They told it slant, but not all the truth, and it rolled into the ears of the willing and into the minds of the faithful. And in those minds it was built into a swift machine, one of great power -- if little reality. But deaths never required reality of motive, only reality of matter. So, the wild stories became wild ideas that were the bane of us all.
hot-injected molecule - squeezed into my bloodstream, shooting me into bliss & i ride that tide, rising & rising on the swell breath jagged, mind rapt with nothingness, & brain firing in electric tangles i'm seeing, but not attaching i'm being, but nothing in particular in time, my ride will be at an end, and I'll be back to the world of strange disasters
like dragon spine, a rocky shoal lies offshore, by night, a figment
cabin in the woods is grown over and into -- forest digested
the stony beach writhes; but they're shells, not stones - crab animated
icicles drip into a fast flowing stream; i vow to follow
“I desire that there may be as many different persons in the world as possible”
Henry david thoreau, Walden
Too many people wish that the world consisted of those who held the same views as they - who loved what they loved, who believed what they believed, who would do what they would do. I can't imagine a more boring world than that. If there aren't those with different: ideas, desires, beliefs, and values, then who will show me something new: something that -- for good or for ill -- will change my world and advance my understanding. If truth be told, I'd just as soon spend time among the crazy sages who -- having rejected all programming -- will not be made prisoner to a train schedule, let alone to a norm or convention or protocol. The madmen who shaman one out of all mental conventions. But such as they are hand forged, each vibrating at his or her own wavelength -- hard to see and not easily found.
the falls rumble -- a bird flies overhead, its song lost
muted river flow -- i throw a rock in to check my hearing
