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.