🔥🦂🔥:::WordsJustCameOutWrong:::🔥🦂🔥 (AfterFace of volume 6)
I like to say Words are Worlds......Words are also Wounds and Wounds are Worlds....and if we are perfectly honest, All Worlds are Wounds. And I am unraveling my World as I unravel my Wounds. I have been Wound so tightly around a core of Intensity, and overwhelming personal psychic interrogation for my entire life, that I have produced a ridiculous amount of Words in various forms, either to Cover over the Wounds or to Unwind the Covers. I am unsure which. A bit of both. But In diving back into the World Contained in this Tome of descent…..I have been reliving the emotions and confusions and I am emerging from this ritual as if from a Tomb. Yes, Words are Also Wombs.
My Words are often the result of entering the Portal of Some Other, either in the waking world or in the vast internal realms I inhabited. I have always lived mostly inwardly, with a rich and sometimes disastrous inner life. Some of these poems are written from the perspective of the many battling inner realities within me, with no mirror in the physical world. I have always been submerged in what I call 'Bleedthru-s of Other Lives'……Psychic fragments and scars and emotions from Characters I have played before in other timelines, seeping right through my seams. My inner realities have always been more solid and real than my outer reality. Some of the poems are written from my own witnessing of friends dramas etc, and writing from the perspective of the players in those games. Some are archetypal expulsions of raw material suffocating me endlessly. But most are mirrors of some outer reality. My protean obsessions and compulsions always dragging me one way or another. The repetition of the theme of Love and Pain and Misery and Darkness and bitterness. The depth of my own emotional life was never expressed to any person in those years, in fact, that theme has held for my whole life. I have always turned my psychic and emotional disintegration into Art. Not because I don't trust people. But, I believe, I learned way back then…and find it still true today…that most people do not feel as deeply. Are not so completely consumed by passing moods or inner landscapes and are not so tangibly sculpted like putty by their inner reality. Those who are, have left behind all the great Art and Writing and Inventions of our Collective World Stage. Or they have drowned themselves in addictions because there was no way to silence the Demon, and there was no leap from the abyss to follow the Daimon into Alchemy, instead of suffering the excesses that Demons love so much. Or they have been given any number of psychiatric labels and then pharmaceutically numbed out of life or locked away instead of facing the abyss head-on. Or they have simply, chosen Death head first.
"Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness / transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death-and I refuse suicide." (Albert Camus)
Mostly, people try to commiserate, if I actually let out some of the depth of what I am perceiving or feeling or living, or what I am making flesh. I have often responded, that if they felt and saw and bore what I bear, relentlessly, they would be, like me, forced to alchemize it in some way or to destroy themselves. The kind of charge, the voltage of energy I am talking about, constantly pressing in upon me, is not the kind of fire or electricity that can be safely tucked away behind a netflix series, or a bottle of wine, or endless shopping, or endless socializing, or even hobbies. It cannot be stored in a back room and allowed out when appropriate. It cannot just 'wait til a better time' to make itself known. If someone is able to 'basically get on with their life' by drowning out the voices in any number of ways, they are not in the heat of the kind of flames I am talking about here. One may say that it is the human condition. Yes, in many ways it is. But it is a particular condition that only some people choose to incarnate into here in the Playground. It is a particular wiring, a certain blueprint. And they either learn to dance with it, and create great beauty or alchemize it in some way, or they destroy themselves and others completely. I do not believe there is any middle ground. Not for this initiation. Nothing about this kind of intensity allows for a 'normal life'.
We don't know that when we are young, however. We think if we just condemn ourselves enough for our Inner Fire, we will eventually settle into some typical way of relating to Self, in a controllable world of other people doing people-y things. We think if we just stop doing A, B, or C, or if we just Try Harder to be setted and content within our skin, we will alter the program. If we just make up a bunch of rules for ourSelf and stick within them, or follow someone else's rules of virtue, we will be free. But I have learned over and over, that there is something innate to certain people that will never allow for that. There is an inner prod that has no care for our human proclivities or our body's limits. It will not let us rest. Every moment is lived in absolute Intensity, whether that be the heights of the Manias we find ourselves in, when the blood is quickened within and we are a tornado of exuberance and god-like arrogance behind a bright and radiant smile of possibility. Filled with endless ideas that stream out like a broken water pipe and saturating everything and everyone in the vicinity. Or when Icarus' waxen wings melt and he falls from the sky in a dramatic display of descent back to Saturn's humus, humbled by the tumble from the lofty perch of our own ideals and effulgence.
What else but absolute obsession can make a person spend hours upon hours upon hours of days upon days upon days upon weeks and months and years focused on bringing to life some particular little nuance of their perception and participation in AllOfit. The Daimon drives us. And not All of our Daimons are playing the same game. And I have, after 44 years in the Playground, found a way to dance with that realization. It no longer destroys me and everyone in its path. I know a great many people afraid of being hurt, in Love. I am bass ackwards. I am not afraid of being hurt. I am incredibly reluctant at this point, to allow another to be hurt by me. I saw these patterns even back to this earliest poetry and was aware of the various warring selves within me. The Fire warms but also burns. It lights up a room but also sucks all the oxygen out of the air. Not all things and beings can handle the heat and intensity of a Being who is able to exist only at full throttle. At least not in close proximity for any length of time.
I have learned to create vast amounts of Space for myself, and vast amounts of Time for myself, to make of my life a sanctuary where I am fully aware of my strengths and weaknesses, and thus able to now use my gifts in Service, and minimize any fallout from my own perpetual emotional instability....(which all things considering, is very mild compared to the bulk of the prior 30 years).
A testament, these 600+ poems are, to the desperate restlessness of an unfolding psyche, that could only vaguely intuit, at the time, what lay right around the corner. It was only one full year later that the major confrontation with Self and the dissolution of everything I had begun to believe was me, was to take place. (See Volume 5)
I see in these poems all the foreshadowings that came to delineate the myths of my life, in germinal form. I have simply unfolded the tapestry through time. And now, as a ritual release, and as a precursor to Drawing My Stories on the Skin of this World, these Words Made Flesh are the final recapitulation of a long Poetic journey that has led me to this point in time. And I am casting off the garments of the old life, again, this time to be born anew without carrying the weight of these juicy nuggets of my Living Experience screaming into my psyche constantly, to be birthed into Flesh. Word Made Flesh. So Blessed. This Journey.
"Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong, so I'll have to say I love you in a song"
I'll have to Spell it out in Rouge, the Red from the blood thatl bled as birthed myself anew
"There's something that I just gotta say, I knew you'd understand…...”
Charleen Johnston 3-6-2025
"Words are like pillows: if put correctly they ease pain."
“There are dead ideas and cold beliefs, wrote William James, and then there are hot and live ones. When an idea “grows hot and lives within us,” he believed, everything must recrystallize around it. The exuberant life, bursting as it does with feverish beliefs, is one of constant recrystallization; in this lies much of its value, complexity, and potential danger. That which is most deeply felt is also most powerfully expressed to others. “We cannot write well or truly but what we write with gusto,” said Thoreau. “The body the senses must conspire with the spirit—Expression is the act of the whole man. that our speech may be vascular.” But our beholdenness to passion assures a darker side. Exuberance can veer sharply into disturbing territory. Champagne enchants, but it also intoxicates more quickly than stiller wines: heed glides into heedlessness as effortlessly as the silk chemise drops to the floor. The things that excite contain the capacity for excess and the potential to shame or devastate. Enthusiasm shares a border with fanaticism, and joy with hysteria; exuberance lives in uncomfortable proximity to mania. Exuberance, as Shakespeare wrote of music, “hath such a charm / To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.” Thwarted or deviant enthusiasms, once pro-voked, are powers to reckon with. The fever of passion itself is not the difficulty, argued William James; rather, trouble lies in the nature of the passion and how well it holds up to the light of day. “Surely the fever process as such is not the ground for our disesteem,” he wrote. “For ought we know to the contrary, 103° or 104° Fahrenheit might be a much more favorable temperature for truths to germinate and sprout in, than the more ordinary blood-heat of 97 or 98 degrees. It is the dis-agreeableness itself of the fancies, or their inability to bear the criticisms of the convalescent hour.” Disagreeable fancies are irksome at best and calamitous at worst. Too ardent or misdirected exuberance creates mayhem for the individual and exposes others to the possibility of mishap, if not actual danger. Unchecked, enthusiasm runs roughshod over reason and intrudes into the private emotional territory of others, imposing, as it goes, its own energy and tempo. Exuberance whips its way in, dominant, and forces itself upon those trapped in its eddy. At its best, it is infectious and enlivening; at its worst, it stifles the ideas and feelings of the less exuberant. Not everyone delights in delight, especially if it is not their own, and few wish to have their moods hijacked by those of others. Sustained or nuanced social interactions are difficult in the presence of great exuberance, and indiscriminate enthusiasm hinders the discernment necessary to sort out true friend from possible foe. The lack of fixity creates discomfort and mistrust: the mobility of mind and attachment that is artistically helpful may not prove an asset in other circumstances. Like Brown-ing’s Last Duchess, who had “A Heart how shall I say?—too soon made glad, / Too easily impressed; she liked whate er / She looked on, and her looks went everywhere,” the exuberant are easily engaged. And exuberance is, in its very effusiveness, liable to misconstruction and suspicion, often misinterpreted as sexual interest when none is intended, or as implying a more sustained emotional commitment than is warranted by the high spirits that, however persuasive, may prove to be transient or directed in any number of places. ….. Carter Brown was mindful, however, that not everyone found his energy to their liking (although most who knew him certainly did). His tendency, as he put it, to “lope into others’ pastures” was, he acknowledged, not infrequently experienced as “grating.” Brown, who could no more keep his enthusiasm in check than an otter can keep to the riverbank, believed that his exuberance was an integral part of his leadership of the National Gallery, but he was also aware that it caused envy in some and made others feel over-whelmed. Brown said he tried to slow down his speech and to keep his long arms and hands from waving into the “emotional space” of other people, but that it was an uphill fight. …… Where does exuberance end and mania begin? What is eccentricity, or simply a normal variation in temperament, and when does it tip over into irrational exuberance and psychopathology? We do not know. The edges of mania may be exhilarating, as Clifford Beers relates in A Mind That Found Itself “It seemed as though the refreshing breath of some kind Goddess of Wisdom was being blown gently against the surface of my brain. … So delicate, so crisp and exhilarating was it that words fail me in my attempt to describe it”. … Normal exuberance can escalate into pathological enthusiasm, anger, or even mania. Those who have what Emil Kraepelin called a “manic predisposition” are not only extraverted, cheerful, and overly optimistic, they also possess highly unstable and irritable moods. Indeed, those most inclined to exuberance are often most subject to despair and hopelessness. These dark sides of exuberance both help and hinder: if enthusiasm switches quickly to wrath or is bound too often to impetuous action, many of the dangers we have discussed are made more likely. If melancholy gives a humanizing perspective to exuberance, however, there is less risk of hazardous behavior and shallow thought. As we shall see, a close familiarity with both exuberance and despair may lead to a profound understanding of human nature, as well as an ability to more complexly express it in the arts and sciences. Moderation in strong emotions is not always easily come by. Lucretius observed two thousand years ago that the destructive motions “can never permanently get the upper hand and entomb vitality for evermore. Neither can the generative and augmentative motions permanently safeguard what they have created. …. There was, he said, “a sort of uncommon celerity in changing expression, in thought and speech.” His legendary restlessness was summed up most graphically by Henry Adams, who said that Stevenson “seems never to rest, but perches like a parrot on every available projection, jumping trom one to another, and talking incessantly.” Keeping to his bird analogy, but switching species, Adams wrote to another friend that Stevenson looked like “an insane stork, very warm and very restless.” An acquaintance of Stevenson’s in Samoa concurred: “He was as active and restless as if his veins had been filled with quicksilver.” W. E. Henley wrote of Stevenson that he was as “mutable as the sea,/ The brown eyes radiant with vivacity…/ A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace/ Of passion, impudence, and energy.” Another friend said that “there were two Stevensons … this strange dual personality… I have seen him in all moods… chatting away in the calmest manner possible; and I have seen him become suddenly agitated, jump from that table and stalk to and fro across the floor like some wild forest animal … his face would glow and his eyes would flash, darkening, lighting, scintillating, hypnotising you with their brilliance and the burning fires within.” Stevenson had, in short, a febrile temperament. …. The intensity and variability of Stevenson’s moods-his not infrequent black depressions and his contrasting exuberance— certainly contributed to his understanding of the underbelly of delight. His temperament was peculiarly tuned to not only the darker side of human nature and its ready accessibility but to a firsthand knowledge of man’s multiplicity of selves. Stevenson’s own fluctuating and wildly disparate moods made him especially sensitive to the ambiguities, shadings, and inconsistencies of human enthusiasms and, indeed, of life itself. “It is in vain to seek for consistency or expect clear and stable views,” he wrote. “In this flux of things, our identity itself seems in a perpetual variation…. All our attributes are modified or changed; and it will be a poor account of us if our views do not modify and change in a proportion.” Stevenson’s close knowledge of dark and inconstant moods inevitably influenced his work. It provided him a keen sensitivity to mood states of all kinds, and enhanced his genius for portraying their nuances. It also gave him a hard appreciation for the seductiveness of uninhibited states of mind. Stevenson’s intimate acquaintance with contrary and unpredictable moods did not account for all, or even perhaps most, of his perspective on life. But to underestimate it is to underestimate Stevenson himself; it is, as well, to underestimate the raw, knowing, and deeply human power of his greatest writings. …. The juxtaposition of the exuberant and the malignant is potentially dangerous, but a balance between the two can provide ballast and gravitas. Excessive lightness can be given a grace note by the dark, as melancholy and mania can give each other depth and height. To make use of despair is an ancient gift of the artist: to learn from pain; to temper the frenzied enthusiasm; to rein in the scatter, the rank confidence, and the expansive ideas generated during times of unchecked exuberance. Melancholy has a way of winding in the high-flying expectations that are the great gift of exuberance but its liability as well; it forces a different kind of look-ing. “In these flashing revelations of grief”s wonderful fire,” wrote Melville, “we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive.” Melancholy forces a slower pace, makes denial a less plausible enterprise, and constructs a ceiling of reality over sky-borne ideas. It thrusts death into the mental theater and sees to it that the salient past will be preserved. Exuberant ideas benefit from skepticism and leadshot. Whether the ballast comes from melancholy, from law or social sanction, from an astringent intellect or the incredulity of others, discipline and qualm are conducive to getting the best yield from high mood and energy.”
{selections from Kay Redfield Jamison, ‘Exuberance’}
To open lids that bear the weight Draw the blinds of heavens gate The freedom of the soul at stake Map divides and rides the fate With open fire and open raids Different masters gather slaves Lines crossed and lives lost To pay the boss of HollowCost Build the golden cage of WAN The Magic Sigil mocking Man Future timelines spreading thin On tangled drives that hardly spin Fiery flames that speak in tongues Crimes of war on old and young To bind the hands and steal the land Lock the grid with invisible bands The frequencies provoke the nodes Grid of lies and spoken codes And human minds on overload Close the blinds as I~s implode The marionettes dance and sing Bars and towers ping and ping The cells and souls of everything Splintered by the tyrant kings Mind is fractured and mined for ore Is tied in twine and torn some more Prism sanctions and signals of war Guard the hearts that swim to shore Electric shock as flocks are fed Fence of fire as bodies are bled In majestic hues of blue and red Magnetic murder in the marriage bed Fields manipulated by deoxy lies The earth is scorched far and wide Herd is ushered back inside Is hushed and censored and left to die Murdered by masters trapped in the game As disaster manufactures by flood and flame Foundations that crumble and tumble again Built from the bones and the burdens of men For a new infrastructure to trap the souls Smart cars and dumbed down roles Cities built upon wiped files of the old In virtual prisons as decisions unfold A new catechism for the new hybrid minds Stupid little lies for the deaf and blind Game is reset as the players decide Whose spirit will remain trapped inside Time for the sovereign to reclaim the throne Has to be done by the Self Alone Come to your senses and reMember your oath To be a beacon of beauty and truth Burn in the fire of initiation and seed The holy secret of hearts that bleed Stage has been set lights have been dimmed ..::::…the Story is a glorious Trick of the Lens…:::..
Charleen Johnston 1-8-25
(First word in each line makes a fractal of my rhyme)
mobile formatting may alter this and mess up the spacing
I came thru the other side of that and learned that it’s not about Transcending but about Integrating. Spirit plays here for its own reasons, and is drawn to this Earth Flesh Playground because it wants to Feel Deeply and experience visceral Life. Being a very plutonic underworld person but aiming always for the spirit when I was in my 20s, it took a lot of delusional wake up experiences to Own all that I had believed myself to have transcended. All that stuff I thought I had evolved past, I had simply dissociated from, and the force of its wrath at being ignored and suppressed made its fury known in physical symptoms and deeply imbalanced emotional reality with a dash of incredibly Underworld-like navigations thrown in. The higher I thought I was flying in those years, the more pure i thought I was, came at a price and it was collected by the Dark Feminine in 2018. And since complete dissolution and and finally Truly making friends with the parts of the Self that I had trapped in deep subterranean caves and dungeons , with compassion, and awareness that it was a matter of freeing bit by bit, those fragments from all timelines trapped in my Prizm Cell.Ves. Instead of ‘Mind over Mattering’ my body and pushing it to extremes, instead of convincing myself I was pure and lofty and fully my idealized Spirit Self-the Puer( my online and business name even used to be Puella Eterna for 13 years)- i became engaged in the true Alchemical Work. I Realized how abusive I had been to Psyche and Body all those years ( and lifetimes) of denigrating the dark hungry fiery tempest of my soul, the Feminine, thinking I could Will Myself into the magical spheres of the heavenly abodes:.:::: I have always been easily carried away on the wings of spirit, can easily disembody into OBE states etc. What I came here to do, Now, was to actually Make This Body Fully Conscious , for it is the Marriage bed of Eros and Psyche, and the Alchemy of Life uses all vibrations to create.
When I made friends with the depth of my own Pain and Anger and Lust for Aliveness, Lust for Intensity of Being, and my own Arrogance etc ( Scorpio ascendent/Mercury conjunction, sun/Uranus Scorpio conjunction( all ruled by mars) and all in the 1st house( house of mars/Aries), with an Aries moon( mars ruled) and Mars aspecting strongly every planet in my chart = I was a complete Fool to imagine that I was a soft and ethereal spiritual angelic figure floating in the higher spheres…..:. I am a child of Mars, and Mars at its best is the Blood and Passion and Vitality to Exist and Move in this Realm, Mars is the defender and protecter of all that is sacred in creation, it is Raw, Brash, Authentic, Physically Vital, Mentally Agile, Temperamental….and Serves the Feminine……
When I truly came to Know Myself and stopped building castles in the sky, but used my archetypal Mercurial nature along with Mars to go to the Underworld and reclaim the very Selves I had locked up thru this Infinite Game over Time, I came Alive and learned what real Power is.
That’s my journey. I have compassion for that person I was and thought I was, but I have made my Vow, to Die in Battle, as a Sacred Warrior, and a Warrior must be in touch with his/her Fire and Anger and lust and Blood and sacrifice it on the alter of the Feminine Creation…..
( of interest is the relation of mars and Saturn… Mars/Blood is made in the Marrow of the bones/Saturn…… Mars is the Warrior who serves The Saturn Kingdom, which is the very energy that gives Form to the life principle:= in my chart, My mars is in Sagittarius/conjunct Neptune ( the spiritual warrior) in the second house( using the physical body/ it’s values and resources) And is Square( tension) (serving) Saturn in Libra which is also conjunct to almost a degree…… in the 11th house/ community and the larger stage of service to the people: It’s all written in Light Codes we wove ourselves into.
My heavy 12th house/ underworld where Pluto/hades sits exactly to the minute almost, with Venus, is my Lifelong lesson…..spiritualizing and completely transforming the Sexual and Aesthetic principles……using the raw lust and vitality of The black Goddess Black Carbon through Dionysus protean morphing Imaginal spheres under intense pressure to create the Diamond Body.:::: the twin Sisters of Carbon666 and Daimond ….. the Treasures hidden in this Earth and this Flesh and this Game of Matter Mater Mother Matrix Maat.
The Psyches realm is a dark realm that takes in everything….light and dark and everything in between. It likes the humus of earth, the compost, the shit of life, the messy smelly sweaty fleshy human realm of bodies bumping into bodies in sensate expression , playing with selves in Carnes Nation, the carnal nest of alchemy, where Soul is the Imaginal Playscape and Spirit must come Down To Earth to Play with Form.
I spent so much time out of body for the first 26 years of my life; I’m now happily Wed in the alchemical marriage bed knowing the Great Work goes on and on and on, and my relationship with Saturn has transformed my life into one of beauty: I used to balk at Saturn and his crusty old crystallization and constriction of my ever-so Icarus-like ideals……
But….
I am the Sacred Warrior who Serves the Divine…:.I serve the King and the Kingdom and Protect and Honor the Queen and her Queendom… because as the Mercurial Martian or the Martian Mercurius……..the Foolish Warrior or the Warrior Fool, my realm is not just the heavens but I travel between the Yooer and the Lower and The middle realms and so I just be able to hold the Tension of all Their Frequencies.
An honest person is one who knows his own capacity to Lie but chooses Truth…..a Strong person knows his own capacity for Violence but chooses Restraint….a Wise person is one who knows his own capacity for ignorance and knows he is a Fool…..a Peaceful person is one who knows his own Anger and so is not blindsided when least expecting it, and thus knows what it is to be Gentle.
May the black moist Fertile Soil keep your Roots nurtured as your branches reach for the Sky ⭐️🙌⭐️
Aho.
10-18-24
My friends post that my response is in reference to.
another way of saying what I expressed, is that as a Waving Being who Becomes Particular….in this journey of Embodiment through the entire Spectrum of Light and Frequency….. is that I am in the Prizm Cell of All my Lives in All Realities, in All Times and Spaces……expressing through this Body, Now, which is made up of All of Me~s, all the Cell.ves and Organ~I~zed Cohesions holographically …. In terms of Light… Infrared all The way thru UltraViolet….we also Embody as Sound and All variations of frequency.
Infrared penetrates all the way thru Earth and hence Body, ‘the smokeless fire’…..the realm of the Djinn….. that is where we have the Dark parts of ourCellves ….not Evil…..Darkness and of a different spectrum …..Ultraviolet more akin to our Angelic SidesOfSelf..,;;
When we seek the UV and demonize the Infrared, we get trapped in the Prizm of our own fragmentation…..we disown a huge amount of the deepest aspects of Being, whilst grasping for the Angelic Aspects: They have their Realms for a reason.:::::.
When I speak of going deep into the underworld, to mine the treasures of Pluto/Hades in the darkest layers of Self trapped and submerged and cast off in this infinite journey, I speak of going into the Infrared WaveForms of Self that are as much Me as the UV or higher vibration LightWaves that are of a very different nature, but equally Me.
Fire & Light
Is a poetic way of playing with it
In my lifetime of ‘out of Body’ experiences and traversing in the high frequency Light of detachment and lucidity, the permeations are very different than when I go deeply ‘in body experience’ which is raw and primal and Fiery and red heat of Feeling….
Our Bodies give us a Playground where we bring All Of these Refractions of Self into one Expression , as a Tether, if you will, to Come To Terms With Self Literally To Bring to Term Our Self Like a Mother carrying To term Her Baby
New creation.
The more we Integrate and ReClaim all the fractured frequencies that issue From our own Spark of Existence as a Being Who Is,
The more we Free those frequencies to Nourish all Of Bodies In all Of Times.
If the very Elementals/elements that make up my fleshly abode are brought into a cohesive net of Understanding and Loving Awareness, as they go on in their journey and become part of other bodies and abodes, they themselves are able to bring healing …
Like the Dwarves who live deep in earth and who are like elementals in a sense
And Elves who are like the perfected or angelic higher selves
And the HuMan, here in the Middle Earth,
Thigh we are all of them Depending on which Angle Of the Arc We Shine our I’s From
I have been waiting for this moment for 25 years. Today by evening time, as I get up on stilts, transiting Uranus will be ‘to the minute’ opposite my natal exact Uranus/Sun conjunction in the first house. It will still be pretty much exact to the minute for the next few days after. Meanwhile Neptune hangs out very close to my natal moon in Aries, ( and squaring natal mars)…..and transiting moon will oppose natal mars in Sagittarius ( which conjunction to natal Neptune.)
If you know, you know.
I feel like I’m plugged into a quantum computer, the fiery electropromethean lightening running through all my nervous system, reWiring the neural circuitry…..
Synaptic Rapture
Death to the old form birth to the new
For a long while now just trying to ground into the earth and ride the wave Not blow the fuses Not go supernova and rise into Mania As I’m predisposed to do Before the reTurn of the wheel drags its heels And descent into the dark leaden fields Of Saturn comes again
The Daimons Embrace In Leather And Lace …:.trickster plays games And holds Space at the Gates
The Possum Elder speaks Of smoldering embers on Mountain peaks Clearing the way for The next stage in the game Smart city tech bubble Suffocation from natures rubble As genetic engineers weather Storms spliced from bloody tears As programmed gears creak Through the new dawn Modified lives and times and Mass mind control crimes In smoky mirrors that crack And spawn The revolution Built from fear and steering Fabricated crisis deoxyribo-rising prices Of fictions Fueling the predictions Of a new earth Covered in smart dust Sparking apocalyptic flames Combust inside the fading sane Birth Of the mother And child Breathless in labor As operating tables cut deep Into the heart and soul and keep The divine child Stuck within A technorevolutionary trash bin Cashing in As the synaptic rapture consumes In mountain disaster Counting the DeathOfStars Supernova AlgorithmicIntelligence Takeover In stupid SmartCars Made to break your scarred hearts And take this game to a new layer of Control Loss of sovereignty loss of soul Downloaded programs take their toll As altered carbon smolders And hardened arteries to turn trees Into smart cities To usher in The wage of war Within Psychic space And the gulags built from Fragmented minds And iron bars as mars missionaries Rise to protect The architect of the dream That no longer bleeds And the bird flies overhead Signaling sigils and misdeeds As the mourning DEW Triggers a scripted set That’s wet with Untruth And sinister nous As heartbeats hang from the noose.
There are some Wakings that come like storms Electro-swarms in magnetic forms Dancing On the tips of Hathor’s Horns The Temple Priestess ReBorn WideEyed and Me-oh-my How Time Flies inside the Mind Wandering Womb releasing Blind sides of Ancient crimes Buried within these patient Tombs There are some Wakings that scream like pain Neurolinguistic nails impaled in veins Bleeding And Seeding Stories in silent Shame The Holy Harlot Risen OpenHearted as freedom Parts The Seas of Self and Dwells in the Art Of Body’s Bliss Burning The rotting dross from the Fixed Cross As the Flame is taught to rekindle the Kiss As Magdalenes Grail Returns Opens the Urn Blood flooding in rivers of nerves As the Impaled Heart And Mind Are Healed and Heard…. The Chironic Wound sutured With the Salve of Spoken Words As Pluto and Venus Sharing the Shroud Awake and merge…. Heiros Gamos Blessed and Bound In Sacred Sound Dance In Red Velvet Underground As New Life Stirs.
I slipped through a crack in the sky Tripped right over my own silly I And plummeted Through the atmosphere Of dancing atomsHere Mapping tears as Phos Fears Wrath and mirrors Refracting Errors As Eros Arrows begin to fly Aimed at Body as Blind Mind tries To hold on Hold out Hold still as Tempest rages about Weightless Images in cages Break the lock And find their way out, in… Eyes of Mages and Pupils And Sages Wake with the shock Of the skin As it begins to peel Away from the clock tocking within The rhythm of Opening And closing Pounding it’s poultice and pouring Its Salve at ions Dreaming As men And women Dressed as Time Spiral path in precious Flesh Dancing thru the Annals of Spine My oh my The journey tries my Patience As I Let Go, satiated by the Doctors Cosmic Order….the Flow Aeons of tight fisted History I now come to Grips With… I hit the Smooth surface Of my Mothers Womb…. Taste the salty brine and prepare To slip through SineWave Lips Soft as sultry hips that shimmy And shimmer as Soul unfolds in bloom A Sacred Intention to Serve This Body of Being As I am Birthed from the Dark Deep See Into the Light of a New Me that Bleeds Stories and Deeds filled with the Perfume Of the Divine embrace Shiva and Shaktis infinite Delight Making Love from the Loom Of Time and Space.
BlissNinja 