The Helping Hand of the Random Hippies, Luna and Brian

Be warned,
this is a lunatic's paradigm,
the clocks' words are blatantly real,
click, click, symbolise...

hallucinations of the in-time thoughts will be in close circles of reality,
o god, this is real! Job advertising, every silly soul is watching me,

my blurring mind speed, my outside of time,
my stone's still of what's mine speed, seed...
create the oxygen,
destroy the structure of see owe 2,
submerse the over-toned greed computers like shadow puppets,
there is population cramming in my cranium...

wow! slow down stranger, this is larger than life!
fathomable five hands go round for an accurate reading,
a spiral way untold yet never too old or rhymed to death,
seek not the one hand tied behind the back,
or that hand will loose control and rip out your spine,
the all in are;
those that see whats atop the eye,
that sits atop a spire sent forth from the centre of the earth,
the all in are;
those that sent suddenly in all directions at once the words
I am like nothing that could stop it's heart,
of heart...  
of heart...
of heart...
meaning;
the expanding dimensional meridians in a light bulb,
and an idea that stands 'aroun me,
I'm screaming like a fire,
                                     songs from dead poets and musicians,
under this worldly static,
  under the broken classroom,
     under a xylophone missing all the right keys,

o sky,
turn these dust bowl eyes a memory in which all hands turn the sun dial,

turn them slowly, or I'll flood,
turn them slow enough to knit me into a story which would
dam the undammed,
dam them up in tears of joy,
dam the moments that succeed in the random,
whom in this world forgot to breathe?
shall I scream the zen again?
whom in this world forgot to breath?!
are we all undead?

burst to life with inner strength,
remind me of a decent guru alive or,
I'll pull this empty perfect moment to it's knees,
I swear the unswearable!
I'll dare the undareable!
I'll reinforce the suicidal world in train tracks,
I'll bomb the vain,
I'll tame the suited,
let me feel again,
the timing..
let me, o plea..

Luna handed me something to calm me down,
acid sunk to the very bass tones of a simple everything,
the task unbearably heavy to make us believe
a word there is,
beyond the nothing we all think is real,
it is spread like one slutty molecule spread over ten trillion worlds,
the so called creator is 70 birthdays and 50 cigarette's a day, smoked over
shares dived with ten thousands tanks into a fish bowl slot stock machine under a blue stone,

look up! watch out!

this metaphors heavy like water is spare,
or radiation and leaden styles at war against no mans land,
I cannot be my skin anymore, nor tell which Cosm suits me best,
I feel secluded by the lines of the world I treasure like a black love,
nothing is seen, nothing is done,

all alone,
hypnotised by my own waring dreams and half remembered quotes
from speeches to my world conquering troops in heart filling type morals,
words appear again, like crystal tears drop in my living room pool full of real world order jazz;

"arrrrgh golden dawn!
ye love be born!
arrrrrgh make the wattle grow!
still the grey sky holy and souly discover it evenly scattered!
see nothing unforgiven!
take nothing but given hate and expel it from the school of precognitive time,
make everything up from scratch of the same thing underneath an angel of colour!
tear down the precipice of every statue,
and sink their meanings down to your feet,
this fuel, this is the ever heat of the failing universal truth!
have something to forgive for dinner...
place your eyes to your foreheads,

me lambs 'an lads,
the consequence is in a free day at last,
Land Co!"

blur, blur, arrrrgh godly dogs arrrrgh...what was that? hahahaha!
I've cracked me-self, and that's about all I can remember for now,
yet for the hands broken, terrorist's are wankers,
I at-least out spoke the hands from hell that met my for-sharpened claymore,
for bloody broken glass dimensions worth, the words bleed into the galaxy,
"it seems you can choose your friends yet you cannot choose your planet,
(or can you?)"

and who won me some mirror chiming out into the darkness of
a simple hung over drunk of spiritual experience in a glass impure yet of some red right hand?
can you see these colours, as I, wounded in metaphors vomit out the zodiac in argument?
It's all black!
go back!
go back!
turn this ship around,
every move I make they see first!

arrrgh stand fast ye livers of the sea in the sky!
arrrgh tree we will always be the same still upon still upon still,
and always somehow glad I made quill, like some bum on the streets of japan,
he points at everyone, and sane as dice, for he is yelling accusations of "dictator! dictator!"
at everyone he meets and through such flattery has got a cup full of gold!
his begging bowl is seeded alike a well moistened pot full of top soil and fertilizer!

o dear hark my wisdom, o dear captain my captain,
my faces of shadowy numbers in the kitchens experience,
wasn't worth the fifty infinities it spent in getting here,
my fear is contaminated with ladders that stomp snakes into the grand,
and it thus has been reincarnated into snakes of greater length,
thus is this the closest I've ever been to the sound of the burning sun?
coming down from death with a start of a new year........

bamm! I'm here! grounding elevator goes Bing!
"there's no time for questions to the meaning of life people!"
the looking glass looks on to the poems that were in victory,
they delivered heal,
they are the best accidental trips into a lightning of ice on my hands,
for some of my friends say I spend too long in the shower, others cry,
and the water was from the very centre of something, still worth something,
shadows that meant memories of crows that spoke to the truest space on a desert road, "crew! crew!
and I remembered that perfect beat under a power pole that somehow remembers peace,
my life map to Brian's Zionic pattern"

wow, did I just say all that or was that the crow?
far enough good reader,
every exit existence has it's time right?

goin' round to life again,
I heard someone beyond the physical, possibly myself whisper;
"o, go on, give us a hand...
do something original..."