Sometimes i am so lonely, not the shade of loneliness that makes one want to cry, whimper. It is different. A deeper, more subtle, distant uneasy feeling. When one knows what one believes one thinks one knows, it is there, a gnawing, always in the background, on the edge of life, near the horizons of death itself. When you have arrived to the terrain of the absurd, the meaninglessness of life, it is somewhere around there that this vague spirit resides. At the point where you know that what ever you tend to believe you know, is simply relative, changing, never absolute and never perfect; never really true, nothing more than an example, a reflection of reality; it is there that this loneliness tends to surround you; like an uneasy night that preys on you after a glorious day.
I mean to say, when you really grasp this reality, you are alone, totally alone, no one knows you, you know no one and you can not know yourself, there is no self to know, nothing to hold onto, nothing but new uncertain realities floating thru your being like a single leaf dancing across a vacant lot alone, separate, you come and you go and that is it. It is there that this spirit of nothingness is everything.
Possibly a sadness for all that you obtain is for not, not the way you wanted things to be. This feeling is not one to ponder on for days, or even hours. It can tear you apart if you are not careful, depress you, crush you, make you ignore the beauty that encircles you. Though it does appear to be important, almost necessary to always know it is there, keep it close, for it is where you must go, but not to self-praise it endlessly, but to honour it with the light air of passing thru, a form of observing without question, without the radiation of thought destroying its nature. It is called by many names. I call it the ‘pure wind’. Many are depressed, scared of this energy and in vain attempt desperately to escape this clear mist, most all of the time through-out their lives, they shield themselves from the beauty of its silence. It is not your enemy. It is your friend in the end. It is behind the beauty of the sea, the scent of wild flowers blowing across the plateaus of experience, it is the root whereas much thought attempts to escape, avoid, understand. It is the way, it is within the gates of eden, out in the magic garden, deep space, the way of the heart. One can camouflage it with imaginary forms of paradise, visuals of heavens and hells, the sounds of silences; one can deny it, hide it away in misery of worthless architecture of the mind, but it is your friend in the end, embrace it, this void, this mystery, and let it kiss your heart, be your soul. This is the way to die.
in times as these one must hold gratitude high and surrender to the night light the world will be as one as one disappears the leaves will blow gentle across the lane way the old street lamp will shiver in the wind memories trapped within them selves will scamper across the heavens your white face and lace like limps are still falling across the horizons with the arm in arm solitude we left for each other and all the undreamt dreams that waver in the waves surrounds us like time does when it is still i loved you in your pure whisper with the glow of your soul beating in my heart almost certain to last forever as death split us and left this empty void revolving around this head now that owns me for one last kiss from your vacant lips
A few days ago Feb13 i put up a video of my partner rolling in the snow for health benefits. In my comment i said ‘Crazy Russians’, and of course any real normal human being would know it was all in fun; she is Russian, well Belarussian to be correct………….well the AI censor board for the largest social media platform on the planet, (i am being somewhat careful not to mention names) had a different idea and i was black listed and my screen went black for a day and i could not list any comments or posts etc.. I have had one warning for my ‘hate crime’ and if i am found again hating something, someone, anything, i will be removed for who knows how long, possibly forever. Free America. I find it amusing since this platform was created because of the hate the owner had for some woman, whom acted against his desires, back in his university days…ironic…we know who i am talking about. Mr. Zeee………this could be the last time you will hear from me, my friends, you may be next. Now that he is a billionaire, he is of course extremely well respected by so many. It brings to mind an appropriate Dylan line, ‘steal a little and they put you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king’.
It is possible that i was being watched for posting alternative news media that is not a part of the main stream narrative. They were all opinions by others, some experts in the field and other alternative researchers loosely labeled as Conspiracy Theorists. Reguardless of what one believes, these actions should raise a flag tinted in the more low frequency hues. And it may be noted that many of these alternative scientific views are now being much more observed by many from many countries across the globe. Things are changing, the tide is turning. People are simply waking up to the ways of the world, the corruption runs deep and is expressed by very well meaning individuals and institutions that do really believe, for the most part, the narrative they are being presented with. Others are outright liars with their pocket books well secured. There are many pawns interrelating on this grid, some true, some not, many in-between. Where all just pawns in this game, but to be blacklisted from the modern telephone communication system called social media for calling someone anyone crazy is truly crazy. Seriously, how much more will we accept before the freedom we have had and have is a ‘B’ movie on Netflix. ‘Kafka on the Run’, staring the People directed by the Hidden.
It is less likely to be AI searched by posting a Blog post, tho the (Independent) Fact Checkers are busy busy as their budgets and mandates will allow…..we shall see how the facts roll out and how well they embrace truth. I could be gone in seconds never to return, at least from this grid.
Click on any Image and find the ‘Slide Show Button’ and place it on ‘Large Screen’, put on some appropriate tunes, have a toke, a tea, or all two or whatever, sit back and walk down some memory lanes….almost a thousand images for your viewing pleasure and many more yet to come if the response makes it worth my while…..courtesy by patrick wey
Friends are like almost everything. They come and go. Some stay around thru the tough times. Some betray when situations cut too deep. A few stay around a life time and some end just when you thought they never could. Some you have never met in person. These days friends are collected like a collection of stamps, faces from every corner of the planet, you can just stick-um on a page, trade-um, sell-um when you have enough, advertise them, exchange them, morph them and caress them from anywhere. And yet a few great friends came through the virtual realities. True friends stay around thru all the stadiums of political persuasions, the entrance and exits of gods, the change in spouses, the scandals and beyond your last breath. They are few, rare as snow in June, true love, but they are there, always ready to caress your weary heart, to say a few real words when the sun is high or the sky is low. They are the ones that make life worth living. Some friends are weak and need more attention, some are strong and hit the road when times are weird. Some you only see a few times in your life and others are around almost too much of the time. Some are dead, dying, some are living. Some never quite get you but still hang around and others think they know you better than yourself; some have an answer for everything and others know mostly nothing at all. The best friends are the ones that attempt to understand where you are coming from and attempt for insight to what you might be striving to be, even if they don’t understand they listen from a heart that has been cleared, a space in the mind where love gathers.
I have loved as best i could my friends thru-out my life, been misunderstood and misunderstood, loved and despised. I have always considered friends on the highest plain. If a family member was not a friend i didn’t care all that much for them, blood wasn’t a big deal, love was. A friend presents a stepping stone to a greater space, a stream up into to the highlands of caring, to the head waters of love, empathy, the real compassion, and there is a ‘knowing’ a ‘faith’ of sorts that one may receive as a gift for the journey. The search is the lie, there is no way to truth, there is no procedure to be a true friend. A true friend appears when the need is expressed and heard clear then developed. Love is everywhere, in the streams, the coastal lines; the tears of love are the smiles of gods, friends feel this. I have had many friends of all shapes, smooth ones, hard ones, fancy, free, crippled, weary and beautiful loving friends. Friends from all races, gender, class, intelligent, kind, selfish and deep and shallow. There were artists, businessmen, lawyers, doctors and slaves, clerks, house wives, factory workers, musicians, artists, shamans, gurus, saints and devils. From all walks of life we walked our short distance together. Some saw the sacred and some defied it. It makes no matter in the end, we are all one separated by mind. We have walked this earth in the way we have and we shall rejoin the mystery when we’re done, possibly there is a judgement, possibly not; there is no certainty there and i am not concerned.
If i could i would erase all the moments i was cruel, insensitive, arrogant, selfish and unforgiving and replace this with the honour, caring, honest helpful energy entwined with the respect i have shown in my more precious moments; that i would do in a flash, if i could. What is done is done, what will be will be, a salute of gratitude for us all, it has been quite the trip.
These are images of some of the friends and acquaintances i have known, some better and longer than others. Reminiscence of what ever once was. There were a few close friends that had left abruptly without any reason why, that i could ever detect and i never saw them again. That is life. Most are fond memories floating around in this brain i falsely call my own. Thank you for being in my life and for the opportunity to walk along this path of life with you all. Thru the storms the sunsets the gentle moments the whole shebang. I trust my presence was worthwhile, insightful, humorous and helpful in one way or another. It is not over yet but i hear the drums in the distance, the cool shade of silence sweeping over the plains. It won’t be long now, i can see the mountains of my heart entering the dark light of the long and endless night, the journey is curving around the last bends, it won’t be long, time is grinding down into the endless silence and then some.
They come from all sides concealed, masked, the ones whom run the show. The leaders, the executives, the teachers, the authority, all the pawns playing the game in an established system spread out in a well controled grid, the food, the energy, the movement, taxes and all.
We have all learned that reality is much more bizarre than most of us could ever have imagined when one discovers the details in peoples minds. The they are unique, they have been in control in various ways and forms for centuries. They know the procedures but nothing is full proof especially when you’re dealing with overly selfish intended pursuits. The system is in constant flux, always being tuned, rearranged, shifting power, but it’s there, has been there and will stay there until removed but likely improbable and definitely dangerously life threatening. You don’t have to make up your mind in the absence of evidence about their existence, but if you look hard enough you will in fact find lots of evidence that They do exist and They do have very sinister concepts about the rest of us and how to deal with us. The question is not so much if They exist but how much to they really control of our world, what is their motives, how can we stop their endeavours to strategically trace, track and dominate every move we make; this appears to be their intent. Is there a point of no return before it may be mass termination. Who are they? they are them over there, hidden in clear view, the ones mysteriously pulling the threads of humanity from some secret realms for more of what they already have, to maintain what had been passed down from their ancestors, to carry on the tradition of power and control. They are the ones that maintain the ultimate intricate finances on the planet, the deal makers, the bullies. They are the ones some consider the planners of the 2020 pandemic, ‘the plandemic’. This may be true, partially true, mostly true, many believe it is a fantasy, a crazy theory devised by angry writers, thinkers, theorists, poor souls with nothing much better to do. It is obvious that the majority of society prefers to live in the dark. It is too depressing to be aware of what is really going on. For the most part people can get away with this attitude, but things are very different at this point in time. We stand at a major turning point for humanity. The technology today to track and control masses of humanity has never been more possible, is in place and happening with the many the masses and the crowd following according to plans. The masses refuse to believe something so sinister could fool their analytical minds but once again they are being stunned into cohesion like a self perpetuating mould.
They are the mighty kings of the jungle, the masters of war and peace, the manipulators of the mind, the directors, the leaders, the rulers. We are the pawns in the game, the worn out workers in the middle of an artificial intelligent new-world takeover, the ones forced to follow the rules, mask their identities, think inside their box. Many of us have become obsolete, the elderly, the crippled in body and the slow distant minded. The planet needs a shake up, fewer people, less friction from the peaceful lover type, the sane human free thnkers. They are the ones that everybody talks about..they did this and they control that. Whistle Blowers come in many forms, various sizes, at different times, hidden, obscure, out front. If the whistle is too loud at the wrong time, they will eliminate them, if hush money had lost its silence, the missing, the killing, the torture will endure for corrections. This is all a fine art perfected thru the years. The best pawns paid well for their philosophical psychological evauations and if they pick up a whistle down the road, the road ends, severed, repaved, glossed over with golden carrots across their backs. The people are fooled and fooled till they think they’ve out smarted outwitted the They with their bread crumb luxuries glistening in the sun.
You better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone For the times they are a changin
Dylan is not the only one that has attempted to wake up the masses concerning these issues with song and word. This mentality erupted in the sixties with the sentiment of ‘anti-establishment’ a movement against the whole direction of man everywhere across the globe. They and their unconcern for human life, the environment, the spirit. The big difference is that the kids of the sixties could drop out, turn on, tune in, to only turn around in a few years and rejoin the Big Shinny Wheel and become a proud owner of stuff, which is exactly what the majority of the hipsters did. Security, comfort, prestige and power followed. Most of what they disagreed with became their home their security. Today we are facing a much different scenario. If it is true that this is really a plandemic, then much more is at stake. The freedom of our lives, the control of our children, the order imposed by a very few that they will own us from top to bottom with little possible escape. If this is unfolding it may be incredibly difficult to turn around. There are many others with much more data that support this view but everyone must have some inclination that there is much more going on than what they are allowing us to see.
You have many contacts among the lumberjacks To get you facts when someone attacks your imagination But nobody has any respect, anyway they already expect you to all give a check To tax-deductible charity organizations Ah, you’ve been with the professors and they’ve all liked your looks With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks You’ve been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books You’re very well-read, it’s well-known But something is happening here and you don’t know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones?
Power fills the hole where love once was. It is easier at first, then it becomes and endless battle to maintain and conceal the edge created over the less fortunate, the weak minded, the lovers. This is the fortress created and protected at all cost. It is crazy, they are crazy but physically comfortable and to defend this security is a matter of life and death. They are the super wealthy and this mentality is sold over and over in numerous varieties of packages that one must choose, tho none of them are what they say they are. From a life with christ or buddha to a comforting warehouse of facts about anything, life is good. From the top to the bottom the development continues. This is civilization but it got out of hand, difficult to control with a few friendly kings so racism of one form or another has replaced the good chiefs with power level forms of authority made from sacred feathers, crucifixes to guns, nations, to the full world all in one. This is the time of the world control. How can it not be seen by the masses. They continue to be entertained ignoring the wake up call. The open doors to information is relatively free but still there is not enough people to care, understand and support this fight against the very few. They have convinced nations, armies, worshippers to be calm, avoid looking, live within the system expecting it to last forever when if you look close enough you can plainly see it is doomed to self destruct.
Senor, senor, do you know where we’re heading? Lincoln County Road or Armageddon? Seems like I been down this way before Is there any truth in that, senor?
How it is going to play out is not just anybodies guess. If you look close enough, there are some signs and obvious possibilities. There are many that have figured out some of the strategies that ‘they‘ have worked out. I personally don’t accumulate all the facts necessary to portray and convince the public let alone my loved ones to get ready, be prepared in whatever way it presents itself to you. ‘They‘ are coming, they are here, they are everywhere. They have been tightening the loose, concluding for years on how to play this out. Eliminate some of the population, track everyone. Keep this world under control as best as they can. The old, crippled in mind and body, the revolutionary/lover type, natives; get rid of them. I’ve heard ancient prophesies, been in sacred secret ceremonies. The signs are not intricately spelled out. We know if we plant a seed, the plant may grow, depending on water, air and multiple other possibilities of a complex system that we can use statistical accumulated facts to prophesize the probabilities of its existence. But we don’t know for sure how it may play out. If the plant begins to grow we can tend to it, enhance its life with what we have discovered it needs but we don’t know the many aspects that may change a future that is ultimately uncertain.
Senor, senor, I can see that painted wagon, I can smell the tail of the dragon Can’t stand the suspense anymore Can you tell me who to contact here, senor? Well, the last thing I remember before I stripped and kneeled Was that trainload of fools bogged down in a magnetic field A gypsy with a broken flag and a flashing ring Said, “Son, this ain’t a dream no more, it’s the real thing”
Business man drink my wine, plow and dig my earth None of them along the line know what any of this is worth
If my thought dreams could be seen, they’d probably put my head in a guillotine But it’s alright Ma, It’s life and life only
Winter time is coming, the windows are filled with frost I went to tell everybody but i just could not get it across
Italic lyrics by Bob Dylan (from various songs)
These are the Problems… winter 72 / Patrick T Wey
Don’t cha know people You been hypnotized Don’t cha feel you’re missin’ somethin Fightin’ for those lies There’s all kinds of problems but i ain’t got the time
Wish i could tell it And you could understand Wish i could see ya Lendin’ a helpin’ hand There’s all kinds of problems but i ain’t got the time
If you avoid this burden You’re never gonna see You’ll just end up wanderin’ That crowded empty street There’s all kinds of problems but i ain’t got the time
It’s not so hard to see it The road ya gotta go But ta go ahead and do it Well that’s another show Those are the problems that lie inside my head
If you ever looked close enough Through that thought up mist There’s a place where even tragedy Ceases to exist Those are the problems that lie inside my head Where you never have ta worry about tryin’ to think ahead
winter 72….Thomas P Wey
writing and images by patrick wey Italic lyrics by Bob Dylan (from various songs)
everybody’s fighting, trying to proof their point some drinking authority others cursing the joint i’ve seen the angels everybody talks about i’ve sat in the board room with the saints of love and when they tied me to the chair and hung me with their stench you didn’t say a thing in fact, you tightened up the wrench
so now i’m out on the road again with no where left to go most have shone crazy and speak much too slow i’d ask you what you think about it all but i’ve been waitin for another call one from the master of time itself and one from my broker account and if i make it thru all this and see you on the other side i’ll walk right thru you and expose the greatest lie
You see a man standing in the rain wearing a mask and you immediately ask him ‘what’s this all about’ and he says ‘come on man you must know by now the world’s in siege’ and i say ‘no i didn’t realize that this was the end coming on so strange’ and he just talks himself away carrying his throat in his hand and his eyes glued to a screen. Some woman from another side comes over and says she’s got the answer and then crawls away singing with her hair all tangled up and her tattoos melting into her soul. Everybody’s talking about some president and the nature of some facts breaking down across the boulevards and just how true’s the hot needles goin to be anyhow. The day breaks just as planned and the straight lines and signs keep moving thru the haze and just when you thought you had something worth a look another masked man appears and slips back down again to whence he came like it was normal and sane. You got no place to hide so you slip on a shield and join right in like you belong to just exactly what’s happening and hope you won’t be noticed as you dance in and out of the debates and scary air. The angels are hanging off the glazed architecture and the flames keep shooting up higher and higher into a real pretty red sky. Nothing seems dangerous to the crowds and the bands are all forced to separate inside. In the evening when all the nails and glue are asleep and the views are readjusted the climate dangerously changes from a hot money energy forced around a grid. Sacred visions enter silently until the night air disappears and the long big picture assembles once again with a smile hidden within the wind and the waiting dawn emerging awake and it all continues back on down into the front lines and the counting continues like clock-work made out of stainless steel. The experts got it all under the scope and the packaging is perfect for the digital facts and the answers have all been rehearsed for the dubious minds and for the ones left in the ditch that don’t give a damn and for the ones that know, know you’ll never figured it out with time. The only sound that’s left after the angels disappear are the jingle jangles from the dangling signs and sirens inside the weary lost souls and the slow whispering from the calm and peaceful winds. Flesh and crystal metals takes love into another unknown dimension and life travels much further from the natural gardens and birds sing their praise for the day and time stands still once again.
I woke up, thankful to realize it was just a dream, but that changed. In the twilight of this dream i was in the middle of a long fast. I was attempting to extract from my cells the nano particles inserted with the mandatory vaccination to apparently stop the spread of the popular viruses. I knew from my life long fasting practice that i could cleanse and purify my cells with long specific fasting which i had learned thru-out my years. Hopefully that would work. I didn’t know much about nano particles inserted into cells but i figured if they’re unnatural for a healthy body, the body can eliminate them with the best detox system that exists for man, beast and bird; the fast was the hope.
Mandatory vaccinations became a reality a few years back. Most of the planet had been vaccinated and it was compulsory to wear masks in public. You could not move around on the planet anywhere without a vaccination certificate, a licence to move freely confined. Most of the smaller businesses had gone, bankrupt and replaced with the worlds multi-international companies with everything needed to survive, a consortium of needs and wants controlled by a few, from underwear, food, to vehicles; they had you covered. Everything, every person and every movement was closely monitored by the ‘AI Centre for Humanity’, address unknown. Many people just disappeared. This was a new world ordered from the virtually unseen. There still were small groups of people that revolted against the lock-downs and the mandatory control over their bodies but they were suppressed and when found-out, eliminated. Millions of people had died from new forms of disease that they stated were unrelated to the vaccination and the strains of covid they had been vaccinated to fight against. In my dream I was on the run with a few others aware that the G5 and other new technologies could activate the nano-particled cells of vaccinated people to cause various issues in the body and mind and ultimately death. The variation and intensity of the micro-waves could control whole groups and societies from afar without being detected for hours days weeks and by that time the people, animals, birds, insects could be eliminated. A world control system was in place and it seemed that there was absolutely no way to retaliate against it. That’s when i discovered fasting to eliminate the nano particles and therefore be invisible to their grid of control. I was in the process of teaching whole groups of people when i was found out and on the run.
I awoke in a cold sweat and at first i was glad it was just a nightmare until i quickly realized that the ‘dream’ was likely a vision , at any rate, definitely much more than a standard dream.
Fasting was the cure. What insanity this world had developed and into the minds of the majority of the people with the masses themselves forcing it upon themselves, a perfect willing embrace. A tightly gridded system of control……….and for what……control, power, insane madness on such a beautiful earth. I got up, did my routine, took a few deep breaths, thought gratefulness into this borrowed mind, put on my mask and hid in the shadows for another registered-day on a miraculous planet filled with strange people of distant beliefs.
Modern Times One big camouflaged lie with a bouquet of little exposed truths piercing precisely within thru-out the grid of trust and authority for the ones that demand to belong, that was the new-reality. One big lie with a school of little truths swimming frantically to survive….
Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth “Rip down all hate,” I screamed Lies that life is black and white Spoke from my skull. I dreamed Romantic facts of musketeers Foundationed deep, somehow Ah, but I was so much older then I’m younger than that now My Back Pages – DylanB 1964
You better leave i tell myself Or they’ll kill all your resistance Then plaster you with secure beliefs That depends on their assistance And you’ll be where You swore you’d never go And you’ll deny What you don’t really know Beyond No Doubt in Jest – patrick wey 1971
Herds of warped opinions rolling around the ditch, she stumbled into the love wrapped in dull words and wandered off naked into the sunset without a worry in her head. That was my mistress, that was yesterday. I’m back on the road with a head full of ideas and boots waiting to scramble off somewhere, anywhere, just out of here, somewhere nice, where the trees kiss your heart and the sky is high and the birds speak the truth. Somewhere where i can find her again, fall into her arms and end this madness out here in the streets.
But it is too late, i’ve grown to weak, the shelter is all i want. Somewhere to hide from the masked men and to escape the toxic needles, somewhere in the past where the air is fresh and the water is pure, somewhere where you don’t have to act out, play roles that can’t exist, be forced into submission, jailed with the nitemare of the masses and their destructive dreams, somewhere, there must be a somewhere.
Headless lady banned from facebook for not wearing a mask; walks her nuclear dog thru the highlands of the era of covid and carries no arms for the world to see but with a still long chill she emanates purity in her belief and is a saint amongst the shadows in these silent lands of the absurd. Kachi dog shunned for association.
Only the chimney remains, the burnt flesh and the cupboards, the walls, the floor and ceiling are nothing but dust and ash. The few photographs of loved ones from special moments are crumbled black fragments along side the melted tin cans and the locked door knobs, the kitchen chairs, tables and cabinets are all now dead memories; everything felt the heat of hate on their way thru to the majestic gates of heaven. That was world war in Belarus. Thousands of homes hundreds of villages erased, children, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, locked in with their burning hearts, eliminated, burnt black in the most foul manner.
It carries on everywhere with new and unique narrative created and dispersed by the people from the top to the bottom, war is made from the interior panels of the mind of humanity. One against the other. Power, control, the disease of conceit lives well in the healthy and the decrepit, the rich and the poor, the pretty and the ugly; all the colours of the rainbow find their way into this shelter of tangled belief. Respect in authority, in competition, in privilege over the unfortunate, the distain for the weak and stupid, the different ones. We are the believers that walk our brothers and sisters to the chambers of gas and needles. We are the ones that claim we love our sons and daughters and with shallow views we lead them into a world of half human dimensions, into a future we claim to despise. We are the android creators of our destiny, knowingly and blindly we fall in line with the lies. We are the new order creatures of virtual love and fake dreams. We are the chosen ones whom create, enforce and obey the signs towards nano-particle freedom.
I came here to show you my brain, i didn’t expect praise or graditude, i didn’t expect anything really. I came here to show you my mind as one human to another. ‘Hey, this is what goes on in here, what goes on in there’. I didn’t expect to be harassed so dismally. I didn’t expect so much pain for just thinking these thoughts out as best as i could, to squeeze them out to fruition. I did’t expect that they would last forever in me and certainly not in you. I forgot more than you could ever know about me. Let me go. I don’t exist any more. I never really did. Certainly not in those characters; they don’t even look like me. I do truly attempt to let you go. I know that i misunderstood you, as you i, but please rinse me out of your rag, let me out of your bag. It hurts so deep when you reflect something that i left so long ago, bringing it back to haunt me like you do, it just keeps a lie alive much too long, and not at all necessary.
Thanks again for the paintings to smother my walls with. When you walked by i could feel the hidden tears for the fears you feel when you’re alone and how subtle you left me strangled in your tangled dreams. The images so eloquently placed upon your walls feel a lot like you, tho you smell different in this light, ‘is that new perfume you’re wearing’, it has the the embrace of something i once knew, from a piece of music i recall, a sombre minor-key piano piece, lovely, it suits you. But it is time to move on now, so please, take care of yourself and all your dreams. You really are such a treasure when you can’t remember who you were and could care less about who you are. Sweet you.
Seems like every time i begin one poem or another prose-verse or for that matter anything at all involving words in sequence on a page i have no idea where they will lead or what they may say and yet I’m so unsure whether they say anything worth much more than an excuse to waste mine and others time. If i could truly find a few words that would stand the test of time, possibly i would find some contentment in myself. I seem to constantly be struggling with the unsettling affect of not being recognized for my art, my images and my verse. Possibly that will end as i end. I can’t imagine a space beyond death where i would be locked into the constant discontent for a life once lived. How could it be that i could indulge in the out of body experiences so completely feared by most and yet desire some recognition for the deep attempts to write about what i consider important views on the mind and all its maneuvers to avoid the truth that can’t be seen. Stranded like a point on a plane to infinity moving slow and slower endlessly. That has been my life. Most friends have no clue of the experiences i pursued to find the impossible and to come up empty handed, little money and disdained by many a friend. I have friends living off the inheritance of parents, famous artists, life long commitments to employment they despised but endured for the security and comfort of a privileged life. I could recite numerous Dylan lines to depict his and my disgust and yet care for a large part of a humanity that is destined to die numb. That is my fate and i move within these words like a wild animal searching for a fresh kill meal. Sometimes the presence of a spirit writes the words faster than i can type. Still i come out back here in this world tormented by my own desire to push out more. This character i describe is not all me but i am a good part of him. I have been down roads few men walk but i am not the only one, but unique, yes. I remember the numerous sweat lodge ceremonies i was in and the ones i performed when i was another person, a different entity and yet exactly who i am. Moments when happenings took place understood and accepted as real and verified in a truth undeniably real. The presence of ancestors teaching directly into mind with vision, song, drums and rattles. Spirits emanating in and out of reality, in and out of consciousness like air of winds of dimensions extraordinary.
These visions can not be described in words, in thought, in long explanations. Sometimes a poem can lead one to the door, to the gate, to an entrance but the mind must fall, surrender itself to the unknown, to the faith of earth, to love itself. This is where one is one and everything is related. This is where humanity is understood as one consciousness under one universe under the same direction in different minds. This is where love becomes known as the ultimate underlining force in everything described with many names but present beyond the known. I write because i am driven by a force unknown…………in honour of the moment.
i’ll be passin on soon and i’ll be gone for quite some time; don’t wait around for me, get on with it. No need to mention me in your prayers, they’ll be of no use to me now. You had your chance when i was hanging around your space. I know i could have done more also, for you and your battles, but that’s just the way life flows, it doesn’t wait around till you get your shit together, it moves on down the line with or without you.
I passed by the old school on my way out and had glimpses of some of the moments we shared tangled up in the jungle. I remembered moments i had forgotten almost since they occurred and it broke my heart to see us so real, so alive and so determined to exist. I can’t say i’ll miss you and all your ways. I wish i could but there where i’m going i kinda get the feeling that memories fade then deteriorate until there is nothing left. That is how things are feeling at the present but I’ve been wrong about just about everything as far back as i can remember.
If i could miss you for eternity i’m not quite sure i would. There are the ones that i’ll love till the last fragments of mind disappears but you, well, i’m surprised i remembered some of you at all, but it was still nice just the same to see you fly by, so fast, and with your characters so unique and real. But you, you were special, i remember your eyes the most, how they would look at things, how they would be perfectly bright as dew-light from some sparkling morning sun, like they knew things i could never know, things too special for words. If i could live forever i’d like to live within that world, a universe of mystery that i could feel with a faith that every thing would always be fine and forever. Yes that is the heaven i’d prefer, floating around in that space with you my friends, my love, my dream. On my way out i recalled millions of memories whipping by at the speed of light and beyond. At any time i could look to the side and enter any scene and stay for as long as i needed. I never stayed forever in any one of them that i recall; life is so strange and hard to decipher from that angle, possibly i did. I seemed to jump back on the train of experience at every chance i had to continue along that infinite dual track for more, for something i call curiosity, to be there, just to see what’s there along the rail. That ended; i presume i will also.
I just laid there until i turned to stone. The wind took so long to peel away my soul. I dreamt, evaluated, analyzed, criticized, thought out every road into little sentiments to my heart. The beach was terrific, i had to change the colour of the sky and smooth out the waves so i could have some peace in mind, but that didn’t work well. I rolled over a few times and just lied there waiting for life to squeeze out its last breaths of spirit. It took so long and then when i started to feel death gripping me by the last threads of wiggle room i panicked then gave up and let it go it’s course. That is all i remember. Death took me beyond here i suppose. Now i miss the beach and my stone cold soul. This shall pass too, i thought, everything always does.
words came scraping off the walls like legs dangling in mid air above clouds of love-foam streaming down mountain sides of pleasure and she stood there pleasant like nothing was happening, silent and serene and the goddess of my dream. i fell across the pavement sideways turning towards glass walls and executives crawling up elevators to stacks of money digitized in blocks of crystal magnetic cubes and there i stood baffled and stunned like an idiot of plastic hope melting into one more peach coloured crevice of someone elses brain. there and here everything was the same, mixed with every imaginable piece of universe tangled up in some reality streaming across the heavens thru hells alike and this she said was me. i cringed and smiled and kept watching till my eye balls give away and then nothing, blank nothing, no thought, no observation, no existence left and yet some how i knew, i knew there was nothing …how could that be i later thought when things returned to some sort of normalcy. life in the surreal, strangulations everywhere and nothing could get me, who was this me, escaping every me i found..i was i was i was me and nothing but something happening so it appeared, i left but yet watching. paradox, absurdity, the beauty and the horror all wound around like streaming awareness watching endlessly with no end that ends. that is the nature of the universe, anything you want, everything you don’t want, everything happening at once streaming by individually together like the ultimate chaos completely natural and that was that.
Maybe it really doesn’t matter all that much in the largest picture. We toil, we scrape and safe, we talk endlessly about what little we know and tend to believe we know more than we do. I felt the immense power of love numerous times in my life. People talk about the love of their life as if one is the only sacred number. That is not the way love took me. I’ve loved often and looking back i still love the ones i’ve loved for different reasons, as if reason has anything at all to do with love.
Time swims by down along this lonely river and moments of warm feelings swarm over me like a sacred mist blowing softly through every cell of my being. I vaguely remember the pure feelings as such, they could never be duplicated; too sacred to lodge themselves in the crevices of a brain, just the glimpse of a hazy reminiscence of them sends shivers thru-out this mind to tears within my eyes. It’s a hard road this life of love and leaving and being real within walls of painted dreams and little peoples thick air.
If not for the love that this mind has felt i’d have nothing at all worth anything. I don’t know why the power that love emanates can capture one for so long so intense so completely captivating and then die. It just is, it happens and then it’s gone, nothing can bring it back, no sacred wish, no secret deal, no holy prayers, nothing can fool love to be. Love just appears then disappears and if you’re worthy you just might catch a taste of its perfect breath as it glides by and slides thru your heart like a clear river thru a ferny forest, soft swift pure and melodically silent on its way thru the nameless eternity.
On the streets dead of life, the worn tar of silly habit, the dangerous careers of numb knowledge and the twists and turns of religious science; what is man for if not for nothing ultimately. In the fields of hope i caught a glimpse of love wandering around the beauty dangling off her long and softened hair. I remember moments when she touched me with her presence like the soft warm hand of fire from a cold and lonely night sky. I am hopeless. Where there is love i feel love. Love is beauty and beauty is love. Where and when there is nothing left, there is love. Love is love.
you got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend, you just want to be on the side that’s winning Positively 4th Street – Bob Dylan Both Sides Now – where Joni Mitchel so eloquently describes the illusion of division You might be a republican or you might be a demograt, liberal or conservative but it’s all just an illusion of free choice in a mysterious social game
some thoughts concerning the times, bound to evolve, resolve, absolve, dissolve….
I came upon this piece of literature by accident as i was wandering around inside some strange channelling spaces within this mind. I take no absolute responsibility for the concepts here within but i do favour many ideals of the good guys from both sides and precisely within the gray zones.
There is more than enough information to leave one in a pool of questions upon questions, but to be absolutely certain on either side of the fence is a division that the best manipulators imaginable would only pray for, if prayer was a part of their method. To condemn the ones that have found possible flaws in the accepted narration and to lay quilt of dispassionateness is shallow, shameful, unjust and not serving a well formed democracy for all, which it seems, is what most desire. This new media of opinions from anyone anywhere anytime is literally eating away at peoples souls. Fact finding sources manipulating facts to favour facts to prove one side over another, or confuse any side to divide disperse abstract into a mass hysteria for a control beyond belief. Why is it that difficult to imagine the possibility of concepts beyond our safe zone? Why is it that we want to believe what is safe secure comfortable and curse others for stepping outside the conventional? Is it that difficult to see how puppets, pawns, missionaries perform with good intentions the desires of strategies hidden in plain site? Is it that difficult to admit that manipulations are going on endlessly outside and within our minds difficult to perceive? I know personally quite intelligent people determined to believe in masking, vaccinations and also very intelligent people believing in almost the opposite. It is not all that black and white, there is always a grey area that demands courage to entertain. The data can be and is often manipulated to favour one side or another. The norm is covered by a conventional media for the most part and controlled to different degrees by money and sick huge money. That should be well understood. People that oppose masking for the most part are not selfish people or unconcerned for humanity. To the contrary, many that i have met are concerned about the condition of control and where it is leading and how manipulated our governments, media, medicines have become. Our very human nature possibly is on the edge of biological changes and once set into motion may be very difficult to unwind. So i would not underestimate the sincerity of our brothers and sisters taking very drastic conditions to march against the lock downs and forced vaccinations that can lead to some very sinister situations for us all. Their well being is also threatened, their work, their identities are noted and tracked. They are not on the side of major money, they are the underdogs in this difference. There are details of plans that the masses simply list as conspiracies or idiot people causing havoc, and of course there are those, but for the most part that is not so at all. Many of these so called anti-establishment type have done there homework, Many of these so called anti-establishment type have done there homework, have investigated corruption for years, are the forerunners to the organic industry, healthy drugs, natural science over manipulated dangerous chemistry, insight into the dangers of GMO’s, electromagnetic concerns for humanity, founders of CBD and legalization of marijuana, psychedelic research and alternative energy and its implementation and the list goes on. Many of these people have been the watchdogs of a manipulated world of power controlled by a few. It is unfair not to take a closer look at their concerns. They are not the enemy but this division is making them such. This extent of separation has not been in full-scale since the sixties which i personally grew up in and lived the movement from the inside out. This was the movement that set things into motion and was manipulated into the main stream and here we are.
Yes, as you can see, i tend to side with the the ones that see big business, the super wealthy as incredible strategists that are pulling strings world wide to force fear into the minds of the masses to be complacent, listen to their conclusions, mask, vaccinate; all possibly leading to serious alterations of the human species. Could it be so plausible? The virus is a perfect tool. So hard to prove, easy to conjure up fear for life and death. There are numerous questions one could ask. What is a virus and has it been proven that covid 19 has been isolated and exists specifically as they claim, without doubt, and with what testing systems and it’s accuracy? Where are the journals/papers that have proven this research as all legitimate science demands? What is the data of deaths world wide from all diseases for the last five years and how does it relate to 2020 and its data? Yes i know this data is out there in various forms but it is seldom talked about and never shown with it’s sources with definite virologists proof. It is the constant fear that deaths are increasing related to covid that directs the populace to follow what ever rules are set in place with analogies that don’t pass any serious critical thinking. People, psychologically manipulated are just waiting, welcoming the magic bullet, the vaccination, thinking, now everything will be just fine, back to normal…………think again……..major damage is already done, the devision, the new world cold war, a major transfer of market ownership. The little guy just got smaller, vunerable to be eliminated. The behind the scenes strategists are well paid, secure and some of the best brains with the best tools only the biggest money can afford. We can hardly conceive how delicate the plans may be, how sinister. History has shown us the ruthlessness that people of power can portray. I am constantly waking up to the inconvenient truth that man is a very sick specie and dangerous to himself and all life on this planet. I don’t trust the people in control of this world and i certainly don’t want them and their ways forcing chemistry into my blood stream with out my consent.
Some of the very people, friends, relatives in this new age of social medias as good missionaries will be the ones sending freedom marchers to ‘Internment Camps’, to be vaccinated with who knows what forms of technology to do much more than save you from a very speculative virus.
There is more than enough information to wet ones brain of other possibilities beyond the simple fear of a flue that yes, can and does kill. Take a look at other scenarios and realize we might be dead wrong, manipulated, and unless you can understand your heart and rigorously question the mind, we will never be free and safe from the hidden desires of dangerous minds. We, the people globally are being divided unprecedented, that is a fact and a perfect scenario for a simple controlling blueprint. In the end, possibly, this is the way the world ends, not pleasant, not easy and in the much larger view this is just the way it goes, just the way it is, possibly, nothing but a divine intervention may alter this momentum. Care the best you can with the spirit of your selfless integrity in clear focus and keep walking till there is no walk left to walk. I could be dead wrong about most of this, but if i’m even partially right then i pray that some god may have deep mercy on this race of smooth skinned apes and turn this world around right for the benefit of all living creatures on this incredible emerald planet. I would hope to not be your enemy, but rather, just a man with a point of view at this moment in time attempting to see clear, not to be fooled, not to be pushed around, not forced into manipulation of body, mind and spirit.
For those that do not believe that suppression, lying, manipulation is occurring with the CoVid situation, check out this British Medical Journal article that talks about the politicization and corruption of science….
There are many articles and facts to help one to be precautious of accepting rules, laws, regulations blindly. If you don’t know for certain then just be uncertain, there is no disgrace in being honest. It is a learning experience to be open and to question this mind we sit within. Follow the money as they say, it will lead you to power and control, deceit and manipulation beyond your belief. That is just the way this world of man revolves.
COVID19 PCR Tests are Scientifically Meaningless – Though the whole world relies on RT-PCR to “diagnose” Sars-Cov-2 infection, the science is clear: they are not fit for purpose…. Article – The Guardian
america spoke with forked tongue differences lying agitated in the shadows between closets filling back up with their dangerous secrets the celebrations are almost over people are slipping back into sleep tracking is back on track the war continues strategically masked well and the whole world is winding down again
The way is one of subtle change. It is a struggle to see clear. A silent mind can feel its way thru the turmoil of a day. Masked people walking everywhere. No definite evidence supports this way or another. The middle way sometimes has difficulty to exist. The day was slow when the presence against the calm appeared. You could feel the tension, the stress, the compliance forming. There were those that were convinced with a main street media persuasion. There were those that were not. There were those that attempted to be open to the many possibilities that arose, investigated alternatives. Many got caught polarized by the magnetic pull of their own desires/beliefs. There were those that didn’t give a damn. There were the many that just follow the many. The masked were winning in the short run but truth moves slow in the sludge of the road. The war of the post modern man is an illusion and extremely real but no one wins. Possibly we’re all being played, set up one against the other, it’s anybody’s guess. Ununited we fall. No one to trust.
A crow walks by the table outside the cafe looking for a treat. Pretty dogs walk their masters along the boulevard. A pleasant woman smiles from behind her mask to a passing stranger. The day is grey. Winter is coming. The beauty surrounding is slipping under the skin. Another moment, for the moment, is moving free. There is no end in sight.
Many years have torn and twisted thru city streets since i saw you here tearing down Juarez in a Mexico City paragraph. You were nothing more than a kid, a young man on the loose in a foreign land with dreams laying across the heavens like leaves floating around some boulevard tar. Times have changed, times have gone tight like night on a slim script. When i was young and you were me like some sort of character from a dylan rhyme, half hidden behind a loose freedom and scorns of possibilities dimming the road with tricks. I hid behind you without knowing what i was getting into; the road never lets all its iron claws out at once. There are dead ends down every street and paths way out of control from every alleyway. You took as many as you could, lived life deep into the rut of it all, highs for the sake of it, lows taken as a gift for the ride. Millions of moments have passed this way while i waited. I knew you would arrive like a destiny written in the stars, in the earth, in the apache cells of this brain.
Here i sit, alone, alone again. I have always been alone, no matter how many wander across my path. I sit writing to you. I remember it all somewhere inside, somewhere inside i can see every move you’ve ever made. The days in the bush, on the streets, in the bars, in the sweats. It all is cataloged in the books of the mystery spread out, floating across the universe in segments of dreams like fate. They fall into minds everywhere, become more and less and move continuously for as far as forever can go, that’s just the way it is, nothing is for sure but it is forever, as far as forever goes.
one soft sunny afternoon after Uncle Albert finished off playing his electric violin down around desolation row he stated after much despair over a few treacherous turns that ‘the fourth world war will be fought with bows and arrows’………vision 20-20 vision
the cold gone silent
the colds gone silent and the order is twisting tight the day light is turning dark, just like night what was real will lie dead in the streets this transfer of dreams is meant for keeps
broken, divided, mixed up, bound to die “All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie’ dylan no matter where you are or what you think all the conclusions and evidence stinks
the intricate decisions placed all around will tear your family and friends from solid ground to enemies disciples of unimaginable schemes and nothing will be as the way it seems
the winds will blow harsh on the rigid minds to divide decide conquer and curse but the open flexible ones may endure this on-going forever-changing cure
Wet Winds Whirl
wet winds whirl around multi coloured leaves sun splashed october blood fills the trees masked cheeks walk worried in the streets well hidden behind their desperate dreams
the day cursed by decisions from afar confused, hung up by their conclusions one pitted against the other hang on tight everyone believing they’re the ones that got it right
don’t walk too far from centre you’ll be in fire-site of enemy lines no matter how well you investigate the half broken truths will escape
by the time citizens wake up their starry eyes the blood stained schemes will have disappeared hidden and planned the opportunity will have gone the mega-power will stamp us out like a fire in the sun
how many ears does it take to hear the faint voice of truth when will the people come and gather as one science is just a method directed by philosophies as the truth sits silently in the sun
I don’t really know anything for certain. Concerning the world and the covidX9 situation. I find myself with far too many questions and not the appropriate time to investigate. I am not the detailed critical thinker with the disciplines needed to unwrap the data correctly enough to make an accurate conclusion. I will probably be forced to wear a mask and more and than likely be vaccinated whether i agree or not. This situation i believe is far more serious than being forced to wear a seatbelt or follow other society rules. Of course that is an opinion based on inconclusive data and the heart felt unscientific conclusions of a mistrust for the super rich, multi-glomerates, establishment and their puppets of governments and control world-wide. So therefore i am more and more locked into gut heart felt decisions as i move thru-out this world and totally preferred over hazy herd-like comfortable belief systems. I do find the discontent, disagreements, name-calling, debates and argumentative situation somewhat disturbing in moments. I have not found one person, one website, one source of information ultimately satisfying and to my discontent at this point no accurate believable non-manipulated truth and i very much doubt that i will. I see most with their hard evidence conclusions as lost sheep, desperately determined to hang on to their secure realities. Eventually it may be a matter of life and death with these firm believers from all sides, left right, up down, inside and out. There are many practical thinkers that realize that there are many possibilities of how this may unfold. It does appear to me that the rulers that are determined to impose lock-downs or the likes seem to have another agenda, it would be nice if i am wrong. I do find that the sincere scientists and lay people alike are much more open to alternative possibilities and often it is not their job but they do have expertise to different degrees in these areas, which i find more sincere and believable. But as anyone i can be fooled by statistics conclusions that have been manipulated in one way or another. With all this being said i do hope and wish that things can turn out for humanity but there are so many issues and it does really seem that without some form of higher order intervention that the world as we may have known it will disappear. It has been prophesied in one way or another and if one is determined to have something to believe in, there is endless scriptures, philosophies, and sciences to stake your life upon. I will continue to attempt to be open and scrape off any reminiscence of undying structures from my mind. I believe in the inconceivable attempt to live in the mystery that is no doubt the only true certainty, an oxymoron i know. At this point unless there appears incredible factual evidence in support of wearing a mask or i am forced too, i will go mask-less when possible.
its a cold afternoon, blood’s runnin high the truths gone silent into a darker sky a war’s abrewing in the eyes of the masked the no-masked are already being harassed the colds gone quiet and the clock’s stuck low noon in the streets in the homes in the virtual realm you can feel the tension rise, war coming soon the war of man, the war for more land the war on the ground and the war of two hands the battle between the insane and the sound the masked and the unmasked the believers in this and the worshippers of that one against the other in a game from a far all on this lonely planet flying around an unconcerned star
masked or unmasked war or discussion evidence or believe science or business control or freedom sanity or stupidity certainty or manipulation fight or understanding intelligence or desire sheep or wolfs black or white accident or planned deceit or honesty conspiracy or ignorance order or chaos gray or grey
the mask that divides the known from the long distance to the self to the soul possibly there is not one no spirit no self an illusion, a frabrication of thought you can fool your mind and just believe every body does, it’s convenient, safe, and it’s easy perhaps it is simply a myth a mass masked conclusion you decide but you must decide alone
Reflections of my life pass before me in mounts of turmoil and deceit from the very ones that caressed my wounds while i was asleep. In the corridors of deep hidden revenge executions of the horsemen were carried out for little rewards. The temptations from the crowds discovered me here sneaking my way back to love, such a long road that leads nowhere if you’re careless. Memories scatter before me with quick warmth turning cold. This is the day death strung its web out like a knife, a trap and i fell. My friends left me here to crawl beneath the tracks, to hide to escape alone and find my soul shattered by my own imagination and light came in slow but left me here worn and old and tender in the heart for a few last breaths then left again. I don’t know if i ever came back, death stole my mind, took my heart and left my spirit floating about somewhere in an ancient glimpse of nothingness…….
There was light flickering thru the swaying leaves, the street was dangling off the mountain hills like a snake and i was ready. There was moon light waiting on the crescent and the feeling of success was handy by the door. I walked out into the open air and thought, ‘yea, i can do this’. My whole life flashed by in a few seconds, age had grabbed me by the edge of night and dreams left for the coast for another and left me dying slow alone without a memory to hang on to. I took a deep breath, scared with sunken eyes i screamed to the heavens below, ‘what the hell is going on’ and got up on my knees and cried for help to be true, real.
The day broke the silence and the moment held its position into the night. I got it right this time; love came tumbling down, sprinkled high energy all over me, the spirit of life tore my past to shreds and i was back on the track again. What a trail, terrible low valleys, trecherous mountain cliffs, non-ordinary realities twisting my mind from one end of the galaxy to the edges of the universe and then some. But i’m back in the saddle again, roaming the country side, slippin down the city side walks watching the masked men follow in line to the injection booth and the pretty dogs walking their owners for a shit. I got it all, sun spewing across my forehead and my black pants melting in the light, i couldn’t ask for more. Thanks god, thanks for the trip, thanks for the weird world you threw me into, thanks for my friends and thanks for my enemies too. In the morning air i watch the birds flicker by, the humming birds in for a drink, the sounds of song all around and the green summer turning into amber autumn rust. I love the way the quiet settles in on the mind and how quick things can turn on a spec of time. There are moments i swear last forever, the soft sun melting my heart to the light. I love life this moment, this eternal moment, she owns me.
death sets us apart, it brings currents and waves of uncertainties. it has its way of taking you down and around and up and out of site. death is my friend, tho harsh at times it ends things, keeps the universe in order. i hurt at times when i travel down the paths of forgotten loves knowing they can never return. i long for some memories to never end and to take me back to where they arose for ever. i cry at the thought of never seeing you again, never holding you tender in my heart, never hearing your little whispers from behind your eyes, never being able to feel those moments again. i love you death but isn’t there a way to move through this sadness with dignity and to honour you, your past, your life, your ways, without tears tearing up my delicate mind. i am strong and i can withhold the tests of time most of the time but there are moments where it all seems so cruel, almost demonic the way we are forced to hold on, then forced to let go. oh death, what is your motive, what is the nature of your life. i am going to keep moving i suppose, nothing has ever stayed long enough to be certain forever, so i succumb to your ways and i will continue ending and playing the game of building with the architecture of thought that must believe in what it thinks, that it will never end. I love life and i have many doubts of ever loving you, death.
In the background of my mind i see you there hanging on to dreams that just can’t let go. You in your love and your laugh that you sent out to us as a gift. I see the beauty that you carried thru the storms and the way that you laid down your wife to rest. I remember the early days when we stumbled our ways thru the jungle of the psychedelic sixties and the absurdity of its future filled with blasphemous trite. As we walked on thru the ending of the century we filled our homes with the best we could find; nature, flower gardens, friends and acceptance of what ever the world would toss our way. We did the best we could with what we had with what the earth would offer but in the end it all ended as it is. As long as i still have breath to breathe i hope to remember you, moments when we laughed, when we shared our differences and kept the embrace of our love intact. I will remember what you can not, for you, for me, for the the earth, for the way it is.
Whom will be next is anybody’s guess. Some have come prepared, pondered on death more than others. Some are totally freaked out by just the thought of their world ending, some just don’t think about it much and maybe that’s best. Some have intricate conclusions of what’s next once the body gives itself up. We’ve heard it all. Stan would not have any of that. He walked this earth knowing it for what it was, ‘a mystery’, right to the end and most-likely beyond and as he would say when asked ‘what’s after’, ‘nothing much probably’. I got to know Stan more than the others, simply because i saw him more; circumstance. I’ll miss him of course, but he was ready for it. His body was well worn, abuse in areas for sure, but he accepted it for what it was, quite well. Now, as others, I’ll just carry on. More than likely others will take the dive within the next few years. We are all getting on and death is always close at hand. They say you can get a glimpse of it if you turn your head extremely quick to the left. I think I’ve seen it a few times but it’s unclear, a mystery and that’s the way it will stay, at least in this mind and as an old friend used to say in times as these, ‘i know nothing, i say no more’.
Eternity engulfs wisdom love across the all encompassing great mystery as the sacred arms of death beholds us from the illusion of time. That’s just the way i think about it.
I do understand the undeniable visions that cross all intellectual understanding with a certainty that appears one could never doubt. But as one mind can endure and experience many such encounters with the other-side, the land of spirit, the unquestionable knowing telepathically inserted into ones brain still ends up in the winds of mystery. It is the gift of vision itself that would lead a mind onto the ledge of doubt that can free the mind of this uncertain knowing. This leaves all rituals, ceremony towards discovery ultimately in the dark. There is no longer a need to search for what is always present. The only task may be to stop the wheel of certainty, absolute knowing, critical analysis dead in it’s tracks, with pure observation exempt from answers. The mind can move free with the intelligence of the mystery without the need for ultimate answers. Questions and answers remain in the field of the relative forever evolving, moving, adapting, changing.
This is good enough for me and until death will i part. This means nothing. The wind of time is ‘the mind’ and it shall end as i recede to whence it came. Thanks Stan, for the journey with you, i shall do my best to Stand with the wind within, till time disintegrates.
Many slow and long and lonely memories pass along the way trees sway sad in the evening breeze the whole realm of past days encircles my mind oh how i wish i was there now for all time
everyone of us has those moments, when remembered ‘the best that could ever be’ all of us certainly wish they could last forever cept for the ones that lived in misery
one thing is for certain, i suppose is that we have no choice, really, along the trail no matter how many dreams you caress along the way they all end, memories fade, it’s the same for every tale
so be careful as you walk your way thru life be extra kind to the ones that need a hand take the time to be true at every turn love is all you need to understand
listening to some old dylan rolling stoned along the mid sixties when things were opening up sleepy brains like falling into a bucket of morning coffee, an ice-cold river dip, a line of crystal off-white powder head on into the acid insight streaming flashes of electric waves, multi-coloured spaces everywhere along the black tarred streets all-thru-out cities of america, the world, blues wound up into overdrive, electric ladies, the revolution of love for loves sake. freedom spreading out into places where it could never survive, love condemned to death for being simple real right and true. that’s the way of the world; killers, it will end too and it can’t be soon enough; death is coming, coming for them and coming for you, there’s nothing we can do.
it’s time to let you go, let things move free. there’ll be others. i don’t think you get used to death, maybe numb, but death is death and dying gets you there and there are many ways of dying. some people are half dead all there lives, some brag about there dying everyday, some die with dignity and some never learn how to die at all. a part of dying is the loss of ego and possibly it would help if more people would loose there ego occasionally thru life to prepare themselves; to observe without the anatomy of thought presuming everything it sees. the art of dying is in the beauty of living free and freedom can only occur without the shackles of thought-based-knowing keeping you stuck inside the ground.
many, if not all indigenous peoples had ways of eliminating, calming the ego for moments, thru dance, substances, forms of vision quests, ceremonies. it was traditional to bring young men into manhood with ceremonies that melted the ego into the unknown where the mystery became present and dominant as the true nature of everything. one would develop trust and faith in patterns that constantly move, evolve, change. our society has become numb, afraid, robotized with facts about everything, disconnected from the free movement of the universe. people are afraid to die without some belief induced concepts to keep them safe, calm, certain, but that will die also. death, come and get me. i am ready to fade whenever you are.
We traveled a long way together. Stan was the sort of guy that was usually of a good nature. Most always had a way of making one feel respected, wanted. I knew Stan since 1963. We traveled thru the sixties with our youth bending to whatever was. He loved Dylan, as most of my friends did, he had great taste for music and found himself a wonderful woman for life, Cathy.
Stan survived, he never took on crippled beliefs for the benefit of comfort. He stayed true to the void to his last days. He never attempted to convince anyone of anything. I’ll miss you Stan, your laugh and all your ways. Stan passed a few days ago. He turned 72 in mid august. That was the last time we spoke. See ya Stan and as you would say, ‘probably not’, then we’d laugh.
She moves in beauty with her love wrapped carefully within. Like a tender woman she touches your soul with her most intimate glance and you melt inside her wounds like a martyr.
In the dim city where people travel tight, little room for long-time and pressure on the skull to get it right. A young woman walks by inside a tee shirt with her philosophy spelled out across her chest like a scripture, ‘sleep less, dream more’; i’m thinking’s it’s backwards; too many dreams, too many worthless homes; a crow caws from the side-lines, hidden in the streets.
The moka house cafe on cook st. Pretty girls stroll by, at least that is what i see but at another glance i see a whole lota people so deep-dreamin by they hardly notice what is developing within their skulls.
A little boy in a real big body revs and roars his harley as he speeds away, the pot-bellied-guys standing by with their coffees held loose like a beer, look at the kid in the street and boast about something to each other while bicycles quietly skim by down around the cafe, the hot spot this covid-afternoon.
I see the coffee attendant handing straws to clients but he won’t touch my travel mug, says it’s the law. I pursue it then stop, force him to pour my coffee from his handled paper cup to my thermos, which he at first refuses than i encourage him and he does. There is a lot of crazy rules unsupported by the by-law officers just yet, but they’re getting there. Soon we’ll be in order; but harleys will continue to agitate our numb nerve cells with their concealed muscle. It’s a beautiful sunny cool afternoon and the tattoos keep walking by like human bill-boards advertising messages somewhat too deep for this mind of mine that sits nicely disturbed behind these eyes wandering.
With her facebook smile hanging in the screens with her ripped jeans and tattooed cartoons and her pierced soul she glides thru hell like a heaven. From a new section of town, cafaid in the midst of the jungle i sit pondering stuff.
I realize i have been un-encouraged to write for a future when i am no longer here watching, looking. I, somewhere inside have assumptions, presumptions that we’re all going sooner than we’d like to believe, an apocalypse of sorts. I catch myself on this and begin a new chapter addressed to the ones not here just yet. No more threats of stabbing-echos from friends, enemies, aquintances and family. Not that they had much to do with words that find me but they’re around and that’s on me. I realize once again that death is just around this long last bend. Age is painting more texture on this canvas-face, sculptured rusting bones are being chiselled out by the winds of time, cells are getting lazy in the night. I know in the sphere of things time is expanding and slowing down, an outwards spiral to the heavens of the unknown. I’m scared in moments of such magnitude but most of the time i just let silence guide me to the slow calmness of pure perception. This is where it all began and so will it end.
The loves that have brushed up against my heart i have remembered and they also will fade. There are things that needed to be said that had not been, not found in moments to exist. I know it is a common belief that there will be moments after the body ceases to exist to say things that had been misplaced, to do things that had not been done, to live again in a new way. There are those that believe we have been here before and shall return. There are books, scriptures, ceremonies and perceptions and visions that have told some so. Others believe what others have experienced and live their life with someone else’s presumed knowing. I have been one of those with definite visions telling me things as if from another level, a higher plane, a truth, the truth. Possibly if it had stopped at a few, i would still be a strong believer in simple synchronicity but i have had too many non-ordinary moments and with vision herself honouring me to question the validity of the very tool itself that had produced these visioned-belief systems. So now i feel i know that i know nothing for certain and the closer one may get to the great-mystery the more mysterious it all becomes and belief is just a wind in the night, cherish it for the moment but keep it moving, let it breathe. I am not saying that life is absurd, or meaningless or too dreadfull to continue. I think that we have all been conditioned so thoroughly as a must to know why, when, how and what it is all about with a tool that finds it extremely difficult to accept that it simply is not capable of ultimate knowing. The search itself has destroyed the simplicity of love that man could and can and does to some extent experience.
I may have loved others more or deeper than my present love, but it is becoming apparent that this love now is more valuable and more sincere as it moves thru the twists and turns of these last years. I never expected to end up here as most people in this life, and infact i never really expected to end up anywhere in-particular. Tho i do think that i had expected i would be more financially secure with the arts and entrepreneurial projects that i had pursued. Not so, at least of late, but the game is still in motion.
From this balcony, now, in down town Victoria i could imagine i was in just about any city on this planet. Recent apartment buildings scatter the view and if one doesn’t look too close at the decorations and furniture of the balconies, i could be anywhere. In my mind, i am everywhere i’ve been and more. Life is like a long branch on the big tree, many tributaries not taken but remembered and many a folk gone off up and down dead ends, out of site, simply ended along the trail, but you alone must walk, crawl, run to your end, with or without dignity, with or without the belief of knowing, in torment, in calm but the end is inevitable, quick or slow.
Life is beautiful and many of us know this. That must be why we continue on, with the luggage of belief, the torment of relations, the treachery of doubt, it is this , this love that carries us on. We know somehow, that it exists, that it alone makes us walk, in heaven thru hells along the canals of ignorance, the arrogance of knowing, the surrender, the almighty surrender that gives us faith that it is just the way it is and that is just good enough, beautiful mysterious life, beautiful eternal love; call it what you will.
Images and Writing by Patrick Wey All Blog Images For Sale…..follow the path….contact me direct if you wish.
Death is coming for us all, even the comic book people will have to go, none of the dreams will keep them here; here or there, this dream dreamin will fade to black like the nothingness in it all. The tattoos are meeting and melting later this evening amidst the flesh and bones of the dreamers, the ones with purpose and the ones with none at all. The philosopers, the predictors, the smooth slick thinkers to nowhere and all the ink-ones are gathering for the great celebration; the rock and rollers too, the classical dressed, the know-it-alls foaming from the heart and everyone whom is someone will be there, death is picking a few for the door prize and love will be spread upon the cake.
I was thinking my pen was alive and i was just a machine typing as fast as the ink would flow. I could hardly keep up with the stream and many times lost site of the shore-line as i flowed fast past with hardly a thought to remember. Writers do that sometimes, doesn’t make sense somehow but from another plane it fits like abstracts expressed in moments of creation and disintegration. Writing with shapes of things like a painters brush disguised as a pen.
A price you pay for living long and before you know it the only friend you have left is the pen. The laws of the streets can’t be beat but you can twist them and turn them like you can anything else, either to flow with the current or against it, like life or death. Ink is so much like the wind, you can tangle it around the trees with any form you make, but you can’t stop it. A writer writes. (period)
When i first laid eyes upon this scene, i knew it didn’t fit, outa time, outa space, a completely new world, a woman in a time that was not quite there. She leaned against the past like it was hers, a place close to her heart, a world not quite done with, one that needed a little more time to evolve smooth. I could have sworn i knew her from the way she smiled thru the air, the way she gleamed thru that space and time sitting still like that, made things surreal, real, unreal. There, with her leopard skin jacket flowing in the ages like a piece of a puzzle perfect in the right place at the wrong time. Yes, she held my glare, i couldn’t let go, i forced myself to capture the moment like a person does when seeing something so unusual, tempting, it must be right. There you have it, the look the space the time, all wrapped up into one unique scene while time fades like it does for a generation or two….
She came like many others of the fare complexion looking for the new land, a place of adventure, something different, security; possibly secret dreams unfolding in some distant horizon of her mind. Things change, little people become historic symbols, wall-scape murals depicting fiction disguised for the pleasure of the common folk, or something like that.
She could have been a queen in another life time, a peasant, a gypsy or an early settler, even an indian, a crow; anything is possible when you believe in that sort of stuff. Times and murals, fantasies made out of brick and paper, paint and illusions in the minds of the perceiver and in the words of the writer, ‘everything is twisted when you’re winding around the trail like a dream of a scene that doesn’t exist’. Yea that’s life on the coast, fairy tales hanging off the walls and no one seems to notice, the street is strange, desolate but in perfect tune with the deserted pavement and the magic just keeps pouring in like a mystery in a smile. That’s her, the one, the perfect one, almost real amidst the world; smooth, delicate, the new woman.
it’s the rain that has me mellow its washing effect that cleans my soul clear has me wandering undisciplined watching in new eyes thinking thru the heart i love the way old memories dance about concealing their faces sliding back and forth between the furniture of the streets the squish and slap off the black jungle trails against my ears in tune like a long day slowly fading into an evening air the rain scrubbing the tears off the buildings brick off the dark deep tar to the horizon and trees gasping for breath relieved and speaking soft again it’s the rain it has its glorious way embracing breath as water
gelatin floors warping up against melting walls of tangerine wind blowing words of multi-coloured cellophane into thick tunnels of mind. the strained history of man wrapped up into little packets floating memories deep across crevices of inner lobes. i demand an explanation, and many come then no sooner slip down some other crack into forgotten terrains of brain. a wall appears fast moving abasing the cliffs of my lonely love and drowns in a sea of pointlessness. what is this all about asks a desk of dust thirsty dictionaries and worn umbrellas fly by in torrential rain of bulky thought; the whole universe is in chaos and i believe in answers.
doomed and forsaken i leave for a surreal cafe on a nearby shore, the roads smother me with hope and the people in the know direct me to well-welded sides. finally i feel almost whole again, complete, possibly pure when you enter wearing a silver cloak draped over some-thing uncertain and with a dark dagger hanging from your inner ear, you ask for a light; it’s a big joint and you offer me a toke and i say, ‘no thanks, i’m stoned on life’ but i take one anyways. things change, everything is normal again, boring, purpose everywhere. i move thru walls dangling off my sight, books and books with faces, manipulations, lies being promoted like sermons and poems made of delicate strings of weak memories and real distant love fading fading thru-out the virtual dreams of mistaken heavens. i escape. i don’t look back. i can feel the trail on my heals; i slow down breathe deep, keep hidden as best i can, knowing it may all blow over but ready to take it as it comes or doesn’t; broken fences lying dead against the horizon.
Images and writing by Patrick Wey …. Images for sale
from the banks i watch
quietly i stop nothing
the noice of the world
the arrogance along the trails
the deception carefully packaged
in love tainted with the absurd
all things moving within the grid
the mesh of power and control
my simple love drowning slow
there is no way out for this
no way to extract the simplicity
and lay it on the road
the streets are filled with fear beliefs blooming from the curse of time people becoming saints and scholars with a magnitude of madness hidden like a cancer does when it conceals itself as love dying to live within
i walk on thru these lies on the walls the blatant clasping for the likes that makes me sick out to the forest where the truth is simple nothing much more than a moment at a time to remind you that infinity is eternally present the smell of summer pollen in the sweet air the vastness in a view the taste of fresh huckleberries full of life birds sneaking thru the forest activity always moving perfectly like a dream, my dream
i’m a rat according to the chinese calendar. there is some truth to all that i suppose, whatever truth is? a few days back i turned around 72 times across the path of the sun whipping thru space at speeds we’ll never know. what speed is the universe travelling, a parallel verse, a dylan verse? what is speed anyways? a concept of relativity useful for keeping things’n perspective but where deep-science is concerned things get very dice-c. anyways i want to thank all the folk that hurled happiness my way for a day that comes but once a year if your lucky, i suppose that’s what we can call it, luck. i had a wonderful time travelling around the main land of bc with my remarkable significant other. we roamed around the highlands of the okanagan and had a few very cool dips into its lake. All in all life is what you make it, and we made those days just fine, really fine, extraordinary; we caressed rain sun wind , we had it all and the spirit of gratefulness followed us around like a magnet, a scent of purity in oh so many breaths of true-life and we inhaled it all, a trip well done……..happy birthday, yes it was, thanks once again this earth, this beauty, these moments that fly by so quick..thanks friends, foe, relatives, sometimes life is just so good, almost a sin to mention it.
I first heard this Album in California on the first night of my visit. At 17 in 65 with my friend Joe Hiller we travelled by bus for 4 days to visit our childhood friend Helmut Klein whom moved there two years previous with his parents. I, for the first time, with Joe, Helmut, Bob and Kurt listened to this ‘Freak Out’ album which i thought was nuts, irritating to my conservative virgin ears. The next night we smoked some of that weed madness. That was my first time and that same album was played and i thought it was fantastic, nothing like it, hit deep within my tender soul just awaiting to escape the conditioning that this straight-world had cursed upon us. That turned me, that was a major departure from the convention of this plastic world. The freak-out began but there but there was no way to delay that trouble coming everyday. Here we are more than half a century later still licking up on the same wounds we thought we’d escaped, healed…..white privilege stained in dark black burnt shadows. That’s the way it is, trouble coming everyday. The Freak Out album didn’t come out in Canada for another six months or more. I brought it back from California and turned on all my friends with the album and the freak-out weed enhancer. That was the beginning of a long strange trip. The whole world was turning on, the 60’s were born. Our first band we called the ‘Brain Police’ after one of the tracks on the album. This album was one of a kind, nothing like it and this song, ‘Trouble Coming Everyday’, still sings the dark melody of black and white discrimination is alive and walking around free enslaved. Privilege stained of burnt shadows, trouble everyday. Black and white.
There are numerous great tunes on this double album, ‘Help I’m a Rock’, ‘You’re Probably Wondering Why I’m Here’, ‘It Can’t Happen Here’, ‘Go Cry on Somebody Else’s Shoulder’, ‘Hungry Freaks, Daddy’, and many more, and ‘Who Are the Brain Police?’, well we were for a couple of years, Joe, Ted, Les and I; wish we had kept that band alive……This album was way ahead of it’s time, or was the times way behind the times. Certainly seems so from all the constant trouble coming everyday, just no way to delay that trouble coming everyday.
I lost a year of writing. Laying words on a page is not like other arts; photography, painting, carving, music. It is more vunerable, exposing naked your heart, leaking your soul into the air of thought, into the space of feelings. You can intellectualize your position and be exposed for what you are not. You can cry for mercy for the guilt hidden behind your verbs. You can paint love with dashes of adjectives that transcend time, with continuity that erupts emotions into a frenzy. You can hide behind the phrases common for the times, slip out of the torture of your soul with a well manicured paragraph or two.
Writing is hard, a dance between the intellect and the heart, the poet and the philosopher, the scientist and the craftsman, the wordsmith with nothing really to say. One can lay camouflaged with leaves from an old oak, clouds from a gray damp day. What ever writing is, it is personal no matter how things are said; if you’ve learned how to read between the lines, that’s where the juice is, the energy that runs the show. But all in all nothing is really revealed for certain, every word can ramble down eternity road and every sound will echo endlessly whether you let it or not.
I lost a year of writings, as these, thru incompetence and stupidity between myself and a mac repair shop here in Duncan. I almost lost hundreds of hours of image editing as well as tons of other important computer related content. All was eventually retrieved accept almost a year of writing. I had to remind myself of others that have lost all in fires or floods or have nothing at all to loose. None the less it did disrupt my mind and had me face death once again as in the hundreds of times that other circumstances have had me do. Eventually i’ll have to leave it all behind and the consolation of leaving a legacy often does nothing much for my weary mind. I am a traveller, an adventurer in the cells of this brain i call home. It will all die and i refuse to accept common after-life believes simply because it makes me feel well and alive with some truth to call my own. Bullshit, we made it all up, mankind is a living lie. Memory as thought changes, bends, attaches, dismembers, but it is as unstable as the wind. It is not necessary to know what you can not know. It is alright to realize reason is not the ultimate tool of knowing and knowing as eternity, just keeps flowing on. There is nothing to hang onto, no ultimate security, no dream that sits perfectly still but all is pure that way, all is just what it is, nothing more and nothing less. We need not embellish perception simply to fit it into our molds, break the sentence with a hammer of love………..stop, start, meaning will find its silly claws, it is the nature of thought, memory, words. I love and hate writing, it frees my mind and cripples my soul. It resurrects me when i’m low and soothes my heart when the existential pain of love leaves me.
I will miss the words that suffered upon the pages now erased into the virtual space of trash. At moments they fly by tempting me to struggle for their existence, but i won’t, new words can never replace all the moments my fingers needed the serenity of the keypad, but that my dear mind is the way it is. Goodbye to those rooms where realities once stood and now nothing more than a few disintegrated fragments faintly falling across the screen of my mind with ease and occasional hesitation.
I own nothing not even these words, death is coming for all of them soon but until then my fingers will stumble across the table of thought and scribble more sense where ultimately nothing really matters.
Words are like water dunes upon the surface of the mighty seas, they weave in and out of existence like meaning does.
i’m down around the end there is no word to please me no wound deep enough to hide within i have nothing left to be the people are all away from here there is no one to see me the trains have all died the flowers are crying as rain does there are a few smells remaining and a cluster of thought by the bridge but other than that everything else is gone just some resemblance of me and an empty suitcase of dreams quiet by the long stairway this is where it all begins to end not with some enormous gathering but with a few drops of rain and a forgotten caress this is the way things end sometimes almost silent almost invisible like it never was like meaning fading slow across a terrain of scattered memory into a horizon of pure beauty
It’s time that we sat down and talked. The trees are weak, earth spoiled, sky dirty and people clinically insane and you want me to buy your news. I’ve been up and down your facebook drama and the live leaders dying in rusted air. What could be so important to take me away from this dream embedded in my brain. The silence surrounding the noice, the beauty against this madness.
You have our attention, the world is rotting, the soul of love itself is evolving into a cancerous tumour in the minds of man, stabbing the heart of god itself, man is turning numb and colder. Everybody is a critic, a writer, an artist, a spiritual scientist now, everybody it seems has the certainty of thought strangling the life out of life. Nothing left but to walk alone, cry for the miserable, breathe deep and focus on nothing, for that alone is unattached to this dilemma.
Sure i will help you when i can, place a few words on your dampened heart, give you air when your lungs collapse, but don’t ask me to surrender to your prayers, your dreams, the madness of this world, the insanity of this path. Carry on as you are, i will dodge everything i can, but in the end, it doesn’t matter who you are, who i am, from dust to dust, just do what you must, we may meet again, we may not, the wind blows for no one and all, hold what you get, fly when you can.
The path to evil is camouflaged with the flowering aroma of sacred words….to fake it is to make virtual roots in sacred soil. This Pipe that i have carried has travelled to many spaces since this ceremony mentioned in 1996 and it has passed many prayers back and forth thru the space we call spirit. Auschwitz, Poland, Tower of London, Ireland’s pagan sites denigrated by the saint of patrick, America south to north, wounded cities, injured land, crowded prisons, ceremonies of sweats, vision quests, rain and sun dancing; it has been busy. It has carried thought focused in reverent ways, selfish ways, desperate ways, asking, telling, demanding, praising, crying, honouring, many ways and possibly the answers of our ancestors prayers are the realities we are now living. I feel that after many journeys thru the fields of grace that the most beneficial prayer is one of no prayer at all. To honour the life we carry with listening to the great mystery with no intervention, no human thought creation attempting to get what we feel we need, want, deserve……………simply listening without intention. This is my opinion, feel free to criticize or compliment, it has no lasting difference to the scheme of the mystery. This is what the Pipe has conveyed as i have interpreted, there is no path to truth, to love, to the great mystery. My prayer is the prayer of the coyote, the crow, the birch tree, the waters, my prayer is beyond me, we are irrelevant in the winds of the silent forest. I am you as you are me, thought and prayer separates us, listen to the drum of heart, the wordless knowing in the space between. Your walk is your prayer, your breath is your gratitude, your doing is a blessing or a curse, it is up to you ….
Falling into sketched hands down a canvas wall i have no answer to these actions my dreams are beyond myself i am not in control i am not the i i knew things have changed the horizon is a wall painted with fragile clouds stilts hang my head in shame across a cold cold landscape and is erased unwound as a ribbon to the solemn wind of words scattered across the valley syllables desperately forming into long sentences of meaninglessness then tearing themselves apart one by one into lonely letters disintegrating across a universe
Years ago I recall reading in one of the many books, album covers or some interview, but somewhere, that Dylan was asked if he was the President of the US what he might do. He said, “the first thing i’d do is have every one memorize ‘Desolation Row’ and”…. that is all i remember. And now that we all have a little more time than usual, you might want to give it a listen. It’s not too late to feel a little desolate. I often felt like yelling out the last verse and occasionally i did.
‘Yes, I received your letter yesterday, about the time the doorknob broke When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kind of joke All these people that you mention, yes, I know them, they’re quite lame I had to rearrange their faces and give them all another name Right now, I can’t read too good, don’t send me no more letters no Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row’
The complete lyrics to ‘Desolation Row’ by Bob Dylan
They’re selling postcards of the hanging, they’re painting the passports brown The beauty parlor is filled with sailors, the circus is in town Here comes the blind commissioner, they’ve got him in a trance One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker, the other is in his pants And the riot squad they’re restless, they need somewhere to go As Lady and I look out tonight, from Desolation Row
Cinderella, she seems so easy, “It takes one to know one, ” she smiles And puts her hands in her back pockets Bette Davis style And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning. “You Belong to Me I Believe” And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place, my friend, you’d better leave” And the only sound that’s left after the ambulances go Is Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row
Now the moon is almost hidden, the stars are beginning to hide The fortune telling lady has even taken all her things inside All except for Cain and Abel and the hunchback of Notre Dame Everybody is making love or else expecting rain And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing, he’s getting ready for the show He’s going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row
Ophelia, she’s ‘neath the window for her I feel so afraid On her twenty-second birthday she already is an old maid To her, death is quite romantic she wears an iron vest Her profession’s her religion, her sin is her lifelessness And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah’s great rainbow She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row
Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood with his memories in a trunk Passed this way an hour ago with his friend, a jealous monk Now he looked so immaculately frightful as he bummed a cigarette And he when off sniffing drainpipes and reciting the alphabet You would not think to look at him, but he was famous long ago For playing the electric violin on Desolation Row
Dr. Filth, he keeps his world inside of a leather cup But all his sexless patients, they’re trying to blow it up Now his nurse, some local loser, she’s in charge of the cyanide hole And she also keeps the cards that read, “Have Mercy on His Soul” They all play on the penny whistles, you can hear them blow If you lean your head out far enough from Desolation Row
Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains, they’re getting ready for the feast The Phantom of the Opera in a perfect image of a priest They are spoon feeding Casanova to get him to feel more assured Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence after poisoning him with words And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls, “Get outta here if you don’t know” Casanova is just being punished for going to Desolation Row”
At midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew Come out and round up everyone that knows more than they do Then they bring them to the factory where the heart-attack machine Is strapped across their shoulders and then the kerosene Is brought down from the castles by insurance men who go Check to see that nobody is escaping to Desolation Row
Praise be to Nero’s Neptune, the Titanic sails at dawn Everybody’s shouting, “Which side are you on?!” And Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting in the captain’s tower While calypso singers laugh at them and fishermen hold flowers Between the windows of the sea where lovely mermaids flow And nobody has to think too much about Desolation Row
Yes, I received your letter yesterday, about the time the doorknob broke When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kind of joke All these people that you mention, yes, I know them, they’re quite lame I had to rearrange their faces and give them all another name Right now, I can’t read too good, don’t send me no more letters no Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row
Healthy cooperative life generates itself with life-energy, when the environment becomes unbalanced the insurgence of the enemy towards life invades, death-energy life forms, the virus is believed to be one of those, there are others but this one is swift, under the radar, and can be deadly dangerous. That is its job, presumably.
This planet of smooth skinned apes has turned what was a plentiful regenerative balanced accumulative system of life forms in war with itself. In the name of nature life moves evolves becomes more specific, complex with time.
Man has manipulated the very structure of the molecules with an energy force that nature solely uses for death, explosive dissipating energy, the movement of water and matter in an outwards direction. When this explosive, death-giving energy is in abundance, healthy life begins to die. Life and death is the cycle of existence, but there is a natural unequal balance in which this process occurs. Organic planet earth-life is accumulated thru the over abundance of implosive energies created by the natural inwards vortexing of water and air, thru forms as veins of animals, the sap of trees, the whirling and twirling of water and air over land and sea.
Water, the carrier of memory, the consciousness of mother earth, moves to enhance its energy in an inwards vortical direction. This pacifies oxygen, increases velocity, moves towards the anomaly point of plus four degrees celsius of water. This inwards vortical direction is the temperature regulator of the earth.
Man has attempted to straighten out this direction with barriers along rivers, creeks, damns obstructing the natural flow of water and generating in all aqua-life stagnant environments for pathogens which increases the risk of unhealthy life to every living cell on earth.
The outwards direction of our explosive technology is in constant need of fuel to continue its energy output. The minerals, fossil fuels, nuclear substances is the toil of mans dilemma creating wealth and control for a few of the many.
The virus today is an example of the detriment our unnatural energy systems has created from the processes of producing foods, fertilizers, drugs, all utilizing a heat explosive outwards motion process of creation which is not the way of the cool whirling motion of natures medicines, foods in abundance of life enhancing energies.
There is something very sinister about this world lock down. I have a gut feeling that what we are being told is not what really is happening. That our inside fears, precautions, suspicions are not unjustified. There are many possibilities that the super wealthy are up to something that will ultimately gave them superior control and in the process the elimination of the weak, useless, unnecessary crowds of people that are of no further use to the machine that the peoples blood and sweat have build.
We and our ancestors built the factories, the machines and the machines that are now building the machines that are now thinking the thoughts, doing the deeds. There are too many of us. They are not willing to support us. There is a lack of work, more unemployed everyday, we have become outdated, a commodity to be eliminated. This must be done in a very strategic way not to allow us to unite and take back what is ours, our ancestors, our right. They have the money the time the expert intelligence to strategically eliminate many of us with out our proof. Load vaccines, make it impossible to move freely without one, control the movement of each person on this planet. People have become numb, entertained, comfortable in their beliefs. There is little that a few can do.
Divide and conquer, separate us, make us desperate, have a disease in place, one that is not easily detectable of its source or nature and bombard areas of earth with unhealthy wave technologies that disturb the very cells of life strategically and can be directed to specific areas at will. These technologies have been in place for decades in top secret files and most of us know that. G5 is well on the way, an ultimate explosive system of control and destruction in the view of progress.
Lock the population down, make it a crime to be in public, no groups, screen and filter the detrimental communications via the internet and eventually disconnect it, possibly knock out the hydro in pockets, create a civil war, eliminate masses of people.
Possibly this is not real, not true, who knows, and what does it really matter, or does it? Possibly it is time for the earth to wipe off the parasite that has killed many species thru the antagonistic ways of man. There are natural ways of energy systems that do not depend on the refuelling and raping of the lands, veins and arteries of fuels and minerals and therefor the unneccessary control of a few over the many.
I don’t know for certain, anything, i just think thoughts and write them out, possibly they will be discovered and eliminated, possibly they may entertain a few, insert a few more questions. I understand that this world is addicted to statistics, formulas, wars and is controlled by fear and loves the answers involving angels, gods, demons and facts. I offer little. Think for yourself, answers are lying everywhere. An unhealthy planet is bound to end up dying unnaturally. That is just simple common sense.
The few at the top of the chain are so greedy they’re willing to deceive and sacrifice the many for a a few more links, knowing they may be discovered and mass massacres could evolve into an ending that death has never seen. The self fulfilling dream secretly evolving in the minds of man. From the red man to the saints of world religions the legacy is awaiting patiently to be fulfilled.
A few of us watch the wheels burn while saviours scramble across the global micro waves like heroes from a burnt-out book. We don’t know, they don’t know but they can make things happen just the same. Truth lies still in the gutter and on the alters of earths hells. The poor the sheep the masses caught in the struggle to survive while the mighty kings of the digital madness waiver in an absurd glory only a madman could entertain.
This is the way of the world, the way of man. we watch, we listen, we move when we must, we do the best to survive. Prophesies have been waiting, time is moving in our hearts like a knife. Be observant and walk on.
The human race has one thing in common now, the virus, virtual and real, that is so apparent, but it makes us realize that we have a lot more in common and we have been mistaken, misunderstood, even dangerous to ourselves and others. They say in order to love others you need to love yourself. This time of being more alone physically is giving humanity an opportunity to learn this difficult task of loving ourselves and possibly truly loving others. It’s a symbiotic relationship, this love stuff. It is difficult to stick to your hearts intentions while many criticize your every move but that is the nature of the game, to weave in and out of the push and pull of others and keep on straight thru the pathless road. Now is the time to face death, that one space we all must enter, that dark and light terrain that no living creature truly knows. To exit from here is the one job no one can avoid. Help your neighbour, your brother, your sister, the four legged, winged ones, everyone you come in contact with to move with grace, in dignity. Life is short and in times as these one must realize we are all delicate and deserve what little love we may find to allow to pass freely about. No sense in any other ritual, simple caring from the heart is all that is necessary, stand your ground and give that sacred energy its home; your silent heart.
I should have left yesterday but it was more than i could do. Your tenderness and sweet lure, your soft words wrapped up in delicate promises; the walls could wait, let some other man be the martyr. I stayed, but much too long, days turned to years and now freedom by the door lies smothered in mould, wasted in tears, dead.
That was yesteryear. Times have changed, things whirled down a different tube. I lived thru the blues of the thirties, the rock of the fifties, dylan in the sixties, i lived thru the scattered jazz rollin across the rebellion, across the oneness dreams, across the distortion of the molecules, the plastic era, the one way, the christ consciousness, the darma minds, the whole lot of it all rusting rushing down the avenues of the modern day, LSD, 5G and what have you.
I come here without mind, my heart flattened out like an ancient stone. Stretched out along some creek waiting for the truth to find its light, waiting for the night to awaken, waiting for the hard rains to dry, for time to find its space here amidst eternity.
I’m not so unique, just like you, some of you that travelled the quiet road full of noice and nonsense and twisted decoys. We made it thru so we thought but here we are structured in a world messed up and impossible to read and here we are surviving, heading down towards the last train.
I love you i suppose with your miracles and angels and gods and demons. I’m gonna walk right on like nothing has happened, keep my head on straight, stand up to the last dream, no curse can keep me from meeting the end, open.
I’m gonna keep my promise no matter how much hate hits my guts, i’m gonna keep true to the roots of my veins, let my heart tell my story no matter what.
I’m not black, red or olive and most of the time i don’t feel white, german, italian, british, mexican, just human, the last of the wanderers, a true seed, the mistaken, a dot stretched off the page…………………….
She has influenced the greatest artists from Leonardo DaVinci, to Picasso, certainly Cézanne, without doubt Feininger, the expressionists, impressionists, even the abstract painters; Malevich to Emily Carr, Norval Morrisseau to Modglianni. She, in all her wisdom is the basis of all art, her water colours are the glory of the earth, the colour and shape of consciousness itself. I have been honoured to document a few of these paintings, from the crevices of St Paul St. Montreal, the puddles of NYC, to name a few, the water-surfaces across Europe, the canals of Thailand, the wetlands of BC and the alley ways of Ontario Canada. Everywhere i go she confronts me to document her art. It is a mission i was chosen for to expose the beauty in the pure and the polluted waters of the earth.
crippled souls stumbling down broken roads heading for the dead end apocalypse or heaven on earth? is this the moment we’ve been secretly praying for and what’s it worth lost angels falling thru the abyss of time nothing to save that can’t be saved let it be, step out of the way caress the last train from the station say your goodbyes to the ones you’ve loved this may be the last chance to soothe some wounded hearts the day has come to an end the night time owns your soul
i have walked thru the shadows i have kissed death i own nothing and nothing owns me i am free from the path the truth has quietly left for another
there are those that demand nothing but the air of happiness that would live in illusion to satisfy this desire defend it to the gods, the creations of creation there are those that see only destruction the despair of life and the absurdity of destiny there are those that are too weak to be and those that move between the limits of ecstasy like a reflection from a drop of a passing rain there are those that want what they can never obtain that can never accept the wounds of reality that act out a love as if they own it project images onto well designed walls live on the outside of the inside of it all these are the people of the world these are the movements along the avenues the virus gone viral down the halls of the surreal a world ending just beyond its birth time slowing down inside the mind of man like an autumn maple leaf falling blowing across the endless forests floor thru the uncertainly of shadows
angels of mercy hiding in the wounds masters leading walking behind the one and only goddess falling with the hope of life dying in the ruins this is america worn and deceived this is the way to the heavens this is the way of the lord
the simple dream the simple way thru the forests and the plains man and her inventions from saints and shadows, time in space the maya moves slow behind along patterns in the mind
the raw beauty of your melting eyes scriptures written all over your skin as silhouettes of truth caresses the sands of your miraculous body i surrender within
here i make my stand and demand a few smells of lilac, a taste of peach from your delicate hands and entering your heart i see the angel is you america the land of illusion the promise to be free
she builds rooms for nitemares constructs them out of spelling mistakes ruffled feathers and worn-out nouns cars have feet in her dreams death is feeling guilty for ignoring her she lives on hiding in the wind
It was on his way to that frozen silent space, the graveyard, in the light of day when things turned dark. He was worried about her, concerned. She had shown signs of deep depression with her tombstone eyes and endless dreams, and more than that, she was far too quiet for far too long.
The old ford broke down, stalled at an intersection, wouldn’t start, kept turning over but just would not combust, ‘a gas problem’ he thought, ‘maybe electrical’, no spark. He rolled it across the down-hill intersection and parked it along side the twisted road, out of the way, almost hidden. Tried it a few more times, ‘I guess it’s a long walk’, he thought. He couldn’t test things alone, turn it over while holding a spark plug wire away from a spark plug, or some other technique to see if it was electrical or gas related, so he said fuck it, ‘I’ll walk and deal with it later’.
That is what put him in harms way with this moulded modern man, deranged, angry and out for madness.
He headed towards the tombs to meet her, to help her, be there for her; down the railroad tracts towards the old graveyard by the edge of town. He saw him coming, a strange dark figure, like the night, long coat, afghan brown hat, rusted-white complexion it appeared and with a neck bent towards the ground and piercing darkened eyes staring up direct at me, the air turned thick. We were both sharing the single well-worn path along the tracks, so I thought I’d move on to the railroad ties side and let him have the full trail to himself, it felt like he needed it. He kept glaring, staring as I approached so I half smiled to no avail and when we met within a few feet he quickly unravelled from the inside of his coat a dull black gun and fired a shot and then again, and as if I saw it coming, bang, bang, dead, and kept walking.
This unfinished poem, or maybe it was finished, anyways, it was found in his pocket scribbled in blood and ink.
there is a place where everything is one no imagination or dreams where reason is the crippled warrior in a sea of mathematical analogies relative and whole numbers separate into infinity and eternity is absolute endless supreme and possibly love is all there is
Click HERE and start a slide-show of many Sierra pictures – up in the top right corner.
Today on the 29th of Dec. 2019, Sierra would be 29, she has been gone 4/1/2 years. Time is irrelevant where tragedy lives, she knew that, i know that, many understand. These are some of the many photographs i took of her in her first seven years. Then we were seperated for 17 years. This disturbed her, molded her, confused her, devastated her being. She struggled, wiggled in and out of this world. I entered back into her life six months before she left for good. We connected patched up what we could but in the end it was the medical world that took her breath away. She told me all, her life, the way she saw it – on video.
This story is much more than i could ever present here, too complicated, sensitive and needs delicate time.I hope to create a documentary as she would have wanted.
She mentioned, ‘anything that could help others not to have to go thru what I went thru’.
I loved her like no one else in my life, i lost her twice. She was a miracle, so many amazing moments being with her.
below – written by Sierra
I wish I were a bird,
So I could fly away.
Wish I had wings made of glass, blow my problems away.
Etched into stone, I’m grounded.
My broken wings won’t let me fly.
All my body in wanting, chasing that sky high.
All she wants is to be free,
No warning will she heed,
‘Unleash this beast!’
‘In my soul,
It’s making me ill
It’s getting hard to breathe, I’m feeling unwell.’
Redemption at it’s finest,
Credentials of a ciminalist,
‘Exorcise this demon with-in my chest!”
I have a hunger like an unfed wolf, eating at my soul. Emaciated, starving, hunting the high. Like a demon in my chest, it cries out in demand on satisfaction. “Feed me!!!” It cries. “Feed my desires. Fuel my pleasure. Take my hand, I’ll make everything better.” But high is a four letter lie. Once is never enough. Once, twice, thrice, only quells the beast in a temporary fashion. Just as quickly as it’s quieted, it’s demanding attention again with a ferocity only seen in the depths of hell.
More writing about Sierra from my past….patrickwey
309 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/29 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sierra Kachina left at 24, would have been 28 today…born into a world almost to the minutes of 100 years after the last massacre of the NA Indian at Wounded Knee ……here is wiki-info of that event…….https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wounded_Knee_Massacre
Words about Sierra since she had gone: no one can feel the pain of loss of another, it can tear one to the depths of the soul and lift one higher than life, death.
Writing words you will never see
editing pictures you never saw
killing dreams we never met
living around lies tangled up around us yet
crying alone into fading memories
a busy numbness surrounding often
and you and me ending again
this time forever ending within
i see this thru vague scenes
that crumble into one another
drenched in pain and love
as they move along the trail
with a crippled weakness into the day
and words to you i will never say
i write to no one but the stream
of endless dreams across the purple sky
the universe that comes in clear
the universe that closes when the dream ends
Without You Sierra
sometimes it tears tenderly to my heart
sadness where it has never gone, goes.
years passing without you
your little heart and mine
twisted into each other like time
i gaze across the highway to the grassy fields beyond
the silent wind bends around invisible canyons
straight into my mind
your essence emanates soft and deep into me
with dry tears i caress the moments slipping by
there will never be anyone so true to me as you
our bond was woven by the mystery of love
no one can alter what was so clear
that alone gives a graceful comfort
this pure sadness against my path
your delicate sense breathes life into death
i need no promises, commitments, no proof
we knew we were special
a love so rare so true so threatening
we lived thru this with the most fragile of hearts
now thru this fading silence
with nothing but the humble caring of the wind
i love you with your tears upon me
nothing can harm you now
you are safe from this world
and all its misery
i am seeing this with my hidden pain
as i walk on without you….
There are few words left to say
i know in my heart there are no ears of yours to hear
what can never be said to you ever
you’re gone and love feels so empty without you
i have learned that this world is even more cruel than imagined
fake everything lures everybody into so much of little worth
they have little room for real tears
no time for true sadness
only shallow laughter and smiles against the rain
ultimately they are afraid to face their own mortality
they need to blanked it with tender wit, swift gestures
hidden desires leading secure beliefs to selfish love
They are the lost children of the american dream
stretching across every continent
desperately hanging onto every note from the popular song
caressing comfort with their broken bodies
falling alone down into cancerous heavens
to worlds they could never be
They are my brothers, my sisters, my friends and my foe
they are the celebrities cared for more than neighbours
more than the blood across the land
more than the mother in the land
the father of the other hand
the truth scattered into words
blasted against the walls of your brains
and in this context everyone is to blame
the dilemma of the human insane
In this beauty one must weep. The overwhelming understanding of pain from loss is so sad it is beyond comprehension. It goes so deep one can only cry tears from memories dying and the letting go of its truth, its reality. Admitting that it is hard to live life one must let go of the dearest feelings; all the tangled ones and all the gentle and soft ones. It is hard to see this in the air, all the clusters of memories contained in one soul and spread out across the minds of the people. The close ones the distant ones the collective ones, all of different quantities and depth, moving in and around as a dream does.
When one dies and the entanglement of thought-energy floats thru the atmosphere as a spirit would, the visions of these holographic scenes may be more real than a normal reality appears. This is pure vision with no interpretation from a past, a future, just the endless flow from one scene to the next. The magnitude of this impression is life altering.
You can feel the waves of peoples thoughts and dreams, with their spirits creating intricate delicate holographs of varied scenes floating thru the forests along creeks veins like an epiphany from ‘nature’, the creator of all known. I cried, knowing i had to let go to live. It will come in small doses, not as to destroy me, little by little till i carry on alone. This may never happen. This is the dream, the dream will change, the observer will be altered, vast death is the nature of all this. It will come regardless of what one does. It is this movement in life that sees this death and the illusions of dreams as necessary branches to this tree, as life is a dilemma.
the days go by and you fade beyond my will
every step another distance without you
memories slip in and out of the air surrounding here
some are peaceful and serene and others are dark and deep
when the pains you felt, lived through and died with
punctures my heart like a knife with tears
the road curves up ahead and your presence is near
there in the pale afternoon where your love lies
and the sunset full of your colour
there are the photographs and your remnants scattered about
there are memories hanging on the walls without you
you meant everything to a few left behind
and they struggle down the path alone
and there is no answer fit
to why you left the way you did
no conclusions can soothe this heart
it is what it is and love and you are one
there is nothing along the cove
to replace this shore on eternity
memories will continue their journey across the universe
and fade into the void beyond
but for now there is nothing left
just you caressing this heart
and a spirit feeling this
my heart aches for you
your simple smile your delicate wit
your ways and your life living
i miss you terribly so
i am so sorry i did not do enough to save you
to help you in any way i could
to share everything i have with you
i never expected it would end so quick
what a fool i was in moments i could have done more
could have poured my heart unto you
given my every touch of love
i am so sorry, forgive me
nothing i can do now for you
i am lost at moments crushed with pain
devastated to my very being
like a boat without water
and a soul with out life
i am alone lost and numb
i see the road the way and the things to be done
i walk with one foot in the desert and the other on unknown land
i am a man stranded with no home no future no dream
i remember your breath searching for air and your heart for warmth
i walk i walk i keep walking
there are moments joy slips by and noise ceases
there are those that say too much and those that can’t listen
the ones with ideals overloaded and the ones crawling down the avenue
i miss your presence, the weight in your eyes
the truth your lips concealed
i miss you, your simple love
i miss you
i can never be free from you
you are a part of me
some of you is inside of me
and i shall die like that
you and me are a memory
that will be as long as forever is
little angel up-against the tomb
on a road red as heart
spirit fallen from the sky
with no clear answer why
and with tombstone tears
a wounded kachina cries
“for simple love i live and die”.
“i’ was much, much too young to die”
I wish i could say what can’t be said
and do what can’t be done
i wish i could do magic
and bring back what’s gone
i am loosing the words to say much or anything at all
now is not the time to
we all want to know what can’t be known
it is the nature of thought
we all want things we can’t get
we all want teachings that can’t be taught
there is no easy way
to heal a wounded heart
you can fly high and dig low
you can tell yourself sweet little lies
you can tear yourself apart
with things you wish you’d done
but there is only one thing that can really help
hidden deep within the heart
A wave of pain struck on edges of dreams formed long ago
I know i have to write this experience out sometime soon. It is too bizarre and hideous in areas that must be written in detail to fully understand the depth and shallowness of the situation. I venture to say that Sierra died at the hands of relatives and friends and doctors that made decisions to act or not act with self imposed desires emanating from their conditioned minds without much depth to see the outcome of this simple and sincere life of Sierra Kachina. No one is to blame and yet we all are. I don’t know where to start. The beginning they say but there is no beginning.
Raw reality stripped from all its glory
naked truth condemned to hide beneath the rugs
the way it was the way it is
the way it is going to be
silence against the noise of mind
love hidden in the shadows
nothing is as nothing was
everything comes everything goes
imaginary waves upon the shores
where something ends something begins
i think of you often in so many ways
i wish i wish i wish but to no avail
if only this and if only that
you would be alive and i know it’s true
you questioned so many times
of what you would be like if only
we had not been separated at your little girls age of seven
if only we could have continued to be as father and daughter
what confused decisions tore us apart
what guilt hidden in minds separated us
why did that have to be so
what did we do to deserve such fate
is the truth worth anything now
will the prosecutors suffer as i
can anyone hurt so much
so deep for so long, my little mind
never really mature, stuck in your arms
safe and warm from the dangers of life forever
i missed you so much my father and friend
and no one could understand
and now i am gone forever
cept the memories in the minds of who’s left
twisted and torn and true and soft
some will feel the pain of abandonment as i
some will continue to ignore the facts
and continue to lie with their crafted smiles
and embrace the illusions they’ve made
for me i have gone and now you my friend write my legacy
i forgave everyone, it was in my nature
but i felt the pains of their decisions that tore my brain apart
from street and legal abuse i walked thru hell alone
tormented people are made of this
this guilt and anger hidden beneath
in minds not willing to see
i loved you all regardless; my mother, my husband, my aunts
my dear sister, my fathers and uncles
all my friends that couldn’t really understand
what i myself could only feel but not comprehend
why, why, why were you taken from me
it doesn’t make sense…..
how simple is love
this love severed but never dead
i am grateful it had found it’s way home
after so many years and for such a short time
and now i leave once again to let you walk on alone again
to face every breath without me
cept for what little is left in memory
but i am gone
gone forever with dreams
Driving home along the highway
yellow moon hanging in the sky
sounds so romantic but it’s true
everywhere i look i find you
I walk along the beach and see you in the sand
i pick up a purple stone and find you in my hand
high in the sky you fly within the clouds
trees are made of your likeness all across the land
such a sacred child in the body of a woman
you were just like me, a melancholy man
For hidden guilt and shame of things they couldn’t face
And unaware to me i’d been accused and convicted of things i never did
It was simple and easy to hide the evidence, me, and live a lie into eternity
but to their surprise and your demise, little sierra died
and now they have this tragic reality hanging from their neck
they can’t escape the truth of what’s been done
and only an apology might shine some healing light
but until then they will feel that deep darkness in their skull
how long will it take, time can’t even tell
i am not counting the days, i hardly care anymore
my little girl is gone and i don’t give a damn what people say
nothing is going to change anything anyway
people can hide but they still have to pay
that’s the nature of this way
you can fill your brain with whatever you want
fool yourself and fool the world
but in the end karma will knock you down
where ever you hide
where ever you lay
get your self a good alibi
a judgement day is on its way
we would have had such a lovely birthday time today…..always thinking about you.
Image circa 1996……writing, last 3 1/2 years
Timothy Leary and Ram Dass, psychedelic pioneers are both dead here and now. Took this photo in San Francisco a number of years ago at a conference with numerous psychedelic advocates. Both good honest men and glad they traveled parallel thru my life and gave us their conclusions along the trail. It all ends, cept here and now…….
This folk-rock song i wrote back in the early 70’s very influenced by the use of psychedelics…….definitely my greatest teacher in my youth and beyond. This song talks of that space between worlds of thought-abstracts and the here and now, the reality, oneness timeless space all religion, spirituality, and some philosophy alludes towards.
Beyond No Doubt in Jest
Take me on an endless trip And remove that’s all unreal This road hasn’t been an easy one That has led my thoughts to feel That all that really matters Is ta know that you don’t know But it’s so hard Gettin’ on that oneness road
Memories hit, old habits grip
Puts ya right back down
And the more you fall the harder it is
With pleasures all around
Makes it so hard
Gettin’ on that oneness road
Where all that really matters
Ia ta know that you don’t know
You better leave i tell myself
Or they’ll kill all your resistance
Then plaster you with secure beliefs
That depends on their assistance
And you’ll be where
You swore you’d never go
And you’ll deny
What you don’t really know
Take me way from this weary crowd
Far beyond my dreams
Open up to me one door
That closes when one leaves
Take me fadin, tripin
Through that mighty storm
I promise i’ll fight the night
Until the early morn
Where all that really matters
Is ta know that you don’t know
But it’s so hard getting on
Just getting on that oneness road
Dying shadows; wannabes searching out for love, poets, shamans, yogis, healers, saints, gurus, the leaders of the search, ‘the wounded and the traumatized, the abused and misused’, the manipulators of the heart. Strangled by the light they try to guide the sick, the patients of hope, the sufferers of faith, mirrors-of-themselves. The terrain of spirituality creating dreams that can never exist, fantasies formed into realities, structures made of brick of walls straight and thick, minds crystallized into heavens, expectations dying lying everywhere along a mirage to truth. Love cursed by sacred hugs caressed in streets, cathedrals of the brain, man surviving floods, fires spreading thru the species; reason killing the poet, the dreamer of life, the one last standing alone forsaken hidden in the midst of humanity with a crying heart in vain. ‘This is the way the world ends’, not with a crashing thunder but a silent whimper in a broken caress.
She walks in beauty, her skirt dancing, flirting high with the wind. Her love spread out in the evening breeze, her skin pure and delicate like fine mist, hair flowing entangled in the sky, her smile warm and true like earth and water. Yes that is her, safe inside all women, waiting for an escape into a perfect embrace for an endless moment or two. Waiting, walking along the waterways, searching thru the storms, holding love like a luring vase for a flower to her heart, a breath of purple to encompass her soul. She dances thru life like a knife, cutting thru dreams unworthy. She is the golden goddess inside every woman, flowing thru the machine, kissing all with tenderness, loving life like the sun with an amber side of the moon. This is the way she walks along the cove, through dreams, down avenues, her skin smooth as the evening light of the night, softness in the turmoil of the wounded, delicate in the mind serene. Her words silent speak in a future, dangle off memories of the past, holding safe in her heart the way through the mountains on her chest. The forsaken goddess in modern times, her love endless, veiled from the world of dying dreams.
She was right, on a dead end street, wrong on a road to love. She was a goddess hollow, confused along the avenues of hell. Her spell entangled around the towers of expectations. Her beauty was apparent, everybody tried to get to her, but not one could pierce her shield. She left towards the lonely boulevards, stranded, self contained in her ideals, her trauma, her canyon-ways through the storms with reason. Her love a statue upon a petestal, her beauty tormented by a path, her story fading with the pages of her truth. She lived with the word of love as her guide, her salvation, her facade, her tragedy, her beauty in a misinformed paradise, a seed on a dry earth.
Out in the dim lit streets, down the alleyways of the mind, the eye was set on the jewels of the ditch, the misery of time.. Hollow dreams brown walls slim and slender thought wavering around the edge of the town, he left. Worn from the ways in the canyon and dead in the light of time, age took him towards the grave with a deep psychopathic sadness spread across his pages like a glove. Hands mangled bones reaching for a few aged breaths of meaningful air but there was nothing there, a couple of recurring memories of solid endless fantasies swimming around his scull from somewhere up above. He died a long time ago but his body kept moving thru the day like a used ford. Right from the beginning he was doomed to end demented, the world threw him round like a toy, like a bottle of beer, a cigarette butt, a scattered dream meaningless and feared.
That was the life of a man, a man somewhat like you and i, groomed into accepting the dirt in his blood, acts hidden beneath, decisions forced by the very allusions of love. He was thin in the head, with a heart of solid silver, a mind of shallow space, clear, no colour to his skin. He was a 20th century man, almost dead.
Back in the streets of the mind you can feel the souls weave thru the night air, hope wilting in the hearts, long crescendoes of despair slowly penetrating the cells of life. The end is beginning again, the 21st century is in full swing. Love is at the door, faith is emanating from the walls, paint is bright and thick.
You with your honest lies, facts formed for from the privileged ones. My history with your polished shoes, your razor blade manners, your quest for power, a fools day on the golden screen.
I hit the streets in the rain, wind brushing up against my coat, slivers of light beaming across the sky, dim views rolling across the road. Miracles lifting off the floor, turbulence humming from the brain, a whole fleet of merchants pasting their wars in advertisements for the blind and truth hiding within the crevices as usual. This is where i was born free of commitment free of germs free of life and there you entered like a saviour like a saint like a fool. I laid across your hallways and forced walls inside my veins, i loved your bricks and toothpaste and i gave out your embraces to the midgets in the ward just like you asked but one thing i just couldn’t do was to eat your jet-planes and drive your convenience stores torn into the new world. I refused, i would rather die than kill myself like that. You, you big fucking idiot to think i could fall so easy, death wasn’t that sacred and you knew it, you too were hiding here inside somewhere close by. I could feel it, i could sense the desperation from afar, i could tell you were me right from the start.
The candle burnt to the end, the bridges lifted down to the core and the whole universe scrambled inside out and the end kept beginning over and over again like a lost snail but there was more and more that came and went and then it turned over and started all over again, repeated this endlessly. I stood on the edge alone watching, there was no one i could recognize, no one to put my finger to. The walk to the highlands was low and mean. I didn’t know if i was coming or going most of the time and when i heard that last bell ringing from across the heavens i knew it was time. I shut up watched and listened but there was nothing but darkness, no sound, no nothing just blank, a blank everything and some remnant of me. That was it, i turned , i suppose i did and then the music began, bad obnoxious pounding rap metal crashing in my ears……..what the fuck, what is this place, where is the eternity you promised, the love dangling across your eyes like an iron fist. God, you were something, looking out at the world like you owned it.
It was still raining hard across the streets, wind brushing up against my face, there was nothing left to do but to walk on and that i did.
Poems falling into broken ears, breaking ears, weary tears thru the years, and trying so desperately to own me.
Water has taken me to places where truth exists, where it reveals itself in many ways. There is a knowing that does not rely on thought born of the senses, a direct relation with reality, a complete unity of mind. One day as i was out walking i stumbled upon a mountain creek where i sat for what appeared to be a few minutes which i later learned was a few hours. I remember a handful of thoughts about the spirit of the water; a misty shape in the form of an old woman flowing thru the atmosphere like a goddess. She took my mind along. I didn’t question anything, to think appeared to be absolutely sacrilegious. A gentle awareness, a sacred observation, a meditative seeing was all i observed. In that time span whereas i remember little that can be conveyed in words there was another seemingly knowing that had filled my being with something much more powerful and real and true that ‘just is’, and is now a part of my being and can be called upon simply with being in silence. It doesn’t resolve issues as reason tends to do but more of an understanding beyond, above, a higher octave of comprehension. That in itself resolves so much trite, so many issues that lure us into the domain of logic, whereas endlessly attempting to entrap us, to falsely convince certainty without a doubt. This is different, a freedom from the known, a road with no path, an answer to all questions, a serenity, an acceptance of the nature of everything. Nothing is so serious as to be simple with oneself and to truly acknowledge that nothing can be truly known in the domain of thought, for it is finite in an eternal universe. A beautiful tool that should emanate and conclude from the silence, not impose itself upon it. Reason is a crippled warrior in the fields of silence, a broken wing in the sky of eternity, judgement, a melting candle in the mind. Silence is where silence lives.
I remember that i must remember to not forget to remember to forget. I hardly give a damn about the lost souls that have been extinguished into heroes for being forced to carry a weapon to kill for god, country, freedom, oil and peace. The ones that died in vain for war, for the masters of ships and wealth beyond the dignity of a common man. I don’t give a fuck for your poppies all in a row, your graves set up like little boxes of poisoned foods on super-market shelves. I remember the guns that raped my sisters and the fuckers that tortured my mothers and inflicted trauma that killed our fathers. I remember the dreams dying in the red stained mud flowing free down past the ditches of your mansions. I remember your tear drenched words begging by the side of the curb for a little food as no one remembered your heroic feats with their closed eyes as they walked by to their homes in the free-world. Yes i remember how discussed you were when someone pointed out to you your hypocrisy and how shy you became when the beggars came tugging at your sleeve. Yes i remember your brave wars, your religious wars, your land theft wars, chemical dust wars and your knew fantasy fighting ultimate wars to claim your bubbles in outer and virtual space. You chiefs of war forcing my children to fight your wars or flee the country or consequently get thrown in jail, well fuck you, you should be slaughtered for forcing us to be your heroes or die ashamed afraid.
Yes i remember that you’ll never forget that foreign jealous sonofabitch that cursed your freshly mowed lawn, your two car garage and your big screen movie den. Yea i remember you, you make me sick with your guns and your guns and your guns fighting for dreams that are nothing more than well thought out propaganda ropes. I remember the soft touch of my mothers hand as she sent me out to the war-trenches for oil and freedom with the hidden facades of wealthy power for a few. I remember my brother dying in my arms with one last breath whispering out the horror of it all. I remember the immense pain, the endless stretching out for one last hit from your poppies drugs in your war torn junky alleyways. I remember when war made sense and killing was rewarded with metals and champagne, yes i remember when things had to be this way or you would die along side your brothers and mothers and sisters and friends. I recall remembrance day when the people deceived themselves into believing we fought for freedom, the freedom to buy stuff, kill the earth with toxic chemistry, entertain ourselves to the grave and brag about our grandchildren as we sent them off to the front lines. I remember that i must forget to forgive and live free until the next gun is shoved up my ass. I remember how you used to say lest we forget it may happen again and yet it has never stopped and is happening with my next door neighbour, my family, my politician, my heroes, humanity. War is at the very centre of our remembrance, we just can’t forget. To truly forgive is to put your life in the line of fire, i remember that. I love you enough to put my person on the track but i won’t kill my brother for you. fuck you, masters and participants of war. You deceptors of reality, creators of fake history and dead brains. I feel so sorry for the ones that suffer because of you, that are suffering now and so many that still want to believe in you and you keep sending them off into the nightmare of the horror of war. You lied to us, everyday forgets us, it should be renamed to ‘forget-us day’. You bastards, you fuck heads. I hope you die and you die soon. Yes i remember you, everyday, you dealers of death.
REMEMBRANCE DAY (for the warriors whose strength is not to fight….b dylan)
where are the ceremonies for the soldiers of the mind the disabled and crippled whose wounds can never heal and the psychedelic martyrs condemned for being real the cool dudes with misplaced freedom in minds surreal where are the monuments for the poets of the soul the singers on the road to freedom lying in the ditch who are these ones that remember guns and blood why are we immersed in memory that condemns where are the statues for the wrecked and abused the cursed and simple brains detached and confused for the ones conditioned and wrongfully accused while killers go free and simple love is refused where is the testament to surpass this remembrance when will we pass this curse of memory misused
People convinced of what they think they know. They carry their knapsack of scattered dreams smothered of routine entertainment rolled down a choked throat of opinion like a badge. What’s in it for me the dead end schemes, where’s a ditch to get sick in.
The young kid excited to know, truth sitting on finger tips, love twisted between their eyes. It’s a sunny late winter afternoon weekend in the streets, people going nowhere relaxed and sure. I’m sittin here observing my mind bend around the day, struggling smooth along the streets, curving through possibilities, stuck on nothing for time being as it is, holding loose, flowing as water does.
When you said, “I and I, one said to the other, no man sees my face and lives”, I was dying along the side of the road, crows hovering over me like the wind. Jesus walked up to me right then and there, lit a cigarette and passed it my way, “That for me”, I questioned with my eye. “Sure is”, I saw it in his grin.
‘So you think you can get there from here’, I questioned once again. “I don’t know, there ain’t no one here from there’, the other I answered, and then forgot again.
‘So this is what it’s all about, right here in this’, some knowing crashed upon me like a wave of heavy light, flashed the truth, sure and sure and was gone.
I walked on sitting here and there with words, ‘nothing to get hung about’, saturday afternoon forever.
Jesus looked back on the way out, ” that’s natural tobacco, rolled it, grew it myself; used light”, he said.
Took his word as truth, smoked it right down. A winged one emanating gratitude flew across my mind. I gently placed the tobacco butt on the living earth, and out of the edge of the sky an Owl silently glided by and that was it. I walked on.
Words and Images by patrick wey
Written around the winter of 2001 sittin in a 2nd cup cafe on universtity ave on a sunnysaturday snow flurried afternoon in waterloo on.
He didn’t give a damn at all whether he was liked or not walking down past the walls of half confused murals of splintered dreams dangling off minds like dying tulips in a vacant vase. Sometimes the walls just look that way, well that’s what he thought, he thought a lot of things. He travelled inside and outside throughout his long uneven life; been loved, criticized, cursed and respected but mostly he’d been fooled into thinking things were the way they weren’t. The patterns hadn’t changed, people strived, people survived, people died. He was like most in most ways. If there was a difference at all it was in the way he attempted to understand. He had to know the foundation, the basic pattern, the way things moved. With that he could navigate thru the storms, the difficult moments when it all seemed to fall apart and when it didn’t make sense any longer, he could hang onto the last remaining threads to possibly put it back together, mend the wounds.
That was the plan and it worked often but not often enough. The end was doomed for the world as it was and he knew it. There was no turning back, it was too late, the turning point was gone, best to just go with the flow, the end was just down around the bend, but there is no ultimate end, but definitely, without a doubt, what you think, ends.
So the day was spectacular, sun gleaming across the avenues, love seemed to be everywhere. There was a happiness that just emanated from his soul, his heart was full of light, warm soft caressing light, the kind you find when you’re flying high in ecstasy, the kind you can’t quite hang onto, but its there, everywhere and your whole being is in it. The air the ground the sky the trees, buildings glowing with feelings from everywhere, illuminated love that flew thru the veins of the rusted brick from ancient times to future fantasies and then some. Yes this was his day. He had a bunch of names, jim, pat, doug, al, joe, all of them useless to the spirits, they knew his real names, his strength, his weaknesses, his truth, his sins.
Jazz playing low across the cafe floor, humanity walking by from every rock on this earth, nothing holding nothing for nothing, thought just winding around every concept thrown his way. It was on the free trail, the path that dies, the roads that end, the streets of heaven changing with every breath; yea that is where he was lost not lost, found not found, in this perfect space that has no time, owns no moments, nothing for anything.
And then as if out of nowhere it all changed. He saw her, a replica, a clone, a perfect image of a love gone astray that his brain cells just kept passing around and rearranging thru time. “It all is so strange this mind of mine, as if i own it, won it, stole it, created it. Memories fold into the air, bend around time without my say”. The day continued on as if nothing had happened. People kept coming and going. All the things of the times were present again as if they had never left. The news, the old folk with their papers, the young in their cells, the world from the middle east to argentina, poverty to riches, rape to love. “I don’t care about the ‘likes’, most of the time”.
I’m out here wandering between the branches thru the open air in the nigh-time of your early dawn. I miss your soft voice against the kitchen cabinets and your sweet smell when you brush up against my will. I love those moments when the air is perfect, memories soft, pure. I want to be there, i want to be there always, i believe in the impossible, the totally unlikely time that lays still between the leaves. The young, with dreams for no purpose but to exist to be as it is to care for nothing, for nothing is in need. Yes this life has taken too much of me, my soul, pieces scattered into data office machines, factories scheming dreams lying across futures that have already tattooed a bar code across my forehead. I want out, suicide this mess, i want beauty, the heart of these trees, the seed of freedom in my eyes.
In the afternoon the streets are quiet, the hill side is fading towards the night, the people are wavering in and out of the hazy uncertain horizon. I can see clear across the globe, the sky, into the heavens where a creator is looking thru me. I see as it is.
All things, fields of forests of ancestors with their yarn woven within the mind, truth exposed everywhere like mist hovering between timeless branches. My being within everything, my time all time, dissolved as water does, her love kissed upon the soil in rain, her ambers of life eternally me. This is the place i long for, this here where the streets lie still and the song of the forest is forever sung.
I created this image for a waternature.org graphic project about ten years ago. It appears that most have taken little time in attempting to understand the one living substance that governs all earthly existence, water. It is not enough to memorize green facts, write songs, protest, and carry on as if this problem is understood by science or god and will disappear. It won’t and it is getting much more urgent and probably beyond the point of complete reversal if mankind cares enough to care. In my quest for knowing i stumbled upon Viktor Schauberger 25 years ago when i was living in Ireland. I devoured what i could and 20 years later got frustrated with the lack of interest, support and funding so i side-stepped off into other terrains. It hounds me often to my soul because i know that i had found no better answers to understanding and comprehending nature. Our newtonian/einsteinian science based explosive-styled technology monopoly is in direct opposition to life, killing it. Viktor explains in detail and people like Callum Coats, Viktor’s son Walter and numerous others carry on this Implosive Biotechnology knowledge that in my view is the only true direction for a healthy existence for mankind and all species. And of course we are becoming more and more aware that the hour is getting late, very late. Don’t trust me, listen to me or take my word for anything….check it out for yourself but please keep your lips sealed about so called green issues until you have at least spent some serious time attempting to understand Implosive biotechnology as Viktor Schauberger had partially understood and explained and exposed for humanity. That was his gift to the earth and yet he died a saddened man…..here is a starter link. and another. There is lots on the internet about Viktor and Implosive Technology, and here also is a site i produced 20 years ago that needs some updating and love – waternature.
Graphics and Writing by patrickwey
Viktor Schauberger Quotes
“Whoever accelerates the media of earth, water and air centrifugally perishes unconditionally, for in so doing they reduce the Blood of the Earth (water) to a pathogenic state and make it the most dangerous enemy of all living and growing things.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 96, p. 4. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“They call me deranged. The hope is that they are right! It is of no greater or lesser import for yet another fool to wander this Earth. But if I am right and science is wrong, then may the Lord God have mercy on mankind!”
“You must look at the processes of motion in the macrocosmos and microcosmos accurately, and copy them!”
Implosion Magazine, No. 14, p.19 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Everything is governed by one law. A human being is a microcosmos, i.e. the laws prevailing in the cosmos also operate in the minutest space of the human being.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 8, p.6 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“If we wish to influence our own life in a particular direction, which is constantly threatened by the danger of the emergence of alien life-forms, and protect it from deterioration, then we must either allow Nature to rule or, if we wish to intervene, we must first acquaint ourselves with the simplest principles of life.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 86, p.11. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“All motion consists of two components. One component serves inwardness (internalisation) and the other outwardness (dispersion). Both preconditions for motion regulate the eternal flow of metamorphosis (panta Rhei).”
Implosion Magazine, No. 57, p.5. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Whoever accelerates the media of earth, water and air centrifugally perishes unconditionally, for in so doing they reduce the Blood of the Earth (water) to a pathogenic state and make it the most dangerous enemy of all living and growing things.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 96, p. 4. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“The scientist states that pressure is exerted outwards in all directions equally, whereas natural pressure (e.g. air pressure) is exerted inwards from all directions equally.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 114, p. 29 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
The inner climate stamps each individual with its character. Every life-form has its own individual anomaly point of health, which makes the orderly reproduction of the species possible. This also explains why the world of parasites increases with fever.
Implosion Magazine, No. 71, p. 12 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Equivalence signifies uniformity and thus immobility.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 113, p. 23 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“I think it would have been much better if Newton had contemplated how the apple got up there in the first place!”
Implosion Magazine, No. 35, p. 16 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“What is the present outlook in the field of energy generation? One word suffices – catastrophic! Through over-illumination and overheating of the media of earth, water and air in Nature’s household, a short circuit – ‘cold fire’ – and the development of cancer has been triggered off. With nuclear fission a conflagration was kindled, whose ashes and slag residues alone will extinguish all life. Thus a reporter stated recently, “For the time being this radiating thing is there and with it the attendant worries as to how we can protect ourselves against these lethal ray, which penetrate even the thickest lead shields.” The sheer lunacy of using nuclear power for peaceful purposes will be just as short-lived as the subsequent remorse will be long.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 56, p.29-30 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“Implosion is no invention in the conventional sense, but rather the renaissance of ancient knowledge, lost over the course of time.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 83, p.16 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“In every case do the opposite to whatever technology does today. Then you will always be on the right track.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 36, p.3 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“You must learn to think one octave higher. Only then will you learn how implosion energy works.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 83, p.27 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“I must furnish those, who would protect or save life, with an energy source, which produces energy so cheaply that nuclear fission will not only be uneconomical, but ridiculous. This is the task I have set myself in what little life I have left.”
Viktor Schauberger in a letter to Aloys Kokaly in 1953 – Implosion Magazine No. 29, p.22 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution)
“I can generate suctional forces, which act indirectly and are entirely undetectable. No current of air can be noticed; only an almost imperceptible cooling, as occurs when air is sucked in strongly with the back of the hand held in front of the mouth. It is therefore incorrect to say that I have copied the cyclones and typhoons of the tropics.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 83, p.17. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“We need no science of formulae, but a science of forms.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 124, p. 29. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“The revelation of the secret of water will put an end to all manner of speculation or expediency and their excrescences, to which belong war, hatred, impatience and discord of every kind. The thorough study of water therefore signifies the end of monopolies, the end of all domination in the truest sense of the word and the start of a socialism arising from the development of individualism in its most perfect form.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 6, p. 29 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“As best demonstrated by Nature in the case of the aerofoil maple-seed, today’s propeller is a pressure-screw and therefore a braking screw, whose purpose is to allow the heavy maple-seed to fall parachute-like slowly towards the ground and to be carried away sideways by the wind in the process. No bird has such a whirling thing on its head, nor a fish on its tail. Only man made use of this natural brake-screw for forward propulsion. As the propeller rotates, so does the resistance rise by the square of the rotational velocity. This is also a sign that this supposed propulsive device is unnaturally constructed and therefore out of place.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 112, p. 52 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“We must look into unknown dimensions, into Nature, into that incalculable and imponderable life, whose carrier and mediator, the blood of the Earth that accompanies us steadfastly from the cradle to the grave, is water.”
Implosion Magazine, No. 103, p. 28 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
“It has been proven psychologically that human beings can only appreciate or apprise, i.e. comprehend and understand, something new, if they can succeed in raising up the subconscious immured in their brain cells into their higher consciousness. If this cannot be achieved, then all preaching is useless. And even the eye has first to learn how to see everything new; it too must therefore be awoken from its latency before it can grasp the seen. Above all, there must be readiness to consider even supposed wonders as the forerunners of forthcoming realities, for only thus can the foundations be laid upon which rational mind can calculate and analyse.
Viktor Schauberger in a letter to Hermann Jaeger, 31st October 1957, Implosion Magazine, No. 103, p. 20 (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
Mensch und Technik
“The true foundation of all culture is the knowledge and understanding of water. Water is the ur-substance or ur-cause of all creation and for this reason is the ur-original accumulator, which readily absorbs both earthly and cosmic substances and conveys them to the body in a purely objective form. This must be done in such a way that the ur-attributes will in no way be modified and that change as such can only first come about in hte effect, which the organically correctly structured body mediates and imparts. For this reason a good spirit dwells in a healthy body. Conversely a body full of vitality can be created, maintained and further developed by healing the inhering spirit.”
Viktor Schauberger in 1936 – from Spec. Ed. Mensch und Technik, Vol. 2, 1993, section 4.1. (Callum Coats: Energy Evolution (2000))
Viktor Schauberger: Our Senseless Toil (1934)
“Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect. When such work is properly done it brings happiness, and when carried out incorrectly it assuredly brings misery. Humanity! Your will is paramount! You can command Nature if you but obey her!”
“It is possible to regulate watercourses over any given distance without embankment works; to transport timber and other materials, even when heavier than water, for example ore, stones, etc., down the centre of such water-courses; to raise the height of the water table in the surrounding countryside and to endow the water with all those elements necessary for the prevailing vegetation. Furthermore it is possible in this way to render timber and other such materials non-inflammable and rot resistant; to produce drinking and spa-water for man, beast and soil of any desired composition and performance artificially, but in the way that it occurs in Nature; to raise water in a vertical pipe without pumping devices; to produce any amount of electricity and radiant energy almost without cost; to raise soil quality and to heal cancer, tuberculosis and a variety of nervous disorders… the practical implementation of this … would without doubt signify a complete reorientation in all areas of science and technology. By application of these new found laws, I have already constructed fairly large installations in the spheres of log-rafting and river regulation, which as is known, have functioned faultlessly for a decade, and which today still present insoluble enigmas to the various scientific disciplines concerned.”
“This civilization is the work of man, who high-handedly and ignorant of the true workings of Nature, has created a world without meaning or foundation, which now threatens to destroy him, for through his behavior and his activities, he, who should be her master, has disturbed Nature’s inherent unity.”
“The Upholder of the Cycles which supports the whole of Life, is water. In every drop of water dwells the Godhead, whom we all serve; there also dwells Life, the Soul of the “First” substance – Water – whose boundaries and banks are the capillaries that guide it and in which it circulates.”More energy is encapsulated in every drop of good spring water than an average-sized PowerStation is presently able to produce.”
“Our primeval Mother Earth is an organism that no science in the world can rationalize. Everything on her that crawls and flies is dependent upon Her and all must hopelessly perish if that Earth dies that feeds us.”
“Thus the development of micro-organisms and the opportunities for their propagation are simply a result of the condition in which the respective sickening macro-organism finds itself, which will be attacked by these parasites and which eventually must fall victim to them if its inner climatic conditions are no longer strictly regulated.”
“To Be or Not to Be: In Nature all life is a question of the minutest, but extremely precisely graduated differences in the particular thermal motion within every single body, which continually changes in rhythm with the processes of pulsation. This unique law, which manifests itself throughout Nature’s vastness and unity and expresses itself in every creature and organism, is the ‘ law of ceaseless cycles’ that in every organism is linked to a certain time span and a particular tempo. The slightest disturbance of this harmony can lead to the most disastrous consequences for the major life forms. In order to preserve this state of equilibrium, it is vital that the characteristic inner temperature of each of the millions of micro-organisms contained in the macro-organisms be maintained.”
“Wherever we look the dreadful disintegration of the bridges of life, the capillaries and the bodies they have created, is evident, which has been caused by the mechanical and mindless work of man, who has torn away the soul from the Earth’s blood – water. The more the engineer endeavors to channel water, of whose spirit and nature he is today still ignorant, by the shortest and straightest route to the sea, the more the flow of water weighs into the bends, the longer its path and the worse the water will become. The spreading of the most terrible disease of all, of cancer , is the necessary consequence of such unnatural regulatory works. These mistaken activities – our work – must legitimately lead to increasingly widespread unemployment, because our present methods of working, which have a purely mechanical basis, are already destroying not only all of wise Nature’s formative processes, but first and foremost the growth of the vegetation itself, which is being destroyed even as it grows. The drying up of mountain springs, the change in the whole pattern of motion of the groundwater, and the disturbance in the blood circulation of the organism – Earth – is the direct result of modern forestry practices. The pulse-beat of the Earth was factually arrested by the modern timber production industry. Every economic death of a people is always preceded by the death of its forests. The forest is the habitat of water and as such the habitat of life processes too, whose quality declines as the organic development of the forest is disturbed. Ultimately, due to a law which functions with awesome constancy, it will slowly but surely come around to our turn. Our accustomed way of thinking in many ways, and perhaps even without exception, is opposed to the true workings of Nature. Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect. When such work is carried out correctly, it brings happiness, but when carried out incorrectly, it assuredly brings misery.”
Jane Cobbald: Viktor Schauberger – A Life of Learning from Nature (2006)
Even in earliest youth my fondest desire was to understand Nature, and thus to come closer to the truth; a truth that I was unable to discover either at school or in church.
Jane Cobbald: Viktor Schauberger – A Life of Learning from Nature (2006)
Callum Coats: Living Energies – Viktor Schauberger’s brilliant work with Natural Energies Explained (2002)
“…As time passed I began to play a game with water’s secret powers; I surrendered my so-called free consciousness and allowed the water to take possession of it for a while. Little by little this game turned into a profoundly earnest endeavour, because I realised that one could detach one’s own consciousness from the body and attach it to that of the water. When my own consciousness was eventually returned to me, then the water’s most deeply concealed psyche often revealed the most extraordinary things to me. As a result of this investigation, a researcher was born who could dispatch his consciousness on a voyage of discovery, as it were. In this way I was able to experience things that had escaped other people’s notice, because they were unaware that a human being is able to send forth his free consciousness into those places the eyes cannot see. By practising this blindfolded vision, I eventually developed a bond with mysterious Nature, whose essential being I then slowly learnt to perceive and understand…”
“The majority believes that everything hard to comprehend must be very profound. This is incorrect. What is hard to understand is what is immature, unclear and often false. The highest wisdom is simple and passes through the brain directly to the heart. — Viktor Schauberger.”
Callum Coats: Water Wizard
“For a person who lives 100 years in the future, the present comes as no surprise.”
“The Upholder of the Cycles which supports the whole of Life, is water. In every drop of water dwells the Godhead, whom we all serve; there also dwells Life, the Soul of the “First” substance – Water – whose boundaries and banks are the capillaries that guide it and in which it circulates. More energy is encapsulated in every drop of good spring water than an average-sized PowerStation is presently able to produce.”
“Our primeval Mother Earth is an organism that no science in the world can rationalize. Everything on her that crawls and flies is dependent upon Her and all must hopelessly perish if that Earth dies that feeds us.”
“”How else should it be done then?”, was always the immediate question. The answer is simple: “Exactly in the opposite way that it is done today!””
“Kapieren und Kopieren!”
Translation: “Comprehend and copy Nature!”
“Nature is not served by rigid laws, but by rhythmical, reciprocal processes. Nature uses none of the preconditions of the chemist or the physicist for the purposes of evolution. Nature excludes all fire, on principle, for purposes of growth; therefore all contemporary machines are unnatural and constructed according to false premises. Nature avails herself of the biodynamic form of motion through which the biological prerequisite for the emergence of life is provided. Its purpose is to ur-procreate ‘higher’ conditions of matter out of the originally inferior raw materials, which afford the evolutionally older, or the numerically greater rising generation, the possibility of a constant capacity to evolve, for without any growing and increasing reserves of energy there would be no evolution or development. This results first and foremost in the collapse of the so-called Law of the Conservation of Energy, and in further consequence the Law of Gravity, and all other dogmatic lose any rational or practical basis.”
“Wherever we look the dreadful disintegration of the bridges of life, the capillaries and the bodies they have created, is evident, which has been caused by the mechanical and mindless work of man, who has torn away the soul from the Earth’s blood – water. The more the engineer endeavors to channel water, of whose spirit and nature he is today still ignorant, by the shortest and straightest route to the sea, the more the flow of water weighs into the bends, the longer its path and the worse the water will become. The spreading of the most terrible disease of all, of cancer , is the necessary consequence of such unnatural regulatory works. These mistaken activities – our work – must legitimately lead to increasingly widespread unemployment, because our present methods of working, which have a purely mechanical basis, are already destroying not only all of wise Nature’s formative processes, but first and foremost the growth of the vegetation itself, which is being destroyed even as it grows. The drying up of mountain springs, the change in the whole pattern of motion of the groundwater, and the disturbance in the blood circulation of the organism – Earth – is the direct result of modern forestry practices. The pulse-beat of the Earth was factually arrested by the modern timber production industry. Every economic death of a people is always preceded by the death of its forests. The forest is the habitat of water and as such the habitat of life processes too, whose quality declines as the organic development of the forest is disturbed. Ultimately, due to a law which functions with awesome constancy, it will slowly but surely come around to our turn. Our accustomed way of thinking in many ways, and perhaps even without exception, is opposed to the true workings of Nature. Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect.
“It is possible to regulate watercourses over any given distance without embankment works; to transport timber and other materials, even when heavier than water, for example ore, stones, etc., down the centre of such water-courses; to raise the height of the water table in the surrounding countryside and to endow the water with all those elements necessary for the prevailing vegetation. Furthermore it is possible in this way to render timber and other such materials non-inflammable and rot resistant; to produce drinking and spa-water for man, beast and soil of any desired composition and performance artificially, but in the way that it occurs in Nature; to raise water in a vertical pipe without pumping devices; to produce any amount of electricity and radiant energy almost without cost; to raise soil quality and to heal cancer, tuberculosis and a variety of nervous disorders… the practical implementation of this … would without doubt signify a complete reorientation in all areas of science and technology.”
“This civilization is the work of man, who high-handedly and ignorant of the true workings of Nature, has created a world without meaning or foundation, which now threatens to destroy him, for through his behavior and his activities, he, who should be her master, has disturbed Nature’s inherent unity.”
“Our thinking is inconsistent with what we actually see. The eye is a perfect, natural organ. The seen image is a reaction phenomenon. Using an artificial optical apparatus, the same effect, for example, can only be obtained by a roundabout way, by means of a negative. The eye, on the other hand, immediately presents us with the diapositive, namely the true image.”
“Our sight constitutes an unconscious, automatic transformation process, through which the negative image – like a photographic negative – (i.e. the effect), is transformed into a positive one, like a diapositive color slide. Our thinking, however, is really a purely individual, conscious process and therefore learnable. If our thinking is to attain the same perfection as our seeing, then we must change our way of thinking and learn to see reality, not as an action, but as a reaction. Perfect thought lies in the apprehension of the correct reaction, for before the eye can show us the positive, it must first transform the negative and in a certain manner must break up what it records. What we see therefore, is the turning inside out of what we receive. What our mind grasps in this way must be re-formed and re-thought if we wish to attain what we strive for.”
“Today’s science thinks too primitively; indeed it could be said that its thinking is an octave too low. It has still not ventured far enough into the realm of energy, and its attitude has remained development was necessary, for how else should a misguided humanity perceive the true interdependencies?”
“Without doubt, therefore, there is a definite intention to teach young people upside-down methods of working with which they have to miss-earn their daily bread. That is to say, instead of moving forwards, they go backwards all the more rapidly in step with the improvements in the contrary methods of motion. For only thus can today’s teaching principles flourish.”
“Already from earliest childhood it was my deepest wish to understand nature and through this to come closer to the truth I could not find at school or at church. I was repeatedly drawn to the forest where I could watch the flow of water for hours on end without getting tired or irritable. At that time I did not yet know that water is the bearer of life or the source of what we call consciousness. Totally oblivious, I let water flow past my searching eyes and only years later did I become aware that this running water attracts our consciousness magnetically, takes a piece with it, with a force that is so strong that one loses consciousness for a while and involuntarily falls into a deep sleep. And so, gradually I began to play with these forces in water and I gave up this so-called free consciousness and left it to the water for a while. Little by little this game turned into a very serious matter because I saw that it was possible to release my own consciousness from my body and attach it to the water. When I took it back again, the consciousness borrowed from the water told me things that were often very strange. And so the searcher became a researcher who could send his consciousness on expeditions, so to speak, and this way I found out about things the rest of mankind has missed because they do not know that people are able to send their free consciousness everywhere, even where the seeing eye cannot look. This so-called sight practiced with blindfolded eyes finally gave me ties to the secrets of nature which I slowly began to recognize and understand in their own fabric. And in due course it became clear to me that we human beings are used to seeing everything backwards and wrong. The biggest surprise, however, was that we human beings let the most valuable part drain off as useless and from all the great intellectuality that flows through us, we retain only the feces.”
“An American aircraft consortium offered me 3.5 million dollars; a similar offer was made by Canadian interests. You didn’t want it in Europe, so now you’ll have to get it back from America expensively!”
Woke up into a bizarre world. I knew i was in my bed and on the same planet i was in when i fell into sleep space but today when i awoke i just was overwhelmed with how ridiculous this world of man sometimes can be. Everybody i’ve met in my life or had come to know thru the medium of media, books to talk shows to movies to gossip, everybody, everyone of us believes in the thoughts that harvest our minds. We can’t stop it. I know people that believe we are descendants from particular aliens from particular star systems. I know people that believe Trump was sent by god, the big God, the one and only. I know folk that believe we’ll all meet up again in some heaven or some kind of karma will keep us going thru eons of lives. I know people that believe in walt disney truth, in fantasies and strange dark side evil characters beyond my imagination, way beyond my comprehension. I know women that believe all men are liars and they could do without completely. I’ve met men that absolutely hate women and despise their nature. I know men that love only men and women that love only women. I know scientists that truly believe man is superior to nature and that reason is the utmost truth in the universe. I know dear people that believe in love, in truth, in family, in all kinds of ideals and truly believe it is all just as they believe it is. I know people that don’t have a clue in what they believe and ones that never question their beliefs ever.
Everybody believes, even the non-believers believe. It’s a strange world. Somedays you just wake up and wonder wtf and want to roll over and fall back into dream time, but you don’t.
Sometimes it just doesn’t make sense anymore, you got to laugh, there is nothing left to do, smile and laugh, entertain yourself with the absurdity of it all, believe when you believe and tear it all apart when you can. It just amazes me how serious we all are about what ever it is we are, we do, we think. That is what we do. We live our lives believing in what we do, what we are but some of it is all just so insane, crazy, hypocritical, pious, hollow. People with a vision small and large or some epiphany spend their whole lives gathering facts to prove what they experienced is correct, perfect, the truth, real. They bring in texts from the ancient scholars, bibles, geometric analysis, philosophical conclusions, gathering facts and supporters where ever they can and then they attempt to convince the world they got it, they have the evidence, or at least most of it to prove their conclusions are valid, absolute and then far too many attempt to ram it down our throats in one way or another, sometimes easy at first, sometimes not. I know, i’ve been there, done that just like so many others. There are those that are much more modest with their conclusions and usually are not quite as certain about what went on in and outside of their minds and realize it is much too distant to hold so tight.
I know people that believe in things that are simply ridiculous, people that conceal what they believe out of embarrassment. I have friends that believe in all kinds of weird stuff. I have friends, relatives that avoid talking to me because i can’t believe in what they believe. Belief turned rigid is at the root of most all disagreements, arguments, fights, wars, killing. Whereas flexible belief changes, adapts, moves on, evolves, ends, kills itself, often as gentle as a breath of fresh air but it is rare and possibly thought can never be completely fluid.
It is bizarre, when in the end, none of it really matters but none the less, you must do it, that is the world of man, thought, life. One must live with conviction. Most humans i have met are not very clear about what the process of thought really does to their way of life, their convictions. For most ‘thought’ is a given, understood, self evident and i suppose most of the time it is but i see that many get caught in the trap of building it into a system structure of belief that is doomed to failure or simply ‘just not so’, an illusion, a life long deception for the simple pleasure of being in a comfortable bubble. Unfortunately that little box often falls apart just when you had thought it was almost a steady dream. It is possible to ignore the real questions of life and take on former belief systems from outdated religions, dangerous rituals, dead philosophies, rigid science disciplines and ‘that’ is the right of every mind, i suppose. At least, that is just the way it is.
I prefer to question ‘the serous stuff’, but i am uncertain whether it was worth it. I don’t know if it really matters. I do tend to believe that questioning all belief does make for a more peaceful mind, a mind much more unconcerned with the typical useless arguments over gods and demons and absolutes whether philosophical, scientific of simply street nonsense. Certainly i’ll never be around to exist in a world where these useless arguments are forever forgotten. So one moves on into what ever world one is placed within, or possibly, some mornings an attempt to fall back into the uncontrollable moments of sleep-time where thought tends to bend easy.
Hope is irrelevant, rather useless, an excuse to do nothing, a paralysis. I think faith is all one truly needs and it is a given, a physical knowing, body truth. I think faith is beyond thought, is something that exists within the nature of the process of creation itself, a string theory, a mystery, thee mystery, the great mystery, but of course i don’t know, just something i choose to ‘believe in’, for now. The movement to question every belief allows one to attempt to be as open as possible in every inquiry in every moment. That alone opens the doors to a much more healthy approach to every issue as it becomes an investigation for the most appropriate solution for the moment…………knowing it will change as time inhales our mind. A constitution for freedom from the known. In thought nothing is perfect but one must walk on, that is life as we know it ….. till death when we shall part our ways, ‘you and i’ and ‘i and i’.
The train lines have turned to dust, your hair all tangled from the night time hollows. Love wavering in the ruins of time, your sweet smile kissing the graves of the poets down by the rivers edge. The world beaten by its dreams lying in a future dying in the streets; you’re all that the midnight needs, a few blood stained sketches of perfect form and a sip of love in vain. Out of the trembling skies, out of the harrowing feats, out of the historic events into your heart beat you’re born down into the city waves. That’s the way it is, stoned, cursed by the blues, tough as steel, soft as moon. Time turns tight dark and red alone by the cobble stones and neon lights. Things come to you unseen deep, smooth like a pure path to somewhere and you take it, questions falling off like autumn leaves, answers smothered in delight. This is the way to the other side, down below, over there, the distance that never ends, the end of love, the end silently moving still.
I wanted you, i wanted the touch of your heart, your lips touching me, your being mingling in mine as one. The air without you dying forsaken whispering in agony. I want you like water needs breath. I need this life to live.
Woven threads of love tingle themselves around the heavens. I can see this is not real. I can see this is all there is. The walk thru the foreign forest feels dangerous and true, real and beautiful. Thoughts tangle themselves around the roots, dreams drip like dew embraced by morning light. I am forced to the centre of it all by strings of beauty and i can see that you are no where near. That is when the road unfolds and memory dies and overtaken by its weight the trail sweeps itself thru you and i and we’re gone, done.
History picks up the pieces and fresh minds unravel the bits of truths scattered across the paths. Monuments emerge, elegies are written, sacred poems sprout out across the desert sands but nothing lasts. A sad lonely coyote howls across the moon lit desert into the cool night air lifting high into the atmosphere and at that exact moment silent love is envisioned within my heart, my mind, my life then disappears.
In the underground below the surface things are different, walls bend, structures twist around realities and the liquid skies flow in and out of space in magic. After a sound rain the other side comes into being, alive and opens up like love does when it flashes itself pure for a moment. I stumbled into this secret world by accident, as if anything really is by chance, and since then i could never find solitude in the streets of man again with its dull rigid forms. Every slight shift another shape presents itself out of melting molecules of curved space and bent time. The connected lines curl inside my mind to the mirrors outside, inside the painted water-colours from the goddess of earth herself. She is the artist without ideals in silence she speaks in moving shades of colours upon the surface of her life, the water, the gift, life blending into one another in warmth and beauty. This is why i live here, the underwater world of mystery, beneath the surface, my love.
These images are not simply reflections as most would prefer to believe, they are curved realities of a parallel source that comes in and out of existence just as truth emanates from the myth of mind than hides. They are shape shifting thru the galaxies, wonders as unique as faith. Everything is a reflection, even the eternal source, the underworld, the romance of the mind, the puddle in all its glory and force to take you where you need to go, the stories in your mind.
I saw you walk thru the sky with buildings dissolving around you. You stoped by the heavens of light for a glance into my eyes. Our minds evaporated together in a single length for a moment and the soft presence of reality slipped upon us in shades of silvery hues only you could produce, the woman of life, earth mother, the goddess of love, the maternal water-colour-painter of earth. Liquid light dancing to the compositions of chance floating around in perfect harmony within the chaos of love.
In the heat of the day, things change, forms melt dry, whole worlds fade into thin air, the doors to the windows of magic end slowly as the sun spreads itself across the land and the underworld hides itself with time to gather her thoughts and shape itself once again into realities that slide across this secret universe alone. Worlds hide in the dry shadows of the earth and man and beast wait till time is right for the wet life of imagination to form in coves and hollows where spirit weeps its tears in infinite arrays of fantasies. The puddle sees the absent mind and lives for but a moment in the unknown history of the eternal.
Melted vanished now, I loved you when time was slow, as a statue on a pedestal we kissed along the avenues of forever, the fortunes of favour came to us for nothing but a warm embrace. We had it all, light crawling across your face and glowing like a saint, a DaVinci master piece, an angel of a virgin, a perfect love in a perfect place. You were the dream that tangled up my memories, the love that lasted forever before time turned round and sped up on down the roads of change. You went your way and i went mine; leaves of grass wavering across the plains of time.
Click on any image and create a slide show of mostly people images from this trip to Belarus….Autumn 2019 People Images Puddle Images
The streets are big in Minsk, clean, the side walks wide, the buildings grand and people well dressed. There is not the typical noice you hear in many other huge cities of the world, less horn honking and repetitious music blasting and speed is not as urgent from the vehicles surfacing the black tar along the avenues. There are many beautiful women, thin and nicely decorated unlike the america’s new over-weight sloppy tattooed pierced trend, a refreshing glimpse into a past where bodies were still pure skin and healthy without the sometimes blasphemous over abundance of cartooned ink upon toxic fat skin and metal driven thru flesh and fluorescent post modern painted hair. The men are very short haired, also thin and congenially dressed. Even the older folk dress modest and simple compared to the holly-world western space .
A feel of dignity still prevails though i notice often an endless stare into your eyes unless you stare back until one or the other breaks, i don’t break usually but look with a soft stare into the often deep disturbed eyes.
Since there is a prohibition on drugs of any sort, by default alcohol is the intoxicant. In a world where people are investigating alternative realities, in this respect Belarus is left in some dark age and yet with the toy of the future, the internet and its social addictive apps. You can smell the disgusting scent of cigarette smoke in many locations, restaurants, outside cafes, in the streets; ten years behind the west. Kids still play outside, the games of the virtual world has not got them by the balls nearly as much as in the west, but it’s on its way. There is good there is bad, the world moves on. The country is flat, poor, segregated from the west under a democratic communist facist form; minds confined. A lot of bureaucracy everywhere, foolish laws to keep the system in order and the people under thumbs.
The poor from the smaller towns and villages live well if they work their fingers to the bones, they eat organic food, slightly tainted with western chemicals, they spend time talking at the kitchen table, Jesus is on their walls. The country folk as everywhere have people that care from the heart.
There is a sense of rudeness in the city streets by many, a touch of disrespect for the other, for the different, for the wild west. They do what they know but the window of the internet is spilling into their every move. It has got the world on its knees. It is changing things daily, by the hour, the second, it is everywhere, the big brothers of business are loving us, connecting us, controlling us.
Now, at the moment, i am in a small country cabin, no electricity, no running water, an out house toilet, a wood oven stove. A river on the other side of a short walk thru a magical pine and birch forest, the swimming hole, the shower, the beauty and life from a vein of mother earth. A distance from the madness in the streets, the glamour, the dreams, i write slow, with silence.
The world over, people are lost, from the privileged in the west, the east, the poor in the streets, the saved in the cults, the craftsmen in the art scene, the musicians lost in their groove, politicians, business people, families and scientists ‘working on a future’, alternative intelligence sneaking their views into the brains of humanity. It’s all a part of gods plan, many are determined to believe.
The autumn night is cool and the air is awake with no answers floating easy thru my mind. I am fine with this uncertainty, this refreshing breath of calm spirit holding me close to its heart. I have no desire to bother you, to invite you into my mind, to convince you of anything. Love is nothing but a shelter from the storm for most, hate is completely insane for the few, beauty is all that matters and it is everywhere, in the arguments at the table, the sliver of moon thru the pines, the tea as it soothes my throat and the whole world is at my mercy and i have nothing that needs to be done. I care about nothing, the future luring itself to me with a ‘now’, life is glorious in moments and treacherous at times but beauty is always there presenting itself for nothing but a whisper of faith; what is and will be just is, take it as it comes and honour your mind with its presence. That is all, so easy and yet so incredibly difficult to perform, this act of life, as it is.
I am in a little village as some of the greatest writers we know had lived, the Russian people, their hard walk thru the blizzards of life, Dostoevsky, my first read, the Brothers and Notes from an Underground, Mayakovsky’s poems that kept me alive, ‘past one o’clock’, Yevtushenko’s ‘monologue’ walked my youth into the world and Malevich with his warning paints against a future canvas, a sage, the great uncle of a few of my closest friends……….how did it all shape itself into this ; and now Sasha, my Belarusian wife, here with me in her homeland with family i write of the world, the people, their things that i can not do justice to, my words fail miserably admits such giants of the mind.
Unlucky I suppose, I never reaped the benefits of these great men in cloth but they taught me of things money often shrouds in hollow homes; there is no understanding in misunderstood and expensive love. Blood-awards are not the cure for love but there are no rules where money lives.
I walked thru this world watching the desperate, the weak, the crippled rule while we few slid between the cracks, life like a highway leading to the shore where nothing escapes, we all come we all go and nothing really matters at all, cept the honour of your own walk. Thanks to you ‘russian writers and artists’ that painted light thru the hard dark days, somehow it reverberated in my mind and here i am writing to you with russian-air blowing thru my words like earth and the plow, the rivers, the pure and the blind.
mayakovsky….’in hours as these i write words to the heavens, i have no reason to wake you and as they say the ships of love have smashed into the daily grind. There is no sense in attempting to balance mutual pains, sorrows, or straighten out the crooked lines of fate. When i look up as stars stream across the milky way i can see there is no time left to ask another thing, this day is closed and you and i are quits, so leave yourself from questions of our worth, there is nothing important here, go on your way thru the misery and joys of this world with the knowing that we did exist and leave it at that’.
In the smaller towns many older folk still ride bicycles, not the newer multi-speed bikes but the ones from sixty years ago; one speed, a carriage for groceries, a rat trap for stuff in the trunk. The yards are fenced in with ornate precast lengths of concrete designed and painted uniquely from house to house and town to town. There are gardens in every yard with vegetables, fruit trees and flowers everywhere. The people work hard for less than they’re worth. The system scrapes more than their share for the insiders—the cops to the clergy, but only a special few perched at the very top really reap the majority of the wealth. In that respect the twain of the west and east do really meet. I would say in general that people here are less happy, fake or not, depression hidden close to their heart, a beaten past, a tough perspective difficult to hold, a curse very slowly lifting. The youth want more, as everywhere, and the internet feels like a road to freedom, but it comes with a price. Much of the good of the old will vanish, new trends will appear, tattoos, piercings, fat, sloppiness, arrogance, freedom and toxic chemicals from the kool west is creeping in and the best of the worst is dying out. Here no one smiles at a first glance, and in the west far too many smile from a condition of ‘fake it till you make it’ or as John Lennon said in ‘Working Class Hero’, “first you must learn how to smile as you kill”——his point is clear. Nothing is black and white, there is grey everywhere.
It takes a lot of effort to get someone to smile. Often, even kids suspect something wrong if you attempt to smile for the encouragement for them to smile back. Older people are very suspect and you need to be careful at times not to offend them into looking back at you with troubled hate in their eyes. The best i can do is smile with gentle eyes and if they look long enough sometimes they feel the sincerity and the possibility that it may be safe enough to give a gentle glance back before quickly looking away. It’s complicated and you have to understand the culture, the government, the past, the hard work for little, the internet, the cell phone, the condition of the conditioning. I don’t understand enough, i’m careful, sympathetic. I’m not looking for anything or expecting miracles, suspecting the worst, the best or anything at all, just observing for nothing better to do.
Sasha manages to get thru to some of the people to make them talk and laugh but still unlike the west with the sometimes frenzy of undue emotion for the sake of proof that one does in fact possess happiness and security, it is a challenge, but she has the language on her lips and the culture engrained in her brain.
Everywhere you go the majority of people have in common the tremendous desire to belong, to feel safe, to be comfortable in their beliefs and to act accordingly in some form of freedom, real or not. It is the awareness that this does not exist quite the way one would hope for, and that fact alone makes them react in odd ways with repression and aggression but with a little luck a true simple act of love, an observation of their beauty often opens up the laced curtains to their melting windows of love where all is connected and then things sometimes change in the most peculiar modest manner.
After sitting in the same cafe for a few days you get to notice familiar faces, the one gypsy family, a crippled man, his wife, a grandmother and a 12 year old boy. A number of old ladies with their bikes and a few sexy young chicks. There must be a 6 to 1 ratio of woman to men. I suppose the baby boomers last stance with many of the men dead; gone from rough times. I could be wrong about many of my observations but one thing for certain is this, ‘it is a depressed repressed flat country with a modest dignity’.
When it comes to the world of man, nothing is close to perfect, no country, no civilization, only aspects of individual lives with the right amount of moderation for this, and for that, then and only then does a human survive in contentment. One that can be mostly satisfied with ones life no matter what condition, changing what one can and accepting what one cannot change and of course the key attribute, the intelligence to know that difference; some anonymous character said that, “be what you are, be what you are not, and own that”, and i said that.
I watch the people hustle about, the same in South Africa, Argentina, the Duncan Garage Cafe, the world over people are so complicated they have lost the ability to be simple. Simple like living for no reason, being with no purpose, giving for no expectation, receiving for no compliment.
It is mid afternoon, there are more men in the streets, the sun is high, the traffic is steady and quiet, the horn is rarely used, people are orderly, law abiding, conditioned that way. People are tired, it’s mid week, hard life, difficult future; entrepreneuring is not supported, not respected, it’s difficult times but there have been worse, much, much worse. There are no wheel chairs, no motorized wheel chairs, no walkers. People walk, even if they have cars, gas can be expensive. The cane is still the best bet for an aching joint. Over all people here are definitely more healthy, but weary, a contradiction, but true.
Words fall from the ages with syllables of sorrow and joy. Time has come to end all time with but a flinch of an eye. For nothing needs to be said of the pain, all the misery in the world, all the circumstances and all their meaning; the blood, the desperation for love, the beauty of it all. The last night has come, the day is done, no sense in a final attempt to understand, the mystery will prevail, the only certainty we can understand and it will fade also. So know that i did try to find you, to love you, to understand love, to see the beauty in it all. Now, time has come to a slow walk, a crawl and we must depart from this last shore, the infinite sands where the waters will own us, take us, disintegrate us, give us back to the eternal source, the everlasting reflections of mystery. This is the end my friend, no time left to begin…..
In a morning moment from a cafe in Brest
Jokerman hasn’t made his mind up yet, but the streets of hell are over flowing, the great artists have been striving to reach out, give what they can to the ditch of deceit, the river is moving on, the prophets are drowning in their words, love is on the edge. The basement tapes have been digitized into zeros and ones, the kings of the jungle own everything now, right down to the last sip of water, the moon is just another franchise for crazy concepts, the hip are moving in down along the boulevard, prices are skyrocketing; Brest is just another city transforming into a scene of just another holly-world, Belarusian pride is flourishing.
I walk along the streets looking for an image to say it right, everybody is a camera man everywhere in this era of fame for all, there is no moment to hold it all together, the way will have its way, time will just escape along the streets as it always does, with or without me. I see a figure approaching, a cane holding a worn pile of bones, an old lady with dignity moving along in her cage like a saint. My camera clicks in black and white, a flash of a second and she is immortalized, the world is stopped and the street is dead. Her lover in torn war worn clothes enters her simple room on the second floor of a shattered structure in the centre of town, here she walks so many years ahead in a dream she never owned. She lives in and out of this space in solitude and a beautiful sorrow. War tears the winds apart. How could i have known it would happen like this, this street in all its memories moving in and out of time across from the cafe, the new hip K-lab Cafe along a park avenue in Brest. I could be anywhere, war is everywhere, the coffee is smooth and i move out again onto the path and walk with the saints, phantoms, and the modern.
Epilogue I can see it ain’t what we suppose. It is all beyond our conclusions. What is, is not what is in our minds. For most, life is a series of uncompleted strategies, unfulfilled dreams, rational and acceptable illusions we believe are true. We strive and desire, we want and we lie, we know we are all made up of dreams and for a few of us this is exactly what we love, the fantasy, the unreality of it all, a way to live our lives in harmony with the mystery. This understanding is the knowing that life is much more than what we could possibly think. Thought is just not the utmost tool in the box, the best meal on the menu, the favourite in gods hope chest. Thought has got humanity by the balls. Let it ride. Breathe faith along the trail, the process is love.
This ends my tour of Belarus for this time.
Excerpts and short conclusions and images by Patrick Wey
There is so much to say about the secrets hiding in the shadows, the truth so invisible to the herd, the simple understandings that have been manufactured into honest lies. Whom will step out into the dark so bright from the false hopes half empty in this mirrored glass of life.
There have been but few to see beyond the false walls of deceit and illusions and even those few had often fallen within the thickets of thought. It is thought that is the map; the ideals, the concepts, the direction, and utilized properly it would always find its way towards the edge of certainty and fall into the abyss of loves knowing, god, the creator, the great mystery. Thought is the tool to save us but it must always see its limit so it may not entrap itself in secure beliefs that ultimately will torture one into yet but another form of mans luring insanities, rigid religions, dangerous sciences, AGI, fake blues everywhere, but in it’s very nature, thought it appears, walks in crippled knowledge.
He saw the world of man as predominately insane, clasping unto the abstracts of words, ideas, maps as truth in themselves. Thoughts belief is not the undivided truth and never can be, relative at best. In its very nature of ‘memory the past’ it is flawed against the absolute but it is a gift to understand; but not to worship. Worship the unknown, the creator, the mystery but never claim a path that leads to its knowing. Understanding that one can never truly know is the pure path of the critical thinker, the real man, the true super mind. The relationship between thought and knowing is paramount to the harmony and sanity of the mind. Thought is always standing on the outside looking in, never on the inside looking out.
‘The only way out of this mess is in’, but thought can not take you there. Thought can enhance your understanding of what it can not do and that in itself can lead you to its shore, possibly.
He stood on the shore and saw the sheep – lost, roaming in the mountains, children crying – dying in the streets of dreams, authority conspiring behind pretty plastic walls, and answers disintegrating in ditches like poems barely alive, perfect words falling from a paradise unheard.
His lips were tight walking thru the night, hearing the news of the latest fight, seeing the screen of the masses murdered, tasting the air of desolation. He had to walk away from the turmoil, lay low for awhile, catch his breath, look again deep within to see there is no answer fit to keep it together to know anything other than to let go, take it to the mystery, lay it on the altar, gather feathers and stones and weep into the darkness for humanity. That was the way to survive, cry for the people, feel their pain, feel the insanity of it all and breathe, breathe deep slow and walk on. Man has made his bed and but a few watch it squirm in its hidden agony sheltered by its crippled hope and do nothing but help the dying die with the last few fragments of dignity that sits quietly alone like a lost angel in their broken hearts.
From the shore the salted air waved along his skin like silk in magic. The sound of the sea rushed onto the coast whispering the sacred straight thru his mind and composed itself soft onto his heart. There were no answers from this mist, truth clung onto nothing, the smell of kelp, the sand as poems upon his feet, the earth alive and breathing simple and true.
So there he stood upon the shore to nothingness where dreams weave in and out of existence like wind in beauty where one can see without looking. That is the way of knowing nothing, for it alone will hold you forever where life and death are one and the same and things just are for no reason. Love sits everywhere, sometimes you can feel it when the mind is quiet but it is but a reflection, its source unknown, a mystery, a god; perhaps, at least, an intelligence, which reason trudges thru and appears to understand somehow.
The people walk by and he sees them but they don’t see him. They carry on with their well worn dreams and their half constructed beliefs and their struggle well concealed but they know somewhere hidden deep within their being that they also, ‘know nothing that lasts’; lost children hoping for a saviour that never comes, only shallow blind dreams sliding down the tubes of their myth of mind. That is their existence, their truth and they defend it with a pride to die for and they do, supporting, killing, hoping and lying, doing what they do in their desperate world of faith in knowing. Few could travel along side with him, but some did attempt to walk the pathless trail, especially in their later years when dreams fell wounded and death came calling but the patterns of the mind are tough and long and deep and it takes more than most can bare to break the mold of myth straight clear into the end.
He walked on thru the world in and out of the hard jungle, the mountains, the valleys, the minds of man with one eye on beauty and the other emerged and conditioned with thought. That was the best he could do to survive in a brain twisted of this world. He was no saint, no leader, no fool, just a man observing what he could of this mystery of being. In this state no will was necessary to find anything, everything just all was. Love, energy, dark matter, god, the intelligent process, mystery, truth all melted into an eternity of possible oneness that was always beyond, always elusive, always safe and distant from mind and there he died once again leaving behind disintegrating memories fading in the dying of time.
‘what does it matter in the end or in the beginning. sadness is just another way for not understanding the process of it all which one never can and one never will. life just is and the mechanics of the human mind makes it what it isn’t and that is what makes it all matter. death will come upon all the living. love is just a concept to glue it all together, but nothing matters where love is.’
She walked through the door like she was floating thru the air. Her sweet smile was a miracle from space, a symbol written in wind, a breeze made of love. She was heavenly beyond belief, a magnet of purity, a simple walk across the floor she glided in like a dream within a dream.
He loved her like no other, how could he know this truth with the noise inside the room, the confusion in the streets, the disasters in the mind but he felt it deep within and believed it so.
The illusion of shape, the mirage of wind, the absurdity of distance, the uncertainty of belief. This is the beauty of love.
I want so much to be able to say the things that i cannot. To speak with words that could never die, to feel the love of her touch, the smell of her skin, the caress of her heart. I want these things that move about in my mind. These things with tenderness that stops time, that ends thought, that never dies. I want these things that can never exist but for a moment so slight, so minute, so vague. I want eternity forever. I want love.
as Love moves quietly thru the noise of desire…..
‘this was inspired over the knowledge of a close friend facing death’
Audio reciting ‘the only thing that is the same’, by Patrick Wey
the only thing that is the same in this universe is zero and even that is debatable when you’re on one side or the other side of the law
I moved away from the familiar past into a world where friends were few and loneliness was often found in the silence hidden aside the walkways across the avenues. I almost found solitude if it weren’t for the e social networks, nonetheless there were many moments of calm creations; when there is nothing left to prove things happen in a different way. Streets open up with unimaginable events, people surprise you, animals speak out loud silently, birds fly for no reason, insects have some strange purpose one will never know. Dreams keep surrounding you with images that don’t have to make sense, the disease of man seems bearable and things just are.
Out west the air is clear once you travel beyond the atmosphere, nothing is perfect in the mind, mirrors just appear and the road unravels like a rug finely woven with magic and mystery like a heaven sometimes rejected for hell.
I love the smell of success as well as anyone, whether it be in the mind or in the pocket, it just seems simpler with out the travesty of catching money for your thoughts, it seems the toil of labour for jewels is degrading, a useless waste of life if you don’t even have a family to sit with for dinner. It’s hard times on the road, being human, forced to find an identity that doesn’t exist, a purpose where there is no meaning unless you deliver one for your self, create a home for your phantom soul to relax within.
I am me, the creation of numerous years searching to not search, moving to find nothing, a life completely vacant of hope for humanity, hope to cope, a path to end all paths, but i am stuck here, in a mind forced to believe in stuff this world is made of, a victim of conditional love, a surviver thru many a storm, a man growing old in body and simpler in mind. There is no escape but death and i love it, the times twisted bend out of and into shape, i love this life, most of the time.
Most of the time
I’m clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the signs
Stay right with it
When the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don’t even notice
Most of the time
Most of the time
It’s well understood
Most of the time
I wouldn’t change it if I could
I can’t make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation
Right down to the bone
I can survive,
And I can endure
And I don’t even think
Most of the time
Most of the time
My head is on straight
Most of the time
I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion
’till it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion
No matter how thick
I can smile in the face
Don’t even remember
What her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time
Most of the time
She ain’t even in my mind
I wouldn’t know her if I saw her
She’s that far behind
Most of the time
I can’t even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her
Most of the time
I’m halfway content
Most of the time
I know exactly where it all went
I don’t cheat on myself
I don’t run and hide
Hide from the feelings
That are buried inside
I don’t compromise
And I don’t pretend
I don’t even care
If I ever see her again
Most of the time
The judge, he holds a grudge He’s gonna call on you
But he’s badly built
And he walks on stilts
Watch out he don’t fall on you…..b dylan
Believe in nothing to believe, but if you must, then master the system and then let it disintegrate and walk on.
The man with the brain slowly edged himself up upon thru to the ruins of definiteness and held a glimpse or two of the wavering minds lounging in the cafes along the avenues. He was weathered by the storms of the twisted perspectives attached to the paint upon the canvases of the ancients to the post moderns and otherwise dangling off the limbs as dreams, possibilities, awakenings of white on white on white – canvas.
He had a coffee as usual and glued together a few words as they swung by like intruders off the modern capes flowing in the winds. He was done, left for the highway.
Crippled roads searching for a language to heal their weary words he rode the obscure train lines headed for the coast and sang endlessly from one tune to another songs never sung, beliefs never believed, then disregarded it all and sailed off into the night sea backwards. That was me just the other day and now i am someone else again, back on the streets and watching the new people dressed in old clothes and talking with worn out words saying ban that and take this and do this and stop that, same old, new language. The forest is calling the silence is here; gone again.
There is a better way than being right or wrong, it involves the focus between the ear and the heart.
Here, take this poem and smash it against the wall. Let the dreams fall off your branches, let the dying die and kiss that delicious sky just one more time again. Tear up the roads, crush the path of truth beneath your fingers and walk out there one more time alone, be that there, just exactly what you need, what you are, coming along into the morning light. Here you can see the sailors streaming across the space of time and the jokers the thieves the saints all floating by with their treasures all wrapped up secure and tight across their backs like a disease. Hey, come on now, you don’t have to stay down here worried about what can never be, get to the edge of time and drown there….
Hey hey, gettin closer to the final curtain but not there yet, so put away the shovels and open up that birthday treat you’re holding in your hand and get on with the day, you and me and all those weary fathers away from you’re loved ones….thanks ya all for your wishes; may they come true…?
Birthday wishes answered……….
Thanks to you all that mentioned me on this birthday celebration thing. Some of you are black, native, christian, moslem, white, pink, nieces, nephews, great, great great and not, siblings, great friends true and false, even almost enemies at times, some are serious trump lovers, some definite haters of that kind; some poor, middle class, wealthy, arrogant, humble, racist, modest, philosophers, musicians, welders, just about every archetype of human on this weary forsaken planet; but it keeps changing and it’s never correct for long, if ever. Some have lost their way, some caring, some in it for the hype, some unsure, some way too certain, yup that’s my facebook, some question everything and some have the answers for it all; got to love it, but one thing for certain is that you all like something about me, but maybe i got that wrong too.
Hey anyways, thanks right from the edges of my heart to the eternal memories floating within the waters of my cells; just knowing that there is some sort of forgiveness, caring, love in the air between us means a ton of ‘belonging’ to this restless soul of mine. We’re all restless, uncertain, in the core of our hearts and it’s nice to let it all go once in a while and just feel that we are cared for in one way or another.
It’s a long life for some of us and the longer you live the more loved ones we watch leave for that treacherous swim across those great waters. So many struggles along the trail, so many conclusions that get in the way of love, love, that forever changing space that one must surrender into, just in order to cross with dignity. We are all one there presumably, but so divided here and it just is what it is, no more, no less and that’s reality; at least, close enough for now.
So this is my thanks for all the comments, likes, etc., this social media is really somethin ain’t it. Somehow maybe that is what celebration is all about, to show we care, and that it is worth, we are worth, without the weight of conclusions, we just are, alive and moving, worthy of love.
Well, that’s the way i see it at the moment. Chocolate’s almost gone, sun’s settin, i see nothin much on the horizon, cept more walkin, so i best be on my way, wey.
I just returned from a cluster of years travelling down and up avenues, across highways of success and despair, thru plains of serenity, stupidity, galmour, inner power, crippled minds and all for what? some formulations embedded into my head about what it’s all about….i suppose.
Dreams broken floating in pieces along canals of my brain and definite ideals standing tall rusted in silhouettes against my mind and a heart being pumped with emotions from some distant scene fading into a future that will never exist. That’s the life dying every moment living full like an empty glass.
I love this place and all its peculiar shapes, plastic boats and time ships made of pure imagination travelling thru space from one certainty to another in obvious conflict along a desperate way. I love the way things melt into one another leaving hardly a trace of the reasons for being here. I love this investigation and all its strange conclusions about things that can never be known, like who invented me and why would it and what does it matter anyhow. I love it all and i love love and the way it hates to be fooled and then hugs me again in the end.
Streets are filling with celebrities, clowns, sailors, virtual warriors, tattoo queens, shamanists, sacred chocolate gurus, image experts, musical authorities and velvet dreamers; avenues are taking turns winding bending heading direct towards highways of perfect thought, pure serenity, dangerous times and happy afternoons.
And just one more thing…..whoopse, it’s nothing much, forget it.
When man got stuck in his spiritual pursuits, she looked and saw her expectations, he is her and she is he and we are all quite the same in this regard. If you believe in jesus, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in buddha, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in the spirit, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in money, you’ve got expectations, if you believe in family, dreams, water, science, war, the written word, you’ve got expectations; belief and expectations are two sides of the same coin. If you are stuck and feel some dark matter curtain hanging over your soul, look and watch your expectations, you may find yourself, the self that is made of this coin. This coin is you and it is always rolling, just like a rolling stone, you can flip it and attempt to honour the flip, or twist it around, deny your promises till the opportunity fades and leaves you with the wounds of your unfulfilled expectations. The wound is the feeling of being stuck. It’s a circle and if you’re sharp you can see it coming round before it comes around but all this is futile, there is no circle, a vortex at best, appearing with meaning to the end. In the end the coin disintegrates, but nothing ends, things fade, dissolve into nothingness. After life, in death the glue melts away, some spirits hang around longer than others like cache from an app hidden in the program, the process like magnetism slowly spreading its power, disintegrating, love moving on, changing its energy developing new form.
If you believe in science, if you believe in religion, if you believe in love, if you believe in expectations, if you believe you must believe you are expecting something to fulfil this belief and yet all is incomplete simply because the mind is time, is concepts, is abstract, is always a broken piece of the puzzle and the puzzle is infinite and moving always changing, the mystery. This is the dilemma of man, of human thought. We get stuck because we see continuity and we feel we can know how things work perfectly, absolutely, infinitely and it is obvious some things can be made from concepts and shift into forms created by this understanding such as guns, chesterfields, space craft, rice pudding but our problem is we attempt to know it all, to develop philosophies, belief systems, laws that disregard eternity and the humble understanding that there is a process we must surrender to; to be free from the coin of mind. Our relative knowledge is irrelevant in matters of the dark, the light simply shines in the silence, the thoughtless truth beyond mind.
So what can one do in this system of getting stuck, being, feeling, searching. I have no ultimate answer, how could i have and for the ones that are so certain that so and so has the answer from mohammad to einstein to a hitler, to yourself to whoever, you are mistaken; the answer is blowing in the wind, beyond the word, beyond the mind, beyond any system that the mind can imagine, mind is myth.
This understanding is the paradox, so continue on your road alone and do your best to help where you can with honesty that is clothed in silence.
Often when one is stuck it is because of this unconscious, collective conscious, genetics, constant search that man and his thought began when we stepped out of eden, ate the apple, began to think. Thought is limited and that is our condition, it feels it needs a higher power, a guru, a belief, an ultimate truth worth fighting, killing, dying for and that is mans reality…but, “let me take you down, where nothing is real and nothing to get hung about” j.lennon, “sometimes i think there are no words but these to tell what is true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden” b.dylan
I am sure as only idiots are sure that there was a movement in the sixties that alluded towards the unseen truth, silence, nothingness that psychedelics assisted the mind to the understanding that ‘all you need is love, love is all you need’ j.lennon and a few years later from much more of a cynic, ‘love is all there is, it makes the world go around, love and only love, it can’t be denied, no matter what you think about it, you just won’t be able to do without it, take a tip from one whose tried’ b.dylan
One has to surrender to the universe but first to the earth, our mother, to come upon this knowing that thought itself stands directly in the way. All of its clear concepts so certain and conditional beliefs that destroy this understanding, this love, this one love, ‘one love, one heart’ b.marley.
There are many lyrics form the time of man that insist that there is an underlying energy that is loosely called love, a mystery, something that ‘all’ is made of, and thought attempts to separate itself from this oneness, timeless reality, with its insistence upon ‘knowing’, but even thought, tho it seems to come alive and create worlds out of thin air, is also under the process of the great mystery.
‘The world is a stage and all of us actors’ shakespear,as far as thought is concerned.’ All belief is make belief and all personas exist in virtual realities and that is the mind of mankind.
I have attempted to rid myself, the self build upon fantasy of this shield from nature with psychedelics, floatation tank sessions, fasts for days with out food and water alone in the bush, sweat lodge ceremonies, native ceremonies, the sacred pipe and numerous otherinvestigations, experiences to get beyond the mind. If anything i am now trying to not try, to let it be, kill the dreams as they evolve, help life live, be alive, breathe well, eat well, exercise body mind and spirit well and work diligently towards my own salvation; stop the process and the continuity of mind. Is it possible, i don’t know, it is what i believe to be the most honourable path to no path, the paradox, the dilemma. Today is a good day. I have written my thoughts about thought and love as an impossible feat. Now i leave to walk on. I am not important. My words may lead one to an understanding that ‘it is up to you’ and when people say there is a reason for everything, that is only one of the infinite traps within the mind, the collective mind, the mind of man.
The brain is where the mystery begins. It never ends. Life is good, life is hard, life is what it is, a mystery. You can’t stop the mind from living, thinking, but you can watch it as it creates its worlds with a stillness as a coyote gazing across the desserts of love for moments in eternity.
So if you find yourself along a path of promises, send it on its way, it is of no use to you or anyone, just walk, throw your goals to the wind and your dreams to the silence and dive into the abyss of change, the death of mind and maybe just possibly a dream will come true, but you may never know and that is just the way it works.
Imagine peace walking quietly into the mystery for real. Imagine peace without imagination, so may it be, the dying of the time mind.
This is not an answer, possibly a question. There are many ways to leave your mind, to use your mind, to believe, but they are all limited and the certainty you might feel at the moment will also fade. That is the nature of nature, so possibly honesty is one of the few noble endeavours that the mind may attempt and it is also vague but caring.
This short essay was inspired by a past lover and dear friend whom discussed her feelings of being stuck and not able to see the search clear. I am no guru, i don’t trust gurus, leaders, masters, and all their self fulfilling alluring techniques, as honourable as they may seem. I trust in a deep silent faith in ‘the process’, nature, the unseen intelligence, the smell of a blossom, the tears of dew, the sounds of silence, not unlike being perfectly aware with and for no reason.
We’re wondering if we have any quests slipping by this summer for a few days to visit with us. Well we hope so, we’re lonely for our Ontario and worldly friends sometimes and it would be nice to entertain a freind or two and show you the wonders of the Island…trails, beaches, big old grandparent trees, exotic vegetation, ships, boats, cool cafes, mountain tops, windy roads, valleys and much much more…….
We are also looking for people to rent our beautiful place while we are off the continent in late August to late September……….here is the ad i wrote, soon to be posted elsewhere but thought we’d give our friends the first look:
House short term rental – Aug. 28 to Sept 22….$1500
Vancouver Island 5K north of Duncan.
Looking for mature couple or individual wanting a retreat for three weeks.
Beautiful very private location overlooking valley and mountains. Two bedrooms, large kitchen, one washroom, living room, study room and 2 decks. One hour to beautiful Victoria in the south, 45 minutes to Nanaimo to the north, 2 1/2 hours to Tofino, 25 minutes to Nanaimo airport. There are many trails and costal towns in the area.
Wood stove with lots of wood, super high speed internet, large screen with access to youtube, netflix and the internet. House comes with two lovely cats, Misty and Hunter, and they have access to the outdoors 24/7. They just need to be fed daily but can be left alone for a few days. The place is very quiet, the air is mountain fresh, the home is calm.
Being placed in a world that is difficult, demanding. Grew up somewhere else and ended up here this grey day downtown Chicago numerous years ago. Her story is private, complicated, untold….sad with flights of spring.
When i was a young girl i often had an empty stomach and now i have an empty dream. I knew i would get there, the avenues of america, the streets of heaven, the walls of gold. I was well on my way, rising when he left, money gone, alone, attempting to walk with no sun in my soul, night time all day, clouds grey i walked on, i never gave in, for long. You wouldn’t know it this day but i strived beyond and found some tender times here and there till that invisible darkness slipped in beside me and back in the streets i was lookin at nothin for awhile once again.
The light was even and the air thin, buildings growing up all around, a melancholy breeze squeezed up against the glass and brick while i held my camera low….. waiting, waiting for someone just like her; lost, woman lost in america.
Words have fallen away, chains broke, syllables floating about weaving in and out and around wrecked concepts and a grateful sun rising up over the mountain slopes to make the day. Feels free to watch meaning dangle off tree limbs and slide across open air belonging to nothing and break away, deteriorate and die. Time isn’t still it’s just melting folding bending upon itself, yesterday streaming into tomorrow and ancient space present along side future worlds. Time is fluid in and around this bent space like dreams dreamt tomorrow for yesterday. Time is out of mind free of form and living.
I walk alone with beliefs crumbling around me, only my
undying thoughtless faith caresses my alert and weary heart.
Everyone i know is hanging onto something, someone, some faith in thoughts entangled web deep inside their head.
The soft landscape folds over me, the trees caress me, the wind slight and tender kisses me, birds sing for me and then just like the night me is gone, erased from the swamp of time and i stand with no one nothing but the breath breathed and the raw awareness of all with one and nothing and it swims around from head to toe this timeless consciousness everywhere, i’m gone.
Images and Text by Patrick Wey
Link on Images – for sale.
365 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/23 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
ONE YEAR OF ‘IMAGES AND CONTENT OF THE DAY’….I’M DONE
I committed myself to this and kept my promise. Never missed a day. There are so many more but i have another life. At 70 i study 5 to 8 hours a day in a new career. This image/content project took an hour or so a day. I would prefer to do this all the time, ‘images and writing’, books, novels, prose-verse, new image creations but the highway of life has got me behind the wheel once again in search of more fuel driving me down into new territory. Possibly in a few years if i live long enough I will get back to this full time.
I hope you enjoyed some of my work or learnt something about me, the universe, yourself. Nothing is complete cept nothing itself and we’ve thought ourselves out of there. So until later, goodbye for now. I plan on adding an image here and there and focusing on my blog for maybe weekly entries; we shall see.
If Not For You – written by Bob Dylan sung by George Harrison says it best about my feelings for this woman, Sasha…..https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tR21ui1MAQQ
Please, if you enjoyed even one of this years collection, let me know.
Full Collection here: http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Image circa last year in the mountains of BC with my Cuban hat and the woman in my dreams. #patrickwey#imagecontent, #photography, #portrait, #selfie
364 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/22 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
spent my whole life travelling into the mind
with drugs meditations sweats float-tanks and reason
and i can honestly say that there is no absolute answer
there is no one moment that is always present
understanding comes and goes like the seasons
i have nothing to offer anyone
and no one holds the truth
it weaves in and out of mind like love
the mystery that can be nothing other
than change moving endlessly everywhere all the time
thank you my friends that had faith in me
the ones that care when i’m a mess
the ones that keep in touch thru hard rains
the few that never slam love against the walls
and thanks for the ones that think i am something that i am not
that can’t see my sincerity and judge my every move
the ones that attempt to make their problems mine
thanks for this life to be here with you
it is what it is no matter what
we cannot change what has been
cover up our simple jealousy our envy and deceit
none of us our perfect, all of us are defected, affected and blessed
it will be time enough for me to move on
to disintegrate into the waters
i won’t try to hang on to this world
here or after in body or spirit
we’ve made up so much
with our crying desire for immortality
our desperate imaginary territories
we are so afraid to see that nothing is but mystery
without one definite absolute conclusion about anything
a knowing that is unaware, dead, nonexistent
we know not that or this
or whether we are here or whether we exist
truly nothing really matters
just do what ever you must do
i loved you all like brothers and sisters
somehow, within those moments of truth
with an eternal blessing
nothing needed to be rearranged
reality was real and the air alive
everything was exactly the way it was
acceptance serenity knowing as love
all, the same below as above
Image beyond time beyond mind – self portrait, writing yesterday #patrickwey#literature ##photoart#surealism#poetry
363 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/21 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I walk through the low shallow winds of the highways because i must, they cut across my life. I live in the mountains in body and mind where my spirit is safe from western skies. I travel here and there as time permits for most of my past is missing or dead. There was Billy gone long and there was Shiela whom forgot about me; Irene, Phil, Gary, and so many others and lovers, many dead and the rest sailing in and out of sea. That’s the way time travels when you’re young in an old body. The mist still lays across the valley where hope used to live and the alder trees still talk quietly along old faith ridge and occasionally sun glistens over the wild streams of my heart, but time turns regardless and to the ocean it must flow.
Image circa 90’s the Highlands of middle Ireland – writing today #patrickwey#Ireland, #Oldman, #portrait,
362 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/20 of-by patrick weyhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My life has been a coast line of water reflections of uncertainty, dreams waving in and out of realities, roads with too many bends. My love has been mistaken, my integrity misunderstood, my visions misrepresented. My journey has been long, barren and born of random continuity, possibilities beyond the norm, realms hardly exposed. Disturbances of air on water and hues slender like night the traveller never stops, the path never ends, beauty never dies.
I attempted to document everything i saw, felt and imagined. There was nothing that escaped my sight when i was young, free of form and ready. Things have changed, time has slipped into my veins, the present is so close now, the distance so short. Stars shine in me, the universe is not so far as it once was, death is so full of life.
Image circa a few years ago – writing, last night as i rode my horses along the shore. #patrickwey#puddleart#surealism#literature#proseverse
361 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/19 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Dog and Shadow runnin free in the centre square of Wroclaw Poland.
Spent a few weeks there back awhile with a dear freind that i met in London England. Few weeks could compare in my heart within this short life of mine. I know it may appear with all these images i display, that all i have left is memories, but that is not so. I just happen to have documented most of my life before the iphone belittled the challenge. The negative truth of the past has a way of caressing the future with more of the same, if you demand to run free like that dog no matter what terrain presents itself. Well, that’s the theory.
I committed myself to this challenge of an ‘image a day’ to a blog almost a year ago. This is coming to an end in a few days. Everything ends, nothing is complete. Just as with the scenes not documented in the eyes of humanity, many of my images will lie dying unseen unappreciated cept for the love and time and toil of my doing. That can be sad, that can be a revelation, that is up to me / you.
Image circa 90’s Wroclaw, Poland #poland#wroclaw#dog#patrickwey
360 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/18 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Unfinished sketch of an Irish man whom lost his hat on a movie set……
He crossed the scene from some other time zone but it didn’t make any sense neither here nor there. The same issues were laid out across the streets, now and then. The world and all its dreams were going to go along in its own way no matter what. The stage was set the take was shot, reality edited, exposed, a medium where innocence dies. You could attempt to fly high with transcendental airlines and meditate yourself numb or just soar low with the rest and get your fare share of the mess. It didn’t matter in the long run to the gossip from the avenues, it had not altered for centuries and wasn’t about to shift drastically now. A better time, a better place awaited, the romance envisioned would recover from the turmoil behind closed doors, or so thought thought. They want it all clear as day but it ain’t that way in reality. There are no words that will set them free, it’s a trap, it’s a condition in the mind, everything will talk itself out across concrete tables and end clearly unclear as it always does when prime temptations are evoked. That is just the way it is, so get used to it, spend your time wisely or not; not everybody can win. He walked across the set again and again tryin to get it right but he never did; there was no right, just the remnants of a hat lying half dead on the walk-side in a scene for more lost lovers to dream upon.
That was a day grey that ended short on a vacant timeless road in some forsaken town in Ireland mid century with his name concealed and the story split like time shatters in the middle of things unclear and ends with no end, no script left to the story line, no dream to dream upon. Cut, end.
Image circa early 90’s Ireland, writing last night. #Ireland, #patrickwey, #streetphotography, #losthat, #oldcars,
358 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/16 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Jane Homes…lost touch, wonder where she is? Loved literature, read every novelist i could think of and more. Still living with Kevin Kraul i presume. Hi Jane. & Kevin.
Image late 80’s
357 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/15 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My good friend Doug Biggs against two shades of grey many days ago.
We’re both on the west coast though we don’t get to see each other that often. We did a lot of travelling together in this life time. Life just keeps on keeping on. Good shot of Doug, seriously serious.
Image circa 80’s i believe
356 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/14 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day James Hodgson‘s mother, a wonderful woman. I got to know her more than most of my friends parents. She was one of those that could do no harm and see no harm. Never heard her say a bad work about anybody. We could use a few billion more like her.
Image circa 80’s at the Waterloo Farmers Market #patrickwey
355 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/13 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Been here a long time watching. I see the art deteriorate, depth mad with glitter, i hear your music noice. It doesn’t take a surgeon to see the mind, snow lays heavy here on the mountains, time won’t come easy, truth will stay hidden still. I’ve been hanging around dead bodies of the graveyards, eyeing the war zones, helping poor souls find a home but still you sit there planning the next escape into more of the same.
Things are not all bad as it seems, it is peaceful for moments in the valley ….. but there is always that edge surrounding that cripples the silence. You know what i mean, the air waves are filled with deceit from Prince Rupert to Chiang Mai. You can’t ignore the turmoil all day, the night times coming whether you believe it or not. The sun is dark and cold, you’ve been fooled into thinking that the stars are hot and bright, but it’s our mothers atmosphere that transforms this living energy into the beauty of radiant life. We’ve got it all wrong, levity is master, gravity is just a concept to bend the mind, thought is not where love is and love is much more than a four letter word. I don’t fly, i’m flown….most of the time.
Image circa late 80’s #crow, #patrickwey, #symbolism
354 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/12 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Pola Amber from and in Poland. Ola and i go back a long way into the depths of the soul. We met in the magic of the day and ended thru the twisted circumstance of intuition. Love flew in and out of the breeze like snow dreams on a windy trail. The night came soft and the air went still. I remember things from the road but the trees have turned cold and winter is long here in the mountains where thought spreads across the valleys like dreams made of light air. Time has written this poem and occasionally she sails across the heart. I watch in pure silence not to ripple the waves.
Image circa early 2000’s #poland, #portraits, #patrickwey, #women
352 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/10 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
If i was a Lewis Carroll, this young girl would have been my Alice. Took this image one day having a walk in the woods with a friend in Ireland. This is her daughter and she was so delightful, polite and clever and inquisitive about everything, just like an Alice. By now i am sure she must have fallen down numerous rabbit holes and had many incredible happenings with this twisted world and all its mathematical realities.
The background is almost equally as important to a great portrait as the subject is. The background has to fulfill the subject just as the past presupposes a future with the now, it is the foundation of the mood, the love on a heart, the depth of a surface. I love the way there is just enough blur to the trail as if the ‘Alice’ just bounced into the scene from some strange adventure holding this curious grin about her. Life is lovely, mysterious and simple…..occasionally.
Image circa late 90’s Ireland #aliceinwonderland, #lewiscarroll, #ireland, #patrickwey, #portrait, #younggirl
351 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/09 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The Worthen House Cafe, Lowell Massachusetts one of Americas oldest taverns, established in 1834. Taken with my minox, you can see it in the photo stabilized in my hand on the ledge of the washrooms urinal divider. Many poets, writers, artists and common folk drank there from far back into the 1800’s. A favourite bar of Edgar Allen Poe, who visited frequently and is rumoured to have written some of “The Raven” within its walls. Others including Jack Kerouac and Allan Ginsberg frequented the place. There were many and i was but one amongst the ghosts. I am with my deceased friend John Mulligan, a character in deed. John was an amazing gold smith that i first met in Kitchener On. Canada and we instantly became great friends, along with his wife at the time, Miriam Stump. Eventually because of circumstances of things that are now legal he fled the country back to the USA, to his childhood home of Lowell which is also where Jack Kerouac spend his last years. These were days when we both drank…..too much, but memories seem to surpass the negative of those moments. I visited him a good half a dozen times in Lowell area on my way back to Ontario from NYC. John was a ruff scruff sort of sailor gentlemen type with many stories, some good, some not so good and i miss him all just the same.
‘Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.’…Jack Kerouac
Image circa 80’s #jackkerouac, #edgarallenpoe, #lowell, #worthenhouse, #patrickwey, #allanginsberg
350 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/08 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I knew that Rubin Hurricane Carter loved horses by the lyrics in Bob Dylan‘s song entitled
‘Hurricane’, ‘And ride a horse along a trail’. When i went to photograph Rubin i suggested to go out by his horses. I wish i had spend more time that day. I had taken better portraits in my career but i was honoured to get to know Rubin and the opportunity to capture a few moments of his life after he was finally released from 20 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Rubin was a gentle powerful soul and we had a few very intimate conversations which i’ll take to the shadows of the other side. When you’re in the presence of such a man the shallow seems to fade into another level where silence has the last word.
‘Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much
It’s my work, he’d say, and I do it for pay
And when it’s over I’d just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
…..And ride a horse along a trail…..
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they try to turn a man into a mouse’
Full Lyrics – https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bobdylan/hurricane.html
YouTube Song and pictures – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGMSfiH850o
Image circa early 90’s at his home at the time outside King City north of Toronto #hurricanecarter, #bobdylan, #rubinhurricanecarter, #patrickwey,
348 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/06 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Well now, I been in jail when all my mail showed
That a man can’t give his address out to bad company
And now I stand here lookin’ at your yellow railroad
In the ruins of your balcony
Wond’ring where you are tonight, sweet Marie…………..Bdylan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv20TjFzwA8
To understand Dylan you have to twist some concepts around from the winds of symbolic junk yards hanging around in the corners of your mind. They’re in there just behind the veneer, the walls that keep us straight, that keep us from falling inside.
Image circa 80’s – model Georgina, an old friend somewhere down that velvet railroad line.
#bobdylan, #sweetmarie, #deadend
346 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/04 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day Rita Nagle and some dude walkin along King Street KW both posing in their own way and if you look real close i had images on display in the Walper Hotel window. I recognize ‘Vern Amongst The Tire Men’ an image i titled of a shot of Vern Harper taken in Santa Fe and a part of an exhibition ‘Urban Elder’ at the KW Art Gallery of 1994. I think this shot was taken at the time of the Blues Festival moments a while ago. At any rate, it’s all over now, the streets are filled with snow i hear and people have all disappeared. My, it’s a crazy life.
#streetphoto, #kitchener, #potraits
Image circa late 90’s
345 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/03 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
This raven sits at the Tower of London. The myth goes back far and wide. The white mount of London will fall to foreign invasion if the ravens evacuate. The story goes that Winston Churchill a Druid ordered more ravens from Wales to the Tower in the second world war when he was told there was but one raven remaining.
I have my own long experiences with the raven and his sister the crow. This is what led me here to the Tower to smoke the sacred Pipe commissioned in dream, synchronicities and vision. I was living in Ireland at the time and had the opportunity to travel with a friend to London in her two cylinder Citron named Dotty. I hopped at the chance.
At a later time, perhaps, i will write about the experiences and visions that the spirit crow immersed upon my soul. Rosetta the crow whom adopted me, came to me a day after my mothers funeral in 95, which i performed and talked about our ancestors the germanic people and Odin and his two crows, one on each shoulder. The crows that led me to England from Ireland, the experience at the Tower and along the Wye river the home of my ancestors. Rosetta lived with me for a year. Numerous events involving her precluded what conclusions i had developed concerning another side, the other side, the spirit world, the unseen, the land of the dead. Imagination is a map, reality the terrain. To walk like a crow is to hobble across all roads in one.
Ravens in Celtic Mythology http://avesnoir.com/ravens-in-celtic-mythology/ #raven#crow#toweroflondon#celticmyth#patrickwey
Image circa late 90’s Tower of London
344 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/02 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
He was a poet walking in a mystery full of himself like a stretched paragraph. The times tore thru his eyes cold and blunt with an air silently surrounding walls of statues and ghosts . In came dreams spread out like a magnet of prayer and sacrifice. Swam thru fantasies camouflaged in ritual and truth unlike most minds in the streets. He was a poet amongst himself, a dreamer sincere beaten by the scorn lying around. An Irish spirit, an Italian romance and German idealism pushing him towards some ridge amidst mountains of the arts. He never arrived, he never survived the split in the lowlands, tho he wove in and out of reality like a vine, possibly famous amongst the trees. Nothing became of his work. He was found, dead by a few and his words faded into the streets of modernism. This was a portrait of a young man as an artist in a world that didn’t exist, in times that bent beyond compare, in a dream dreamt alone.
Image circa Ireland 90’s