I went down to the studio today (my third place as the textbooks would call it now) to do some mental health improv shredding in the key of A and found this while leafing through a notebook of music I've been working on for an upcoming album over the last few months.
Still working on further actual posts in re of whole brain thinking, priming, mental clarity, and the new concepts subprogramming and the fallacy of (mis)scaling. Keep an eye out, but don't hold your breath either.
Enjoy my rambling poetry (or as I call it, fauxetry).
cheers.
Mot Juste
Eldritch ether of my childhood waking dreams
On the outer lip of sleep’s spiral-funnel-abyss
Of non-, un-, meta-, sub-, supra-consciousness
Of the ages since the dawn of man
Of my life since my conception
Of the reality of my day since daybreak
To this point
To this now
To this ever present, everlasting moment
Which is always here
In this bed
Underneath these blankets
The intimate warmth of superficial safety
Guarded from the suicidal tendencies
Lurking beyond my mattress
Haunting my halls
Stalking this eldritch ether of mind and experiences
Isolated
Apart
As
All
Any
One
Two
Infinite
Unable
To consummate as all
As us, them, me, you
Perfection is striven for
The closer I get the further I am from you all
Raising awareness and pints…and expectations
…And falling short, flat, face down
The pitiful chakras in the soles of those whom
I lay beneath, trampled and tread upon
I will always see you for more than what you are
I will paint you as a rose-
Colored
With my infatuation; delusional
Only to end with distance in time and geography
Hopeless Utopian romantic dreamers
Will forever grasp for coals too hot to handle
Never waiting until they have cooled
And then it’s too late
Sucker
Again you shall starve, writing a recipe to die for
And a song to forget
And a song to forget you by
Forgettable as any
Who said ‘Alchemists should stick to the laboratory’?
Stop venturing about young Fool
Lest the Devil take you back to the Tower
Initiation never ends, just youth, just chance, just this life
Mere opportunities
Sheer logic
Would tell you
Give up, turn inward, the outside is too much effort
They don’t want you and they don’t believe you anyway
Helpless quixotic debutant: go fuck yourself
And stick to what you know
Go eat out the Muse and drink from her font
She’ll at least pat you on your head afterwards
Give and give and give and give
Never take
And blame them afterward
Born under certain stars
It rains…in perpetuity
A solemn cloud to match a solemn shadow
Tempus loquendi, tempus tacendi;
And I never get it right; silence when communication is apropos
And the other way ‘round
Wending abysmally down wrong-ways
Ah, but consistency is a virtue!
And the Greeks have their crowbars and Preparation-H
Platonic
Ha! And I use to be Aristotelian
And now the Neoplatonists want me
Born under certain stars
23 of them to be exact
And the Universe’s synchronous sense of humor…
…Yes, and there is that
And you can only achieve T.A.Z. with an instrument in your hand
Goose eggs!
And George Washington wrote: ‘No wife, no horse, no mustache’
No girl, no money, no style.
Mot juste.
