Pssst…..

Pssssst.......you're falling right into the trap

Your tears of. J o y
Dancing. In S t r e e t s

Your perceived high. In tell i gence
You. Are. Clamoring. Inside the ploy
You are Meat for the feast
You dangle

From the Chain of a stopwatch

Toc tic tocking down

The Game. Has just begun
You failed the test
With every attack and fact
Checked

The beast grows larger and swallows you

There are no winners
InDigNations fate is spinning

And you are trapped in the vortex
Of Assimilation at astounding rate

The rage will bleed From
Self proclaimed Victims

And the Agitaters
Will do what they have always done

Incite the Masses
Who cry. Tears. Of. Joy. Now


Tears of terror and hatred later

As the beast they feed within themselves
Turns its ugly head
As the red hand rises
And the fist attempts to strangle

What's left

Of an Organic. Human. heartbeat

And You

Danced in the streets
Believing you defeated the beast

But the Mirror
Of th I
Is terrifying

When you finally look inside

Charleen Johnston 11-8-20

Tik Tok Tik Tok

Old art by me
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

CLJ 11-8-21

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

The El & the Mag

Old Art by me

🦂At This Very Moment In Time Space … we are on a Precipice…. The fusion of… distorted versions of Organic/Inorganic ways of Being in this Wor(L)d..

…in the Beginning was the Word…

And the word was With God

……………………………………………………………………(El)

And the Word Was God

And the Spell(inG) was Cast

Over the Mass and Crowds in Vast

PrisMs as the EL⚡️Mag Waters Rise Fast

Within the DeoxyRib.E Oh Defrag the hard.drive

And Fasten your Seatbelts

The Dark Man Dwells

In the Space

We

Circle

Time

(&Time Again)

If you can see the Puer and Senex in the Language of these Dreamings

You are walking the road of deCoding the Anguished tangles of the Seaming Seeds

The El and the Mag(dalene)(netic)(ician)(

Dance dance dance

Break the trance

Wake the snake

That shakes and quakes

Within Matter &

CircumStance

CLJ 11-4-21

The Crazies Manifesto

The Crazies Manifesto by Andrea Balt

  1. I will remember what it was like to be born, and all the beautiful things I used to point at before I could speak them. I’ll reinvent curiosity and memorize delight.
  2. I will forgive, because no one survives. I’ll keep the bruises but get rid of the blue. I’ll kiss my Judas back. (I have my own crosses to carry).
  3. I will believe in ghosts and fairy tales. And elves and science fiction. I won’t declare a world impossible until I’ve tried to build it with my hands and when my pulse shakes like a leaf, I’ll say sure, let’s, why not.
  4. I will fight with the sword of my tongue, not my fists. I’ll also fight with my silence and lips. And turn all my blood into metaphor and blossom my way into fierce cherry trees.
  5. I will love like it’s the end of the world and the house is on fire. And if it’s not, I’ll bring the matches. I’ll love even when I don’t, or when I lose, or when love’s fleeting like sunsets or thick like bone or long or heavy or boring like the book I’m never done reading and writing.
  6. I will live every day like it never happened before or like a tune to a song still unwritten. And I’ll record every hour on my face, and in this short-lived human dilemma, I’ll try to be in all my pictures, heartbeats, adventures and wrinkles.
  7. I will dream up my reality. I will not be reasonable or realistic. I’ll write sideways on lined paper and I’ll always put heart over matter and imagination over knowledge.
  8. I will create a thousand planets from scratch and then I’ll add them to the Milky Way so I can help expand the universe. I’ll make up a new language out of dust and come up with a hundred different ways to say your name.
  9. I will be honest rather than loyal. Because to get through the dark forests of life you need a lamp, not a shadow, and trust is not a blind soldier but the soul’s one and only chief of staff.
  10. I will be wild and untamed. I will believe in wolves. I’ll be insane, uncivilized, emotional and personal. And I will take the ring to Mordor even if I don’t know where Mordor is. I’ll be the child I left behind. I’ll be the door and key to me.
  11. And when I come to die, the only thing I will regret is leaving all my stories, unfinished, on your chest. But I should hope to live in such a way, that time would breathe me out and back into your lungs, until there’s no more me or you or words or why.

So this is for us….

… so this is for us.
This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love
and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know
because the beauty is in the act of doing it.
Not what it can lead to.
This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing
and no one is around and they will never know
but I will forever remember
and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have,
and this is for you who write or play or read or sing
by yourself with the light off and door closed
when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned
and maybe no one will ever hear it
or read your words
or know your thoughts
but it doesn’t make it less glorious.
It makes it ethereal. Mysterious.
Infinite.
For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe in
and only you can decide how much it meant
and means
and will forever mean
and other people will experience it too
through you.
Through your spirit. Through the way you talk.
Through the way you walk and love and laugh and care
and I never meant to write this long
but what I want to say is:
Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it; make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourself
and let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story.
Let your very identity be your book.
Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.

So go create. Take photographs in the wood, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountain
where no one will ever hear
and your very existence will be the most hypnotising scar.
Make your life be your art
and you will never be forgotten.”

― Charlotte Eriksson

Falling Through

Words weep me
I fall like fat capsules of catastrophe
Down the cheeks of the Mind

I am purified in ways
I never thought I could find
Truths I never thought I would own

But still I am left silent
Still clinginging to the half-chewed bone
A ration meted out to me by Memory

Waking up isn’t always easy
Rewriting our Stories and history
Falling through cracks that appear from Nothing

Charleen Johnston
September 2008

Twisted and tampered

I’m twisted
and tampered
And feeling Pampered
by Life
This Night
This tribute to Light
is but a Face
Of the race I run
The case I’ve begun to sort thru
And contort to
And still the Sun shines thru
Like icing on the cake
That in my Womb I bake
With creativity at stake
For far too few
Understand
The clues
And wake and take the break
For Life is the Steak
And potatoes
Of the Days which grow
Through my labors

I take the Smile and
Fake senile
And pretend to Forget
That I Am
still Wet
Gleaming like sweat from the brow
Of the Holy Cow
Who Was
Slaughtered in Fear
Cooked
for our Dear who is Slave
To the Tears
That have Flooded before…
Knocked
down their doors
And
Dripped right through
The cracks in the Floor….

Peace
Is Sweet
And a Covert Operation
At best
Is less
Than a fatal test
Of the rest.

Charleen Johnston
2002

Breathe Deeply….

Take a deep breath , folks,21st century Fox
Poppin off the top of this metropolis, Mocks
Your intelligence and plays on your emotions
So easily led and Fed the poisonous potion
Of political devotion gift wrapped with Shock…
Take a Deep Breathe and be ready to surrender
All the Scripts that rip right thru this Dyin ember
….
Step away from the Line, step away from the Lies
Every single scene is a Set meant for your mind
A studio Setting created just for the blind
Adherence to the program that steers your Lives….

It’s not even abstract, not just metaphor…
A Literal Configuration of Lets Pretend Some More
Actors n Agents and Fictitious Stages
The masses addicted to social Graces from
Instagram faces in Media Contagion….

Bless Your hearts, my friends
Find your Center, Within
Everything else
Is a trick
Of the Lens

Charleen Johnston

1-7-21

Freshly Fingered Fabrics

Art by Vali Meyers

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.

{Charleen Johnston 11.27.2002}