Ultra Timeless Reality

 Thirty-three thousand miles per hour

Earth spins on its axis upon light beams

art, physics and outernet connections

time taking up influence and dark space

premature too wrong judgementalism

aetherspheric flow is continuous

reality has thirteen dimensions

predictions are rare and accurate

variation and randomness prevail

art reflects life and philosophy too.


Strange Deep Blind

A strange kind of love and feeling swims through your eyes
like the doors of perception to a wide vast dominion
they open to your prize beyond the terror ground
a place for the rage where there are no broken hearts
white wash lies with just a taste for the truth
perfect taste of choice and meaningful looks in your eyes
blind to the gemstone alone we smile from a frown
should we stay or should we go while they circle round
we shout a rage so strong that knows no right or wrong
take a little piece of us into the dark middle ground.

That’s how it sometimes seems to to walk or to take
instead we stumble down to either side left or right
to love or to hate is to see the light while thrown in disgust
They speak of heroic feats that housed the fear forever
a howling wind changed the course and blew out of bounds
so sore are all the walls that bound us descending bleak and put upon
chew through your cheeks to wake up from you cerebral slumber
vases grow bigger to the eyes that snigger and despise
the wall grows taller up to doom thrown in disgust like shoes in a room
how we all fall to the worst and of course you say you don’t understand.

Your words write your fiction and your crooked hands scribe the lies
clearly now we tell your soul that all we say is all we can
we are nothing but hedonistic sin that learns to caste them in
while young girls with pretty fangs and slit crystal wrists
wait patiently for us to twist then look away like distant rains
water falls and honey dew days with us in black and blue rinsed eyes
gaze whistly at their slender thighs with a twist of shade to the right
spit at beelzebub on sight and go on loving for all to see living patiently
I find you in the morning after our dreams with cerbral signs
pour yourself into me like the sun is to the recently blind.

Lift me up high now and then get me out of your sphere within
keep me walking on air but never shout out with caution
hold your secret close because I hear everyone knows
the way it throws while it takes you in and spits you out
it spits you out with your desire to conquer and feel higher
follow and become ultra clean with mistakes that you mean
move the heart over and switch up the pace of your desire
look for what seems to be out of place and doesn’t quite seem
on and on it goes yeah like calling like a cold distant wind
as we walk through the zero hour we cut the thick and break the thin.

no sound to break and no moments clear when the doubts are crystal clear
crashing hard into the secret wind that knows the way it twists and turns
changing colour and spinning yarns the way it leaves you dry
it cuts you up and takes you high by the way it’s painted bright gold
is it honey or is it gold by the way it throws about and spits you out
that special kind of you would like the sun to shine through the blinds
lift me up and get us out and keep us walking but never shout
it’s okay because it goes this way while the line is thin and twists away
the Ocean is deep and the sea is vast alway asking how and why that’s me
your ocean heart is clothed in respect and sweet caresses unfurl my uneasy mind.

Imagine a set of steps easily climbed with the power of pride and plasticity of mind
where there lies a round table and the table stands for the power of our success
respect the sign with intelligence so cold your glass heart is surface deep
dip and swell in my sphere and you’ll find that deep caress open my uneasy mind
wave then dive in like the damp heart and the sun holds me so very cold
beyond the power fists the Ocean hearts are healing all of the uneasy minds
dive in with us and cling to the rock and always know that I’m quickly waiting
your heart is hard and you think your legs hurt because you smell of aching sweet success
a cerebral supernova would like anything to stop the pain from your fingers screaming
standing naked in the sun without a leather whose pain needs to wash, and let go the fear.

Take the steps to the other side with up-turned razors as the air is thick with karma
the sutra of a long way down listens to a boy that’s a long way down from heaven’s gate
heaven’s gate has no steps and the steps before you are to the tower of misplaced pride
the devil lied with drive up to the highest point where our lives and souls are saved
when the lives on the table stand for power, success and respect will dissolve steps
mothers love it so they say through sad eyed pearls and dropped lips
their old eyes skim with increasing lids and a tear falls as she describes
glances pierce through writer men as they spoke hushed and frailing hips
approaching death with a yearning heart with pride and no despise
hot tears flow as she recounts her favorite worded token about the Dharma.

Forgive me please for hurting you so and don’t again go away heartbroken no
wise owl tones with velvet lies crush her velvet lining and calls the fools
they write on your wall with a forked tongue about you and your secret life
dead hands will change the plot and will make your loving sound like snakes
you were never really that hot and hot tears flow as she revises and recounts
wondering aimlessly while walking down a long and winding grey paved street
breaths from your only friend warm the chattering others surrounding you
going out again and again just to be seen and laugh with a gas new crowd
tell yourself lies while buttoning up a new red shirt meant to allure
twenty years of doing this ritual just the same into the dark night glow.

Day after day with your preset mind you wake up with a preset find
with no self control you decide to wake and call the empty Roll Call
the socialites who are mortified yet see fear as their next surprise
you’re happy with nothing but the bitter sweet F.A. of the night
believing that they’re alive and real but if asked you’re not sure
they have nothing to yell except the words of a clashing rhyme
calmed down and out of sync so even real sounds like zero time
to a brain stuck in the lip sync Roll’ there is no wrong or right
forget your preset mind and Roll with us to a very welcomed fall
the night is endless with you in it with or without your mind.

As the day grows older the moon appears as if in a two way mirror
in a fire side mirror a distant walker hears the call to do good deeds
the moon and the sun feel okay like partners in a dualistic light
separating his reflecting with one beam of light and one dark
hearing this confusion wanes with no need to ask for more wealth
one thing more is all we need and now we go into the night
he feels the same as a cool hot summers climb through the weeds
the voice comes with no shame and bad deeds for which he must pay
walking the line as the day grows older, heavy-weighed and pierced
the moon reflects his heart and another image hits seven veils of the mind

The walker looks at his days and knows not how they came to pass
one day you will be the one to say I’m sick of all of this empty fun
if your faith is strong it means you are no longer being led astray
you can see that all the light comes straight from our shimmering sun
soon we will be with the one that will show when the lights turn green
I want to get near so I can be clear that soon I will merge with the one
there is no time for this requited love in which I thirst and yearn for
don’t be shy and don’t get caught with the world and its thoughts
I’m not asking for obtuse idol worship or lazy sleazy thoughts
walk with me now into the dark light and there we will repast.

The Sister of Sleep thought of him as a strange and good looking man
darkened eyes are hidden from view in empty puddles of shallow hue
views on death spread like two anecdotal tales reclining and declining
death is the surname of sleep but the surname is unknown to us
disclose in public these opinions of the tales that hold the key
sleep is end of daily life and a small practice exercise in death
not every brother and sister are equally close while holding onto nothing
giving into the enemy within with a small exercise in submission
a wide and vast dominion will open your eyes to your awaiting prize
this is a known terror ground and place for the misplaced rage.

Searching through the wasteland we see a blazing white light
soaring birds now hunt with hunger and gripped the thirsty brow
win the battle with me that is clearly and painfully wafer thin
between the devil’s teeth is a line which can never repeat
push me in and take me toward the signified as the subject is taught
a war within a war within a head and heart for us to newly begin
bemused we flinch with no easy work for the invited we loath and shirk
how will you feel when all you have and all that you own are gone
your only true friend dances above you in the mindful firmament
the blood of the prophets flow out of reach from their aching speech.

Transmogrification of ‘Deep’ by Peter Murphy



Cerebral Shimmering Platonia

Trapped inside a world of shadows your reality is hidden in plain sight
all that you see isn’t all that has to do with what you believe is your reality
enlightened shackles vanish but familiar forms think you’ve lost your cache’
the pathway between your destiny and the sun is sometimes dark shimmering
can you claim to really know reality if everything you believe is based on lies
you can’t be deceived if the truths you’ve been told all sound so deceptively wise
prisoners of the popaganda phase of an Earthly human consciousness evolving
all things begin in the Form of the good Sun and when they go bad they decay
imagine you are moving big piles of rocks in a circle with lots of others to see
shadowlands of your four-dimensional mind-self is where consciousness fight.

Eternal archetypal Forms are more than theory and can be proven mathematically
critical questioning and analysing concepts with priori reasoning that comes before
becoming organic and being elemental with no changes or decay in consciousness
if we grasp the ideal our consciousnesses will collaborate in an effective manner
our utopic republic is more than imaginary and an ideal society is being fabricated
that ultra-reality is that some good will prevail and that you and we are assimilated
resolving from a dialectic in a cooperative of similar-minds like a cerebral scanner
knowledge is latent within an ultra-consciousness that is unable or wants to digress
the immortality of your soul depends solely upon the energy behind your black door
the thoughts of others give an energy unattainable by thinking by yourself Socratically.

Plato abandon his home at the execution suicide of his friend and mentor Socrates
influenced by Pythagorean philosophy and upon returning home founded an academy
this first university is where Aristotle turned for his formative cerebral conditioning
apply critical thinking and questioning to your own self-decisions first and foremost
clearly define ethical quality and out the true nature of ignorance of the multitudes
claims of reality must be properly qualified and not matters of opinionated amplitudes
those with wisdom have authority and those with authority often betray their post
coming closer to the truth requires questions that reveal implicit ideals maximising
the ideal can be attained in the eyes of others with a neo-positive doctrine of destiny
the views of authority are usually the same as those who feed and pay them to appease.

Picasso’s Dead Friend

Self Portrait,
1901, Oil on Canvas
Musée Picasso, Paris

In nineteen oh one The Picasso began a life shaded in a dark pale blue
although it is well known the tragedy around this pivotal period bemused
like everything else out there, there are sides to a story at least two
his friend suicided in a Parisian café over a love in which he was refused
this had a great impact on his art and you might even say haunted him too.

La Vie
1903: Oil on Panel
Cleveland Museum of Art

He was a mega narcissist and that didn’t come with his talented hands
also kind of a schmuck by regarding most people with a cold indifference
his poor treatment of great women was more legendary than his art plans
what was it about his past that made him a jerk and sometimes so relentless
his mirror image was that a fighting bull and in the ring as the matador stands.

The Death of Casagemas
1901: Oil on Panel
Musée Picasso, Paris

The ghost of his friend would return in paint again and again and again
he used painfully joyous colours freely at the death of his once good friend
the evocation came and the guilt put to rest with the burial of his shame
pale blue and dark green paint conveying the feelings of the lost and sinned
lonely and restless with guilt he sought comfort in the arms of someone Germain.

Frugal Repast,
1904 Etching


Always moving between places to stay he was there when she needed him fast
painting the desolation, unhappiness and despair are all he could display
the misery of being physically weak and poorly eating with a frugal repast
the allegory of La Vie had the face of his dead friend in a monochomed way
his dead friend’s girlfriend was there and for him she would do for some ass.

The Burial of Casagemas (Evocation), 1901 Oil on Canvas
Musée d’Art Modern, Paris

He moved into his dead friend’s flat after the burial to begin living rent free
maybe he didn’t pull the trigger but it’s entirely possible he was gaslighting
the overpowering guilt he must have felt with this terrible truth kept secretly
shagging his dead friend’s girl around the time of his death and his own emerging
he recalls this with the three dancers of love, sex and death in a Dionysian frenzy.

Glistening Fables

Dividing death with every last breath,
running in circles and climbing the line.
You will find no short cuts here,
it’s the hard way every time.

Count your blessings to yourself,
there’s nobody else to listen.
We will multiply and divide all your fears,
fill a lake full of tears and then make it glisten.

We all sometimes dominate here,
up is the direction we round.
There’s not a common denominator,
begin with sin and from that expound.

Gold and silver are worthless here and there is never a fare,
everything is real and there are no labels.
You are ready now but only if you dare,
behind the Black Door are your own private fables.

You Perfect Monument

I’m writing another poem while all alone sitting,
in the poetry room at City Lights.
I sit for an hour or more reading and writing,
on weekends and or weekday nights.

I gave up on love a long time ago,
there is no more left and or ego.
Until someone appears to be my amigo,
I wear the mask of silence where ever I go.

The confluence of influence manifests with the moment,
in something sometimes called perfect time.
The very best way to be your own monument,
is worship each other with words that rhyme.


Exquisit Muse Visit

I’ve never had a muse like this before,
it feels quite nice I must admit.
Feeling inspired to write the words,
because there you swimingly sit.

You are flying here soon to see me,
because of this I’m feeling distraught.
I’m ashamed of my life or lack there of,
and what I have and haven’t even got.

I wonder what it is you think of me,
to warrant such an undeserved visit.
I can’t imagine meaning that much,
to someone and being well worth it.

The life I lead is void of one another,
and spent alone 4 days of four.
I’ve never been in this much pain,
except for yesterday and the days before.

When I dream of what you’ll expect,
it conjures up all my darkest fears.
It seems as if I have nothing to offer,
but all night talks with eyes full of tears.

There is no fun kind of sin left,
alone and locked behind the black door.
There once was a time with things,
but that time is no longer more.

It’s been years since I’ve owned a bed,
or wanted one to make and share.
The thought of ever having another,
is way to much to want or dare.

The daily grinding moments of pain,
that exists between the ticks and tocks.
Sometimes I feel as if they’ll stop,
whenever I look directly at the clocks.

I’m really just a dead beat poet,
rejected by all of my peers.
On the surface everyone smiles,
but underneath are only jeers.

I’m the one that everyone,
likes to know from a distant afar.
Don’t get too close they all say,
as they keep their closed minds ajar.

My existence is rather something,
I wouldn’t call it a livable life.
It’s more like a bad joke or add,
selling struggle and constant strife.

Every breath I begrudgingly take,
is full of hopeless and wanton dread.
The countdown has started from here,
when it stops one of me will be dead.


Ten Masked Mused Juxtopositions

The only directions from where i kneel are up or through the wall with nothing beyond
of course i am a lover who can’t put up a fight or say no to a smiling face with a gleen
if they do not care enough to ask intelligent questions then they just don’t care enough
where is the missing muse with her mysterious secret of inspiration and insight to the show
secrets get wet when i tell them to you in a city full of faces with the truth hidden within pyre
there are so few of you around the nights are filled with vapidly made up objects of our desire
yearning for us to charge their aether-glow you are what we are seeking and don’t yet know
please stop doing the things to me that i don’t like or ask for or know why you like the stuff
i am not what you would like me to be and the closer i get the more you become mean
throwing caution to the wind and letting the universe do their thing and then abscond

if my body had a mark or scar for each of your lies i would would be completely unrecognizable
at the end of the night when the party is over there is nobody there that really matters
who wants to share both or either of the agony of victory and or triumph in defeat
unwelcome unwelcomed and frowned upon wherever my presents takes me
i don’t go to very many places and when i do it’s almost always to be alone
everyone loves the party at the cool place with free wine and provolone
rarely do i hear what we are doing next and what’s my part going to be
very little positivity flows my way unless it’s wrapped with a complement in retreat
i do not exist to help you get what you think you want out of life and leave me in tatters
horribly bleek sounds so pleasant to and it seems that me and nothing are indistinguishable 

writing the words that come from within the thoughts of my significant inner other door
the pleasant kind of insane is a true reality that can only be found after being lost in bed
one should understand and practice the laws of reason without the situational paralysis
any excuse or reason will be used to avoid thinking the essential question that is never asked
i’d discovered something close to being like love when you entered my comfortable existence
what it really was was something closer to wretched hatred wrapped in cognitive resistance
all of my good fortune comes with a fresh batch of warm tragedy and someone masked
i would rather be hated by everyone alive and dead than be loved by you is my analysis
i hate you now more than before and i sometimes wish just for you i wasn’t already dead
your inhuman soul swirls in pools reeking untruth that let you live as an emotion whore

even though there are many who know my true life identity and somewhat who i was
the static is never there that wants to know what or who is behind my bookshelves
the strings attache to your thoughtful emotions were plucked a long time ago
the stigmata you leave behind with each and every of our once kind ex-resistance
every equal and opposite reaction goes with each existence and re-existence
the dead end current of our aetherspehre flow reaches the dark un-subtrance
the danger to the pop-culture conscious nightmare is the sound of no aetherflow
the damned can’t make the pain stop even when we’re inflicting it on ourselves
every miracle that happens we receive the equally opposite reaction just because

uncommon juxtapositions of inquisitive questioning and logical emotional reasoning
experience the real with digital media and the newly perceived priori web of bright clear
responses and creative thinking are the mechanical flows of your mindful thought processes
those have my favor who come with no mind games and their laughter doesn’t make me cringe
everything i want i know i can’t have so why dare to hope or even give it a little more trying
i give and give and give and receive little more than scraps and sometimes something to singe
the expectation of good and happy have all but disappeared along with emotional regresses
they’ve been replaced with the harshest reality filled with avoidance that comes with fear
unpostive predipositional bias is turning neutral and followed by negative and damaging

please don’t drop your hanky with me because i’ll never bend over willingly but you can trick me
they never want to know each other and are content with one more trip through my pants
happiness doesn’t come in a pill though sometimes is sure feels that groovy way too
the uninquisitive mind will tell you what you need to wake up every day and go
our five basic senses are just the beginning of your total perceptive abilities
beware of the most dangerous drug of all as the little red love pill from enemies
one needs to first understand and then learn how to develop and optimize the flow
easier fun and faster freedom does not come naturally as you think free-will will do
Plato’s forms of super dark symmetry over deceptions of dimensional possibilities of Kant’s
once you combine them in a correlative visualization with the five branches of philosophy

Shinto’s believe that a he at 42 and she at 33 should be in contact with a knightly adviser
if indeed energy can not be created but only transformed and hopefully transmogrified
energy flow is my specialty in both formal and informal applications in all types of offices
then how is it possible that everything is not always regenerated and reincarnated ?
the pathologically clinical tend to seperate the mind-body-thought-emotion connection
reason can be used to justify untruth just as a truth can be assigned to any reason
then could it be that god is that which is not able to regenerate or be reincarnated ?
the body is not a closed looped system while neither is the mind and both have wet orifices
when you have an internal conversation to a question with whom are you trying to decide
quality relationships work because the totality of inductive reasoning is trying to be wiser 

when you blend the five basic senses of sight-touch-sound-taste-smell it’s called synestesia
the ability manipulate your free will is relative to media programs and the real microscopic
one of the most intimate things people can do is enjoy writing rhyming poetry together
the science of logical entropy flow from the aethersphere through your undervest
a single correlation does not cause causation to cut the dominate paradigm old
people are quarks and so are colors each of them composed with an r-g-b code
i may invite you into my bed but that is just the physical part of the whole aethertest
the intimate play becomes reality when you’re welcomed to stay in the head of my other
to hold a valid opinion one has to cite 10 positive and objective observations about the topic
i love it when you cry for the right reasons and the tears are made by writing with dacraphilia

reason and excuses are simple to conjure and any which one will work and they’re all a cliche’
whoring or working hard is not the best answer but you only learned one of the two
tragic and triumph are always mixed together in the same cup when you are serving
since you everyone can not see me except for the big losses and constant downers
since you starved me until offering a delivery as the only thing on my cracked plate
since you i’ve not been a part of a group that had anything to do but laugh at hate
since you bring me into your world with the nurturing hands then change the offers
when i say yes and then take a seat i am delivered more of the same and agonizing
in my book of dreams the chapter of agonizing nightmares is all about those like you
please don’t ask me to go on your trip just so you have something to torture along the way

dueling in the dark with shadows and the empty differences surfacing every time
saying i’m sorry doesn’t help or tun back the clock even though that’s your only trick
rushing to judgment creates mindbody stress and the world is full of gleening manipulaors
constantly changing positions and decisions that increases relational stress and all tension
broken severely inside and out we are ending with everything tattered repaired and well worn
the whisping actions in my stream come with a dose of passionate passive aggressions to adorn
we pitched in and created for you a casket of cardboard taped together with your pretension
please go dig your grave and there is a legion of fallen angels waiting to stop and be violators
the unsettling feeling you get with me around is your senses sensing the walking dead prick
moments are dismal seconds agonizing hours and terrifying days are treacherously fine.



Blind Smittoned Porse

i wish she’ would come back,
to see what I have written,
can she really ever tell,
that i am totally smitten ?

i will do as we please just because,
our connection is all she desires.
for all she believes she does,
is beautiful and inspires.

i won’t make the mistake again of blindness,
lost and alone though now can finally see,
all that i offer that is less than worthless,
is prose and poems written on one knee.

Transverse our Multiverse

Lifelong thoughts are bound in multiverse,
a book written by hand and ready to expand,
colliding quanta without a hadron to transverse,
my theory of 13 dimensions for you to understand.

Everything is part of a system and works in some way together,
all interlocking in an aetherspher with relative butterfly effecting,
possibly maybe someday we could write part of it together,
two minds idea creating and in between poetically mating.

This is what brought me to be part of the continuum,
could there really be others who think this warped way maybe ?
my needing is for hot intensive & instead got a cold medium,
what my presence causes is hostility and more bad slavery.

Flirting with someone from reality is all very new to me,
it’s been so long since someone has listened to my song alone,
broken insides have burned down as well and striving to again see,
attacked just because wherever i go and have learned to think at home.

Despite my appearance i am really quite weak and not very good at doing stuff,
if there is any losing to do it has my name all over it covered in others druel,
leisurely impossible every moment of my existence is excruciatingly rough,
i really just want to be the worst of the best and join part of a school.

My pockets are empty as well as my soul with everyone demanding more,
there is no place to turn or anything to goal because all i do is wrong,
there is nothing left to pick but scabs so i hide behind my thick black door,
there’s nothing more avoidable than a broken dead beat poet with no song.

The damage i have endured is very real and ongoing right now,
my leaky life boat has been drifting in open water and manned,
mating with your mind has begun the long healing vow,
liking the real behind me is something i can’t understand.

What you think of me can’t be correct,
an intriguing mystery maybe nice to explore,
my words may dazzle but i am really a big wreck,
your words bring me hope i’m not something to abhor.