B79 … A BOY CALLED HORSEbun

When you’re a young boy there comes a time when you just might want to have some weapons available and ready for war; just incase. Things can get tough at times, out there in those young and restless streets. Neighbourhood bullies, older hoodlums, even comic-book character-enhanced ruffians, you name it, it’s all in the realm of ones imagination and some kids go all out, you need to be prepared, you need weapons. I wasn’t really all that sophisticated, i just liked the idea of trying to scare a few terrorists in my immediate domain, even those few friends that got out of control at times.

I remember just learning the two finger sign for HorseShit, so I slipped it in the photo with my right hand. Some Conspiracy Theorists say it means you are a member of the FreeMasons…You Choose

In my day, mid fifties, they still delivered bread and milk by horse and carriage. I couldn’t have been much more than six or seven when it dawned on me that there was this unique weapon right there in front of my eyes. I could smell it, it was that close. If you have ever had the opportunity to experience horse dung, it is unique. I noticed that after lying in the hot sun, by mid afternoon it can bake a nice crispy crust while the insides will still be quite smooth and mushy; different blends, depending on how long they are left to bake in the suns oven, the best weapon, for free, right there on the streets of paradise. The perfect texture and the perfect size, cap guns were so useless, these worked. I really don’t remember all the details of my conclusions but there is no doubt that i used these buns on a few different occasions to ward off perceived enemies. I believe i had even imagined a neighbourhood poster if times got really dangerous; a sketch of a pile of buns flowing out of a horses behind with the title, WANTED: WET or DRY.

It was my oldest brother Dave’s friends, precisely Bobby Dietrich, Whitey, and Donny Shady whom must have thought that this was worth notice and gave me the handle, ‘Horesebun’. I think it must have been Bobby from a few houses down on Bismark Ave that came up with that obvious name. It stuck with him as the years passed on thru the loads of horse-shit floating down thru the avenues of america and he knew no other name for me, Horsebun, that’s the name that stuck like muck in his late-teenage brain.

At first i thought it to be an honour. For older kids to notice me was exciting so i lived up to my name and used these weapons whenever i could, when the right conditions and availability were in play. I could tell Dave and his friends thought it weird for some young kid to handle this dung so professionally, but really it was all dry on the outside and the smell had a strange sort of sweetness, an edge to it, when you really observed it, like a delicate ladies perfume. Quite honestly i don’t remember how often i threw these raw bullets at my enemies but i do remember hitting a neighbourhood kid in the face once; an inside juicy one. That was a revelation of sorts because i not only hurt him physically, if only a little, on the other hand i could feel it injured his dignity large. I recall not liking that feeling at all, the loss of  dignity in the height of battle, wow, how humiliating.

Anyways, long after the weapons fell to the way side, the name hung like dung in a few circles; precisely with my older brothers friends but also a few of my own friends, though they would only call me with a lower case, ‘horsebun’, just to irritate me as kids do. It was mostly Bobby that kept this title alive with dignity. My friends never really carried on all that much about the name. Perhaps they were sub-consciously worried that they could eventually be nick named names like ShitHead, DungFace, ManureMouth if they got me pissed off enough to load me up with my personal weapons and plaster them with the essence of the horse, the buns.

At any rate they mostly left that name die like many nic names tend to do. Thru out maybe forty years, i only heard that name a few times, which i was secretly somewhat proud of, simply because it was really a very effective inventive weapon. They were plentiful, no one else dare use them and they not only hurt the enemy physically they had the power to shame them for life. No one in the neighbourhood shared my philosophy on this subject and still to this day i have never heard of any other living soul carry these weapons forward. I was the boy called horsebun.

Years later when i walked into Heer’s, a local Camera Shop, where i had been going for years, only to find out it was closing its doors for good that day. I was talking to the owner whom i knew, knew my eldest brother Dave. I found out that day, after years of going in there, that he only knew my brother as an acquintance but new Donny and Bobby Dietrich well, the three of them were protestants and went to protestant schools. My bother Dave and Whitey were catholics. That all made a slight difference back then and certainly from friends at school to friends around the neighbourhood that you would hang out with, until you got older and escaped the confines of the few blocks surrounding your home. Out of a strange coincidence he was on his way to see Bobby whom was dying at a place we called the Freeport Sanatorium, cancer i believe. Every time when i saw Bobby Dietrich thru out those forty years, which was less than a hand full of times, he was the only one in this universe that still said, ‘hey Horsebun, how ya doin’. I asked Mr. Heers to please please please say hello to Bobby from Horsebun. I am sure Bobby’s heart lifted a few thousand miles on hearing that name.

Mr Heers died shortly after that, guess he had cancer also. I never heard how Bobby reacted; that’s just the way life slips into the night some days.

This is the end of the story and consequently of a young boy as Horsebun.

FootNote: Since those earlier times, the horse and buggy, milk and bread delivery systems, have evaporated and have been replaced with the more efficient gas panel trucks and that, has since, also long been removed completely as a service within our society. The super markets have our bread and milk these days, but online you can get home delivery for just about anything and soon it will be delivered by drones, right into your privileged hands, even if your home is a tent.
I miss the beauty of the work-horse and the slow pace of life that blended so perfectly with my youth and my simple imagination.
Today, somehow, I see more horseshit strewn out between the streets of paradise than i could ever have imagined yesteryear and it does make me stop and wonder, ponder, sometimes, with all this extraordinary super-unnatural modified horsebun energy goin down, ‘how come there ain’t more flower children around’?.

Archival image – writing by patrick wey

B78 … The Real Pandemic

Oh, ev’ry thought that’s strung a knot in my mind
I might go insane if it couldn’t be sprung
But it’s not to stand naked under unknowin’ eyes
It’s for myself and my friends my stories are sung
But the time ain’t tall
Yet on time you depend and no word is possessed
By no special friend
And though the line is cut
It ain’t quite the end
I’ll just bid farewell till we meet again
Restless Farewell – Bob Dylan

The mind of the poet, artist, philosopher, scientist, critical thinker, is being banned/censored as in the days of lennin, stalin, hitler, mao, castro…..and many, many other fresh ones on route.
The continuing war of the unnatural against an intelligence that created all we see when our eyes are clear and open is here in full force now separating things. The unnecessary patented GMOwned seeds to genes, tomatoes to humans; the war of power, control, greed, madness is being injected digitally into humans and the very nature of things.
A few conspiracies of past to recall: DuPont’s plastic molecular take-over of the hemp industry, the pharmacological industry dominance with their patented molecular manipulations of natural plant medicines, the fossil fuel and atomic energy smothering control of technologies of point-zero natural off-grid living–energy systems and an extremely dangerous modern scientific arrogance over the very natural-laws that govern pure healthy life-forms on this planet of mother earth.
Conspiracies make this world go round mostly mad. Theories are just some people thinking, clear and not so clear; but there is more than enough evidence that there have been and are some very foul agendas lurking in almost clear view. The future is sucking this world into artificial biodigital hands. This is ultimately selfish reason claiming more, for nothing more than having more, an endless battle causing enormous unnecessary pain, death, extinction, onto a very wounded beautiful planet.


Today, bio-robotic intelligence continues to take control of all seeds and food supplies, energy sources, human naturalness with a matrix of wireless communications to the very spiked altered cells of life everywhere.
Our world is controlled by psychopaths, liars and thieves……the real pandemic is us ‘self blinded hypnotized’.

‘only a few well hidden bullets fired‘…

Mass world round-up experimental injected insanity is here now.
More and more people are waking up to fragments of deception, lies and manipulations. We the people out number the main-controllers a million to one and we have the technology today; the internet, immediate decision and response to change this human madness, possibly. People are waking up around the world; a probable new dawn appears to be rising on the long dark horizon. The greatest hoax of all, in recorded times is falling apart. If you have fallen with the crowd into sleep and have had your cells altered thru injections, stop the process immediately and get on a natural trail. There may be a way to reverse the situation, but if not, do the right thing, listen to your heart, it is always your best choice and don’t mistaken paradise for that science that has gone astray.

Don’t you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy
She’ll beat you if she’s able
You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet

.

.


He said, “We haven’t had that spirit here since 1969”
And still those voices are calling from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say……..

‘Things are about to get extremely turbulent
with foul crimes against humanity
nature cursed with broken treaties
the ultimate creation violation
and self hypnosis rampant and whose to blame
your pop art idols with their multi-part harmonies
main medias leading you thru tainted-dust of time
with false hopes and fake beliefs
your gods your reason your broken science
your programmed dreams from a surreal interface
best caress your last vain hysteric whimper now
there’s gonna be a long hard hard rain, fall’.
patrick wey

At dawn my lover comes to me
And tells me of her dreams
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means
At times I think there are no words
But these to tell what’s true
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden
Gates of Eden by Bob Dylan…. last stanza

NOTES – FROM BENEATH THE FEET: It appears that the most difficult aspect to understand is how could it be possible for so many great minds from scientists, government employees to citizens to be fooled into complying to systems unprecedented; masks, distancing, injections, without clear evidence. What kind of intricate agenda could be so well hidden from the most trusted individuals in government from the top down to allow a suspect pandemic to manoeuvre science, law and media thru-out the full planet and to a large extent, succeed. How is this possible? How are most conceivable adverse concepts just thrown under the rug, beyond the rabbit holes, condemned into the underground of conspiracy theories?
Keep thinking, doubt your own intelligence and let the truth slide out into open ears…..primordial-intelligence picks away at false walls uncovering truth brick by brick no matter how thick. Let us not be divided by the curse of words and labels. Let us stay human with open hearts, this land is not our land, the water belongs to all, truth will not die in a ditch of deceit and fear. No matter what the program of your belief, it cannot alter what truly is, and though you may never know, these lies will die. I am sure of it, just before the last door of the moment.

Images and writing by patrick wey
Lyrics by the Eagles, Hotel California, Desperado (Bold, Italics)

B77 … Get up – there’s work to be done.

This is the most informative, honest, to the point video i have come across since the beginning of this evil virus. It is not allowed on facebook and mainstream media. Attorney and MD, Dr. Simone Gold – Exposes Dangerous LIES About (Fake) Covid Pandemic.
Copy and Paste into your browser:
https://www.brighteon.com/4ed6c6b2-370f-4ff6-9089-94423d1c1c1d

ain’t it hard when you discover that you’re just another laboratory specimen experiment to spread altered genetics for an elite agenda sinister and foul

I believe it pays to have developed a strong connection with the gut for that feeling about things that are not ‘yet’. Some call it intuition. Often when it comes to governments, large corporations, the super wealthy you can depend on distorted facts, manipulated interests and sheer lies to pad their greedy hands in unbelievable wealth. This grid of control affects the very nature of nature itself, the relationship between right and wrong; the line between health and wealth.

At this point in life i really don’t care whether anyone takes this/me serious or not. History will find its way along the narrow trail towards the future with or with out me.

I do hope that more and more people begin and continue to question everything, all we think we know; follow that deep gut feeling that keeps us on the right natural path. This is probably the biggest turning point mankind has ever faced; human or other, natural or virtual, love or not-love.

It does continue to amaze me on just how certain so many feel they are, about so many topics, so many disciplines, facts that float in thin air, science that relies on gossip, and truth confined behind bars. We don’t need a scientist to tell us we’re trapped inside a petri dish.

Waking up to the fact that we have been fooled is not easy for many but necessary, swallow your pride, join the truth, no matter where you find it. Everybody is needed, truth matters.

Attorney and MD, Dr. Simone Gold – Exposes Dangerous LIES About (Fake) Covid Pandemic.
Copy and Paste into your browser:
https://www.brighteon.com/4ed6c6b2-370f-4ff6-9089-94423d1c1c1d

writing and photo by patrick wey

B76 … shut down locked up, on the way out

We been shut down locked up manipulated and confused. Time dangling off limps like false exits. Division honoured like a king. The whole world crumpling like a wooden tomb, wasted and ruined. The narrative, the script as old as the lazy canals. The cut, deep as a knife to the heart, a needle of plastic, a serum unhuman and foul. It has been prophesized in every language, every book on the earth, made of mud and made of word. Trees do whimper in the eyes of the fools, rivers bend slow across your neighborhood, songs disappear in the chill of the night, everything just isn’t right. Your head in a hat made of fresh skin and the door knobs stolen, the walls cavin in and you walk straight thru like you know the next move but you’re dead wrong, stuttering, frothing and stumbling along, warped into the wasteland. You wonder if maybe you have been mistaken, if the truth was just a string of facts smothered by a great lie. You question your words as they fumble out across your tender lips on through the black musky mask shielding your every breath, stretching out into the sequence of orderly conditioned minds, it fades. The night is growing darker, the chance of escape more slim. The rules are bouncing off the streets, the silence is growing louder, death is sliding in across the wounded air. The herd of tainted souls are moving closer to the wall, the entrance to an end.

For a few, light is hiding in the night and the way is certain thru the uncertainty of form. A simple trust in a faith beyond the turmoil of time and the destruction of life, a knowing that nothing really matters along the trail of pure sight, nothing but the walking, the walk into the timeless space of discovery, the frontier of song, the simple moment for now is the only way out.

He left like a night into the mystery like a man walks thru a door and fades along a deserted highway and that was that. People went on, suffered to the end, their cells contorted with an unnatural biology, a foreign metal, a transmitter, receiver, a brave blue odour of regulated life, deteriorating along a path into a lost world.

writing and images by patrick wey

B75 … Imaginary Reflections of John and Bob in conversation

Bob sings, ‘You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks’ and John remarks in song, ‘And you think you’re so clever and classless and free
But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see’

‘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
He said, “Son, this ain’t a dream no more, it’s the real thing”.’

Dylan said that and John said, ‘well, let me take you down, where nothing is real and nothing to get hung about’, and Bob sang out, ‘it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’ a hard, its a hard rains agonna fall’. They both left arm in arm humming off into eternity, ‘two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl’.

Lyrics from Masters of War by Bob Dylan, Working Class Hero by John Lennon, Senor(Tales of Yangee Power) by Bob Dylan, Strawberry Fields Forever by John Lennon, A Hard Rains a Gonna Fall by Bob Dylan, All Along the Watch Tower by Bob Dylan

a conspiracy busting down the doors
it’s the masked third world war
patrick wey

Images and Concept by patrickwey

B74 … I Dreamed I saw St Augustine

I was walking along alone thru the mad streets of the empire. I could hear you, your stained voice, i fell, into that same place, that hollow space where echos sleep and walls weep and time turns in on itself. There must be somewhere out there to keep us safe from harm, some paradise left for us weary souls. We tried, not to hide, to give it our best dream, to save ourselves and any others along this twisted trail. How could it get this far, outside of the perfect garden, out of the sacred lands and now so hidden, out of reach. They say, it’s always right there beside you, within arms length, but it don’t seem so, from around here, this lonely cafe on an island of arguments of captivity and prisons. No sense in attempting to gather thoughts, to lay words on the tombs, to say what’s been said a million times, to linger any longer inside these cursed ruins. What’s the point, what’s the worth, what’s the use St Augustine …….. all my love’s crying out, head soft and low against this window pane.

……

….

..

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words and images by patrick wey

I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine

Bob Dylan

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine
Alive as you or me
Tearing through these quarters
In the utmost misery
With a blanket underneath his arm
And a coat of solid gold
Searching for the very souls
Whom already have been sold

Arise, arise, he cried so loud
In a voice without restraint
Come out, ye gifted kings and queens
And hear my sad complaint
No martyr is among ye now
Whom you can call your own
So go on your way accordingly
But know you’re not alone

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine
Alive with fiery breath
And I dreamed I was amongst the ones
That put him out to death
Oh, I awoke in anger
So alone and terrified
I put my fingers against the glass
And bowed my head and cried

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Bob Dylan
I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

B73 … Sometimes i am so lonely….

refections of a lonely moment

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.

reflection of man alone

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.

reflections of beauty
alone

Images and writing by patrick wey

B72 … in times as these

i loved you in your pure whisper

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

writing and images by patrick wey

B71 … The Largest Social Media Platform Censored Me For Saying ‘Crazy’

This World Is Crazy

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’.

masked from the hidden


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.

writing by patrick wey

B70 … Friends from here and there.

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.

Images and writing by Patrick Wey

B69 … THEY

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)

B68 … everybody’s fighting

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

writing and images by patrick wey

B67 … you see a man standing in the rain

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.

images and writing by patrick wey

B66 … Let Them Eat Covid – dream nitemare fiction vision….early 2020

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
B
eyond No Doubt in Jest – patrick wey 1971

writing and images by patrick wey

B65 … somewhere, there must be

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.

writing and images by patrick wey

B64 … Headless lady banned from facebook

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.

Social Media Illusions

writing and image by patrick wey

B63 … world – war – belarus

one chimney one family – thousands of chimneys – hundreds of villages – millions of lives

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.

sculptor and sculpture


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.

images and writing by patrick wey

sculptures by valentine of belarus

B62 … Sweet You

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.

Painting by Meghan Sims


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.

images and writing by patrick wey

B61 … Seems like every time

Circle Beneath the Skin

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.

Eagle Sweat


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.

Images and Writing by Patrick Wey

B60 … i’ll be passin on soon

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.

Images and writing by Patrick Wey

B59 … i just laid there

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.

writing and images by patrick wey

B58 … words thru dmt

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.

images and writing by patrick wey

B57 … maybe it was love

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.

writing and images by patrick wey

B56 … Ordered Division

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

WEF’s Vision For A Post-COVID World Here

images and writing by patrick wey

B55 … Wave 2 Vote

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



images and writing by patrick wey

B54 … The way is one of subtle change.

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.

images and writing by patrick wey

B53 … Jaurez St. Mexico City 76

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.

Main Zagolo Mexico City

B52 … WW3

Undisciplined Thoughts On A Mysterious Virus

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

images and writing by patrick wey

B51 … Reflections of Death and Life

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.

B50 … Stan-d – mourning my way.

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.

Stan M on my very first roll of film / …. TriX shot at 200asa 1970ish

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.

Stan, Ted Sajkowski, Tony Bezpaly and me on the wall in the back. I used to frequent this Starbucks Kitchener and where we’d meet occasionally. Missing or dead of the northward hoodlums from the old group are Joe Hiller, Allyn Wey, Don Tucker, Ted Zawadski, Les Krynicky and many others from the side lines.

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.

alone amidst the architecture
of thought and brick

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.

yyyyyy
yyyyyy

memories

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

yyyyyyyy

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.

yyyyyyy

feathered dancers of the wind
ready

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.

writing and images by patrick wey


B49 … Stan Maciaczyk

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.

Taken at Don Tuckers house before he painted this Dylan image from a poster on the wall with Ultra-Violet colours that would glow in the dark. We thought Stan stole Dylans nose.

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.

Stan and Cathy on one of the many outings we shared…
Stan was in love with Cathy to the end…

B48 … beauty and her love

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.

the town from below

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.

as an object of art – a selfie of sorts

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.

non-manipulated selfie

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
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B47 … Death is coming for us all

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)

Images and Writing by Patrick Wey

B46 … when i first laid eyes upon this scene

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….

Mural with Sasha in Chemanis
Vancouver Island BC

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.

Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

B45 … rain

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

B44 … gelatin floors and melting walls

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

B43 … from the banks of a dream

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

writing and images by patrickwey

B42 … birthday time

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.

‘selfie squared’ … a reflection along the way …

B40 … mourning for the loss of a year of writing.

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.

Painting by Meghan Sims of Patrick Wey

B39 … dying in isolation

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

images and writing by patrick wey

B38 … It’s time that we sat down and….

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.

Images and Writing by patrickwey

B37 … The war of the sacred, the way of the warrior.

Rosetta – a great friend

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 ….

Vern Harper – a great friend….

Images and writing by patrick wey

B36 … isolation

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

Images and writing by patrick wey

B35 … Desolation Row

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’

Sasha feeling a bit of the ‘Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands’ along some ‘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

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Bob Dylan
Desolation Row lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Audiam, Inc

‘desolation row, it’s everywhere’

Images by patrick wey

B34 … we the virus or 5G

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.

‘Babies Wail to Sixty Cycle Hum’ a line from my good friend Wayne Masters back in the late 60’s.

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. 

Dew levitating on the tips of grass…

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. 

circle beneath the skin

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.

Man Toils in the Sweat of the Machine

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.

‘visions from the people of the earth’

Images and Writing by patrick wey

B33 … one thing in common

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.

Images and Writing by patrick wey

B32 … I should have left yesterday

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…………………….

Images and writing by patrick wey

B30 … Mother Gaia WaterColours

Chiang Mai Thailand

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.

St Paul St. Montreal

More – Patrick Wey Water Reflections

Images and Literature by patrick wey

B28 … there are those

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

Image and writing by patrick wey

B27 … america

the Badlands of South Dakota

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

Alabama USA…just passin thru. the 90’s.

images and writing by patrick wey

B26 … she builds rooms

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

writing and image by patrickwey

B25 … He, unfinished…finished.

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.

– the erasing –

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

Writing and Images by patrick wey

B24 … Sierra Kachina 29 on 29 – could have been.

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.

My Mother and Little Sierra

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.

Sierra Kachina

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

Sierra Kachina
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
never shone

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

B23 … psychedelic pioneers.

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

Fall 71
Thomas P Wey

B22 … ‘That is the way the world ends’

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. 

Images and Literature by patrick wey

B21 … She walks in beauty…

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.

Words and Images by pat wey

362 … water reflections of uncertainty

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

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

361 … everything ends, nothing is complete

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

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey

360 … Unfinished sketch of an Irish man

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,

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

349 … Along some wavy street of Old Montreal

349 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/07 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Along some wavy street of Old Montreal one night at dusk. Stumbled upon a door way to another side. Saw things i never suspected i could. Left slowly along some back alleyway. Took this shot just so i could remember the dream; the one that keeps me alive.
Image circa the 90’s Old Montreal through a puddle…
#oldmontreal#sureal#patrickwey#photoart

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Patrick Wey

328 … David Finlay and Dusan Nedelko

328 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/17 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
David Finlay and Dusan Nedelko……Two funny curly haired guys at a party by the looks of it. We had a lot of good times thru bad times and some of the memories have been slightly dampened by the substance abuse. Over all we were moderately doing our youth justice by being ourselves and walking our own paths. Dave was a video guy with tons of ideas forprojects and Dusan ended up teaching kids in remote camps in northern Ontario. Me myself, well i’m writing this am i not. I think this is the kitchen of a house i owned with George Demelo. We ran an Information Brokerage Co at the time called Parallel Source which had the promise of doing really great things but it didn’t. Dusan had a fatal accident on the way home one miserable northern highway night. David is around, George is too, KW area. Of course there is so much more that could be written and maybe someday if i ever find the time i will. All these images bring up so many thoughts and i really do wish i had the time to twist some words into something; create an image-book novel, a picture book with text of all sorts, serious, poetic, loose words, detailed, maybe an image play or two.
Image circa late 80’s i believe.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

326 … Coral Andrews….me thinks; the Back Door

326 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/15 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Coral Andrews….me thinks; the Back Door, down under where all the Little Berlin bohemians hung about when things were simpler, younger and you never really imagined you’d get this far ahead in time but here we are the ones left the ones gathered about here on the front end of the social press for a few more years most there some here a few spread about the earth like fallen apples that landed in the back of a passing truck on some remote highway and got taken for a ride…….me, here i sit in some local cafe in a paved west coast forest throwing pictures to the winds of memories connecting the space between us. The suns shinin the grass is green. I miss that white stuff sometimes, both kinds but the road moves on, modern cowboys and indians walkin in the streets and lumberjacks and new age hippies building malls along the highways. The world’s a magnificent dream. I see a large crow walkin the pavement sqawkin about something and a young woman with dreads a foot above her scull eating a salad at a table on the outside of the cafe. Half the people or more are fixated on a little screen in the palm of their hand. Hello bohemians and friends from the east or wherever you be……
Image circa late 70’s i presume…writing today

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

324 … so much free sky in my eye

324 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/13 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Sometimes i think i tend to stick my neck out a little too far and though it is a long way down to my feet on the earth i am still inclined to shove my foot into my throat much too often. With that being said and over with, it’s a lovely day from here, somewhat higher than most, a touch surreal and by far extremely glorious to have so much free sky in my eye. Nothing much to report to the lower level that can’t be noticed from down there if you really pay attention, tho there is this one thing that i question occasionally and that is, ‘how come so many want to be so high’?….
Image circa 80’s – Infra Red 35mm B/W neg…an African confined on Canadian soil.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

323 … understand, comprehend and copy nature.

323 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/12 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
There will always be another pipe line to separate the people until who knows when. First of all, we are all one people, the police, natives, the whites, blacks, yellows, multi-coloured. This is a human problem not a race problem. The ownership of land is an illusion we kill for on a basis of separation for control and wealth. The problem is not oil, gas, fossil fuel, it is explosive energy systems and the misunderstanding of natural living-energy and the relationship of water in all organic life systems. Viktor Schauberger laid out the principals for a free energy system based on the true ways in which a life-giving energy works within nature. I refuse to attempt to converse his knowledge here. I have tried unsuccessfully in the past. At that i was a failure. http://waternature.org/
We have the internet now and there are numerous pages of his conclusions, theories, inventions and procedures that shows how we can eliminate this dilemma that we are facing. I see all the new social media reporters in their social press with their lame attempts to educate the world with their quilt induced articles and comments that do nothing more than give them a number of ‘likes’ and a following with fuel for more inflation of the ego.
If one really wants an answer to these problems there are numerous web sites with implosive bio-technology in mind. But it takes personal time, integrity and money. There is no excuse any longer, the knowledge is accessible. The problem is the will of people to really want a future world for future generations, not just talk for sympathetic likes. The problem is problems on top of problems but there are some basics that most cannot comprehend the foundational aspects clearly. Most are fighting for causes with solutions that will change very little. It is a scientific misinterpretation, manoeuvring, a greed selfish human issue, a misunderstanding of the validity of thought itself and consequently the misuse of the sacred.
The white guilt praise for the red anger over broken treaties not worth the paper they were written on. The black man, the yellow and all the mixed colours fighting for their own identities and the land they can scrape up between the shadows of a past and the dream of a future in turmoil. Prophesies gone wrong shifted into sentimental dreams of romantic worlds living alone surreal in the imagination.
We know the world of man is a mess no matter how many gentle thoughts we comfort ourselves with, how many safe conclusions caress our weary souls. We dream on, it is the nature of the mind.
My dream has concluded that the technological answer is implosive biotechnology introduced and understood by Viktor Schauberger and secondly to constantly investigate the validity of the main tool that has conjured the world we live in, ‘thought’ itself. Both are related to the foundation of living energy. The mind is a myth, useful immensely but none the less a myth, therefore always on trial and always to be questioned from religion to politics to science to the brains mind itself and all its beliefs. This alone would enhance the understanding that we know very little and possibly nothing ‘absolute’ which would leave us much more vulnerable to love one another and all things.
It is an individual comprehension of the total that can lead us to understand our insanity and without that we are doomed. Thought can only describe the door but it is the heart that must walk through and these words are but mere symbols for an understanding that lives within a mystery.
The energy-fuel for our world is a monopoly of power and control, perhaps it is the time to cripple the pipe line and its system. We would hope for a peaceful conclusion but we know there is no peace in violence and violence has been the way of change in this world of man since man began. Do what you must do and let it be done but do it as one fight for one love. This is my conclusion for the time being; things change. Everyone has to figure it out for themselves, quit the group the system the institution the race the people, it’s culture and let the mystery be your guide, there is where it is at, understand, comprehend and copy nature.
An Introduction to…… Viktor Schauberger…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhwhmqM2oFE
On Thought….check out U. G. Krishnamurti: Mind as a Myth … https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9olyqhwf2y4
Ultimately nothing really matters….tho we walk on…. and simply, so we do.
Image circa 1980’s Infrared B/W….Douglas Point Nuclear Generating Station

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey

320 … a pigeon dancing through times experiences

320 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/09 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
a pigeon dancing through times experiences
while colours retreat and grey surfaces
then disintegrates across the floor of distances
things disappear this way into darknesses
and the cycle repeats for new appearances
Image circa 1980’s from a dead factory floor

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

317 … down by the waters edge

317 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/06 of-by patrick weyhttp://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I went down by the waters edge. I sat there quietly for sometime before the air became alive and entered me to places i’ve never touched. The sound of the way whispered to my heart things i had never known. The beauty caressed me, entangled me in its web, light and uneven i followed the view to beyond and it was there i was told things i could not and would never tell.
The day was gray and no one noticed when the wind had stopped; right in the middle of a melody trampling across the wavering sky the vision appeared and left me stranded there alone like an island.
The way it was was not the way it is. The war inside ended in the light of darkness and the beginning of the end ended in very uncertain terms. ‘Dreams move about free of form with reality tainted by imagination. Observe, there is no answer, there are many questions.’
The water lies mellow over the rocks, the tree line silhouettes the near horizon and the gray sky takes it in to the limits and that swings you back to the grass weaving itself into the wind like a snake across a deserts sand.
Everything is complete. In times like these a silent gaze into the scene is the perfect answer.
Image circa late in the century / writing this morning

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314 … down some endless stretch of high way

314 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/03 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
i don’t know how many years i have left but i do know i’m lucky to have made it this far down the line. It is getting to the point where i have more friends in the underground than struggling on the surface. It gets to that point if you live long. I can’t say it is just genes, i’ve been watching my health since the sixties when i first stumbled upon Jetro Kloss, author of the book ‘Back to Eden’. A bible on herbs, their use and the sacredness of nature and everything natural. Of course a little lsd didn’t hurt. I found a place along a stream that i would go to and take a psychedelic alone and stay up all night with a small fire and watch the horror and beauty of it all. That was my first and last real teacher, so i thought, then. Since then i’ve not learned much more, just variations on the theme.
I hear the gentle rain, still, in the background of my mind, making rhythm out of rhyme, space out of time. I have long gone from looking for anything in anybody’s eyes, searching for truth in vacant lots, busy street corners; the search itself was the biggest mistake. Some think there are no mistakes, just accidents. I used to think that, i used to think a lot of things, but that was yesterday. Some think they’ve got it figured out, know what it is all about; i just turn away and listen to the gentle polyrhythmic drumming of the rain, it soothes the weary soul, makes me feel just perfect. I can say i don’t fear death any longer, but we will see. I have seen too much, questioned everything, surrendered my self to the mystery. I am truly nothing, made up of pencils and words. I have no need to be and yet somehow i am and that is perfectly fine with me. I am the illusion maya talks about, as you are. I hear the soft rain take my soul or whatever it is it takes and i leave as sleep becomes my home, down some endless stretch of high way, i’m gone.
Image circa 90’s down Arizona way i believe….out off the high way, the stretch between here and nowhere…….writing – yesterday.

313 … the struggle of women, the struggle of life

313 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/02 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Occasionally yesterday visits today…..New Realities
Shot taken depicting the struggle of women, the struggle of life. So many stories weave themselves in between the vendors, the brick, the alleyways, the tainted food, the farm land lost. Stories of hard times, of survival, laughter, celebrations, loss. Many new years turn old quick in the cold, turn sour over forged sweet truth. Happy is often not much more than a word travelling down the corridors of conditioning, the repetition of denial but there is always hope so one can cope with the new frontiers, the news in the network, the blues in the streets. Nothing anyone can say, wish for, pray for can alleviate the struggle in the mind but it may soothe the broken heart, sweeten the sour veins. Balance, anybody can claim to be happy, whatever that means. I don’t think it means a damn to wish everybody a happy anything but i do it anyways just incase and so i don’t feel so all alone………i wish what i say could really make a difference….would be nice if somehow we could all awaken with wordless love in our hearts forever; well we try i suppose – may it be loving years for all, along this lonesome road.
Image circa 80″s – writing today

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

312 … the city rolls down the avenue

312 Image-Content of the Day 2019/01/01 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
i get the feeling that things aren’t quite right here and nobody gives much of a damn. at least that’s what i’m thinkin sometimes. the people on the streets got their worlds and their dreams that they’re trying to untangle. they don’t have time for stepping out, attempting anything less secure. so the city rolls down the avenue, the life lives as it does, with its face hidden and its walls painted, dreams floating about like blurred leaves on a pond. i happened to hear your voice echo in the background and your future advertised in the signs hidden across the streets. the sense of direction moves about like a kite from one breeze to the next, wind rushing thru your skull and freedom riding high in the clouds. yea that was me watching you sit on the side lines with your green shirt and all, your broken-machine working overtime and your buddy learning the tricks. yea that’s the city life, it may not be the best life, but it’s your life and as i said, nobody really cares.
the image caught the beauty just right don’t ya think, your square heads floatin down the worlds way like you belong. life in the stream of things, coming from nowhere heading nowhere but with lots of plans, thats the way to do it, just like you know what’s happening and you do……kool

Image circa Thailand 2016 – writing last night

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309 … Writing words you will never see

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

Sierra Kachina
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
never shone

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

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey

307 … time death light and night

307 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/27 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

time death light and night
don’t mean a damn when nothings right
the storm the calm the ways the path
torn and twisted in my eyes grasp

as well as i be and useless at heart
the dream is dead the road is at an end
any thing once worth while here
and i thought you were my friend

sure there’ll be another day
and i might even be around
but things said today i’m afraid
won’t easily be buried under ground

i’m goin out again to places i’ve never been
i feel so lost and weak i don’t wanna win
but get up i will and be what’s natural within
to never let this arrogance dig deep under my skin again

Image circa Ireland 1990’s – writing Dec 6, 2016 3:40am

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Patrick Wey

306 … thoughts doomed to disintegrate

306 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/26 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

No other has taken me to the depths of my being, no other has forced me to see what i had failed to see. As it should be, if one is growing, i am forced to see the impermanence of it all. It is quite uncomfortable at times, this world without eternity, these thoughts doomed to disintegrate. The whole world full of dream, this life set to die, an endless stream of illusions to observe. This thought dying unto itself.
Money, it all revolves around paying rent, taxes, poverty has its claws inside my heart. Where could i be without this hindrance chaining me to mediocrity. This afternoon of springs last winters-wet-snow and gloomy skies and desperate thoughts hanging on to the last remains of your love. Can we grow? I don’t know. Is there hope beyond this air?
Image circa Poland late 90’s – writing April 2, 2005 4am

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304 … twas th nite befor christmas

304 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/24 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

twas th nite befor christmas
all the people were asleep
you couldn’t hear a sound
not even a peep
and then came in santa
to the stark dark manger
and he pulled from his bag
and nothing was stranger
a gift of canadian weed
to share with the wise
joseph, mary the animals
and the rest of the guys
they sang thru the evening
and when all was sung
little jesus awoke and spoke
in multiple tongue
‘don’t criticize, institutionalize
hypnotize or romanticize
and also, i’d not feel so damn alone
everybody must get stoned’

twas th nite befor christmas
i dreamed i was a saint
in some far off universe
then i awoke, realized i ain’t.

Image circa 80’s, two slides sandwiched – writing today

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Patrick Wey

303 … Today change has come

303 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/23 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

Today change has come, the weather has shifted, the roads have opened, the way is clear. It always seems so obvious when the light comes shining thru, when clarity settles in the brain, when the universe makes sense again. It is these moments of understanding that lay the foundations of uncertainty in pillars of time that move thru the mystery so perfectly inrhythm and endless rhyme. An acceptance of the wavering truth that enters the mind one way and exits into a completely new universe. Today change has come.
Waves of a conscious mystery are rolling along the open shores. Tangerine skies are skimming melodies on the waters and dreams are scattering themselves about like autumn leaves blowing across a forests floor. Change is changing today into yesterday like bent light surrounding the wind in an open mind of dreaming dreams.

Image 1980’s puddle shot slide sandwiched with hand painted colour gelatin acetate – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

302 … hurricanes blowing across the sands

302 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/22 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

hurricanes blowing across the sands
turmoil on every corner, every street, deceit
you got your love secure and camouflaged 
waiting for a little breeze
for some relief from the heat

Words trampled and crushed into little packets of self contained messages colonialized like small islands off the coast. How did it ever get to this, warped boats over treacherous waters carrying the cargo of ‘boxed-up-meanings’ leaking into the vast unknown seas. It is here we attempt to understand each other with a soul full of emptiness and a heart forsaken across discontented distant waters and a sincerity to reach into each others arms, sabotaged.
The drifter walks ahead already looking back at the silent coast and the ones so dearly loved. With the scrap heap of the west on our heals and the parade of saints playing in pools of nymphs and pirates and such, who could have ever guessed we were end-bound. What used to survive desolate in the alley ways of the metropolis we now find in remote villages across the globe. Like an unstoppable disease of the heart spreading like thought waves doomed by its own desires, humanity crawls along alone. There is no way out for it, only more illusions to soothe its fateful appetite, and as the drifter always says from his cool twisted damp lips, “choose careful, beware, everything fades towards the end of time”. And with that said the ships unload, the docks disperse, the constant pounding of the drums continue along the avenues and into the endless winds of dream, things come and go.
Image circa 80’s two slides sandwiched into one…writing yesterday

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299 … somedays are just like that

299 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/19 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
somedays are just like that
a man behind your back in a hat
people looking in you, through
refined filtered lenses
Image circa 70’s….with a few words today.

297 … The open road:

297 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/17 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The open road: where in the hell is that? Nowadays you can travel half way around the world, carry a cell phone and send selfies live back home, but where in gods mind is that open road? Where is that place where real freedom is hanging in the air, where there is no direction home, no place left to be, no one to aspire to; where is that road? There was always some place to get away from, some place to feel your way thru. A few thousand miles down Route 66 seemed an eternity, no one could track your step, you were on your own, maybe a phone booth a couple hundred miles down some dirt road could get you a scratchy voice to some past you left behind; if you needed to be lucky.
Leaves of Grass found falling in the air long ago, now nothing but splashes of dull colour from eight miles high. The open road is a myth like Robert Johnson and answers blowin in some wind fallin in some time zone that can’t be reached no more; so far outa touch from this space only ancient text can attempt to reveal.
The open road closed for some museums reconstruction, fake images bracing imaginary brains, modern students with science degrees in hard-luck while the true old road is left dying alone in some ditch. The road warriors are not what they used to be, whatever that was. That’s the way it is, nothin stays the same but if you’re really careful and time is on your side there is still a way to get a glimpse of that road that is barely open yet for but a few that just might make the right moves. But beware, it holds nothing but raw freedom and that has left most lonely, weary and desperately miserable in the end. But, for but a very few of the few, the drifter does escape.
Image Infra-red B/W 35mm circa 80’s – some 60’s look-a-like of Highway Route #66, 61 or whatever, down some lonely New Mexico highway…Writing; years in the making, squashed into yesterday for no tomorrow.

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296 … The morning has arrived

296 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/16 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The morning has arrived just like it said it would. Mist moving almost still and hanging off the mountain like a veil. The valley flooded with white geese dotted about, the air is tender, i’m not sure i should be here. My heart can breathe high and it can sore low but it just stares and wonders if there are other valleys though. The green lush blanket winding in the distance to unknown land and the mountain tops sharp and hazy edge against the grey grey sky. I could have been so many things, i could have learned the dance; i questioned i till there was nothing left and still it demands to belong where there is no valley towards a mountain top left to go. I sit here in the morning light and watch the wood stove blue smoke fall down into the valley and disappear where no dreams flow. Like stopping by a woods on a snowy evening i have my horses too, some are tired in the sun, some just wanna run, how can i possibly get it done, said the valley to the road.
Woke up fell outa bed, rubbed some horses across my head, and right in the middle of a dream this is what i heard i said, ‘wow’……..and that was that, moved right into another day, nothing more to say; the rain kept gleaming down and here i am, where the forest is my home.
Image circa – rain forest of 2001 – writing in this morning light

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Patrick Wey

295 … it’s not cold yet but i feel the chill

295 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/15 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

it’s not cold yet but i feel the chill
the world is goin to sleep
the night light is flashing red
and even shallow is too deep

the heart that loved you
the one you thru away
the last kiss on the wet tracks
when there was nothing left to say

like a love that was pure as fire
and a caress as simple as the wind
i fell for you and you wouldn’t let go
i wonder sometimes, what could have been

now time has found its way once more
down this weary road of life
but if i could do it all over again
would i take you for my wife

it doesn’t really matter all that much
what would or could have been
we were just two lovers as such
along a breath of restless wind

the tree sways in the night light
looking for a place that will
shelter the bitter damp air a little
it’s not cold yet but i feel the chill

Image circa Slave County Alabama 1992 – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

294 … kiss the wind

294 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/14 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Flying high with blended hues against an eternal sky of a sun dipping below the line between existence and imagination. On the long trip north with restless children on board and a longing in my heart for things that never quite were, i followed the intense skyline until i was too tired to keep my eyes awake and faded into the dawn of another time. There i was on the beginning without a hope on earth and i saw you there like i was attached to your soul somehow but i wasn’t. You began to hesitate right from the start and i began to lie to myself to make things happen that weren’t there. We settled on an imaginary life and caressed each others wounds until death do us part. Somehow love did enter the realm that was as real as any other love, it was love what could you expect, love doesn’t choose what’s real or not it just is or isn’t. That was good, life continued in a way that was expected tho surprising at the same time. The sun fell and that was that the night the night hit like a tomb.
You might think that you understand the game and conclude to yourself to fulfill your own imaginary life but i assure you that you’r fooling yourself just like everyone else to get by in a world too dangerous to be aware of its truths. But that’s alright no need to get upset push me under your rugs i’m just your night light to get you thru when times get too weary, too absurd to realize, a wake up call just so you don’t take it all that serious. There ain’t no guru gonna get you or some devil waiting for your sleepy soul or nitemares you can’t get thru…….you’ll be fine, just follow the line till the end of time and you’ll get exactly where you outa be. Take a flower and put it into your hair, smell the essence of life, kiss the wind, be true and you’ll get thru right to the end of the bend and you’ll see.
Image circa 80’s – writing last night

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291 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/11

291 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/11 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Those fuckers are gonna get a beating today. They’ve been pushing us to the limit for years and today is the day we give it to’um good. Maze, bullets, skull crashin, those left winged fuckers are gonna get exactly what they deserve.
‘Ah this coke tastes good, wonder how the kids are doin’, “little Juan has got his first soccer tournament today”, ‘hope i can still get there to see him beat the shit out of that out-of-town team’. “Hey Antonio lets grab a beer after we crack a few skulls and tell the wifes we have to work late….maybe fuck a few too”.
“Here they come, let’s move slow and let the foot soldiers give the first beating to wear them down some”.
Time passes and the attack backs down. After a while the new shift comes in and Ricardo and Antonio go for a beer and more.
That was on the shelf of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Image circa 70’s Mexico City – writing today

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Patrick Wey

290 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/10

290 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/10 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Numero uno church in the main zacolo de ciudad de mexico. Poor Folk begging for a few pesos. The wealth of catholicism stands strong behind the gates. The way it is, hypocrisy crawls between the cracks, empty stomachs ache for jesus.
image circa 70’s, comment today, as yesterday and all bets on tomorrow.

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289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09

289 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/09 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Just before i took this shot we stood there not knowing what to say. The end was dripping from our lips, the last kiss was done and in your mind, you were already walking. That’s the way it goes sometimes, quick, just like the way some things fly into your life. I recall the beauty of the day when i saw you by the bench, the one that faces the long and narrow park, the one we sat at for the next two weeks before this night. It appeared we were falling in love until our differences emerged and spread out on the avenue like a night can do. You had your dreams laid out like a text, mine just surfaced out of impulse and they saw each other in the light of the day and freaked out. Our love was never meant to build a family around, it was not tough enough to stand alone, not true enough to create. So there we were feeling miserable for a short sweet past that was ending and a future with no spirit to be.
You shuffled in there sandwiched against the masses and wham the door squeezed shut and that was it, the last train left the station and left me stranded in the twilight just as you had found me there in a Mexico City night at some forgotten stop long ago and that was that, done, gone forever cept this last image from my crazy shutter sped finger tips.
Image circa 77 Mexico City – writing yesterday

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288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08

288 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/08 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the early part of the century i made my living as a photographer on a tour boat in Xochimilco just on the south side of Mexico City. People called me Jose but my name was really Fernandez and i lived the life of a photo-specialist. Having the eye of an artist was just the beginning. In those days you had to know the science of lenses, the chemistry of film and developers and the physics of light. You had to be a mechanic of sorts to deal with all the apparatus and a carpenter and painter for sets, let alone a marketing genius and promotion manager just to stay in the business. I loved my work and photographed some of the many celebrities that visited the City from all over the globe. Up and down the canals of one of the most scenic places near the city. Flowers and vegetation showered the days with beauty and my life was in love with me. Things changed when 35mm cameras came into vogue and more and more people took their own images and the competition made the game much more challenging. I managed, i had a talent for staying in the game, i survived, lived a long life and have images in a few of the museums spread across the city. I died decades of years ago now and with the advent of digital modernism in all forms of media in the hands of the many, i survive only in the minds of a few surrealists and history buffs. This wandering 35mm gringo caught me doing my thing way before his time and he’s probably close to the final curtain himself if not already gone.
We shared a smile before our boats parted up and down the canal and that was that.
Image circa early 70’s – writing yesterday

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287 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/07

287 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/07 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Strange the way waking-dreams weave in an out of mind. Troubled in the doorway of change, the delicate undertaker slips in to mind.
I swung in from the other side, just in time to see him leave for the top. They saw you trapped within your love but making it big on the social stage and that was good enough for you and you had already lost your honour towards the hard path, anyways. Meantime big business was buying up every green field of passion from here to the edge of the do-gooder horizon and you got sucked right in. When you thought you saw me there struggling in the forefront of humanity, you were mistaken, i wasn’t
struggling, i was breathing deep just before the night hit. I didn’t expect to turn in your heart or your expression on your delicate face when you saw me bend down to wash the feet of an unknown soul. What else could i do, the waves were pouring in, the crash was close and the immense pressure to surrender was overwhelming, i had no choice really and i’m glad the road turned and twisted into the dead end it is. How else could it have turned into this soft shadow slipping down the tears of your face? You, it seems were meant to be a star, it’s all over the media now, without much of a message, and without so much as a credit or a byline for the mysterious undertaker.
I stood there just on the verge when things changed and headed back from whence it came, the other side, leaving but with a few thoughts to get you through too.
Image circa late 70’s – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

286 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/06

286 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/06 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Today everything is a little off. The mural on the wall is slightly tilted. The people don’t seem right. Their voices are gargled their smiles slanted. Everything is a little crooked. Colours are overly bright and in your face. The parrot is squawking more than normal and wavering back and forth shaking his gage in response to something that i can’t quite put my finger on. The music seems to be missing a few notes here and there, the sun can’t decide on showing up or staying away. The waitress is hesitating unsure of what to suggest.
Me, i feel fine, perfect of sorts, just wish my head didn’t exist for awhile, too much pressure in doing nothing, to get things right, to make it straight
Image circa 77…writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

285 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/05

285 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/05 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The sun is setting. Pelicans are diving deep. Sticky clouds are falling off the edge of the horizon. Waves are turning themselves in, folding up into the shore. The sky on the sea is blooming mauve, burgundy, shades of tangerine. Silhouettes of clifftop islands march into the open fields of the long ocean. Dreams sail across the waters as a warm breeze and history kisses the palms full of mellow truth and endless time.
The day is turning in, families are calming down and cuddling into the evenings
night and talking soft like the rolling waves along the endless shore line.
The smart phone has spread its wings of information into every mind along the beach. The glow of communications illuminates dark faces in the dusk of the towns spread along the beaches of civilization. We are connected. Music emanates from every space of humanity. Silence is rare and feared. The sound of nature considered boring and naive.
In a typical day and average mind hears more songs than most would have heard in a full life time from the mid eighteen hundreds and before. People have become addicted to entertainment. They can not function without some visual and/or sound piercing their brains all day long. In the car, in the home, in the street, in the shops, department stores, in the work place, in everything everywhere from sun up to sundown, thru the night, thru their meals, while they think from birth to death.
My attempt to find a quiet sunset failed. Only the silence i preserve inside can keep me calm. You either become numb and fall into the noice or one must learn the difficult possibly impossible techniques to eliminate the frequencies agitating the cells of ones being. Eventually the civil law will force head set use in areas just like the forced smoking space. Common sense has rarely been common and getting more rare as the minutes roll in from the avenues. Light pollution, sound pollution, toxic pollution, mind pollution. Mankind is a very rude specie.
The sun is down, i missed most of it dealing with the new humanity infiltrating my brain. Fake pounding drum beats driving itself to the core of the mind constantly everywhere. From LA to Zimbabwe, Shanghai to Siberia people and their light, sound, fumes follow you like a trail of prophesies down the long turbulent road of humanity.
I left the beach and headed along streets of scratchy noice bouncing off cement and metal from the dreamt up structures forcing gas-lit bulbed-light across smelly air and despite things, i felt alive. Here i am small town mexico accepting life as it is, watching young girls, some of them with more folds on their stomach than i and others dripping with tight tenderness remembered from so long ago. Old men, young men, broken bicycles, loud exhaust, sharp light and noice from every direction. Ah, the romance of the cobble stone road down soft lit dreamy streets just far enough away from the mad action of the centre of town. I made it, peace caressing my mind.
Wherever you go today most of society is active and noisy. Technology is a gift but certainly a curse for all of the other secondary species inhabiting, coexisting with us here on this majestic planet.
I am here and i love it, most of the time. You just have to learn how to weave in and out of the mess outside and to warm up to those cosy corners that one must protect so well, inside. A few deep breaths and then the focus, attention.
Image circa 1977 – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

283 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/03

283 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/03 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The church, the cathedral, the lords house with its high ceilings and its sacred echo of angelic song and the voice of the lord emanating from high above the gold glazed alters. One can not mistaken the presence of pain and suffering jesus bestowed for the hearts of humanity to elevate themselves from venom of the earth to a higher order in the presence of god himself.
While the poor praise with their last material wealth to be in the presence of the lord, in their church of worship for the salvation of all, while at the same time the clergy, the bishops and priests live within wealthy walls and eat from the sweat, blood and toil of the congregation. The vatican being one of the wealthiest institutions on the planet let alone all the protestant jesus follower institutions of one kind or another. It is overwhelming that this continues while the planet dies.
I cannot continue writing about this hypocrisy and realize how many millions upon millions have bought into this absolute rubbish. It is just way too much for this brain to comprehend. There is more than enough evidence for one to discover this deceptive structure if one really wants to know the way it is. We got the internet, google, you tube, tons of info, there is no excuse other than a lack of courage and will.
I remember when i first entered a sweat lodge. It was a windy winter night in December, cold and snowing. The ground was frozen as we crawled into the sweat lodge church to sit on mother earth and talk with our creator, the grandfathers, the wind, the water. With shorts and a towel and not until everyone was inside and the hot glowing grandfathered rocks were brought in did the space begin to heat up. I remember realizing that no matter how powerful one medicine man became he could only instruct no more than the number that could physically sit in this church, his/her sweat lodge. It could never be institutionalized, it would never have gold statues and high echoed angelic ceilings. You had to be brave humble and sincere to crawl into this church and anyone was welcome, the priest, the medicine man was merely a conductor for procedures to run smooth and safe, but the teachings came from elsewhere. Many visions occur in this physically symbolic womb of mother earth.
The church in this image is one of millions on this planet with a wealth undescribable to most members. It is totally disgusting, unjust, useless and serves mankind as a cover-up for real so called spiritual work. It is time for humanity to wake up and shut down these institutions that are sucking their wealth and their souls dry.
This is my opinion and apparently jesus had a similar concept; possibly he implanted this in my brain.. I was brought up catholic and it took years to scrape the quilt off my soul for feeling condemned for what would be called blasphemous for realizing the total insane structure of the church and all its fabricated higher order.
I understand that people feel they need to have something to believe in. Most do not have the will or integrity to truly investigate for themselves and the few that do often take the easy intellectual route with a few schizophrenic like visions as proof that it must all be real. A few visions are just the tip of the iceberg on the real road of the pathless trail.
Of course nothing of the sort is going to happen in my life time. But i don’t need jesus, moses, mohammad, budha, and all the other gurus and entities to be right and honest and true and i don’t believe anyone else does neither. If anything, we need to be saved from this conventional institutionalized religious dogma before all mankind and the earth is completely destroyed. That includes the strict beliefs in anything including cast-iron science; the law is changing moving evolving, the mathematics of tomorrow will be a religion of the past. It is simple, as thought is stationary and still, reality is moving and on the go. One must dive deep into the abyss to see how shallow the idealistic nature of the ego really is and how to un-stick its nature.
It feels right and true to walk within the changing tide, scary at times but as it should be and never the less, as it is.
This church as so many others is a beautifully architecturally designed structure and though i do appreciate the ingenuity and beauty of mans creations, overall, my heart prefers the architecture of nature and for prayer and revelations, the simple humble structure and immense powers of the sweat lodge.
The war of the gods is all in the heads of man.
Image 1977 Mexico – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

282 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/02

282 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/02 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Crashing waves along the shore curve of quantum waters sucking to its core. This is the energy path, the movement that all matter, a low-vibration-substance must abide by. All physical things follow a path laid out before itself. The big bang didn’t explode it just appears that way. A silent energy movement sucks matter to itself endlessly in an opposite direction. Gravity is a weak matter movement overpowered by levity. All matter moves towards this unseen energy as water from a mountain creek flows downwards attracted towards an upwards stream of unseen levity energy pulling the water with a downwards gravity to itself.
I collected these concepts from observations that ended up here inside my imagination. Imagination as gravity and direct non-thought observation as levity. All laws are theory that even on their best days only work most of the time. It always ends up in the same playing field, the math of thought is limited and reality is always infinite and beyond, a knowing that slips in and out of consciousness, leaving non-absolute thought in its wake. The mind is a myth.
Imagine an unknown energy movement in the shape of a tornado parabolic cone that is sucking matter from outside the vortex cone lid but is travelling inwards towards the centre of the spiral vortex. To the observer it looks like an explosion of matter outwards like our big whopper of a bang theory. The closer you get to the inside movement of the unseen inward energy the more matter is spewed outwards looking like a force exploding creating matter from the opposite levity movement that is in control….eg: gravity as 1 (outwards) mass of matter and levity energy as 1.618infinity (inwards); the golden mean found everywhere in the universe, a constant made from an infinite number which is not constant at all……..but close enough.
You don’t have to leave the planet to observe this phenomenon, you can observe it in nature everywhere from all the golden mean fibinochi movements of buds and plants sprouting, pine cones and the relationship of the fibonacci sequence of eight rows of seeds twirling downwards and five whirling upwards, flowers and their parabolic outwards growth movement, leaves in spring time unfolding and even water whirling down your toilet……….its everywhere and well documented these days via the Tube.
It is hard at first to wrap your head around that all matter is moving because of an opposite energy movement more powerful sucking to itself. So the sucking inwards imploding unseen movement is dominant. It took me many years before i could see and feel this understanding as a fact and as a more natural reasonable movement of matter, especially in reference to water and air. Levity was a much more common possibility before Newton came along and shifted science to a more destructive explosive way of thinking about matter and the dominance of gravity. Quantum physics is changing that again. We will never get it completely right but working within natures natural ways can help us live in a much more harmonized condition from technology to psychology. Often our science believes it can force and reshape reality without concern of disturbing the sacred unequal balance of the golden mean and that means much more than we may think. It appears we can manipulate the balance for awhile before real destructive forces take hold. If we are smart and humble enough and realize the folly and stupidity of our arrogance it may be possible to rebalance this delicate balance.
This is a simplified reason why explosive energy is destroying the balance of nature. It must be fuelled constantly whereas implosive energy movement forms will constantly move matter of air and water in an implosive, increased velocity direction…..Viktor Schauberger investigated this understanding thoroughly and devised numerous devises to give us all and more of what we need in energy, transportation, heat and cold without any pollution whatsoever. Our society is not ready it appears and the monstrous monetary system based on the explosive technological fuelling system will not crumble easily, probably until it is too late, it may already be too late. Most environmental ‘save-the-planet’ movements are bandages that will eventually also collapse but at least it has people realizing we need a major transformation.. If one was truly interested there is more than enough info online these days concerning Viktor Schauberger and Implosive Biotechnology. It appears that most of us have been too tainted or numbed down to understand the simplicity of our misunderstanding of natures ways.
Schauberger also predicted this predicament. It is no ones fault, it is everyones.
I am walking along the coast with my freind. I see the beauty of the crashing waves to the gentle minds along the cove. I also see the unseen disaster in every imbalanced cell tainted by mankind’s greed based technology creating a dangerous momentum towards our doom in every cell-call we make, every folk of food we eat, every plane ride we take, every thought we use to cover up natures message with a wink.
I am enjoying a cool drink and letting the beauty of the setting sun swim slowly over my one opened eye. I love this life and all its contradictions……….wink!
Image circa west coast 2018 – writing yesterday

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281 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/01

281 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/01 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Remember when we were young how nothing much mattered. It was all so immediate, the closest things at hand were all that we paid attention to. One minute we were laughing and the next questioning and learning something new. Simple things kept us amused for hours, dislikes tormented us every time they arrived in our mind. Food we hated to taste but were forced to digest turned us into panic, tears, disgust.. We would cry as if the world was about to end.
When we were tired we just wanted someone we loved to be close. I suppose we have learned to control these reactions as age developed but it makes you wonder occasionally with the way we are still so often like grown up kids.
There are billions of pictures of children these days and more and more being created every second. Black and white and gray. The texture of the background wall against the casual stance of a young man watching over his younger sister protecting her from any possibility of harm. This was in a time when it is quite likely that they had never been photographed before; an honour possibly, a suspect likely.
Love weaves itself in and out of reality like an intricate cloth woven by special angels and occasionally the past arrives early to a future for one more short glance at a dream that never was.
Hello my name is Rodriquez and this is my sister Catalina. I am almost fifty years old, my sister died young from complications with her heart. It broke after my dad left. My mother struggled alone for years. She made sure i got the best education i could. I am a doctor in a costal town of west Mexico. I am married with three kids, two daughters and a son all healthy and beautiful. I remember this man with light skin pointing this glass object at us while we were playing around in our corridor. I later learned that those glass medal objects were cameras. I began to wonder about the image suddenly stolen from my childhood and how we looked, my dear sister and i.
With unlikely possibility one evening doing online research about heart surgery in Mexico i stumbled across some Mexican images taken by a photographer from Canada. I couldn’t believe my eyes when i saw this black and white and gray image of two children against a textured cement gray wall…..that was me and my dear sister Catalina.
i haven’t contacted the photographer patrick wey yet but someday i will. This is the only image that exists of my sister. i remember when we were young and nothing much mattered.
Unlikely stories from lost dreams.
Image circa 1977 writing yesterday

280 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/30

280 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/30 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
One must walk out on your own, carry your own load. Days’ll be tough, roads long but no ones gonna do it for ya. There’s always another day to work your magic till there’s not. There is always someone carrying a heavier load than yours so help them on their way. There will always be the ones that will criticize any attempt you make in being real, in being simple and honest. Jealousy is inherent in us all to different degrees but yet we continue to ‘point’ with every finger we have to our hearts content and then some. Social media is encouraging the destruction of humanity but there is more to it than that. You’re destroying this earth, this world, you and all your fucking constant manipulations and deceit to ramming your belief systems no matter what they are down the throats of others. You just can’t conceive of a world where everyone accepts that we don’t really know anything for certain and that for centuries you have been played the fool, it has all been fabricated, manufactured, formulated to control this and that, you and them for money and power. That is the simple explanation and of course your mind now is screaming with every breath with just the possibility in knowing that your mind may be totally fucking wrong. And who in the hell am i to suggest this. Well i’m just a guy who has gone to the edge so many times and been up and down so many trails and talked to gods and devils to the trees the waters and all has lead me to a love that thought can not know. The truth is unknowable in this way. You can not bring truth back from the heavens with your mind but you can tell fantastic stories and some of these tales may help others with their burdens, their carts of conclusions and definite abstracts but they must eventually crumble to live free, real and as the super humans we are being drawn towards to be, possibly.
It is all too scary for most so we cling onto the secure cluster of thoughts we call our sacred greed with our god, our creator, our ideals, our science, institutions and authority. Possibly that used to work in a society geographically separated but in this unified world where numerous earth species and human extinction is very real and on our front door step, it is just not acceptable any longer. We all have to question the validity of our very minds and what we with its’ tool of thought ‘reason’ can really be known and what, if anything, can we all believe together as one race, one people. Our beliefs are killing each other, the world and the scared love we all so desperately want to believe exists.
We continue to pull our wagons of truth carry our loads of beliefs thru the streets and avenues hoping to arrive somewhere for good, forever but where do we end up but back here, right back here on the back porch of discontent with an eager uncertain smile beaming out through our front door……….
Possibly the only answer is for…………another day; (brave ventures into the unknown crevices of the mind; psychedelics, isolation tanks, sweats, vision quests, whatever dissolves the ego whereas real truth and love may hold you for a moment or two)
What can i say, my self is on the line, bending, changing with every image.
Image circa 1977, writing yesterday

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Mexico | DSC_0118.tif
Patrick Wey

279 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/29

279 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/29 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I came to tell you a few things. About the way things were when most of you were asleep amongst the sheep. There were hard rain hurricanes and soft elusive lights on every window sill from London to LA. Hardly a soul saw what was coming but there were a few blue eyed sons walking the alleyways. There could have been a new world, a much better way to live out our time here in the sacred womb of the earth. There was a force like never before to make things right but we were driven down like we were the enemy. All we really wanted was to care for everything to the limit but you wouldn’t let us. You stomped us into the ground, squashed us into the dirt beneath your greedy feet. You manipulated the masses into believing you were on their side and now after all these years many more have awakened and yet still so many half asleep, numb, sedated.
I left the streets for the coast, too much confusion here, too much conflict between the dreams.
In the cool light of the night i look back and wonder, could it really have shone, this love we saw, this love we felt for everything together like one.
Wasn’t there more than enough to go around and now it’s obviously much too late, the gates closed, the collaboration has gone solo. You’re on your own, the world is not one, it’s every man for himself. The beatles are listening to dylan again and just like a bunch of well worn rolling stones, memory has been tainted, distorted, twisted like a length of dangling rope, waiting.
And so it goes, stranded like the night, walking.

Image circa 2010 – writing yesterday

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278 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/28

278 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/28 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
There is so much more that could be said. You think you can get away with a few trips into your head as if time was constant and to be resolved. You are attached to everything, the furthest star is your neighbour the smallest spec a long wave. Every theory you attempted to own, owned you in the end. There was no end, there is no end. A few years ago you were sitting as you are but in a desert night with a cactus as your guide and visions of patterned chaos in control of everything. The jesus you knew transformed into a few creatures before your eyes, and did tricks for you, the dream in a dream of a dream took you beyond yourself. You found no self. You belong to no one. What you thought was real melted into the desert sands. A medicine man appeared from the fire, sang you into a scene, took you places you’ll never remember, taught you to realize nothing really matters but everything has a consequence. Laws evolve, everything is a reflection. Freedom drives consciousness into itself but reason will always be a weak truth.
As i sat there inside of you, i could feel your discomfort with the way things are. You were hoping for things to follow but they didn’t, just when you thought you had it together things changed. These are simply words crashing into one another attempting a dialogue with themselves. They can not go any further than the edge of mind. The vast space is thoughtless and demands you leave yourself at the gate but there is no barrier.
It was a hot day on the Zocalo, i had a few moments alone before my life was to return. I sat there letting the mind go as it did. It is strange how a simple glimpse can take you so far. Who would have ever suspected how vast the mind can travel in a few flashes of our time. Who could have known what had been implanted as i had pondered here in meditation. You, me, future, past,, interwoven for a flash.
circa the Main Zocalo Mexico City 1977 – literature yesterday.

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Patrick Wey

276 Your elusive walls and delicate lies.

276 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/26 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Your elusive walls and delicate lies. The beauty beneath your skin and the avenues so in tune to you. How could anyone misplace you? The door keeper with his facade entered like he owned you but you didn’t let on, you kept your dignity and caressed his heart with your magnitude and sunset eyes. The times they had changed, by the day end the war was over and no-one cared about your degrees and folded up knowledge, the world was focused on intricate entertainment, the type that slowly squeezes you inside and bends you out of shape. The way you handled the saints and all their prodigies as if you cared with your sensitive love and the dreamy touch you gave just when they thought they could own you. How did you escape with so few scars, what did you have to sell to get here, what did you tell the commissioner, how did you convince the judge.
There are so few that understand the things that must be understood to touch the other side. There is no sense in trying to explain the visions to the blind. In this world of sound there isn’t a single chord out of place and when you’re playing hard with your soft heart it can ease the most weary from that sharp death. You were seen by a few as you disappeared inside the photographs on the wall. That was me there behind the camera long before this night. This is a setup, a scene from some burned out city street and i was sent by who knows who to document you. This is it, there were jokers and thieves down by the docks just waiting for the ship to come in. They waited hundreds of years for this night without hardly a sense of what was about to happen.
But things changed again, you never showed up and the ship died at sea. It just goes to show you flat out that you can’t depend on prophecies any more than the night. This portrait of you by your windows reflection with your truth so well concealed.The tainted glass-wall of the window is behind you now.
I always wanted to tell you just how much this moment meant but time twisted me out of your life and all that i have left now is this grey image of you looking out your open window to the dark tar valley below.
Image circa 80’s – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

275 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/25

275 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/25 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I am a pig and i love this rugged landscape. They call me Jose when they want my attention. I have the freedom to wander wherever i want. Somedays i just sit and look over into the mountains. I watch the lizards roam around in the desert sand, well, i imagine them. Sometimes i feel like another entity, like i shape shifted or something like that, became a coyote for awhile and meandered around the hot sands from one shady nook to the next.
This area used to be more populated a couple hundred years ago, you can still see the old walls melted into the mountain slopes. They named this place Real De Catorce. To this day Huichol medicine people come here to the lowlands at different times of the year to harvest the sacred Peyote cactus. They do ceremonies in the desert evening air and connect with the spirits of their ancestors from here and off into distant lands, even other planets stars and stars away. Occasionally i’ve felt their presence slipping thru my mind but they mostly swim-shift thru to the more wild ones, crows, snakes, eagles, coyotes and such.
I’m totally at home here. It’s less stress, i get fed often enough. Yes my life is cut short but my little ones carry on. It’s all the same to me, i don’t remember much and it’s just the way it is.
Image 1977, writing yesterday

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274 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/24

274 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/24 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Some say I’m negative, my words depressing. So what. Those are usually the ones that want it all sweet and certain. I use to care but that was yesterday. I don’t attempt to find the negative in this world it just presents itself, there’s plenty of it to go around but that doesn’t depress me and if it does you, well what can i say, put another pretty picture on your wall, i’ve got thousands of um for the right price. You see, i need um too.
I didn’t travel down these roads to get anything in particular, and if i found some good fortune along the trail it was because i stuck to the path, stayed focused on the mission at hand, but most of the time i didn’t evaluate life in those terms. I just wiped any past off as best i could and kept walking. No, it never disappeared completely, death’ll do that but it did allow for a new breeze to blow against this mind while i rambled on.
I don’t have much use for the superficial shit that floats around but i accept it the best i can and no doubt, i have contributed my own fare share. I ain’t no saint and i never said i was and if you think i implied a ‘holier than thou’ attitude, well you’ve been mistaken, i’m just a guy that was looking for something that it appears no one has ever found and i see now, no one ever will. Most lie and want you to believe what they believe, but it’s all made up, a fantasy, a dream. So when i see most people wandering down a similar terrain expecting it all for nothing, no hardship, no desert nights alone with nothing but you and you and you. Well sometimes it makes me laugh and others times it just makes me sick. A lack of compassion some do say, a lack of this or a little of that, whatever, hit the road jack and that does it for me, i’m gone. As i said, i don’t care, shove your face-look social praise where the sun don’t shine. There ain’t anyone i have to please but if a few find my words resemble some thoughts roaming around in their own questioning brains, well then that’s great, reassuring of sorts, but it doesn’t change a thing, just feels a little less lonely in here, i suppose.
The curtain falls and i can feel the next scene supposing itself just beyond some dream on another slippery edge of time. So i better move on, so as to catch the next glimpse of light, when it shows up.
Image circa 1977 but it could have been tomorrow.

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

273 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/23

273 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/23 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Is there anybody listening asked the traveler? Is there any room left on the walls for a little piece of me? You see i’m just like you, i need a name to capture my thoughts upon too. Something to die for, something to hang on to, something to let go of. The hills in the distance are too far, the beach is too hot, the streets too slow for dreaming. A simple breeze skims thru the palms, some birds fly by inside a blue sky. There is so much more somewhere, so many things i could have done, could have been. Here i am mellow and belonging to no-one. A few dreams float by and i catch a glimpse. I let them go, there are others they can catch, still in need of purpose. I am content to hold nothing. I am a simple vessel, one that lives for nothing, cares when i care and one whom holds no ideal to dear.
They appear out of nowhere just in the nick of time, the little ones, the bright ones. When you least expect it, love covers you. Love so free and yet it costs so much. All your dreams, all your conclusions crash away when the waters of mystery sails upon your soul.
Image circa 1976 – writing yesterday

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Patrick Wey

272 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/22

272 Image-Content of the Day 2018/11/22 of-by patrick wey  http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
In the early morning mist stuffing newspapers for a few bucks on the way to the top. You got your dreams and i got mine we’re just different fantasies caught in time. This day is long gone and the news faded into the streets like dying dreams do, into peoples lives, into their souls, into the cracks of their bedroom walls.
It’s hard to imagine just what happened here. Where were they goin when the ads got sandwiched into the rag, when their job was done, where did they end up from the heat and the heart of the metropolis?
The city was barely awake, the all night people were crawling home, traffic polite and sparse, the silent folk were scraping their thoughts together and the avenues rolled into the dawn with a grateful smile while the steady hum of machine slowly wound its routine louder and further along the tar. Alive again, another day with the news headed for the masses, little written words jammed into packets of meaning to get them through the day.
The daily news so yesterday and so over done. The love of life for a few cents and a glass of time. This is life in the city; clean, straight, forward, entertaining on a good day.
Image circa 1977 Mexico City

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Patrick Wey