All the madness rolled in on us again from over there in the clouds near the southern rainbows where silent mornings dreamt of star bursts eating nuclear joy parades. Those are other places--now--we can't go there again. It's over. Give up. 10:00 pm, Oct 27th, 2010, stoned again. This ever engrossing dream, yet we have to let go. We must let go. There is a greater power in this universe. That One is _Od. And I turn it over to that-to that power-while that Who song plays and says "you are forgiven." An agreement? hmm. Well Scotty pants...? I don't know about that. There is a very kind joint outside that has yet to be finished--the addiction said. The higher [the higher higher self that doesn't need to get high] self has to take over, the observer has to take charge, otherwise it's more shadow, more fake mystery, burying ourselves in these substances and fun, fake union with the divine. Doing nothing all the time, experiencing ultimate connection, and yet perpetuating the lie.
Striped polo shirts and 300 thread count brown cotton sheets
Tennis shoes and a flat screen television
A washing machine, a dish rack, a kitchen table
and futuristic couch
more cars than a very small village might have,
scattered across the globe
little dancing fairy girls
and nothing talking over and over again
about the very thing it knows something about
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