Everyone's music is beautiful when it is a true narcotic expression from their own land of consciousness. It is a line and a circle, the swing of a crystal ball on a chain dangling from the strong hand of a hypnotist. can you hear the creak of the chain? It is a primal cry and the sigh of a lover; blood and sex intertwined with the sound of angels. It is the stench of rot on the floor of a forest, and the red in your eyes before they open in the morning. It is the feeling of cool water and the warmth of the sun, A sweet word from lovers' lips and the taste of sweat in your mouth licked off the skin of an exhausted partner. I can hear the birds in the trees. It is the perfume of life and the stink of reality, the feeling of exhaustion and elation at the day's first meal. It is a poem never spoken an idea never written down a gift only for its creator. for a moment, time stands still and the poetry of sound that soars when the mind is free and alone is the most beautiful expression of all... |
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And now a time to rest some quiet to ponder the day all the new enlightenment all was good and bad. I cleanse the inside of my mind when my eyelids grow heavy and the sting of encroaching sleep makes me happy. There will always be tomorrow to take another bite from the rolling mass of time allotted in my life. |
[Cover | Surroundings | Creativity | Darkness | Life | Nature | Love | Peace | Epilogue]
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