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the top of a plastic pedestal standing in phallic insecurity in the middle of an empty stadium echoing the shadows of outdated glory.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.