I ordered a new entry into U.I.
I definitely ordered a new entry into U.I.
In the house.
And walking through outer space.
I wanted to walk outside
to the live oak tree.
I wanted to talk outside
to the live oak tree.
I wanted to talk.
Where is your manager?
I wanted to walk.
But I couldn’t.
Throw that thing from minutes ago
in the trash.
Throw and tumble.
What the hell is the concept of trash?
I was just mind, all mind.
Drifting towards our solar star.
Our solar star knows painted cars.
Cars; what the hell is the concept of trash?
Tossing and tumbling with our Universe.
Our Universe knows rotation.
Our Universe grows with rotation.
A spiraling kinda thing.
Well, look at how genetic code grows.
Our Universe knows
I ordered a new entry into U.I.
And now it comes calling.
Now it comes calling.
Tune in Tokyo.
Honda and Toyota.
I have tits.
Honda and Toyota
you did this to me.
I have form, new form.
Luscious, pearl,
candy apple red.
That’s my soul.
Down there.
That’s our soul.
Tag: psychedelic
Barbara Schley blowing out bubbles
on the bottom of a swimming pool
lit by red light gleaming,
I have been there.
Oh Barbara baby.
Sea nymphs swimming in
a future aquatic Mars’ ocean.
Been there too.
Talking to walls
myself I did share with nothing
and crumbled,
bumbled,
found my way back.
Or another way,
a way of a moment.
That is my way,
our way,
these ways together,
a language of heaven,
here in our skin.
We die. Live. Die. Live.
Every single second.
A universe shorn and unshorn.
God. Righteous. Mystery.
The woods will ruin a lesser man.
They’re evil.
Teeming with creatures.
Teeming with whispers.
The woods carry cold,
hold onto cold,
but prosper insects in summer.
They’re everywhere;
the scorpions,
ticks,
centipedes.
You can’t lay down or relax
in the neverending mess of
leaves, dust, twigs, and pebbles.
Though the arms of the trees
bring you the moon.
Their dead warm your house,
build your pubs and tables.
Their leaves give you breath.
The woods are obstacles and evil to men.
They need to be destroyed
for new neighborhoods to be built.
Comfortable and romantic to women.
There for vacations and fires.
They are scary and alluring to children.
Home to wizards, witches, and faeries.
COMMENTARY
I live in a house on a hill, surrounded by tens of acres of thick woods. Mostly gnarled old oak trees, with an occasional pine, and some brambly trees like mulberry. The oak trees are interesting in their variability. Some are old, falling apart and decaying right before your eyes. Some are strong, sound, beaming, sociable and communal. Others, just years old, beginning their development and pining for the sky and moonlight. The woods are at once alluring, magical, enveloping, consuming, scary, and populated with a trillion spirits and life forms. They have the power to get into your psyche and expand your perspective on life, time, and existence, but also unsettle your deepest fears. I always feel I have been given something when I go into the woods and come back out. In a sense — the woods are psychedelic.
And yet many men (those of the testosterone sex) approach the woods as something to conquer, remove, and use for utility. I find this unfortunate, and something that comes from places of fear, insecurity, immaturity, and insignificance… nearly all evil and destruction of the testosterone male derives out of his struggle with insignificance. It originates in the importance, the stress, the need to perform his biological “duties” and the fear of those failures. Though his deepest fragility resides in his perceived reality of cosmic insignificance — which being a lone wolf (“my way or the highway”, “my family”, “my home”) he has failed to reconcile with the continuity of everything. And the woods; the woods are quite the opposite of this.
Trees are the guardians of Earth and our closest metaphor of the nature of the Cosmos. Our teachers. Our highest forms of life here.
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