A Look is my Will to Be... Have you ever loved a sunset or a tear on a childıs face; Has a cloud ever said your name, or a shadow made a sound? Poetry and Art by Paul Mascott İ 1997, 1999 Paul Mascott/ Masco Music, all rights reserved This manuscript may be distrubuted freely providing no profit is gained in it's transfer. Paul Mascott and Masco Music retain rights to its content. This is the third edition, the first was published in print in a limited run in May, 1997; the second as an e-text in October 1998 (which was the victim of a camputer crash and no longer exists). The present edition is an attempt to save the book. +++++++++++++++ Contents I. Surroundings II. Creativity III. Darkness IV. Life V. Nature VI. Love VII. Peace VIII. Epilogue +++++++++++++++ I. Surroundings on my return... Iron twists, brown dullness rust multiplies and weakens sounds, smells, touch of a city below my feet vibration. Rock and glass people smiling, frowning, running a fountain turned off for the winter and birds invade the caverns of the damned. Sunken eyes and sacred smiles the salt air and poison water. Intrigue at the exotic repulsion at the sameness regiment, routine, a clock strikes one and one again to infinity. A black case and a gun a shining blade or baseball bat. A loud wail, flashing lights someone over there just died. A tear, a drop of blood a used condom on the sidewalk. Neon electricity buzzes as a bum yells for god. (he says It will all fall down into the center from which it was born.) It is at once fascinating and repulsive; scary, vile. It compels and welcomes with dirt beneath its fingernails and a dusty handprint on your back after it hugs and says welcome. You are marked for life, branded by the twentieth century. +++++++++++++++ One of the marks of modern man is his ability to see that what can be done tomorrow can be put off today. No rush: complacency. This is seen as a mature attitude: patience. But the artist and visionary says ³perhaps I can do today what would otherwise be attempted tomorrow...² and thus he daily gains a day and is ahead of his time at an early age. This is his artistic maturity. no rush: action. +++++++++++++++ SHADOW Iıve had it for years and it follows wherever I go. Some days itıs strong and sharp in its darkness, other days I struggle to see it and fear it is gone. It moves around me, sometimes in front sometimes behind. Leading, following, maybe just beside, but absent of a shoulder to lean on. Its silence provides a voice sublime and as it slips over a paved sidewalk, the Not sound, divine in nature, calls up to heaven. Iıve watched it change for years, bigger and wiser, taller wider small and large, through happy sad, a constant friend. Itıs life has been long, as long as mine, it wears its age and experience with grace and dignity, not a wrinkle to be found on the strong brow of my silent companion. When I sleep, it has an honored position below me, alone I watch it stretch along the wall, a whole or part, a projection; the outside of my soul. Should I become blind and never see it again, I think I would miss its simple pleasure; a reminder of the sun, the moon, and the electric power of man. When I die I will take this thing that is mine and mine alone, to the grave never to be seen again, and I will mourn its passing at the moment when others mourn mine. For now, I will choose to sit alone beside the sun, and spin in circles below the moon, wonderful mortality I worship the light and dark. +++++++++++++++ The organic line as a mode of organization scares people on a social level because it is a throwback to the equality of the primal. +++++++++++++++ We are sometimes confused by our perceptions. Without questioning this confusion, we are dead. If we are never confused we never seek. If we never seek, we never learn. If we never learn, we die. Conflict of perception, in the end, clarifies oneıs view. +++++++++++++++ When the mind is open to all, something as mundane as a cup of coffee can change your life. +++++++++++++++ The middle ground on which the sane supposedly tread is a passing point and not a path in and of itself. +++++++++++++++ THE GUITAR A box of wood made of fire moves, breathes, speaks of the gods of all that is decadence, Apollo and Dionecese sing to the electric gods in my open mind the sounds of hell and the serenade of the twisted sense of human understanding. No, it is a box with strings and nothing more. it is the human that adds the life and the movement. +++++++++++++++ The god of nothing and the darkness I see; the blindness of humanity. +++++++++++++++ PIEROT Seemingly elegant whenever near, a high high note oh a mystery to one to all whenever the door creaks or thereıs a knock on the floor perhaps Iıll remember to look, look behind the shadow cast by a moon a red body of terran ecstasy containing an old friend or a friend no more who waves and follows in the tail of forlorn regrets and a life of lonely solitude condemned for life to wanting time to straighten again to love to move with the seeming elegance of another lifetime. +++++++++++++++ Creativity +++++++++++++++ Inspiration a single flame lives and breathes without a flicker in a still room a single word writhes in silence without a flicker it moves around me a single mind swirls with inspiration without a flicker in a still world we transcend and change are scared to turn around for fear the flame will be gone. +++++++++++++++ In infinite life spirit is immortal- it is the boundary of beginning and end created for artistic convenience that defines our mortality and creates a structure over which and through which the artistic spirit soars. +++++++++++++++ get closer every day a closing of the way time is over, over time around they go to stop, to know. Another time I wonder vain, can they handle minds insane, I look to heaven, heaven hell, divided mind the question wells. Too little, little late, Too much to love, a horrid fate, Think of death of life and love, and oh, to love the stars above. freedom reigns, a vein explodes, my death too soon it comes, I go I think of dreams as yet undone, in life the pain and joy and fun. +++++++++++++++ Inspiration is nothing more than a long hard look inside. +++++++++++++++ Infinity defies bounds. The mind creates bounds. To lower the boundaries is to experience infinity. Infinity shows us a center and the center is you. The end, the beginning, the now that never was is unimportant. It is not the outside bounds that matter, it is the center of your soul: the center of infinity. +++++++++++++++ MOTHER ACID Jesus Mary Mother God, my veins explode, my head is pounding visions leap , I am inspired inside my journeyıs heart Iım tired Escape regret, be calm donıt worry the strangle holdıs release is past we ride the waves of strange sensation I feel the end is coming fast. A glimpse of god, I shed a tear my garment rends, divine delight I see the world from inside out I feel my mind from outside in Itıs black and white and red all over red as dawn a dirty sky an owlıs face be calm donıt worry a step ahead and glance behind. +++++++++++++++ Art allows one to come to his own conclusions about the eternal. Great artists must pose questions more significant than they can ever hope to answer. To allow freedom and set boundaries is to be an artist. To allow the limits to grow the mind must be free. Freedom is the divine. Great art merely guides the mind toward the realization of oneıs own divinity. +++++++++++++++ Infinity crosses and never ends it swirls in godly perfection as the hip of a woman or a stretch of mountains a picture of the earth or a mask made by a child a circle or an X a number, a state of mind a closure but an opening another way to see the end we all live in a molecule inside the ink on the edge of this infinity. +++++++++++++++ The thing that sets the philosopher apart from his fellow man is the ability and motivation to complete his thoughts and write them down from beginning to end. +++++++++++++++ Wise and forlorn to seas of empty time a distant voice on a broken record and a pair of legs without a body when five lights shine. It is endless the possible outcomes the limitless non existent bounds held within the finite reality of a blank piece of paper. Movement inside stillness of a man a brain a thought to move men to change reality. +++++++++++++++ Darkness +++++++++++++++ how is it that the wave must dip when the upward turn begins and all sparkles with clarity as the artery of life the brain is denied? Then the body suffers the mind. Death could be darkness it could be remorse it could be timeless bludgeoning from the fists of a demon. Perhaps it truly ends and there is satisfaction in completion; the end of movement. Do we really know it will get better or is it a motto to pacify the miserable until one takes action to improve or die. Oh the hypocrisy of the uninitiated stabs like needles in my eyes; it punctures and blinds, it attacks the body where it is weakest, it draws blood and shatters vision, but does nothing in the end but hurt me for a moment. +++++++++++++++ Burnout: the final eventuality. The shaman must die, the saint is a martyr. It is his destiny and duty to humanity. He works hard because he can, he dies because he must. +++++++++++++++ One should never write proclamations on the door of the devil, for his door is always open, and you would cross his threshold. Heıs tricky like that. +++++++++++++++ Death and blackness await stillness no desire cold no movement I look forward to it Would you cry for me and mean it I have cried for you and stopped myself from entering the tunnel but my body aches and my mind is slow my lips are heavy and perhaps I have nothing left to offer anyone I will go there it must be better than having a taste and having the food ripped from your mouth +++++++++++++++ The rite of passage comes from the unknown and it is a conquering of fear which brings us close or deep to the center of the soul. +++++++++++++++ Ambition for someone elseıs ideals is ambition for death. Strength inside is strength outside. Limits and boundaries to desire make the infinite palpable. We are a circle and the circle is us. Let it spin freely. +++++++++++++++ I am dead, I am Simon, am I dead. I am the sickness, my own sickness, and I choose to be no more. I am my own worst nightmare and so I choose to die, to meet that other soul, to go, a place Iıve never been. But that I could take you along to see the wonders dark and deep that the crush of body, mind and soul creates inside the shell of man. Do words ever relate the power the twisted journey brings to the brave who cease to fear unknown and enter worlds inside. I think not, so you must come with me and perhaps before the journeyıs end all destinations cease to be perhaps we cease to be again. It is time and my words, huh, my words! Theyıve become excessive and my drug awaits. This, the last day of my being. I choose the exit, I scramble to the safety of the outside, escape the mob, crawling and screaming for identity, a name, a place beyond here. +++++++++++++++ It doesnıt matter if the balloon bursts empty or full, it will never hold air again. +++++++++++++++ One must live here and now; projection denies self. Serenity and firmness, satisfaction in creativity. Do not seek a straight path but bend and curve slowly following an organic path of growth. +++++++++++++++ It sneaks up from behind and snares you takes tranquillity and laughs; laughs in the face of elation deflates the happy loftiness of carefree time. What is it? What is it? is it an idea or a thing of the night a demon? the color red or perhaps blue: a black squiggle over my head. Nothing but proof of the dark center creeping up to say ³Here I am, I control you² we hope to keep it in check sometimes we do, sometimes we donıt. +++++++++++++++ Time must lose grip on the enlightened, it is a shackle of society which must be shunned. +++++++++++++++ to stop the line, to be the last; the punctuation at the end of a sentence. I will be an ellipses... no matter how I or others wish me to be an exclamation point! I taste the end feel it gnawing at my heels pulling my hair; my tongue is numb and my eyes are glassy soon I will rest. +++++++++++++++ Too bad the rite of incoherence is a crime, for it is liberating to hold coherence against its evil twin. +++++++++++++++ Is it arrogant to believe that in death one lives forever? YES! +++++++++++++++ MEMORY A room with indirect light and fire a towel and a gun a tear perhaps a hope to deny the inevitable Horizontal incoherent asleep a dirty carpet and a bottle of wine escape in a sea of sound, vibrations Alone wondering if, when the blood would fly back away would I feel the sound or the wetness would there be a scream or a tear a blood soaked towel gunpowder and kitchen odors Iıd retreat. +++++++++++++++ Life +++++++++++++++ SUNSET I feel the temperature fall. a swirl of air carries a change of color, and a lengthening of shadow; The smell of life and death, vitality and rot, come to visit my time of day. a peaceful moment behind a castle; at the bottom of a mountain where granite lines and shadows define the trees that wave to the wind. The union of nature and man stands out vibrant and alive. I think of the ocean and the million lights on the waves as the salt soothes my nose and the sound of crashing water mixes with the wind as music for sir solıs daily curtain call. Pink is the mountain whose snow shows us the late day color and you wish the moment to last until it begins again tomorrow. +++++++++++++++ Civilization is comprised of organic, living pieces of divine wonderment. Divine, not immortal. So why should we fight the natural tendency, indeed necessity, for organic life to pass on and fuel the next generation? Civilizations fall: they must die. Accept this, donıt fight it, and during the time you spend inside this societal circle, live in harmony without the morbid anticipation of impending death. +++++++++++++++ The infinite is divinity because divinity is unknowable and requires faith of its truth. Man is finite as is his existence and environment and so he is unarguably mortal. The mortal and divine represent yin and yang as compliments. +++++++++++++++ Within human intelligence, one cannot exist without the other and the struggle to comprehend this idea is what provides the dissonance and movement in the philosophical life of man. +++++++++++++++ Ascend and fly free, away, and far before, ever more, to be around and alone, forever to never be. And of course again a small luminescent cloud sails toward the west as the sun rises. The plain is in its oranges, not the reds of sunset and the rocks in our circle have a glint of mica; through the paint, our god has peeked above the horizon. I wish today my mark is true and the hunt is in my favor. +++++++++++++++ Throw away the bliss of ignorance and at the time you move away from the sloth like monotony of mental narcosis, you will struggle in a middle ground for intellectual identity until you finally know how to follow your bliss. This is spiritual fulfillment. +++++++++++++++ To see a gleam of light on a drop of water or feel the cold sting your nose perhaps the feeling of sitting in the grass in the morning before the dew has had a chance to dry or maybe the smell of dirt after a hard dayıs play or the way the ground looks when itıs time to go in but you canıt bear the thought of ending something that you know deep down will never happen again. +++++++++++++++ Life is not a contest, it is a journey of growth. +++++++++++++++ I have seen and found things that most people will never go to and are afraid of. I embrace the shock with open arms and nurture the inconceivable as a mother nurtures a child. +++++++++++++++ blue and orange, a small insect writhes above the table, above my mind it stretches out, toward another room I feel it moving on my arm. I donıt know him or even care to say a word I wonıt save him, but maybe I should try Oh, I think Iıll just put him in my mouth and swallow. A cascade of light surrounds me and pulses with the force of glamour for the insane and misinformed a blank people evil in their intention motionless in their anonymity Alive, I feel above, beside, behind the lie of supermen the brutality of the deep deep dark recesses of my mind. A swirl of orange and red flame rises through falling drops of water so clear, clean, an explosion as heat washes through my mind, my brow, my hand becomes stone and clay again one with the earth one with the wood it holds invisible to the eye, solid in its touch to tell the dark scribble of worm like thoughts rising in a cloud, a cloud of time a movement of circles, and infinity ageless yet old, nights of black with fire in plumes rising in sparks cluttering the sky. +++++++++++++++ One must stand on the shoulders of giants and not merely try to fill their shoes; in oneıs infancy, those shoes will fall off and be forgotten save for the blisters left as a hindrance to spiritual movement. +++++++++++++++ FIREFLIES The scent of killing fireflies permeates every pore of an eternal desert I wonıt be fooled by sincerity of life becoming old of monarchs and kings arising to take the responsibility for the decline and failure of a social catastrophe I feel the chill and cold motion of a final breath exasperation humiliation failure and concrete before life can leave resolution +++++++++++++++ Each day must truly seek to be moment to moment an inspiration unto itself. The great order of all comes from accidental ordering of chaos. +++++++++++++++ THE FIRE Time away from the sun is time spent in scarlet mystery of life, love and simple pleasures of a mind obsessed with the possessions of others and a wolf cries an unborn pup to sleep while a man circles a worn hand over a flame, a sun, a mystery and chants of a purpose for manıs life +++++++++++++++ Nature +++++++++++++++ I breathe out and extend flow like water, slow, gentle, steady but a tumult of power a touch of force, muscle supported by the gentle controlled by the spirit with roots to the center of the Earth and limbs stretched to heaven. I imagine a ball and rotate it in my hands as I move as Iıve moved so long my body remembers but sometimes just forgets. It is nothingness and rock insubstantial like a cloud but as strong as a cloud seems; huge, lumbering with the potential of a million storms and the ability to shake the earth. It is firm persistence a weak retreat slow and powerful the muscles call and perform with simple spirit. My last minutes are cherished for the ball brings joy, and the satisfaction of being in every moment just for every moment is divine. I let my thoughts go and know the peace of health and strength that comes with quiet ponderance. This is a path that leads to a road comprised of circles, never ceasing. No beginning never ends, giving life as water wanders ever moving never done. +++++++++++++++ Art becomes speech and speech becomes art when one accepts the organic line. It is a line of no effort, a path of least resistance. It is smooth but never straight. It bends and moves but is not forced. It is strong but not hard. It is the breath of a child and the movement of fire. It is the flight of a bird and the way the leaves are hanging on a tree untouched by human hands... +++++++++++++++ The power of a plant is necessarily superior to the power of man. How can there be power in a straight line? Does not the dead tree fall in the wind because it no longer bends? +++++++++++++++ NATURE I have seen the nature of the universe and it is the bark of a tree a twisted line of roots sucking life from piles of lifeless rock It is a plume of feathers on the head of a god or the wing of an angel it is a pile of wheat and the evil in my mind in the end it is nothing at all. +++++++++++++++ The mind is a tree; without strong roots, we die. +++++++++++++++ In the moment one at a time the lines are not lines but leaps and bounds the steps of an infinite staircase skewed to the left and right out of order out of time reasonable nothingness nowhere to go. Gentle force, firm direction look to center turn away. Let it go and be peaceful have the power and patience of a stream of water carried from the top of a mountain which carves a canyon in the gray stability of granite. I am the stream sometimes tides misdirect me and sometimes people, not thinking throw a rock or two to make waves but I will still flow on and my canyon will be carved it will span miles and centuries and its walls will hold transcriptions carved from the matter of my mind. +++++++++++++++ The abstract is contained in the defined. Organic line is the abstract of the perfect line. Its expression in its imperfection transcends physical order and sparks the mindıs vision of the archetypal. +++++++++++++++ WINTER The snow takes its time it falls without a schedule without a watch to structure its life it lives in virtual silence and robs the world of sound crystals cross and glisten but run away at the touch of my finger leaving a puddle of invisibility and a feeling that something infinite has died in my hand. +++++++++++++++ Extreme stillness is motion. Motion is growth. Growth demands freedom. Freedom of mind, spirit, and heart to soar higher and higher on the back of a great bird whose body is life. +++++++++++++++ Water, giver of life flows unstoppable and seeps to the corners of our world. Inspiration is as water; a calling which permeates the soul and which takes oneıs life on the crest of a wave. we try to contain it but there is no dam strong enough no place in your being which doesnıt feel it. denying oneıs path is like denying rainfall you think you can escape, but you are going to get wet. +++++++++++++++ Love +++++++++++++++ VALENTINE I A day comes, passes, and is remembered a day to teach and remind, to appreciate the richness and beauty, of those we hold dear. Minute to minute, I live this day hour to hour, time passes I feel the melancholy sweetness as each second becomes a permanent part of the fabric; my wonderful life. I have seen a sleeping deity awake and my spirit is welcomed to a shared world of humanity. I recognize love and with joy, reveal my soul... II I am a spirit who smiles at deepest brown, open eyes childish bliss and playful laughs I am a spirit who cries lamenting through long nights spent away as tears cloud my memory; and in my loneliness knows loathing, hatred, and mortality. I am a spirit who loves, as no other has loved, the deity which softly pulses with encroaching enlightenment; who loves his mate and the scar on her chin. I am a spirit at once well and sick, darkness and light, happiness and misery. I offer thanks for the ability to see for through darkness comes a blinding light and lessons of utmost joy, a backdrop of deepest blue through which a happy thought shines. I am a spirit who is reminded of love when a hand touches my hair of caring and helplessness in a naked embrace. A word, an affirmation of humanity, a look is my will to be. I am a spirit who has suffered and will suffer still who has loved and will love more who survives with a helpful idea and an acceptance of good and bad I am a spirit who cherishes understanding acknowledging unique beauty and opens its being to anotherıs life and love. I am a spirit of heaven and hell incomplete without a caring mind and youthful excitement. I am a spirit of this world and beyond. I am a spirit whose tears have flown more abundant than a migrating flock a flight of humours a bleeding consciousness a ripple in a pool of bliss a reflection of deepest love I am a spirit who has climbed the mountain and looked down on the world Knowing such love that death was welcome. I am a spirit who has wrenched itself free from the grime of Lucifer to return to the garden and eat freely of its fruit. III You are my eternal companion light in dark and black in white my life and death, sanity and sickness a strong totem and a crack in a stain glass window I look to the sea and see your smile I see your face in a flame reaching higher and higher I see your love in the side of a mountain I feel your fear when reality is gone Forever we will fly together free we soar over cities, through other worlds shadows of our common souls. +++++++++++++++ Art is viewed from without to stir what is within. Donıt try to be the art that moves you. Let it inspire you to find your own path and enrich your heart with the love of the world. +++++++++++++++ Who is the wanton idealist who seeks cupidıs bow but recoils from the pain as the soul is pierced and reality is shook? An arrow through the heart is joy in metaphor but the rend is painful and the wound oozes life with time the trouble passes and the fruits of humanity become all the more sweet. +++++++++++++++ My real home will always be deep in my own mind, alone, untouched by others, and pure. +++++++++++++++ A loverıs embrace the night before separation. At the end of a long journey, one wonders will things ever be the same... We cry for another hour, wish for another day for time apart breeds growth away and means the end of a chapter of life. Say good-bye and mean it distance makes the heart more distant. +++++++++++++++ There is no constant moon tonight and I sit in an absence of mind, desirous of lunar satisfaction; a state of solitude and happiness. I am lost in the rhythm and rhyme of the wind in the trees. smell life in the air and open up to the breeze, a cool breeze at that, scented with a hint of melancholy as I come back to a place I knew so well. A year ago, this park meant a quiet afternoon on a blanket with a book and friends, with my lover and wife to be, a summer spent happy, a summer of love and peace. But now I sit in sorrow many years later, my love far away. I sit with a memory of that sweet person pressed against the lens of my inner eye her hands outstretched and brow wrinkled as if she could walk up to me now and hold me. But I know the mirage isnıt true, I know she would shun me were she here now to share this moonless night. I know my words would be a burden and annoyance. I know I would crumble and the tears would roll oh, we have both changed. But the park and its tower have not so Iıll walk to the spot where I spent many sunny days in peace, and just remember my girl. Maybe Iıll cry by myself and pretend I can feel her warmth of soul and body. Perhaps I will see her eyes brown and bright as they looked back at me on our wedding day. Maybe Iıll see her smile too and feel the flesh of her hands as we promised to always be there for each other. She is there no longer and she shuns me she pushes me away and pulls my heart and my mind away from my soul Oh I am sick with discontent and surprise that the One can never return and the chaste purity of an innocent time died with words and stabbed my back unknowing malice when I let my spirit open and looked to the one who promised a shoulder on which I could weep when life became hard and my hand went for my throat. Weep not for me, weep for all who have known this awful remorse deep in their gut. +++++++++++++++ In my loneliness, I sometimes find a sweet thought. A minute of acceptance a second of freedom from a feeling of sadness. I can put myself on the side of a mountain or alone in a sunny field; sweating dry in the desert or feeling the knot in my back after leaning on a tree in the forest for hours on end. I can smile at a child and laugh at his evasiveness as his mother tries to gain control I can pity a homeless man; smile at the innocent sex appeal of a teenaged girl; shake my head at the bags and wrinkles of a troubled womanıs eyes. I can acknowledge energy and drink it in without hesitation; appreciate food; love music; cry at art; breathe the air; shiver in the cold; I can feel again! Iıve had my hour for today and for this I give thanks for this time to feel a little bit human, a little bit free. +++++++++++++++ Peace +++++++++++++++ Peace, I know peace a serenity, my soul is still. A white bird flies over green trees and a red roof A dog barks a long way away I smell the smoke of a fire someone is warm. My breath is white, my face cold I dream of my love and I walk forever hoping to shake the chill. I lie awake in the morning and stare at the blue sky wondering why I do not stir Then I remember; together in the morning waking and sharing each other and not moving to get up until the afternoon. Sweet peace to know togetherness but today I am alone and far away. I will again see a morning with her and the thought makes me happy. +++++++++++++++ Stained glass and canvas alike, one must ponder in stillness to allow the magic of the mind its arena and human mode of expression. +++++++++++++++ We become heroes when in accepting death, we have followed life through to its conclusion. In doing so, at the moment of the release of life, even the blind and hopelessly unenlightened will know the unfiltered vision of a saint. +++++++++++++++ Simplicity and a line a tear on the red face of a child wronged by a force we donıt remember, a force we so soon forget. perhaps the volatile youth is a singular reminder of the necessary release of pressures and ideas which weigh, they lay a weight on the mind of maturity. to scream and play never give up in despair as the sun sets; to not sleep for excitement; to have the terror of dreams accompany one with twisted images for years to come. +++++++++++++++ What really matters in life is to find and maintain your center identity, which will never be lost between oscillations of good and evil, shining, always bathing oneıs whole being with light. +++++++++++++++ It is the ultimate destiny of all who are human to seek purpose and meaning in oneıs existence but in the end it is the purity of no meaning which best allows the soul to emerge. +++++++++++++++ We all must learn to live in the beauty of the moment only for the momentıs beauty. +++++++++++++++ To stagnate is to sin. Neglecting oneıs inner deity is to sin. One must worship daily at the altar of happiness and balance. Appease this god and you appease yourself. One must let self go to find the voice deep down inside. +++++++++++++++ What would you say if you could say one thing and have it heard by every human on the planet? would you say love, perhaps follow, or learn to feel; maybe youıd say nothing and watch the world continue in darkness; maybe an utterance of desolate hopelessness for all mankind; or a request that weıll learn to live together think about this; you merely have to put pen to page and make a difference inside yourself to feel that youıve made a difference in the world. for what is the world but the space inside your head in which you place and interpret all that is around you You are the world and every minute of every day you speak to each and every one of its inhabitants. say something you mean. +++++++++++++++ Epilogue +++++++++++++++ Everyoneıs 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 loversı 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 dayıs 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... +++++++++++++++ Ponder to cleanse, wander to enlighten. +++++++++++++++ No matter where someone is coming from, if you know how to deal with the semantic differences between their reality and yours, you will always have communication. +++++++++++++++ Donıt be so fast to judge the prophet. We try to see black and white in a gray world. The enlightened sees gray. He expresses shades but lets the circles and organic ambiguities pervade his metaphor. From his gray we may find our blackness. +++++++++++++++ Suppression is not growth; Assimilation is a beginning; Synthesis creates wholism; wholism is the universe. +++++++++++++++ The word is always a poor substitute for the idea... +++++++++++++++ Life; you canıt live with it, you canıt live without it. +++++++++++++++ The road is not long but oneıs journey must be. +++++++++++++++ GOODNIGHT 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. THE END