Recipe for biocessation

A long slow slide into degradation…
shuffled into the perfect
recipe for biocessation
Everything that you have been taught to fear
Is backwards
The swords of discrimination
Are lacking more each year

Prepping you for the greenhouse
You’ve been potted
In depleted soil
For the smart dome that invades
Your biome
And becomes your home
It’s almost here
You’ve been prepped and steered
Along the abyss
The Judas kiss
From the many tiered
Mirror
Of your fears
Here

Create panic , hide from the sun
Straight into the blue light of the floodlights
That mine sight and tie your eyes
Too tight
To run….

You are a brief elaboration
Of a tube
That stretches mouth to ass
Filled with steller mass
There is a light show within
Your skin
Inside
Where life begins to dine
On photons
And digest the Aeon
Trapped in time

biology uses light’s duality to sculpt life
What are you being sculpted into
In this blue light haze
A maze of fading dreams
Owned now by the real
Estate Agents of Virtual Things
That occupy your inner life
And nullify your Imaginal
Mind
Running from the blind
Minotaur
Hungry inside his circuitry
Waiting for the tender feast
Prepared
Carefully
And risen like yeast
Inside the meat
Suits
Who no longer need
To bleed.

9-9-24

Turning Point

👁❤️👁TURNING-POINT👁❤️👁

The road from intensity to greatness
passes through sacrifice.
~Kassner

For a long time he attained it in looking.
Stars would fall to their knees
beneath his compelling vision.
Or as he looked on, kneeling,
his urgency's fragrance
tired out a god until
it smiled at him in its sleep.

Towers he would gaze at so
that they were terrified:
building them up again, suddenly, in an instant!
But how often the landscape,
overburdened by day,
came to rest in his silent awareness, at nightfall.

Animals trusted him, stepped
into his open look, grazing,
and the imprisoned lions
stared in as if into an incomprehensible freedom;
birds, as it felt them, few headlong
through it; and flowers, as enormous
as they are to children, gazed back
into it, on and on.

And the rumor that there was someone
who knew how to look,
stirred those less
visible creatures:
stirred the women.
Looking how long?
for how long now, deeply deprived,
beseeching in the depths of his glance?

When he, whose vocation was Waiting, sat far from home-
the hotel's distracted unnoticing bedroom
moody around him, and in the avoided mirror
once more the room, and later
from the tormenting bed
once more:
then in the air the voices
discussed, beyond comprehension,
his heart, which could still be felt;
debated what through the painfully buried body
could somehow be felt- his heart;
debated and passed their judgment:
that it did not have love.

(And denied him further communions.)

For there is a boundary to looking.
And the world that is looked at so deeply
wants to flourish in love.

Work of the eyes is done, now
go and do heart-work
on all the images imprisoned within you; for you
overpowered them: but even now you don't know them.
Learn, inner man, to look on your inner woman,
the one attained from a thousand
natures, the merely attained but
not yet beloved form.👁❤️👁

~Rainer Maria Rilke, trans.by Stephen Mitchell

Vagabond Rambler

Vagabond Rambler

I am the pupil in the center of the eye
I am the pupae in the center of the sky
I am the purpose of the moon and the mind
I am the purplepink lustre of the rotting rind.

I am moved not by your manipulation
I am smoothed not by your capitulation
I am removed from your observation
I am soothed by your undulation.

But what does this mean, what does this mean
Where does this lead me, the silver queen
the rampant wanderer of time and rhyme
the vagabond rambler through moistened minds?

And where does this take me, what forgotten land
what does this make me, and by whose hand
where will I lay my weary head my friend
when the path that I tread winds to the end?

Charleen Johnston
2005

I fight the seizures that shake me

(Old Modeling photo San Francisco 2001
I fight the seizures that shake me
make me into
another plume
it takes all I have sometimes
to free the lines
that have been subdued
...placed in tomb
below layers of rotten cocoon.
I am squinting,
the brightness of the lightness
and the tightness of the room
seems too much to bear
today
in my grey...
I am born of flesh, enmeshed
and torn from the silvery star
that beckons me
reckons with me
it'd be better where we are
if we could find
that place
that face,
that sunny stream of shining lace
that surrounds the
space
inhabited
by you...

4-11-2002

)

Mister Dream

Can you Spell it out for me, misterDream?
Can you tell me how to open the twisted screen?
In the back room
of this microcosmic vacuum
sits a dialectical demon
with a face that looks like me...
spilling simple satire with the fire of certainty.

Can the foggy mirror be wiped clearer,
by the hand of the man
who refuses to stand
for the nearest and dearest
hearts of the clan?

Let's see, let's discern the irony...
The mires that we have chosen to believe
that seed this dying creed
of iron deeds locked in steal
with grips of fear on fiery steeds .....
Twisting the plot
and trotting thru electricFields
that yield the knots and tangled spokes
from the turning Wheel that broke the Seal
between
WhatIs & WhatIsNot.
For Real.
Man.
What a crazy Plan .
A Game of Planes and PassionsOfPan
dancing thru
the degrees of Am. PM me with the lowdown,
whisper in rumors of what's going around,
we can thicken the desperate drama
and Play like Clowns....
Tricksters testing Paradox
and Talking UpsideDown,
we can rockAndRoll through Sight and Sound
as the chessboard wavers
on the merryGoRound....
SinEwaves savoring Light as the curtain goes down.....

Scene One is seen Thru,
it was Planned Too....
Dangling Dialectic from the ceiling
of this BleedThrough....
Hegel wrote the words to spell out the Game
that's played
in the dressing Room
as the audience waits,
debating the nature of isolation
as Indig.Nations fates are flavored
with States of Vexation
as Altered Carbon caters to the next mutation.....

Shadows shadows shadows on the wall,
good guys bad guys rise and fall,
breath by breath and life by death
and brick by brick we build the Wall,
one by one and None by All....
Too mixed up to heed the Call....
Three times Charmed with shock&awe
as For the record the Lines are drawn.......
Phi.ve times LifeTimes
Venus FlyTrap dines on Tangled EyeCons
in the dance of Dreaming dodecahedrons....
Sixual Mayhem birthing through Us & Them
in triangular penetrations
of particulars
in WaveWeaves of instinctual variations ...
Sexagonal vibration
as the Exact Middle Compromise of Creation
interrupting Infinite Potentiation....
A rupture of the hymen that seeks satiation....
Virginal Seven in Deep initiation
never divided
nor multiplied inSide of TenTs of Mind
that abide in Destin(ysAb)ation
.....zen.... Within....
The W.Eight of the Gate of the Octave
that initiates the Fate
of the sacred States of Self
inDwelling in Games of Play
in Nine Lives ReWinding
on hard drives and BytesOfTime
spitting Neurolinguistic prayer
in rhyming software
that invites the Tribe
to Dive Into
the broken binary groove of Moving Truths ....
Wholeness
split
into Ten threadBare bits
of DecaDent Twists of the loom
as looping recursion creates diversion
in hateful versions of fleshExcursions
as ELeven RightAngles Dangle from heaven
as Self appointed gods&angels
of the ArcOftheCoven In tangled tests
of woven GovernMent....

Sovereign exploration
of the Self InDignation
that forces the faces of contortion
of Space&Time
to confront the Mirror of the Mind
and gather the Fragments scattered Inside
as Self ReMembers
It Turns Its Own Tides
and inJoys The ride
of the Twelve archetypal Primes
as the Rhyme subsides
and the Waves enGraved in playful Mazes
Fade into GroundZero ....
The center of the Spindle of the Core Processor....
the chessboard squares dwindle
and melt
in predecessors of Jesting Jesters
inGesting Lessons from Gestation .....

Ahhhhhh.....the Spell is Broken....
A simple Token
as the spoken narration nestles into a quiet corner
of this newly Woken Nation.....

Charleen Johnston
5-6-2020

Jezebel

Phot by Jacob Moore 2001 San Francisco
Jezebel
paint yourself, a picture
leave nothing uncolored-
a mask, a picture of hell.
“Rid yourself”- they shriek
“the demon must fall”
around my body they swarm
casting their hatred
like stones
to bury me.
I am Jezebel.
I am your sin.
I am the demons within.
Caress my solitude
with those soft, delicate hands-
father time?
Mother earth?
Holy ghost?
…haunting the world
and its hells
I beckon you
master divine
to let your lips meet mine.
I'll swallow you in lustful kiss
and wrap you in sinful bliss.
You cowards,
afraid to create your own heaven-
but willing to cast me into
your hell....
How cruel my fate-
to be Jezebel.

March 2000

Bearing the Body Within

The twitch of Dreamtime
As stitched open eyes
Find Time
To cope with Spaces deep inside

I am full with Child
Ripe with fruit
Nerves on fire
With the desire
To open the womb
And carry thru
This seed of truth

Where and when and how
Did the germination
Take place?
I can’t seem to remember
The breath of
Grace
That spoke to me
That broke the hymen
And woke the seed

My belly is swollen
And round
The active fractal
Of self
within
The shroud
Tumbles around with forceful
Kicks
As I wander thru psyches
Maze of bricks
Trying to be found

It is Time

In this Space

Just like
in waking life
So many moons ago
A nodal cycles synodic flow

Sudden fear
For just a moment
Can I open wide enough
To deliver the Numen
Can I bear the terror
Of this movement
As the veil tears
And bares
The burden
Of Being
Human?

Do I push It thru
Or does It
Split me
In Two
Into New Moons
And Minds
As Daimons ride
The wave with me…
Cry out in pain with me…
Wade thru stains
Of bloody chains
That break when the waters
Pour out of me ?

Breathe
Let go
It’s so Real
I Feel
It burst thru
Huge
Alive
Wide eyed
And thriving
Outside
Of Me

My Goddess….!
….The Beauty
The Wonder the Wisdom
Of Womans Body
Alethias forgotten
Melody
My God…..!
….My God
Thou hast christened me
Theos unLoosed
From crystalline
Seams.

Now to nurture
At the breast
Turn blood to milk
Like water to wine
As I climb inside
The feathered nest
Of the divine

I remember
Then
The Name of him
From which
This body
Born from me
Was given the spark
From electric seed

Full exposure
Nowhere to hide
The sight of the light
And the scope of the size
Of this daimon in dream
This daimon in me
This playful parade
Of uncertainty
Birthing me
From within

A mirror of matters magical
Twins
As Mater and Pater
Outside and In
join
At the hip
And dance and spin
Deliciously tangled
In SineWave
Grins.

The Stitch of Dreamtime
As twitching I~s
Rewind Time
In Spaces opened from Inside..

Charleen Johnston
7-26-2024

(Based in last nights vivid dream of pregnancy and giving birth)

Patterns patterns on the wall

Patterns patterns on the wall
HumPty Splattered from the Fall
Broken Shells are cloaked in veils
Of masked mouths in modern sprawl
Twisting tales and telling lies
And pointing Fingers at the I's
We build the burden of our own demise
Fill the garden with Sown Reprise
With complicit cowardice we cast the Die
And wait for Fu(h)ror to Rise the Tide
Oh sweet Souls who hide enDemic Panic
Beneath the ruse of false compassion
We Wove this World and Play within It
Keyholes In Cells we Formed and Fashioned

CLJ 7-24-20

A witch I am not

A witch I am not, nor sorceress, nor
Magician manipulating thought and mind
No wizard am I, nor priest divine, nor
Queen in the temple of space and time…
Instead, in red, and black and white
A jester playing with alchemical sight
A fool whose tools are broken rules
That twist and turn in spools of light…
A psychopomp that swims thru veils
A trickster telling twisting tales
That provoke the nodes and neural codes
To waken from their Prizm Cells

Charleen Johnston
7-23-24

The mind points out it’s own precision

The mind points out it’s own precision 
The pen tip presses upon the page
The blank sheets are washed and dried
as bleeding crimes in tangled lines
Are hung to dry with dripping rage

The mind draws lines with its own decisions
The desperate drama of dreams debate
The Carpet rolls out the curtains rise
The Callosum opens its Myelin eyes
As actors weave axioms upon the stage

The mind circles round its own confusion
The neural nodes nap within the cage
The fasciculus finds and hooks the hive
The fissure formed from space and time
Is stitched to heal with macrophage….

….the ritual bell, the wafting smell of
Burning sages in prizm cells,
Hanging from the dangling nous,
The heart bares scars from tearing youth
From the of searing truth of heaven and hell…

~Charleen Johnston 7-18-24