The sky is the ocean above
our little lobster heads.
The waves of clouds create,
the waves of clouds move to make
the wind and the sea bed.
Formations of rock and stone
from the surgical whisp
whirling and swirling
fumbling and twirling
as it whistles through and around my head.
Feelings of harsh sincerity
harsh reality and
harsh naivety rush to me.
These feelings, they rush right through me
consuming all of what I thought I knew.
Consuming all of who I thought to be true.
Now I am left swimming here,
and crawling here, in this ocean of atmospheric pressure.
It relentlessly keeps pushing itself down on me.
My shoulders ache, my head aches, and my stomache screams.
I don't think my compulsions or my
could have kept me from something so
emancipated and inhumane.
This distraught loss I feel I have suffered
is now a new awakening.
My life is nothing but materialistic.
I thought these things had meaning and purpose,
but what is purpose without a soul?
It's a vicious cycle with my footprint stamped in time.
From a single seed I grew,
now 5 feet 8 inches tall
and left with an empty soul.
Degredation stemming from the 11th hour.
It is our time now to shine.
This generation of ours so behind.
Industry came on the e-train
and the time has come for it to go again.
Deep within I have found another way to be free.
It's this bright light that shines so deep into my eyes.
Blinded by this path of perfection that I had to be.
But this light, with it's scathing little intricacies
and delicasies and in-for-malities.
Inside we must learn.
Inside we must grow.
Inside we must follow.
This little winding road, that twists and turns
until silence overcomes.
We must watch as the ground below us slowly dissolves away,
slowly spreads itself and connects in so many forms.
Staggered little dots creating this painting of the big picture.
We have no idea where the earth and sky meet,
there is no line beneath my feet,
and this... rocky path.
My fingertips extending into this
distant whistling ocean in the sky.
The clouds, like waves,
rumble and roll atop my head in my
push the button and go…no stopping
do the job built to do
designed to do
twelve-fingered freak entertaining at best
push the button and let’s see what he’ll do
family distraction, common bond, golden child link to humanity
dance, make us laugh, but don’t make us think
back back back now you twelve-fingered freak
push the button, start the machine….wake that motherfucker up
push it again I’m bored
eight leathery fingers and four leathery thumbs close tight around one soft throat, skin stained with black resin, fat strong fingers, scared, cut, bleeding, scabbed, used, useful…..push it again motherfucker, I dare you….pulls one arm back, slowly cocking, muscles tightening, bulbous, salty, years and tears of steel out at sea and they have no idea what they have on their hands now, chaffing hemp rope leathery black resign stained acrid skin around throat uncomfortable to the touch beyond the pressure alone…..every time you push that button, my son pays…..four fingers and two thumbs and the strong right hand balls up into hammer fist….
go ahead, push it again….I dare you….my son is standing right there behind me, take a good look at his face and push it again…it’s right there in front of you…all you have to do is push…..and…..laugh……and…….see what happens next….
…and with his tongue he pushes the Copenhagen tighter into his lower lip, and with a click click click he moves his head side to side and pop pop pop on his muscle of a neck and with brown dribble on his chin….how funny am I now?
Mom, how you made my world sing:
With stories of the Summer of Love in Frisco and everything;
About supergroups you saw when they were brand new;
About Jerry and the Boys living next door to you.
With characters like Leary, Kenyon, and Steve Miller,
What more could you ask for, sounds like a thriller.
The experiment seemed such a sucess, I wish it were true
That society evolved at the pace you all set it to.
Down at the Purple Onion, Steve Miller jammin' Indian style,
Pigpen beltin' out the blues if only for a while.
Joni Mitchell on the wall, shy as a mouse,
Janis and Big Brother tearing down the house.
Must have been a trip as a working artist in that town.
I can remember the SF scene from my perspective near the ground.
The change in the air, it seemed like revolution;
The times since then seem such a dilution.
I wish I could go back and live it for a while,
Seems like I'd have a permanent A-time smile.
That groove you all set, it still lingers on,
Though the torchbearers seem all but gone.
When Jerry went, I felt a part of me go.
Now that you're gone, it seems like the end of the show.
But I realize this is the hardest part of the test,
Cause when things get rough, you've got to be at your best.
We are the torchbearers, it's our turn to fly.
The world we live in is our alibi.
It's our song now and we get to sing it,
So don't be afraid, just get out there and wing it.
Unless chaos rules constant the lives of men,
My future must certain my past replevin.
And ere yet I finish, with gainful intent,
Applying my craft, with respect due dissent.
Giving metre it's purpose and weaving with rhyme,
So that men might gain focus from years worn with time.
Fact past and present, forevre entwined,
With one common purpose, continuation of kind.
Or how about something really dark and dismal...we're talking a fat bummer...
Loneliness is a force that steals life's precious moments drop by drop, bled to the beat of drumming angst, frustration, or resignation.
The unfulfilling satiation of the flesh and the paring of hope from the bleeding exposed bone. Mis-spent minutes fade to hours, then to years, stoicly plodding towards death.
The hearts magic tickle grows fainter as dreams become worn memories. Unrequited fantasy, unparalleled waking excitement feed secret longing and desparate hope.
Longed for visons and possibilities demand unanswered devoted action and grow the black fruit of bitterness and envy.
The answer to the heart's cry goes unheard by ears straining to hear as its muffled voice is kept wrapt in a bloody woolen rag.
The pulse, once spurred to beat so strongly and quickly, rising to the moment in anticipation, grows stagnant and thready.
Its purpose never realised, the flesh it fed, only filling out form, shrinks without filling the mold. Time grinds the bones towards dust.
Grasping fingers claw for any hold as the fall from potential reality accelerates the backwards plunge into the dark anonymous abyss.
So many others falling, all in silence, each alone. Each grasping and straining to hear the muffled voice wrapt in a bloody woolen rag.
The White snow mountain in the center depicts the land of the
great nation of Tibet.
The six red rays emanating from the sun symbolize the six original peoples of Tibet: the Se, Mu, Dong, Tong, Dru, and Ra.
The blue rays symbolize the commitment to spirtual and secular rule.
The pair of snow-lions symbolize the complete victory of the spiritual and secular rule.
The three-sided yellow border reresents the flourishing of the Buddha’s teachings. The side without a border represents Tibet’s openness to non Buddhist thought.
The raised jewel symbolizes Tibet’s reverence for the three Precious Gems:
the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha.
very nice, was her name joan?
Magic in the Valley
It was the summer of 85 and I was feeling very alive
Dancing with the Dead and spacing in my head
With an audience of pine trees and rain clouds
Weaving through the mass of swirling crowds
As the band left the stage for the first set break
My mind was peaking with all I could take
I slowed to a small bouncing rhythmic twirl
And then I saw the most beautiful girl
She wore a pink and blue dress
As she danced amid the mess
She had flowers in her hair
And her dirty feet were bare
It seemed as if we were completely alone
Then I hear the theme of the “Twilight Zone”
She whispers to me “Women are Smarter”
And that was the second set starter
She vanished somewhere during the song
So I just keep on trucking along
And finished out the show that night
Remembering her smile, what a lovely sight
The second show was anything but one more Saturday night
The band was so in touch it gave me a fright
The energy kept on growing as well as my smile
I two stepped and half stepped for what seemed like a mile
As I was grooving along with the sound of drums
From out of nowhere here she comes
Her smile alight like a lost sailors beacon
I knew that she held all I was seeking
She breathed “Dear Mr. Fantasy” into my ear
And at that very moment Jerry shifts into gear
The sweet melodic twangs of his steel guitar
Take me to a place quite distant and far
She looked deep in my eyes in a special way
And said “I need a miracle every day”
We kept on dancing as she called out the tunes
Next song they play will be “Stella Blue”
As she named “Throwing Stones”
I felt a chill in my bones
And I thought “What are the odds,
Is she a messenger from the gods?”
“Not Fade Away” will be the end of the set
But don’t worry it is not over yet
This dark haired beauty with big brown eyes
Was guiding the music to my total surprise
For an encore she paused and then said with a wink
We will hear “US Blues” I think
But “Brokedown Palace” was the encore song
How could my angel get it wrong?
She frowned then smiled and laughed so sweet
And said, Well “Us Blues” would have been neat
But hey, I can’t always be right
Maybe that one’s tomorrow night
Then without a sound she twirled away
Leaving me alone with a touch of gray
I will never forget that magical night in June
With the fallen angel of “Name that Tune”
1Have you ever been so happy to see these boys arriving with their truckloads full of music,and their eyes just shining? Yes,I see the questionmark twirling round your head the answer is,my unknown friend,here came to Grateful Dead. Refrain:And we are the people allways waiting for our Boys first song which grabs us from the start and makes all dance along We are just funny cosmic hobos,and were proud to be The Deads own gand who allways tryin to spread harmony 2.Thousand languages are spoken on our planet earth but only one is understood by everyone who cares Its the golden notes of Jerrys guitar playin with the band and when this tunes sets in wer happy like little kids in wonderland Refrain:Thats because we are the people who allways wait for another note of Grateful music that were sharing and the lyrics we can quote so like i told you we are hobos from the world of sound proud to be the Deads own gang,were allways be around.
as i sleep
my mind just creeps
where it goes i do not know
maybe to hell it goes
i do not know
perhaps to heaven it goes
i do not know
there is no gain in this
it is only sleep i miss
it seems only pain i gain
only the pain in my brain
is all i have to gain
pain in my brain
is all there is to gain
just pain in my brain.
That was a very beautiful poem, it really touched my heart. Please don't frown any more...