Fragile, fickle, demanding, on pinhead point held in not so perfect balance, no up nor down or sideways round.
The barman pulls on his cigarette, his eyes set in the joyous vacant stare of the addict sating the mind that calls child like to the feeder.
The waiter delivers and scans time and time again.
The waitress’s eagle eye spies a crumb on the counter and it is gone! Her jaw attacks a piece of gum each motion an assertion of her independence.
The waiter delivers and scans time and time again.
The lottery salesman enters the room, a linear smile hiding his truth.
The girl that saw me come in is curious and bored, relaxing enough to let her imagination flit from story to story.
The other older girl whom I had not noticed, knew me and saw me and understood me in a small silent smile.
I can know nothing of these people other than what I know of myself.
Workmen, holidaymakers, gangsters and experts, each an icon to themselves, each as content as the other for all they are.
My place is here, right now. There can be no other, I am the signature of time, space and truth, and nothing can dilute or wash away this essence. With every heartbeat a miracle is born, with every breath life is given and life is taken away.
Pull the trigger to spark my powder; the hand that holds the gun is the judge. My salute sails tomorrow; I will follow the green arrows. Today I did not trust them to the ogres falls behind the trolls bridge where the Ibex stay but tomorrow the story will change, I will reach further up the mountain pass, higher than I have ever been, oranges at the bottom, almonds half way between, what the next gift I eat, the Ibex will see.
Wake up Mr. are you with us? Is there anybody home? Where do you go on those long distance stare journeys? Focus away blurring the edges of reality and imagination, lost or found? Are you cracking an egg from the inside with a feather, polishing the surface to a mirror, reflecting the purpose of the interior? Are you convinced you can fly with those leaden wings you drag by your side, dreaming of what it might be like to be that one…
Quiet falls like a storm, my self is a venomous snakebite from a cobra hiding in the shadows waiting to strike again, the moment always perfectly timed, the poison always perfectly placed, clockwork suicide from the fangs a tribute to desolation. With the antidote at hand, administered with shaking frame quivering jowl and pleading eyes asking why I was chosen for this desperate journey. With poisonous bite and remedy ready, the merry go round horse is dressed. The music plays and the perpetual revolution continues on its pointless path. Memories fail and fade, reason becomes a distant dead relative lost in their own morbid death dance. So I must break the chain, release the demon that has bided in my soul for so long, recognize and reject, expel, transcend, grow, accept and evolve. Become a true spirit of light and not this mono orbital ball of disease that has the power to destroy my light line, our precious light line. How can I be proud with the facts and figures exposed?
Contribution is to add more than to take away. To contribute is to affirm a place in the community. Food, drink, labor and wisdom, humor, reassurance, warmth, assistance, cleaning, gardening, listening, believing, sharing, healing. The society owes nothing to anyone but the old the young and the incapable. Ones self is a community in need of as much nurture, if the self is ill catered for then it has nothing to give and much to take, unbalancing the greater status quo. The subtlety of gift, the care behind the consideration, the act is the feature; Inspiration is the humanity and the Love.
The fearless perspective comes with the acceptance that rather than being a poisonous scourge on this earth we are a part of the organism. We will flourish and grow when the conditions allow and we will die back when they do not. The over extended growth we are now in the cusp of witnessing will result in a necessary reduction by war, pestilence, disease and famine. Harsh to be there but death is as absolutely important as birth. Our elitist society will by its own nature destroy its self. If the web of consciousness now developing with technology would become our governor and our god then our collective abilities would become proportionally greater than their sum, and our purpose is born. In writing, the first word is the most difficult. In building, the first stone is the most important. In walking, the first step has to be followed. The beginning has integrity intelligence and direction but requires inspiration. Inspiration is a unique trait of human consciousness. This is the reason the techno god would work. Organizational logic speaks for itself and requires no debate or argument. When beyond politics our empathy is truth. When creative productive inspiration is encouraged and valued, our purpose as an organism will be recognized and the next phase of our development and our evolution will gain momentum, the new order will be set, anger and war becoming distant memories of an insane era when a virus took control of the mega consciousness, giving the husk a fear, an ego, the balance tipped to protect the corpse rather than life….
Your heat pulls me closer, time traveller, walker with the dead. Your mind future fixed, past undone. Rewound, replayed, refigured the way things are not, the way things are. Your profile of a child, perfect, immune, naïve. Your full face of a woman, formed, caring. Your shadow of a ghost chasing the unseen, knowing the unknown. Your vibration so fast and high, a tremor on the wings of time. Your laugh the hysteria of life. Your silent distant stare as deep as space. Infinity itself. My pleasure to acquaint an angel, my friend I am yours, as one… Our days will be won with valor and peace. Our hearts open. Our eyes tight shut waiting for the rush, the cosmic boom, the birth, the bleed, the death, the creation, the moment from which all is born.
Born to devour this peace. Born to a complex nature, simple in its needs. Born to a sky and a blade of grass. Born to the breast and sunlight and lies and death. Born to love. We are all born to love…
This is the beginning of a writing which is much more extensive, I just put a snippet up to see if anyone out there would like to read more, if you do i would be glad to ... peace ... robin