learn how to listen
quietly
patiently
and without direction;
be still
for you won't hear
if you make noise
and rush around
in your habits
rituals
chatter
and empty meaningless routines;
learn how to listen
quietly
patiently
and without direction;
then learn how to feel.
The next piece is the original of the first eight lines of Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 followed by an anagram version [written by Cory Calhoun]
The Marriage of True Minds
by William Shakespeare
Let not the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Oh Damn! Must I Refrigerate?
by Leslie Marie Kapshaw
I, altogether a formed instrument,
Despite slim motivation, mend love
In what we'd call a fitter Shinto shrine;
Where vermin rot, betroth some dove.
A fork (an extreme division
Soon eventless in the dark paths) makes not
That street biker advisory warning
So.
I laugh when he knows what the non-bikers thought.
(sputshug-makhith)pwib naft ris ftu mlin
pwib naft ris ftu mlin
ith dax wib nanf
umplinf drith tris plin
pwib lind dru panf
amplitude
tuning
and much repetition
this is the way
we condition condition
this is the way we learn this is the way
this is the waythis is the way we learn is is the way
is is the way
on a cold and frosty morning
Put aside the candlelight,
By which all the priests, gurus,
And books have offered you.
And do not repeat a word,
That you yourself have not seen the truth of,
Which you yourself have not tested...
[after Shanngreen]
Manchester Language Lesson
The locals treat her as subnormal
But I treat her with respect
Somebody's left some used raffle tickets
So I show her some moves with numbers
And she shows me how to turn the tables with them
I recognise a Savant when I see one,
And Peter's crapping himself
Mumbling into his beer about Wizards.
-------------------------------------------
'What would you do with a large, polished brass bowl,
A slightly larger earthenware bowl,
And ten candles?' I ask.
[I had such stashed away around the corner;
answers by email please.]
Oh yes,
She knows.
'Write down your name,' she says
So I do.
'That's wrong, it doesn't fit'
She rewrites it
Slightly different spelling
In copperplate Greek:
[My eyes are popping
How does this girl know Greek?
It's impossible:
Peter withdraws to the bar,
Genuinely too scared to speak.]
'Now write down her name;'
I do it;
She converts it into sonic ideograms
I start to freak
As she demonstrates in seconds
The origins of writing,
And wanders off to play the jukebox
'What a bummer,'
said the Mummer to the plumber
'Newcomer, last summer,
made tell she was a drummer,
did a runner with my rummer,
left me with a gumma,
What a bummer,
What a bummer.'
undeterred
they wrote on regardless
spontaneously
sensuously
a fairy tales collection
predicated
on a two volume set
of the greek myths
that indicated
love
grief
madness
why's and if's
coincidence
and false belief
all intermesh
in hard cock erection
orgies of throbbing flesh
and thrusting hip
replayed each night
they let it rip
in ribald imagination
and ever tighter grip
the dormitory heaves
on fantasy penis
in the left hand ladies college
with an authentic touch
on the mound of venus
the ultimate
pleasure giving toy
and a ring of truth
on the fretting searching finger
that yields so much
in gasping private joy
she'd always known
she thought
about his bits on the side
but turned nelson's eye
sat home alone
in fair trade for honesty
she thought
after all
he
couldn't do without her
she thought
except when when undulating
and unloading the content
of his ever urgent testicles
between the silky thighs of
ann
tamara
margaret
joan
sarah
sylvia
and nine other members
(such devoted sisters)
of the cookery class
where it seemed butter wouldn't melt
(their labia swollen with blisters)
or so she thought
and so he taught
in the city that ate the world
a lifetime in mountains
a year of magical thinking
a chant delivered in latin
on the road to revolution
revelation
intelligent design
versus evolution
revaluation
caught in the web of dirt
in venice
evaluation
salvation
intellectual prostitution
with no risk free guarantee
no donkey business
for you
no star cars
for me
or cloak of love
for either
in episodes three
and four
yet they still sing
in these bizarre years
finding the vital spark
in the vision of a moment
swept free of tears
when love smells different
with a long held secret
and a weekend to remember
in the small space around a bed
where they walk tall
don't boast
name call
give head
give way
promise pattern
or pattern promise
on the all encompassing passions
acted out in the mysterious nature
of ever changing fashions
of a play for today
the burning question
awaiting a chronicler
in the house of science
(with the permafrost melting)
rested on high art
a coconut shy
a linear drive train
perfect poise
and following a third false start
an abilty to transcend pain
in love lives
letters
and cultural studies
of a life in books
'Would you like something special for Father's Day?'
She breathed with a glint in her eyes,
'I made preparations yesterday,
Would you like to have your surprise?'
He grunted, yawned and turned over,
'Something special, is that what you said?'
Fully dressed, she pulled back the covers,
'Here you are, here's your breakfast in bed.'
I think I shall stop startled
If ever we meet after our next birth,
Walking in the light of a far away world.
I shall know those dark eyes then as morning stars,
And yet feel that they have belonged
To some unremembered evening sky of a former life.
I shall know that the magic of your face is not all its own,
But has stolen the passionate light that was in my eyes
At some immemorial meeting,
And then gathered from my love
A mystery that has now forgotten its origin.
Lay down your lute, my love
Leave your arms free to embrace me.
Let your touch bring my overflowing heart
To my body's utmost brink.
Do not bend your neck
And turn away your face,
But offer up a kiss to me,
Which has been like some perfume
Long closd in a bud.
Do not smother this moment under vain words
But let our hearts quake
In a rush of silence
Sweeping all thoughts to the shoreless delight.
You have made me great with your love,
Though I am but one among many,
Drifting in the common tide,
Rocking in the fluctuant favour of the world.
You have given me a seat,
Where poets of all time bring their tribute,
And lovers with deathless names
Greet one another across the ages.
Men hastily pass me in the market,
Never noting how my body
Has grown precious with your caress,
How I carry your kiss within,
As the sun carries in its orb
The fire of the divine touch
And shines for ever.
[Rabidranath Tagore]
Deep Inside the System
'I've been with him years now,' sighed Mary
'but he views me as road kill at times,
takes me for granted as housemaid and cook,
you don't get this long for most crimes.'
it's like some women feel so immortal
and have all the time in the world
to bore friends stupid in wine bars and pubs
get down on nights out with the girls
'We did it just once again last year.'
Hedge and fudge,
Boo Hoo,
Weep and fret;
'Once, you're lucky!' sobs Sally in anger,
'It's been so long I almost forget.'
how many years have they wasted?
what they wait for is anyone's guess
will things ever start to get better?
as they search for the lumps in their breasts
'But I've been with him years and years, Mary,'
'How could I possibly break?'
but she knows as she makes her excuses,
deep inside there's a something that aches
emotional tie's rotten and finished
they hardly talk now, even touch
but security's there in the habits
these material things mean so much
'I just want some loving,' she whimpers
'I'm frustrated, unhappy and bored
I don't want to bail out too early
Can I manage, and can I afford?'
time trickles away through their fingers
they stare out of the last chance saloon
hear grim reaper's soft tread on the boardwalk
re remember the joys of the womb
white wine's flowing fast now and potent
and with it the heartaches and tears
Sally makes brazen play for hunk waiter
but he smilingly sidesteps her years
hints of snow gather up on the roof tops
and the hoe's put away in the shed
but there's a smouldering fire in the basement
so how then shall these flames be fed?
'I'll have an affair,' Mary hisses
there's this man that I once used to see
but she knows all her actions have limits
her security won't let her run free
a week on they repeat the performance
and Mary gives forth a soft groan
Sally’s finished it off, she can't take no more
from now she'll be all on her own
[After Barbara Ellen]
Those Barren Leaves
Q. On what condition can I live a life of contentment?
A. On the condition that you do not think.
Q. What is the function of newspapers, cinemas, radios, motor-bikes, jazz bands, etc?
A. The function of these things is the prevention of thought and the killing of time. They are the most powerful intruments of human happiness.
Q. What did the Buddha consider the most deadly of the deadly sins?
A. Unawareness, stupidity.
Q. And what will happen if I make myself aware, if I actually begin to think?
A. Your swivel chair will turn into a trolley on the mountain railway, the office floor will gracefully slide away from beneath you and you will find yourself launched into the abyss.
[Huxley, (1925)]
Lazarus Requiem
so how on this
still gentle april night
did I whisper
the world's circumference
in a beam of light
that none would suspect
and thus could none contemn
as the cologne new philharmonic
rejoices in vivaldi
and total irreverence
at the lazarus requiem;
she seemed shocked
to the point of flight
as if in sleep rocked
to see him stood again erect
as if to enter the eternal aisle
this once ghost of beltane past
dismissed in white ashes
in such fashion
funereal style
from memory's rude stage of desire
by her whose passion
smoulders hast
in penitence
prayer
turned inward the fire
of wicked things
in anger transmuted
in outward reformation
agape to see before
now throbbing there
her heart's desire
with full vigour and life blood
her fate's reincarnation;
despite her pounding pulse
the swooning mind holds sway
slips out again the door
into the quiet alleyway
yet not as thought unseen
fixated in sad ways
lock-stepped
into the ever dance
of her former life
forsakes her sweetest dream
echoing down the empty streets
afeared
of the clasp of love
as if thrust of knife
sweet pain of romance
for woman fears too much
as word brings strife
with no tongue given
to that which sears
and touches heart
in deep as ever before
her soul's ambition's theme
that note lost
she once had knew
for sacred key of eternal life
that yet splits her apart
as labarum lazarus too
despite the passing years
so what the hell is belis manger
my anagram software fails to find
german leibs biles up in anger
for torchwood doctor who unwind
is man gerbel sable minger
nemgris bale grenbale mise winger
bren is maleg, (welsh jazz singer?)
ma leg is bern (sit on ma finger)
When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's prized livery, so gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held;
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise,
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer, 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm where thou feelst it cold.
[W. Shakespeare]
Stamp of the Heart
What binds us to do then sweet lady?
'Tis as given, as shown long before,
Chains the self forged in word, thought and writ,
'Thou shalt not', cast in stone, at the door.
Whilst cold brain may devise in illusion and plot,
Words in sequence and spell binding thee,
Yet passion's directness and burning fire,
Doth make mockery of such cold decree.
For spontaneous spurts life's fountain of love,
Not fenced in sad indoctrination,
Thy heart's spirit flies free like the eagle,
Dismal mind only knows calculation.
What's stamped in my heart is what is;
And it will ne'er be challenged by word,
These feelings are things that are real,
But fool's barrenness thinks they be heard.
I'll not apologise for how my heart moves,
Never
It'll not alter when it alteration finds,
Nor bend with the remover to remove:
And if the transformation frightened,
More than it enlightened,
It became necessary to break the moulds,
The fences of fixation.
Let go and let God
Into your heart
For in here is truth
That which is real
Direct knowing
And joy,
Not barren empty words,
Confusion
Fear
And fallacies of
Illusory immortals,
Accountants in word
Filled with number
And joyless empty measure.
Rich in money
But devoid of pleasure;
Pass me then the camel and the needle.
The stones that house you will outlive you,
The iron bridge will still be there,
And the river flowing beneath,
The objects that surround you now,
Will become as antiques,
The trees, the roads,
The wind, the sun the earth,
The manhole covers even
All will endure;
But in a hundred years,
You'll be no more,
This space will be devoid of you.
I am become Winter whispering in your ear;
Be one with it,
Get on with it,
Get on, get on, no fear?
Silly Limerick: Devon Lady
An ardent young lady from Devon,
Said 'I want you to take me to heaven,
My heart is on fire,
With this urgent desire,
And I have to be back by eleven.'
Her man friend, a poet named Hans,
Hissed: 'I long to get inside your pants,
I want you to feel,
That my ardour is real,
But please wait till the end of this dance.'
'I want it right now,' said the maid,
'I feel passion and won't be delayed.'
And so total uproar,
Broke out on the dance-floor,
Who all gasped as the lady got laid.
they say you're happy
in your new life now
and that you've forgotten me
but I know
that can't be true
after all
they say I've forgotten you
[after Hagan]
The brawnwhoosh of corposcience and the bluescaster in their sullybration of the restruction of the humane condition. The spinvalidity of the ID card fictorial, the errorgent pimposity of the spunreal directum to swasticism and cuntrole in reapare. The struthless dodeed and transmake of the spuntruthful shapening their counterfade bogsutomy sharesatz and schmockery in their spinthetic depervceptive truplicious chewed arse kiss.Immediate Memory of Aroma
he had a most unlikely looking tool
hidden away in his pants
it appeared to be Yves Saint Laurent
or so the label said,
but it was really a crowbar,
a cunningly disguised device,
fashioned for to lever off her tights and panties
and gently prise her legs apart
(not that she needs much prising),
such that they could interpenetrate each other
and let the aroma diffuse in their common flesh.
Holy Wine
The shimmering guitar arpeggios
And incidentals sound out
So simple and resonant
[It's open tuned sliding chords
but Peter never demonstrated]
And then the soaring voice:
'Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet.'
He should know better
This is a time machine
Transporting him back across the years
Back into her presence
He feels it welling up inside him
He hears her breathy voice again;
'Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints,'
He knows he shouldn't play it;
'I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid,'
The years have flown by
Where did they go?
But the holy wine is still there
And it hurts: 'so bitter and so sweet':
'I remember that time you told me, you said,
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time:'
But in the sadness there resides joy
Laughing and crying simultaneously:
'Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet.'
Our revels now are ended.
These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits
And are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on,
And our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
[WS]
[During the course of the American Civil War, Sullivan Ballou, a major in the 2nd Rhode Island Volunteers, wrote home to his wife in Smithfield one week before going into battle:]
"July the 14th, 1861 Washington DC
...Sara, my love for you is deathless; it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but omnipotence can break.
And yet my love for country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly with all those chains to the battlefield.
The memory of all the blistful moments I've enjoyed with you come crowding over me and I feel most deeply grateful to God and you that I've enjoyed them for so long.
And how hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and see our boys grown up to honorable manhood around us.
If I do not return, my dear Sara, never forget how much I loved you, nor that when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have sometimes been, but oh Sara, if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they love, I shall always be with you in the brightest day and darkest night.
Always, always. And when the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath, or the cool air of your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sara, do not mourn me dead - think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again."
[Sullivan Ballou died a week later, in the first battle of Bull Run.]
Who Believes in Santa?
One: I believed in Santa,
Two: I believed in Tooth Fairy,
Four: I believed in miracles,
One: I was disappointed,
Two I was disappointed,
Had to change my thinking and learn, for the miracle of love to enter.
Love has no need of belief. Love is:
But why, one two, four?
Come, let Pan then whisper on my soft orbs of pleasure
And climb, axe through this deep undergrowth with his mighty tool of joy
This rampant warrior, soldier of delight, seeker of love's sweet solace,
Finds home in my warm embrace as mother suckles babe.
Mayday Review 2004
singing european folk songs
remembering the seige of malta
seeking redemption in wagner
stumbling blindly to the altar
in a film that spans the divide
impressed by gravity and wit
the plot of a jolly smart novel
obscured by a flash of white tit
the life of the mind stands impeded
as it sinks in the primeval dust
with old magic of language imploding
in the teenagers hot wanking lust
sculpted again from earths bowels
designed to a harmonic tune
measured in pendulums swinging
on the balls of the sun and the moon
what lies hid beneath that old greatcoat
in his insights and eleven-inch cock
which prevails against all who would romance
as a stone in a shoe without sock
winning the race to the finish
but the start line
remains undefined
point at the board with a drumstick
closely observed and refined
we know we can all live together
if you untermensch do as youre told
just work till you drop with exhaustion
provide us with women and gold
freedom will not make you happy
its just some strange dream that you had
our slaves can be black
white or purple
its a myth that we're racist and bad
the state we're in breeds weird notions
but only if livers are good
we'll cut out your kidneys and eyeballs
like some latter day robbing hey hood
do you see where the artist is heading
with a doctrinaire debonair pope
they torture with beatings and burial
and laugh in the pallor of dope
no stone unturned in the graveyard
as we search for the unicorn spoor
with weapons of lies
mass destruction
cruise missiles that knock on your door
a trick of the light made him shoot her
seven years old and afraid
a terrorist threat
claimed the sniper
and a split second judgement i made
marvellous playful and graceful
expletives deleted they say
paradise tossed in the garbage
fire in the head from the clay
the jester writes notes on a scandal
as the officer plays with his balls
with his cabinet gagged in the basement
the minister makes more false calls
identity cards on the table
tennis stars taking a dive
bombing in spain costs a fortune
tell her talks hydrogen jive
sex sunday morning and sucking
clitoris newspaper rhyme
rhythm and creaking and panting
moving in radio time
I feel your legs under the table I've been poor before
I have seen hissing gas lights
I know the stone flagged floor
Hidden from the rentman
Rolled paper 'gainst the door
Scavenged t'last bit of coal
Made toast on t'open fire
Burned old shoes when freezing
When warmth was the sole desire
Lived life in black and white
Like some rainswept forties flick
Cuddled girls in t'air raid shelter
Owed the corner shop on t'tick
Imagined I'm Flash Gordon
Hopalong Cassidy too
Saturday down at t'Bug Hut
[We could never afford the Zoo]
Smoked a piece of skip cane
Then t'first sneaked cigarette
In dizziness and vomit
The body won't forget
Tin bath comes out each Friday
You get one need or not
Water heats on cooker
If t'others are quick it's hot
Snow to rooftops in winter
November choking smog
See arms length in this stuff
Fifty yard walk is slog
Made spears from cotton spindles
And bows with old skip cane
Saloons from bits of timber
Adventures of John Wayne
Hunted frogs and wildlife
Fished in t'old mill lodge
Ran the streets with faithful Rex
Learned how to duck and dodge
Giggled behind the garages
As Phil pulled out the books
Spick and Span with airbrushed pubes
'Is that really how one looks?'
Clatter of clogs on cobbled streets
Turbanned army marching home
Invading the pitch at our cricket match
Behind the dark mills groan
Lived on t'latch key daily
Sometimes chipshop too
Come in, get changed and set the fire
Fill t'kettle make a brew
Wore hand me downs and jumble
Passed on by kindly Aunts
At grammar school the only kid
With holes int' back of pants
Compared each other's manhoods
In English and RE
Miss Weston would have had a stroke
Good job she couldn't see
Played footie on the cinder croft
Come home covered in cuts
Hidden in the pigeon loft
And fumbled girls in huts
Gone for t'crap in t'dead of night
Newspaper torch in hand
The outside tippler's freezing
And the 'toilet roll's' not grand
Caught out behind t'bike sheds
Eight of us with smoke
But we didn't get caught by t'river
Where that couple were having a poke
Watched drunken bums lose wages
In crooked games of cards
Their wives fly into rages
Then fight in pub back yards
Stood there when John the Temper
Put Harry on the ground
And lifted up that boulder
His skull with it to pound
["I've got a wife and kids," he cried
" 'twere only half-a-crown."]
Watched Big Al's wife get shagged six times
By Smithy down by t'mill
They've all gone there for ages
Suppose they always will
Rode the bus an hour
To work for next to nowt
Three minutes late, your quartered
Too many times you're out
Been cut and bruised and battered
[The call it 'hammer rash']
Bullied, coarsened, flattened
Fed greaseburgers and trash
Fabloid news and sport the fare
Hard, full of muscle rough
No room for Nancy's anywhere
If you don't fit in then that's tough
Covered in oil and turnings
In boiler suit and boots
Treated like a zero
By know alls in sharp suits
Got one myself at Burton's
And winkle picker shoes
Out on t'town on Friday
White socks and full of booze
Slim Jim tie and Brylcreem
Trying to pull the birds
Mostly unsuccesful
[Herds remain as herds]
A tumble in a 'phone box
A touch of pubic hair
Hot petting in the one and eights
Fish finger here and there
'Lucy Donovan's up the tub,
They're calling her a slut.'
The word's got round the girls
And their legs are firmly shut
Football, rugby Saturday
Obscenities, catcalls
The Hero here is working class
It's got him by the balls
Conditioned by the system
Karma in the worth
Imprisoned in behaviour
Entrapment in the birth
Then Monday once more comes around
Clears Sunday Morning's bout
I'll not do this for fifty years
There must be some way out;
I'll not do this for fifty years
There must be some way out.
-------------------------
I've been poor before
I know the stone flagged floor
So I learned to use a library
Maths, art, science, even more.
Leaning into mine
I feel renewed
I feel disabled
By these bonfires in my spine
I don't know who the arsonist was
Which incendiary soul
But all I ever wanted
Was to come in from the cold
Is this just vulgar electricity
Is this the edifying fire
Does your smile covert complicity
Debase as it admires
Are you checking out your mojo
Or am I just fighting off growing old
All I ever wanted
Was to come in from the cold
[Mitchell]
Archbishop's Dilemma
Bradford's against
The Bishop of Reading
Chester and Winchester
Wonder who he's been bedding
In sexual intercourse
Holy snake sucks his tail
Deep mark of the union
Made flesh human scale
Heaven on Earth
As opposites meet
Brief forming the circle
Luscious ecstasy sweet
Writhing and heaving
In love's eager clasp
Thrusting and panting
With each ardent gasp
Adam in Eve
Not Adam in Adam
Or so they believe
In Christchurch and Wadham
Made for each other
Rochester 'Pool
Thou shalt not fuck thy brother
Thou shalt not fuck thy mule
Thou shalt not fuck thy mother
As Sodom's lot learned
Thy son nor thy daughter
Unless ye be burned
Opposites God made
Each thing in it's place
If then love a partner
With fairness of face
And we be not married
[A man made convention]
Why can we not love
With every invention?
Can we not delight
In each others' sighs
Drink each other's lips
Joy each other's eyes?
Do fancy clothes matter
Does love become lust
What does it mean
When all becomes dust?
Who'll preach resurrection
And who defines sin
In beautiful bonding
As snake slithers in?
Who strays over boundaries
And who sets them where
Who here is righteous
And who will declare?
This is the question
Let's make it direct
Morals and Bible
Or polite correct?
Written by nomads
Dictated by God
Long aeons past
In dialects odd
Translated four times
Through Hebrew and Greek
Mistaken and twisted
Such meaning is weak
But can you take one part
When joined at the hip?
Or does reason demand
It all goes in the skip?
Denying its basis
Then logic must find
That Church and its Ministry
Have roots undermined
If must pick and choose
Which be moral and not
Why then use a bible
Why not dump the whole lot?
Earnest flock members see this
Those who sincerely search
Turning faces away
At the end of the Church
Who splits communion
And joining in sex
Sacrifice, polygamy
Whatever next?
One thing be certain
That those who would ride
Smooth pleasures of Sodom
Must never decide
For all falls apart
In a sexual chasm
Creating a schism
In worship of orgasm
For urgent self-interest
Can never judge true
Hot desires born of Satan
That seek to undo
Whose is authority
From whence does it come
Have we no prophets
Are old ways undone?
And what of the Master
What would he say
If he stood by your side
As you acted this way?
The Warrant
in the year seventeen
of emperor tiberius caesar
on this twenty-seventh
day of martius
in the city of holy jerusalem
annas and caiaphas
being priests
sacrificators
of the people of god
pontius pilate
governor of lower gallilee
sitting in the presidential chair
of the praetory
condemns jesus of nazareth
to die on the cross
between two thieves
the great
and notorious
evidence of the people saying:
1. jesus is a seducer
2. he is seditious
3. he is the enemy of law
4. he calls himself falsely the son of god
5. he calls himself falsely the king of israel
6. he entered into the temple
followed by a multitude
bearing palm branches
in their hands
the first centurion
tuiluis cornelius
shall take him
by the gate of struenus
to the place of execution
this warrant forbids
any person
whomsoever
either poor or rich
to oppose the death of
jesus christ
witnessed this day;
daniel robani
a pharisee
joannus robani
raphael robani
capet
a citizen
The Ballad of Annabell May
[This is an early, albeit crude (in more ways than one) exercise in word morphing. I post it here:
a) for historical reasons and
b) because people keep asking me for a copy.
Be warned, there's some very deep stuff lurking in this seemingly innocuous bawdy Limerick poem.
Comments and analysis are welcome...]
Listen close, in this epic you'll find,
Something here for the quick, subtler mind,
I'll charm you and thrill you,
Perhaps even - will you?
I fancy you might, just - unwind.
Our heroine, Annabell May,
Who was fond of a roll in the hay,
Lost her husband one night,
In a terrible fight,
With a lover she'd brought home to play.
She'd felt really turned on by this punk,
A spare time prize-fighter and drunk,
'Why keep lunging,' she said,
'He's already dead,
Hump the body down here to this trunk.
Stefansee, a slow one at best,
Put the stiff with a thump in the chest,
Then this champion prize-fighter,
A glow-worm was brighter,
Reached for Annabell, stroking her breast
'I'm hopin' thy soft skin, Smooth eyes,
For my efforts tonight, is my prize,
I want you, I know,
I long for you so, Remember how you fantasised?'
Poor Annabell started to weep,
'We must bury him quick, do it deep,
Out where the slab rests,
There'll be time to grab rest,
Once he's in the hole we can sleep.'
Our heroine felt her sore knee,
Remembered and spun crazily,
A lush afternoon,
Her husband's sad doom,
And how from this scum to break free.
Stefansee did moan and did grunt,
Regretting the whole stupid stunt,
As he dug ten feet down,
He felt such a clown,
In search of a good rhyming word.
Up top Annabell stood by the trunk,
Wondering how she could unload this punk,
She eased the box forward,
To the rim of the hole,
Then down onto his head with a clunk.
She filled in the hole double quick,
With quick-setting cement and rough brick,
'I want romance,' she hissed,
'To make love, to be kissed,
Not drunkards and fighting and tricks.'
The deed done, she set off to a fair,
Hoping to find true love there,
She came upon one,
The King of the Pun,
A poet with panache and flair.
As he punned, he a shadow show ran,
From the back of an old caravan,
With a screen and a candle,
A brush with no handle,
A fork, two meat pies and a pan.
'What's this here then?' he called to the crowd,
'Pretend that you know, call out loud.'
The shadows looked rude,
Rather sexually crude,
Like an excited table stood proud.
She imagined this big thick Caucasian,
Deriding a supple Malaysian,
To nip all in the bud,
She erected her hood,
To guard against infatuation.
'This man's gorgeous,' she said with a sigh,
'With a certain strange glint in his eye,
I'll have him tonight,
For my personal delight,
This is turning me on, don't know why.'
His show finished, the King stepped off the board,
Saying: 'Lady, you've just struck a chord,
On the strings of my being,
Come with me seeing,
My pun is much meatier than sword,'
'Let an expert deep into your soul,
And with eyes open wide know the whole,
Tonight be my bride,
You know what's implied,
For both of us have the same goal.'
'Think hard on this ex-con's quick pun,
Did Icarus fly to the sun?
Will Dickens discount,
Make male hens moan and grunt,
And wash after you good just for fun?'
'I wonder if you are aware,
Deep within you're beginning to stir,
I know that you're wondering,
How far you will go,
And how you'll find out if you care?'
I shall begin now to realise that time,
And proceed down that memory line,
Which when rearranged,
Will bring about change,
That transforms the present with rhyme.
Remarkably this is the case,
I can tell from the look on my face,
That I too can renew,
The things I once knew
Knowing this is the time and the place.
Should you find in these words something strange,
As time and space now rearrange,
Restore in the present,
The things that one's past,
Memory keeps without change.
Said Annabell, 'I feel confused,
You say I can be as I choose,
If my past is my present,
And my present is past,
I have therefore nothing to lose.'
Pun King smiled and then nodded his head,
'This is really intriguing,' he said,
'Listen hard whilst I tell,
And remember this spell,
For the change it will bring is widespread.'
'I want you to look at your past,
When you made love the time before last,
If you'll just visualise,
What you saw with your eyes,
Do it now, and the die will be cast.'
'Now remember the panting and sighs,
The heaving and grunting and cries,
Soft whispers and speaking,
Flesh slapping, bed creaking,
Remember it all, fantasise.'
And now to recall once again,
Hot blood rushing round in each vein,
That thrusting, that lunging,
That kissing and plunging,
For ecstasy flesh to attain.
To this brew add those memories of smell,
That hung in your nostrils so well,
Fantasise, cast,
Attain it at last,
The past it comes now with this spell.
'I'm feeling like honey,' she shivered,
'The spell you've cast makes my bones quiver,
I can feel a vibration,
A certain sensation,
From the tips of my toes to my liver.'
She searched deep in his eyes for a clue,
The Pun King he already knew,
A master of words,
And a charmer of birds,
Annabell thought aloud what to do,
'This Pun King man's stuck in my mind,
I'll pretend I'm the oncoming kind,
If his apple is fresh,
I'll bite it's soft flesh,
Suckle it and see what I find.'
'Hey hum, Pretty Lady, let's do it,
Why pretend you have lost, why go through it?
This ridiculous game,
Is confusing my brain,
I want you, I want to go to it.'
'I fancy I know what you mean,
You arouse me in ways quite obscene,
I have deep in me needs,
That dark fantasy feeds,
Come with me now, share in my dream.'
And so with the fair bid goodbye,
They made love 'neath the diamond clad sky,
And walked hand in hand,
Length and breadth of the land,
Exploring the meaning of Pi.
(Two years later, they were settled in a cottage in South Yorkshire: Pun King had been morose for some days & began to explain)
'I have a deep secret,' said he,
'When younger, foot loose, fancy free,
At the Howling Wolf Inn,
I was corrupted by sin,
And the innkeeper's blackmailing me.'
'I was drunk one night, telling a pun
When he came upon me with a gun,
And in fear of my life,
Made me hump his young wife,
Whilst he stood by and watched just for fun.'
'Then when he was sated, the swine,
Gave me glass after glass of drugged wine,
Then made me play cards,
With his friends in the bar,
Where I lost money time after time.'
'My two hundred pound IOU,
Is an ongoing burden for two,
And it has to be paid,
To his wife and his maid,
Each month when the interest is due.
'Now he's offered to give me it back,
For one night with you in the sack,
He says if you do,
His threatening's through,
And our finances go in the black.'
'I'll do it then,' sighed Annabell,
'End up with a night out as well,
It sounds fine by me,
I can't wait to see,
If this man is as good as they tell.'
All through the night she rode hard,
And came to the Howling Wolf's yard,
As dawn cracked the next day,
Tired but ready to pay,
For the debts of this Pun King, her bard.
Now Harris, the Howling Wolf's owner,
Was a surly man, devious, a loner,
A butcher by trade,
With a bisexual maid,
Known far and wide for his huge boner.
When he saw Annabell, he did gloat,
A lustful groan sprang from his throat,
'Welcome, Pretty Maid,
You will when you're laid,
Reveal yourself, take off your coat.
The innkeeper's eyes were on fire,
Bulging and filled with desire,
'What is this here?' said he,
'Feel my hand on your knee,
Very soon shall I slide it up higher.'
'Oh, Sir,' she cried, 'pray what is this?
A Gentleman starts with a kiss,
Your lust feels so great,
And if you can but wait,
I shall give you a whole night of bliss.'
Notwithstanding his humble position,
Landlord Harris was a Black Magician,
Who kept on the inn,
As a front for his sin,
His perversions, his lust and ambition.
Said he: 'I gave this Pun King his spell,
That went deep in your memory so well,
Fantasise, cast,
Attain it at last,
The past it comes now as I tell.'
'Oh, Sir, you confuse me so much,
I'm burning inside with your touch,
You're arousing my feelings,
I'm out of control,
I need to make love, I am such.'
And so then was Pun King's debt paid,
Poor Annabell got laid and got laid,
By the rampant innkeeper,
Who went in even deeper,
Than the drayman, the groom and the maid.
Three days without sleep did they take her,
And when she refused they did make her,
Perform for their pleasure,
Give stroke measure for measure,
With the innkeeper's wife and the baker.
On finally escaping these freaks,
Our heroine's silence still speaks,
Now all she will say,
Of that sad fateful day,
Is: 'I couldn't sit down for three weeks.'
Despite this, I once heard her claim,
That the doings drove her almost insane,
All that licking and sucking,
Seventy-two hours of drinking,
Left sharp images deep in her brain.
They didn't live happily after,
Some discovered the spell and would shaft her,
By connecting four wires,
To arouse her desires,
Her passions, her rapture and laughter.
But Annabell still adores Pun King,
Who's doing a long stretch in B wing,
Of the Strangeways Hotel,
For trying to spell,
An election with are down in Wan King.
Listen close, in this epic you'll find,
Something here for the quick, subtler mind,
I'll charm you and thrill you,
Perhaps even - will you?
I fancy you might, just - unwind.
Invocation to Sir Chenjin
open invocation cast out wide
incantation ether wave born on tide
language disorder wiccan chant
music therapy rave and rant
natural healing magic spell
mystery story dark poetry's well
erotic story anagram new
glastonbury festival pagan symbol too
feast of pentecost speaking in tongues
hypnotic mistress men with iron lungs
feast of flowering moon burning man
letter lock love lust lingering in pan
ur spracht manu five tone voice
harmonic cleansing leave no choice
a therapy given by the local physician
for ten full minutes in missionary position
alternate reality seeing charlie chan
caudad tetrad blench sempiternal clan
chanting indian velvet acid thighs
girl gone wild eating holland meat pies
image and reality of mystery lady hex
nature of duality in matter form and sex
magic incantation creating human mess
room fighting night flyer woman red dress
laughing buddha statue cockney rhyming slang
universal life so mind healer sang
brain dump overload secret overheard
practical magic hid in spoken word
hypno seduction mystic language ways
of humping word morph and humbly dumbly days
analysing meaning kingdom is within
walking distance viewing depravity and sin
origin of cliche history of pi
figurative language on warm woman thigh
regressive imagery sweet sensation
creative writing unproven allegation
greedy corpo scientist making out a case
tenure and finance fuck the human race
well read dick head word wrestler teach
woolly pully over eye obfuscate in speech
brief statement utterance assert affair firmation
word of honour off her head in circumnavigation
masturbating priestess hot on road to hull
paved with god inventions of literary bull
spunking spurting shuphat hiphat ka
partial parthogenesis ex ishivar shuffha
supernal ish nephridium essif hassoh sishoph
macropterous preposterous paashiphs esifs hitoph
creator mass deaf ray naive guilt on head
mad dog politician get make twenty million dead
he speak fancy word trying hard to bed her
she trust no auditor standing near a shredder
never trust pleas man who say no thing to fear
never trust drunkard who say he want no beer
never trust spin doctor put in place to hide
never trust her anyone only give one side
words of power power game plan it underground
movement of an iron rod fusion inert sound
cavitation engine rusting down the pit
sniffing out her intent and sucking on her wit
rhythm poem undertone in language pattern field
music lyric search and find in song and spell is sealed
love letter sonnet form in horoscope and quote
poetry with gratitude in heart felt thank you note
real working class heroes incarnate in trees
in sea and rock and flower in cloud and trees
in grass and insect form in fish and sand
in river stream and rain not many understand
parable or metaphor they make feel small
no time in pain so big they feel no thing at all
miracle and mackerel hovis and brown bread
feeding of five thousand then raise lazarus from dead
billies and charlies making drake brass plate
william henry ireland and confabulate
letter from america come each satan day
black verse propaganda direct from see and say
boundless and limitless forgotten and forlorn
justifying genocide whilst castigating porn
in witchcraft ritual ancient as hills
soaked in henbane and pushing poisoned pills
for the right wing ringer with a bowie knife
who reads the bible and fucks his wife
on saturday night when he's feeling hot
and she has to have it if she wants it or not
weapon of destruction they say they burst the boil
proper gander in the head while killing for more oil
spinning to drumbeat of set up tv show
critically silenced and too far gone to know
fist up sock puppet dancing on a string
thinking caper freely but conductor say what sing
structure here of magic mystery and bon
appetite for hot lust and unity with one
womans burning passion in suffering desire
talk so people listen out in fohat cosmic fire
station master dreamer in word persuasion power
conning man and animal climbing babel tower
overtime lord helper in tranceformation cross
sword of truth in what is is of little import loss
of ego maniac patterning in super project scheme
in nonsense rhyme and reason of rabbit hole dream
on young lovers kisses on butterfly's wings
of a prayer and a blissing as the carpenter sings
walrus lyric name of lucy mean it light
christ alice transformation poem come middle time of night
walker on fire pit pot chanting in trance
form shifted consciousness shapen up by dance
through looking glass studio in caterpillar hall
moth man get transfigured whispering a call
text segmentation making image and form
flow of information in access to storm
cloud picture post card give index to word
pattern of language make perception of world
sweet temptation french kissing hot man hoods
blue eyes green eyes and wicked things in woods
dreaming and scheming with wild imagination
hand on throbbing groin in deep infatuation
soft silky gentleness spoken in a sigh
lustings thrustings never asking why
teacher speak hard tongue how many lick
like diamond mind head in sleight of mouth trick
like cogito ergo sum where no i is thinking
as if eye lid movement say eye is blinking
pink lips fumbled zips shapely hips and fashion
deep sighs white thighs stocking tops and passion
take a chance you're the one give it to me now
don't talk heart of glass I will survive somehow
french kissing breath hissing suck and gentle bite
soft breast moral test and sexual delight
have to have you have to have you temptation burn so much
never met like you before such yearning for your touch
hidden words of wisdom anagram omkara sound
of hypno fetish sing songs sup in velvet underground
sad spaniard in works outing of finnegans wake
breaking up form until left hand fingers ache
forest field and fantasy in daresbury ask alice
in wonderland adventure of lewis carroll malice
little prince charming girls in grimm fairy tales
of magic ways love fest visions of whales
electric heroes bathing in twilight of the gods
novel english usage working flouting all the odds
healing in hypnosis sound and esp
calling down great angels by smoking dmt
saintly evocation deep taproot rubaiyat
and my voice will go with you so meditate on that
moving finger writing in bright winking neon sign
metaphor inviting hand inventory and mime
curtailing basic freedoms citing keeping peace
work in public office palm all smear in grease
teaching dog eat dog lead survival of fit
recoil in hypocrisy when mugger practice it
brainwasher child scarer he can tell
bribe with heaven fill fear with hell
fill with fairy tale illusion breath
safety in number but alone birth death
being live in senses see touch here feel
talk life fantasy mystic life real
phalli soppy symbol game word trancecribed
best description never described
very best picture never is real
only poor reflection menu not meal
mind game story zen alarm clock
mourning glory cooking with a wok
assonance and resonance in pi man soup
speak words that rhyme with brewer's droop
one life big dreams breaking up the mould
things with prayer work out sized ego told
essence of meaning body language sign
universal music second coming time
come passion hot bed brain washing route
wild cherry college girl in pink zoot suit
literature and writing gothic sex with demon
phonetic fornication friendship poem for seamen
yellow matter custard dead dogs eye
stream of consciousness river running by
sit in twilight garden near wall in hidden palace
resuurecting vision of thick vein in stiffened phallus
pushing through the maiden hair no gilded butterfly
panting heaving throbbing satisfaction in her eye
needles pins it on her looking into something good
really got me caught all over now it's something understood
lying back and spread out wide upon the paduasoy
she spasms on the groaning bed and takes the spurt of joy
I'm in love with a vengeance and there's always something there
I am made three times a lady summer nights without a care
seven times she cries out loud as fourteen times it gushes
her womanhood in wild delight it pushes pushes pushes pushes
in song lyric fantasy of theatre made of dream
mirror of reality in evil selling scheme
altered state of consumeness by aesop writ in fable
example of sweet metaphor hiding under table
dynamic body language no nonsense poem
word twisting nursery rhyme story of owen
money mad megabird shag gash rough
ride with poltergeist feeling not enough
time out of head lines up another lay
back game plan screenplay writing starring daisy may
be zen rock garden may be knot in song
bird brain storm in teacup part wrong
day out in weird picture phonetic story
board game sonnet writing new morning glory
days of magic gathering jupiter and mars
calls to willing and eager in bars
all comers waiting from noticing signs
of storybook weaver who committed no crimes
near death experience in bone mountain monastery
garden of delight and growing sheaves of honesty
partnership in ecstasy of orgasm surge surpass
expectation wonderment of nitrous oxide gas
mask of martinet in house of sin hush city
humping heaving shafting pushions feeling hot and pretty
dweller on threshold of dream interpretation
ambiguous and tolerant in sweet alliteration
red realm restraint rock of rough romantic craft
fair tongue piercing down deep mind shaft
hot women gasping in elizabethan map
of cosmos and kronos in heathen devil trap
door to eternity and medieval feast
of master of reality bringer of release
white dove of freedom original sin
no more stoning and from this all will win
out of advertising logan manipulating word
looks like cattle but sound like herd
and heard not scene as childhood place
alternate reality of man in moon face
of sacred valley in winter sun
sign of plenty and lover of nun
dancing with angel in pentecost trance
rapt in glossolalia and oblivious of chance
paradigm shift midsummer night dream
catcher of nuance and maker of scheme
rhythm of word and rhythm of phrase
rhythm of lyric of ancient of days
three times a lady hot summer nights
put on stocking and throw down tights
and nights of passion with heaving hips
in fairy tale story of clinging lips
speak sweet endearment in love poem spell
outrageous blessing he knew so well
in erotic fantasy of eros rhyme
and reason discarded to keep in time
arch of spine and creak of floor
wuthering heights night fever more
to remember mantram of beating drum
to sway and weave in eternal hum
and hump and pump in coming of spring
fly height of summer on joyful wing
and as fall of leaves take stock and slow
prepare for winters coming night and know
that when cleansing frost be past and done
new bud come reborn called out by sun
The Pick Up Man
The pick up man stood at the bar,
He'd had no luck this evening, so far,
And then through the gloom,
At the back of the room,
Spied a blonde and brunette with no bra.
Hardly believing his luck,
Within three brief seconds, he struck,
'What brings you here girls,
To this part of the world?
Would you like a fresh drink or a sandwich?'
'I'M IN HERE,' he thought with a grin,
As they giggled, HE FILLED THEM with gin,
'I WANT YOU,' he said,
'And I'M EASILY LEAD,
I LIKE NIGHTS OF HOT PLEASURE AND SIN.'
'I FIND YOU INTRIGUING, that's true,'
Said the blonde with the eyes of pale blue,'
YOUR WIT AND YOUR CHARM,
HAVE A WAY TO DISARM,
I WONDER WHAT ELSE YOU CAN DO?
'DEEP INSIDE HER, the brunette was STEAMING,
She knew well what blondie was scheming,
If SHE WANTED ROMANCE,
Then THIS WAS HER CHANCE,
Or she'd end up in bed alone dreaming.
'I FIND YOU QUITE SEXY,' she said,
'But don't geT IT INTO YOUR HEAD,
That me and my friend,
Will SUCK YOUR BELL END,
At home when we GET YOU IN BED.
'Blondie's eyes OPENED WIDE WITH DELIGHT,
THIS COULD BE QUITE AN INTERESTING NIGHT,
'THAT SOUNDS GOOD,' she sighed,'
LET'S GO FOR A RIDE,
LET'S WORK THIS TOGETHER, ALRIGHT?'
BOTH PANTING, they dragged off the man,
To a mattress in the back of their van,
Where they VENTED THEIR PASSION,
In a crude lusting fashion,
DOING THINGS only two women can.
stay in line. stay in step. people Because I am united eternally, inseparably, with my Beloved - who is the Beloved of all, who is yourself - I would show you the way, because you are in pain, in sorrow, in doubt.
are afraid of someone who is not
in step with them. it makes them
look foolish t' themselves for
being in step. it might even
cross their minds that they themselves
are in the wrong step. do not run
nor cross the red line. if you go
too far out in any direction, they
will lose sight of you. they'll feel
threatened. thinking that they are
not a part of something that they
saw go past them, they'll feel
something's going on up there that
they don't know about. revenge
will set in. they will start thinking
of how t' get rid of you. act
mannerly towards them. if you don't,
they will take it personal. as you
come directly in contact face t' face
do not make it a secret of how
much you need them. if they sense
that you have no need for them,
the first thing they will do is
try t' make you need them. if
this doesn't work, they will tell
you of how much they don't need
you. if you do not show any sadness
at a remark such as this, they
will immediately tell other people
of how much they don't need you.
your name will begin t' come up
in circles where people gather
to tell about all the people they
don't need. you will begin t' get
famous this way. this, though, will
only get the people who you don't need
in the first place
all the more madder.
you will become
a whole topic of conversation.
needless t' say, these people
who don't need you will start
hating themselves for needing t' talk
about you. then you yourself will
start hating yourself for causing so
much hate. as you can see, it will
all end in one great gunburst.
never trust a cop in a raincoat.
when asked t' define yourself exactly,
say you are an exact mathematician.
do not say or do anything that
he who standing in front of you
watching cannot understand, he will
feel you know something he
doesn't. he will react with blinding
speed and write your name down.
talk on his terms. if his terms
are old-fashioned an' you've
passed that stage all the more easier
t' get back there. say what he
can understand clearly. say it simple
t' keep your tongue out of your
cheek. after he hears you, he can
label you good or bad. anyone will
do. t' some people, there is only
good an' bad. in any case, it will
make him feel somewhat important.
it is better t' stay away from
these people. be careful of
enthusiasm...it is all temporary
an' don't let it sway you. when asked
if you go t' church, always answer
yes, never look at your shoes...
[Dylan: Advice for Geraldine on Her Miscellaneous Birthday]
But I can only be a signpost for you.
You must have the strength of your own desire to attain.
You must experience the pain and the sorrow in your own self.
You must strive for yourself.
Your desire must come from your very soul.
It must be the result of your own experience, for by that alone will you attain.
By telling you of my attainment I do not wish to create authority because if I create authority in your mind I shall destroy your own perception of the Truth.
I want to make you breathe the fresh air of the mountains, but if you seek my authority you will remain in your dark valley of limitation.
It is much easier for you to follow and worship blindly than to understand and so become truly free.
Until I was able to identify myself with the goal, which is the Beloved of all, which is the Source and the End of all, I did not want to say that I had found and, in finding, had become the Beloved.
Till I was able to unite with the eternal I could not pass on the Truth to others; till I was certain of having found the lasting goal I did not want to say that I was the Teacher.
Now that I have found, now that I have established the Beloved within myself, now that the Beloved is myself, I would give you of the Truth - not that it should be received with authority, but with understanding.
It does not matter whether you accept or reject it.
When a flower opens and gives its scent, it does not heed if the passer-by does not delight in its fragrance.
I have painted my picture on the canvas and I want you to examine it critically, not blindly.
I want you to create because of that picture a new picture for yourself.
I want you to fall in love with the picture, not with the painter, to fall in love with the Truth and not with him who brings the Truth.
Fall in love with yourself and then you will fall in love with everyone.
...that immense energy,
immense intelligence,
has been using this body.
I don't think people realise what tremendous energy
and intelligence went through this body.
And for seventy years
- was a pretty long time -
and now the body can't stand any more.
Nobody,
unless the body has been prepared,
very carefully,
protected and so on -
nobody can understand what went through this body.
Nobody.
Don't anybody pretend.
Nobody.
I repeat this:
nobody amongst us or the public,
knows what went on.
I know they don't.
And now after seventy years
it has come to an end.
Not that this intelligence and energy
- it's somewhat here,
every day,
and especially at night.
And after seventy years,
the body can't stand it
- can't stand any more.
It can't.
The Indians have a lot of damned superstitions about this
- that you will and the body goes -
and all that kind of nonsense.
You won't find a body like this,
or that supreme intelligence
operating in a body
for many hundred years.
You won't see it again.
When he goes, it goes.
There is no consciousness left behind
of that consciousness,
of that state.
They'll all pretend
or try to imagine they can get in touch with that.
Perhaps they will somewhat
if they live the teachings.
But nobody has done it.
Nobody.
And so that's that.
[Krishnamurti]
Associated Pages
Dan Scorpio Home
Eprime
Atonal Therapeutic Chant for Healing and Interrupt
Language Manipulation and Abuse
Presupposition
Neologism and Cliche Forms
Therapeutic Metaphor
Pomes and Lyrical Main Page
Bibliography [for Entire Site]
Prince and Magician (Consciousness) Pages
