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, over & over & 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.

And so it was. So it is.


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THOMAS UTLEY & SONS: The Utleys were one of the leading maritime brass founders, having also produced sidelights for Lusitania and Mauretania. They made many of the brass fittings for the Titanic and Olympic. These included the Titanic’s bells and Gothic patterned windows for the ship’s bars and dining rooms.

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I am looking for a link I am certain exists. It has to do with the TITANIC, which was hit by an iceberg on this date at 11:40 PM and sank a few hours later. I know my mother’s family had something to do the the creation of the ship’s portal windows but I did not know that my father’s family had cast much of the brass regarding them.


I seriously doubt my parents were aware of this. I think this is a first revelation particular to those surnames. Tell me that isn’t funny?

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The TITANIC struck an iceberg on April the 14 of 1912 at 11:40 PM and sank a few hours later. It was early morning of April 15, 1913. They were four days out on their way to NYC. 

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Thomas is my house-mate’s name. (He says.) The interesting thing, and there are so many, is that Jane Utley, Thomas’s wife,  had a premonition about the fate of the ship so she declined, along with her husband, a luxury cabin for two on the TITANIC for her maiden voyage. It is documented fact that although Jane apparently is not of Utley genetics, on another level that is immaterial, a moot point. I know Utley women who speak pf premonitions and they even bank on them. I don’t bank on anything. I don’t trust banks.

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Utleys have been burned or hung in England (and probably in the early American colonies)  for being witches. One documented example is Sarah Utley, hung 1620 in London. Mother Utley was the name er people called her. She was accused of witchcraft when all she really was guilty of, was being a bit misunderstood. The Utley women never speak about their clairvoyant powers. Perhaps because society associates premonitions, miracles, telepathic powers, etc., as demonic, satanic or of the dark occult; to be feared when it is just the opposite. It never ceases to amaze me. Almost everything we have learned & think we know is really just the opposite.


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I may run for president of the USA. Huh? My campaign slogan? MAKE HUMANOIDS CONSCIOUS AGAIN. That’s a joke. No, really, it is. It is, really.  It is such a joke that we are brain-dead Homo Sapiens. Do you realise we are the laughing stock of the Milky Way? We think dolphins are smart but not smarter than us. We know very well, some of us, that the IQ of the dumbest dolphin is fathoms ahead of any human on this planet, or on any other in any other universe. We believe, at least I do, that Whales are the true Gods of our world, yet many people eat them. I would never consider eating God unless She asked me to. That is not very likely, and not because the very idea grosses me out, You may find it appealing, but to each his own. Different strokes. There is no such thing as a stupid fish, but I know that clams are not too bright. I hope they are not, but I really cannot say that for certain. I can say with complete conviction they are brighter than you, me, I meant me. I don’t even know you. You must be quite brilliant to have read this far. You are a rare exception to the rule. You can live. Now, look closely below.  Do you see yourself in this mirror. I don’t. I see a fish out of water.
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We think dolphins are smart but not smarter than us. We know very well, some of us, that the IQ of the dumbest dolphin is fathoms ahead of any human on this planet, or on any other in any other universe. We believe, at least I do, that Whales are the true Gods of our world, yet many people eat them. I would never consider eating God unless She asked me to. That is not very likely, and not because the very idea grosses me out, You may find it appealing, but to each his own. Different strokes. There is no such thing as a stupid fish, but I know that clams are not too bright. I hope they are not, but I really cannot say that for certain. I can say with complete conviction they are brighter than you, me, I meant me. I don’t even know you. Most all of the time we marginalize anyone who isn’t like, but who’s keeping time? I’m not judging, per se, I am observing with neutral subjectivity. We take that which is far greater than us & drag it through the mud. Gong Li says that in the I CHING or Ancient Book Of Chinese Wisdom (which traces its roots to Confucius), much of the text dates to 300o BCE, it says, “People hate that which is great.” Say no more. You must be quite brilliant to have read this far. You are a rare exception to the rule. You can live. Moving right along …


Two sides of a casting pattern used by Thomas Utley & Company, brass founders of Stoneycroft, Liverpool, to make Titanic’s porthole, or sidelight, frames.

Above is the brass templates THOMAS UTLEY used for the TITANIC portals. Below is the link to that information. Here below is the culprit link below. Sue them, not me. They are the instigators of all you didn’t really read above. If you take umbrage with my language or ideas, please direct all coresidence to:

titan If you want to call in a bomb threat, and who doesn’t, please dial 1 888 fat-chance.

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Thomas Utley and his wife Jane were invited to sail on Titanic’s maiden voyage. They are said to have declined because Jane had a premonition of the ship’s fate




On the upper decks of the TITANIC, there were over 350 of the world’s richest people, while on the lower decks, out of sight, there were over 2000 poor immigrants coming to America to start a new life.


Sur les ponts supérieurs du TITANIC, il y a pl de 350 des personnes les plus riches du monde, tandis que sur les ponts inférieurs, hors de vue, il y avait plus de 2000 pauvres immigrants venant en Amérique pour commencer une nouvelle vie.

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“Command thyself to be healed, to be loved, to love, to forgive, to be forgiven, command thyself.” A priest-king man taught me that last night in a parking lot after the sunset … somewhere near Reseda on Magnolia Avenue in San Fernando Valley. Bingo howled at every passing dog from the rear window of my car. Joel & I ignored him until I finally commanded Bingo to stop that XXXX! 

Let me tell you, there is something true and all-powerful in the words of that young man, as he held up at times a tattered Bible. I always thought I could rewrite that book. I’m certain I could have made it more accessible to youth (I was well on my way.), but I was young, just 14, and my SA sponsor said, “No, what are you, nuts?” It turns out that it was the other way around. It’s always like that, don’t you  agree?  

No, I was not nuts, not then, not ever, if you exclude the characters I have portrayed in my storied career as an illusional master of stealth. I am as sane as you are. He, the sponsor, on the other hand, was crazier than a bed bug and loaded all the time which was JUST NOT FAIR! All sponsors of anything are nuts by nature, or haven’t  you heard?

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? Later.

It ‘s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind racing by, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go, but I am glad they stayed as long as they did.”  Now you know why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.



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I see a river of flames pouring through the sky of my mind. I witness Star Pine Marionettes in deep green silhouettes making love to the powder blue canvass of dusk. I see a clusters of Bumble Bee Palms milking honey from thin air and smiles everywhere.

In this silence that is our universe unfolding I hear a voice from deep within my inner knowing.  “Brother Jesus is a diamond polished by the sea. He is this sunrise bleeding reds & blues into the day. Buddha is a butterfly. His fluttering wings are a soothing balm for our flaming hearts. Yogananda is a sacred pearl shimmering black & glittering blue. His is a simple beauty composed of pure grace lacking nothing but kindness for you & I. Muhammad is a desert wind shifting shapeless upon the landscape of our souls. He is nothing at all yet everything there is. Confucius is the rain. He nourishes the very clouds we walk on. Yahweh is a songbird singing good morning to the day. Mary is our mother. It is her breast milk which gives us life.”

I shudder. I feel the heat of the breath of our loving creator; our mother divine cleansing our hearts with most compassionate love every moment of every day. We believe her when she holds us in her loving arms & tells us we are all diamonds polished by the sea … every day in every way. I am bliss.







Peace flows through the waterfalls of my land. Hawks with river red shoulders soar upon trampoline skies high above fertile ground where everything grows without asking. On these boulders at the mouth of this river I call forgiveness near redwood groves standing tall upon razor blade cliffs of desire, I keep a company of one. I am happy. Each morning I tend my crops. At midday, I give thanks to the sun. When dusk arrives, I drench myself under blue dot starlight & give thanks to the moon. When my prayers are done, I lend my gaze towards the creatures who are always about. We share a fond curiosity for each other. We are equals. Their love keeps my heart polished. I soothe theirs with songs from my soul. This is the way of the world for a simple man living a simple life upon holy land. It wasn’t always this way.


I am sweaty naked standing over a filthy floor in an emptied room beside a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I am shocked, but I do not flinch. I am wounded, but I do not bleed. I am an atrocity. I am the last hope of my kind. I must survive. I haven’t a choice. I feel shame yet I am proud. I marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. My smug admiration for this excremental no man’s waste land laying prone before me is tempered by a pervading sense of self-deception. Regret crawls under my skin. I cannot scratch this itch. There is no one here or anywhere who can scratch it for me. There are no drugs, illicit or otherwise, that have the power to reconstruct my faulty fractured DNA.

I have my viewfinder set to intricate detail, but something is not right. I cannot figure out exactly what that something is, but I know something is missing. There are no cannons. There are no tanks. There are no rotting corpses here. The trenches were far muddier in my war. The pools of blood were tar black & thicker than that of this battlefield before me. There are orange poppies painted in bold relief upon the fireplace mantle. There are no orange poppies in my war. This war is an impostor. I should know. I have a damned medal of dishonor knifed into my brawny chest. This scene may look dreary enough, but it lacks the heroic brutality I proudly claim I suffered. If I were to tell you it was me who caused this suffering with explosives I had planted upon the dark side of my heart, I would turn to shattered glass. I will not utter another word about it. Speechless or not I remain the same …

… a desolate landscape. Life doesn’t live here anymore. I’m meaningless. I have lost the only war I ever truly cared enough to fight. If I could I would turn back the hands of time, but I am unable to do such a thing. I’ve tried. I can travel without moving through a multitude of parallel universes with you in the room. You’d never notice. I’ve morphed into a butterfly more times than there are trees in the forest, but I cannot go back in time. That would take a miracle. It’s just as well. Why would I want to go back in time? These are the best years of my life, for I have the memories of the best years of my life living, loving & being with you. If this is true, where has the sun gone? Who am I? Who are you? Where are we?


Moments slide backwards then stop altogether. Deep spaces in between billions of misfiring synapses within my skull are illuminated by flashes of electric mind-blowing white. My eyes are mesmerized. My face is paralyzed. My body is now a paradise. I don’t know what this means. All I know is if I don’t allow whatever my mind wants to say flow freely out of my mouth, I shall explode. My body is now a paradise for strangers with no faces. What does this mean? I’m frightened. Time is still but not so my mind as it forges its escape … and …

… I am a blue translucent dragonfly careening through thickets of moss over the rushing creek of this canyon. I am frantic frenetic to find the source of my lovers cries within a crystallized powder blue shroud of mist. The faster I go the further away I am. My consciousness shifts instantaneously. I cannot breathe. I see through my contorted version of reality in a flash of warped time & space. I don’t like this. I hate it! I’m claustrophobic but I never realized this until now. As I spin upward seeking my one last gasp of air, enough room explodes within the implosion of my soul. I remember. This is the place I fought my war. I am its lone survivor. I cannot bear it a moment longer. I can barely hold my head up. Before I am able to screw my courage to the whipping post, this moment is gone forever.


Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior I could not live up to then, & I cannot live up to now. As worthy as I may seem in the eyes of the unknowing, I am a dwarf star next to a supernova. I know this. I wonder why it’s always me who survives? I have been gifted throughout my life with profound love from great men & women only to sever my spirit’s spine every time.


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 leads 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 thunderous static on mute. If I were not deaf, I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I no longer 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 this much; a man squatting in the corner of this room. His eyes shut blind between ears without sound to hear. He resembles me. I turn away as fast as I can. I am afraid. I’m almost too frightened to breathe, but not too afraid to cry. It passes. This moment passes into eternity along with all the others.


War is over. I survive. I may be crippled, but I’m not lame. I have scars deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but I shall sing again. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing once again.

I see snapshots of your mind everywhere. Wow! It feels like the fourth of July. Hmm… I wonder how the debris on these walls & this floor ever came to be. I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. The soul creatures you create are quite beautiful, but they always were. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter are the loveliest ones of all. That kind of living artwork cannot be taught. It cannot be given to anyone as if it were a mere commodity. One must earn it & learn it through lifetimes of service in joy. I know that now. Here comes the sun.


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