Stars spark from a deeping, clear, blue winter sky as
the moon prepares to enter the scene, stage left.

A breeze sweeps away the last blushes of sunlight and
evening caroling-bells, ring like wind-chimes.

The evening chill makes students walking back from
classes seem to walk a little closer for warmth.

Students, huddled to nail down evening plans seem to smoke,
like the exhaust of cars exiting campus in bumper to bumper traffic.

Wet sidewalks, like dark and winding mirrors, twist reality, inverting
and reflecting lights - bending them into pointing the way home.

Old Katherine Kimberly had a sty near her eye
it was a bleeding abhorrent electric
dream spilling out her sanity
the sty was not just any regular sty
it was a satyr placed there by cruel forever
just because
why not

old KATHERINE KIMBERLY had a
mute cousin who came over for tea
when K.K was feeling down, he wanted to be a comedian
but this wouldn't work out for obvious reasons.
old Katherine Kimberly
had a recurring nightmare involving the world around her inverting it's layout, a backwards realm with backwards chairs and backwards backs
everyone looking like they suffered a dramatic accident
spine snapped but still walking
she was the outcast with her even shoulders and
delicate form but there it was that sty by her eye
wouldn't quit not even with sleep.
She went to see a doctor about the nightmares he prescribed a miracle
didn't work
so she went to church
met some wiry bald-spot
evangelic addict figure who
gave her mysterious bagged-and-untagged drugs
(those didn't work either)
nothing would help.. Kimberly came to the conclusion that the sty and the dreams were correlated in some spiritual, cursed sort of way.
Nobody could see it they promised

"No! no! you look fine, everything is in order god knows what you're on about Kim"

but she scratched and scratched for hours in her bedroom and looked in the faded mirror with microscopic detail and sure enough it was/gone??
since when??
she could feel it there, she was no hypochondriac it was alive and feeding off her still
that HORRIBLE THING!
some months now or maybe more it had always weighed her down but now gone
or never there...?
IMPOSSIBLE!
this wasn't over, old Katherine Kimberly would tear this ****** apart on a sub-atomic level and make sure it would never haunt her in any respect from "this day forth!" she said poetically,
wearing a conservatively fashioned dress with green flowers on it
and green grass, too.

She took to the New York subway on a Wednesday, the time was.......2pm
and she was headed to the drycleaners but not the one closest her apartment, the people that ran that one were pushy and irritating.
She was going to "Maude's" she and Maude had lovely conversations about the Gardener who lived one floor up from her who sometimes allowed a small hello from his lips on the way up, off of work.
She liked what he liked
or at least she imagined that to be true
but then again we all do that
it's a bad habit
he could be a total *******, she thought.
Old Katherine Kimberly walked in and opened the backroom there was Maude listening to Brian Eno
(Cindy Tells me/HERE COME THE WARM JETS/1974)

"THE RICH GIRLS ARE WEEPING"

Maude heard K.K come in and swiveled around in her office chair with the one off-kilter wheel which she didn't do a very good job of fixing.
"Well I don't shop at Ikea, its no wonder why, Kat"

"This sty! I know it looks like it's gone, but it isn't, do you still have any of that herbal remedy stuff you told me about earlier?"

"yeah, yeah.. the stuff you refused take way back when?"

"I admit I was being stupid, I just need help, I'm out of options and I'm kind of on a bad trip right now, see? some ghoul at the church gave me these pretty pink pills, said they were from mars and that they could cure anything! O Maude I was desperate and now I'm hallucinating all sorts of wack. I'm afraid I won't come back from this! I dunno what to do Maude! I dunno what to do!"

"Relaxxxx poor doll, you're always getting caught up in messes like this. It's like I said! you gotta settle down with that Rupert, he seems like a genuine guy, real caring, real. I'll help you, I have that herbal medicine in my car I will be right back"

Maude left hastily with a pat on K.K's shoulders as she went
K.K was going cuckoo
she suddenly felt that on a very metaphysical level her atoms were remembering this drug
always
and that when she died, eventually..some innocent child would be reconstituted with her atoms
to live with this for all time
and to be forcefully admitted into a psychiatric ward
pleading for lobotomy!

"What is this? what did I take? does that Kubrick-looking ****** use this often? how is he even tethered to reality?" she was dizzy, good thing she was sitting down..

Maude came back, shaking her head in sympathetic disapproval
"Jeez.. you've gone down the rabbit hole as far as ailment is concerned, that's for sure"

"What do you mean..?" Katherine Kimberly kept her feet grounded to the carpet as to not sway reality to a snowglobe catastrophe.

"Well you say the sty has something to do with the nightmares, or vice-versa, so you took drugs from a complete stranger! only made things worse, I'm sure.. and now you've come to me"

"That's true" K.K agreed
"Why do this to yourself?"
"I've been lost, out of tune, completely washed.."
(((((())))(((((()(((((((((())))(())))))))))()()()))))((­(())))))))))
she was going to continue, but felt like vomiting

She lept from her seat and hunted for a bathroom,
A vicious tabla bleached her brain
with supernatural viscosity
her body played like a cosmic instrument
for a higher being in a higher realm.
Next, the frantic sitar which reminded K.K of July and
the humid balcony marijuana, Ravi Shankar melodically spinning in her living room.
This was a much different experience.. as made clear by her
convulsions
the viper's final dose of venom

"The great spirit lifted his hand without much ado, and split apart Flower Mountain's ten million layers." - from Elder Ting Stands Motionless. (Blue Cliff Record)

"-******* that ******* from the church
why I ever listened to him-
-I feel like I am afloat atop the world able to see the stars as vibrant eyes! but I'm wavering without a sense of gravity. I am at once motionless and spinning!-"

A lot more trouble than it was worth,
O the wisdom of consequence!
K.K, poor doll, lucid consciousness
and an acute awareness for her disposition in this Universe
and all alternate universes for that matter.
(Including the version of her that decided against taking those pink pills from that pink-cheeked man, Stanley Kubrick lookalike ******* probably only posing as a religious man, they never met in one reality, they ****** in another. In one he is god! he is the only god! and in one she is god! anything better than this reality now! her lungs foaming up with death)

GLOBE-O-VOOTY/
GUIDE-O/
ME SOFTLY/
GET THIS THREY-WAY/
OUT FROM MY MIND/
(That's VOUT language for you, there. Slim Gaillard's timeless bop language)

after puking up the rest of her morning meal
she wiped her mouth dry with her sleeve and
reunited w/ Maude who handed K.K that herbal
music
and wished her well

"Look, I know it's none of my bussiness.. but if I were in your shoes, I'd make some changes.. that's all I'm gonna say about THAT"

so Katherine Kimberly went home, she wept
wept about her disposition
about her mistakes
about that inoperable mental sty which was more than a sty
parasitically latched onto her for ages
she wept about how boring people were
how after all this protest and bloodshed
we're just the same as before if not less intellectual!
this fever dream of a day hath made her realize
that she SHOULD make a change.
Hell, Maude was right, sometimes insufferable (tho not as much as others)
She couldn't keep doing this, whatever this was.

The herbal medicine was contained in some cutesy vial
a kind of amber-shade
thick liquid.
Just in the fashion of Lewis Caroll she
drank up her prayer potion, with the sensation that the room was expanding around her, shrunk down to the pathetic dreamer once again,
and so she tried to sleep this desperate sickness off.

One floor up, Rupert thought about whether or not he should *******, he decided to make some coffee instead, continuing where he left off on a new-age book about hypnotism.

I can remember when sleeping was always pleasant.

It was alleviating my burning heels and loosening my straining eyes, looking forward to crystal dreams, transforming myself into a new dimension every night.

Sleeping was my superpower; it was absolute blackness that created a story from nothing, always making me smile in the yellowing morning.

Tonight, a clean slate just seems frightening.

I have no control over this superpower. It is confusing my sense of presence, swallowing me whole and inverting my perception, and injecting evil into my veins, awakening new sides of me.

I'm hoping the moon stays away tonight.

The whole and the apex of things,
In a curvy lane of made up events,
Secretly cheating on self and relevant slaves,
Trusting an artificial flow of sands,
Inverting and unfolding the tone of the Caller,
Which efforts are not blessed by hope,
Born and bred into an automated mechanism,
No chance of waking up or defeating the incorrect,
Raised questions are easily filled,
An eternally examined organism at its knees,
Fainted chaos into unreality,
Flush the shape of the caged race,
Trapped by their weakness,
Trust, truth, the inborn curse.

Double sided

Your presence always accompanied
By the most dreadful momentum

You are gaining speed
You are losing peace
You are giving the lead
To a power that won’t cease

It’s cloaked in impulse
A body of desire
Though intention rests in its holsters
Pride is all it fires

Swirling beauty slow down!
Running too fast for those
Who can recognize to see
And those who can’t to catch

You champion hope by burying action
With action of the wrong kind
This version of hope doesn’t
Liberate, but rather infects the mind

Hope was meant to inspire
Not fuel a pointless fire
You’ve made your conscience a liar
Dragging ideals through the mire

Shadow-kissed
A waste of this
Inverting experiences
You won’t want to reminisce

A romance not worth a single ounce
Of the blood you’ve already lost
Put to death that with which you lay
If only you knew the cost

Why can’t you see the bottom?

I buy a shirt, a blue shirt, a button down.
I drink a glass of wine, a red, a Malbec.
And I watch.
I stand still in the midst
of the St. Cloud Market.
The crowd—that singular being—
jostles and jockeys and talks
in broken English.
I chew gum, cinnamon gum, Nicorette.
I feel my habit inverting, bending, becoming mechanical.
And I must flirt and be moral
with the shopkeeper who looks a little
like me.
And I must revert to an irrational, emotional,
childlike state as I buy three pirated DVDs.

The crowd forms a circle instinctually.
Three women dance slowly in the center.
Paper falls from the sky, newsprint, a day old.

Gunfire, the sound of it, its slowing of time.
No one says a thing
and no one's feet make a sound and
every child is perfectly behaved
for one relentless moment.

being disharmonious
with the whisper of death,
my father sentiently orchestrates
his final moments.

the cancer enfolds, unbending;
inverting throughout him like a small womb
unfolding the fabric of his universe.
his torso ebbs with these insatiable flowers.
he is born again into death knowing love,
dreaming his journey into being. his children
shedding symphonies of his laughter
are woven into silence; as he dies
a fully spread bouquet—beautiful
in the face of surreptitious sabotage.
it must be cumbersome for him. to grow
backwardly. still, though—outwardly,
he hefts it peacefully. dying a mountain—
symphonic—and in bloom.

Staring back
from the apothic abyss,

faced with
a fiery
femme fatale

With a face
like ******
in the
moonlight

Mesmerized
by them
Lake Michigan eyes

With such fear
with such desire

You came and went
like
little deaths
of inspiration

Like the Earth was
a little more gracious
To perpetuate
your presence
beyond my ****** up
perfectionist
thinking

Paralysis by analysis
while I sleep
a demon stands on
my chest

Whispering sweet
cynical
"you're nothings"

It's always
Me vs. Mara,
In a manifestation
Of obstacles

The triangle
pointing down
inverting
the sunlight

Back to
black holes
In the mind

Just like the song
that makes you
think about the
end sometimes

‘cause nothing lasts

Baby
believe me
you’ll leave me

They’re always
******* leaving
like the Sun's
kiss of death
to the horizon
before the darkness
kicks in

When we’re stuck
suffering a solo
tango
under the Moon's
spotlight

Staring into
the same
apothic
abyss

15 June:
“...its half way in a morning that glistens with slow reminiscences from last night. We find ourselves a respite for the hour, an oasis of sweet temper and our favourite elixir. We sit at the burdened edge; separated by transparency from passing furies; watching with rapt attention and fascination the range of creation displayed before us...We hunt down todays metaphors on clean pages; virginal expanses that congregate with a sublime notion of the art; death; logic; lust and wonder...we span serial glyphs across our vision to prevent a dissolving into the expanse before us; forming borders; signs; structures...Only to be de-constructed again and again; time dissolving; seconds inverting the quantum flux as HereNow paints the Tao over the moment...nothing-everything...we blink in and out; existence define by our presence; the reason and the way forward...delicately; smoothly; succinctly; we pick out secrets from between our worlds; Heartblood squeezed from the cries of angels; the force of supernovas; the very point of transition...again and again the universe spins us. A point – transition-how we create. This secret way. Again and again we play the Fool...again and again we play the Wizard. The tattooed skull of Intimacy grins from the ink on our backs...”

21.8.2010**
“...Sunday materialises. Its a smouldering glance across the smoky eternity of a crowded room. A lost sonata barely recognised on faded parchment dusty in a forgotten draw. Its the breeze in the wake of an angels wing. The seconds chip away; each tick a foreign language, the dissonance of grace. We're sitting, hidden, in plain sight, a wayward stop-over; a cafe somewhere on the edge of reason, but the coffees good and the service fast. We watch the people; reading signs and portents in the oblivious expressions; each grin and scowl, each glance, each distant look a codex of requite dreams; a subtle picture puzzle colouring destiny’s reverie. We join the dots. The music over the cafes soundsystem; beats with inevitable consequence. We feel deep into the heart of Journey and Moment...”

Bckkkkkk

Lightening splits the sky
Cracking the horizon like
Shards of shattering glass
Inverting and reflecting
The alternate dimensions
Severing the ties of reality

Bckkkk

White strings of energy
Sparkling and crackling
Time no longer shackling
Space no longer tethering
Nothing belonging to me

Bckkkk

I can almost feel the thundering
As the vibrating sensations
Touches my inner ear canal
It is frightening how easily
The lightening could consume me

Bckkkk

But the wonder of its thunder
The blunder of its destruction
Cutting sound and ground spitting dirt
Causing the earth to hurt
As it explodes one way or the other
And all I can really say is

Bckkk Bckkk Bckkk wooooshhhhhh

This would be cooler if it was really raining

She is eight or nine and she sits
in the playground
on the bench
with the teacher standing a
happy distance
Away and her lunch on her lap
She watches all of the people running
and crawling through legged bridges
to set each other free
and inverting their bodies
so their legs dangle,
confused at their new-found
flight
And she thinks about how
it seems there is a screen
where the
paved slabs meet the grass of fun
and that if she should
press
her face against the divide it should
crackle
the same as the one
At home
and if someone was to sit on the remote
The children would mould into black and white jumping rectangles that shuffle and bump shoulders and hiss.

Submerging my will against
Your priorities have
always let me down
Why not try
inverting positions this time
;)

Lost in the day
For the night’s
Chief bound captive
Wandering soul
In the morrow of doom
Love of the flame
Inscribed in a name
Heaven with mercy
Had given this fame

Wonderful feeling
Send strolling the air
Hide not in secret
To this, where I came
In colorful ribbons
To wrap all my gains
To touch all that drops
In winter gold rains

Love then, I shall
This wandering soul
Whose body is free
And can never be owned
By what right I should
Though eager I would
Passing in time
Forgotten in rhyme

Foregoing the consequence
Ne’re regretting the care
Neither remaining
In silver chain’s swell
That which was lost
For whatever the cost
To fallow a lead
And carry this deed

To wandering souls
To mortal time’s fare
Just for a share
In want and in bear
Give me one moment
Or give me but none
For this be the soul
I’ll offer the sun

Return to the clock
Whose hands I would lock
Are then to shock
And fate there to rock
In solid solitude
I dare not arrest
This impossible quest
That I must possess

A toast to thy presence
Without all pretense
Inverting the past tense
In measures immense
Thee be that wandering soul
That maketh me whole
Direct thee but one role
And safe in my lap
A bird that is free
Of the gilded restraint

For to covet a soul
Which I can not deny
Nor pardon for faults
I am not to blame
If I love a being
That God hath create
No matter what package
He be present
Is to love the morning sun
That quench this request…..

To this wandering soul
I lay at his feet
Submitting my past
My present and all
The I rest my case
And let my life fall
On the lap of this one man,
This wandering soul……….

best step back
the world is crashing
the sky is crack'd
sea has gone weird
plants inverting
air insincere
people converting

best step back
it's not making sense
teach don't tell
alien unwell
i've lost track
no going back

Manipulative, malevolent, mystified
Inevitably inverting our introspection
Waning away collected calculation

Like calcified cancer;

Contouring colors of passions
Which fasten franticly to oblique reactions
As fantasized antics;

Crafted daintily in packets
Jacketing the tactlessness behind the fanatics.

Hopelessly happy, helplessly harrowed.

Mania

joining two lines
smoothly, without ripple or gaping
seam, is the task of galaxies
and Artists.

watching the end and
beginning, gliding over the now,
suspending appearance
for truth

(inverting the mind's usual function).
And if it all goes
to hell?

*crumpling the wasted effort

The widowed lips of a smile long dead,
She falls back with her legs pre-spread,
Eyelids half open, an empty grave of feeling,
Her personality reflected by the ceiling,
The mirror inverting Fitch & Abercrombie,
In a supermarket siege - she'd be a zombie,
An abandoned hatchback on the hard shoulder of life
She'd make a corpse a lovely wife.

Serpent inverting sense invoking smiles
Flash bone to the fruit of the knowing good
Taste of the sickening or urgent food
Swagging God to appetize necrophiles.
Serpent whispers war swallowing souls for miles
Each way as a starved out heavenly feud
Flames to ruin the body by bodies imbued
With gut lust the conflicted tongue riles.
A worm burrowing through to eat the turn
Will savor seed at core of maggot site,
Settled omnivorous as freshly found.
Selving **** to cocoon the worm it churn,
A hungry untasted hermaphrodite
Devouring dainty dead meat now renowned.

We wear costumes of self control, with masks made of deception to conceal our intention. As a method of prevention, we slip into our inventions, inverting ourselves to protect the hearts we won't mention. Our sleeves will be washed clean so that no one will see how much we've had to bleed just to believe that we deserve a dream just as much as the soul who doesn't have to hide in a hole covered with dirt. Our only message to the world is written out on wooden boards sticking out of the ground above the patches where our bodies can be found, and they read:

"This is all I can let you see because I don't like what you want me to be, and I'd rather die here alone than tell you to leave, because someone you want is all I ever wanted to be."

Before the slice of moon, a far strike knives
As a teased Lucifer, charged to appear
Stabbing the bend by thunder taunting near;
And pointed burn a cycle full survives.
Choked in the smoke breathe the sacrificed lives
Dread to the sliver glowing God eyed sphere
That seems to ****** a flash to now and here
To part the air by beam inverting fives.
Numberless one of God tempting renown
Slashes to times the cut to next that fames
First division defied- then kingdom come
In a bladed bolt that's called to shock down
For the eye, as a black sworn father aims
The dagger stroke at his lamb, bound and mum.

The Holistics of the ethnonym of Heles was saved by Vernarth and Etréstles, when the flood of Helén that came on Heles was shuffled. Here the inquisition is connected with the gravity potential of the elapsed time with the gravitational hydro of the bottom of the Marmara. The mechanics were marble dust that fell through the timers to the Seventh Heaven, inverting the one-way urns that were already being destined for Heles. This double urn symbolized by the laurel of infinity over the finite, it mechanized the fall of the origin of heaven in the court of the angels, from where they had horologists to pay for the urn for Heles, but as this was rescued by Vernarth, the urn it would finally be awaited in the depths of the dreams of the Marmara. Here the longitudinal precision of the marble sandbank that contained Heles defragmented was necessary, to later materialize it in the second Urn under the fold of the sea where his horology was synchronized with the sane cries of Nefeles, which Vernarth could not bear when he saw that his body it was turning into red blood cell marble. Heles, seeing his mother like this, inverts the receptacles of condensed air to emit and separate the red blood cells from the marble of the urn of Heaven, and then transfer it to the marble urn of Marmara.

After 1500 microseconds, Heles grabs Alikantus's tail and jumps onto Kanti's back, who was waiting for her to surface. She was dressed in white marble chaff adhering to her silhouette, remaining totally safe with her index fingers on Alikantus's forehead at the end when she just opened her limestone eyes.

Vernarth says: “in the Codex Raedus, I made the twelve hours of Carlo Magno's clock tangible, near Compostela. I have only kept prudence facing Heles with Etréstles from the bottom of the sea, leaving the bulbous granules, after his soul regenerated away from the marble oxide in the tin gap that could take it to the real quantum future, far from the receptacle that was emptied to arrive at the enteric complement of his organic and admirable Hellenic body, exchanging and measuring the countenance of the Akashic field, where the locality of the Strait of Dardánelos tacitly was upset with that of the Hellespont. For what it meant that the globality of Heles was followed by the torrent of water in the middle of the colonnades that brought it to the surface, where Hellespont already shone with another name of the Cosmic Sea "

The places and times, the characters, and fantastic animals were rooted in the mention where all things were induced towards a theoretical foundation, based on the love of quantum entanglements or (entanglement basis), to give ballast that binds the particles that are to it. own from where the independent particle persistently comes, which will drag the names of Heles and Helén for thousands of millennia, through this intertwining of two colonnades that represent the duality of Kanti and Alikantus, with Vernarth and Etréstles. They made the macroscopic purpose of the Kairos tunnel, where the pre-Helladic anticipated the revolutionized time of the Kairos when the Hellenes already carried the visionary overtaking factor in their genes, to help this sponsorship of Vernarth's Romantic Submitology in the Hellespont, from Vernarth's home run where the stars and Kafersesuh's Lepidoptera straightened up.