Further from the truth!

You couldn´t be further from the truth. looking up at you, looking down on you.
From each position, perfection doesn´t exist that´s true.
Arguing with you, debating and questioning what´s the point of persisting.
Gather the answers in a steel woven basket. Or sew it into some of the knowledge caught in the carpet. The carpet you stand on when you´re on doubtful ground.
Some fruit to eat when your body longs for certainty. Nice and shallow superficial in a world perverse, teach me to underestimate the universe.
Tell me it´s not worth it to fix the broken machine, it´s not my job not my place, besides i know not how to fix it. The cities bribes, drugs and whores waiting to turn tricks.
Looking up at me looking down on me. Looking for space between the shade of needs.
Locate me in the garden of ignorance. Wake me into you lack of interest in the world. Explain to me how it all works! Where that damned illusive truth lurks.
You couldn´t be further from it.
Beauty and the beholder the poetic rite they own. Reminds me of the day I saw a piece of that naked truth.
I saw it while it took off it´s illusions, that piece of flesh untouched that many would treat with abuse.
I caught it seconds before it disappeared into the water. An inch of skin I bore witness to finer than my hottest fantasy coming real and standing nude.
That inch of the truth I can´t convey to you. Each time I try it comes out a lie, I lack the charisma and the proof. I couldn´t get closer foot wheel or hoof, I couldn´t be further from that magnificent truth!

Root, Stem and Leaf

These plants so full, they´ve given me so many.
This love of earth of sky of the air to breathe.
These crops so high and so abundant some miracle hand tickling their capillary roots.
What a miracle, what a blessing, to see this world bloom through them.
Plants so thick so shiny with the rhythm of weeks in this fertile land i´ve tilled.
This soil the long earthworms have turned with their will.
Plants weaving themselves round and upwards with nature´s reason.
The warm month´s graceful fuel injections ignited through the seasons.
Even the storm damage doesn´t render the cultivation invain.
The slug bites, the brutal spring winds or even the heavy summer rains.
My sacred plants worshipping the sun, I tended you to hear your secrets.
I tended you to understand your life as a cycle, your language in silence.
Your fragrant flower spoke to my nose in sweet tones, your fruit spoke to my taste and convinced it beyond a doubt.
A flower as small as a spark lighting up an inch of a concrete city.
Or a tree of flowering fireworks majestically stealing the attention of the whole street.
The magic in your root, the strength in your stem, and the life in your leaves.
So if you see some dirt that you can throw a seed in...
Let´s make our way one day to the modern garden of Eden.
Plants, your energy is my medicine and passing your patch is a most valuable moment...
True tranquility.

The devils a climber!

The devils a climber, the mountains are his crimes.
He eats your pride, he roasts your fear. Athiests and priests even martyrs he dares.
The devil grows higher like a fire in a city that doesn´t care.
His face imposes damned thought. In oceans of shame and doubt. The most diabolical fish are caught!
The devil is a climber, part of us belong. Freedom lies in creation which we let him steal for money.
Let him steal it for fame.
He´d drag a man half way around the world using a spell of delusion. Encourage us to frighten, fight, fear and abuse. The preachers can´t save us just as addicted to the word sinner as the accuser.
That´s his name beyond the climber, the lier and the profound unholy user.
For your thoughts on fire, your mind possesed. The devil is a climber certainly, this blind ambition he blessed.
We judge as if we have something to say that others should see... Always refusing mercy or holy amnesty.
In a cave he brews fine steaming pots of dishonesty, delivering it in the night´s wind wrapped in urgent wanting.
Thousands of screamers in anarchy make his saturday night party music, he plays the dirty, the broken, he plays me and you til we´re sick.
Sometimes so eloquent other times so blatantly twisted. Can we escape him is there a way, or through our destiny have we missed it? Please not the symbol of the serpent hissing.
Both worlds confuse us the heavenly bright and the terrifying dark. Which afterlife or higher dimension, which celestial ark? which side will we return, to make our eternal mark?

BODY OF PAIN

Across the surface, visit your purpose.
Across the surface visit your purpose!
Anchor your confusion.
What´s the worst that can happen, these streets are easy veins baby.
These buildings fancy bloodclots.
You stay dry when it rains.
Talk to next year with your conscience, your mouth and your good ear.
Across the table the same utensils the same beverages the same food.
Most of us alike all living under a typical roof.
There´s hardly some distant mystery, When you are your predictable neighbour, you are your plain community.
Across the surface you use your opinion to wear as different clothes. But there are thousands that way dressing and speaking like robotic clones, give me the ringtone.
Anchor your confusion, try not to abuse it, as familiar as the sun.
Your SUBCONSCIOUS CONFORMITY! The crowds you pretend to shun.
What´s the worst that can happen. These streets are easy veins. You´re just a drop of blood in a body full of PAIN!

This joke...

This is a big joke. All of this. Smiles are are so pleasant, they come along and cool us off.
This big joke, not one of us wants to admit that our lives are just well told jokes and even not so well told jokes! And some lives are really hilarious no matter how they are told. Smiles are sweet and laughing is infectious as it is bold. Comedy is courage a cure to those afraid.
People take these ways of life seriously and make excuses and turn away.
Tell me it´s not all for fun. Clowns surround you dishing out the most absolutely ridiculous puns. Then waiting for our reaction. Lips pursed, dear they wait! Wait for satisfaction... In our stutter, in our shiver. Wait for us to turn around and nail them with a smartarse response delivered, ha. They laugh whatever happens and their lil´ joy however absurd keeps them spritely, keeps them fresh. So true to their joke, true to the test, they know enough about life by letting it go. Sometimes the more we worry the more senile we go, only humour can save us only humour will show. Stubborness and pride reach around us putting glue on our backs and pushing us to the floor making us liers. In no time we´re stuck and complaining and wailing like helpless infant choirs.
Jokes, You got to know how to tell a joke.
Timing all that stuff, when they laugh for an instant they are your toy. Screw the joke up and everyone frowns or walks off annoyed. You have a dream that makes you do something stupid, jokes on you could mean nothing!
Punchlines rise and fall and who adores them more than a crowd hungry for laughs. Gods an immortal clown even when he crosses our human paths, check it out...
The clown was rejected by the sinister cannibals on horses, because they said clowns tasted funny with their clown paint running down into the sauce. my my.
The man woke up laughing not knowing what the voice in his dream said. Then he turned around and looked over to see the clown beside his bed.
The man woke up feeling really down, then he looked over to see a picture of a dead clown.
Life is a joke and religions are styles of humour. Preaching can be a standup comedy boomer!
What about having a weapon in a sense of humour, laugh out cancer and chuckle all the tumours.
And what´s not funny to one is funny to another. Even strange rhymes, bla bla bla.
The longer you laugh, the longer you live. Ha ha ha.

frogs do damage!

Down by a little pond in the middle of  lowell forest lay a colony of very hyperactive frogs.
The big lilly pads couldn´t stop them from disturbing the tranquility of the pond.
Even rabbits with great wide whiskers who pulled up for a drink would be assaulted by a gang of hopping crazy frogs! Jumping away rapidly shaking his snout droplets of water coming off his whiskers.
One of the frogs was so cocky he would actually follow the animals into lowell forest.
One day the cocky frog and his friends had just scared a very big rat off their pond, the cocky frog was hopping behind the big rat further and further from the pond until the terrain changed from swamp grass to pine needles.
The rat turned around and with it´s dark sinister nose raised baring two yellow sharp teeth it challenged the cocky frog.
What a sight with the rat three times the size of the frog. The frog wouldn´t last against such a beast.
so the rat hissed and the frog croaked.
Meanwhile the rabbit with the whiskers was hiding behind a little bush watching the whole thing.
And just as the rat beared down on the cocky frog a big boot came out of nowhere, it was the farmer Old Macregor. By accident he had arrived in the middle of this animal conflict.
Not far behind was the farmers dog a dutch hound named Ruby. So the rat could smell him out and bolted for a big patch of thistle. The frog turned to the dog who was now running at him, not worried in the slightest the frog jumped toward the dog with a croak that was almost as heroic as a war cry. Landing one foot before the big doofy dutch hound. The dog looked round as if there was some kind of trick for such an easy snack!
But no just the cocky frog staring the dutchhound down.
And without much hesitation the dog ate that cocky frog in one mouth full. And father macregor just turned around and laughed.
The pond was never the same again, and the rabbit went down to the pond when he liked, and the rat went down to the pond when he liked and they ate the lillies and hissed at the frogs and kicked back their legs. The rest of the frogs just kept quiet.
For months the pond didn´t stir but a little tadpole had almost come of age. The rat had grown old and decrepid and the rabbit jumped about at half the speed. The tadpole however was now a little frog causing commotion in the pond until even the fish were hiding at the mud at the bottom just to get alittle peace.
The frog jumped around uncontrollably and did lots of weird stuff that frogs don´t do.
The frog would dig holes and spit water and jump up trees.
This cocky frog was so brazen he made the alst one look tame. One day the rat came down to the pond not expecting anything to happen and suddenly "BANG" the new cocky frog leapt on him and started to rip out his old fur in his toothless frog mouth, tormenting the poor old rat until the rat fell down dead out of great chock and confusion. The cocky frog jumped off the rats corpse and croaked with it´s big eyes bulging out in the late afternoon misty gloom. It licked it´s bulging eyes with his long sleek tongue with such accuracy and style the other frogs became jealous and started trying to imitate the new cocky frog.
The whole pond bubbled that night until the lillies were all upside down, the frogs were agitated. The fish were so pissed off they were planning their own rebellion against the stupid frogs. Anyway two days later the deadrat was well on his way to rotting and Ruby the dutch hound smelt it and wanted a piece of that. So he went down there to see if he could get his snack. And "FROGATTACK" frogs from all sides jumped onto the doofy dutchhound until Ruby was totally turned around and confused the dog fell into the water with frogs all over him. By this time the few fish in the pond were so sick of cocky frog and his amigos that they decided to do their own trick... They started to create a whirl pool by swimming round and round the pond creating a current dragging the doofy dutch hound even further under the water where the frogs would taunt and jeer at the drowning dog.
Suddenly farmer Mcgregor arrived on the scene diving into the pond trying to save his dog, almost slowing the whirlpool so he could have carried himself and his dog out of the pond. But the frogs had started chasing the fish now increasing the flow of the current, and now the farmer and his dog slowly drowned in the pond never to be seen again.
This is not a true story or even a story based on an untrue story. and don´t use this story as an example of how frogs can be dangerous. It wont stand up in court.
frogs don´t kill people mysterious underwater currents can. Or poison frogs.
So don´t lick frogs.

Não sou melhor

Não sou melhor...
Ele se acha, ele se acha melhor que outras pessoas.
Não adianta falar com ele, pois ele se acha melhor.
Ele se alimenta corrigindo os outros.
A alma dele é arrogância pura.
Ele desfruta quando os outros revelam as fraquezas deles.
Humildade é a palavra disconhecida por ele.
Maior do que todos ninguém atinge tal nível de nobreza.
Ninguém é mais gentil ou generoso.
Sugerindo, recomendando e dando opinião aonde ninguém quer ouvir.
Ele se acha mais certo em todos os casos. E quando não, sai da conversa tentando picar com ironia.
Aparência é todo, verdade é pouco. Tamanho orgulho em geral é louco.
Mas não sou melhor do que esse triste homen!
I´m not better...
He rates himself, he thinks he´s better than other people.
It´s no use trying to speak to him, cause he thinks he´s the best.
He feeds himself correcting others.
His soul is pure arrogance!
He delights when others reveal their weaknesses.
Humble is a word unknown to him.
Bigger than everybody, nonone can attain his level of nobility.
Noone is kinder or more generous.
Suggesting, recommending and giving his opinion where nobody wants to hear it.
He thinks of himself as dead right in every case. And when he´s not he exits the conversation trying to sting us with his sarcasm.
Appearance is everything, truth counts for little.
The pride´s size in general is crazy!
But i´m no better than this sad man.

Price tag halo.

I would love to be part of the whole and have a true ideal story.
Hot days cold days we live in hipocrisy.

Neither one nor the other. what are you like?
What you love today and hate tomorrow is as changing as the weather.
We are like clouds floating around with price tags above our heads.
Looking for wind currents to take us away.
hot and cold we live a hipocrisy.
A long account of true and false perceptions of our life.
Spending time and money to create a lifestyle and evidence that we know ourselves.
We are one through free force of will these days. Yet so much holds us back.
I´d love to be part of the whole.
Something keeps me slack.
I´d love to have a true ideal story, not full of holes and so so unextraordinary.
I´d love to burn the price tag which seems to be a cross.
Can you really see my value? Can you tell me what i cost?
Sum people up, sum yourself up is there no hidden glory/
What you see is what you get, reassuring simplicity as a market tool.
Whatever reflects off our skin! How you conform in school.
Whatever small talk gets you through.
The beautiful numbers fluctuating above your heads, through hot and cold.
Class is brand, job is social status, more mundane than this is proposterous.
Each one of us is floating through, conveyor belts under us, taking us and making us do what we do.
Control has us in the idea of... One through free force of will, one through free force of choice.
Afraid to abandon the price machine for one´s own individual voice.

Sunlit Ripples

On the mound down to the lake where lazy fisherman lie.
The streaming autumn afternoon, it´s comfort in the air.
It´s blaze in the sky, reflecting off the sunlit ripples. This was a minutes joy.
Until the rose scented twilight absorbed the day. Peace visited briefly.
These waters sparkle in the middle from the body to the firey trickle. The sun owns it´s surface, but the lake owes it´s glory to the sun.
Palm roots almost touch it´s margins sharing the waters clarity in their leaves.
Few clouds where permitted and so performed with magnificent grace, changing their shapes on the wind like winged acrobats. This was a minutes awe.
As I lay on fresh cut grass and devoured the miracle with my eyes.
I thought of the great art in water and seasons and how the two move together.
Thanks for waking me and making me a witness.

Mankinds last poison

He challenges the sincere, adopts their ways and strangles them. Sunglasses hide his eyes.
He is a fuming roadtrain made of pure gold, polluting with his chimneys and his empire in the cold.
He will cast out the rebirth of hope in the shade...
Rebirth of hope in the shade who sunk a symbol of terror. In the shade...
In the shade of glutonous vultures who would leave the land as barren as their old ideas.
Who would exchange the past for the future, intolerance, sunglasses hide their eyes.
The last oily root left a country in need. Not falling far from the tree.
The last oily root left two thorns where the dogs rub themselves. Thorns and thistles, now fresh ones are sprouting.
The last oily root who betrayed a nation and reinvigourated the saracen.
He will elevate the fuming golden roadtrain, offer him as a sacrifice to his subterranean superiors. Who furnished an industry of smoke and flying metal.Who blinded the lamb and took without asking.
Giving to the merciless American dreamer of nightmares who shades his own cursed eyes. Gold and wigs are the only salvation for this hideous emperor.
On the day of reception he will play with the ball of wool. It will be unraveled to carry our legacy far beyond the stars. Or will burn as fast as the fuming roadtrains wig. His quest is that of the lined S religion, credit, thirst and fear. Will you follow, read the book by the cover prescriptions... the scandal free success story that will guarantee the ascension of the third and final destructive enterprise.
He´ll have you buying that piece of clothing that will cost a months salary. You´ll wear it on the last day in immaculate irony to celebrate the apocalypse. He´ll smile down on you as if your father and congratulate you on your purchase. Now you can be his Chrismas tree, then merely a dried brown branch by January.
These false prophets illude us smoothly. Preaching, campaigning, buying and selling... they´ll kill to own you.

Tuesday vision

Leaving the complaints on the stones for the sun to dry. This day waited for me since dawn.
Walking to the shade with my friends wealth, determination and humility. Each one radiant in their own way.
Each one close and so far from me.
I not so much as uttered a word. Each friend my guide.
Despite the cold, warmth was shared. The wind suggested so much, I was barely listening with no resistance, he went off unsatisfied like a spoilt child.
We were told to recognise the trees. How they breathe, their tones of green their reflection of light as if eyes open to the heavens, gracious green eyes.
The colour and the oxygen the leaves give off, our comfort to be near them and our peace to be close.
The leaves subtle love washes over me and my friends.
It held us in it´s fragrance and touched us where we rested, we could not want for more.
The breeze carried the breath of the trees, which then also filled our lungs and washed our mouths and minds from a city hiding from the cure.
The cold wind and distant grind disappeared from the day, and for simply being...
Laughter would be delivered to us in the hurried afternoon.

The older tree gives much, despite it´s age and condition, shocked by the lack of space, it´s roots exposed.
It´s lower branches stripped and blotched. It´s bark a surface of amazing wrinkles.
The younger tree who bears wonderful glossy pairs of new leaves before the week ends, shoots toward the sun for an instinct older than beast. It´s youth will keep for long, it´s ambition in the ascent to the sky. How well it can be endowed with fruit and flowers. An account of time written in it´s boughs, and it´s contrast´s song so well written in the seasons.

Metrotrain existance

This long room full of tired people, making up part of a moving arrow along two endless steel bars.
Sleep curly headed man, listen to music reception girl.
Play in your purse house mum, look around uneasy and confused teenager.
Adjust your cellular middle-aged blue collar man.
This train is your home, your moving abode.
These poles are to hold when there are too many of you.
Glance at each other then surrupticiously pretend to look out the window.
The passing scenery so familiar now like a family portrait that goes on for miles.
Curious kids chatter for what seems for hours, when they leave, you long to hear their questions and curious way return.
On these tracks we go rolling... bing bing bang over each line stopping at each station exchanging a carriage full of bodies again and again.
Magazines come out and even the rare book appears. People hold their bags infront of themselves as if protecting pregnant bellies.
Your home is here rolling on these tracks, you belong to the movement and momentum, you belong to this train forever.

Colonial nothing

Vision of the new world.
To go west and arrive in India, avoiding the cursed ottomans...
To Africa to mine and enslave!
Or to the pacific to expand the empire...
On the course for spice and gold and to spread the good word! At the point of an English cutlass or Spanish rapier. Massacres the church blessed.
On the course for king and country on the course for holiness...
On the course to burn cultures and peoples and replace their gods and steal their essence.
You can´t stop progress as it marches forward. Gold and God and virtuous clothes and armour.
Dragging their progress to the end of a dusty trail, where the last tribes learn their two faced ways and treacherous schemes their so called nobility.
Driving on those carriages full of crucifixes, swords and slaves, mobile insanity of the inquisition age.
Rocks and stones broke their wooden wheels, as they broke into the land.
Imagine the colonial dream so lucid how it would struggle in the swamps and in the desert sand.
Tired lost horses and slaves trotting against hardgrounds and bogs, El dorado in the captains helmets feeding infinite dreams of glory and riches.
 Their shining clean exterior protecting fearfilled dirty hearts.
Settlers wearily building their shelters to protect themselves. As soldiers and priests handed out blindfolds to avoid when new found freedom and love were detected. Statues of glutons and perverts were erected.
The gift of mindslavery was given to the gobsmacked natives, through alcohol and church and simply drunk flagellation.
To help these simple souls wake up and assimilate.
Systematic order and strict law to spread the fear. To destroy their languages and customs they dared open an identity rupture, to contaminate their bonds with nature by forcefeeding holy scripture. Musket, sword and spear.
New land, new land...
let´s break it with old ideas.

Forget spontaneous

Forget sponaneous.
I´d like to dip into those reserves in the very moment I express myself.
The freshest words would be caught and distributed from my mouth.
I´d have summoned your attention, summed up what you had wanted to hear, gave it to you on a goldplated dish and lavished your response.
The moment I speak only the boring truth appears, that´s exactly what noone wants to hear.
So knowledgable but not free, this blessing means a thousand useless thoughts keeping my mind from the present moment. Laughing now, for I admired and wondered about my own conclusions! Now the light shows me it´s all self delusion. I want spontaneous ridiculous passion.
Planning each move and moment to come across as the zaniest. I forgot the spirit of life and passion, I´m foreign to spontaneous.
Spontaneous stands untouchable with a lions aura and a wizards charm.
So dynamic and rapid keeping the ego away from harm.
Repeating old delusions automatically like a wild computer virus.
Sabotaging sweet moments of cheer and spark.
Facts and figuires seldom tire us all. I want to surrender to whats only natural.
I lack the power to harness the lateral and let myself be chance.
I´d swap my theories so i could have passion.
I´d swap my judgement so i could have connection.
Throw away my reasoning... standing there... shameless!
I forgot the spirit of life is to be spontaneous.
I´d like to forget time and decorum and let them escape.
The apple of my eye was there all along... in wait.

                                    GET LIFE

Get life with teeth filled smiles, bikini beer ads. Get life with the new shaving sensation. The closer to the- two thousand and ten consumer vibration.

Get life in a plastic box, before you lose it in a wooden one. Get life with coca-cola your harmonius prayer can be laced with a dark brown appreciation.

Go out and seek life execute your will find your product at the centre of distribution.

Kick back and get life interest rates paint the action mall gates with shady tones of reincarnation.

Cling to life your local institution, being aware is away without care, be your own optimistic funk freak.

Get life on the highway with stereo speaker-self worthy goosebumps.

People are taken by the reflection of the sun in your paint job. Cause your worth it.

                     INVESTIGATE

Find me out and finally what´s left to believe.

When the will to search deflates.

When meaning has escaped from the word investigate.

The horizon sneaks away each day at godspeed.

No more faith to see, no more faith to read.

Come here lost child and see through me.

There´s no dogma to apply.

Looking into your lost child´s sacrificial eyes.

No feathers found where the angels used to wait.

The meaning has escaped from the word investigate.

Sultry demons of scepticism, slowly drown in pools of the gullible.

A great apocalypse looms, clinging to the ramblings of the city fool.

People ponder about redemption, a new path pure and straight.

Alas in the midst of materialism god evapourates.