“When we dance, we wake up, we get down and juicy with ourselves, we have fun and forget all the heavy shit we carry around. In the dance we get real, get free, get over ourselves. Movement kicks ass. When you truly surrender to your own rhythm, you look so cool, so mysterious, so seductive— the way you deep down really want to look but don’t trust that you do.”
Gabrielle Roth, Connections: The Threads of Intuitive Wisdom
Happy the Artist had some of my Ai art printed in vinyl for my car!
I build shelter out of scraps Of form left behind Scattered in my mind Out of place Just a face of the task at hand And the wilderness is free It beckons me Leaps out at me when I try to Stand, its Been so long since my feet Have touched land And the beasts they form A circle around me Praying for me At first I am afraid and I Fail to see But gradually I am allowed in To see the light I’m Wallowing in And I make love to the leopards Of my own making Touch tongue to the gentle Awakening Healing taking place between This world and this scream That opens the door, In this valley, in this forge And how high can I fly When my spirit is untethered My feathers bending with The wind As I am gathered in By the hands of the one I am cradled and gently Laying stable upon This shaking ground This haven I have found And dwelt upon Till now But I remake myself I trace the fake parts of This hell And make them new I make them true I dance with them until They are no longer blue I am taking this shadow And teaching it form Without walls Pure storm I let it gently cascade over me As my body bathes in the breeze Of spirit passing over me…
Happy the Artist finished repainting the ninja steed!
Restless nights breed breathless dreams Selves are bursting through my seams into Abstract messes of Me slipping over stars in velvet thought cars weaving in and out of Light but never getting far too many times I have read between the l i n e s and still SunsRays seep into mine split and splayed she sings her rhyme time after time and sight after sight fighting for life In this restless night these listless dreams free me it seems but still I am salvaged from selves sweet struggle pledged against the rubble of Will to lift the gift to the top of the Hill where light and rhyme build to climb puzzles melting into Mind sweeping color over the lines smiling despite the salt crystallized from tear formalized Into fear and the night grows on the night glows on strangers in song whispering parodies In Vogue tongues outstretched to taste the load this I know Is Selves in Silence shards of sacred on shelves of violence whence we came and whither we go spiraling in and out of the show taking our turns on tiptoe as the shake moves thru the dance penetrating glance from those who star In the versions of Play that gather where you are.
Allow your judgements their own silent, undisturbed development, which, like all progress, must come from deep within and cannot be forced or hastened. Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of a feeling come to completion, entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one’s own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born: this alone is what it means to live as an artist: in understanding as in creating.
Rainer Maria Rilke. Letters to a Young Poet. Trans. Stephen Mitchell. NY: Modern Library, 2001, p.23-4
This is the swan song..... Demonacrobaticommunist beer pong twisted into misty fists of sovietLiberal newDawns In Daze of Knights in masks and disArmoured Rights and Lefts that rise enMasse to hail the new Pawns as they are swapped for Queens and Kings on the chessboard of Light and Dark flights of Fancy Rapt Attention as sewn Dissension begets new Dimensions of Red Imposition
Get into position My friends Let's say this simply so the useful idiots Can begin to rescind their terror Let's open leaden lids and wipe the mirror Clean, this dream is about to get more twisted Yet, Resistance just a false flag assistance from the Scripted Set and Setting as Debts are counted and regrets embedded in mounting Systems of Slavery
The flavor of this mess Order out of chaos as the agitators profess ....politik pointing to prolific policy's of pathetic arrest of sovereignty as the blessed messengers confess their incompetency
This is the Swan Song I want to say it straight but my finger-tongue obfuscates and nameless shame penetrates reminiscences of the defenseless days of burning stakes and bludgeoned brains laid to Waste in bodies I've been alive inside in times like these in lives that bleed the broken neural codes that fold me back into Somatic Steeds that weave my Soul through dreams and Seams too numerous and bold to behold in scenes that flicker through golden Reels of Old.
This is the Swan Song Born once more to bore my way through this maze of Youth and Age in a new Play written on the script of the burning Page that smoulders with the smoke of Burning Sages On the stage of Time, trapped by my own Will to Feel the rage and Wield the Wage of War up my Spine.... Just trying to climb my way out... Rewind the fine twine of the cage of mind and threads that bind me to this climate of crime projected from inside the blind screen of shouting demons Acrobats of simulated semen priming the new aeon to line up.... One.... More....Time..... As the Cycles Ride the Tide of this Massive Wave of mutating Mind.....in a sideways glance I watch as the Trance takes over.... The melody of mania dances through the crowds as the Swan Song Hovers......frozen.....
I rise with the sap …don’t they all? But do they savor The agony of the thaw? The golden whisper The gilded walls That crumbled within The twisting halls The manic moments …electric sea Magdalenes womb Opens through me In chambers of gold Ripened carbon Break the mold With diamond body I rise with the sap Pulled by the tide Waking the wonder That sleeps inside.
Words do not a Poet make; A beating heart that bleeds To break Over and over and over again Is the ink that forges the tortured pen- Is the blood that spills and fills again- Is the open I that struggles through time To weave the words that wake the mind As Holy Athanor holds inside The broken Shards of Soul and Sines- Waving magic in tragic rhymes Bleeding seeds that tie and bind The love affair of Space and Time;
Words do not a Poet make; A desperate dance with the daemons Of fate Over and over and over again Is the ink that forges the tortured pen- Is the blood that spills and fills again- Is the whispered wisdom that bears thru pain A lucid truth that fractures the brain As sacred Golgothas hidden codes Implode within the neural nodes- The Christed seed is born anew From heavens leaven, the holy Dew The Time is Now and the Poem is You.
Charlene, also spelled Charleen and Charlyne, is a feminine given name, a feminine form of Charles coined in the United States in the nineteenth century; from French Charles, from Old French Charles & Carles, from the Latin Carolus, from and also reinfluenced by Old High German Karl, from the Proto-Germanic *karlaz (lit. “Free Man”/”Free Spirit”/Free Thinker); compare the Old English word churl and the Old German Kerl. Meaning Free Woman, Free Spirit, Free Thinker
Self Portrait~ Charleen Johnston 5-28-24
THE SONG OF A WOMAN FREE
I am a woman free. My song Flows from my soul with pure and joyful strength. It shall be heard through all the noise of things — A song of joy where songs of joy were not. My sister singers, singing in the past, Sang songs of melody but not of joy — For woman's name was Sorrow, and the slave Is never joyful tho he smiles. I am a woman free. Too long I was held captive in the dust. Too long My soul was surfeited with toil or ease And rotted as the plaything of a slave. I am a woman free at last After the crumbling centuries of time. Free to achieve and understand ; Free to become and live.
I am a woman free. With face Turned toward the sun, I am advancing Toward love that is not lust, Toward work that is not pain. Toward home which is the world, Toward motherhood which is not forced, And toward the man who also must be free.
With face turned toward the sun, Strong and radiant-limbed, I advance, singing, And my song is as free As the soul from which it flows. I advance toward that which is, but was not; Toward that which is not, but is yet to be.
I, the free woman, advance singing, And with face turned toward the sun. Let Ignorance and Tyranny Tremble at the sound of my feet. I am a woman free.
Singing the song of joy, Strong and radiant-limbed, I advance toward the work which waits for me, The joyful work out in my home the world ; And toward the man who is my mate. Oh I am strong and magnetic — I have not wasted myself in sensuality; And equally strong and magnetic Is the man who is my mate.
For the glory of Motherhood I have conserved my strength. And for the glory of Fatherhood He has conserved his strength. I have passed by the lovers Who passionately called to me in the name of love, But whose lips were only hot with lust. I have remained true to my own soul And to the souls which are enfolded within me • And no man shall mingle his body with mine Who is not pure.
I am the free woman, No longer a slave to man, Or anything in all the universe — Not even to myself.
I am the free woman. I hold and seek that which is mine : Strength is mine and purity; World work and cosmic love;
The glory and the joy of Motherhood. I am not strong and clean for myself alone, But for all people ; My work and my love are for all people ; And I shall not be the mother of one child, But of all children — For I myself am the daughter Of all women and all men. Oh I am free ! My song Flows from my soul with pure and joyful strength ; It shall be heard thru all the noise of things — A song of joy where songs of joy were not.
Oh I am free ! I thrill With radiant life and gladness. I advance toward all that waits for me. I chant the song of Freedom as I go. My face is toward the sun, My soul is toward the light, My feet arc turned toward all that waits for me. I advance! I advance! Let Ignorance and Tyranny Tremble at the sound of my song!
How gloriously the We hold tightly To desperate dreams Of victimhood Clinging to the seams of Right And Left Wings Born from Memes Painted with Blood How magnificently the program Takes hold The lies and cries and Ties that Bind Are blinding in their bitter goodbyes As the foothold of ones soul Is Lost to the magic Mold The cost of freedom As minds are bought and sold How shocking to watch the wounds Peel and pry the tombs From the loom As the Masters spin The tunes and Rip the song From the Mothers womb Inverting the Music of men And women who jump too soon Into the abyss Of That & This Baring bleeding fists of rage Undisciplined Shifts Of the gears and the twists Of the fears that seed The Shadows sweet Mirrors... Shattered Stewards of this New Age Oh how the We holds so intently To the identity Of being the victim As the Sick Dictum grips their mind And erodes the Codes Born in Time Into imploding roads of crime And sideWinds into highs Of euphoric rhetoric built from blind Adherence to inferior minds That Pride themselves on GroupThink Size of Lines Drawn in sand Glass eyes staring blankly In artificial bands of Light Splintered thru the cells In fight or flight Wherein the We Dwells So terrified And paralyzed And petrified like stone Afraid to See the Wounds Have been born from their own Image Hiding itSelf in the Dreams That damage The minds and the Mes Of the Corpus That creates Scenes Of Be. Sovereign Selves Always and AllWays Dwell In the Deeper See Beyond the Shell EmPowered by the Currents Ease No need to Buy and Sell Or trade Souls in Hell In proclamations of Victimhood... The We is a Me that Speaks in Blood The Time is nigh The Waters are Tears and Cries Shall Flood From the Fountain of Freedom That Springs from the Heart Of Mud The Infinite Art of the Earth As she Births the Beginning Again A deep sweet Breath As the New Day Begins.
Charleen Johnston 6-7-20 “Causes….. Know what your jumping into “ “this is your brain on PreScripted Reality Highs”
since the Architect knows that a small percentage of people won't accept the Matrix, he gives them an alternate universe to live in: "real" life in Zion....and they don't even know that they are really still in a larger matrix. They just keep occupied fighting an enemy instead of waking up.....
.... The Critical Degree... The Chasm....the Force of the Spazm thrusts us out into a new Day, a new Game to Play....choose Carefully which Script you want to Read....the codes have been downloaded unbeknownst to you Over Aeons and Aeons and now corrode the Truth of Who You Are..... Don't accept their Paradigms..... Don't Play out the war crimes that are being Triggered in your Mind as you try to Find the Line of Least Resistance.... The Trick of Blissful Existence is to Keep the Tension Taut.... Don't seek comfort nor Sloth.... Dare yourself to Break the Shell of your Wildest Bare Self ...Birth thru Maat and Thoth the Kind and Joyful Embrace of All The Lost Pieces....Stepping off their Preconfigured Grid locked in with the beast ...laced with poison and dreams deceased ....they are dependent on your Imaginative Juices to Burgeon All Yous into a Solid Groove of Threadbare t r u t h
BlissNinja 