chapter 1
I landed here in Sunny Oblivion on June 7th, 2009; in midst of the shift towards consciousness. It’s a perfect time in evolutionary time for anyone who is willing to surrender their ego and bullet off into the cosmos, leaving behind their comfortable habits, grey suit jackets, and pedicure appointments for ever. Switching the tube to a more humanly parallel channel, the ethereal twilight, never-never land, serendipitous evolution and being open to the idea that you are never 100 percent sure of anything, content in the most mind altering, true and beautiful, natural moments, seemingly the ones intentionally indescribable with a language of symbols and shapes.
My dilemma is the entire existence, separated. We are compiled together as one imagination, externally described. Still, we took light and dark, which formed into day and night, eventually bringing yesterday and tomorrow. Unemployed, I ponder this practice until we dissolve another deluded division between you and me. Because I am nauseous from watching your mouth defend your souls’ perfection, I can see through you and I don’t need words to know you. All the while we’ll dance in our karma and masks, party after party. Then wonder when, and how, or mostly why, our perfect existence was mistranslated into such tribulations as excuses or blame followed by acts of war and torture. Miscommunication is cliché. Raise us in no’s, stop it’s, and don’t touch it’s so I can’t be tempted to suicide from my ingrained reactions when I grow up and learn I was too scared to take a chance and use my imagination.
From all of our mistakes that make us intelligent comes a history taught, teaching construction. They showed us how to build walls in our brains, blocking out the warm sun-shine that lifts us so very high, it’s pulling us towards a state where we eagerly wait to settle our restless souls within. That intelligence is what lead me to the rose garden, where the only walls are the ones I brought here with me.
My dilemma is the entire existence, separated. We are compiled together as one imagination, externally described. Still, we took light and dark, which formed into day and night, eventually bringing yesterday and tomorrow. Unemployed, I ponder this practice until we dissolve another deluded division between you and me. Because I am nauseous from watching your mouth defend your souls’ perfection, I can see through you and I don’t need words to know you. All the while we’ll dance in our karma and masks, party after party. Then wonder when, and how, or mostly why, our perfect existence was mistranslated into such tribulations as excuses or blame followed by acts of war and torture. Miscommunication is cliché. Raise us in no’s, stop it’s, and don’t touch it’s so I can’t be tempted to suicide from my ingrained reactions when I grow up and learn I was too scared to take a chance and use my imagination.
From all of our mistakes that make us intelligent comes a history taught, teaching construction. They showed us how to build walls in our brains, blocking out the warm sun-shine that lifts us so very high, it’s pulling us towards a state where we eagerly wait to settle our restless souls within. That intelligence is what lead me to the rose garden, where the only walls are the ones I brought here with me.