Crooked Clarity Compass

Social fabrication is denial
commitment to what is reality
vision creates a cognitive fusion
knowledge comes from dualistic da da
the crooked compass shows us the right way
open to what is next and not their next
blur is an example of time travel
three components make relativity
declaration of what is and isn’t
clarity eliminates neg bias.

Infinite Mobius Feelings

 The lovey dovey period expands

please do that swirl thing that you love to do

emotional proximation convects

soul is measured in countable packets

when i hear you cry it’s for a reason

never knowing what the whole story is

infinite loop of mobius feelings

looks being unexpectedly captured

spooning and sleeping in the R.E.M.

everyone is beautiful in our dreams.

Ultimate Oral Sustenance

Oral self indulgence of every sort

copulation of the intimate source

sustenance from dead flesh gives us power

red food gives us all fire from within

hyperventilate with each others lips

the heart not only pumps blood and breathing

savor true flavor under the wet tounge

ultimate taste experience engulfs

more intoxicated with every bite

what ever you want is on the plate now.

Simple Juxtopositional Phraséologie

Abecedarian tetragramotion

bellibonistic and shoulderclapper

cacophemistical rejectamenta

desuetude as quadragenarian

ephemeral paraphilemia

folie de doute oligophrenia

gelogenic nikhedonia

hueristic medulla oblongata

idaotropic lethologica

jugulative for kakistocracy.

Floating Time Vortex


Imagine you were born and raised on a big fancy floating dome
destined to live a long happy life and never yearn to see the shore
the Pacific ocean vortex is where you have always called home
your dome-ship is drifting with everything you could want or adore
born with a time-age-dilation and everyone wants to have your clone.

When alone you don’t age one little bit and in essence time does stop like Zen
when in the visual company of others you age slowly but very exponentially
the more people you can see the faster you age and that can see you is x 10
going to a ball game with a few friends would age you a week for being sociably
catching a home-run or for some other reason being on national t.v. would do you in.

Whenever you wish for something new or exotic to taste – smell – feel – hear and see
all of your desires are provided for as long as it doesn’t include drifting near sand
a ship arrives silently the very next day with everything including your favorite party
your guests are dazzled by your worldly brilliance and envy your luxurious life span
they are baffled that you’re content aging alone and get by by having fun and being arty.

You give the tour and explain every inch of the dome-home that was built to perpetually sift
there is only one part of the boat you don’t understand and gave up trying along time ago
the emergency navigation system is there in case for some reason you drift to close to the rift
it can weather any storm but usually avoids them with the precognitive advance slip stream
it will propel you back to where you began to once again begin a long trip with the vortex drift.

For as long as you can remember the emergency navigation system has been activated twice
once when you were too young to understand what was going on but remember it well anyway
the other not long ago and the feelings still linger of calling the big bluff and roll the shore dice
you’ve been preparing for this your whole life but wasn’t quite sure the direction to swim away
you often feel the shoreline is just out of sight and took the risk to swim to the horizon thrice.

When the party’s over everyone leaves with the supply ship and they never return again
a new group of people will arrive the next time to provide your material necessities
there’s always a person you wish could stay longer just to share in one little sin
when that happens the dome begins to drift towards the time vortex with ease
there is no purpose when you are always alone and perpetually at begin.

Your one true wish is to be able to swim beyond the distant horizon
you exchanged it for a cerebral transubstantiation aging dilation
in your world you need not and are the ruler of an entire ocean.

Socially Faded Oasis

He’s always watching from the hill
he’s always out there on a dare
making sure i always softly fell
making sure i never much care
paving my private path to hell.

The walking dead can’t be tortured enough
taken in by a handshake and a grin
complements and accolades are never enough
nothing will ever be the same again
there will never be the end of ever enough.

The hypocritical oasis paves the path very fast
the time has come once again to wear the hood
hot is not what’s on the plate or will ever last
the clock of my time-line is cracked for good
nothing can be done to alter the faded past.

Nothing is as it seems and all lost in pseudo rhyme
nothing is as it was or as there will never be affection
one bad deed deserves one of equal and opposite polarity
life is stranger than any conceived vivid-self deception
digging my own grave one self deception at a time.

Build a plank made of pop cycle sticks and bubble gum
an invited wrath and welcomed long long away after-math
being repeatedly stabbed in the back but not nearly deep enough
the aethersphere is always waiting and full of friendly staff
although myself shines on the outside it’s full of dark stuff.

There is no loathing when it’s backed by a deserved hate
doing the left thing of a least resistant slippery path
fear is the driver to avoid the bitter truth blue platter plate
retrograde ex uses and selectively highlighted past
the chance for redemption was lost long ago to fate.

There is only the waiting to see what happens next
seeing and understanding happens in a welcomed find
progress of an empty fate has always been my vexed
dry by day and night to call me a fool would be kind
the reflection in the mirror is a monster self-hexed.

If i just hold on tight while i become the food
life hasn’t been mine in such a stretch to see
bad guys always hide behind a shield of good
my worst enemy and arch nemesis is b.A.d me
life isn’t real and he as me is now understood.

Which Way Out

Which of you are real
which of you are fake
which of you feed and heal
which of you snake and take?

Way to go again and again
way to find another way out
way to walk into the wrong sin
way to hide away and pout.

Out is out there somewhere
out is the best way to see
out of everything except gravity
out of your mind is where i’d rather be.

Essensial Musical Breathe

Dedicated to making things with objects of statement
invoking fear instantly and nicer than expected
tall and soft dark bites makes things very blatant
wildly creative and a feisty crackpot unperfected.

Stay drama free and free from those who are fleeting
no manicures needed for breaking and diving
not treasure seeking or upwards eye gleeming
slowly starving on the brink of ultra-funning.

Music is the essential me as the air the we breathe
play from wake time till it’s time to fade to sleepy
stereos in the studios as the speakers sound weave
headphones everywhere in between all things pretty.

The necessary evil of a planned obsolescence
skinny art boys and poets hate sports too
suits optional when you’re full of reluctance
owning more of nothing appeals to not only you.

Fallatiotic Red Vixen

Tiffany was a red headed nymphette seventy two inches tall
practising law by day and a fallatiotic dancing vixen by night
her hair was bright red all over and yes i mean bare and all
i never knew her very well but she blew me with mighty might.

She loved to blow me everywhere there was a chance of getting caught
spending more time with my thing in her mouth than actually talking
any partially private public space is what she constantly sought
trips with me at the wheel just so she could play while i was driving
alarmless elevators and bathroom stalls is what she found especially hot.

It was as if she had a deadly disease with little time left to find another cure
the only antidote that worked was my stuff administered daily as a face cream
this was a whirlwind sexual thing and once she was cured was gone forever
we never copulated but she loved my fingers while doing her favourite thing.

Looking back and remembering this little tryst, it’s always with a smile
although it has crossed my mind that the whole time i was being used
thinking of all the instances she would gulp and run after a short while
with the taste of a new seaman still on her lips that was recently spewed
was she secretly running to a mate to french kiss him or her with my bile?

She loved my taste so much that she always said ahhhhaaaa and thank you
sometimes pretending it was a paintbrush and her face a painting to be
every time i see a new fiery beauty the engram can’t help but renew
what she might look like with her red eyelashes glistening with me.

Fabulist Yarn Bridge

It’s too late to be honest can’t you look around and see
liars living like you always live in little long lost la-la-land
you lie each time a phrase is uttered at least to some degree
you know everything as it supposedly is and never seek to understand
what others think doesn’t matter because only you know the full story.

Nobody knows who you really are and if they did they would just walk away
every decision you make includes some kind delightfully devious deception
there is nothing left but a shell of a life almost lived and wasting away
if right now you told everyone you know every lie you have ever told them
would there be anybody left for you to speak with by the end of the day?

It’s impossible to tell anyone the truth so you quit trying a long time ago
you are reality deficient so you’ll settle for something close in your head
the feeling you get when you manipulate others isn’t quite love on the grow
you’re okay with the feeling of a carefully fabricated self-loathing instead
when you don’t get your way you alter your reality to feel just a bit retro.

Every cloud has a silver something and yours is lined with believable half-lies
you are addicted to the residue of your razor thin line of grey powdery lies
you know how to lie perfectly by knowing just when to say nothing and still lie
a surge of invigorating stimuli you feel is why you’re in love with your lies
little white untruths so unclear even your emotions are clearly deceptive lies.

The yarn bridge you’ve been weaving over the river bliss is getting longer every day
it’s too late to turn back because there is nothing or nobody to offer any admittance
you can’t reach the other side because with this bridge you’ll never get past half-way
the length to the shore and bridge is increased by a microinch with each lie of resistance
you made it that way with your miasma of detractors and avoidance encased in a heart of clay.

Living out your fantasy of reality while others struggle with your own private truth
is your future so uncertain you don’t know which alternate agenda you’re going to pursue
when you were admitting to a lie is the only time we’ve ever heard you tell the truth
you weave a trail that never intersects with the others’ thin grey lines of power residue
what binds us together is lost when crossed your line scatters when it encounters the truth.

Your favorite addictive emotion is the electrochemical jolt through the cerebral center
when you say something snide that somehow helps you and nobody can or can’t verify
you don’t discern truth from lies because for you they are too hard to remember
the only time you resort to telling the truth is to cover up or prepare for a lie
you lie with your voice but your face and body are yelling to everyone do not enter.

Do you do things to people you know they wouldn’t dare want to do to them-self
do you try to get others to catch the lies tossed from your faulty fabulist tower
do you often hesitate with an answer or simply say nothing by being yourstealth
do you lie when you don’t have to just to maintain your false feeling of power
do you believe the lies at you tell others or just the ones you tell yourself.

You run out of life just a little bit with each and every thought of a lie
the greatest lie is the one you tell yourself every time you begin to utter
the lies you tell yourself are the easiest because you never need to justify
it’s ok to lie when you do it your way because it doesn’t relatively matter
nobody notices and they don’t see that you are really just trying to try.

Everyone lies to some degree in spacetime so what kind of lier are you
there are really big lies and some are so small you hardly ever realize
there are razor thin grey lies and their dark powdery lines of residue
there are even some nice lies that lead up to a pleasant evening surprize
if they knew the whole truth would the target of your lies forgive you?

 

Red Blazing Ferris Wheels

The mind lives where scene four begins to doff,
staging directions for the front porch at dusk,
beginning summer days are hot and cooling off,
nice horses grazing in a pasture flowing of musk.

dreaming of still missing the dusty lost pony,
the day you came home and got a birthday prize,
in the seventh year of existence of being phony,
big ribbon around necks killing kicks at surprise.

plenty of big bows by the way had a lovely long lasting day,
then they were gone just like that as if they were always away,
the sun rising in the sky crimson can smelt the sweetness asway,
like a never never painting you can’t give away in a dark midday..

chaotic upside down turning went all wrong and got up early morning
why do you implicit on who did this and why be a horror and insist,
because we just told you sends regards and had a nice time without hearing,
you can’t hear what’s being said like you think seeing again will resist.

you get dying at least a little bit to get out of this place and find a life,
big city living of murderous loneliness as existing in a bunch of people,
the miles are empty all around except for the few cats inside of our strife,
driving the right kind of crazy and the rotting of your life’s steep steeple.

trying to get back that which you don’t want and it’s coming in fast,
it maybe they might just start pouring the details with anyone fun,
doctors and nurses prosecuting people way out of realities grasp,
the rain has a way to know what to say every day on the thin scar run.

red blazing traces are not so bad now that you’re frozen like a distilled life,
thinking and dreaming are two sides of the same space time thing,
hating this place never knowing a trace about people’s strife,
the depressed traveling ferris wheel begins to quietly sing.

working side by side a rhythm forms together,
we are mostly quietly thinking our thoughts in the rear,
there is nothing more to forget or almost remember,
the end of the day is near and it’s just begun to rain beer.

Transmogrification of play by R. Bauknight

Troubled Dream Reams

Keystroking every day from nine to five,
our desk faces the door of dreams,
unpractical inferior superiors derive,
rolls of dreaming troubles by the reams.

Pinpointing dream troubles for free is our business,
mouse feet wake early to watch the world run,
the world is sitting by a hag-face and panics,
whore-faceless letters awake and undone.

Whenever there is panic i am the assistant,
sounds so-end-so says while they seldom get around,
when we’re done you’ll be an out-patient,
setting records steadily up and down never to be found.

Dream by dream and educating that rare character,
structured self analysis is provided for every member,
dream makers are not dream stoppers and much fairer,
exploiters of dreams are conquered by the rare explainer.

Makers of dreams are lovers as well with health and happiness,
dreams themselves are lonely as well and forever will forsake in stacks of reams,
reams of dreams for the record books my mind did caress,
your calling is to memorize the reams and scribe them down in a bible of dreams.

Your elevator is raising the red roof of my three a.m. nights,
trees from the far side flares torching flattened and rockabying,
pushy invisible witches push hunks of stone until they are lights,
east of the river in the ocean though the ream island city is sleeping.

You are tight as a taught string and nervy curves curve like a violin,
the blue sky begins to hue and we’re ready become a sleep receiver,
thoughts of all those dream weavers and the reams of all the sin,
sleeping in my dreams with me comes with a week long fever.

Page by page and dream by dream my Intake books fatten,
eight down the bookshelves of the cabinet in the stall,
passage doors to the doctor with their cubicles open.
narrow passage running parallel to the main hall,

Detecting interlopers who come in their dreams,
concerned single dreamers choose their own time of death,
ball-bear dreaming every night backless with no seams,
growing bigger and bigger till it’s size won’t allow another breath.

Certain dreamers get ether and cut out the kid tonsils,
rollers of a cotton mill will keep fighting for your life scenes,
never alone when you think you are standing in the stills,
when dreams are now dreamt they power all of the machines.

Cagey dreamers won’t go on the subway or the elevators,
wander now and to the dreaming mill in the fourth floor tent,
my dream passing while puffing up the unswept stone stairs,
your one and only dream of dreams is great and self-transparent.

Stretching omnidirectionaly my vision sees the heavy hanging shores,
looking down from the glass belly doors of and invisible helicopter,
deep and dark masses moving and heaving like real dragons roars,
dwelling in caves with raw cooked meat and dancing wheels around a fire.

Enormous isn’t enough for you unless it comes with the word strange,
dream about panic long enough your feet and hands shrivel away,
looking really closely the sun shrinks to the size of an orange,
only chillier than performing in the last ice filled stage play.

Soft rooms where you can float and dream of dreaming,
great original floaters actually float on their pointless backs,
running minds at night trickle into the gutter and begin sparkling,
drinking blue waters of hope in the middle of barbed fenced tracks.

Ttransparency aside the smoke naturally stinks from what dreams have left,
sogging for centuries over what you think about one night of dream props,
one person in a city and a mere pinprick on the map of the space world,
multiply the number of dreamless nights where there were no stops.

Ideas have meaning and I’m not the mathematically dreaming type,
splitting the number of dreams during my snake swarming night,
dead bodies dreaming of an unfinished paper cutting glass eyed sight,
blowfish embryos with evil-toothed messages bobbing with bottle might.

The sound of their ring and the look of their vows make backwash commonplace,
spiderwebs are now part of our new human vision to turn facing aside forever,
a grain of dirt has more beauty than our frequently misshaped & silly face,
give us a thick sip of darkened blue water and to the last of every lover.

Seeping in among everything else and resolving with aetherqueer power,
opaque and ubiquitous is the transparent bog of liquid thinking madness,
people lie with their worst dreams then toss themselves off the tower,

brotherhood wakes and thinks herself utterly apart and never undresses.

 

Transmogrified from “Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams” by Sylvia Plath,

The Spoken Body

The body desires
what the spirit seeks
a girl driving blindly
requires flesh imprisoned keeps

You keep debating me
hollow is your tenderness
I pray too the soul’s desires
I dream of your caress

Oh Oh Oh
Please stop I’m here to touch
I need just that one the the
when the waiting requires much

I’m a slave angel
through this just world
at your mercy of an oh
I pray too follow

the body speaks
To the soul’s mind
All else listens
I need what is mine

Oh Oh Oh
I dream For the promise much
I need one of the imprisoned heart
please stop wasting the touch

What keeps your time
the heart will caress
the spirit seeks flesh
I need your tenderness

All else is hollow
the mind speaks what
the body will follow
the body listens when.

Exact remix of ‘When the Body Speaks” by Depeche Mode