in to it

those who see this world so intuitively, they're aware that these syntactical-alliances of language are not capable of parlaying a look that dares to see this creative-destruction, this sentimental-reality; as such, they're moved with these feelings whirl'd into a push and a shove, bursting with the power-of-love ...

it's up to you what you do ...

institutional-standards economically-turned usually bottom-out at the lowest common denominator which is the cost of you to learn ... however long the low-road it's up to you to raise questions about your personal evolution instead of averting your-eyes to graze on the knowledge of this monetary-monster age; you're a meaning maker and it's up to you to change the way the world-turns on a dime and you'll do just fine changing what you are, inside-out withoutta' doubt, moved by courage you'll go far...

simply, what I'm saying is to follow your heart or it'll end-up like a bankers-heart in the end where it all comes-down to what you're earning instead of burning with an ancient-ache for goodness sake; for what its 'worth' is beyond the DOW, beyond these common-cents, beyond these standards of what we think we know, beyond oil gushing from deep-sea vents, and it will depend on you to become 'human' when all around you is a slick so thick and dark with the greed to feed on more desperate oil-wells -- it's your choice whether to bloom with a heart of care, one that's swells with 'truth' or dare ... ;)

headed in a back-words direction (eternal-reverb)

(how well I could play)
in a straight forward way;
simplifying it, making it more pure
in a clear sound, turning it up
and bearing down...

there'd be distortion, red-anger, punk-blue,
get it up tough, keep it going,
'cause I didn't know what else to do.

at fifteen I was unreasonably accomplished
with those long dynamic echo-delayed riffs;
at eleven I was sleeping in the back of a car
surrounded by books an amp and a guitar,

rolling around with the sound of
a welt chord, a grace note, Henry Miller and Nietzsche;
laying-down these upholstery-songs in the summer of seventy-eight
where reverb was explored beyond the return of counter-culture,
going 'round the bend, headed in a back-words direction again

ars poetica

it'd be indefinable and unknown,
especially unknown! and these unknowns,
they'd complete us...

it'd start with a cosmic sentiment,
a serendipity that's bent
toward this infinite-in,
where love in a radiant bouquet
bursting to blossom would begin --

there, where there's a music in you
eager to play in a mellifluous-voice
which only the heart can hear,
and it'd take you into a melodious rhythm 'n roll,
a riff 'round the sound of a whirl'd
swelling with a kiss of bliss,
'tis this that'd speak in that uncommon tongue,
the Poetic one --

it'd risk absurdity in an u n f e t t e r e d language,
and an unbounded-eye,
(not limited to the fatal-skin yer' in,)
that'd look and look and dare to see,
the beauty of this conflicted sentimental-reality,
this creative-destruction outpouring
into the middle of things
where good Homer nods
over a potpourri that is the Art of Poetry

define Poetry

define Poetry

??? it'd be indefinable and unknown, especially unknown! however, your unknowns complete me...

nonetheless, having a cosmic sentiment is a serendipity that's bent toward the infinite-in, where love and a radiant bouquet bursting to blossom begin -- where there's a music in you wanting to play in a mellifluous-voice which only the heart can hear, that'd take you into a melodious rhythm 'n roll 'round the sound of a whirl'd swelling with the kiss of bliss, 'tis this that'd speak in that uncommon tongue, the Poetic one, which is willing to risk absurdity in unfettered language, and divested with an unbounded-eye not limited to the fatal-skin yer' in,  that's looking and daring to see, the beauty of this romantically-real creative-destruction outpouring into a potpourri that is Poetry

in duality its conflicted

in duality it's conflicted -- Religion, Science and Politics are often immured in an arrogance of ignorance, i.e., promoting cliche as self-evident, eh, in that they define their percepts with allusions of their own creation: a sort-of Möbius-strip logic -- In the phenomenology of Love coupled with the viscereality of constant-remembrance, what remains is our own courage to change the world from inside out withoutta' doubt ... it starts with wonder imbued in awe, unbound by the language of 'reason' nor the fatal-skin we're in, uncluttered with the pitter-patter of patterns promulgated by all of our bad education nor spoiled by the cliche' of mediocrity! Fear tunnel-visions and converges toward where all the dead-ends meet -- while joyous-remembrance opens the whirl'd in a frisson of being, in a revelation of seeing reality as a perennial wind of wonder that blows with creative destruction ...

facebook friends

apparently facebook only allows up to 5000 'friends,' however, the idea of 'friend' as a verb is essentially a facebook-ism and not to be taken literally, I believe. A 'friend' ought to be your best-enemy, one that tasks you to become whom you ought to be, one that batters the head and pierces the heart, one that cracks you open so the light gets in ...