Bee

Once upon a time in the 1600s a boy, a hopeful romantic, looked at his pocket watch click to 11:11 one last time… An era convoluted by industrial revolution, he heard music from hoofs falling on cobblestone roads paving a mosaic for drawn carriages, warm breaths escaping as if to say "clickity clack, hurry, hurry, don’t turn back", for the quarter hour train is leaving on the one-way track. An unknown direction much like things in suspension, my heart floats in zero gravity and in the constellations of compassion. One passengers’ seat occupied a carefully placed expression, where I might bee found reading (Robert Anton Wilson, Tim Leary, Aleister Crowley, C.G. Jung, G.I. Gurdjieff, or perhaps Ken Wilbur X cetra X cetra), quicken the pace, a white flash crystallizes a jolting of scribbling notes, I paint for myself, a celestial promenade. Channeling my thoughts their focus pocus, a connection on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th dimension permeation. Opening doors (are we?) to forgotten times, past lives, and places; interest divulges on and in eastern shamanism, backwards times (especially the good ones) forever-leaping forward unparallel by perception and not straught by doubt or misconception. The future is right now, yet if my life were to expire, I evaporate seemingly with a smile. To see the end (2012?) or the beginning of the grand cycle, or something else entirely, I would bee thankful to articulate this space perhaps continuing life in a freer of forms. Omnipresent train is being uncoupled and our understanding unraveled, the separation of mind bending enjoyed like short glass of champagne ! Entering my exquisite candle lit chamber hall, please pull out a chair, reserved for the finest of dinning, I proposed a toast to the people of utopia transcendence, to synaptaLancing and to synaptal answers, to my chamber orchestra for providing tonight’s atmospheric entertainment, just a sprinkle of live music and a wee bit o dancing. Come warm your hearts from the snow and extreme cold, perhaps you’d like for your story to unfold? Freezing questions of mark, what brings you to this barren land? Sensations sprung forth from the realization of life after death, coming to accept my humanity you are, rejoicing in the pleasures of the flesh: mur n musk rising sun nostrils, a hefty tongue lashing Oh! Oh! Licking the dripping drop of diction, pleasing by a lithe feather teasing, kissing the back hand of pain and loving the twisted ness of my strange cloak n being on the edge my mind catapults a single stone well past delirium, to land somewhere much closer to what humans call home. Rolling to a haphazard stop the engines’ breaks squealing at the universe ‘final destination this is it! one last thought to reprogramming and metaprogamming. The Illuminatus had no play in this foul; it was completely driven by the alien electricity contained by one pin eel gland ie my scat-helter whit imagine a hearth fueled by miss mash con cent ration. A D evious alter ego sounds electronic & psychedelic music and art, yet as the unfinished symphony plays through it’s final bars, I hear my chamber musicians flip a page and scramble lynn confusion… as harmony vacates the hall, organic jazz turns the tables to the mastermind himself, john zorn, his ‘naked city’ once played by the masada band would bring to our ears the extravagant auralgasms of eclectic orchestration. This could bee a halluciNation, a dream perhaps, being awake the scene shifts into a progressive trance.