Jen

Across the song of how morningflow flutters today,
a goose sweeps high above
in a play of lullaby caress,
his face; a voice, a vogue,
a silhouette of how the world connects.

Send me asleep across the land,
sail me into a deep imaginary wonder
where oceans composed of cool vibrant flowers
and whirlings of saphire, cool her charms,
as we wander,
in blankets of glazed dawning celebration
upon the sands of golden.

and from this place, mist figures arise
composing themselves in a terror,
which soon turns to thunder and vice
beneath the weight of their own expectations;
salted limbs exist from where water is sourced,
their nightingale lies are deep places of the weep.

May sound be a guardian to our pour of pooling eyes
and protect us from vigour and lack of thought.
The twist and solitude within which i rise
are nothing compared to the deep in which i subside.

But the flowers that form the thoughts that grow out of my ears
are really where this formation stands.
The air is bright today,
as it always is,
when i open my eyes.

as it is for all

The water moves along the shoreline in waves,
streams of celebrating motions, embarking
constantly upon new and exciting journeys.
Its watery skin bears a noiseless repetition of motion
held within evergliding folds of soft blue calm.
This is a rhythm that resonates within us all,
a song held in all our throats
as we await the song of moonlight, or the warmth of the sun to release us,
out into the world where all can hear and join to sing.

May the moon be a guide to our emotions, the sun rebuild our fallen walls,
and the water a calm to our soul.
But only that; a guide, an aid, a calm.
For it is ourselves who must reach out and grab at the world from a point that is our own.

There is an I and there is the universe,
and both of these are me,
as a bearded man observed
that every atom that is me, is you also,
and living is a game, so let us play.

let it be serious, but always may we act with sincerity
let us see the beauty, wonder and awe that exists
within each droplet of colour and voice
let us work to find our individul path, and use this to aid others, not to turn our backs
let us love, be loved, feel the pain of love, but love again.
because we know that it is only our perception that drives how we think, feel and fall.

And as evening closes tonight
let us be content with this end,
knowing that for night to fall, day must begin again.
Within the stars i can see whole worlds to explore
but it is my eyes that hold these world, not the stars
where dream and adventure and the fantastical exist
as it is for all of you.

The Moon, The Glow, The Light.

The moon stills, tall above
wailing at the stars
for peace.
It's movement slow and enigmatic
slowly it curdles
set against a darkness
of faded light.

It's voice hangs silent,
it's pose replete;
as the stars begin to fade
and so to it,
absorbed by only one star
breaking a blue amber sky.

and it is through the swelling of the tide
that the water falls and erodes,
bringing footsteps freshly knitted into our minds.
the fizz and crackle of brown foam colliding,
obliterating all obstacles
and bringing the beginning of new horizons.
impregnated with noise
and wind
and whisperings.

the ocean is a mother,
a tightly held pair of seaweed freckled hands
holding always onto the shore.
soothing the wild wilderness of the wind.

Her crown fixed forever,
despite the rough tide of swinging hips,
dancing in soft rhythm.
a pulling caress of nightingale vibrations
across floor tiles and damp light rooms
where we all flounder in movement,
enveloped inside sunshine.

arms wrapped, limbs corroded,
sweat seaps from pores, filling the
room with a beautiful aroma of pungent debauchery
that will remain long after we have left
and returned to morning light rooms
where some of us sleep and some of us never sleep.

The night is in our eyes and is ours forever.
let it always be this way.

The noise of the morning rises, and disturbs
the lettering upon my wandering thoughts.

Slowly i begin to shout in ripples of celebration,
and as i do a rainbow of colourful flowers flows out from my mouth
and i sing,
in adoration of the moon.

it is from the moon
by giving it a name
or a purpose
to seek to explain
that this seed is extracted from me
and becomes lost in the ether.

It is to the moon
that i write and sing and share this thought.

For myself and the moon only,
that i breathe and rejoice,
this mind.
Alert and in shouts of hysterical rage
I sing. It sings. Relentless.
Despite the deprivation of sleep
and the solitude it ultimately seeks.

Flitting open, moments of bubbles
and wonder fall across shores, and lines of open
unknown places, where we wander in free.

Of dreaming, of losing falling winds
water flowing over silken summer.
Light flounders and changes its path
in constant patterns
in silent freckled hands.

The darkness and beyond
and orange light;
a dress i wear and embrace
and spiral
and celebrate.

This nightwalk i simmer.
This object i pursue.
until the dawn arises
and fills my crying
with joy and delight and whisps
of slowly rising never-ending relentless pathways.

in sighting unlighted minds
with joy and solitude
and a lack of purpose,
we fall.
we flounder.
we embrace the evening.

No matter how far wrong you've gone you can always turn around....

the thoughts that swarm and swish across my brow.
the songs that crush the darkness of the night
cause me little concern, nor sway
the branches of the trees in my heart.

the river it flows in bandages of loose embers
the flowers they sprout in all places, even behind the eyes
In vissitudes of walking sermons
rose petals collect upon the water.

the forest is a monument to the sun
the broken glass that sings in the city morning light
a harp that plays to all and everyone.
I see brambles in the patterns of the wind
that flutter in a glowing twilight.

The void is apparent, and is what we are,
the thought of which we may choose to ignore
for this is the game we play.
knowing this does not make it any easier
but this you see, is ok (thank you elliott dobbs)

let joy flow and ripple in the laughter of the loose
let teardrops form and batter our waking morning hearts
let the dance of time be a playground not a pension
let all authorities you create be yours (thank you tim and alan)
let the sea, the sun, the moon, the stars
into each breath of walking light
let the pavements grow over with moss
let the creatures that form in the cracks and shadows roam wild and free
let Neptune rule the spinning of clocks
let the eyes and smiles of others be a portal to the self
feel the vibrations and absorb the chaos
knowing that you may return from this game whenever you so wish,
and that it is just this and nothing more.

the ecstacies of feeling that roams the caverns and underpasses
are a creation of my very own, and of your very own
as are the raindrops that fall from the sky and salt the eyes.
Today i may die, i know this
and knowing this, i am now free
to wander
to talk
to hug
to sing
to love
to fall
to dream
to dance.

You and your dreams and visions...

'So how long is it now? Do I have to wait much longer?' Jacob asked.

At first there was no reply.

Then a small green light flashed from the corner of his darkened room. A whirl of electric noise. A slight buzz, and then, he thought a voice.

'Thirty one minutes remain' the machine answered.

Jacob sighed.

It may have been slight, but it was definitely a sigh, although the expression on his face did not change.

His eyes closed in a moment of silence. A switch clicked. Electric noise again filled the room in whisping beeps. The room was darkly lit. There were no windows. Nor sign of any door. Jacob had been sitting there for many years.

The air in the room was dank. It felt stale. It tasted stale. Not that Jacob was aware of this: Ever since the implementation of breathing apparatus B, his respitory system had been inoperative. Then again there could be heard a clicking noise. His eyes opened.
'And you promise that once it ends. That is it. Nothing more. No more lives. Only silence. A golden dark nothingness that I will slide into and never awaken from.'
'Affirmative. A golden dark nothingness. The cycle ends in 29 minutes.'

And for a moment, as an ecstasy of relief seemed to briefly form over him, a glint of a smile appeared on Jacob's face. A whirl. A click. A buzzing sound of metal on metal. The machine regained control, and his face returned back to its usual gaunt stance. His eyes closed themselves. All around the room lights began to flicker on and off in sporadic patterns and spectral glances. A hatch opened from the wall behind Jacob and a tube filled with an amber liquid, drifted slowly across the room towards him, crawled over his back and then inserted itself into his chest. It was 8.45am. It was feeding time in the building. The sound erupted in huge volumes from all around; the sound of a thousand engines beginning at once. All around him, in other squat dark dank rooms, sat other people, with their own stories long forgotten, with tubes in their chests, also being fed.

Then as slowly and snakelike as it had whispered across the room, the tube, now devoid of its initial amber glow detached itself and retreated back into the wall from which it came. A whirl. A beep. A buzz. Then the sound of something being sprayed became prominent, and a mist enveloped the room. Again a beep, a buzz, then the sound of suction, and the mist disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. For a brief moment the room appeared clearer and lighter. Yesterday's dirt evaporated. Throughout all of this process Jacob sat, with his eyes closed. Unmoving and unconscious- or so it appeared.

For many years he had been unconscious throughout this process.

However he no longer existed in this state of dream like living.

He had broken, he hoped, from the machine, and instead he sat there thinking his own thoughts.

Jacob did not know for certain how things had become what they were and how they had become what they are. But from his time thinking and reflecting on things he had developed his own theory, as he sat in his seat. Below is his last diary entry, recorded moments before his assumed death.

'Things had not always been this desperate way. Human's had once even been able to walk, but not for a long time. For many years we have sat inoperative, living in dwellings sustained by machines, and as a means of sustaining those same machines.

I have for a long time, how long I can only speculate, as I do not know, been inoperative and corrupted. However what I do know is that until I fell from my unconscious living, I existed in a dream like state, part of a cycle that all humans now exist within after we tried to tear the pain out of life.

How I fell from it is difficult to describe and perhaps does not really matter.

As what does matter is that I have fallen from it.

However, I will try to describe this briefly. I can only describe it as this; somehow I was able to develop a consciousness within my own consciousness, or unconsciousness as you may have it. I have always enjoyed wandering and looking at things very much, and over time, as I roamed around the world I supposed I was living in, I began notice I would stare, unerring, at the slightest of events or moments or objects that might not even attract the notice of another being. But I would lay my vision upon it and stay contented until time became a forgotten privilege. As these became more regular and clear, I began to spend more time reflecting upon my own thoughts, until soon it consumed me.

During this period I even began to dream at night of this reality that I now find myself, or think I find myself, in. I would have repetitive dreams of sitting in a stale dark room inoperative and controlled by machines, until soon, as these too became more regular and clear, I was able to awaken from my dreams and still find myself in my dream, unable to move, except to exercise thought, but still this allowed me to explore this cavernous vault of existence and its vicissitudes of confusion.

At first I tried to hide this lucid living from the machine, in fear that I had somehow sinned against it and myself.

The longer I spent in hiding and the longer I reflected, I decided that I must at least try to engage with the machine, and discuss our similar situations. I began to think that was it possible for the machine to be unsatisfied with the repetition of its own living. I have, at least I believe, through conversing with the machine managed to persuade it to end my life and perhaps also its own.

Whether it will follow through on this agreement I am uncertain, however one has to have hope, be it naive, as it is all I have left. I have to follow it. I am not sure if that makes sense, I do not know for certain if it does, or if I have recorded clearly enough how I came to mycurrent existence, but this does not really matter.

What does matter is that I am conscious and I am soon to die.

I am rushing towards an uncertainty and want to explain and leave a record of other thoughts, which may in some small way help others, or may on the other hand be wiped out by the machine. But one at least must try. I don't know where this urge to be marked on the slipping tide and stake my reasons and justifications comes from, but it is an overwhelming distraction until I do it so it must be done.

I am rambling now; let me stop for a moment in pause and gather my thoughts before continuing....

This is only speculation on my part, as the truth I do not know for certain, but I believe that this process began with the fusing of the machine with flesh, and the promise of enlightenment as part of the progression of the human race. Somehow this search became all and the only logical outcome was what exists today. It was the pinnacle of our evolution. I believe that we began to let our whole society be controlled by our fear of death, and rather than accept this as part of a natural cycle of events, our forefathers decided that they did not want to die: Destructive patterns that are repeated again and again.

For years we humans took and took from the organism that created us, and then when this way of living became unsustainable, rather than examining how this had happened and developing more acceptable means of living, the species looked instead towards artificial ways of survival. And instead of being just as a tool to aid this living, as certain systems in place at the time could have been, it instead became used as a means of exploitation and for the use of individual gain as the race for survival increased.

From my own reflections upon this, it seems our major flaw was that we based our society upon a concept of evolution known as Darwinian, which relates to a thing known as the’ survival of the fittest’, which led only to competition and inequality, rather than looking instead at our natural environment for answers and inspiration. The human body works properly when all parts work together for the good of the whole. This should have been, and should be how society operates.

Unfortunately, this was driven down the wrong path and we forgot to discard our original self-preservation, instead turning the whole of society into one being driven by it. It should have been that we all work in some way for the good of the whole, using the skills that we have, whilst at the same time developing our individuality and following our own path: finding and doing the things that make us feel content. All the time aware of and moving towards our death, embracing the fact that we are ultimately insignificant, but that this means that it is the insignificant things, our small joys that give and bring significance to our lives. Trees. Clouds. Electric lights.

This isn't to be taken as a negative thought, but rather the opposite. I believe that to accept yourself and your true nature, allows you to finally live. However, this did not happen and I do not blame the system in place, as after all it was a system made up of only a collection of people, full of emotions and confusion making decisions, which they perhaps thought were right.

Perhaps it is just something inherent and destructive within our very nature which brought us here, and that I would define as our Fear of death.

It led us to turn away from our very nature and instinct and into a world of repression, where we repress our own selves and our own reality, which in turn created the world we now live in. This is why I have made the decision to terminate my own life.

Yes, I am afraid.

I do not know what waits but I accept it as part of my path.

Death is not separate from life, death is part of life.

Hiding from this reality we have created a society where we have corrupted our very nature and ended up as our own slaves.

And this is why I am prepared to die. I do not want to live forever in this one form.

To live in repetition is to live in banality.

To hide from death and to hide from fear is to never live.

I believe that in someway I will always exist and continue to do so, as part of some great whole.

How, I do not know.

But I believe that I will, as the cycle always continues.

And anyway, isn’t the uncertainty of not knowing also the joy? Without fear, you can't ever really live.

I hope this record that I am leaving behind, is in some way useful to anyone if it is ever found. However please be aware that these speculations are only a guesswork and that my ideas are purely my own, as my path is my own, as your path is your own. I offer no solutions, only ideas, my ideas.

I do not think there are or ever will be any solutions, or any definitive answer. This is why, up until now, I have not mentioned or quarrelled with this idea of 'outside control' and something defining and directing our lives that must be adhered to and worshipped.

It seems to me an argument not even worth having. I understand that as a result of repressing our fear, we have to then turn it into another form.

We make an idol of it, and this idol we call God.

I can see the use of it, as I can also see the use in all the ideas of others, whom I do not necessarily follow.

However, I do not see how one set of ideas can be applicable to everyone, and am therefore slightly bemused by people who follow blindly the tracks and rigid ideologies thought up by other people, possibly a very long time ago.

Except from saving oneself from an individual neurosis, it does not appear to offer anything else, and quite frankly, I want to embrace my own neurosis.

All we have is our own ideas, madness and dreams, and as I have become more certain in my ideas, and more comfortable in my own bubble of dreams and madness, I have become more able to accept myself as I am and to feel content.

Because of this central grounding, I feel able, despite my fear, to accept this end and whatever else it brings.

As a bearded man in what was possibly a dream once told me “Follow your inner moonlight, don’t hide the madness”.

Goodbye.

End of recording.

And with this Jacob then sat in silence, until the machine beeped and then said ‘one minute remaining’ and began to count down. Jacob did not reply, nor even stir. He did not question whether this was really the end. He sat still.
Until there was a buzz. A click. An electric light. A whirl. A flash.
A swallow of darkness cloaked the room, and there was silence, only silence.

The Other man

The man left his room in search of a drink. The world was all grey and tiresome outside his flat. The trees were asleep and the wind was full of long drawn out yawns. At the top of the stairs he turned the banister with a great haste, he had been working for hours in his study without any fluid, and his lips were now salted dry. As he reached the bottom step, he noticed that the kitchen light was on and that was music playing out from the room. ‘How odd’ the man thought, because aside from his pet dog ‘Loaf’ he lived alone. Nearing the entrance to the room, he heard a movement and saw a tall shadow glisten across the slumbering tiles of the kitchen floor, ‘Who goes there?’ the man bellowed aloud with confidence as he swung open the door.
What the man found as he entered his kitchen, he did not expect, and as he unfastened his eyes upon the figure at the other end of the room he took a fearful step backwards. Standing opposite him was another man, the same height, the same body size, the same face- a mirror image of the man, staring straight back at him. The other man’s look pierced his eye and confused him, ‘Who are you?’ the man enquired with an uncertain stutter. The other man did not answer, ‘Who are you?’ He demanded once again this time more forthright, again there was no answer, the other man just stared back sternly into his eyes.
Suddenly the whole house fell to darkness, it was as if the power had been cut, yet it was much darker. It was an all consuming darkness, like a black cloud of death rags strangling his face and smothering his vision. Abruptly, a ferocious howl ripped through the room and there was a wild crack of light which struck his left cheek. He fell to the floor in surrender, and closed his eyes.
When the man finally awoke from this, he felt the warmth of morning light upon his face, and he imagined himself to be in the comfort of his sleep warmed bed. However, as he gradually un-buttoned his consciousness, the man realised that he was not lying on a supple pillow, and instead upon a cold stone floor.
Without haste, he jolted upright and as he unmasked the world which surrounded him, he saw not his soft green bedroom walls, but a toaster, and then an oven, and then a fridge.
Instantly the memory of last night pierced his mind and he began to turn around in an anxious motion, to face the area upon which his twin had stood.
As his eyes reached this place, the man let out a chilling scream and fell to his knees, tears streaming. Because on the spot in which the other man had stood, lay the limp, dead body of his beloved dog.

Asking

A sunshine Friday evening sitting at my desk, my mind sits open, flows and ebbs;
As I tap my toes in an imagined serenity, laughing without care, in a humbled caress- at the world which holds and forms within my head;

Asking the darkened cloak which environs, to banish itself and resist the pulsating molar of snap driven nightmares- benched watermarks to which we all succumb.

Asking this mind of careless frivolity to soon, sometime, release, deplete and reverse this powerless mind set which condemns and condescends without casualty.

Asking myself, why the nicotine still throbbing on my tongue beholds itself to me so firm- in spite of a knowledge that such poison delivers no rest.

Asking to be free from holding within- a place in which sequined ladies bounce freely and loose.

Asking to be free from the saturated wrongdoings of a nettled lost- a space that exists within my own complex.

Asking to be free from boundaries- the diminished squares of circular wrongs.

Asking to be free from self harm Tuesdays- at least until this free wheeling weekend ride of resistance completes and folds back in.

Asking those proprietors of knowledge to pass it on freely and unbound- not to submit and subvert those who thirst at this well.

Asking those holders of wet thirst, to leave the grass to be- to unchop their cut down heart tress.

Asking and requesting those political, whom play and screw; strummers of my guitared heart to lay down their salivating mouths and gyrating arseholes.

Asking and demanding that my will become liberated- not controlled from stone buildings (inside which those bulging wallets and waists dismiss of me)

Asking and echoing Sutch- requesting a three foot wall around the entire British Isles to trip up any night time invader.

Asking in earnest and without a hint of jape, for recycle centres to be given their respect, for the abolishment of leisure time ( as the word leisure means permitted !), for fuel taxed acceptance of responsibility controlled cars, and for less departmental bureaucracy centred red taped tales- spun, open wounds of a dark taste.

Asking not for blame- or who to blame- but instead searching beyond the scapegoating chatterations and asking for real answers to actual problems- real life progressions.

Asking for conscious diplomatic answers, not pulpit publicity seeking- a false CCTV reality, a viewing hollowness of lies and bitten fists.

Asking for some time off this desolate road, and instead- for this to be replaced with solitudal allowances of thought and forgiven rehabilitational robust opened minded considerations.

Asking for dance to be released from the grip of commodity- a place in which onlookers applaud the flexibility of supple delight in any shape, move or form- in any song, jig and full movement of free kicking legs- a place in which that I for once, am allowed to hit the height of such flow without cold looks and harsh eyes upon my starched back, and be able to wriggle each and every muscle and limb in a harmonious fluxicity (without wrong).

Asking for wood, soil, stone and plant to be allowed to wander at their own pace in shops- without wrapping packaged paper, plastic bags and price tags.

Asking for a free reign over the many woollen fenced pastures- a place in which the daisies spring up and ripen of their own free will.

Asking for a chance to exist as my self, aware and knowing- to flow in an open growth

Asking for numerical impotency- a day instead spent sat listening to the river laugh; receptive to its blue curdled wisdom.

Asking and demanding for a write to decide my own passage, as I wander down hazardous pathways, through closed eyed pastures and around unknowing corners- even if this be the wrong turn, at least this mistake be my own!