He has come for me…. Pursuing for aeons I seem to know…. I try running down the road but go back, start to climb down the side of the rocks on the cliff side, figure I can crawl up under and hide…. Then i Let Go… in Exhaustion …. Existentially weary from lifetimes of running and hiding and trying to escape pursuit…. I turn and slowly walk back up the road, straight into the Dark Man, who is on my trail. This takes him Off Guard. I calmly walk out into the road, it’s a highWay, I lay face down and Surrender.He puts the Gun to my Head…. I can feel the cold barrel. But I am not afraid. I ReMember Now, how many times I’ve let go, dissolved into the other Side, left SeemingSelf behind. It’s really not painful…. I smile….I wonder where I will Wake Up Next. He pulls the gun away and runs off for a moment, as if suddenly unsure what to do. I don’t move. I’ve already let go, surrendered, I’m Ready. Take me. He comes back, attempts in various ways to pull the trigger, to finish the job. Cars are coming. He is fretting. He wanders away again. Comes back. I don’t move. I feel a Sense of calm and Freedom I have known over and over again, and wonder why it takes so long Each time To just Let go.
Eventually he pulls me up out of the road. It No Longer matters One Way Or The Other
Don’t they know? They are all just electromagnetic pulses All just embryos in the body Of motherMatterMaterMatrix Placental playscapes practicing for ultimate Power in the Now Or Never Dont they know? They all suck from the teat of the Same name What’s the Formula for this false Game? What’s the concoction that allows the blame To be placed outside Fingers pointed in chiding derision Forgetting that the Self Makes its own decisions And needs no Other to order decrees A sovereign Being earns its degrees On the zodiacal wheel No permission needed from any Pretense of Real Power This is Ours It’s now and Flowers Unfold when the hour is too old To cower any longer behind the soul Of latency The Elect of Life Electricity Spermatic emphatic God of pregnancy Sparks divine creation In Magnetic womb , magdalenes elation To carry the sonic boom Of natures embodied satiation Sacred Sacred ….. Scared with hatred and fake matrix Manipulation They all scream All hide in foggy dreams denying Their own hand in this plagiarism The Cluster of Cells where In-dwells the Hint Of sacrificial embodiment Asks only to hold the mirror Do you know? Do you know Who you are? Are you a gob of flesh Staring into the abyss of imprisonment Angry at fragments of your own Disillusionment? Fears and tears and shame from years Of traumatic wounds And dismemberment? Are you a pulsing electromagnetic spectacle Of stardust impregnated into the divine mother I-And-US Unfolding embryonic supersonic lust For Life Wandering Waves of cosmic Dust Dancing the dream of Being As Body Bleeding with the intense need To See The True Seed that grows within This multidimensional PlayPen Again and again. What’s the Formula for the artificial Algorithm That tosses you to and fro From -ism to -ism Falling prey to the slayers Of minds beauty And truth And dangling your sovereign self From the tight noose Of proof That red fish blue fish One fish two fish Keeps the Me And the You Twisted Into dichotomy Wishing for ancient sanctions So patiently Doctoring reality To give permission To step out of this glistening Wet-dream Steeped In sterile Seeds Injected into bodies That no longer Bleed. Free. The Self. And See. Differently.
“We think in between the joints” Entire universes spread out like Time As Space hides Selves lost in sockets And held in rhyme, woven…wrenched From the mind and hidden in pockets Within the spine, the hips, The Shouldered relationships That bear the burden of Other Ways, to know here, to feel, hear And peel clear of stagnant flesh… Just one. More.Deep. Breath. Laying prone in a sea of flesh Held together by pure force of Will In a dance with past Feels and Reels That loop and tangle and twist As The feedback strangles the bliss Of Letting Go into the abyss Of the Space between The floor and Me As Self is reCentered in between The open Doors and open Seams Of I and Thou And dancing dreams. I release…. The tight grip That has ripped me apart For 41 years Held together by pure force of Will In a shifting atmosphere Of dizzy atoms here Playing tricks of light In a mind held so tight The body rebels… Swelling with the trapped rage In masked pages of the Word That Stages the painful dichotomy… Seams so loose It all spills out of me Chaotically I seem to lose autonomy Christened by the insistence Of my Fascial Lobotomy incised By internal programs That overRide Who I Am And climb thru the cavernous Space Between the Fleshy Creed That plays at Being Me…. It Dawns so suddenly The force of Feeling bleeds As pounding Heart Seeds frequencies Illuminating The maze that traps me…. Dramatic release…. A lifetimes unEase freed As the iron grip can no longer hold I leak right out of the mould And gather In a puddle of matter And Mater and Mother And matrix Of Self & Other And Open to the Fugue As the Swoon subsides…. And There I Am Peering In From Outside the Lines Where Dark matter Claims the Mind And Patterns The Play Of Somas Shame As it falls into the rhythm Of psyches Game.
Tik tok tik tok Thick sick crowds in wicked shock The jabberwockys devious mockery Blocking the neural cacophony As the Stage is A Set For The Sacrificial Offering Loud crowds face down On the ground As the hell Hounds snarl and froth And drown out the sounds Of the Gathered And Lost
This Is The Cost Hollow
Of your subservience Tik tok tik tok take stock Of implanted deviance Roll up your sleeve Again For these devious ingredients That lead to expedience As the kith and kin Decay within
This. Decadent. Dream
Just a part of the Play The curtain Call The Mass offering softening The Skin As the Thin membrane Crawls With awful parasitic alms Embalming the deoxyRibo Engulfing the light codes And rewriting The script Reworking the machine And beckoning the crowds To join the mosh Pit
Trampled Crushed by the weight of the Black Mass The frequency Blasts tearing The masks right off The beast The Feast of souls Sold Out and Sunken In The Needle needlessly punctures Skin Penetration Perpetration The Silent Weapon On Violent Stage Enters with Rage In Concert With plagues of waged war Against the brethren
One year later….. how we feeling now, tater tot? Still the blind rot peels from the cloudy Eye Of what is… and what is not….. aLive
Freshly fingered fabrics lapse into gentle silence, those fraudulent fabrications that twist into violence and disappear have dragged tear by tear down my cheek registered fear among all but the meak The brave, they say, is the true slave to fantasy…..But I pledge myself to anonymity suffering gently these sweet thorns that are born from trying too hard from crying too loud aching and waking and forsaking the crowds sweet appraisal; The damsel is silent, in distress underdressed in her amnesty… this distant hypocrisy forgets me and I swerve to define this line of my observations this truth of my inner nation proclaiming itself to be free mired in mud transpired in blood higher than the seers who predicted the flood. Babble on….sweet priest deceive the ignorant on the streets of Babylon anoint your tampon and slide in to plug up the slut of your ideology to stop the flow of connection of energy from the heart of god to the god of Earth who whispers secrets in the form of Birth.
A spoken work spontaneous collaboration I did with Keith Trayler on drums, at the Warehouse Art Gallery. Check out the link below!!!! The words will follow….. this is a part of my Blindsight is 2020 collection of poetry that can be found on this site.
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 W8 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 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 subside 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
This is just an appetizer…(below)
This is just an appetizer, A map divider of rapt insiders Forcing the feast Waking the sun from its house on the run In its seat in the east As the New Day has Begun To Rise from the leaven Grasping for heaven like sticky yeast In the hearts of the Bretheren Who Follow the One This is just a test A wrestling match for this and that, Insistence upon investments Of wrath , chessboard messages Mined From Maat Made to Order and gift wrapped With blessings from the Masters Staff This is just a preView A Bleedthrough of previous Yous And future Truths spread Like glue on a threadbare Loom A Cyclic Read-thru by Seeds In Bloom who feed on the Compost of Doom and Gloom Watered by Calm Hosts of the holy ghost In a Darkened Room This is just a Program A WebCam from the I AM A trip through the moist dew Of tangled Threads of angled Truths Dangling plans and potent proofs Hanging Men and Lambs in Suits Of Carded Wool and broken Bootes Icarus in thick black dust From falling to the Earth with Us This is just a Club of Trust A Heartfelt Synod of Love and Lust Working Soil with Spades of Rust In Hardened Narratives and deep Imperatives that only blades Of Diamonds can cut Through the Crystallized Sleep Of frequency and AllThatIs Now A Sequel to Be
And………Let me introduce you to the latest creation. The Rainbow Shapeshifter Scrappy patchwork skirt…which can be worn also as a poncho or a sundress. This is one of my absolute favorite designs, but so time consuming. And SO much fun to dance in. In fact, I like to think of it as a performance prop in itself. This particular skirt was made with a whole bunch of scraps from the last few weeks creations. Sometimes the last panel/hem process can take several hours Alone. But the real beauty is in the detail. I can make a similar size and style skirt but with much larger panels and patchwork pieces, but the result is far less magical. I love the way it shines like a stained glass window. And its just a bonus that it can be worn in several ways.
To celebrate all my hard ‘sewing’ over the past few weeks, I made myself a new pair of ninja pants. Its been several years since I made a batch of harem pants, another favorite design, but I changed it up a bit with these, and am wearing them now, deep inside the throes of comfort.
Its been a whimsical week of being snowed in, sewing like crazy, putting together a fun and playful sequel collection of twirly dress tunics because I had so much fun with the design I just couldn’t stop 😉 It takes alot of bodywork and movement to counterbalance the hours spent in a frenzied trance of creation. My theme is whimsy and the silly playful trippy side of Life I so Love. Ive uploaded all my creations to my etsy shop, and my virtual fashion show to Youtube. Check it out if you are so inclined!
“between the universe that can be apprehended by pure intellectual P.erception (the universe of the Cherubic Intelligences) and the universe perceptible to the senses, there is an intermediate world, the world of Idea-Images, of archetypal figures, of subtile substances, of “immaterial matter.” This world is as real and objective, as consistent and subsistent as the intelligible and sensible worlds; it is an intermediate universe “where the spiritual takes body and the body becomes spiritual,” a world consisting of real matter and real extension, though by comparison to sensible, corruptible matter these are subtile and immaterial. \The organ of this universe is the active Imagination; it is the place oftheophanic visions, the scene on which visionary events and symbolic histories appear in their true reality.\ Here we shall have a good deal to say of this universe, but the word imaginary will never be used, because with its present ambiguity this word, by prejudging the reality attained or to be attained, betrays an inability to deal with this at once intermediate and intermediary world.”
I had so much fun making this little collection! Sometimes I get into a zone with certain pieces, and dont want to stop….which can be hard on the body considering the amount of work at a machine. I go from floor to sewing table back and forth, squatting and cutting etc, so that helps with the sitting, but its still a lot of pressure on my back.
The pieces always speak to me and tell me what they want to be, and sometimes I fuss and fuss with something, till I rip part of it away and go with something else, and it feels as if that was the Spirit of the piece trying to tell me that whatever I was doing was not Its Intention to Be. One of my favorite things to do is to upcycle t-shirts with funny, cute, unique, or inspiring things on the front, and turn them into playful dresses, tunics, or hoods. So this collection became the Garden of Gethsemane, in reference to some deeper esoteric stuff in our Dream these days, mixed with the fact I wanted to use a bunch of floral fabrics I had stocked up, as ruffled hems. So I went crazy with my cotton and elaborated on a design ive played with for some time now.
I like to make virtual fashion show videos to honor each collection, mostly for myself, and the creations…..they are like little children one births, and a video is easy to archive than a whole bunch of photos. Plus, they are fun to make, and really brings the spirit of the clothes alive. I can link them to my etsy listings so that interested viewers can see how the item of clothing moves on the body, etc, which photographs just cant accomplish no matter how great they are. So the whole Clothing process for me is many layered. If I dont stop myself from making a collection gigantic, it is overwhelming trying to get everything ready for listing( photographing, video, measuring, inspecting, tagging for the Warehouse Art Gallery, listing to Etsy…..and thats all AFTER the sewing itself is completed). But when I look at a pile of things that exist that were not there before, seeing colors and patterns and textures patchworked in playful and vibrant ways that give new life to the materials they are made from, that had been abandoned to their demise, along with all the stories held in their seams….I experience an ecstatic bliss that is not unlike when I dance in trance in embodied mediation. Sometimes as I am at my machine, I am overcome by surges of Joy and even surprise, I am in the Flow state, and am so ridiculously grateful that I took the risk all those years ago to Live the Life I Love, to sacrifice all for the sake of Creation and Expression and Embodiment of my Spirit in Play, and to have the great blessing to earn my meager living from my own hands, as my own boss, on my own Time, and by sharing my gifts with the world.
I have much to say about the act of fabricating itself, and the art of the Seamstress, which is a shamanic thing really, and as Time opens its mouth to let me breathe into it more and more, I will slowly fill the threads of this Ether Web with my Musings. For now, here is the video for my latest collection, all available on Etsy or locally at the Warehouse Art Gallery.