PERFECT FROM THE START

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I am the wind that churns. I am a young bird weeping. I am the center of the hawk’s red eye and … it’s hard to believe it has been perfect from the start. Yes, perfect from the start. Is it any wonder I cry so hard?  Is it any wonder I laugh so loud?

I grew up in the cracks of skyscrapers. I taught myself to run before I could walk. I’ve seen the world in flames. I’ve heard my mother sobbing. I know your pain because I am an old man dying. I am the newborn’s breath. Is it any wonder?

I am a towering tree. I am a shooting star. I am the ocean I swim in, the mountains I climb, the lovers I’ve known, the light and the dark & the child at play & I am the song of souls singing this song called joy. This is living. This is Life. I hardly believe I‘ve always known how to sing, I simply forgot the song until now.

I am the newborn universe born once more, over and over again.  I am an old woman speaking her wisdom to the universe. I am a young bird singing. I am its Mother weeping. I am the sun laughing all the way every single day & it’s hard to believe it’s been perfect from the start, yes, perfect from the start.

 

 

“Om Shrim Som Somaya Namah”

The Moon is a Sattvic or spiritual planet. It gives faith, love, openness, surrender, devotion, peace and happiness. As a very sensitive and mutable planet, the Moon can be easily influenced and overcome by other planetary energies. Saturn can darken it, depress it or give it detachment. The Moon represents not only responsiveness but also inertia. Through our lunar sensitivity, we can become accustomed to a life of pain, sorrow, or ignorance, as well as to a life of joy and truth.

The following is the special name (nama) mantra for the Moon as preceded by it’s Shakti or power mantra. It can be used to connect with the planetary deity and to energize all the higher powers of the Moon. 

“Om Shrim Som Somaya Namah”

The word ‘Shrim’ in above mantra denotes Sharana Shakti, the power of refuge, surrender, peace and delight. (The word ‘Shrim’ should be pronounced as ‘Shreem’.)

PER ELISA by ALICE (BELLISSIMA)

 

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I am sitting on a filthy floor in an emptied room in front of a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I silently marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. For a flicker of a moment I think this is not the war I fought. The war here is so much bigger & far more brutal than the lonely war I fought. A moment passes backwards until I remember this is the place & I am the lone survivor. Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior.

I wonder at the emotions & the crack-hearted questions splattered all over these wounded walls. There is blood on the floor leading into a darkened hallway. I thought I knew where that hallway lead to but I don’t remember now.  As hard as I try to recall, all I see is a blank screen. I am a television turned to mute with thunderous static. If I were not deaf I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I do not get the signal.

I vaguely recall a man’s heart dripping a trail of tears; tears of blood from a shattered heart. That is what these stains in my eyes are. I see that much. I remember that much. I remember a man squatting in the corner of this room, his eyes shut blind & his ears with no sound to hear. He looks like me. I turn my head away as fast as I can. In that moment I am afraid.  I am almost too frightened to breathe, but not afraid enough not to cry. It passes. The moment passes into eternity.

In the next moment the war is over. I am alive. I have been crippled, but I am not lame. I have been forever scared deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but now I hear a song. Now, that war is over. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing once again.

I think this is a bittersweet farewell. I see these snapshots of your mind & I wonder why I even wondered how this debris on these walls and that floor ever came to be. I don’t remember now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. These soul creatures are quite beautiful. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter. You are the most kind. 

You of the many muses remind me that all I have to do is turn the television off. It is as simple as that. That is what I have just done. I hadn’t noticed that the songbirds outside my window are singing as if their lives depended on it. They are so happy to be alive. That must be why they sing as they do.

I suddenly feel like humming a tune. PER ELISA. You loved PER ELISA but you never told me that. I only know it because I saw you in a window early one morning dancing your heart out to PER ELISA. I had to smile. Alicia sings like an angel from inner space. She came to us from the peerless library of our dear friend, Marty Lont, in Amsterdam. Remember? I know you do. I also remember, it is the simple things that matter most. Farewell my beloved. I will sing for the both of us until we meet again.

 

 

 

UNTIL THE RAIN CAME

The raven caws three times, then the rain falls. Heaven’s sky tears down with a beautiful viciousness. Above my head, I study the layers of silt & dust on the avocado leaves. I think, “This is the accumulated detritus of this past summer’s Icelandic volcanic eruptions.” It was a summer deadened by the horror of war scattered without rhyme or reason upon this pristine cobalt orb we call home. It was a summer of threats against one nation or another by one nation or another… a summer of soccer Moms down on hope but high on Crank, cruising Meth Street USA. It was a summer with Blacks living more & more in their world, while Whites are living more & more in theirs & they never kiss anymore! It was a summer of Polar Bears without homes, Coyotes lying motionless on the side of the road & giant Blue Whales washing up lifeless upon California’s shores. I confess, I confess, I confess, my spine had almost fused with futility … until the rain came.

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MY PROPHET RISING ~ FEATURING ABSOLUT NACHT ~ “Winter (scene 13, cue 5)

 

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My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusk’d across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion.

My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.

My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.

EDGE OF THE WORLD

I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met. The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprytes & the Green Wood Elves; odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?  

The Elder Blue Sprytes were certain I must be either crazy or insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms & tried to distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. The Green Wood Elves being somewhat more pragmatic & far more grounded in reality than their cousins insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learnt to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day.

They taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I had believed was it’s ultimate frontier. They showed me how they weave their magick spells with charming hope I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past & the image of you when we first met. I could never let that happen. I couldn’t if I tried. Sometimes Green Wood Elves can be so naive. I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was 10,oo0 years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry now. My whole world is waiting for you. I am still holding lilacs too.

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DIAMOND EYES (LOVE) LOVE LOVE LOVE ~ OF MONSTERS AND MEN

This life is amazing. It really sucks though. Sometimes. It is like Rosemary’s baby. Her head is spinning in circles in a movie called Psycho. She is screaming out 3-D green vomit into your mind (which was already pretty darn fractured from being alive in the time of plagues), yet still it shatter-cracks like blown glass murals on the day Pompeii died. Right? I know. Life’s a bitch, then you die. I think that is called a cynical statement. Who cares? But  … other times it doesn’t feel like that all all. It is a glorious joy-ride through the heavens of a very beautiful sky of emeralds & diamond eyes that are even more beautiful than that. That is what life really is, the rest is bullshit.

 

 

ELECTRIC LOVE ~ BØRNS

 

Divine mind is electrical. That may sound as if it is coming out of left field unless it does not, yet to come to this fabulous place where there is no ‘NO’ to fathom (because the universe spirals with a joyous sound), is not something frivolous or sacrilegious nor does it entail separation of any sort. 

It lacks friction ~  because ~ although there is an opposite of yes in the cosmos, G-d sees to it that going against ‘the grain’ of a ‘Sojourner’s Truth’, is fraught with pain … yet … who is anyone to judge the will of the one whose will is at a different wavelength, or frequency, than yours or mine?

Life on Earth: It is actually a beautiful spiritual mathematical equation. I believe a dunce in math-such as I-can see clearer for not knowing the rules, therefore only possibilities. I think words are tools to lead but no matter the language, even one of the four ancient tongues, can never be the end of a journey which does not use language at all.

The universe communicates with itself and other universes using numbers. This is reason why the science of numerology is a holy & sacred way of communicating. If not for the Jewish fathers who seized and ran off with the ancient texts regarding numerology, astronomy, physics, astrology, as well as other texts of excruciating beauty and palpable truths, which were encased in secrecracy at the famed library of Alexandria, Egypt, just before this grand and world renown edifice was burned and ransacked by Roman marauders, we would be a poorer people than we are now.Even to this day, there are innumerable texts of great wisdom hidden quite well in the deserts of north Africa and beyond that will be revealed once humanity sees the truth of its ‘oneness’.

To these people who risked all to save all, to such a people with such passion, love and foresight to protect our legacy as human beings of any epoch, saying thank you is frivolous, moot and not enough. To deny them the glory of their holiness is a sin in the eyes of all God’s children. Feel free to ask me why I know this or how is it the truth. I would not answer that question if I could. You have all you need  at your disposal to discover the truth for yourselves.

 

 

  

FANTASTIC DANCE by SCOTT UTLEY

 

 

 

His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.

We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.

Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust an ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.

Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~ pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.

There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?

This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.

Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.

 

 

ALEXANDER M JOHNS

1966-2010

 

 

MY NAME IS PROPHET

 

 

My name is Prophet, but they call me, “Hey, you!” I’m a penniless drifter shod poorly, diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love;, the most powerful force in the universe.

More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light never lets me down. My huckster mind tries convince me otherwise.  To that joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real. Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are the same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster I call dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchback just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders. 

My mother was born & raised in New York City’s west side shanty town; Hell’s Kitchen. My father was orphaned at the age of two under crushing dank Mississippi Delta poverty which knows no equal. Perilous & foreboding omens for both of them, yet they overcame their twisted fate of birth with passion, ideals & love. They had to dig deep to survive, I am certain. I have had to dig even deeper but I had to learn to love getting dirty or I would die. Yet I wonder if even being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight? I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land and cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.

 

 

 

COME PLAY MY GUITAR

I tossed and turned throughout the night, something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black
skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by
like comets, fast. I wondered if this night would pass. I prayed to God this would not last. Take me away,
my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t
see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in the world will loved ones say? Well morning
came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. The day turned into early eve while deep within
my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscious broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known
was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs. I looked around for someone to share this
miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon the chair, someone to
play that old guitar driving by in his yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me, alone again, just me who
sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?

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FOREST THROUGH THE PALM TREE by SCOTT UTLEY 
 

EDGE OF THE WORLD ~ SCOTT UTLEY ~ FEATURING: LACH HILL ~ WINTER-SCENE-13-CUE-5

 

I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met. The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprites & the Green Wood Elves; odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?  

The Elder Blue Sprites were certain I must be either crazy or insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms & tried to distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. The Green Wood Elves being somewhat more wizened than their cousins insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learned to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day. The Green Wood Elves taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I thought was its ultimate frontier. They taught me how they weave their magic with hopes I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past and the image of you when we first met. I could  never let that happen though. Sometimes Wood Elves can be so naive.

I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was ten thousand years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry now. My whole world is waiting for you. I am still holding lilacs too.

 

 

EDGE OF THE WORLD written by SCOTT UTLEY

I followed the song of the nightingale through the forest to the edge of my mind. I remembered to cut lilacs from the bank of the creek as I raced to the place we first met. The Muses found me naked singing lullabies to shooting stars over a blue harvest moon. Fearful for my sanity, they summoned the Elder Blue Sprytes & the Green Wood Elves; odd creatures revered for their great healing powers. Do you remember the cliffs of desire where we first met at the edge of the world near the temple of the heart where a forgiving ocean meets the grateful sky? Do you remember Frey, the golden bear who wished us well?
The Elder Blue Sprytes were certain I must be insane from hunger so they fed me cherry blossoms to try & distract me with fantasies from the other side of time. The Green Wood Elves being pragmatic & far more grounded in reality than their cousins insisted I was a sign from the great source of our belonging. They proudly displayed their magic to me. They showed me how they had learnt to make stars sing. I had never heard a true symphony until that day. They taught me how to expand my heart beyond what I had believed was it’s ultimate frontier. They showed me how they weave their magick spells with hope I might finally free myself from the ghosts of my past & the image of you when we first met. I could never let that happen. I couldn’t if I tried. Sometimes Green Wood Elves can be so naive.
I love this cliff near the den of the bear where the sky drinks the sea & mountains stand tall at the edge of my mind where we bathed in an ocean of forgiveness. That was 10,000 years ago but here I still stand. The Western Wind says you will be home soon. I knew you would return. Hurry now. My whole world is waiting for you. I am still holding lilacs too.

 

SINGING IN DEAD OF LIGHT

Benazir Bhutto by Scott Utley

 

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Blanch! Darling, another mint…. feel my left breast. It’s not normal, is it? Is it?  How would you know? Poor dear. I did not mean it like that.
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The sailors are back in town. I love sailing. I love spiders,  snakes …  TTe arantula arms, …that is where I brought all my, …
lovers, so many victims. …
 
 
————————-      sorry to interrupt this show    ———————
 
Do not look that way. No, no, tat e2. Ignore this,  Go away, go, go away, its bad.
 
 ————————-     if it’s   been a real emergency   ———————
Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes … Gracias ,,,  Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes …  Si, si,si, ueno mas.  Si, tank,thank you so much, mardi gone, besa mi culo, gracias. Bueno, gracias, you silly old twisted  bastard … fuck  you muxa … Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes … Ass …..
 
STELLA!
 
STELLA!
 
————————-     PARDON ME,FOLKS    ———————
 
… what is about to come ……… forth from my pen is …. …  not in my power to halt.
 
Another nail
into the coffin of Islam.
 
 
The great spirit warriors are gathered together on the ether in this moment.
The whispers are heavy. The vibe does not bode well for Muhammad’s beast-masters.
The Holy ones speak with each other and to Muhammad. He is devastated.
Jesus – Mary – Mother of God … doesn’t anybody speak love with a Muslim tongue?
And the only God there is, is God and She sings a joyful song.
 
You! You! HEY!!
YOU can heal this. Lay hands over our wounds.
And as the dark turned into the black pitch of tarred souls unfed,
ruby rose fluorescent rays suddenly pierced the make-believe heavens.
And then there was light
Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes …Gracias,,, S

,,beno,,,gracias..you silly old tigtfisted  basterd … fuck …. Flores por las muertes … Flores por las muertes …