9.7.09halftwelve

You are high on the mountain feel the wind at your feet below there is nothing but the silence of the swirling angels which greet with a whisper and a smile high on the mountain meanwhile A route there is faintly defined but straight narrow a faint crack to climb Tha what? It's mad there's nowt but slime Shhh silence slide within the stereo-types which begin to peel and fade as human nature takes the stage and thrives on the reaction of the audience which tries to keep abreast to see the argument and rest assured but hark 'tis dark a new beast has appeared upon the boards what is this now sword play with words which clash smash and dash See how the warriors intend to please the maidens wo look on at ease to see their champions fall what ails them so

be it the tall giant with strapping thighs by the hammer of Onedin this belies the truth who flies arise, my Lars arise To no avail the chap is down amongst the snails which slowly spread throughout the land to bed amongst the flies dreams and night mares which arise through mists of time which flies

That deaf, dumb an'blind kid, sure played a mean pinball The flippers were right there. Lieing on the ground just as he'd found them. Would they ever be used again? Was diving down into the depths a thing of the past. Censored. Forbidden. Outlawed? If so; by whom? Could the ruins be resurrected. Would Lazarus walk? The place was such a waste. Could humanity exist amongst such desolation? Who could judge? What once had been gardens watered by a fast flowing stream was now parched. Dust blew in swirls. Little grew.Only the lizards, darting in and out of the crevices, survived. A wooden door half ajar swung wearily in the wind. Creaking on its rusting hinges. Groaning. As if in pain beneath the blistering sunlight. The flippers were there. Would once again Dick find the courage needed to don a mask and dive? Dive into the depths beneath the glistening surface shimmering reflections? Dive deep? Deeper than ever before. For longer. For once down breath had to be maintained for rising. Mental control was a must. Not only did the body need to be commanded to slow its metabolism, it had to be trained to obey. Required to conform to the requirements imposed by a mind anxious to explore an alien environment which, though invisible from the surface, was as beautiful and real as the reality he was experiencing at this very instant. Yet instants themselves could cease to exist. Time could be frozen in a silent dream. Diving had taught him that. Diving to the depths required discipline and quiet contemplation. Not only of oneself but also of the environment and all who were part of it. For through observation and reflection links could be established which enabled understanding to grow. Understanding of who one was, and who others were whilst wearing an often ill-fitting unchosen hand-me down of a mask, or an off-thehypermarket-shelf disposable type. Home-made, hand-crafted, painted and varnished were such a rarity one hardly saw them at all. Occasionally designer masks were casually discarded on the beaches where they would gather sand which would settle amidst the jewels and jems with which

they were incrusted. Sea-gulls would gather to pick at the morcels surrounding them. The wind would howl whilst the incessant breathing of the sea rose and fell with the waves. For as the sea breathed so did the diver. Harmoniously slipping into his environment he became a part of it to such an extent that he faded into it. Invisibly moving through it as a phantom or wraithe. Slipping through unnoticed he passed boundaries without being aware of their existence. Accepted everywhere simply as part of the scene.Smiling with warmth and affection his smile switched on the smile of others on the journey. A brief communion bonded between them in recognition of their common humanity.Co-incidences confused until the recognition that such events were all part of a dance, which was much greater in scope and in time than one could ever hope to imagine. Yet the recognition of the co-incidences was essential to understanding their signification. Future action following their interpretation could well be crucial in determining which directions to explore and depths to fathom. Such decisions would in their turn determine outcomes and consequences spreading out through time and space like the flaming fingers of dawn following the chirping chorus which heralds its arrival every morn. Networks down crashed links disrupted smashed neurons damaged cells no communication hell circumbscibes the place I am in through my own doing some sin or thing which displeased the gods who thus perceived revenge was meet and sweet to taste the folly of my act done in haste -a second's pleasurewhose lees I drink at my leisure in this place where I lie confined within the space time affords that I live though in truth i've nought to give to others except a warning that they suffer not the same pain as I

being ex-communicated from those who see the state I'm in yet not free to chose a way to tread to escape this death bed on which i wait thegods' verdict to determine my fate Can one ccommit withiutbeing conscious of the act? Do without self awareness in the doing Experience yet not feel could such a state be real? Could one not always see what one was up to justify it to see oneself as one sets out oneself to be come? Pzefzction is becoming so that you do not know you are doing it unconsciously aware of all that is within the compass of the senses detected within the scope chartered on the radar logged for assimilation, evaluation as one learns

to please the paying public with tricks that tease the truth and lies from interwoven threads entwined within a multitude of lives which co-exist, co-operate within the fiction with no friction in orbits rotating in the streams of consciousness flowing with the words within which each of us is growing ever wise to the sewing of ideas throwing seeds with love bestowing light upon the ground where flowers grow amongst the ideas which flow whilst more seeds we sew For to him who hath more shalt be given and to he who hath not the little he hath will be taken away For every task is worth its wage whilst chattering tongues are needles which prick their owners

Hall of Mirrors Seeking reinforcement a mirror one seeks to reflect the reflections one keeps hidden from view in a room for two selves who meet in the silence of the empty street to exchange words with themselves estranged in the silence

where a third waits patiently at the gates of time observing the play on the line as it becomes taught and the self is sent spinning to naught for the memory of mankind is short lived in the span of three score years and ten! Does the word generate existence being created within the mind The concept once named becomes awakening awareness in what the 'I' may find visualized with understanding word spun metaphores provide terms of reference time unwinds consciousness called into being aware of words within the visualization of the self the word doth spin a tapestry golden weighted words create the landscape of the imagination where truth's beauty loves to wait a while beside the seashore listening to the waves sing stories as the clouds shed tears to alay man's fears as the stars slip round Man wonders

at the marvel which meets his view opens in amazement discovering himself in the world he knew, anew Man is born within the wonder over-powering word which once created echoes throughout time unheard

Constructing concepts in the mind set of ideas through which we walk whilst time unwinds fading memories which slide into oblivion with the words on which they ride are abandoned by the clamouring tide of voices present which sing the instant breaking word within the now whose wing rises ever higher floating on the summer breeze lightly bobbing on the surface of the instant the image the word doth seize consciousness awakening with the image borne word creation which the seeds of time do sporn in silence The answer is within the framework of the question the silence gives

Rise to meaning words transport across the seas of time awareness of being created By the Word reflected metaphor within the image which the silent word doth spin. Word-framed wisdom creaking vessel leaking with the passage through The straights of time within which word seeds blue took route within the rotation anew Gift borne word hued wisdom grew amidst the ruins where the word-framed wisdom flew hither and thither dropping seeds which sprouted amidst the ashes and dust which drew aside to let the crescent moon shaped wisdom ride High above the skudding clouds and tide of nightfall which engulfed with pride the meaness of the streets which cried for the beauty which the truth belied in the word-framed wisdom prized from the arms of the hornèd moon which died beneath the sea which rose beneath the word-framed creaking vessel which goes hither and thither

where only silence flows. Where doth a wordsmith work but in the imagination of the soul crafting the vessels to transport ideas whole Passages of eternity with the light one stole up unexpected upon death's timeless toll where words in graveyards lie silent beneath the weeping willow beneath the sky where silent words flit by The wordsmith's art crafted words take form coined in the ring of consciousness where begins The being they describe breathing with the life which the wordsmith doth inscribe within the word struck verse transported through the instant which never is rehearsed Though memorized in the word-spun imagination by the poet prized from loss awakened awareness conscious borne thereof being word-crafted on the wing soaring in the silence naming of the thing whose beauty truth doth both ring and sing. Open the trap-door of the mind descend to walk with Christ amongst the blind

to lead to light the way to flight to flee the fray in search of Might remain humble midst the darkness of the night to blindly grope the silent word of hope given charity of love heaven sent from above to cling to as a rafy held fast amidst a raging sea of indifference without which the the world would yet be were it not for one who walked beside the sea of Galilee and taught for slaves to be free to walk beside the sea beneath the tree No connection lines down dead all these words must remain stored inside my head awaiting escape into the universe alone they make a world in which to swim through the current of time a word within liberates the mind setting it free to find like minded souls with whom to share a word and care for one another in exchange for the company gained in loving glances whilst love slowly dances the night away in their hearts love's here to stay

a while in the silence of a smmile and tender touch which to the lovers means so much more than words can say for love is theirs within the play they become one another creating an item whole which breathes the air love leaves in its wake a crafted boat to carry the two who row whilst the number in the boat doth grow with the love the lovers sew whilst their love transforms the universe as swans glide through the matter on which they ride together ever one until love's final swan song their world doth break as each alone its fate awaits.

Off the radar off the map there's no connection no chat wit nor repartee only live humanity to go and see touch and hear before going back home with a flee in one's ear to scratch in the souvenir of what might have been naught but a nightmarish dream. The 'I' has entered

an internet free space the world wide web didn't trawl freedom existed from the ties and links of all incoming mail dominating word 'google' 'spam' were unheard comminication was real 'twixt folks who touched to feel the weight of love bouy the soul of the ship ahoy upon whose mast flags of convenience hung askance as the word was shipped with the wter through which the boat slipped in the currrent of time slipping past the boughs whose shadow sublime was cast with the word upon the tongue's last forged frame work to describe the world inscribed in the wisdom the truth belied Strange to think this place was once under the domination of the English who from the North and East spilt over to reach these shores pillage and plunder the mores and stores to rifle anything which was a trifle touch

in wonder and awe at such beauty in a word or smile meanwhile without a second glance time stole a charge upon a lance which split asunder the word of God which turned to thunder splitting Man from gods asunder as Man turned to love the lost light of the word once gone Time knew no wrong though might did surely demonstrate that which was so right whilst the wordsmith could but write the wrongs went unheralded in song unsung which waited whilst it weighted the truth with lies though timeunlocked flies. Hark the gods and goddesses reign on earth men and women vain are both but one and the same. 'The godless man who walks the street finds nought but headaches at every corner he meets' Julian Jaynes …'....Bicameral mind'

Possessed the poet is out of his mind senseless inspired listening to the divine voices within which sing the son to which he a mortal endevours to sing along

with the Muses whom he hears in Olympius as he nears the heights where mortal men take fright he soldiers on inspired in dreams his guided feet climb the seams as listening in observation fast he climbs the jagged pinnacle at last to see the world spread beneath his feet but Lo! Now the devil must he meet within and force himself to listen and sing to be tempted not by all the devil shows could be got be the coin reversed but the weary poet is well versed, prepared, spared the ordeal is past the wordsmith may compose at last his song whilst the devil be forced to sing along in vain the music strains, uplifts, for silence is the poet's gift to bring to light, illuminate the heart within the apple ate to the core within the silent metaphor of sound where symphonic souls resound, abound unbound Prometheus harps the lonely poet, harks the muse within commands the poet sings the words he hears climbing in silent truth he nears beauty waiting where the clouds are borne within the air he sings approaching softly on silent wings whilst to the music he harks and clings observing all around him toil and strain his wingèd feet rise again to the task beneath the poet's mask

the pen doth scrape the music which the words do weight with the burden to be shared and so a wait in hell be spared as the garden gates are opened wide the poet with his verses slides inside the gates shut fast the wordsmith at once is free at last to roam where the clouds do have their home midst mountain peaks the home of truth which beauty speaks whilst time runs on the poet listens echoing the silent song as the river runs on and on... the poet's muse has turned and gone leaving him in a trance heeding the silent Lord of the dance play on in symphonic silent soundless song. 'The godless man who walks the street finds nought but headaches at every corner he meets' Julian Jaynes …'....Bicameral mind'

Possessed the poet is out of his mind senseless inspired listening to the divine voices within which sing the son to which he a mortal endevours to sing along with the Muses whom he hears in Olympius as he nears the heights where mortal men take fright he soldiers on inspired in dreams his guided feet climb the seams as listening in observation fast he climbs the jagged pinnacle at last to see the world spread beneath his feet but Lo! Now the devil must he meet

within and force himself to listen and sing to be tempted not by all the devil shows could be got be the coin reversed but the weary poet is well versed, prepared, spared the ordeal is past the wordsmith may compose at last his song whilst the devil be forced to sing along in vain the music strains, uplifts, for silence is the poet's gift to bring to light, illuminate the heart within the apple ate to the core within the silent metaphor of sound where symphonic souls resound, abound unbound Prometheus harps the lonely poet, harks the muse within commands the poet sings the words he hears climbing in silent truth he nears beauty waiting where the clouds are borne within the air he sings approaching softly on silent wings whilst to the music he harks and clings observing all around him toil and strain his wingèd feet rise again to the task beneath the poet's mask the pen doth scrape the music which the words do weight with the burden to be shared and so a wait in hell be spared as the garden gates are opened wide the poet with his verses slides inside the gates shut fast the wordsmith at once is free at last to roam where the clouds do have their home midst mountain peaks the home of truth which beauty speaks whilst time runs on

the poet listens echoing the silent song as the river runs on and on... the poet's muse has turned and gone leaving him in a trance heeding the silent Lord of the dance play on in symphonic silent soundless song. Lost in the forest of the wide wood of the world listening to the song of the birds high in the trees listening to the voices within me guide the trajectory on which I glide above the sea whose waves look up at me a cloud I wander lonely as a shroud of dust to whose home return one day I must til then I'll stay zen all the way listening to the song as along the path I move …..................................in song 10.10pm The wheel turns the heat burns the ferns wave still upon the hill the cricket learns silence echo spurns

the wait thickens twists hardens, risks topple slide afar, wide the swallows glide twisting, tuning the fly doth hide the silent echo dried the matriarchal rut downtrodden male doth stride and strut his stuff of pride cock eyed to comprehend the bat's descent catching flies as it flies wise as it strives to outwit zig-zaging its way at the end of the day whilst the hay ferns sway away

To be conscious of one'self is to see one's self, to scan one's movements, analyse the whys and wherefores as one tries to introspect, to delve within, to see beneath the skin to be aware of that which is foul and fair to see the I within the me I lie, I spy, I peep, investigate the slightest squeak and creak of aging limbs poetic whims of imaginative flight which just might some poetic truth illucidate or shine a light on some forgotten shrine illuminate with stolen light the knowledge of a long gone night well wooded beneath the moon's sight when Man lived by his wits fused, into the landscape hued blended in, camouflaged, and from his hide observed that of which he was part fit in, for things did not fall apart, the centre was not held, nor could it hold events yet to unfold yet, to survive, the fittest were fit to hide behind the mask the truth belied the conscious awareness on which I espied

from my hide, listening intently to that without harking the mirrored music of language about around; bouncing back and forth like bird song flowing its course throughout the day, cresendos, silences, would have their say in the matter I observed, the threats, the violence heard the push and shove of power define territorila space and tower with might self-justification and right with wielded sword put up a fight when folk such as the Dalai Lama took flight and fled in fright and trembling fear when the menacing roman army drew near those at prayer with weapons by their sides awaiting their hour to come but not to ride away and hide midst the recesses of the mind observing the treasures they were likely to find for one knew that a coin hath sides two faces struck bicameral as the mind must be, mathematical as the silence one may see weight, await, beneath a tree where a cloak be torn in twain, patched, fragments of imagination snatched woven words within the cloth shrouded in history and memory loss of all one can not see, the fading echo of humanity voiced on the cross, awaiting an answer, a prophet yet not at a loss for words to condemn to praise, exalt, raise, towards the hallucinatary side of the coin of the bicameral mind conscious, aware, of the existence, of being,a where elsewhere on the other side of the bicameral mind flowing river of time in which all flow alike towards the ocean of death through which the current still flows into the future, time always goes through space at a differing pace depending on time and distance spun in the web of words run out on the timeline on which the light of consciousness doth shine like the full moon in the tomb of the night when only the stars shine bright reflecting the past flickers of humanity fast disappearing beneath the waves of unsung soldiers' graves for the folly of war and the madness of man are abroad once more midst the greed and desire to build an ever higher funereal pyre whose smoke billows at large across all continents doth it barge and ram

battering destruction and mayhem upon all that lives off the land which gives as it turns as it burns swathes destroyed armies deployed, decoyed, the battle doth rage for booty and plunder is the wage the earth must bear warming to the warning wilt the earth fare well to alms given in vein as the toll mounts do not ask the name of those for whom it tolls for 'tis I think only this of me blythe spirit, bird thou never ar't hail to thee wandering lonely as a shroud or wraithe my corpse carrion 'ate by dogs and crows for dogs in deed do so the seeds of time which flow in the streams of consciousness I know in the now through which I go awakened to the awareness I show compassion for those whom I know suffer as they row the body across the sea towards the port of their chosen destiny to be free of the chains of liberty cast in the past of the storm struck sea of symbols though which I wander midst the minted words freshly coined ringing with the wisdom purloined from the ancient see I observe, reflect upon all which I have heard tell of the death knell which set me free to hallucinate in the bicameral mindset of Homer as I hark to the voices in the dark I lie listening to the entrances and exits on the stage of the world

mirrored in the wardroom in which I rest my head listening to the life support machine and the music inside my head as I wonder how long will it be before I am a liein' in my very own best bed shared with the water which fell long ago perhaps as snow in Asia for all I know is this the future shared with the past in the present lives. Huit-clos encircled recognised in the pecking order classified denied, put down, disregarded labelled as belonging to some lower order, caste out, aside; rejected, neglected drivers of homicide not for youth begets change for what flattens existing hierarchies erasing barriers, sets free the encircled beast which flies heavenwards towards the skies dethroned; the beast usurped the imagined creature lurks inside the tricks and lies told to escape the imaginary encirclement which waits within the shadowed past which haunts the future to the last souvenir which gathers dust amidst the attic's memory whzere rust and moths devour the past which crumbles at last to change release the golden fleece which never fades reflecting love borne light throughout its days

and nights when it shines bright, a star revealing where we are not yet at but move towards over the flats of sand washed wind swept time dissolved amidst the misted eye which reminiscing sees the loved ones missing the rôle call to arms and mask the earhly shadows past held captive in the mind prisoners of ourselves who bind and gag the silence to bag the voices which we fear would tell the truth we hold so dear to our heart and part the hidden hierarchy in a way in which we would no longer be so indiscriminately unjust; unfair where but in the conscious mind can those see, though they be blind? For see! All share the same bed of clay or sea the thread of silence ywixt all humanity bound enchained, enslaved to the ideas which set it free! Creating

One wondered as his hand tapped on the letters of the ketboard.was he hallucinating? Was daydreaming enriching ?If so,why? Would finding a piece of driftwood and sculpting it create a closer contact between himsejf and the universe?Such contact could only be beneficial since it would increase the feeling of belonging, participating in the exploration of a wider world.Discovering the loams of realities had become his obsession.He desired to do.in doing, experience.The rich texture of life had to be tasted, absorbed, understood.

He had to know.Observvation helped.intuition too.Experiment.rules were for ignoring.The thrill lay in their breaking. How he loved to mimic. Strange how people repeated the same stuff.words.sentence sttructures.questions.answers.Wore the same clothes,day in, day out.Created an identity they had to live up to.Unable to let go.Blend in. Camealeon like one knew he himself could chew the cud.Nay loved. No greater satisfaction was to be had than being welcomed wherever he went.>>>Making folk smile.Girls dream.A jack of all trades, a master of disguise.Who was he? What was his real identity is the question which he set out to explore.How? By observing his own behaviour.performanceon the world's stage.Examining the roles he wrote for himself and others.looking at the masks which he hid in his cupboard.Why? To create another, more creative character. More creative than himself. More inventive. For inventing mechanical contraptions, best of all from bits and bobs found by the wayside. Oh how he loved to be a womble, making use of stuff other folk leave behind. And leave behind didn't they just. No sooner unwrapped than thrown. The dream rotting on the rubbish heap amongst the discarded glossy magazines advertising the latest state of the art stuff. How folk were stuffed. Dreams prefabricated to become a musthave-be seen with. Maslow's hierarchy of needs gone mad. A pyramid of lies of Madoff proportions. Made off air. Speculative bubbles which burst on the scene of the crime unseen.

Speculating was another love. Which shares would be winners and why? Not that he stood to gain much. Best change that though and open up another personality-the canny investor shrewdly playing the (3100cac40) stock market. Only one way to rise. Buy with the bounce! Let the gods take over, let their will be done soak up nature's beauty, as through life we run looking to the future, where we want to be following a plan of action, unilaterally stay the course, enduring hardship and not entertaing fools ' discourse. Take heart from failure, learn the mrssage past, analyse the behavior and words reflect in silence, study the ways; slip into the background pray through out the days, live life to the lees; touch the beauty of everything one sees frrl the energy flow; never crase to give kind hearted affection to all who live sharing the same air, drinking from the same cup wherever one's footsteps fall listen to the environment, draw inspiration from the past-follow mentors with sight illuminate the pathway leading through the night treat all as equals share all faiths and creeds yet remain true to oneself, listening to one's needs to be able to flower reaching fullfilment upon the hour let dreams come true, listening to the wisdom which you have in you, accumulated in the silent words listen to the gods, let their voices serve the future, in the instant run maintain a healthy balance, as through life you run towards the goals which you have established, following your nose let intuition play its part, listen to the logic from both mind and heart!

See the Makak in the man, the god living in dreams created on the nod and words which weave the cloak of wisdom to protect us in the lives we lead as we follow the path once trod by the Makak man-god-bod!

Creativity from the right side logic from the left

weave the words of wisdom in life's weft! Paint a tapesrty of colour with many a colored thread woven in the words let the voice of silence never cease to be heard! Learn by doing what others show can be done through hard work -let your talent show the world of what you are made from the fruit of the world nature gave for the worl is both cradle and grave stone which stands apart in the universe- it has a living heart beating in all which breed transmitting life's current through time's celestial seas stay in touch with your resources let their voices shout refuel the reserves, let the silence out! See the paradox what goes in comes out in the flow of time let the silence shout louder than the words which are only fit to serve the primordial silent echo heard in the silent night when metaphors took flight to seed the stuff of dreams flowing with the might powering the will to live despite the hardship endured in the task the metaphors formed a craft highly skilled in art transmitting the message engraved in the heart to fill an arc which the archer could flex showering metaphors from this world to the next as the bow was bent seeded seeds of time and space were metaphored and sent to distant lands and ports through chakras to the heart

of the bicameral mind which fell apart from one who fused to fuel the flow of the seeds of time which the universe did sew watered from the sweat which left the archers' brow in the evolutionary metaphor which never ceased to grow old with time as the beauty of the truth was borne in the rhyme which faded and fell from grace as the spirit flew pn through time and space in the arroow of love which sets aquiver both the receiver and the giver who fuse the bicameral halves together and use the skills which they have found deep within themselves in resources underground where streams flow clear reflecting the beauty of the silent truth we hear all arouund in the music of the universe transmitted in sound of a frequency so low that although we cannot hea it, we just know by intuition we listen to the gods within ourselves, daemons and bods engineered to evolve, to survive as to fit in all strive to be at one

with the silent song! Once upon a time a young man found himself face to face with the devil. Of course he succoumbed to the wekness and,temted; stole the gold waych with which he was confronted. Weeks later, filled with remourse, he suspended it in a tree. A robin hood of a gesture. Years later, at table with the owner of the aforesaid watch, he was accused, pleaded guily, and pardoned, without a word being said. The communication was in the form of images and allusions.Each party distinctly being aware of the dialogue. Strange. At table, years later, the self-same thief seemed to think-and perhaps he was again hallucinating, that thoughts flowed around -from one to another, without a word being said. Or rather, a word, or sentence was said which would evoke the concept of power, staus. Then ideas would flash, transmitting that there was a hierarchy, a pecking order, in which the aforesaid thief was at the bottom. Stranger, indeed, was the idea that the thief didn't give two hoots as to whether he was at the botttom or not! Who could give a damn when there was a wider circle outside, and outside of that another, and another...to the extent that, wherever one was, there was always another circle of controlling power and influence, so that 'power' in the abstract sense, didn't exist. After all, who can tell what tpmorrow will bring? Conclusion

language is but one aspect of commmunication. Body language is another. Is there a deeper layer of transmission? Doubtless. A common cultural heritage, shared since the cultural crossings of peoples migrating, has evolved. Wonderings, speculation, weighing up the balance in which ideas are spilt. Whose ideas? Which? How many? Why When? Calling into question the exxistance of the instant, the thief stole a march on time and made off with the booty. On arriving home he discovered that his sack, casually slung over his shoulder, was empty. Time had stolen the items which he himself had stole. Oh, the thief! Perhaps one day the aforesaid items would be returned to their rightful owners! Meanwhile the prisons grew in both size and number. Many is the fellow who has found the unwelcoming walls to their liking! Sad, but true. Start from scratch-spill the beans what exactly does hallucinate mean? Dream? Hear voices, commands see a mirage in the sands of time and space using words as metaphors build a new race of gods from men, hallucinating when they write the script or score drugged, drunk, wanting more words with which to weave a plot which thickens with the words they jot creating tapestries of sound when sung and the hallucinating has begun to spread amongst the living-dead who wait hoping to hallucinate in their turn as they sing along to the words they learn by heart to carry them through the deep night dark in ecstacy on L.S.D. or crack they' re not though off their heads, not on pot they are unaware of what they are going through sobre as a judge, emotions high they walk on earth yet seem to fly and feel no pain, absorbed by the hypnosis of the word-game in which they fling themselves with the songs they sing whilst belief steals over them like a thief to snatch them far away, into a foreign land of thought where windmills are giants to be fought whilst Sanchez waits upon his Master who hallucinates upon the cross the burden brings its own hallucinatory wings to fly into the other side of the bicameral mind of man or apes, which lack the gift of speach yet seem a similar state to reach as they listen, aware of the jungle music where each sound and song carries a message to dream on unaware of who they are, nor where completely lost, far away, in a promised land or paradise beyond the now, time's sunk beneath the horizon, drunk by the sea of image framed cinématic ecstasy of sound filled space, where they move as beings of another race

mere gods, or men, apes, dream on!

Speed of thought Once one can type as fast as one thinks words flow, sink, onto the screen become material, seen, heard, inside the voice, of the typed word that's gone with the ending of the song for creation with a 'C' evolves with language throughout history taking twists and turns purists and puritans spurn aloof looking upon the world created word in truth to see the word created world set free to roam across the mind of the hallucinating poet as time unwinds the plot unfirls, unfolds, unlocks, sets free the imaginative twirls of fantasy which feed in flight the unbound Prometheus with light to steel the captain's turning wheel whilst the world rolls on through time and song the twists are turned whilst prophetic words of warning spurned lay bear the cloth of what we wear to hide the nakedness shied knowledge enflamed mythological paradise regained in flight through a star-lit night where the hornèd moon rises with the waves washing on the shores of days wiped clean by the silvery moonsheen.

Osiris In the great all-seeing I

dwells the death that life cast by spells of time and spells of place language forged human race withered, parched, bone-white stars gliding through a moonless night betwixt billowing clouds which blow across the land I wish to know for what it's worth to be a god upon this earth and walk with kings hallucinating in the voice which sings whilst those who listen enter in can do naught else but sing crafted songs of love to ride upon the billowing clouded skies which sweep across the landscape sweet and wait at death's silent opened gate step inside; say goodbye to the glorious ride upon the steed of life, twixt the turmoil, trouble, sttrife and gently go, into the realm of death below where waits silence, dust and ash spent breath which no longer laughs nor cries, simply empty, open skies filled with wandering woes and whys which cry beneath the empty, vacant I waiting alone yet wondering why the spell hath come to pass the time and tide spent in the grass where dreams were reached in scenes hallucinated using means to bring the word to life resussicitating the spirit drawn from the well of consciousness where death did dwell within the tomb, mirrored earthy boxom womb wherein, life, death, did begin to grow within the seed that Man did sew evolving from the apes hammucinating amid the wakes word-crafted life endured until at last by death was skewered to lie within the silent I and wait, before the universe to navigate a way to another sun-blessed day and night within the spell of Might which reigns throughout the land of names where words designate the objects heard to live and move with the power of love which lifts the spirit borne gifts and dwells in the silent time-spun spells of which I speak through the voice of Osiris's beak where I observe the absolute through my eye

which turns, with the spell the word returns to reign throughout the land of names which speak the past the present seeks to ride the glorious billowing timeless tide of spells within which I navigate the wandering why and cry beneath the billowing blood-stained sky my words unheeded go, for thus it is and should be so that Man may see the hollowness of death's victory for the seeds of time once sewed fall within the debt now owed to the reaper with the scythe who cuts the corn and sies as the last breath flows past questions wither, peace flows at last life's work be done, beneath the watery golden sun which sets towrds the west to rise; once more, in eastern skies and speak of the love amongst the meek which lives within the wonderous words they speak drawn from the well of life which flows from whence; nor where, none knows yet as they sing the word resounds within the ring opposites fight, presided by an overriding Might which waits enchanted by the hallucinating, wandering, all seeing I. Get me some cash Quick Do a job I need to last the night and fast! Hooker To sweep the streets for love of money Men I'll meet who'll swear that I'm the cause of their despair! Get your gear on look the part remember who you are a tart! Who lets you live and buy the shit you use to get you high None of your lip, my love

or perhaps you miss another dose of this! (fist bangs heavily on an open door) Planet earth ronde la terre tourne tout le temps autour du soleil dans un silence profond somewhere in space des morceaux des vers des fragments se posent se figent dans du prose exprimant ainsi que l'homme dispose les moyens pour criée, créée himself as he grows time flows black holes absorb the spiraling silence which explodes the myth man is I alone crossing the desert dunes of sand blown wind swept s p a c e t i m e «Pray go back and recollect » please

a prayer, requesting aid, a staff, a guide from the Lord a listening to one's voice as one speaks; begs, re-quests an inner voice to speak hallucinate hear in dream like state an answer as on the cross we bear we wait whilst in the seeking accept what we are given our daily bread-baked in an oven think how many have been involved, the farmer, transporter, miller, baker,... see the location of the Lord who is in heaven- elsewhere than on earth it seems halloed be thy name-sanctified as we beg for forgiveness for our trespasses from the Lord we see the sins, regret the crossing of the line which Moses heard, inscribed in stone,Thou shalt not plus verb, noun, phrase thus see the path to stick to, supported by a stick or staff or shepherd's crook we look to where we leap, see the chasm beneath our feet which opens wide as o'er the gaping pit we glide Our Father Our common protector as we believe in a childhood state we slide, hallucinate believe see Christ in ourselves surrounded by thieves this day for sufficient unto the day are the evils thereof consider the fowls in the air and lillies in the field,they spin not nor do they reap hallucinating we might live from alms as we forgive others that trespass against us bearing no grudges which weigh down the soul with a bitter poison to devour us whole lead us not into temptation requesting to be led on the straight and narrow path and deliver us from evil get us out of the mess for thine is the kingdom the realm in which we walk the power and the glory we are humble and weak for ever and ever ad infinitum which is rather a long time span Amen so be it. Be it thus. Be it so. Be it. So Who cares. Be it my personal foolosofy thus far . So? We are in a childlike state, asking for alms, living in dreams, hallucinating, or so it seems we are not in control of our fate. The Lord decides. We simply wait. Passively. Dalai-Lama like.

Foregiving those who drop the bombs which wipe out our faith. We avoid fight in flight relate. But only an aethet can live like this for long. In a cave. Under a tree. Bhudda like. A Yoga. Meditatingman. Lost in thought. Drifting through his dreams. His? Hallucinatory experience. Guides. Escape. A kingdom or realm. The bicameral mind opens its doors to paradise. Jesus on the cross turns to the thief who defended him as he tells him where he will be, later. A pathway to be explored.Thus the mind is enriched, not bored, and sparkling grows, glows, glitters in the dark.Fools gold?Hark. A bird. What message doth it bring hast thee heard? 'Tis Love. Open to the heaven, to the Lord above. A treasure trove of overflowing abundant love. Love one another, said the Lord for Moses said « Thou shalt not ….» plus verb whereas the word from the Lord the verb was love and peace though his supporters drew swords turned to ploughshares...later in the story to come as Christ enabled the soldier to hear, replacing his ear. Heed thy voice. Pray. Hear the new word and wonder. What on earth was wrong with the old? Why did it have to be replaced? Something better. Spaced? For the old was for desert nomads, wandering exiles in search of a promised land where milk and honey would flow. Hark. What has become of it now? What seeds of weeds did the new word sew? Is it Christ we see with a sword in his hand? His followers maybe though he said they were wrong. Even now. Watch the smile on the Dalai Lama's face. Read the understanding he sees in his faith. Krishnamurtin too shows deep disdain towards organised religion. Perhaps each one of us has to fashion his own cross which will carry the weight of one's body. Dieing to see the creation of a new (promised) eternity stretching forth. A new landscape. Testimonied by witnesses who brought the message of love to a matrirarchical peace loving race in a mythological present from another place. Out of Egypt I brought my son.Moses.Jesus. Why only one? Reflecting a mirrored surface which lies hidden beneath the star studded skies which turn in flight through the dark shadows of a mid-summer's night? Reflecting the seasons the metaphor raised a new image on graves, aligned standing stones which slipped out of mind, no longer needed as the road did unwind. Hallucinating. Did it matter a toss? Heads or tails at what cost? Study the coin. An Emperor. A Queen. Uncle Sam. A face on one side. The other, bicameral, reflects the unchanging evolutionary mind. In dreams, who cares what is seen, as long as something is? Being created in a never ending fizz emanating from within the neurological nerve ends and cells under the skin reacting to stimulii- the magic created by the seeing Aye. Accepting ('Yes, I will yes,...' Ulysses says, at the end of the book when he goes to bed...Penelope.) For will comes from willing, will power, willingness, determination rather than force, as in shall. Will implies wanting as well. For nothing comes lightly.Everything has a cost. Living in the imaginary implies loss. Of what? In giant structures Man may rise. Abandoning understanding seeking power brings demise. Thus a new religion is required to be true. For we all live in dreams, rags and screams. Alcohol kills the imaginitive streak. Logic is destroyed in the leap. Stewing in filth, lacking clarity, clear-sightedness takes a hit. To water add wine. Mix the two to dilute the fruit of the vine, take the sting from its curse, withdraw the poison or worse. For drunkeness is an addiction to avoid. Stay clear of the bottle for its contents destroy. Exercise the muscles, stay fit. The fittest survive, into society fit. Exercising the brain, exercising

the mind. Mental gymnastics ward off going blind. Use it or lose it the bicameral mind. Both halves, the coin is yours to sew. Invest in the future, the truth you will show by your actions and grace-both will flow should you follow your faith. Dig and delve. Up-turn. Plough. Sew and water, live in the now. Accept paradox and contradiction in searching God. You'll find him waiting on the path which you've trod in disguise. Maybe a stranger. Foreign ways. Wise. Seek wisdom in all that you do. Search the roots as you sew. Go with the flow.When those around you have had enough. Be off. Don't hang back. Seek new horizons.Put the old at your back. Waive goodbye. Be prepared to return in the wink of an aye! Oh welcome stranger, what news dost thou bring? Come in, eat, drink and spill the beans on the plate.Come now, be forward, it's getting late! For news is what we all need. To keep up to date, to mentally feed our imagination must have, news from foreign parts to be had.

(a line from p.232 of w james -relig, exp; Lose yourself, lost in silence hear the voices, remebered instants engrained in memory enchained Hark and heed those voices from the past to warn us guide us through the days when haze benights us listen hard to those beside us whom we hear though when we turn are no longer there to guide us but lo! A voice, beside us, whispers, where the land meets the air and sea stretching to infinity, flee, into the dreams and space within the hallucinating race of primates mamals, warm blooded which took the cloth, though dropped a stitch to fall in silence from a wall to find the mystrious bicameral mind which split the apple in two to fit the hunch-backed fool's wit

which flew like an arrow, straight and true to rest in the heart of the silent quest where words were vain attempts to name the fathomless depths beneath the waves washing on the beach to those enslaved to ancient ideologies, mythologies, egyptologies,phenologies, to see the infinite arc of a circle with neither heart, nor centre, which unfolds in an infinite number of directions untold is the truth that remains to be said infinite is the beauty inside the head where the bicameral mind heeds to the wisdom which winds and unwinds with the waves washing on the beach where truth lies enslaved in the sand awaiting the wisdom to hand the truth to those aware of the mystery love only knows For love sets free the silent word in thee to roam, as the Lord in thy soul doth find a home to dwell awhile in thy earthly sheen which bears the enlightened burden of worldly cares which fall with the weight of the apple inside the wall where a serpent sleeps, with open eye, peeps, through the forest of metaphors at the symbols of words which spell the beginning and end to the water in the well which flows through the river which love only knows

flows.Word flows follow where folk music grows seeded in the mind aye folk be of'en blind to the changing flow

which time and tide can not know for words they sew the seeds of song which flourish in the land to which they belong in the winds which blow such seeds which flow with the words they sing to the music which folk fling like stars through space shining the brilliance of the human race ape-like,yet clothed shrouded in grace as gods apace do spring with the words the music doth bring joy and life to hide the pain of worldly strife which bleeds as Man falls to his knees and pleades for mercy, heaven sent once his life, his days, are spent to go to paradise hallucinating avoiding strife he sees the answer to his pleas lies in the other half or side of the bicameral mind opened wide to the joys which dreams do bring to the words the pain doth sing as the dance moves on the Lord of the dance flows with the song unpeturbed by time flowing within the seeds of rhyme which seed both the flower and the weed

for by the fruit of the tree is one recognised by the forbidding 'Aye!' which forbodes the baby's cry and fears that all will end in tears as the word moves on in the dance of song which knows not right from wrong for in the flow the word has gone the tide erased words which were in sand engraved in stone within the heart of the throne of kings within which

the silence sings. Snap- out of it, stop- dreaming compelling words imparting meaning Head in the clouds inspiration seeking entrance into a hallucinatory state kingdom or realm where the dreamer is at the helm of the ship awareness taught tasting the wind like a snake scenting the air assessing the odds observing the stars listening to the gods guide o'er the oceans the ship that doth glide to survive

riding the surf keeping one's wits about one razor-sharp down to the wire in the dark hull of the mind ishipping water in a vessel which leaks listening to the silence which speaks observing the world and its ways seeing how folk go about their days engaged in occupations which tire a dreamworld exists from which one can fire engines which drive to survive emergencies unforeseen slip into the mode of acting in dreams single-mindedly following the course on the compass indicating North instinctively slave to the unreasonable demands from the voice from the grave side of the mind which takes over when the ship runs aground on the rocks in the eye of the storm when all around is completely calm waiting for solutions to appear in the choice listening to instinct's silent voice show the way in a dream-like state to a new day which dawns as one learns awareness of one's self through language's turns at the wheel

as consciousness learns the 'I' exists beside the 'me' in which words are formed and with language's consciousness turned makaks to man consciously calculating throughout his time-span. When in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be , let it be let it , let it be; let it be Oh let it be speaking words of wisdom let it be For, I get by with a little help from my friends, oh I get high with a little help from my friends... I just need someone to love can it be any body i just need someone to love love, love me do I know I need you ...picture yourself a boat by a river, a girl with a smile in her eyes coming quite closely the girl in the tangerine skies... Oh blad deeOh bladah, life goes on , now, lalalalalife goes on, Desmond has a barrow in the market place Lucy is a singer in the band Desmond says to Lucy how I like your face.Lucy says let me hold your hand Oh a drink a drink a drink to lilly the pink the pink the pink the Saviour of the Human Race for she invented mmedicinal compound so efficacous, in every way.. The answer my friend, is blowin in the wind, the answer is blowin in the wind How many times must a man die, must a cannon ball come rollin' at his feet The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind the answer aint so hard to meet! Those were the days my friend, I thought they'd never end.. Worse. I didn't even think! Not bother, not stop, not one jot!Not I! And yet! Those were the days my friend, Ithought they'd never ends.SilenceBut, well, y& know what? They did! Right there.Bang. Cos we'd 'ad our global warning 'n' all that gory stuff 'bout 't' end o' world before, but then it came, out 'a blue, like, bang! Bob's y'er uncle, like,Talk about swine fever!A killer it were 'n' no mistake! Bang. Millions. Trillions. Unbelievebale.Like Black Death,t' plague, all rolled into one! Blumin' eck. Talk about catastrophe. This were one 'n' no mistake. A killer! Flippin 'eck! There it were. Gone! Well what do yer do? Pick thasen up 'n' start afresh, that's what i says, so I di, right there, then, on't spot. No messin' about. Off I went. Bang.Done! Gone.

'n' that were't' end o' it. Gio'er tha daft wasak. That were just start, that were. Take your marks, get set, go...'n' they're off hurtlin' round 'corner, flat out, hell for leather 'n' all. Aye. It's true as i'm standin' 'ere, swear to God. The hunch-back of St. Laurent In touch with his resources the hunch-back drained the last lees of life from the dregs drained to the last drop. Stood up. Stretched. Sniffed the air. Stole a glance at the mounting moon beneath the spire. Heeded the stroke of twelve sonorous strikes on the bells of the Chapel and sank. Back into the depths of slumbering sleep he drifted. Dwindling and dawdling he dwelt in the land of nod. Dreams formed. Forged and forgotten images flashed fitting into the jig-saw puzzle which decoded the contours of the lost landscape of words. Silence. Not a sound. Yet still the pictures flashed forth, rising up on the crests of the surging waves. Rolling and turning. Crashing on the rocks of consciousness. Streams of images slipped annd slid in the silence of stars which whispered and winked overhead in the darkness. Quasi-modo wondered. Heeded the silence his heart hinted. Slumbered. Dreams imagined and half-forgotten forged. Faded with the meaning. The sky greyed. Shapes began to form themselves upon the horizon. Being arose. Awakened. Birds flocked, calling the morning into existence. The waves washed and crashed in crescendoes, rising and falling through the silent seascape of sound. Quasi-modo turned. Slumbered. The cry of gulls broke the symphony of the sighted seascape. New pitches. New instruments added their voices to the tremolling turmoil creating new shapes whose density and mass differed as fog-like they merged in the mists which rolled over the shoreline. How the shoreline rose and fell. Crashing with the waves.

Rising, receding. Rolling crests rounded and dispersed in the white foam of waves. Visualisation- to Tom Watson -5 times Open Champion -& almost a 6th- which would have entered his name in the record books for many a year! Pipped at the post! Such is the ball game of golf. What better test of the mettle of a man? Visualisation is the key to getting where you want to be Experience the thrill of learning to be where you will See how changes swing the game practice your game Plan the moves ahead visualise keep fit

Stay the course don't let slip the chance that be a way to make history on the edge stay the course feel the thrust keep cool that's a must stay smiling wait, watch the silence fill the space to weight the burden lifts the songbird sings the scattered seeds of time fling futures yet to grow in the silence of the omnipresent now! Steel yourself in time forged watch the instant endured Zen and the art of bi-cycle maintenance. An ivestigation in to the bi-cameral mind. Although three is a perfect number(in terms of solidity-and here I think of the pyramids) things have a habot in happening in pairs. Good bad, up, down and you get my drift. There, in a nutshell, we have it. I or my? Now that's a question! Having briefly observed primates at the Durrell conversation centre(sic) Jersey, it seems blatantly obvious that primates(perhaps all species) seek/ do communicate . There is a pecking order. There are amongs teh Makaks & other primates similarities to humans which frighten. We are all one family. 99.9 percent the same genetic make up... Scary huh! Right on! We (humans) have to have intellectually & physically enriching experiences in order to avoid bpredom & stresss. Talk about 'Huit Clos( No thank you. Closed? Forget it! Open? Yes please! The sky is the infinite limit!

We must try harder! Try, try & try agaain! Focus on the horizon as an objective. It helps! Stick to beautiful places which provide spiritual vitality, energy & ...beauty (in the aye of the beholden! Cycling home tonight I was at the limits of my pitiful endurance. Observing the beauty of the landscape-the flowers, the patients of peasants-there at oneness with nature, allowed me to gain insights! Hurray. Give , faye, give! 1.Beauty (as however perceived) provides spiritual uplifting and energy. 2.Beauty gives juice! For nowt! 3.Beauty must be sought. It is there. We spend our lives in meaningless & endless trivia4.3 get to grips. 5.4. Discover, uncover your 'true North- & 6.Go for it. Hell for leather. Cos if you don't -why them cotton pickin -deputy dawg & aim jus gonna have to take control of alll this... 7.Insurance? Police, No big deal. Justask! 8.Free pass;

9.slengie!!!I am the barge which another observed carrying timber and nails down the rriver of consciouness to some foreign town where the scaffolding grows with the trade on the back of whose business my name was made silent, unseen for i am the witness who wonders why the wayer at the surface and that beneath minle and flow in the deep subteranean mind where consciousness fuses arounnd awareness cast in the symbols designed to last and serve the metaphorical mind of the word spoken in vein, for the silent symbol can never be named for fear that peace loving supporters will slice off an ear whilst the verb repairs the deed; i carry my burden to those in need for salvation comes at a price as high as the cost of a human life given for naught, for on thefield of battle the war is fought as the gallows groww taller and victory sought in the clash, for the bicameral halves have met their match in the metaphor heard in the beginning with the silent verb sewing love in the weft of the world where behaviour is aped under duress of the enduring stress which plays in the minds of primates throughout their days seeking relief in escape

in the timber framed gallows of late fashioned by love, and hate as money moves the silrnt needle grooves the world spun metaphor for more news to spread amongst the living, dead halves of the bicameral mind set in stone to rule the rambling meanderings of a hunch backed fool whose tool spilt the seeds of love up to the hilt to flower in a timeless shower to rain upon the throne of love's thrice written name in story told in deed vanity and greed do drive the nails deep into the flesh until the angels weep