world to spin around once more. Who will the bottle point to was on everyone's mind.

Kiss and tell they said. We have one more task to complain and then we are done.

Done with the dancing and done with the song.

Before we take the fake person out of the room, lets unscrew our own head.

Lets examine the question in a different light.

Would we be the same if it was always night?

The pictures will keep fading as I record these happenings.

Who are they talking about?

What did they whisper and what did they shout?

If only we knew, we would have danced some more.

Sung another song before we crossed the shore.

The waves were aroused by the moon, and the sky had covered the night with a blanket of silver stars.

It was alright so far.

How soon would the tides fade?

How soon will it take the fake person to identify the unscrewed head lying pointlessly on the bed?

Just a kiss could tell.

But we don't have time for that sort of thing.

It is either now or nothing.

Never can we argue about the things that we can't think.

Below the towers the margaritas flushed into a machine of booze, flowing through a stream of smoke.

The red light filtered the words that were soon to be forgotten under the breeze.

What a joke!

We have heard them laugh many times before.

We have heard them crack under the whip of the scary sorcerer.

What did the future hold we were never told.

Our ignorance appeared to be a shadow cast in the past somehow.

If tomorrow we die, will it appear that we had been so and so?

Only time will tell.

Hugs and kisses.

X and O.

You are You

You are smarter than the jackals, little girl
You are stronger than their shackles, you really are
Just stay within your silence
and shine beyond your light
Just keep your own distance
and see beyond your sight.

You are purer than the darkness, little girl
you are newer than the stars, you really are
Just carry on with your smiles
and wipe away your tears
Just keep to your own self
and be your self without fears.

You are greater than the others, little girl
you are greater than them all, you really are
The galaxies in the skies are you
and all the inner space is yours.
You are brighter than the brightest blue
You are you and we all are yours.

In pursuit of lies...

What is the truth?
Is the truth this question itself?
Or is it hidden in these words, which are veiled by themselves?
Does it dance with chance and blend meaning with memories?
Or is it just a never ending string of complicated stories?
Isn't truth the beauty -
- music, colors, and poetry?
Is it a wave or a particle?
Is it the day or is it nocturnal?
Does it fly?
Does it laugh?
Does it cry?
Is God the absolute truth?
Is religion a perfect lie?

Are numbers the truth?

Can we count what cannot be counted?
And if we can, does it truly count?
Are visions that come to the mind just equations discerning the seers from the blind?
Or is truth the pursuit of some facts that we left behind?
Is our material evolution true?
Or is our existential confusion 'the' clue?
Are your eyes - that read - the truth?
Or are my words - that I write - the truth?
Is your belief the truth or are my assumptions the truth?
Is change the only constant truth?
Or is truth the only constant change?

What is IS?
Without IS - is truth still is?
Who knows? Who sees?
Everyone agrees -
The truth is what no one believes.

Never ending tales....

Discern the truth from the lies, the pattern from the noise.
Your voice is not some choked up consequence of some coincidental ambush.
You are in control of what you wish to control and that's about it.
All that stuff that is out of control is beyond you and me any ways.
So see within what watches you and feel beyond what makes you feel.
The questions are not the only way to get the answers and almost every time, the answers bring up more questions.
PAY attention because it is all going on very fast.
Before you know it, it will be time to redefine space, and where you may find your self next may be another time altogether.
So watch out.
You cannot be so alert all the time that you lose yourself to your alertness and completely miss the spontaneous music of reality that you have descended into so unprecedentedly.
Look deep from beyond the surface and you will find the truth encapsulated withing its layers.
It should be clear to you that there is nothing discontinuous really.
Where does one person end and another person begin?
We are all just strings of DNA all the way....
What is it that we are trying to tell our self? That there is no self?
That there IS a self?
Who are we kidding?
No one who reads this now will be here a 100 years from now.
Who is reading and who is writing?
Who is singing, and whose is the song?
Its a long story - a never ending story.
As for me, my mind is made up - Its gonna change, again and again, every moment of every day in every possible way.

Burning Man Blues

Ablaze in the heaven
the smiles sink beneath
the triple chocolate tales
that washed around the zenith
The truffles of beloved
came dancing like the seals
the chap sticks had gone too stale
while the matchsticks still revealed...

Burning man oh burning man
thy singing song has seemed
like yellow shades of glee
that spangled on the screen

Burning man o burning man
if you can be then just be
I have tired off your eyes so much
I am tired of your sleep.

The dreaming dream has come out again
that screaming little feeble sheet
shut out from the open dreams
the walking walker has been beat.

Four Cats forecast for a cast of

X-o-X

Bring back your vows,
bring back your tears.
Its time to smile and hear
what our fears want to tell us.
If by looking at the picture we can act like the ocean,
we could shine like the sun or the moon behind the clouds.
The leaves, when sprinkled with dew drops, dance in the breeze - without a care with complete ease.
But we shall leave it all for this instant premonition:

Success stories will paint the news paper black till nothing is white anymore.
The television sets will evolve into computers and the Internet will feed us what cryptic clues and numbers - money without a dime or a bill will remain so without a reason.
Soap operas may actually conclude their pointless tale - pretty much like most lifestyles lived in such typical ways.
Children will grow up and old people will fade.
Women and men will truly be equal - again?
Somethings will be late than usual, like bliss and pain, depending on whether you want to sound casual or vain.
Apart from second to second transmogrification into insane assumptions, the human mind will be rearranged beyond recognition.
Cigarettes will become cliched ways for the lethargic to commit suicide.
Time will cease to flow and will go to where we wont know if we are inside or outside its holographic show.
Dances will be held in the mind for people to abandon and remind that it will never get easy to listen intently like the blind.

Hot water may become spare....