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more to peruse from you-know-who ;)
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jedi mind games
the force saunters lethargically downward as world-weary individuals
utilize it to
bewilder
levitate
transfigure
everyone and everything
i shall stage a masquerade which will be my opportunity to resurrect the true bacchus
on this sex-starved media-zombified planet
it revolves around the authentic source of life
that which warrants hymns and graven images of ivory gold and jade
that whose resemblance can be discovered in the most unlikely places
a face
a petroglyph
a cereal box
then how do we live devoid of soul and spice that gritty sweetness
which lends credence to outbursts of laughter
a rough embrace a melodious song
and eyes twinkling with vitality and truth?
i shall don this a duckish pirate mask embroidered with satin and encrusted with brass and highlights of fools' gold
in deep papier mache hollows one may differentiate eyes from inanimate parts
then i shall channel morgan freeman's vocal chords to relate these matters to
the best of
my
ability
as i add my voice and body to a dance of life
intoxicating it is to eschew taboos and recklessly skip these hurdles to thinking and empathy
then momentarily my eyes shall grow stern as routine discipline mouths off
steady as a samurai
who sheathes his blade swiftly but gracefully and authoritatively
with mute ferocity which is inspires awe
as a tiger's flashing eyes before the strike
so controlled and irresistible yet so remote
as a leaf fluttering lazily away to rest
at a tree's roots
so where are we truly anchored?
it delights us to inhale swathes of myrrh and marijuana
fancying ourselves to partake of the divine as we travel a maelstrom within our own heads
dizzily turning forgetting starboard from aft and west from southeast as the compass melts into a puddle
and salvador dali turns into an impostor as his images seem to exude from our very being
gaining no altitude at all but that which is imagined
while red clay and brittle sandstone caress our feet during these escapades
our neglected mothers who cry for recognition
as they cake our digits
with lumpy granules of substance
that which keeps us grounded so we can propel ourselves to the next high the next amnesia
the next diversion
the next rejection
of our humanity
which has no pinions but
those
it awards itself
while radiant ones above
snicker at our
willful coma
called
ignorance
the force saunters lethargically downward as world-weary individuals
utilize it to
bewilder
levitate
transfigure
everyone and everything
i shall stage a masquerade which will be my opportunity to resurrect the true bacchus
on this sex-starved media-zombified planet
it revolves around the authentic source of life
that which warrants hymns and graven images of ivory gold and jade
that whose resemblance can be discovered in the most unlikely places
a face
a petroglyph
a cereal box
then how do we live devoid of soul and spice that gritty sweetness
which lends credence to outbursts of laughter
a rough embrace a melodious song
and eyes twinkling with vitality and truth?
i shall don this a duckish pirate mask embroidered with satin and encrusted with brass and highlights of fools' gold
in deep papier mache hollows one may differentiate eyes from inanimate parts
then i shall channel morgan freeman's vocal chords to relate these matters to
the best of
my
ability
as i add my voice and body to a dance of life
intoxicating it is to eschew taboos and recklessly skip these hurdles to thinking and empathy
then momentarily my eyes shall grow stern as routine discipline mouths off
steady as a samurai
who sheathes his blade swiftly but gracefully and authoritatively
with mute ferocity which is inspires awe
as a tiger's flashing eyes before the strike
so controlled and irresistible yet so remote
as a leaf fluttering lazily away to rest
at a tree's roots
so where are we truly anchored?
it delights us to inhale swathes of myrrh and marijuana
fancying ourselves to partake of the divine as we travel a maelstrom within our own heads
dizzily turning forgetting starboard from aft and west from southeast as the compass melts into a puddle
and salvador dali turns into an impostor as his images seem to exude from our very being
gaining no altitude at all but that which is imagined
while red clay and brittle sandstone caress our feet during these escapades
our neglected mothers who cry for recognition
as they cake our digits
with lumpy granules of substance
that which keeps us grounded so we can propel ourselves to the next high the next amnesia
the next diversion
the next rejection
of our humanity
which has no pinions but
those
it awards itself
while radiant ones above
snicker at our
willful coma
called
ignorance