B98 … I was such a fool.

Big Hat in the Southwest with Patrick

Isn’t it a pity
Now, isn’t it a shame
How we break each other’s hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other’s love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Isn’t it a pity

Some things take so long
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we’re all the same
And because of all their tears
Their eyes can’t hope to see
The beauty that surrounds them

Isn’t it a pity
George Harrison
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIbVWNy7HBk

Passed a train full of fools on the way towards the gate. Watched them roll up sleeves, recite anthems, get down on their knees. I just had to look, it was their smile that tore my heart apart. Later that afternoon, sun blaring loud and screams silently weaving in and around the streets, noticed some love scrambling up along the road side waiting for a saviour or two to open up some gates, but by the time night rolled in, it was senseless, too late.

Headed out to nowhere on my way thru a mind, caught a glimpse of solitude swaying around a lost sign, spent a few days trying to convince myself that this was all for real, left for the horizon one hand on the hammer and the other on a wheel.

Passed a train full of fools on the way towards………………………………

Got off, settled in, sang some song that landed on my voice. Was calm when you turned your head and kissed my saddened wounds. Felt the pleasure of your love late, late into the afternoon. Heard someone say, ‘hey, i would like to, but i can’t stay’. The ways of a stranger in times as these lifts one up to the great rewards promised from a cafe down a street, but it’s all in the game, it ends dead, late, just before the gate.

Out on the road to nowhere with Big Hat

It is a crying shame the way people have been treating each other. The injected against the none, the veiled tearing off the heads of the naked. The believers killing the adverse-believers. How did we get to this? How can family and friends disown others because they refuse to believe in what they believe? How can they smash love against the walls? Have we all gone insane? Really? I used to be able to disagree with your beliefs in jesus, buddha, liberals, laws,  science’s and what have you, but somehow we can’t refuse a jab and sit at the same table, drink from the same glass, enjoy our company in that low evening light getting dark.

We’re excommunicated, it’s obvious, dead to our families, many friends and acquaintances, diseased, deranged, condemned until death. Don’t bullshit us, we can feel it, we ain’t blind, your sweet love stings. So many fake hearts crawling across the glamour of split plastic forked-lips down main streets across the globe. It makes me sick to the core of my reality. It’s all so unreal so unbelievable how this world has turned against itself. I have heard of so many families torn apart. How could a global health organization turn us against one another? How could we let that happen? How did they succeed? In years to come this will be the great hoax that exposed the truth of the depth of the herd as a shallow stream of self indulgent phoney limited lovers. How much more will the hurt have to hurt before real love steps up to the gate, walks thru to say hello in there, hello mate?

Well i still care about you, you can still enter my home, you can still dream thru my windows….you are my brother, my sister as stubborn as we might be, the simple love will survive, you can’t own it, buy it, destroy it. If love depended on our minds, there’d be hardly any love at all. Get back, to where we once belonged.

So possibly some of us will wake up before death comes to drag us away. What is the point in standing up for corporate institutionalized dogma criteria while lifes love is floating by just above these golden sewers of hell. I for one will welcome anyone that wishes to explore that fresh air where the fair hand of caring comes first. There is no perfection here along the shores of this world, wake up, this day is the day where all things possible come alive. Hey, take this sincere embrace and past it along, lets laugh again from the depths of our guts, let’s be the light thru these heavy scenes; they will surely die.

Big Hat in the SouthWest, dead mufflers and vacant stations

I remember when we were younger and times were simpler, so we thought. I am not totally sure what you thought, now that i know a little of how you are reacting to this new world and the order it is imposing. Oh well, i am not really sure if any of that matters, at all, now. Remember, how we laughed, as if nothing much mattered cept the moment, how music drove right into our souls, the nights walking around doing nothing and talking about something. When the differences seemed less important, something that could pass by, something that would be forgotten. Things are different now. 

It makes me sad at times, as i’m sure it does you. Really blows me away sometimes when i think from somewhere, way out there…….what, we are being crucified for different beliefs in how we handle are bodies health? Wow, let it alone…wow, wish i could but the whole world is jamming jabs into our veins as if it was oxygen, something necessary to survive…it ain’t. Needles full of control and deceit.

How do we get thru this? We can’t even talk about it. I know i have been shunned by most family and friends, i’m not the only one. It’s a world problem now. Dialog seems to be the only way around this awkward curse cast upon our world. Most will not open up to see the possibilities of entanglement, too weird to acknowledge, much simpler to condemn what they consider as absurd, conspiracy hunches and therefore continue to build walls and live within these walls……….but their rooms are turning dark and they’re dragging this beautiful sacred earth into it.

I will continue to walk this road with the friends left with the cobble stone conclusions beneath. ‘This is the way the world dies, not with a bang but with a whimper’…..T.S.Elliot

In The Hat, ‘we’re all together’…

The hollow men, the slaves in orbit, the weary and down trodden. We are the world, we are the magic in the night, the devastation of day, we are the people, the masked, the obedient, the dreamers, the thinkers, the lovers and haters, we are one divided in tender trembling hearts.

Now that we are used to drastic measures, after the shadows comes the hard dark black. The plan, as i speak will tear your souls apart if you let um, and the hollow minds will suck you in with determined acceptance, and your world will die, not with a bang but with a whimper.

I Won’t Back Down –Jonny Cash…..  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8i5NLyXZdc

Tom Petty version… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G4ustq-kmQ

I can’t even hear the thoughts you think, you’re that far behind.

BIG CHANGES RESTING IN MY HEART – I am so happy today, yesterday. I’m such an idiot, so stupid. I finally figured out facebook. It is like going to your in-laws for dinner or a first date or a job interview or something similar. Never discuss politics, religion or anything you may be quite concerned or obsessed about; don’t ever torture anyones beliefs.. Be polite, compliment often, nothing very serious or loonng, laugh a lot and remember birthdays, celebrations, anniversaries. Be light and if you must be heavy, be certain that you follow the trend, the majority or you will end up being condemned with few words, ostracized, shunned. Trust me newbies and oldies alike, i’ve been through it all. Post cute pictures containing animals, babies, elders, family members; soft edges, little poems. With all that being said, thank you all for your time, you are all so patient, kind, articulate, responsible, caring, honest, forgiving, mindful, faithful, loyal, eloquent, and punctual. I love you all for that more than you may ever know. Gee, i hope i didn’t over do it. ………. it makes it all so easy now, thanks again and again….and yea, again, what a fool i’ve been and an idiot too!

A Fool in the Desert Dancing in Big Hat

“The Fool On The Hill”

Day after day, alone on a hill
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him
They can see that he’s just a fool
And he never gives an answer

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning ’round

Well on the way, head in a cloud
The man of a thousand voices talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hears him
Or the sound he appears to make
And he never seems to notice

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning ’round

And nobody seems to like him
They can tell what he wants to do
And he never shows his feelings

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning ’round

He never listens to them
He knows that they’re the fools
They don’t like him

The fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning ’round
Paul & John the Beatles
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsRatIMUSu8

writing and images (all old time selfies) by patrick wey

Many more images of interchangeable friends and family and foe here

My Mother Learned to Listen In Big Hat as I am
Hat Man out on the Range with a Broken Car in a Wonderful World
The Man in the Hat with a Thousand Faces Standing Perfectly Still
Patrick at 35 in an alleyway of Toronto
Patrick’s four sisters, and mothers – Barbara, Rosalyn, Trudy, Carolyn…i miss them all.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise.

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim,
you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
lose, and start again at your beginnings,
never breathe a word about your loss
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
‘a woman, my daughter

B97 … up past the dawn

San Miguel de Allende from a narrow high cobble stone road

We left Orizaba and Kachi’s caged animal friends behind and headed towards San Miguel de Allende. Sasha found a place online outside the city that appeared quaint and beautiful. A community of a few small casitas down a difficult road. Sasha was terribly sick all day with flue like symptoms, stomach ache, headaches, a complete mess on the nine hours on the road. Trying to rest in the back seat with Kachi in the front. We arrived close and headed up a cobble stone road that was incredibly bumpy for about four kilometres forcing me to a few k an hour. Then another turn onto an even worse road and eventually arrived according to google maps and thank god for g maps. It was a gate with no building in site, locked and no internet service. I was frustrated and tried to keep it confined but some of it escaped into the fresh desert air getting thicker. Sasha got out with a blanket and proceeded to be ill, lying on the earth while i scampered about tired, irritated with no solution forming across our minds. We saw another gate a few hundred metres down the road and Sasha suggested i walk down to see if i could get service to call the owners. Half way down i decided to walk back and get her in the car and drive there and if that failed, we’re outa there. We found service and talked to the owner Arleta. She said, ‘drive in’ and she would be on her way to meet us. When we met i expressed my views of terrible marketing, not letting us know how bad the road was but she was charming and eased the atmosphere with her polish calming presence. We left it at that, though it lingered on in my mind for awhile, i had to focus on Sasha, her illness.

The place was and is great. A beautiful land of cactuses of all sorts and beautiful adobe casitas, a common kitchen and a few dogs that accepted Kachi right off. Sasha headed for the bed immediately, we eventually joked about my attitude and it later repainted another memory which i will describe later on down the page.

San Miguel de Allende…narrow roads thru hills and old stone

The day broke with sun light streaming in the eastern window and us feeling much better. Sasha recovered by the next day and we just hung out and talked and got to know the owners, Arleta and Brian and her fifteen year old son Diego. We are situated on the side of a long slightly sloping hill over looking a wide desert valley with low soft curve mountainous hills silhouetted against the ends of the earth where the sky bends down to kiss the land.

I never expected that Arleta, a middle aged beautiful polish women would be a medicine woman conducting sweat lodge ceremonies right here just a number of metres from our cosita. Something was shaping in this relationship between my mind and the spirits surrounding, i could feel it, i knew something was coming, i couldn’t ignore the trail any longer, destiny was pulling me to the fire for a purification whether i wanted it or not.

In the next few days we travelled in to San Miguel a couple of times with Arleta and she showed us around. A beautiful city of narrow streets, high hills, ancient buildings of stone and brick, cobble stone roads, a magical fairy land from any perspective. We were slowly falling in love with the area and our hosts. Doors seemed to be opening for Sasha and myself. My mind was eliminating the full shelves of covid/world control information daily and replacing this space with that undistinguished energy that comes from the debts of mother earth. A long time coming, this road thru man and beast. Things were changing, i could feel it slowly filling the cells of my heart.

Turns out that a sweat was happening in a few days and of course we were invited. I hadn’t had a sweat since we left Ontario over five years ago. From doing sometimes three sweats a week to running my own lodge for ten years, that was a long recess. I knew it and other parts of my mind and heart were well aware of this lapse. I was on a sabbatical and it was ending. I am older now and to fall back into the path was a little easier to accept from here. I had been given an incredible life with many changes and many experiences that few have encountered. I was getting ready for another dive into death, the void, the sacred fields of nothingness where everything is born. Scared, yes at times, but that is all a part of the journey….you just step into the circle and perform, surrender to the powers that brought you here and will take you away…….as Vern would say ‘this red road never gets easier but it does get better’. Thats his words, an elder, a friend, a cree/irish medicine man now exploring the other side, i presume.

The streets of San Miguel de Allende

The sweat lodge ceremony came and went. Three hours abouts, a long one, normal here i hear. I was always taught ‘what happens in the lodge stays in the lodge’. That helps to keep it pure and safe. It brought many memories to the surface that i may need while in ceremony in Wirikuta, the sacred lands of grandmother peyote. In a few days we head towards her. It has been over thirty years since i went there three years in a row. I carry remnants that came to me the first time i was led there and now this remaining small piece of stone crystal has aided me back for the forth time. Things on the red road happen in fours, completes a cycle, ends something and brings something new into the space of a heart patiently secretly waiting. Things end and that can be difficult, hard on the mind, but the new things strengthen the heart with spirit, the engine, the power, the love to keep you walking true. It has been a long life, long road and i am thankful for the decisions that had brought these medicines to my heart. I still linger in regrets for lost loves, lost friends, family and twists and turns that altered realities that could have been. I don’t ponder on these but they surface at times, bring tears of heavy and soft light across the fields of my cheeks. That is the rewards of a life of hard trails and sweet love, deep darkness and intense light. Possibly the gemini in me explains a few of the difficulties that arose throughout these many years, possibly not. Thought itself has been my greatest enemy and also my dearest tool to swing me through the doors of perception, the spaces of the heart, voids and heavens, allies and enemies. My strength has always been my sincerity to exist free, the way of the heart is the only truth i know, it is the only way for a peaceful warrior, the only way to know love. Love is this energy, spirit that holds the universe together, it is the mystery that moves all things. You can’t own it, buy it, contain it, ask for it. You can’t feel it without truth, it is inseparable and truth lies still beyond all thought. Feelings mostly, are clusters of thought pretending to be something they are not. It is a long way to get somewhere and yet it is always so much closer than one might feel or think. I ask the earth and spirits of Wirikuta to allow me in, that i may surrender my heart and to be present to listen to the messages in your winds.

Thru a connection from Arleta we met a person that knows the lands of Wirikuta well and arranged for a cosita right there in the desert, minutes from the medicine, by foot.

Sasha, Arleta and her ninety year old mom

We arrived yesterday to here in Wirikuta, the desert over laying the land down from Real de Catorse where the sacred medicine grows. The Huichol and others have been coming here for thousands of years they say. I was here over thirty years ago for three years in a row with ceremonies of the sacrament of grandmother peyote. That changed my life and connected me with the northern tribes, Vern Harper and the sweats, vision quests, the rain dance and other ceremonies and ways. I am back here to pay tribute for the teachings that were implanted in my brain so many trails behind. There is a small community here of wanderers from various parts of the earth, living here cheap and walking the desert for change, for the medicine, for knowledge and life. Of course no one here is 73 as myself, much younger sincere people weaving in and out of the realities of this world. 

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Wirikuta dusty road to uncertainty

We met a Polish woman whom took us on a walk and a number of buttons found us the same day we arrived. I began digesting some of the fruit on the walk. They are difficult to find and they show themselves in peculiar ways. Sasha at one point said to her self, so she thought, that i will only eat one if i find one, instantly she found two together. Later she said i will only eat what i find and again two more presented themselves to her immediately. I asked for nothing and found none but was given medicine from Veronica, our guide thru this sea of cactuses and this strange beautiful earth, a dry underwater ocean of unusual life. It was late afternoon and i was up all night, past the dawn. The time took me thru various scenes pleasant and unpleasant. I felt the powers of uncertainty everywhere, an unsatisfying feeling thru out. I ingested just enough to take me far in but not over the edge as my three pervious encounters so long ago had. The medicine stopped me from more, as it tends to do, which kept me lingering in this state from severe dimensions of beauty to uncomfortable visions dark and thick. In those dark moments the best way thru was to sing and let the power of sound vibrate thru my being. I asked for nothing but to listen to the voices of the earth and this was the answer; let the sound of earths songs be my protection and way thru life. Another theme that immersed myself into its arms was the incredible understanding of humanity being incredibly pitiful. Oliver, a medicine man teacher from my past would often begin his sweat lodge prayers with the words, ‘thank you mishomis, i am such a pitiful creature’ and carry on from there. I felt this human pitifulness as i had never felt it before. We are all so pitiful in our understanding of nature, creation and love. Dylan once used a line, ‘people that know more than they do’ which always struck me about the so many that carry on with certainties that don’t exist. We are so pitiful in our walk. With life so uncertain in every aspect of thought, the sound of earths songs are often the only reality that can keep one sane. That is what happened to me for many hours, to make certain i remember through out my walk on this earth to listen, listen to my song, help the pitiful creatures, my brothers and sisters with kindness, caring and love. We all so desperately need each others love. All though much of the time with grandmother peyote was difficult this time, and as she said, that ‘the understanding will come’, more and more now i realize it had to dig deep, very deep to keep my mind from wandering away from this realization, to have it scare me deep and severe into the realm of understanding so i may never forget to live pure and love and to be honest within my heart. We are all so pitiful in our knowing, love is the love that holds us together. Call it what you want, but we need each others help in so many ways. We are dying in a sea of self righteousness, we are so pitiful.

Wirikuta homes for the wanderers

I didn’t have a drum or rattle which may have helped so i had to rely on the songs i had learned from ceremonies of sweats and others. One song was a song i learned right here in the desert of wirikuta over thirty years ago from Prem Das’s wife, and i have used that song many times since……Hey Yana Wana Ho. This land is so quiet, i hear ringing so often, like a plague of locusts. I realize in order to hear the people, life, god, you have to learn how to listen. Listening is so much more than hearing a few words from a few mouths on a few afternoons in a few cathedrals or a few leaders talking in parables; listening is hard, it is being present with nothing hindering your consciousness reinterpreting this raw truth….this is where love and truth are one. This is where it all begins and this is where we all end up and if we are lucky we learn how to tap into this realm while we are on this long walk thru time and understand for a few moments the power of earth song, silence and love. 

There is no doubt this night was difficult, difficult in a different way than normal. I was scared, really scared at times. I have been scared many times in life and i have experience in these ways but still fear can be new and i felt the fear of the world in my veins, in my blood, in me, personal and impersonal. We are rotating in a world joined by the wind, we are one in so many ways. We are pitiful creatures living in fear and attempting to smother it with secure beliefs but nothing truly works. Dylan begins a song/poem ‘Visions of Joanna’ with, ‘Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks on you when you’re trying to be so quiet, we sit here stranded, though we’re all doin our best to deny it’.

The other night i did not escape from this realization, for hours in a tormenting realization of this dicotomy with one way out….be busy in the love of listening and earth song, hearing and reacting with love, kindness, caring and live your life honest with the self that emanates through out the heart. Simple, difficult and yet easy.

Woman from the desert store

I could have told you this when i was 19, i did tell you this then. In the land of truth nothing changes. Live your life free, with truth and love, be honest and walk to the ends of the horizon where love begins. I interpret love as spirit, truth, god, eternal intelligence, pure energy. It is a lot of things, it is caring, it is helping, it is living free, it is walking your talk, it is holding your heart for all to see, it is falling and rising, it is in knowing, it is in life, it is pure, whole, it is listening, hearing. Sometimes love captures your soul and caresses your heart, sometimes it appears as a gift for a moment or two, possibly to show you the way, but listening is the way to eternal love, the way is listening, listening is everything, it is the way.

Now is the time for me to shut up and listen.

You cannot ask yourself ‘how’ to listen, without creating a path of your own doin and leading you elsewhere. Somehow you just stop all activity in your mind and then your brain, heart, and spirit glides thru the terrain of silence and timeless memory with the winds of love on the eternal way.

Sasha began her eating the next day. Her time with grandfather peyote is hers. There are lessons no matter how you cut it. Her time is her time. This desert has its way of introducing itself in the most peculiar ways, with vague clear patterns of change.

There are numerous stories told and untold that can surface in the dry air surrounding Wirikuta. Veronica and i had a conversation earlier and she told me some of what took place with her time here in the last months. She is a brave woman with numerous moments with the medicine and also of hours of accomplished boredom here alone in the desert sands. All has had an enormous affect on her outlook of life and it seems certain she will carry this into the hearts of many before she leaves this sacred earth. The connections from one button to the next spread out across this vast land is like a huge flower grid of transmitting energy tingling thru your bones, on a direct path to your source, the heart of everything, the centre of gravity where love levitates and dances upon the soul. Her energy sees clear the uncertainty i could feel, like a vase with out a form, a shelter without a storm, a being without a home. She emanates a sincerity warm and tender, like a woman in love, like a river in the rain.

Weronika talking with me about the ways of the desert

The dichotomy ran thru everything i was facing, the treacherous paths to freedom, the strangling fears to exist, the warmest embrace in this universe. I was aware as aware can be that i would never know what it was that my mind thirsted for. I knew this and had known this for decades but still the patterns to search would not relinquish their hold upon the mind. They would weave in and out of view endlessly if i watched them. To turn them off was to busy myself in  life, in sound, in listening, in song. Life was this great gift that could never be fully understood with thought but fully loved in moments of great depth with action sincere and true.

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curtains blowing free from the desert winds
tearing at the dust of my soul
dreams scattered across the desert sands
remnants of beauty wrapped tight
deep within the land
the truth of the way sitting there still, hidden in the sacredness
ancient memories walking invisible and bright
and a simple twist of fate gathered along the trail
weaving its mystery throughout thin air in this night
Hunyea Wasay, here to say hello and thanks
‘you turned me outside in with your stern touch
and pushed me back again
full, into this red path
herding lost sheep from around the mountain side
this world weak and struggling thru the desert heat’
this dry ocean floor of vision and drum
we few bend down on knees with broken souls
to worship this land true, where peyote grows

We headed for Real de Catorce today for the day. We had to hire a Willy’s Jeep from the Catorce Station at the base of the mountain. An hour ride up a narrow cobble stone road that edges on steep cliffs of death, wondrous and free. We began the hour long walk to the sacred mountain. It took three hours and we only then arrived at the base. My memory from thirty years ago had failed or we took the long way around. Things had changed here. We left with out reaching the top. It wasn’t our time. I paid respect in a special way with a stone i had carried for over thirty years. This is between me and the spirits. 

The road leaving Real de Catorce towards the Wirikuta desert

Sasha and i had some difficulty in communication that erupted and settled. It felt we were being played by the Heyokas, the tricksters that teach by sometimes forcing situations that make one react. One may have ignored these trials for years but the trail here brings forth a depth and twists you into confrontations in ways you can’t refuse. We arrived back at the entrance to Real de Catorce and arranged a return back down the mountain to our car with an extra hour to wander thru the town. I remember aspects of the streets but things have changed so much. There were two small hotels then and now maybe twenty or so. Tourism has devoured much of the town with new homes built with the ancient brick but tasteful and shops with Huichol art and trinkets galore. Still, the town is magic, away from the madness. Long into the desert mountain walls away from the populated city streets. A charm, a treat, a land for only the serious tourists, but they come and apparently weekends and holidays it can be flooded with the shopping diners. Still, a pleasure for a few hours. We met a traveller and took him back to the desert with us where he will stay for months he said. Life on the road has a special way of dealing with your mind. We leave here in the morning. William Ira will stay on.

I suppose a lesson here is something i already knew but this time here again it would prove that ‘nothing is really certain and that is about as certain as it can get’…….and that had to sink deep inside and deeper still so that i may never forget………but i will, i do, and when times get too chaotic in the mind, turn to sound, to song and let that be your guide, your voice. There is nothing to prove to anyone, to your self, to the universe; there is nothing that can be known that can’t be known, there is nothing that needs your approval; be kind, help where you can, be honest and live as if it is your last moment, it is.

Real de Catorce

Over thirty years ago in the height of my short lived cocaine and drinking era, Annette my girlfriend then and i decided to avoid christmas with family and head for Mexico with my brand new Volvo bought with my lucrative business of selling a medicine now legal, psilocybe cubensis known to  some as the magic mushroom. That story is long, intricate and not important here but i will say one thing, i regret little and i lived within the realm of the day. I always felt that the altering of the consciousness of man with mother earths sacred substances was much more honourable than being a typical doctor or pharmacist pushing unhealthy and life threatening bad drugs from behind a camouflaged counter. Here amidst the controversial modern pushers of vaccinations versus a natural immune system expresses my views. Cocaine was another issue and short lived. We headed straight down towards the Mexican border and made it to San Antonio in 24 hours. The next day we headed into Mexico crossing at Eagles Pass. I had to obtain car insurance crossing the border. The gentleman arranging the papers asked where we were travelling; i expressed down towards Mexico City over to the Gulf and back up towards Brownsville Texas. He prepared an itinerary which included possible sites along the way. In hours of highway driving Annette was reading this little booklet and she commented a few times on this quaint town called Real de Catorce. I know in my heart i avoided listening and passed by this ‘desire’ from her and eventually drove by the 20 kilometre cobble stone road with a mile and a half tunnel entrance to the town, Real de Catorce.

We arrived a long distance away in San Lois Potosi. We found a hotel on a dingy street and with the trunk open Annette slammed the last open car door closed, leaving the keys locked in the ignition. I know in my heart, i blamed her, cursed her and attempted to look for a solution. I was a jerk to put it mildly. It was a new car. what could i do? Smash a window? How would i get a replacement? We were just beginning our tour, what to do?

The back seat had an arm rest that allowed an opening into the trunk. I looked around and with the help of this young boy found an aluminum rod from a discarded TV antenna. It was about five feet long. I bent an inch of the end to over 90 degrees. I laid down inside the trunk with an arm stuck into the hole while Annette guided me from a side window. I eventually connected with the key ring with the bent stub. I was ready to pull the keys out of the ignition and hopefully they would not fall onto the floor and screw up my chances for good. In my mind and deep into my heart a strange feeling over took me. In a flash of a second i promised if i get these keys the next day we will drive back the two hours and go to this strange mining town, Real de Catorce. The keys pulled out, i raised the rod, i could hear the beautiful sound of the keys scratching all the way down the aluminium rod till they hit my little waiting fingers desperately grasping the sacred aluminum aerial rod. We rode back the next day. The magic began.

Me with Real de Catorce in the background

My life would never be the same. Peyote touched my heart with the earth as nothing from my past had ever done. She took me far from my time, this planet and explained in visions a universe in infinite design far beyond the typical mind of man. This held me in one dream to another and mended my mind from the trend of man and placed me on a sacred road of non ordinary realities.

 I went back to the desert and Real de Catorce for two more years. The third year in vision i was told this is not my path. I was led to the northern shamanic ways. This was, is my life. It is what it is. There is so much more sacred and secret between these pages, paragraphs, words, never to be written. I was on the red road. I am here, I am back. Thanks, meegwetch, wirikuta, grandmother peyote.

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Bob explains so well some of the thoughts that have traveled around this skull…he surely is a great poet for these times, possibly the greatest, i know of no other, comparable.

You sure got a lot of gall
to be so useless and all
muttering small talk at the wall
while i’m in the hall
oh, how can i explain?
it’s so hard to get on
and these visions of johanna
that kept me up past the dawn

Bob Dylan – Visions of Johanna…..1966 or so……..and though there is controversy over who Johanna is, for me she/he always represented a higher being, super intelligence, a god, of sorts.

writing and images by patrick wey

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Me 1988 or so, in Wirikuta…up past the dawn
Don Jose Masura, 110 years old, spend a few nights at his place in the Sierra Madres, the second year to Wirikuta
Me and Annette in the hills of Real de Catorce…1988
The third year to the desert alone…1989
The Huichol sacred mountain as an elephant traveling right

A man named Jessy -Real de Catorce
Real de Catorce cowboy and girl
Real de Catorce
Streets of San MIguel de Allende – puddle image

More images from our trip in the last months…

B96 … Kachi and the Gaged Animals/Birds

The Benga Tiger that Kachi would run with every morning

It’s cooler here in the mountains but it’s still hot for a thick northern fur-skinned lady like myself. I get out enough but i miss the long runs thru the BC forests, the fresh northern smells, but what can you do. We just came back from a few months on the beach in the Yucatan. I made lots of friends there and some became really good buddies. I got to swim in the gulf of Mexico when ever i wanted. It was hot there and getting hotter. A few street dogs tried screwing me a few times but other than that and some angry expats dogs, life was free, good, and Sasha and Patrick took great care of me. I’m a year and a half now and i feel almost mature most of the time. I think the heat can do that, makes you mellow and lazy at times, strangling a few threads of my puppy nature.

Kachi and her buddy Happy-Hippo smiling for a photo-opp naturally

My great excitement here in Orizaba is that we live beside a river-waterway that has a zoo a few kilometres all along its walkway. All the animals are from closed-down zoo’s throughout Mexico, a refuge of sorts. I mean wow, really, there are tigers, lions, coyotes, monkeys, giraffes, to name a few. None of them were aggressive towards me and i respected them all, especially the coyotes. They were something else, a strange erie feeling i felt around them. They never made eye contact and never came sniffing around for a lick or two, not like the hippo, now, wow that was awesome. When he yawned his whole face was nothing but mouth and throat, a weird tunnel dipping down to who knows where. He could have been a great buddy, i could feel it in my heart.

Coyote …. no eye contact … Kachi had great respect for her ancestors

Kachi makes friends with the most peculiar. She has a way of softening the hardest minds, the most vicious teeth. The Benga tiger and her would run along the distance of the cage every morning on our walks along the river-way-zoo. Sasha and i would rub the scalp of the tiger as he would push his head up against the gage like a purring kitten. Strange feeling with that power that could tear your head apart in one swift swipe of its paw, claws the size of fingers, so gentle and so fierce, the dichotomy of life, death.

Mr. Camel had a special taste for Kachi

It was sad to see them pondering back and forth in their cages like a psychotic in an insane asylum and at other times with a restless contentment no different than so many of us. We could hear the weary yelping of the coyotes every evening and morning with their deep biological connections to their kind. Most of these animals and birds would be lost and death would surely follow their every move if left out in any wilderness. That seems to be what so many humans are so eagerly frightened of; to leave their safe closets full of their sacred beliefs, so they ponder back and forth like a caged animal in and out of the popular mediums and news till death comes and drags them away like a lost soul searching for a heaven to sleep within. Caged beliefs looking for a way out. Been there, at times am there, leaving there.

Animals caged in our beliefs

We left Orizaba and headed for San Miguel de Alende. That is where things came alive, the spring time desert and where the magic began.

It was sad to move on from Orizaba, a special place and very few expats and gringos. The tourists are almost all Mexican. I prefer that myself. Sasha likes a few more of the other. It does bring in other conveniences, but then you end up like San Miguel, or Puerto Valarta, Cancun, the list is increasing daily, tourists everywhere where often arrogance tags along. That is the nature of man, no wonder some one dreamed up a great reset……..who knows…what’s right? All i know is it is a great big universe and i’m one little spec in this eternal passing of time, so stay connected to the creator, it is a great mystery, be good, be true in the heart……….that is all you need to do, as J Lennon said, ‘All you need is Love, …. it’s easy’.

Master Lion praising the light

Kachi is teaching us to move on with grace. She is terrifying if necessary but always attempts the passive approach first. I am still learning that soft approach, after so many years, i still struggle with that simple way. Kachi may have been happier left in BC with the forests but she wants to be with us. That is clear. We move on.

The next post will be about our stay in the desert, the sweat lodge, peyote, the streets of San Miguel de Allende and our connection with Arleta and Brian, her fifteen year old son Diago, her land, her welcoming and helpful energies helping to heal a little more within our ways.

This is the Orizaba river walk of Zoo refugees
Mrs Ostrich and Kachi developed a strange curious friendship
I think they started to fall in love
Happy days – big yawn
Mr Piggy having a siesta
Kachi and the Grey Fox nose to nose
Smelling out the situation
It was a piccolo evening in black and white
Mrs Macaw behind bars…so to caw
Reaching up to see Kachi
Two happy girls
It’s not all that great – free food and own nothing
Right behind the ears……yea….don’t stop
Kachi and Macaw discussing borders

Images and Writing by Patrick Wey

B95 … to be honest with you….

It’s hard to be honest, let alone with you. You are many, my lovers, kids, especially my nieces, nephews too, friends, family. Many of my friends kinda have an idea of something of what i am somewhat about. It’s complicated, no doubt. It is one strange world our heads are spinning in, thru galaxies that would burst our imaginations to smithereens if confronted. It’s weird no matter how you look at it. I know there are some incredible thinkers that can twist your thoughts around into worlds you would have had no idea could ever exist. I am sorry if i didn’t perform as well as i could have. I fell apart in times of terrible distress, danced to difficult tunes, was not always there when you were falling off into places where shadows dominate. That is life. It is what it has been. We invented this relationship we share, with feelings, rooms full of ourselves, love in many ways, weary, dreary, and kind, but all sacred, just for existing. This life is so much more than we will ever know, it is truly so sacred it is worth living every moment pure and honest, but we don’t. It’s complicated, i think i mentioned that.

Thanks all of you, what else can i say. None of this matters in the end; what end, where did it all come from, where is it all going? Some of us know that none of that matters, it is all way too weird to think you can think yourself thru the pines. It’s magic, that’s what it is. If it is a mystery in the end, it certainly is in the beginning also and so, therefore, all the way thru too, no matter what conclusions you develop along the way.

Sasha and Kachi in a slow setting sun

That is why i have a lot to say about nothing. What else can you talk about, really, that is all we know, a lot about a little of nothing.

I can’t express how deep the pain travels in me for the times that i have hurt you. Why, what was it worth? Things i may have said, opportunities i may have snubbed. Life doesn’t move smooth through every cave, the tunnels of love often turn much too dark to travel. I forgive you at this moment for every spec of agitation you may have felt along our path, and especially, if i used this against you to further my arrogant vault of sick pleasures. It would be a miracle to be forgiven also, even tho fare, it seems unlikely. They say we are all to be resolved in the end. We shall see, possibly.

A man with a cane slowed down around the bend, the street corner came on fast, comparably, and the changes in his head were vast. This was me in some other universe imagined,  seated in a cafe across the street. He had a lot more going on than the city streets. He was a composer. He composed images out of the visual noise within the streets, poems from a lamp post, the hard concrete walks, the slim v of blue sky down at the end of the avenue. He was a man of hope, he carved sunshine out of slim air, beauty out of despair. 

Down stairs a cane stays close. The odds tighten up and infinity goes on trial. With every breath life keeps travelling down the roads thru you. I am the eye that keeps things alive. I am the end result of a lot. When time feels right the whole orchestra is in perfect tune and makes things happen. 

This great deset is such a pity, a shame to waste such precious time; nothing more than a used cane. The way around is preferable on this occasion, no sense in going straight through, get off the cloud, the grid…..learn, comprehend, act…..do something every moment you can, to get yourself free, see beyond the light, there, where the way is you. Leave the shadows dancing out along your walls, get out of the cave into the deep light. It will not blind you.

Two happy fellows discussing stuff – Chelem Yucatan

I have to admit. I have tried to be kind, tried to keep it inside, but my god, how come so many are still hanging on to the institutions, corporations, billionaires, that clearly have next to no real interest in your health or survival? How can so many continue to believe whole heartily mainstream anything? There is so much information these days exposing the fraudulent activities; hollywood movies, documentaries, experts in so many disciplines……what the frick are you listening to, are you that afraid to jump out of your worn habits of belief and open up to new possibilities? This world is not what we have been conditioned to believe. No matter how many degrees and initials you may have, we have been strategically fooled. The evidence is all around if you would just open up your hearts and admit you don’t really know what the frick is really going on…….possibly from there, that viewpoint, you may start to see. I don’t know. I don’t know if there is really any help for you? How much easier does it have to be to open up your hearts and look around, stop your comfort of following, agreeing with friends and family for fear of being criticized, left alone. I don’t know why i should even care, though your beliefs do affect the whole world, especially in these times….it’s really not my problem.

The cane is crippled, throw it a way, make a miracle, it is up to you. You don’t need me, you don’t need anyone. You can do this. We all can. It is the nature of nature. We all have what it takes to transform. Don’t we?

There are tools where ever you are, to wake up. It is an endless journey. Yes correct, it never ends. There are times to sleep, dream, there are times to wake up and be the smell of the rose, its essence. There are many whom have assisted in helping one to grow. I am grateful to have grown up in the likes of many but the one that helped the most, no doubt was Bob Dylan. He spoke my language, and he intertwined modern words within melodies and sounds that took them off into terrains that only music could be worthy of in this task; to drive them past the brain directly into the heart……if you let them, and i let them.

I think i have a point

Now i find it so hard to elevate others to an equal level to understand the distance words can go without falling completely into meaninglessness. Without the river of sound and the melody of escape, words can often fall short, even cripple themselves, irrelevant.

I never asked for your crutch
Now dont ask for mine….”4th Time Around” B Dylan

Understanding life is similar to a boxing match with a set number of rounds. You have to get it right to win the fight. You can never give up. You may die. You may be maimed for life. You may win. You must choose your battles wisely. Listen to no one. Your heart is connected to the source of thee creation. Words may lead you to the gate but they are not allowed inside. Alone, connected to all the voices of the inner world, silence can take you home.

People like Dylan have the ability to lead you around the heart, take you on trips through the terrains of the mind with no lasting indoctrination attempting to own your soul. If you listen well, you can fly free along the creation that is simply where it is at. Sure his tunes are not the only ones that can do that, but there is no better consistent song writer that exists in our times. Down Lennon’s Strawberry fields and God, I don’t believe, and so many more…..of course, there are others. The point here is that the point can not get you there but it may drop you off around the entrance. It is all up to you, you may have to ‘crawl across cut glass’, to get you there. You must want to know more than anything else before you may find out that knowing itself is not what you think, it is an understanding beyond the time of words.

Walking thru modern times

‘sometimes i think there are no words but these to say which are true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden’ dylan

‘Love is all there is, it makes the world go around, love and only love it can’t be denied, no matter what you think about it, you just won’t be able to do without it, take a tip from one whom has tried’ dylan

There are so many more lyrics; the tune helps to drive it to the land where it was born, there, in the land of ‘awake’.

We are in drastic times. The fight is in the upper rounds. It is live or die. It can only be won by choosing natures wisdom over mans fallible reason. Natural mathematics over euclidean abstracts, Implosion power over explosion environments, love over hate, the heart over mind…..the unequal balance of the golden mean – yin and yang.

It is all connected, alkaline systems over acidic sweet terrains of disease. Vaccinations as a hoax, unnecessary; is our science running an octave too low.? Money and power has smothered the hearts of the people, from the little guy in the factory fields to the mighty kings and queens of the plastic jungle. Evil versus the good, this is the fight where no one is spared.

From the deep state to the feathers of life the war of man is in full flight. Weapons traveling thru the bio worlds of life is entering the imaginations of the masses. Altered bio-digital memory cells, muscles, plastic flexible bones on the advertising lists for human consumption with the elevation of man to a super being. The masses are flocking to the doors, waiting in line to get the best buy. It is a brave unnatural world in the making. Senses from optics and coils to immortal digital souls the fight is humility or selfish power, heart or mind, nature or man. Complicated, simple? The most correct route to the heart of life is simple, what is complicated is the muffled confusion of unnatural reason. Most love to debate and argue in the land of confusion and create new toys for more adventures to be the best at any expense. It is the war of complications or simplicity and that appears to be much too complicated to become a simple solution for man. Goodbye to the natural man; may i love once more before i am taken away, I can smell the odour of the new world order blowing across the nations and the people flocking into the labs for adjustments.

On the road in the streets

I hope to leave soon, before it is too late, on the night train, to escape quietly, out to the last beach, the shores of solitude, the tears of rage.

When you can see the end result of what they have in store, you can see through the moves along the way,. The fake virus and its cure, the energy shortage, food supply diminished, all the dependency-grids tightening like a noose around your neck. The money system maneuvering, private everything diminishing, huge money transfers to the few, eliminating private business and wealth. Social credit carrots on every shelf for your convenience and control. 

A mysterious intervention to alter the consciousness of man seems to be the only solution for this mad world. No matter how you survive the power hungry evil energies there are always new mediums waiting to suck out any love you may have left. What is the answer for a simple soul………stay simple, let the heart move your day, your night; ultimately, nature is in control and it is all just a big world drama moving against the natural way, many will suffer, many will die, love, many will see, many will die blind, but ultimately nothing really matters……so be good and simple, it is a much easier life this way and gentler on the soul.

Images and writing by patrick wey

A few extra shots from recent times in the streets….

In the cities of the jungles
Mennonite farmer in the south
Big bosom, big mask, hair blowing in modern breeze
Shoe shine man taking a break, working on a cross word puzzle
Street vendor in a joke
Style and age, fashion and survival
Photographic colour continuity
The masked and unmasked around every corner

Images and writing by patrick wey

B94 … I need help / Ontario Friends & Family

Dear Friends / Family,

My life long collection of photographic slides, negatives, and contact sheets needs a new home for a period of time. They have been stored at a close friend’s of mine for the last four years in Kitchener On. and now i need to move them because the space will no longer be available.

If interested in helping a friend in distress, please contact me.…for details, arrangements,

My plan is to sell this collection to the highest honourable bitter. I have been postponing this but now I must take action. I need a home for them for the interim time period which could be as long as a couple of years., but hopefully much less.

The space needed – relatively dry, not too cold or warm……(normal home conditions or 8 to 30 degrees C approximately). The area needed is roughly one metre by one metre by two metres high. In a corner of a room with a curtain over them makes them almost invisible. (120,000 images) Please help me, someone.

I would arrange them to be shipped anywhere in Ontario for a safe secure home.

Patrick

PS: view my work here….  https://patrickwey.zenfolio.com/

For more details please contact me….

www.patrickwey.com

skype patrickwey

facebook patricktwey

phone mexico +52 272 295 4144

email – media@patrickwey.com

Me / Travelin down a lost highway….not much has changed

Images and writing by patrick wey

B93 … beyond the walls into free space…

People need a story with chapters of news swimming desperately down thru the editions of trust and hope.

All the psyco paths lead to the board room where the few seats sit, all the faces have been replaced and their motives sit hidden between the steps up to the grand pyramid between the walls, up to the big hammer, the one sick eye watching over the domain like a decrepit elder.

On the Same Side of The Wall

I can’t help you, i don’t have anything you want. The sacred is too far from your swollen eyes, the barriers are too thick with deep-seated lies, alibis, there is no way out for you. Sit in the streets of your glorified heavens and continue your crippled curses into that dangerous breeze and watch your paradise slip further below the tar.

I can hear the constant waves slowly melt away the pain, the silver sea, the rushing waters of life leading me, kissing my heart, taking me beyond, swallowing my self into the nothingness of loves forest. I hold dear the elusive feel of your touch and the caresses that glide across my heavens. I want you so bad in those moments when life is so close to death. I care more for you, then i could ever hold on to a self, as absurd as that may be. 

In the morning-light things come to me that i would never have suspected, dreams waver across the horizon of my eyes and i feel you so right, so beautiful i shiver in the ecstasy of it all, then it all disappears as if it never was and i’m back on your torn avenues.

It doesn’t matter much when it is all spread across the mind, fragments of disappearing dreams and fake love trying to glue it all together. I can see you there trembling in your tattoos, your brave cartoons burning conceit into your skin. I watch with amazement as you stroll past, reflections of your soul piercing thru the tar-lit roads. Useless and meaningless your day drags the news around like a knife and you cut open every wound you can find just to smother it with your foul facts tainted and corroding like a carcass.

One Man in Cobble Stone Street

It may be harsh, the descriptions of your ways, but it shall pass, that is as absolute as it gets. When the night time falls i’ll be watching from the side. I will help every heart that cries out and every soul dying in pain. The bridge between the weak and the wounded is moving into position, the banisters are flying high, up in the bleachers you can feel the spirit, the day has begun. A parallel universe right here on earth, the elite with their puppets and the good with their warmth, just like an ‘Island’………..alone, fading out to sea.

We shall leave a trace in history, that is fascinating, a sculpture of what is now. We are the thoughts exposed to matter of fact, tho the future may not have clear access to this reality, it did exist and we are the witness as transient as it may be. The fabric of our lives, our decisions, our loves and hates will bend within the weave of dreamtime. The truth appears as nothing more than a whistle from a mexican crow in an early morning dawn.

My home-town ‘the suitcase’ escapes the confines of land but my boot-heels are free no more. I have ended down in the lost and found for a recycled life that never existed in the first place. I am homeless, without the tendency to believe and a wandering soul that finds nothing for certain. Some say that it is a curse and some swear that this is true freedom. I don’t say much about it all but the past sure seems very far behind, most of the time, almost out of site, remnants scatter the open road but the last train is already on the move and my suitcase is stuck in the tracks.

 We should all look around more, be kinder. We are all racing against time. We all steal a few sentences from here and there and try to make them fit, into a paragraph or two. Sometimes it works but often it doesn’t. There is a lot of uncertainty in the galleries of life. The more you realize what you don’t know the more you know you don’t know, and that knowing is the key to uncertainly. Maybe yes, maybe no, that is inscribed on the trucks to freedom.

Friendly Cops of Merida Yucatan

Off in the jungles of circumstance digits are racing thru time. Art is on the run, science has crossed the sacred line, religion is a cluster of brain cells drowning in a lab-tube, music has gone into hiding, surfing thru the lowlands. Words of the poets are split into letters numbered and organized. Dance is given to the ward for safe keeping waiting til the way is clear. Down on wall street the social control is in the third quarter, the crash is topping out. You can feel the tension on the boulevards of the America’s, the numbers rising high as the fall is moving in. In the forest, roots are grasping for the past, leaves are growing rough, bark is terribly thin.

The lone call of the wolf sits high on the back of the beauty as the beast is crawling in.

Over the years the mighty kings of the jungle figured out how to control the herd. How to organize an agenda right down to street level. That is what has happened as of late and they know most will not believe it and not figure it out and in fact support it and torture the ones that are seeing the light. There lies the war, the separation of the people while they continue to play with the plan and have the media direct and project the moves. They figure it out with few adjustments, rearrangements along the way, according to the reactions of the masses, till they get it right, they keep pushing their narration. Any subversive dissonance is crushed along the way.

As in the peaceful canadian trucker convoy, which should be praised, by most is crushed, demoralized, sabotaged, made trite, useless, stupid and it all seems logical to most of the people. Where the news flows the people go.

Now, up pops a war, the convoy seems shallow. People imprisoned, bank accounts seized, businesses destroyed and mass minds support the tyranny as good solid government judgements. Most have moved on into the debates over the war, name calling from either side, arguments of which media is correct, amateur experts spread all over social media with their view points and any movement towards the more sinister agenda is labeled as theorists, destroyed and discarded by the majority. Only the masses can stop the movement of the agenda of the few on the many and they have them by the balls, their pay checks, minds, hearts and souls. So the raw truth stays hidden, invisible, discreet and scrapes along the floors of the plague. That is the condition of the world, shallow in the many and deep and dark by the few.

Maria Christina and her little boy…a new friend, a new light.

Zero point energy exists as the natural way nature generates and distributes the infinite frequencies and shapes of energy / spirit. Man has created a much inferior death-giving form of energy generation as an explosive system which depends upon a constant refuelling. This has produced various grids easily controlled by a few over the many. The natural implosive systems have been crushed, hidden, manipulated into secrecy. Explosive energy systems create in their wake the environments for death giving energies with the accumulation of pathogens, unfriendly bacteria and viruses.

The control of the world depends upon a web of grids, from oil, gas, precious metals, information, printed money,  genetics, humans and more. People are waking up at an alarming level and this has sent a fear among the few and therefore all the drastic moves as of late to secure their agenda. They have turned the industrial structures into a robotization regime and therefore do not need the large population of humanity. The turn-time has come to eliminate most of the herd. The plans are well on their way. They are the few with the illusion they have been chosen to execute these ancient old visions from their feeble elders and own our world. They have tricked humanity into silence of their agendas with persecution if exposing them. They know the nature of the human mind and the extremely devious ways they maintain to continue in their faith of things that just do not and can not exist. The masses have been easily fooled, manipulated into eons of wars around the world with greed as their closest ally. Money and power sits deep in the minds of the people, a few bucks to tons, they have you covered for a few dirty deeds, all in the name of good business and survival.

Beautiful Woman Friend of Maria Christina along the Beach Front

I’m done with it, find your own sketch of the future, the past has got you incapsulated and i quit. I am walking out alone. Take your dreams and shove them outside. I am through with catering to this mess. I am free from this, finally. I am running down the edges of your minds and sliding off into the distance, into the forests of creation, art on my fingers, colour in my head, words and paint and objects of no definite form gliding thru the open doors of here and now……i’m done with you.

Old images alive and real took me here. Here i am done with them. Lybia had it right. Take that new view and slap it till it dies. The moon is just a slight silver sliver tonight. I am well. The streets are sailing across the horizon, from Nantucket to Merida, Beijing, London, ….. i know my words are drowning in a sea of my own doin…fine, i can deal with that. I can take you with me if you want, set your mind at ease, fly straight thru the pages of time. You don’t have to be you, jump out, find a new breeze, move into your heart for no reason, let the momentum…………..be.

Kachi Leading our Way

I need these words to hit you hard, smash against your skull, dig deep into your soul. I need you to hear me whisper so loud its deafening. I want to be heard. I have no apology for striking out, with fierce force i have this to say…….wake up, join in on the chorus….’maybe yes, maybe no, that’s the only way to go’.

You have dragged me thru your views, your news, your sick minds, your eloquent facts. I am not blaming you, cursing you, begging you, asking you…..leave me out in your cold, really, i don’t mind. I have been out here for years and now you know it. I don’t care about your dreams, your fake fur homes, your ten cars, dinner parties. I don’t care about your news, your obsessions with fire-science, your heroes, their money, their power….i don’t care.

I care about you, your tender quiet heart, your sensitive wounds. I care about that silent love when it whispers in your ear. I care.

Down the streets of my youth, the air is thin. I can see my friends surrounding a lamp post with talk of mischief blowing around the light. We were free and there was nothing that could stop us from our love for the night. If there was a door to open we were there. We had cool cars, thoughts, we lived in the moment, winter or summer, we drove fast and never looked back, our life was being there, down the open road. Time moved more serious and the spirit of the sixties drove us as far as we could go. I laid my thumb out into the highways and traveled wherever the road would take me. Inside, the terrain went thru the changes of colour beaming across my skull, freedom as far as you could see and nothing and nobody stood between the shadows, the open road held my spirit into the light like a chalice.

Time kept coming and the changes never stopped. The road took me far beyond my reach, at times i was left alone, no comforts of a home, no soft love left in the corners of my mind, hard times on a road to freedom, truth dangling off trees, the forest there to save me. Time kept moving in, no moments to adjust, only the constant chill of the circle game whirling around begging me to turn, hold on……..but the open road kept moving and i was its sacred possession.

Shading Herself Amidst the Heat of the World

Now, much older, times have spread out across the fields of this mind and left me moving slower, the open road still pours its light down upon me and i still surrender to its love. Soon i will be gone and a new form will open up, an endless stream of open roads into an eternity. A part of me is in a part of you and everything, we are all together, indian, white, black, crow, rain, all of us will continue to weave this tree of life, and after life, into an open road, into a forever.

Friday Mar. 5 2022

 Sasha and i went to the Merida theatre centre tonight, a hundred plus year old opera house to listen to the local symphony orchestra. Thru the first couple of Ravel pieces my eyes wandered through the space across the high ceilings and layers of seats wrapped around the oval shaped ancient architecture. With eyes closed i saw words tripping thru time over smooth cobble stone streets, violins kissing the jungle air with sad joy of poems breaking the silence with form. The solid sounds held together with sacred notes embracing one another and covering my thoughts with grace. The romance of deep connections where words fall off cliffs, syllables dancing against the weight of love, the truth of air moving free in the moments of my mind. Impressions of soft sounds only a violin can speak, my thoughts fell apart in the dance of the cellos, my heart melted like desperate rain on an Irish coast. The way of the evening stood still with me inside the composition conducting colours across the horizons of my mind, layers of vague emptiness moving thoughts about like clouds.

Merida Zacalo

Later Mozart shifted things into a more grandiose world…….i fell back in time. After, we walked about the old streets of Merida and let our moods dig deep into the brick. We travelled across our brains protective barrier and swung our love into empty streets full with people. That was a mistake and we paid dearly for our lack of control and while the world didn’t flinch an eye, freedom bit deep. Our night ended back home with our dog happy as hell to see us. We fell into dreamtime with magical impressions filling up the night beyond the walls into free space.

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March 7 2022 – Disassociate yourself, swim hard thru the sweet lies, taste the alkali truth. A fresh pure sea of life is the way of a healthy earth. We have been fooled into believing the wealthy scheme of an euclidean dream is the only way. It is the way of domination grids, a trick, an insane manipulation of the spirit. Be free, travel inside, trust the earth and a science that comprehends and copies nature. Modern science is ruled by a lab of money and a test tube of selfish control. Bio-interconnection to the digital realities will be the end of natural man. Beauty exists in a free world, a terrain of natural movement. Clean out your body, purify your mind, breathe well, eat well, exercise, save your self from the matrix looming close and live free.

Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

Thanks for the Comment

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Sasha – Patrick

Some Extra Shots

Sometimes it’s that simple….
Heart Pain
Stern thought…
Always; It is about the Children

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Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

B92 … Bubbles Rising Bursting

Feb. 17 2022

Many times i have felt like giving up on these posts for lack of response. I clearly see friends and relatives that have avoided me for what ever reasons. When i have seen the popular ones gain loads of likes and response for a lot less work and inferior content in their posts, imo. I avoid social media contact but once in a while i stroll down the walls just to see what is happening, as a thermometer, of what is the going trends in attitudes, the responses to the media news, propaganda. I have attempted to give alternative views for a more rounded approach to know what is going on around the planet mostly concerning the ‘covid’ issue, of course, but not exclusively. Most of my attempts have failed miserably. I have had no contact with many friends and all of my family for over a year. I realize many people are in a similar position, division over view points. If there truly is a hidden war goin on then they have extremely successfully divided the population. Who ever ‘they‘ are, and if you don’t have a clue by now, you’re truly lost in a world that doesn’t exist.

Just when i have had it, ready to throw the pens and keypads against the wall, i get an email with a blog post comment that shows there are those, few as they may be, that truly see value in my work. 

Merida Yucatan …. hiding behind a mask

So, i continue on with one more post. I simply address the thoughts that surround this mind on a daily/weekly bases. I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. That, possibly is my mistake! Simply by questioning the main stream narration i get labeled to what ever is the popular trend in insults….rightist, racist, stupid, uninformed, follower…. and sometimes hideous jokes and clever cartoons. 

I can’t win, i know this. I am not trying to win. I can’t deny that it would be preferable to be listened to, to have intelligent heart felt comments crowding up my email every day, but that doesn’t happen and probably never will; why, i wonder sometimes? That is partly my ego hurting, wounded, but there is also a frustration on the nature of the masses and their approach towards understanding. Very few people consider themselves just another one of the masses, they tend to believe they are always intelligent individuals and incredibly clear on what they think they know.

I question as many beliefs my strained mind can handle and still fall short of the truth of ‘what is’ and that is, what is.

As an example. I have tended to follow the truck convoy as a good thing. Later, i was informed it may have been instigated by right wing warriors, white supremists and funded by people i would probably not want to be associated with. So i looked at this as well as i could. I see with out much doubt that the majority involved are peaceful and just want the right to their choice for what enters their body and more. Some are very aware of the tyrannic approach the canadian government is taking, others are less concerned. The main slogan is ‘freedom’. So many main stream have criticized the freedom element as stupid, trite, moronic and worse. Dialog is necessary for democracy, the way i see it. This stand off has escalated world wide and yet so many still want to diminish it as ridiculous, stupid, etc but the fact is that it has awaken people the world over, they are talking. That is the point….i believe. If it is somewhat funded by the right wealthy for other than honest concerns then so be it. If i had to stop supporting anything because of corruption lurking in the foundations i would have little to support or next to nothing. This world is corrupt to the core.

I have often claimed that i am not an expert in any of these fields but also that experts are being silenced and not allowed to have open debate on main stream media. There are reasons for that. The media news is not free, here we fall back on this word Freedom. Anyone whom has read my blogs know i often quote others especially Dylan…….’Freedom, just around the corner from you, but with truth so far off, what good would it do.’
This line implies that freedom may exist without truth. That, i believe, is something to be concerned about.

Playa Del Carmen corrupted by a flash flood

If the honest protesters are lured by corrupt money, they will figure it out and it will be exposed, we hope. The fact that the whole world is talking about things they could not mention a month ago says volumes. I could be wrong and if i am, so what, i am not forcing anyone to believe in anything i say…..just question everything, sincerely, and make changes accordingly, reevaluate, adjust, decipher, change, move on.

Anyone that has investigated the world we live within to any real depth will likely have come across numerous conspiracies involving large sums of money and the coercing of minds to act accordingly.

This is of course is what is going on everywhere today and yet so many are so convinced they know and understand what is happening. They don’t, i don’t, and very few do, if any. This world is complex. Where the news goes the people go.

I have a good heart. I care about things, many things. I have supported wrong causes out of ignorance. We live in a world where deceit and lies are considered good business, smart thinking, appropriate. But by far, the masses are honest, but are coerced into doing and saying things for the sake of an extra dollar, billion or two.

There are thousands of new rabbit holes to enter for the flexible minded ones. This world is absolutely not what is presented in the media, history books, main stream anything. So to hear all these constant conclusions on social media  by the many whom, realistically should not be heard at all, is most disheartening for an honest heart.

It is all about control, control of every mind on this planet and if you can’t see that by now you truly are a sheep asleep, or a lazy mind acting asleep.

I know many read my blog but are afraid to associate themselves with someone that is considered on the wrong side and possibly dangerous to be affiliated with. So be it, one of my followers is probably worth more than a hundred of the crowd as far as loyal longevity goes.

Women of Belarus…..like people everywhere just wanting the freedom to be

One should not feel ashamed or guilty for supporting this side or that side. We have been played. We are one people when all settles in the dust. I did not get vaccinated and feel it was my right for many personal reasons that have come to me throughtout my life.
I got vacinated because i believe it was the right thing to do. Through time things have changed and i am not as certain as i once was but i live with my decision. 

I am in the middle and i can see both sides and the difficulty in understanding that it can take to come together. From the perspective of our death bed we can truly see that we are not enemies. We can get through this. 

I believe we have been played, that there are forces behind the scene pulling ropes for their control and the financial benefits of a few. Some of this understanding involves conspiracies. Plans that have been arranged rearranged adjusted to new data in new times, all for an end of an over-all control of the total planet. Insane, yes.

I don’t believe we have been played, there is a real threat of a virus eliminating humanity unless we take very severe actions. If you don’t get vaccinated you can be threatening me, my family and all of humanity.

I believe we have been manipulated and the injection itself could be our worst enemy, deadly.

All of us have learned that money and control can often taint even the most sincere minds. We have learned that following the money often can lead to an understanding of what is really going on. 

There are lazy minds or uninterested or unconcerned that have managed to get by suitably well enough for their minds to feel sane, safe, comfortable on the surface. This is not addressing them. There may be no help for them.

The internet has made research much simpler for the ones that take the time to investigate. When you follow the money, you can find that most of all the businesses, corporations, institutions, governments are controlled by a very few corporations owned by a very few families. They control a large network, often right down to the local franchise workers around the corner of your avenue. This is absolutely not a theory. There are documentaries that list SEC filings showing without a doubt whom owns what, everywhere on this earth. It is really quite revealing. We have been played, manipulated, divided into wars, enemies. This is just not right, unfare and has gone on for far too long.

So really, whether you are on this side or that side, we are not the enemy. Try to understand my views and i will try to understand yours but let us both attempt to investigate the reality of what is happening together. Only through a united effort can we come together……….or continue to fight the wrong enemy.

Feb 23 2022

You can follow the science and be confused or follow the money and see what’s really going on. Where the news flows the people follow. No matter what the topic, they”ll take you where they want you to go, from viruses to guns, their agenda is your narration, make a choice, they got you covered, create the truth and the path will own you, for real freedom is full of colour.

And ain’t it hard when it’s discovered and aren’t you embarrassed when you realize we’ve been fooled again. You lost friends, family for standing with the crowd because it was too tough to stand alone. Now, you act as if you were aware from the beginning, but the damage is done, the curse is set, you with your emptiness on that jaded street and that is it, this is all that you get. It makes me sick to watch the leaders continue to strangle your heart with mandates confining your mind with their thoughts, and all along you believing they come from yourself within.

Sculptor, Valentine – Belarus…the horror of war

There is only one step down from here and there you’d never want to go, the lower level where there is absolutely nobody else around, the dungeon of your mind where you have lost every fragment of control. When you’re wrong, you’re wrong, there ain’t no way else to tell; the bells may toll, the sirens ring but the only way thru this is total ultimate surrender within your heart and that appears to be much more than you would ever care to do.

Back in the territory of fortune and distain the workers are scrambling for a few bites of love and down here there is nothing but money, but things are on the move, the table is turning, the winds are shifting, eyes wide and the veil is lifting, truth is shinning through.

The new world is nothing but bad fiction now, the order is falling, the people are slowly twisting their heads into this light, as rare as it might be, it’s been a far too long a night to get it right.

Feb 24/22
Down here in the sun sand the beach is hot and humid, a big war across the globe, the news right ready with a view for every viewer. I got my own problems with a relationship falling into an abyss and a dog demanding attention and a headache for every curse bombarding me with love, sick love. I don’t belong to no one and no one belongs to me, sometimes that is what i am forced to believe but i know it ain’t true. What ever gets you through the dark, that’s what they say and there is a ‘they’ for every issue and they don’t give a damn. I’ve seen it comin and there is no one to blame, life is fuckin hard these ways no matter how many sunsets you squeeze between your eyes. This is the middle of a night and i’m tired, tired, so tired of all this stuff endlessly caressing my heart like a jack hammer to my brain. There must be someway out of here said one self to another, there is far too much disruption and nothin but scattered belief bending around my mind. Time to walk straight through to the other side, no more lies, no more fancy descriptions shielding me from you, i’m goin, i’m goin, i’m gone.

Just like it was planned, a war to take the mind off the planedemic, for a while. The masters of war don’t give a fuck about people, their pain, suffering by the hands of these bastards….money, power and some weird glory squashed against plastic hearts, that’s their life, hardly a glimpse of truth left inside their minds, brains full of disease, conceit running thru their veins, horror on the edge of their soul. The clever ones fall for the same old tricks, war, separation, media veils while eyes are off the ball, freedom from all borders scraped away from the cells in your brain.

A smell of heaven along the trail

Feb 26/22
It’s a sad world, really, words trapped inside skulls never to escape, no place to land, no ear to hear. I want to express my soul but i can’t. If i could, really, i’d bring together all the friends i’ve known, all the lovers i’ve loved all the family that have been so dear to me. I’d name them but if i missed one or two i’d find it so hard to forgive myself for eliminating anyone and possibly causing them pain that they might not know till it entered their soul and that would be too late. Even the ones that have betrayed me have had attributes that often over power the worst they could ever have done to anyone. That is life, as i have said, it is sad and incredible. Sometimes i just want to cry on how beautiful the moments have been and to realize life is so short and the tender moments needed to share this just don’t come around often enough.


So this is the night, where the sounds of those tender moments are swirling around my heart. There are a billion stars hanging light across the milky way and the warm breeze cries the loss of the times trapped into shallow memories caressing my sensitive skin in these heart-warming moments, oh tonight, you will end and i will walk on, again without you. You the one that got lost in the moments when i was hiding. I may remember your touch but that is not enough to fulfil this loss, it never will be, it never can be. Life will move on into the dark, into the light, into the day, into the night, but you are gone and it is a pain i can’t bare, i can’t truly accept………..so i move along, switch the chords, strum soft, hard and wipe the tears from my damp skin and walk, just walk, no direction home. I’m alright with that…………..most of the time.

Some people give away their hearts for a few words, sell their bodies for a few bucks, some people don’t have much of a choice of anything, just to survive. People trust charlatans that will sell your mind away in a minute and fool you into believing they have the answer for your salvation. Some people trust anybody with a few initials attached to their name or a ton of gold hanging off their souls. Some people trust facts that are held up by invisible pillars and will die for them. Some people are too many and some people are too few that trust only in the ways of nature, beyond mans formulation of thought…….freedom, in this world, is a hard price.

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Images and writing by patrick wey

Comment please, it helps my journey.

B91 … Fractured Thoughts Splattered Up Against Walls of a Few Days

Shadows of the Grandiose

There’s All Kinds Of Problems…

Don’t cha know people
You been hypnotized
Don’t cha feel you’re missin’ somethin
Fightin’ for all those lies
There’s all kinds of problems
but i ain’t got the time
………….Winter 72 / Patrick wey

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Mind Mandates Forcing Heart Lock Downs

When you know the outcome of the multi-level plan for the
reset, then you can easily see the trail for the masses.
Main stream media is nothing more than propaganda by the elite.
Only our numbers can bring this down.
Wake up yourself and wake up whom ever you can, how ever you can.
Waking up is being open to whatever data surrounds you……eliminate any conclusions before entering the field of possibilities. Be careful of what you form into belief. All belief is make belief.

Bob Dylan said it well in the Times They Are a Changin…in this verse…so very long ago, 1964 or so.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’

How long will the mandates of the mind control the lockdowns of the heart?
I’ve been thinking about this world psychosis of following a focused agenda all my life and now it has erupted into an obvious full force hysteria world wide. How can this happen? How can so many of the population, wealthy, poor, intelligent, ignorant all fall into a so similar fabricated hole?
Most people believe that they could never be programmed into believing what they don’t want to believe. They think they are free minded individuals that can not be coerced, not be fooled. These behind the curtains are masters of deceit. They have studied how the mind of man can be molded into doing what they want them to do without the masses knowing it. This, is the perfect program of deception.

Variations in shape with little choice


Without the will and the tools to skillfully maneuver thru the maze of deception, the virgin minds are shaped into desired ends. Through endless programming of inserting a mixture of desires from the holly-world life-styles, to a unity of civil responsibilities and intelligent scientific decisions thru endless advertising and propaganda laced news, the majority of people become numb to the diet of deceit slowly invading their minds. It is a slow process of manipulated historic facts, lies turned into doctrine from the minute you’re born thru the schools of education/indoctrination into the work force all set in a plan to control every mind world wide for every minute of their life’s and yet to have the individuals still believe they have the freedom to choose.
Very few had seen this coming, very few broke loose early on but there are many that do suspect deception deep. This is the state we are in now. More minds are breaking loose, seeing the rigid lies fall behind in the wake of their new perception. People are waking up, they have been fucked around for too long. More and more are accepting that they have been fooled and are just getting on with the new realizations, the hard look at how crazy this world really is, how deep the deception lies.

I am not an anti-vaxer. I am anti forced injections. I am not a conspiracy theorist ‘per se’. I theorize on collusions and sometimes they end up uncovering conspiracies. I am not anti-main stream media. I am anti externally controlled misinformation media. I am not a racist. I dislike the aspects of people that use their race to force a point. I don’t spread hate. I hate somethings sometimes. I am not a canadian. I am a human being living on falsely claimed soil we call ‘canada’.

The Zbird is expanding it’s claws
the chosen are frozen in a narration, outdated,
unhinged, holding on to a psychotic dream
coming to take us down
put us in a place within a crowd
the Zbird, flying low
tainting everything
wherever it goes

Heyoka Man said, “they said”, ‘us elders began this plan a couple thousand years ago to own the world, as prophesized, divide the people in two, us and gentile. We invented currency, banking and thoroughly understand the greed of the mind. We implanted these visioned teachings and passed them along from generation to now. The plan is unfolding to fruition, in this generation here, these times, now. World control is within our claws. Most of the people have absolutely no clue, they are welcoming the moves with hypnotized minds, open hearts, blind souls.’
Heyoka Man, what do you see, is there still a way to set us free? Is it too late to close the gate, barge thru the canals, escape? Has it gone too far, over the edge of man, to kill the dream dead, is there enough life left to see the chosen frozen, to expose the plan, to wake up the dead, to execute the leaders, to disintegrate the map, to rehabilitate the elders?
Hey Hey Heyoka Man, what’s the plan? Is it too late for the world, for the world to understand, hey, Heyoka Man?

Spirit of a Heyoka Man

This isn’t a dream no more, this is it, as real as it gets. There’s a whole lot of shit flowing down this ditch. The free dream is broken, disintegrating, falling apart, tearing the souls right outa the hearts of the people. The surface is covered in facts, swimming hard towards the drain, creating all kinds of pain, but who cares, darkness hanging on the horizon, people strolling along the beach, looking for lost shells, looking for anything to cover up the cracks, seal up the leaks, spread out, fly.
Every bone, locked inside their bodies, numb and outa sinc. I want sha ta know i never meant you any harm. I got caught up in the flood, torn between the winds, stretched out along the trail, beaten down, lame. Your time was ripe, a hit amongst the fools, you stole every ‘like’ you could get, you give them exactly what they wanted, you read their palms like a saint, your black cape, hovering in the breeze. You were on top, they were on the bottom, you left them strangling for a clear breath as you faded into grey. I remember exactly the words you said when you squealed your tires fast outa town, ‘it’s a sad and beautiful day, sorry to leave you so stranded, swimming thru the rust’.
Time turned round and the bottom rose up, to heavens, into the grace, while the Zbird kept their heads heavy in the scriptures, for better ways for a world to fall; light slipping in between the window panes, splattering strong against the walls, flashing thru the eye lids, flat unto the source, the creation, nothing could stop us now.

I awoke on the edge, grabbed a suitcase of stuff and headed towards the door, slammed it and felt the pressure, mask up, fit in, relax for a minute or two and then the noice, deep, inside, welting up, then, calm again. The fight was ready, waiting, you could feel it in the air. Tension, like a kite high, tight, twisting, turning, stuck into the light; held on, all could feel the grip, truth, slipping along the finger tips, to a sacred earth below.
In the cold night dreams of freedom wavered in and out of the minds along the streets. The capital under siege holding up its lies, injecting them thru the hot media, wired minds, working over time, ruled and regulated, like an app.

In The Heat Of The Night – Merida Yucatan

Thoughts piece by piece swell up and disperse out onto the cracked screens of my consciousness. The days fall side by side like some chess match between love and hate in another dimension. How can one species take up so much room, demand so much, step out so far from the nature of nature, and to insist on what is clearly insane? There lies the answer. Humanity has developed a warped demented outlook towards reality. There are theories upon theories of this stacked up like crushed vehicles in a junk yard. They will rust and return to the earth, of that there is no doubt, it is all in the matter of time.
I wander around this brain looking for a way out, a crack back into the realm of a soft embrace, a warm freedom thru this pale afternoon, a kiss from the heavens of love.
This strange focus of a whole world into such a narrow needle of control is tense at moments, to the point of a suicidal despair for so many. Where do we go from here? The afternoon wind is nervous, on the move. The sea is wavering over the horizon with a peaceful turbulence across the mind. I see you there, yes, questioning the clear winds, searching thru the swaying fields for answers, the thick rain, the heavy snow, some way fading off into another day.

If I Ever Was.

Days passed, with a cold government, turning colder, delivering decisions of weak science and no science at all. The masses split with a slow flow to the freedom side. The main media crumbling in its lack of eyes to obvious lies with the outside world gazing on with various shades of curtains shielding alibis. The war of man is on the bridge of life and death, heaven on earth or hell in the mind and there is no telling whom will be left behind. No time left to squeeze the truth out in to the streets with strict doctrines or messed up plans to elevate human kind. The tension between the dreams are tightening and the tactics are sick and mean and there remains to be seen just how quick a truck can load, how long the boxed in minds can hold, before they burst into horror along the road.
There is a calm anger emanating a love into the avenues, the streets of entangled truth.

On the Tough Side of Song

‘Where there is risk there must be choice’. This is the best line i had heard, it came from a trucker from the Windsor Bridge, protesters…. i didn’t catch a name. If there is absolutely no risk, go ahead make a law, mandate, do what ever is necessary, but if there is a risk, i want a choice.
Who cares who instigated the trucker convoy, the world government, a right regime, the whatever……it’s the sincerity and honesty of the people involved, no matter how they were lured in, the truth within them is still the truth within them. They’ll figure it out if there is ill intent lurking in the shadows..the whole world is initiated by crooks, so what, be free and live your truth, be empathetic, feel human. Transform your self and the world will change, stay on track, focus on love, there is no other freedom, truth is beyond the ideology of the day, the propaganda, agenda, narrations from one controller to the next will fall…….

You can feel the energy of freedom in the air, along the freeway, wind blowing in from the highlands, truth piercing bones. There is an undercurrent twisted and tangled throughout the low lands, but with truth strong and a foundation honourable the whirlwinds of change will propel justice clear through no matter how thick the walls. Along the highways, truckloads of brave hearts and loyal minds of a peaceful vengeance are exposing the psychotic ideologies, the disease of the elite heating up, fever breaking. Change is on the move, keep your eyes wide, your heart safe, freedom to the road…..choose truth, what is.

Images and Writing by Patrick Wey

Comment below or forever hide in silence….

Extra Images as of Late

Kachi – coming in from beach manoeuvres
Good Friend Lili Gulliver who visited Chelem for a few days.
Tarantula found wandering around our kitchen…about 3 inches
Masked Fashion in Higher Altitudes of Merida
Chagall – free exhibit in Merida, (i needed that shot of spirit)
Sasha Contemplating……..in a court yard restaurant in Merida

Thanks for taking the time to stroll down the avenue of this blog…..

Place a portion of your mind in the space below…it expands as you flounder, blossoms.

B90 … sincere attention is the greatest respect one can give someone

Uncertain of where to go from here. Some road will unfold whether i like it or not. To be or not to be that is the question. To plan, map out, construct, manipulate the data of my present knowledge and walk on or follow that faint directive that we loosely call following the heart? I would like to say that following your heart is always correct but i don’t think so. Often when one feels they have listened to their heart they were in reality quite far from any true intuitive knowing, likely. Following your heart is more of an art than a science, but there must be a balance, i believe. But that wham bam slam me down with some enlightenment or a definite light shinning on a truth flowing thru my skull….well that is hard to ignore, a vision so definite it is without doubt of its inherent truth. I tend to believe most have not experienced a super clear vision but instead, vague concepts possibly precepts that linger and develop into major conclusions after the fact of the ‘truth package’, the intrinsic raw experience they may have had. They develop this ‘happening’, rearrange it, adjust it and carry this into life as a badge, a monument of their knowing and i don’t blame them, these visions are often, if not always, more important and more real than their ordinary, often almost boring life’s, it is that, that makes it hard to deny their significance.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Screen-Shot-2022-02-02-at-5.00.43-PM.png
Dead Apples Vision

These visions appear to be the nature of the mind and what carries humanity from one circle-level to another. I have seen this many times from born again jesus fans, pagans, astrophysics, die-hard believers of almost any subject. Eventually they develop into more of the same or move on to the next mini-vision they may encounter from one subject to the next.

Seldom do you find someone that questions the validity of the very experience itself, since the experience is usually so significant from their ordinary mind-set, it appears to be without question, perfectly true. Then again, you do have those that just eliminate it almost from the very moment it may happen as an altered state illusion, or some phenomenon that they can’t explain or too freaky to consider further. I am afraid to say, these people often stay boring all their lives. I know many of these such people, almost totally locked into a mind of proclaimed factual conclusions for everything they hear, see, and feel and extremely afraid of the true state of not-knowing and endless investigations.

Raven Man – A carving I did 45 years ago

Ultimately, we are all lost children walking a path from nowhere to nowhere with a present presenting itself endlessly with data that can be concluded in infinite ways. To accept this not-knowing anything for certain is a freedom that always feels right, calm and pure.

When capable people that have been put into a position to govern the many, turn their powers into an unjust form, then eventually the masses will retaliate and attempt to take back the little freedom that they once had. The freedom to be clever in the mind, question, the choice to govern the brain, body and spirit in any way one wishes without adversely affecting others, the basic natural freedom. Our governments have allowed the mighty power of the dollar and all its attributes to rule their minds and push their self-serving agendas onto the masses. They themselves, controlled by a pool of families that own most of the world and dictate its moves, its wars, its agenda narrations. This information is easily available these days on the internet if one so chooses to investigate.

The truckers are the right vehicle at the right time for the erupting minds fed up with the way the world is being controlled. There are many that just want their simple freedoms to move as they please, about this earth. It was obvious to a few, of the overall plan early on in the plandemic and it always takes more time for the masses to wake up to see what is. No blame no fight. we all grow, move along at our own pace.

Now, the table is set, the meal is ready, the feast will begin. There is always a peaceful way to move forward, but the brain of man can not fathom the depth needed to truly become aware of ones mistakes, to respectfully apologize, to be forgiven and to move forward for the benefit of all. The super wealthy lives are at stake, the unfair distribution of wealth and intelligence is at a time overdue, exposed. There has been millions of deaths and there will be many more before humanity realizes just how beautiful this earth really is and what a true gift it is to be conscious of a simple love, a simple existence, to feel, see the beauty endlessly. That is the inner-road we are pursuing, a freedom to be honest, to care and love one another, little by little, one by one, alone, together, alone and we may arrive some day; this could be our true state of consciousness, vulnerable, caring, intelligent. Things are not at all the way things seem, here or anywhere. This is my opinion, shifting rearranging moving along as the day does. 

Miracles Thru The Trees

I roamed the beach early this morning, looking for nothing. I found a calm horizon and a jewel in my mind, a crystallized ruby-red light floating thru my thought-dreams like a guide. Some movement along a ‘faith in everything‘. My feelings lifted into the free air of gratitude for being alive, my breath deep and full, my silence beyond all noice. I pondered across the long sea and felt the aeons of time soften my brain, the unwritten history of all creation shelter my soul. I walked with the ancient sand between my toes and the cool breeze of truth slip across my skin and i was alive, free, natural, in love.

Later i sat with a raw coffee under the thatched patio roof and wrote for the whole world to see. I am nothing much, not very important in the terrain of things, the hustle and busted city streets of mans inventions.

I own no one and no one owns me. It is my natural right to roam the world, to injest what i will, think what i may, believe what i do and as long as it does not adversely affect others, than not to be hindered by others, so i may fulfil my walk. That is loosely the code of man, to be free amongst the others.

I will be gone soon and i don’t have the undying desire to leave behind some great piece of art, science or religious doctrine. I simply have the desire to create for the sheer purpose to do, something, this, whatever. If it affects others positively, negatively, that is not on me.

I am grateful for the truckers that have helped to bring to light the tyranny that is occurring at an increased rate of late. There were many others long before they came along, people of integrity and honour and there will be many more. Their vehicle literally was of great timing and may help to turn the tides. Their delivery is more than a few strawberries or lawn chairs, tho most we could do without. The truck industry wiped out the more appropriate train system…there are a few conspiracies in that transformation i believe, but we shall leave that rust along the tracks for now. If it were not for the constant propulsion of humanity to want everything sooner, yesterday, the business world would have less to market and advertise and people would experience more freedom, calmness, humanity…………..a softer time.

It is an illusion to believe that all that went to war went to fight for freedom for the masses or all truckers are worthy honourable drivers of delivering the so necessary foods for survival. It’s a job for most and they have a right to make a living for their families but keep it in perspective which means attempt to understand the whole picture. The black and the white of reality is usually a pale shade of a beautiful grey.

Vern Harper Listenning

A sincere attention is the greatest respect one can give another’. I often think of my friend Vern Harper for making me realize this gift. He would often lower his head and be in a deep focused concentration when listening to someone that was talking to him. It was the sweat lodge ceremonies and listening to peoples prayers and teachings that really brought the importance of listening to what one is trying to say rather than how i wish to interpret it. It was later that i realized that it is also the greatest respect a person can give to another. Of course each and everyone of us has a deep desire to be heard, to be understood, to be able to express ones deepest feelings, knowings. It is a true gift to really be able to listen, to really listen, to feel the essence beyond the words, to feel the heart tremble with the message of another. I feel i have failed as of late to really, really, ‘shut up and listen’.

It still astounds me of how many there are that still refuse to open up the doors to alternative media to become informed or at least, perceive another side to the news. It appears that most people are terribly afraid of altering their own consciousness to another way of seeing reality. But what really makes me wonder are the people i know personally that are extremely intelligent human beings, but trust so whole heartily in what they believe is a trusted source even though they have learned that those very institutions, corporations, governments have deceived humanity so terribly in the past. Certainly, this has made me wonder just what they were listening to when we were listening to the very same sources, as an example, Masters of War by Dylan, Senor, Highway 61, Only a Pawn in the Game, and numerous, numerous other examples from many disciplines. I suppose it has more to do with how they may have been affected personally by ‘authority’, in their lives

Fish-Sky Electric-Highway

There are many reasons why i had mistrusted this Covid Agenda early on, possibly from the use of psychedelics, vision quests, many altered state experiences in the past; all which gives one a realization that things are really not at all as they appear. The numerous times of catching authority in contradictions to serve their own jobs, their money, their beliefs. I have understood the realm of thought to a greater degree than most and its validity and limitations. What does not always coincide with this knowing is how so many ordinary people from truckers to house men and women, to numerous people from all walks of life woke up also, to different degrees, no doubt, but never the less, realized we are on a route to having all of our freedoms taken away by some strategy concealed by main stream media for powers beyond. The simple right to determine what goes into our body and yet so many believe they would rather have multi-corporations determine our bodies fate. Yes, i know all the responsibility to humanity bullshit and the deceptions to have the majority turn against common sense and many tactics yet to be exposed and understood………….but it is my body, my responsibility to treat it as the creator, creation has taught me.
These teachings have come direct from the intelligence of earth itself. Believe it or not, i don’t care, but my trust is in the visions i have gathered along my path thru life. I don’t trust superior wealth, it is not of superior health. The earth mother has created all life and all intelligence comes from her womb, that is indisputable.. All the religions, science and art come from her form. Her form is the fundamental answer. It is prevalent everywhere. We have raped the earth in order to utilize an energy that depends on refuelling endlessly with grids of control for a few over the many, from the money grid, food chains to energy grids. Wake up, let her fill your heart with the truth and understanding to create with an ultimate living energy spirit. 

Somehow, there was a creation of form, a miracle, ‘the creation‘. This form is everywhere, the vortex. Energy created from the outwards dispersing motion has to be refuelled constantly. This is the vast majority of energy systems created and utilized in all of our man-made world. Easy to control, the necessary fuel and the many people that are needed to refuel this grid. Now we have robots to take this responsibility and an access of humans. So therefore the reset.

The Perfect Vortex Generator for Living Energies

The inwards motion of the vortex as in a tornado needs only air or water and a form to direct a slight inwards motion to begin its journey to a much more superior living energy creation. This is the predominate direction in all life. Believe it or not, the super wealthy explosive energy corporations and their masters are very aware of this and have concealed this knowledge for centuries. All attempts to build, create these implosive systems have been destroyed; from inventors such as V. Schauberger to N. Tesla and others. The simple reason is that they are completely self creating and can be utilized anywhere on the planet without the grid of refuelling and the control of a few because they tap into zero point energy available anywhere in the universe.
This is not good business for the few that now own most of the world and have been in control well before the advent of this knowledge had been known. They have the news by the balls and most people are not interested in researching to find out and learn what is really going on. Easy picking for the wealthy, Easy to control. A few bucks and they have them in their pockets and that’s where we are at today.

But this is all falling apart. I believe they underestimated the power of the internet and before they could grasp a total control, the secrets leaked, and are leaking still, exposing them, backing them right up against the wall. It is not over by any means…they got a fuck load of money, power and control with tones of people willing to fulfil their wishes for bucks and ignorance. As dylan had said ‘money doesn’t talk, it swears’.

This is a big picture. There are bigger pictures, much beyond my knowing. For now the collapse of the reset will do and we’ll take it from there. We’re now rockin in the unfree world…..could get worse, much worse; goodbye neil and all your comrads, washed up along the shore, brain cells gone astray……..

Writing, Opinions and Images by Patrick Wey

Comment Please

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Extra Images

Kachi and her new pregnant beach buddy
A slight touch of Merida
Progresso Yucatan ..a day in the life of one

B89 … no clear way thru the jungle.

Vern Harper … Spirit Moments That Linger Still

I never thought i’d be living here. Along the Gulf coast of the Yucatan. I usually imagined myself writing from some modest place in an older section of a city, a deep forest, a southwest desert, but never the shores of the Yucatan. While the world is struggling with deceit at the deepest levels, honest opinions condemned by closest friends and family, truth hidden by false saviours, death walking close behind veils of data, the world is wounded deep.

We are in our new place. A small casita behind the larger more elaborate beach house. Very nice, we think we’ll like it here as long as there are no surprises. The woman in the front will move in tomorrow with her little dog. We shall see how all that fits. The only sound at the moment is the strong breeze thru the palms and dogs that erupt into ruff verse then shallow out for indefinite periods of time. That’s Mexico.

Don’t have anything for you, wish i did but i don’t. Maybe someone else will help you thru all this, i’ve heard there are answers down the pike, don’t know myself, never got that far. My ship is sinkin, my time is getting close to the end, just tryin to make some peace with myself before the last curtain falls. Someone else can ring the bells, blow the fog horns, write some rhyme, truth sits quiet as usual while the streets die. It’s closing time, it’s time to put and end to time, it’s time to say nothin, watch the last dance dance upon the shelf, burn the books, slip out the back door, quietly fade away.

Sasha and I…in front of our new home, for awhile.

The moon is shedding its light across the sea, wind is shimmering palms in silhouettes across the sky. I laid the broken hearts in tears fading across my chest, for a while i sat sad and lame and watched the pain nurture the last few stretches of wounds before they turned around and blossomed into something new. I spoke of this to no one, i suffered the loss quietly till it ended and now i will face this dark road and end it for good.

Today people know too much, facts are everywhere, confusion is frowned upon, the many need to be right, need to know…….this is disastrous. I feel the war in the heads along the streets, in my path people comment their definite beliefs about a virus situation so controversial it’s almost laughable at times if it weren’t so detrimental to our existence. We could loose the place we are living in, get kicked out of this country, not be allowed back to our country, not be able to cross a border…..be forced to take a number of jabs that i am certain is not what they claim it to be.

That’s the life along the trail 2022 on the coast of the Yucatan…you just flow day by day, live life.

There are many of the famous complaints that one might have down here. Noice, loud obnoxious music from stores trying to lure people in, speakers on top of vehicles advertising something or another. Little things that can irritate one out of proportion if you’re not careful. Fanatic expads, western tourists and there little dogs paranoid of my friendly Kachi free and running towards them hoping to play while they frantically pick up their little yappers or the big vicious dogs all on leaches yelling to keep my dog away, put him on a leach, ‘my dog is vicious’…….madness. I ran into an over weight couple today on the beach with three huge dogs on leaches while they were all trendy-masked up and yelling religiously to me to keep my happy tail-wagging dog away. The world is out of tune, caught in a groove of rules and regulations and bank accounts, investments and very little connection to the earth, the creator of their universe, the ultimate decision maker, and though just a few inches from their mind, they can’t hear, see, feel a damn thing.

The beauty surrounding this area is overwhelming and yet ……

I’m gonna be gone soon, i can feel it in my cells. All my friends, all my family will go, there will be nothing left, not a trace, so what the hell is all this confusion, this picking sides, these ridiculous walls, these troubles forced all around. Hey there, where you going with that big bag of nonsense, that ship load of stuff, that encyclopaedic train load of minds? Who you going to find along the trail to scrape off the shit from your boots? What’s a life worth, hypnotized to the glory holes of democracy, the death bed of pounding drums, the noisy silence of cathedral praise? Why hang onto your failing memory of your vague salvation? Go out and watch the setting sun erase your dreams, be strong, stop listening to your worn out prayers begging for security, set it all aside for a minute or two, live.

Sierra, The Angel That Befell Into My Life

I came upon an angel with a broken wing of the deepest forest as sweet as anything. She told me of the miracles of the mind that i accidentally left behind, almost forgot and cast my eyes into other realms that could never do me good. Just when i was about to leave she held my heart for me to see, that i had wasted so much time searching for so much, so many dreams that could never exist and just when i was about to surrender to my fate she left me standing at the crossroads, those laneways that are so difficult to decipher. I was brave but just not long enough before everything faded away and i was left facing the walls of my discontent once again but with the vision of her caressing my soul i walked on. I’m free finally of all this searching, there is nothing to be that can not be, there is no room for anything that doesn’t move, everything is free, she is all around me, alive, elusive.

Rubin Hurricane Carter – Vern Hurricane Harper

In the quiet of the night when it appears that almost everything is asleep, i remember you, your ways within the sweats, the heat, the humour the humility the humble words you placed upon the rocks, the moments of pure spirit splitting the darkness with love and soft affection. I remember the sweats in the prisons we performed, i as the fire keeper and you working the medicine, conducting the ceremony, helping the people, praying your prayers for all. Those were the days when we were best friends travelling in my westphalia camper van from here to there, from nowhere to somewhere, prison to prison, ceremony to ceremony, pow wows, sweats, reservations across the nations. I was in the inner circle with chiefs, medicine men and women, warriors, the ancient ones, the young ones. Sweats with famous people, Hurricane Carter, Floyd Hand, too many to mention; a few vision quests a year, four days no food no water. In those hours moments of great revelations took place, carved light in to my soul that lingers still. Vern would say, ‘you have done that, no one can take that away’ when i might have been feeling sorry for myself or confused of what things meant, these visions that led me from one conviction to another…………things have changed, but the truth still lays still across the plains of time. Possibly it is your spirit tonight that moves these words across the page. Possibly anything can be a possibility but i know there is nothing for certain in the mind. It is all nice to believe in this or in that but the truth is free from the mind, the indian way is a path that changes constantly, honour the way and truth will slip into your soul free to move as water does in and around the rocks of time. 

Vern Harper in a Mystical Lodge

It was one of those heavy hot ‘burn with Vern’ sweats. Hurricane Carter, Floyd Hand, Oliver Poille, all the regulars, the Canadians that helped Rubin get out of prison, it was a full lodge and i remember the splashes of water hitting the hot rocks and burning the skin sharp. Everybody was trembling with the last threads of strength to hang on, keep focused, pray, sing, chant, whatever one did to keep going, when Rubin yelled out ‘take it easy’ on us. I was glad someone yelled out but i was doin fine, could have gone on longer no doubt and Vern just ignored the plead and splashed more water on those burning grandfather rocks, skish skish. I realized in those moments, even someone that has endured so much in prison can be weak in other circumstances and to hold the spirit high for others is always our main job. We are one people, one race, one energy, one world. Those moments cut deep into the brain, leaves trails along the heart that only an empty mind can find.

We walked around Merida last night, beautiful old down town centre Zacolo area, less than an hour from our new home. Lots of activity on a Friday night. This is where all the tourists hide, expose themselves, buy stuff, dine out, wander about. I noticed a few things, hardly any dogs, we left Kachi with our new room mate whom rents the Beach House, Suzy. Katchi won’t be pleased about the few dogs down town. The other thing i noticed was that most everyone was wearing a mask. The few that were not were usually white tourists in the millennium age area. With all the restrictions being lifted in the last week or so in various places especially the UK, my theory is that the first to know are the ones that are social media savvy and that fits with the millenniums. The first to respond to new media knowledge and change will be the socially popular-media savvy groups. Things are looking up, or mask free possibilities coming soon to a town near you. Most are still quite conservative so it won’t be the conspiracy theory savvy group necessarily but as long as things keep moving into freedom, that’s good enough for me.

Merida will be our taste of city life for the coming months. Lots of galleries, art activities, museums, cool cafes, bustling streets, crowd energy, city vibes in a historic setting. We were glad to get back to our safe haven beach retreat, where things are slow, very slow.

The constant search and trying to be someone always lurking in the back of the mind. No matter how hard one tries to alleviate it, it is always there surrounding you with this thought or that. Best to busy oneself with gratifying work, art, science, poetry anything to excite oneself out into the realm of meaningful minutes. Somedays it just comes squeaking in, no matter how tight the lock, the camouflage, the pretty room, the paradise one has built, surrounded oneself with. Today, this energy hit hard, Knocked me off my feet, crushed my hidden dreams, threw me off into the thick of it. We all have these moments, these days. Shrug it off. Watch the sea, the waves endlessly scamper upon the shore line. See the flat earth from the edge of the horizon across the view. Stop questioning for more answers, for more knowing that never comes. Sure let it be, feel the wind brush up against your soul, caress the silence, hang on for a second or two. Notice anything that floats by, a pelican, a thought of love past, there where the pain hides…..The sun burst out and this is for real, kinda feels like it could smother me, but it doesn’t. I keep hanging on to something I’m not sure of, some turmoil agitating my inner strength, some weary warrior fighting for a few more drops of blood, life, love.

Real De Catorse – Mexico – a few years behind

A freind suggested the other day on my last blog that possibly this is what poetry is, a way to undue the weave that tightens the grip around your heart. A method to clarify what can’t be understood with words. A love that cries out for love. Words attempting to uphold the glory of life, of death, a way to fall thru to the other side and sense the beauty that surrounds. My tears keep falling across my heart and my love keeps begging for attention, all the while i search for nothing but the sound to take me away, to know what i can not know………i stop, watch the waves, the sun glistens across the scene. As far as my eyes can see the clouds sit soft against the sea-horizon and i feel love and this silent wind abasing my soul.

We left Canada because we felt the grip of insanity tighten the minds of the people. The freedom a sane person knows is a natural right. We have no certainty that things will change in our favour. We are conscious of what we inject and insert into our bodies as best as we can. We see many people everywhere cursing us behind their lips that we are threatening their lives by not taking these injections of poison they believe are their saviours. Insanity, we notice. 

My own sister thinks my attitude is inappropriate, life threatening, dangerous to society, tho they would never say so to my face, that same sentiment is meditated amongst my relatives, brothers, inlaws, nieces, nephews, many friends, most i know are on the side of following the grand mandates, the global agenda, the mighty kings of the jungle………..all the institutions, billionaires, politicians, most all that i despise, suspect. That’s life in 2022, split people everywhere and all a page of a super plan that is so easy to read when you can see and understand how this world revolves. It is sad, lonely, disheartening for the world, the people, the future of humanity.

Jessy – a good freind, died ten years ago….honourable man.

I can handle the rejection most of the time. Today was difficult. A new moon possibly, some planetary unusual movements, at any rate, some ruffled energy in the air, some love falling off a cliff, dragging thought too powerful to breeze away in the turbulent wind. Detrimental disagreements for the family and friends around the world. The divide of the millennium, the biological trans-human evolutionary plan. I care, that is why you can push me ‘to the gates of hell but i won’t back down’. 

I remember many great moments with friends and family, that will have to do for now. There are but a few that have remained close at hand thru this great divide, the premise for the hot war exploding in the cells of humanity.

I can walk out to the beach and swim my life out, it is early, the wind is soft, the birds know. I avoid social media especially the book of faces almost always, it just disturbs me knowing the house is burning down and most all are comfortable on their couches exchanging smiling faced photos in wonderful moments for all to feel. It all has its moments but now is a time for much more than sleeping at the wheel, i tend to think!.

I have spent most of my life with concerns about what goes into the bodies of humanity and beast. I have seen well educated people along the walls of social media express their views that they know not what is in so many of their foods and past vaccines and so what is all the fuss about, just take the shots, shut-up and trust the science. Need i say more……it’s complicated, but the plan has been to numb the minds with entertainment, manipulated food processes, the air, everything and more than one could possibly imagine.

Jim Hodgson – friend for eons, still around…we’re close….always respected my approach to photography and especially my writing….that helped.

I choose to walk and question everything especially the filthy rich, coerced institutions, religious fanatics from politics to religion and advocates for a science that is struggling at an octave too low. Be brave, kill your pride, step on board and breathe the air free and unite.

We are one people, wake up, get back to the circle. To understand silence is not to be silent, but to walk in the hand of nature and be free with a voice to sing your song, clear.

I might abandon canada but i will not abandon humanity, it’s in the nature of the brain. There are no borders that can’t be broken, hearts that can’t be mended. Rise up above the nations and the sickness in the head, live as one, be as one and one will be.

Beware of those thoughts that keep you sad, those inclinations that linger in your brain, those twisted bent ideas that never end, never let you breathe deep, keep you frightened, beware, it can get you and be your end.

There is no clear way thru the jungle. The obstacles are many. You may meet death lurking from a bush, or life in the mud. You may see almost perfect one moment and be blinded the next. Some say it is all worth it. I don’t know about that. One must do what one must do. There are hundreds of thousands, millions world wide now fighting for their democratic natural rights to be upheld by the powers that have been elected to serve them. Freedom and truth are siblings often in dispute. Brother freedom can be dangerous with out sister truths guidance. The war goes deep into the mind of humanity. Today is the day the super elite is exposed for their crimes but everyone is to blame, has a part to play in refining the edges of the heart. There has been blood shed and there will be more along the path to awareness. It all seems so cruel from the mountains but down here in the valley the dangers are real and deadly. Get your weapons in hand, carry that truth thru the doors to freedom because there are some unbelievable beliefs in the minds of the controllers that will not be changed without a fight to the end and possibly with some intervening from the higher spirits in the background. We shall see how it all unfolds.

Too Late For The PostMan……Kathy Bechamp and Patrick Wey

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So much undue suffering is caused by the ones that feel they need to control, others and all life itself. From the peasant to the super rich the trend to have more and be better than the rest is a sickness that causes more than enough grief. Get rid of the elite and more elite will come. Wars are too slow to change the consciousness of humanity. I see no answer, the sixties, psychedelics, love was stamped out, not sustainable. One must walk alone, change alone. Native ceremonies are an answer for a period of time. Answers are often nothing more than disguised opinions. When doubt is suppressed tyranny spreads. This is my opinion. So Keep On Truckin – There Must Be Someway Outa Here.

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Images and Wriitng by Patrick Wey

Comment please, it enhances the continuity of dreams.

A few additional iphone pics

Sexy Sasha and Ordinary Pat
Kachi’s first tuk tuk ride…a little scared but not anymore
A Cobbler in the Progresso Market Place
Sasha – Walking Her Dreams Away
The Song of the Sea

Thank you all, for taking the time to wander along my observations……….please leave a few words in the wake of your walk.…..

B88 … does love really bind this universe as one…in the folds of all matter?

The Beast and The Beauty

The chance that life would get back to normal, a new normal, similar, was an illusion. They knew it and in your hearts you knew it too. There was nothing going to be the same as it once was. Doors had opened and there was nothing that was going to turn it around, go back, close the doors, seal up the cracks and force everything that escaped out into the light to forget what was now embedded into the new brains of humanity, virtual, real, organic or robotic. Not going to happen. These changes are so vast, they may be talked about in detail for centuries, they may have set off a stampede of change that will never be understood with absolute understanding. Possibly the poets of the future will disentangle the truth of the matter with words that pierce sharp to the heart but wander off in vague clouds thru fine lines shaped into bitter decisions as poets often do. Who knows is nobodies guess.

The ‘great deception’ will hang in the museums for millenniums as evidence for ‘the last transformation’ of humanity, the ‘humpty dumpty’ of the 21st century.

Curbs of water ways a metre high

I walk down the streets of Campeche, the historic city of the Yucatan Gulf Coast. Curbs of water ways a metre high down cobble stone beds of centuries of memories embedded into streets. Words just flow out and over the cracked stone of archaic spirits assembling in the night air as i tread upon the web of memory that entangles the people, the wild ones, the earth, and the sacred waters of time. I am a witness of existence for a moment or two then the water ways of the mind fade into the darkness to where they lay silent once more for another soft observers eyes.

The wars fought here on this ground. The great sorrow and the wretched, sordid, mucky minds that shaped these canals into a future that now tends to forget the details, the horror of it all……….war, so praised, now hangs in the halls of museums and is now the entertainment of tourists of our day. This is the way of humanity, once love is forgot and a more prosperous deception as hatred persists, war surrounds the mind. Such is the life and death of man as the collective mind unfolds through the canals of time.

There is love in the air remembered in the petals of the flowers blooming in the streets, in the fields, the jungles and even the minds strewn across the globe. I am in this love some times.

There is no lock down here as back home in Ontario, Quebec and stretching across the nation of Canada. The madness persists, conclusions warping the trend, the fight between this side and that, these details and those, deception and honesty. The people are divided, real debates are hidden within the fears of death and truth sits camouflaged with broken facts and obscure intelligence. It’s a mess and the night is closing in.

Kachi Pondering on the Chess Board of Life

Day breaks into a heavy sun bright and free. Kachi is lonesome, i can tell. She is tired of the hot days in the car and no great adventures like the BC forests and the cold fresh waters upon its land. We decided to move on from here to Progresso in the Yucatan, booked a B&B for three nights on the beach to get our heads around the possibilities that face us.

We arrived to a quaint little apartment a few miles from Progresso. There are a few other guests, a couple from Hungary, the owners are British and have lived here for ten years. Chelem is a small fishing village with nothing much other than a few stores and lots of small fishing vessels.

After talking with Mila the Hungarian young woman we learned that in Hungary hardly anyone wears a mask anymore. She feels as us that there are tons of opinions based on little truths and many lies intermixed to a structured media-brew for the masses. Everybody is truly confused whether they want to believe it or not. The owner here, Tony, seems unconcerned about masks. That’s all i know, for now.

The first morning here quiet and thoughtful. Went for an early morning swim in the gulf, ran, exercised, felt the energy of the space upon my face, the mind went quiet for a time, there was an attraction laying out its tentacles; something was right.

Another Splash of Puddle Art

We went to see the town a couple of miles down the road and an adventure of looking for a longer term home began. We met a few locos that showed us a few places, either too small, decrepit or to huge and glamorous but we were set on the right track. Accidentally found a cool cafe and our first gringos we happened to meet whom were having breakfast, were from a little town north of Qualican Beach which is an hour north of our home in BC. The Mexican Hombre owner of the restaurant taught at the Quelph University my home area in Ontario. We were surprised to find a cool cafe let alone people from our past spaces. Magnetics of the heart, i suppose, connecting. We gathered lots of info concerning rental prices and other data of interest for expats attempting to smooth out the edges of fitting in somewhere here.

There is too much to be said concerning the many things that happens in a day to a mind travelling new territory that questions too much and can never say enough. That’s me, not unlike many of us questionable humans.

Night time came quick today. It was a good day. Hardly any covid news and just about ready to tune into the data from around the world via my trusted sources, and i don’t trust much and that is exactly the type of mind i trust, those are my preferred sources, those that don’t know more than they do.

The Zocalo in Campeche

It appears to me that the masses that continue to follow the planned narrative will stay stuck until they realize that the multi conglomerate pharma industries are not their friends along with all the other super rich industrial giant minds. The main stream media is now owned by them and their news is simply propaganda to continue your views parallel to execute their plans. Until such time there will continue to be a war between the heart and the mind, the conscious and the structured, the slaves and the freedom warriors. I am unsure of my purpose here but it is not to lay out the facts to prove these thoughts, there are plenty of slicker minds than mine that are exposing data and varifiable facts that convey these opinions, to show in detail how humanity has been manipulated strategically to a very foul end. I will leave it that. There is so much arising in the minds of the fighters with thousands of hours of videos and literature exposing these truths. It is up to the individual if you really want to know what’s happening or just be a part  of the foul narrative. Humanity is waking up, humanity is falling asleep. This is not my problem, my mission, my job.

Scenes along the Streets of Campeche

We here, Sasha, Kachi and I are looking for a place to lay our weary heads for a few months and take it from there. I will say this one last concept on this topic, the reality of what is really happening is so far out of reach of most of us that eternity seems like a minute in a month of this world.

Man is not a free thinker, a free thinker does not think, but allows thought to think itself out, freely. The controller of thought is the thinker caught in a prison of his own making. Us mind travellers weave in and out of this plane, but we are all caught to a degree.

Krazy Kachi Reflected En Mexico

We found a place month by month, on the beach, modest and the cheapest we could find……this shall do. We have been putting up with constant hammering from the next door construction for the last week, morning till night. Tomorrow, Sunday, the Sabath, the day of rest, and we’ll be gone.

Such is life, noice, light, mind pollution, there is no place to hide, micro-tech is everywhere, in everything, gmo humans walking with the dead and flourishing…….‘what can ever stop this wheel from excelerating out of control’ is the question of the millenniums…….does love really bind this universe as one, in the folds of all matter or is this simply just another illusion?

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Sometimes, i have to admit, it just seems to tear too sharp along the sentiments of my heart, all this madness, everywhere, better to punctuate an end with a last period. Sadness too heavy to hold, loneliness so far from home, no purpose worth a moment, kick the last can down the street and call it quits…………….so far, this air has blown thru my mind, one day, it may not.
Things change, the mind moves and before you know it there is light against the walls.

Streets Upside-down Exploding in Beauty

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images and writing by patrick wey

B84 … Exile in Mexico

Nov 26 2021 : This is our second day in Mexico City. We began preparing two weeks ago. It is hard to believe that i sit here writing about our escape. By the end of November 2021 Canadians will not be able to exit or enter Canada without the infamous vaccination jabs that i refuse to call anything other than an experimental injection along the insides of a long tube of carefully planned deceit and control of a needle of power and evil intent. 

Portrait of Patrick and Sasha – Mexico City

The world has gone madder and yet more awake than a psychedelic trip along a paradise trail in a sixties kids mind. Complacent minds shower the heavens of this earth of sacred beauty with trust for mechanical science and digital intelligence misplacing the comprehension and likeness of earths universal solutions.

I sit here in the shady sunlight of the oldest neighbourhood in Mexico City, Coyoacan. Possibly the Coyote brought us here. I have very slight feelings of evacuating a responsibility to a cause back in BC. I had done my part. I had helped the beginning of organizing a group to lead an Action to the Supreme Courts still in progress and to be ready to submit in a few weeks. Possibly United Effort, Bernard, Dean and Team will get an injunction stay on the madness from the Supreme Court of Canada, the mandates, the planned-demic put to a halt. There is no doubt that this is a world fraud not experienced since the times of Atlantis or the land of Mu. Nothing can compare. There are numerous prophecies expressing these times, all which show a new world thru times of destitute without the silly control the elite so much pursue.

I have no one to answer to, but the fate of my own doing. I lived here in Mexico City 42 years ago. I was a young man. I am very close to the neibourhood of which i lived, a life time ago. I have returned to finish my end as it may turn out to be.

Sasha, my partner and our dog Kachi, all safe in the home of Raul. A lawyer, from a very preticious family here in Coyoacan. I met him through his daughter and her boy friend, Alexandra and Juan. We will travel to Veracruz State, Rio Blanca which is where they live in a few days, to live for months and develop plans as the road unfolds.

Only two days here and already i am feeling some form of connection to this land. I have a long history with Mexico and its people. I had done peyote for three years in a row in the lands of Wirikuta, Real De Catorse and taught english in Tuxpan Veracruz and Mexico City years ago. I married a Mexican City woman Rosa whom now lives in Canada, Ontario. This land, tho foreign has some deep form of connection. We shall see how things unfold.

I am happy for the freedom warriors back in Canada and all over the world fighting this tyrannical insanity. So far i have experienced little detention towards not wearing a mask, tho a large percentage do in the streets and cafes, there is much less negativity towards the non-masked at this point in time here in the city.

I will continue to acknowledge the attitude here; towards the injection, masking, alternatives such as ivermectin and just the general feelings towards the illusions and realities facing this world wide dilemma.

I am thankful that somehow we escaped the ongoing conditions the people of Canada are facing. I know my mind will slowly melt into the atmosphere of the present landscape and the thoughts of northern air will diminish as the streets of Mexico conquer my mind, but in my heart the strong water-memory of my birth place in Ontario will surpass even the time/space that has honoured my stay here upon this earth.

There will come a time that all whom have caused and supported these terrible crimes against humanity and all the species and living cells upon this earth. All of us have a part in this crime whether it be minute or horrendous, the price is upon us all. No one is exempt from allowing complacency within the corridors of the mind.

There are those that appear completely insane to project such order upon the free air of this earth, the pure waters polluted with selfish chemistry and land raped to the very veins of life itself. Each, it is said will be punished for their part, their sins within the territory of the sacred.

Mexico has an ancient atmosphere hanging off the walls of the streets, the ripe culture and the historic air surround the taste of the Mexican nature. The feeling of calm caresses my mind from the agitation lingering in the air back home. There is no right or wrong surrounding my thoughts as i write about what i perceive. I am what i observe, nothing more, nothing less; this reality is surreal and i see clear in this dark night as i write alone thru the silence falling upon the city. It is time to close.

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.Nov 29, 2021, A few days on and we are settling into the much slower pace of this neighbourhood in the heart of Mexico City. We feel estranged at times but the softness of the breeze brings us back to the present, here and now, this is where it’s at. For better or for worse we had made a decision and now it’s getting on with getting on. I still get emails exposing the corruption going on in the northern borders and the mass extinction secretly floating thru the vibrations from the western front, world wide. We shall see how it all plays out.

The food here is great, fresh fruit, vegetables, markets. The hospitality from Raul was much more than we could have imagined. We are grateful for the blessings that have been bestowed upon us. I plan on letting my spirit fall into the abyss of the earth and let be what may be. Life is so enormously short and, ‘the rules of the road have been lodged, and it’s only peoples games that you have to dodge, and it’s alright ma, i can make it’ B Dylan from It’s All Right Ma; these lyrics have been lodged into this brain from years and hours upon hours walking thru the poets of the past. Till later, adious for now.

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Future Posts:
Awake in Mexico
Asleep in Mexico
Mexico on silent streets
Mexico near the end of life
That Can’t Happen Here

Next days coming soon

Mexico City Cafe – Sasha, Kachi, Morning.

Raul, Professor of Law with Students all now Lawyers

Kachi making friends

writing and images by patrick wey

B83 … i don’t believe you

I don’t believe you, why would i? I can hardly trust myself to verify truth. I have no special gifts that anyone could not obtain. Simply to walk without fear spreading your legs into complacency. There is no other sane way to be. There is an intelligence that only the sincere sacred noble mind can glimpse in timeless moments. There is no point in attempting to change anyone with a few words. It is hard work, integrity and perseverance alone that elevates one into spaces that others can hardly dream of.

The day breaks into nights that can caress the most heartless in ways that only an artist might feel. Pain is the temple of the throne to creativity. God must have hidden feelings beneath the waves of torment like a sunset. Beauty slips in to view just at the moment discontent slides between the shades of light sparkling like crystal figures dancing in the night. I have found dreams escape into my life like surrealism does when i’m alone, an object observing all space from no specific place. Separate attached disconnected twisted around a reality like a sculpture owning the middle of a room.

One can only know so much. Knowing everything is knowing nothing and no one can live knowing nothing. To be human is to be destined to live in a mind that is vast and yet contrived to believe as belief deteriorates endlessly.

How absurd to be condemned because to refuse an injection from a train of conspiracies so obvious, so clearly a setup for a scheme so venomous that one would have to be completely numb not to see a speck of its plan.

I am a citizen of the earth. I have no country, i am of no race. My blood is human. I am not genetically modified, I will not comply to the insane that wish to control the nature of nature. You have no right to tell this mind, this body what it does or does not need. I am sane, intelligent enough, caring according to the nature of this humanity to make my own decisions. I walk within my skin as a solemn soul upon this earth free. I will not be trapped within your propaganda. I will question every belief that finds its way into this mind. I will not follow anything, anybody, any doctrine, any science, corporation, religion, god, fantasy, any form that has not a crack within its confines. I will walk until walking ends.

woke up early this morning
everyone else was asleep
made a coffee
whispered a conversation
with anne frank, we said
‘what’s going on
nobody sees it coming’
i could see a dying kenedy
in the distance lecturing
to a malevich and a mayakovsky
while most everyone else still slept
how absurd i thought
this place don’t make sense
a lone tv on a bench
stacks of i d at the door
and this foul murder
right before our eyes
and only a few crawl out of bed
to this night time dance
to witness this death
within the head
….it must be ‘past one o’clock’.

Highlights for Warspot: Malevich and Mayakovsky’s War …

images and writing by patrick wey

B82 … conspiracy in my soup

Joe, he went to a blues concert, he doesn’t wear a fucking mask, but his girlfriend Sara does, but they still kiss in the alleyway to music that likes to slam up against the walls. Gary’s retired now and he’s been vaccinated 3 times but still wears a mask religiously and keeps his distance perfect, he loves the blues but it gives him a contagious throbbing throat. Danny’s an air head but thinks he’s full of heavy water and imitates so well people think he’s a genius; oh there’s one of his songs floating by now, just like a cliche on steroids; what a ‘wonderful sorry day’. He brags about himself being spiked with some pure protein apparently programmed to dim your lights. He’s not to blame tho, it’s just the way the road winds. Christine’s sitting in a cafe on a vacant boulevard, keeping her distance, in the distance the masked are walking to and fro talking thru some wifi about the conditions of their skin; the rules are posted everywhere, changing adjusting coagulating posting orders from somewhere vague, over there. Everybody deserves an opinion; it’s wrapped around their skull like a warped wheel. You can hear them scream their stories muffled sincere like a hustler hidden by the heat.

Money Doesn’t Talk it Swears……B Dylan

The world has gone weary half awake and divided by their own minds too real to escape. Tim wants you to do this and Tara wants you to believe in that, while the common media is demanding that you follow something entirely different for the benefit of them all, and then there are those that question everything from the lies between their ears to the questions themselves; dusty on the shelves. Certainly love can’t unite us all, as if it ever could, ever would; though, where the imagination is involved, anything is possible, for a moment or two.

i found a conspiracy in my soup, some enemy bacteria surrounding my heart, there were theories bouncing off the walls of my veins and i lost all inclination to discuss anything much down thru the corridors of all those social gossiping networks. I got a trillion viruses in my brain explaining the truth about our deadly sickness, drowning in conceit, lost in vacuums of beliefs hanging onto dreams of manufactured falling flakes of nothingness and then the day begins.

Friends, enemies, real and unreal from heroes to villains tossing names here and fro, selfish killers, sheep lips, critical stinkers, fat chequers, terrorists, while the few percenters continue shovelling trips of guilt and shame down the well preserved paths of civil obedience; the loner tries to escape.

They refused free energy, that exists everywhere, for decades in honour of the unsustainable short rope with control and dominance. Tesla, Schauberger and many others exposed discoveries that could have set man free with unlimited energies alive in a free world. The masses divided in their flaws are played and played until they’re blind, deaf and dump and then turn around and praise those very few that are strategically controlling their madness.

That’s life, down here around the garage of twisted minds.

Amy’s got her shot now but she don’t eat GMO’s, she’s a natural gal in mind but modified in body.

To my friends and family, real and unreal.

I am not a murderer, a terrorist and certainly no more selfish than the rest of us. I tend to believe in reason as far as it can go before lifted up into some eternal understanding beyond the armour of logic, some call that intuition, prophesy. Therefore, i caress the knowledge of sound science, its data and experiments to prove its place in the limits of time and space. I mistrust the human minds capability to be fully honest. From pawns to kings and queens the purest of minds become tainted with the pleasures money and power can provide. The super wealthy simply, should not be. The world has wound itself terribly out of control. The conceit deceit dishonesty of some minds is simply so surreal, and yet, they are in fact the few that rule the life of the many. They have become psychopaths sociopaths narcistic entities that must be stopped if we are to flourish as the loving human beings that our minds are capable of. That, is up to us. When will we stand up and say no, we don’t want this world of imbalance any longer. We have paid our dues. It is time. Each one of us on this planet must take our stand and say, i will listen to all, i will help in any way i can to stand up for justice where ever i find injustice in any way that it is presented to me. I will not force my will on anyone.

I will not take an injection that is controlled by madmen without verified scientific proof of its necessity without true voice being silenced. I want to see all the verified evidence and all data openly. It is time to crush this insane imbalance of one pinned against the other. It is our right to grow.

The law makers are calling us exactly what they are, ‘terrorists’. Questioning has become against the law, our natural immune system is irrelevant, they have divided us to implement their inhumane rules and agendas. Time will tell, that lies can stay hidden, and good deeds unnoticed. We fool ourselves to stay smiling and old Joe still walks alone down that path of blues into the dark light.

This time around we won’t be going just for the hitlers and the pawns, we’ll be putting an end to the hidden ones, all of them will die. We have found them, we know them, we are awake.

Images and Writing by Patrick Wey

B81 … to the conformists

I truly pity the scared citizen whom voted for the wrong king and followed popular messengers.

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We never did see eye to eye, but today the division is dangerous, reckless. I refuse to take what is being called a covid19 vaccination. At this point my research has shown me that it is a gene therapy experimental injection with very dire results.

The main stream media, social and traditional, has censored any information that appears to be adverse to an international agenda and that should be obvious and a red flag to all. You may have your reasons for agreeing with this narration and they may seem sound, logical and the only way to move forward. I simply suggest that you question everything including your firm beliefs and investigate many other media sources before you condemn us as selfish murderous terroists and separate our differences to the extend of more mental and physical abuse for all of us. Most anti-experimental injection concerned citizens i know personally are from all walks of life, mothers, farmers, lawyers, doctors, scientists, artists, old and young and as yourself, good sincere people.

There is more than enough information behind the main stream media that is questioning this situation. A variety of scientists, virologists, doctors, nurses, reporters, artists, philosophers, people in general are exposing data that is being strategically hidden from the masses…….WHY?

Certainly some of the rabbit holes can take you into territory that may be beyond your comfort zone and some just too extreme to believe……….so leave them. But don’t create a war with your sisters and brothers calling them dangerous names that may injure them mentally and physically for life.

The enemy is not us, we are all victims of a much larger situation that has always been close at hand.

‘Steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king’. Dylan.

Possibly we all have much too much respect for the puppet authority and the very few that own a ridiculous amount of ‘stuff’ and control way too much and it is obvious we have lost our simple respect for the creation that has created everything. Man versus nature!

I have honoured and kept my immune system very healthy and strong all my life and now you are asking me to sign it over to a science based in politics and corruption. No thanks. Kill me if you will but i am not convinced.

I care as much as anyone and i don’t believe you. Erase me from your site, but i won’t go away. I know it is the ‘great mystery’ that is in charge and this is all just a passing scene.

This agenda is dangerous and foul, let us continue to wake up and save some peoples suffering and the future children from this sinister new world unfolding.

You are being very naive to think that all anti-injectors are naive, selfish, idiots. They are concerned with a much larger picture which apparently you are not considering to the details necessary. Big pharma and governments are pawns in a game and do not have our best interests at heart. We are leading towards a totalitarian society and we can see that as plain as sight. I am afraid you are so far behind and until you steer away from main stream media you will continue to be a part of the problem. You may have a lot of support from the minds that surround you now but in the end these injections will own you, destroy you……wake up, we are all special and sacred.

I truly pity the scared citizen whom voted for the wrong king and followed popular messengers.

Some Evidence – Some Facts – As in Most Information

David Martin Patents…. https://www.bitchute.com/video/ZUVtNa9xdBnW/?fbclid=IwAR3gy_o_jI-Ah4JVRvSeed3NJQpY5ilXIyqSHGBwo_MXy5YaIGLXu9Ewu-E

Sars covid19 is NOT new, was patented 1999

A former Pfizer employee and current analyst for the pharmaceutical and medical device industries, came forward with indisputable documentation proving that GRAPHENE OXIDE NANOPARTICLES is the key ingredient in Biotech’s Covid-19 serums

Covid19 is a bioweapon Plandemic

https://ambassadorlove.wordpress.com/2021/07/28/graphene-oxide-the-vector-for-covid-19-democide/ April 2021, when Health Canada recalled over a million KN95 face masks containing the highly toxic industrial chemical called GRAPHENE.

Vaccines(injections) are causing the Variant spikes… https://www.facebook.com/shurland.g.tv/videos/188426793354533

Concerning the Canadian Election and Democracy…. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPcHw5yQhwA

That’s just the tip of a tip of the largest iceberg on record….

writing and images by patrickwey

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

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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.

……

….

..

.

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
All Blog Images For Sale…..follow the path….contact me direct if you wish.

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

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 https://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

361 … everything ends, nothing is complete

361 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/19 of-by patrick wey https://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

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Patrick Wey

360 … Unfinished sketch of an Irish man

360 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/18 of-by patrick wey https://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,

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357 … My good friend Doug Biggs

357 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/15 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My good friend Doug Biggs against two shades of grey many days ago.
We’re both on the west coast though we don’t get to see each other that often. We did a lot of travelling together in this life time. Life just keeps on keeping on. Good shot of Doug, seriously serious.
Image circa 80’s i believe

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Patrick Wey

356 … James Hodgson‘s mother

356 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/14 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
James Hodgson‘s mother, a wonderful woman. I got to know her more than most of my friends parents. She was one of those that could do no harm and see no harm. Never heard her say a bad work about anybody. We could use a few billion more like her.
Image circa 80’s at the Waterloo Farmers Market
#patrickwey

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354 … We met in the magic of the day

354 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/12 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Pola Amber from and in Poland. Ola and i go back a long way into the depths of the soul. We met in the magic of the day and ended thru the twisted circumstance of intuition. Love flew in and out of the breeze like snow dreams on a windy trail. The night came soft and the air went still. I remember things from the road but the trees have turned cold and winter is long here in the mountains where thought spreads across the valleys like dreams made of light air. Time has written this poem and occasionally she sails across the heart. I watch in pure silence not to ripple the waves.
Image circa early 2000’s
#poland#portraits#patrickwey#women

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Patrick Wey

352 … If i was a Lewis Carroll

352 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/10 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
If i was a Lewis Carroll, this young girl would have been my Alice. Took this image one day having a walk in the woods with a friend in Ireland. This is her daughter and she was so delightful, polite and clever and inquisitive about everything, just like an Alice. By now i am sure she must have fallen down numerous rabbit holes and had many incredible happenings with this twisted world and all its mathematical realities.
The background is almost equally as important to a great portrait as the subject is. The background has to fulfill the subject just as the past presupposes a future with the now, it is the foundation of the mood, the love on a heart, the depth of a surface. I love the way there is just enough blur to the trail as if the ‘Alice’ just bounced into the scene from some strange adventure holding this curious grin about her. Life is lovely, mysterious and simple…..occasionally.
Image circa late 90’s Ireland
#aliceinwonderland#lewiscarroll#ireland#patrickwey#portrait#younggirl

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351 … The Worthen House Cafe

351 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/09 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
The Worthen House Cafe, Lowell Massachusetts one of Americas oldest taverns, established in 1834. Taken with my minox, you can see it in the photo stabilized in my hand on the ledge of the washrooms urinal divider. Many poets, writers, artists and common folk drank there from far back into the 1800’s. A favourite bar of Edgar Allen Poe, who visited frequently and is rumoured to have written some of “The Raven” within its walls. Others including Jack Kerouac and Allan Ginsberg frequented the place. There were many and i was but one amongst the ghosts. I am with my deceased friend John Mulligan, a character in deed. John was an amazing gold smith that i first met in Kitchener On. Canada and we instantly became great friends, along with his wife at the time, Miriam Stump. Eventually because of circumstances of things that are now legal he fled the country back to the USA, to his childhood home of Lowell which is also where Jack Kerouac spend his last years. These were days when we both drank…..too much, but memories seem to surpass the negative of those moments. I visited him a good half a dozen times in Lowell area on my way back to Ontario from NYC. John was a ruff scruff sort of sailor gentlemen type with many stories, some good, some not so good and i miss him all just the same.
‘Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.’…Jack Kerouac
Image circa 80’s
#jackkerouac#edgarallenpoe#lowell#worthenhouse#patrickwey#allanginsberg

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350 …Rubin Hurricane Carter

350 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/08 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
I knew that Rubin Hurricane Carter loved horses by the lyrics in Bob Dylan‘s song entitled
‘Hurricane’, ‘And ride a horse along a trail’. When i went to photograph Rubin i suggested to go out by his horses. I wish i had spend more time that day. I had taken better portraits in my career but i was honoured to get to know Rubin and the opportunity to capture a few moments of his life after he was finally released from 20 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Rubin was a gentle powerful soul and we had a few very intimate conversations which i’ll take to the shadows of the other side. When you’re in the presence of such a man the shallow seems to fade into another level where silence has the last word.
‘Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much
It’s my work, he’d say, and I do it for pay
And when it’s over I’d just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
…..And ride a horse along a trail…..
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they try to turn a man into a mouse’
Full Lyrics – https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bobdylan/hurricane.html
YouTube Song and pictures – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGMSfiH850o
Image circa early 90’s at his home at the time outside King City north of Toronto
#hurricanecarter#bobdylan#rubinhurricanecarter#patrickwey,

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349 … Along some wavy street of Old Montreal

349 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/07 of-by patrick wey https://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

348 … symbolic junk yards hanging around

348 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/06 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Well now, I been in jail when all my mail showed
That a man can’t give his address out to bad company
And now I stand here lookin’ at your yellow railroad
In the ruins of your balcony
Wond’ring where you are tonight, sweet Marie…………..Bdylan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv20TjFzwA8
To understand Dylan you have to twist some concepts around from the winds of symbolic junk yards hanging around in the corners of your mind. They’re in there just behind the veneer, the walls that keep us straight, that keep us from falling inside.
Image circa 80’s – model Georgina, an old friend somewhere down that velvet railroad line.
#bobdylan, #sweetmarie, #deadend

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Patrick Wey

346 … Rita Nagle and some dude

346 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/04 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Rita Nagle and some dude walkin along King Street KW both posing in their own way and if you look real close i had images on display in the Walper Hotel window. I recognize ‘Vern Amongst The Tire Men’ an image i titled of a shot of Vern Harper taken in Santa Fe and a part of an exhibition ‘Urban Elder’ at the KW Art Gallery of 1994. I think this shot was taken at the time of the Blues Festival moments a while ago. At any rate, it’s all over now, the streets are filled with snow i hear and people have all disappeared. My, it’s a crazy life.
#streetphoto, #kitchener, #potraits
Image circa late 90’s

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345 … This raven sits at the Tower of London.

345 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/03 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
This raven sits at the Tower of London. The myth goes back far and wide. The white mount of London will fall to foreign invasion if the ravens evacuate. The story goes that Winston Churchill a Druid ordered more ravens from Wales to the Tower in the second world war when he was told there was but one raven remaining.
I have my own long experiences with the raven and his sister the crow. This is what led me here to the Tower to smoke the sacred Pipe commissioned in dream, synchronicities and vision. I was living in Ireland at the time and had the opportunity to travel with a friend to London in her two cylinder Citron named Dotty. I hopped at the chance.
At a later time, perhaps, i will write about the experiences and visions that the spirit crow immersed upon my soul. Rosetta the crow whom adopted me, came to me a day after my mothers funeral in 95, which i performed and talked about our ancestors the germanic people and Odin and his two crows, one on each shoulder. The crows that led me to England from Ireland, the experience at the Tower and along the Wye river the home of my ancestors. Rosetta lived with me for a year. Numerous events involving her precluded what conclusions i had developed concerning another side, the other side, the spirit world, the unseen, the land of the dead. Imagination is a map, reality the terrain. To walk like a crow is to hobble across all roads in one.
Ravens in Celtic Mythology http://avesnoir.com/ravens-in-celtic-mythology/
#raven #crow #toweroflondon #celticmyth #patrickwey
Image circa late 90’s Tower of London

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Patrick Wey

344 … in a dream dreamt alone

344 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/02 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
He was a poet walking in a mystery full of himself like a stretched paragraph. The times tore thru his eyes cold and blunt with an air silently surrounding walls of statues and ghosts . In came dreams spread out like a magnet of prayer and sacrifice. Swam thru fantasies camouflaged in ritual and truth unlike most minds in the streets. He was a poet amongst himself, a dreamer sincere beaten by the scorn lying around. An Irish spirit, an Italian romance and German idealism pushing him towards some ridge amidst mountains of the arts. He never arrived, he never survived the split in the lowlands, tho he wove in and out of reality like a vine, possibly famous amongst the trees. Nothing became of his work. He was found, dead by a few and his words faded into the streets of modernism. This was a portrait of a young man as an artist in a world that didn’t exist, in times that bent beyond compare, in a dream dreamt alone.
Image circa Ireland 90’s

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Patrick Wey

343 … Girls School

343 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/01 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
A bunch of young girrrrls in a band called Girls School. Shot in a school room in Detroit for a magazine called HotWax……During the early 1980s the band was one of the relevant groups of the new wave of British heavy metal. I found them rather shy, innocent, but on stage they were ‘heavy’….. https://en.wikipedia.org/wi…/List_of_Girlschool_band_members ….. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYNWo93fPG8
The days when nothing much mattered as long as you got a sufficient image and had some fun. Some people think i must have had tooo much fun, but that ain’t so.
Image circa early 80’s

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338 … Uncle Alex, my fathers brother.

338 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/27 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My Uncle Alex, my fathers brother. I never knew him well at all. He lived in Detroit. I never knew my father much at all, either. I have a son in Brazil. I don’t know him at all. Sometimes things happen for a reason, sometimes things don’t happen at all. Most of the time, things take much too long to get resolved. Issues that make no sense at all when you’re sitting near the end of the trail. Things that could have been, gone, things twisted around realities into dreams half done, love spread out across fields of regret and yet somehow everything is just fine just the way it is.
I would have liked to have got to know my Uncle and my father more. One moment around dusk i was sitting with my dad as we watched the sun sail into the horizon from a front porch at my sisters ( Trudy Schmidt) home where he spend his last few years in a little northern town called Douglas. For the first time in my life we felt all the questions had been answered about a past long gone and we shared a beautiful moment of father and son watching, listening, caring. My father always wished for a family reunion and in two weeks from that setting sun, Uncle Alex and his eight children were all showing up outside Kitchener for a get together with us eight kids and lots of off-spring. I had only met one cousin the summer before. That Saturday afternoon arrived and i was on my way to the country hall for the reunion. An urge to stop at a spot that meant a lot to me concerning my dead brother Bill situated on a bend in the road where we had moments together. I stopped and i felt that strange feeling when things are understood from a realm that is too mysterious, too sacred to attempt to describe. Possibly that was the moment my father spoke to me with the powers of deadly silence.
I arrived a little late and everyone was inside the hall. One cousin was outside and introduced himself to me. He looked like the one i had met the year before, an older brother i believe. He said, “you don’t know do you”.
Some how i then knew. My father had passed away on the way to the reunion that he worked so hard to make happen. It happened.
A few kilometers away in the back seat with a niece and my sister and her husband in the front travelling down a gravel road with a stretch of trees over hanging creating a shaded tunnel with light just waiting at the other end as if for enlightenment. My brother in law Joe mentioned the extraordinary beauty of that natural tunnel and my father with a long soft mystical voice answered, “yes” and died. No warning, no reason, work accomplished and time to go we suppose.
Perhaps, sadness makes one feel alive. Many melancholy moments in winds blowing free thru the softened memories so silently fading thru-out our minds makes it all worthwhile somehow as we drift in and out of each others hearts.
There is no revelation here, simply life and then death and a mellow smile.
Image circa 90’s

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337 … Jeffrey Beckner wandering around in the streets of NYC

337 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/26 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Jeffrey Beckner wandering around in the streets of NYC back in the 80’s. Jeff is the founder of Tunnel Inn in Kitchener back in the mid 60’s which brought in some of the best folky blues music in Southern Ontario at the time. A master graphics/idea man and always fighting for the little guy. I was living in NYC for a short while and Jeff came down for a visit. We investigated the streets and gallery’s to feed our inquisitive artistic minds for endless hours of discussions on subjects about anything and everything. In the early days Jeff had the best handle-bar-moustache in Canada.
Image circa late 80’s

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336 … Mohalk along the trail

336 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/25 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mohalk along the trail, outside the frame.
A unique composition with the subject dancing outside of a frame and a mysterious head protruding almost emanating from ancient air from stage left. These days you can manipulate any image and create whatever composition one wants. Somehow it holds more weight when you know that it is the way it appeared in 3D reality. I don’t know why, it’s a cultural thing but it is interesting when a great composition gets it right in real life. Nothing incredibly special but as Mick once said, ‘it’s just rock and roll but i like it’…..somehow that fits; tho i never really liked that song much i do get the understanding and as half the population is now realizing, ‘it’s just another image, but i did it and i like it’.
The old and the new, the red and the blue, the way it was, the way it is, changing.
Image circa early 90’s

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334 … my favourite youngest sister Rosalyn

334 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/23 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
It is possible that i have the right date for my favourite youngest sister Rosalyn Rose Hanna‘s birthday. She is the one on the left and my favourite oldest sister Barbara is on the right. Well if i got it right ‘happy birthday’ and hope you get many more; life is so much fun half the time, especially thru these golden rust ridden years. I know my childhood friend Helmut (Mike Klein) whom i just discovered got facebook hacked has his birthday today and after all these years i just learned that my sisters is the same day. You can see, i really keep track of ‘birthdays’. This is a nice shot of two of the four sisters, they were all like mothers to me since i was the youngest, spoiled some say but i never paid much attention to that gossip. But Rosalyn by far was my favourite…..have a nice great day today and the rest of um also…come and visit west…..you’d love it and i’d take you many places.
Image circa 90’s i believe.

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332 … Mr. Giant Puffball and Mike Milburn

332 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/21 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Mr. Giant Puffball and Mike Milburn. We captured this Giant when we hung out in Ontario a few years back. He says they are much smaller where he lives now out on Cape Breton Island, his original stomping grounds and which is where he grew up. They are much smaller out here also, where i live on Vancouver Island 4000 miles from him at the other end of the world, Canada. I searched high and low for this photo yesterday and finally found it. Howdy partner!…and for those non believers out there, they are sometimes even bigger back home in Ontario. Recipes…http://www.kitchenfrau.com/puffball-recipes/
Image circa 2000ish

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331 … Two old Irish laddys

331 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/20 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Caught them in the act of it……doin good……pickin up a sign that had fallen over.
Two old Irish laddys strolling down the streets of Dublin late one morning while i was out catching any possible interesting light across my nikon lens. Street photography seems easy when the shot is there and done but it is not usually that way at all. Henri Cartier-Bresson once remarked when the trend was that photography is not really an art form because anyone can take an image and get a great shot by chance. His remark was, ” yes but chance begets the disciplined mind”. I always believed that there was an amazing shot anywhere anytime but one must seek it out. Street photography is that way but today i wonder if it really has changed with so many catching images by chance with their iphones, but then again he also said, “Of course it’s all luck.” – Henri Cartier-Bresson…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_Cartier-Bresson
Image circa 1990’s

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330 … doin our laundry a billion years ago

330 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/01/19 of-by patrick wey https://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Les, husband of Brigitte Krynicki father of Eve Krynicki-Matzelle with me in the back ground doin our laundry a billion years ago, look like late 60’s…..i’d just about give anything to get back there for a few infinities, we don’t look nothin like that now. That’s life, death closer up ahead than it used to be, but as they say, it’s all good……i guess…lol
Image circa 70’s

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