This one was written long after the call of all hands to the pumps...
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
I shall now be my own best friend: Huff puff, huh: In this yearning we are heroes and our own best friends; yes, in this yearning we fry our own popcorns. And whatever tomorrow comes to be known it will be what it is.
Well, it sounds like it’s all: lovers to Paris, to me, so I shall now blow my horn to see if this is true of not.
Blowing away, I found not only dust and piped mustard through the foghorn, but things I’d forgotten all about, which is why they banned them as a way of expression I suppose; or so it was said, as I blew away to escape over the walls.
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
The walls were built high, but there are no walls that can’t be crossed I thought and found that there were many others too making their run.
And as we found our way across the walls, they mowed us down in countless numbers so that we outnumbered them, billions to one; and yet still we are here finding our way across against that which opposes us.
I tried zipping up the dust about this, just in case I was tumbled like, but it just wouldn’t take. So I put my raincoat on and went out into the rain.
I was the dust and got washed away.
I was the night enveloped by the stars.
I was suishi in the rain as I made my way onwards.
There are shrouds of illusion that separate us from that state that can best be described as enlightenment most of the time, but just now and again release can be found, somewhere to slip away, past those shrouds of illusion, and find moments where there is only unique.
Image by Ambir Tolang from Pixabay
But they don’t come very often so there’s no use looking out for them in the beastly abominations that come around to say that you’re just some made up tart out on the painted up night and have you believing it to be so.
Oh, those beastly abominations that just keep on coming, and so stoked with plenty, they could make it up anywhere to tune you to their expectations.
The liquid salads of love in the far corners were on another roll completely and said that if you’re not a saint by now then forget it…
I put down my horn and scratched my head, but on finding no sense of what I was looking for I began brewing up in a little café around the bend where everyone was dancing.
But I felt like a see-through vest put on backwards for all my troubles and found I was getting nowhere; until the postman delivered a postcard right into my hand and caught me by my disturbs in surprise so that I had to tunnel backwards until I growled: what’s this, I said, growling, and then turned the card over and over in my hand to find a clue and forgot all about backwards vests and stuff and became quite lost in the investment unfolding.
Quantum physics has the idea something can be in two different places at the same time of course.
But modern science on the other hand says that schizophrenics may not be in touch with reality.
In between the differences a counter clockwise dimension was going on to say that nothing is real and it’s time for bed; and a bag of chips too on a plate I said, before I go there.
Distractions I suppose, are everywhere; and blues; oh so much blue.
Image by Larisa Koshkina from Pixabay
Letters were sent to the bishop of course, to which the reply was: it wasn’t me; it was the eclectic summertime band what did it; blame them.
During the days I just stared at the sun.
Sometimes things are so true they are amazing I thought as I looked up and felt awe at what I saw there so high above me, and so unreachable.
Gathering all my mistakes towards me I planted them in the manure of insane and watched them to see what would happen.
At midnight they sang their death song and threw me out of the window three hundreds stories up so that I came down hard and landed where I didn’t want to.
I was a jellied eel.
I was squashed tomato.
I was all out of a fifth of the next direction so much so that I was lost to it all and had nothing more to say…
Images from Pixabay