Arriving Late Summer 2021
These poems free the self from the wars of consciousness that use the human body and mind as their battlefield. It is about re-imagining self from other’s expectations. It is about survival from being sexually manipulated, being a victim of colonization and victimized by the lover possessed by parasite entities.
These poems are about a Gnostic journey through life and death; through light and darkness; through flesh and spiritual realms to become The Way…a path for the Wanderer, The Chaos Being…The Changing One.
Will not drink or feast in this artificial garden.
I am between inhale / exhale – changed
The past names do not have my breath.
The past names do not live inside
as locked rooms.
The past shadows will not haunt
as fragments, being phantasms with terrible voices
to harness my attention.
I am no one’s shadow.
We were a star. The light from the star is a reminder when we are not distorted in the world, we are star stuff. But the star died. We are shedding that death as awareness takes on many forms simultaneously. When the light of that star reaches this human vessel/portal, we will evolve into another kind of star that will be in a universe being born.
So read these poems from the mist, from the Unknown, from the dance of madness in human flesh; from shaking the foundations of foreign minds who have sat upon us as their throne and made war a foundation stone.
Read the weeping of the slave imprisoned in modern times with invisible shackles in corporate plantations that still keep making - life - not matter so, the Originals will not remember their children have damned them.
Read the laments of the fallen daughter exiled to be a whore in the heavens and the hell realms of psychopathic entities.
These poems from the mist; like the alien; like thoughts made flesh; like the fragmented selves - are taking center stage - to speak.
These unseen voices will leave footprints of a high strangeness as they unfold occult secrets.
Inheritance comes from many forms.
No Plantation Love
Don’t want to love in this plantation system
entrenched as an object for hosting shadows.
We have secret rendezvous beyond the colonizing gaze.
The bias toward my skin
drives others into a rabid state of mind.
Our love is not for daylight eyes
or conversations with friends.
I become a rusting oil in the system to destabilize it yet,
you want to maintain it.
I walk between worlds not as a ghost
as you harbor within storms of false existences.
We are strangers when others gaze upon us.
Do not want slave songs or need an underground passage
but these things are when in the workings of others.
Father figures ache to touch as I pull up roots.
Will not let the plantation owners fetter the mind.
Will love you in another world; another place,
where time is not deteriorating but now,
this love you profess in whispers
is where light cannot see.