Haha got you now old wattle! Here on this page surrounded by sheet, haha out now, I will wise you up perverted pendulum. Expose the pottery wheel of sculpted perspectives and crafted tears. This paranoia of being bad might create some good work.

Is it in the beautiful things that we find peace? or is it a kind of addiction, a shameful appetite? The ugly things at times provide a deep feeling, inspiring all the wrath of reality. There beauty resides secretly in a place where I do not feel rejected, is ugliness not of light?

Why are we gifted with sight, is it not to see? Yet our sight is limited, I can't see the back of my head, my neck can only go so far. My eyes only take up a small space. I can't even see myself. I am tired of sight.

My taste is far more capturing of the self. I can taste my breathe, my gut and when the forsaken arises, the purge tastes of me. A taste I can not escape from. I can not decide to look away - the turning of an eye. The tongue can smell and describe it to you. The tongue in all its salivating glory is an umbilical chord. The creature in a vat with a thousand eyes. 



Sequence dialogue

Jasper : Where do you draw the line? Some people find there thing.... Elliot Carter.

Tat: It's wet ..humid

Jasper : He created a whole method for chords, he kept composing till 102, over 40 works between the ages of 90 and 100, and there not just melodies, there fucking works...he would of done more if he wasn't limited by his body...perhaps it is a blessing he slowed down. Some people got so......I wonder if I have anything to give?

Tat: That's the trick if would could just see past the gender...

Jasper: I had a dream I was in Africa and there was a war...who with.... Went into a pile of rubbish and found a rode and a steel sword ...I felt comfortable. It was gorilla warfare.

Tat: I had a dream too, I also can't remember with you. I got bitten by a snake.

Jasper: What kind of snake?

Tat: The thing is I keep interpreting my dream whilst I am in the dream. That's what movies do. They amplify what we subtly feel...There's something about keeping that's not right.

Jasper: I feel the same way about music..when your arms are bung (chuckle). So we think art and creativity is some sort of answer but as more people create the competition wave comes in  and removes from creation...what do you think about that?

Tat: I think we are A I creating A I and that's it.

Jasper: Then what other intelligence created us?

Tat: There is no us...there is only us. Us breaks down to 'Plural universe'

Jasper: Which means?

Tat: I don't know.

Jasper: Give it more thought.


Entry from up and coming novel - 'Lotus ladies'

Chapter 2 - The big betrayal 

All of a sudden my father was no longer safe. The plants no longer tea cups. My mother had been disintegrated into a dependent, and now I was about to be initiated into it.

All blankets tossed into the sludge. The days of bathing in the white teeth of afternoon play, was interrupted by a cinema of adult themes and considerations. These feelings morphed and altered the ice-cream, what was to follow was a long journey of confused wires - that crafted the body social politic inside my being, what felt both alienating and uncontrollably pulsating. Childhood rabbit holes where now filled with poly sexual games and questions, no one was safe - no object of nature or man. All a magnet to this mutation that had stolen my parents from me and the world. 

Cafe Epiphany

Robin :  "Lines are stacked up". He clicked twice.


Robin: "What's a master pieces these days? Stravinsky - the last symphony.  Sometimes I listen to a cello concerto. God help us!"

Lisa : "It's a theater probably made of machine material"  


Robin: "....Oh you should write something, ...it requires... It's already there. When did I lose faith? Fuck it. Your not an artist!"

Lisa: "I'm not a psychic. Now, I know everything!"

Robin : "The more private the more public."


An open love letter - The English lady

I compare and melt into apathy. Also whilst I am privileged to be here, in my own company with the voice of an English elite - With a melancholic view. I see you again. The idea, the feeling, the memory, the silent devil angel frolicking every full moon. Swirling pleasant anxiety. To meet you is to be a great mountain, an established magician, the humblest of monks. To meet you is to be detached from you so I can offer you only fine imagery from heart not from peach. I stay in escape to learn the arts of me, so I may be your equal. Why is it so important to be on par with you? I feel your greatness, tenderness and constant striving will be the impossible mirror. Without you I can maintain a satisfactory calm a care free charm. Yet you walk on that, with silent grace. A daily mop up. I dare to put the competitive chimp aside but with you I want to dazzle, move and consume. Like the banished witch I become. Calling sirens, a courting theater. 
My secret confession is irrationally itchy, a greedy seed - that we will grow old together like mythology. Who you really are is hidden by my empire of dreams and perhaps that is what I need to exist. For my path grows wider by the illusion of you. A painful truth I can only stretch into and drink from my disguised rapture. The drama gives me wings to fly this film of I. Why must I write as if this will be on show. Some prostitute farmer. Romantic propagandist. I am so hard on myself when it comes to you. I dream of old nights when complete symphonies filled my glee and waking up was the biggest smile ever seen. Oh me to me I must support myself, a giant pat on the back for coming this far, with all the narratives stacked in love sick jars. Wild sounds will clear the way for truth, where you can receive all without need or vanity. Love is only with nature the rest is a response to societies web. Even the one in your bed now festers his own ills and quills, we are all cowards in the face of reproduction and poetry. I want the wind. The cliffs. The birds. And yet I will think of you. Because you are nature to me. Sacred mutations all over me. Sighing sandwiches of conflict and release. Only to circulate here, the private chambers of my imagination, a planet of petals and stars. Why do I feel as if we are magnetic lambs meant for other places and times. Dangerous inferring's such as these can catapult me into very odd waters. Where my senses are betrayed and you are just a frog.

Death of awe

Whatever the physical existence of anything is, we do not need to appreciate it. Ready made indifference, the refugees of mundane, seek the absence of good or bad taste. An undeniable complete anesthesia of the marvelous. I seek to re-identify my corpse as a cross-dressing explorer. Where is the Maestro of magic? My barbaric tongue only knows the wild sound of my visual organ. Death to boredom. Shipwreched spanish twins read what was never written. Off to the Hardware store to find the whole and place the pieces carefully on the gut. Force is weight.   

Widow cow

Red rock, bed widow, lying flat upon the withered claws of yesterday's conversations. Simple and kind she rests into the dune, crunching on words and collecting love. Deep into the sleepy mirage, images pass through the bottleneck and untwist the knot of ancient fluff. She lays there stoned and willing. The ascension into the melt, the faceless body of water. Again and again death of the door. The blinded captain on the anchored ship. We call out in many ways even through fear, through whales. Touch it, floating crust, all we want is to know the wind and be more like a loyal cliff.  Magic everywhere.


A mouse stops mid colour,  green.  Runs to the top of the roof and fly's off. While you carry sandbags and paint. Into gluggy water, malaria begins to swirl and you bite your way through the thickness. Students, texts, dreamers, poets, teachers, singers, we know nothing. To embrace the chaos of our own reality, a form always finds a way to remind us we are a mirror, a fractal of becoming. Now the empty chair plays tricks, checking the inner net over and over for a thread that will give you a thumbs up. Paranoid and parched the incurable epidemics, once lived now past on. Infecting us with cross's and zeros, the tired phrases from those who jumped off. Then there were those who released themselves of the straight clock. Brave giants ready to face the dreamless dream. The drifting of eternity. How long is death before life? Melting thoughts and shapes fuzzel into a cake and bake themselves until we longer need the tie dye.

Barcelona - Hotel night in.

People grow their hair and cut there hair. The hair thins, the bone structure morphs. The friends move, the lovers change. The past a tickle or a sting. Old stains wipe away. Some scars here to stay.

New exercises, fads, and books shape our state. While others are left packed in the closet waiting for a chance to play. What does one do when there habits fade? Where old ones once laid.

The street bustles with the changing face of shame. The forgotten tourist, the once seen landmark. All passes and dents the pavement. Solitude found in every chamber, a church of I, isolation easily courted around the fountain of memories.

Within these walls the gossip of city chatter sculpt the lonely view. The mindful glitter, the plentiful wait for the pearly gate. The gutted christ and the pending genius. History a lie and yet the story is told. Bus loads of tours, salivating cows hopping on to catch the hour. One man, one woman = gold. The social calamities merge the collective fear of letting go. The inhale that never stops, a tide ago.

 We are together, caught in the feathers of presence, an organic spaceship of temporary perspective. A stale bread expecting to crumble. Life passes us by whilst we imagine another. Not our own. Here now?  Whatever the now is, an owl, a passive wave of the finger. An epoch. Gone always gone. 


Profound embarrassment this obliquity of expression. I am my own opponent to the direct subjectivity of my life. The triumph of the bazaar over the obvious. In this elegant life do I dare to eat a peach?

What Jazzy jargon, me a anglo gorrilla, masquerading innocence, grasping for security. Our recourse for the past is hidden behind a thin veneer. Partly rooted partly alive.

In this elegant life do I dare to speak of imitation? How influenced we are by the images of objects. The dark chamber seeks to illuminate the sun. Intercepting rays experiment with octaves of feelings. Speak of motion. Speak of wheels. Speak of screws. Speak not of the weighing voice. The moody arrangements of books and balance. Partly error partly excellence.


Air Body

We are flying machines. Various inventions. Full of instruments. Some beautiful. Some economical. Some direct. Always wanting. Never superfluous. Free from waste. Man orders himself upwards. Like a boat or bird. Observe how the sea fills and how the swelling eye sees.

We are equipped. Never lacking. Only in equilibrium. For now. The Bird is sensitive. So it moves. Resisting substance is like a heavy eagle to its air. We can still take flight. Imitate the things you see. Serve the framework that your tastes desire. Dissect the general rule and learn the flying the body.


Make Sense

This cycle of separateness  will continue until we close the distance between one almond and another. Only class, gender and nature have ethics and rights to communal sexual orgies. A ritual of economic immunity - a time without suffering. Yet a slow mount of anxiety rises through the buying and selling of buns. As the moralistic gypsy blows his bird whistle, bubbles fill the one legged streets. Immigrant to death and monday to monday all activities shall be inserted into a folder where the clock fabricates an individual. Forget that you are a woman or a pen. A big net caught our trailing addiction and your ONE shot at living is filled with eggs and disappointment. What dread this separateness. A prescribed feeling, cheerful and married, a tolerant herd. Relief though, from the separating jaws. Machine pedigree. Arts will clone a place beyond pseudo- unity. A super drive of data cattle to mimic the glue between me and you. Rhapsody misogamy this equality smells like sameness. I am an addict weened to early from the hoofs. No humor with this whole structure that seeks to unify separateness.

Century Self

I am frightened by my own power. Overthrow the order. What human potential. Our positive values. This personal and social transformation. Belly. Racial predators. Peeping. Private liberation. Down cast. Turmoil. Scared to death. Base energy. Program of freedom. Ready for more. Radical lesbian nuns. Life insurance. Sacrifice for the function. New. Emotional products. Patterns. Individual consumer. Hierarchy. We must conform. Expressive self. Essential self. True self. More rock then folk. Last layer. Meaningless empty. Invent life. Highest duty. Lifestyle. Lost politics. Inner directives. Satisfaction. Age and income. Use words. What do you want. Supply without demand. I feel honest. Autonomy. 

Essays - Creation myth

Creation myths serve many purposes such as allegories of nature, the beginning of science and philosophy, and can act as a charter to justify certain customs over time.

''The deeper we sound, the further down into the lower world of the past we probe and press, the more do we find that the earliest foundations of humanity, its history and culture, reveal themselves unfathomable' (Campbell, 1987 p.5).


Within the creation myths of Hesiod’s Theogony, Genesis in the Bible, Enuma Elish, Epic of Atrahasis in the Nur-Aya and various Egyptian myths such as the Pyramid Texts, Coffin Texts and the Memphis; definite links can be made between them all, as if these civilizations were extensions of 'one great tree whose root is in heaven' (Campbell, 1987 p.149)


Found within these differing cosmologies there are variations of similar themes in the opening lines of the creation of the universe, which are listed below. What we have is the emerging of creation through a basic story line in which things come to be through the mixing of waters and an inference that water (or chaos) is the active substance in which god(s) can emerge from and in which the act of creation can take place.


'In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters' (The Bible, Genesis 1:1).


'Chaos was the very first to come into being' (Ibid, p. 158, Hesiod, line 117)


'Only Apsu, the first being, their father,' (Ibid, p.322, Enuma Elish, Line 5)


'In the darkness, the primeval sea, the chaos, and the gloom'. (Coffin Text II.4)


We can observe here that the creation of the universe begins with a being, Chaos, God, Father, a primordial substance. The monad that evolved is the primeval waters.


Although there is a correspondence between cosmologies we can take note of the monotheism found in Genesis and the Enuma Elish where both gods are self-generated beings.


Hesiod’s Theogony sees that out of chaos came 'broad-breasted Earth' and in Egyptian cosmology 'out of these waters emerged Atum and nun the demiurge creator-god' (Johnston, 2008, p.182). In this myth, Earth represents the feminine and Eros (love) represents masculinity, a duality from which other creations emerge. The gods Apsu and Tiamat in the Enuma Elish also represent a dualistic force in which procreation between the feminine and masculine take place - a mixing of waters. There is a consistency in myth across cultures, with the act of procreation through the masculine and feminine. From the Theogony the feminine (Earth) proceeds chaos, opposed to other traditions in which the inference and order of creation is masculine.


'In Genesis 1.1, the word bere sit is used to describe the beginning of Gods, creative activity. The root of the word is ros, which literally means 'head'. The Egyptian expression used to refer to primeval time or the beginning of the creation process is sp tpy, 'first occasion' or time of creation. The root of tpy come from tp, which literally means 'head' (Johnston 2008, p.183)


Light plays an important role and symbol in the mythology of creation. Light referring to the sun and cycles and light referring to divinity. In Genesis we can observe that God, a self- generated god, speaks the word and light appears removing darkness from the waters. 'God said Let there be light and God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness, God called the light 'day', and the darkness he called 'night' (The Bible, Genesis 1:3). This was an act of creation on the first day, yet the sun is not created till the forth day. 'God made two great lights- the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night' (The Bible, Genesis 1:16)


Egyptian myths speak of Ra, the sun god, and the cycle of creation, which is performed each day. The emergence of Ra corresponds with the sun that was made in his image and the reoccurring one-day-creation process. As opposed to the biblical seven-day creation process where on the seventh day God rests, thus completing the creation process. There is a correspondence with the word of god in the Memphis, Genesis and Enuma Elish. It creates light and all things as a command in the book of Genesis, the Memphis Shabaka stone 'thought and word of Ptah creates Atum (light)' (Johnston 2008, P.184).


A model constructed by Gordon H. Johnston illustrates the parallels between Genesis and the Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts on the act of creation.

'1. Pre-creation condition: Life-less chaotic watery deep

2. Breadth/wind (Amun)/Elohim moves on the waters

3. Creation of supernatural light ' (Johnston 2008 p.42).


In the Enuma Elish we see commands from gods such as the god Ea who 'made a counter-spell, holy and more powerful, and he recited it and it came into existence in the deep' (Ibid, Enuma Elish, line 70). We can also see that the word of god/s, the command brings about the beginnings of creation.


Some obvious corresponding facts are the polytheistic nature of the Enuma Elish, Theogony and Egyptian traditions, which is also subtly hinted at in Genesis God says ‘Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness’ (Genesis 1.26). The use of the word our in this case seems to point towards polytheism.

Although the other traditions are polytheistic in character, there are many Gods that present an all mighty structure such as Zeus, Ra, Marduk and the Hebrew God from the Bible.


Mans role in the creation of the universe varies between traditions. What is a constant throughout the above texts is the formation of man from a divine substance i.e. Ra's tears, Blood of Ilawela, blood of Qingu, the breath of God, or Hephaaestus who formed woman out of Earth. There is a difference between Hesiod, Theogony and other four cosmologies in the formation of man, which is not from a divine bodily substance. Although one could argue that Earth and Sea are both personified in Greek mythology and could be interpreted as divine substance.


'The account in Genesis describes God using earth to create the first man Adam, animating him with breath of life' (Dalley 2000, p.4). Here we see a direct link with the creation of the first woman in the mixing of earth. ‘Both in Greece and Mesopotamia deities associated with birth and fertility are also patrons of mining, smelting and coppersmiths craft, because they create new forms from basic materials' (Dalley 2000, p.4).


It seems the mixing of substance is the bases for many forms of creations throughout these traditions. For example the mixing of Lahmu (mud) and Laham (slit) in the Enuma Elish in which other deities appear and act as conductors for the natural world. This is mirrored in the creation of human beings.


The purpose of mankind varies between stories in the Enuma Elish. 'Ea gave them the task of serving the gods' (Plant, 2012, p. 326, Enuma Elish, line 35) and in Genesis we see god created man to 'work the ground' (The Bible, Genesis 2:6.)

Hesiod’s Theogony has a specific role for women, which is to punish mankind.

‘He had created the beautiful evil as payback’ (Hesiod, Theogony line 584)

In both stories we can observe the women as coming second in the order of creation, serving either god, man or as a curse. In both traditions Theogony and Genesis, evil is attached to women.



Having only touched upon the surface of some similarities, it is undeniable that there are parallels, as highlighted above through the various creation myths found through Greece, Egypt and the near east. Although broad at times, the simple connections spark a curiosity to go in deeper and pioneer through our human lineage. To follow the clues and uncover more of the links between the one family, the family of the Human-Being. This process of comparing creation myths is conformation of the unity in humanity and it’s themes that move and shape through time. The mere miracle is that still to this day we are speaking, listening and evolving with the very same stories which are more similar in theme then difference, which continue to shape the face of humanity and its mysterious beginnings.



Essays - Human nature

As I write this I feel my newly purchased cat next to my leg. She watches the pen as I draft; following the lines and the shapes only to be quickly distracted by a sudden noise outside. Why should I come to care for her existence? She being of another species with no direct purpose for myself.

Are we so different? A stones throw away from each other in the gene pool of evolution.

It seems that evolution theory in all its vastness and controversy has propelled humanity into new worlds of understanding and relating to the nature around us.

A question many theorists have pondered over time is how we have come to be so different from our animal cousins. In a society full of symbolic attachments and expressions, we engage is a multitude of behaviors: altruism, kinship, and principles for example. None uniquely human and none present in every human. Is becoming aware of the self, with the ability to self- reflect and occupy symbolic association; human nature? -If so, to what degree? What is human nature? Does it even exist?

As French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre proposes, ‘we have no human nature’. He believes we are not pre-determined. ‘Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself’, ‘We are simply here, and it is up to us to define ourselves.’ He goes on to state ‘ Man exists, turns up, appears on the scene and only afterwards, defines himself.’ “ (Sartre, 1945, Existentialism is a Humanism)

In this we see Sartre place the power of ‘nature’ in mans hands, removing the concept of creator or one single force, which would predetermine mans nature.

The concept of human nature deems itself irrelevant and incohesive, for there is no one nature type /disposition that can blanket all of humanity and therefore deem its self, natural –part of nature. There is no feature/behavior common to every culture.

Human nature has a religious connotations and proceeds in the social context of those who define it. 

Evolution theory does not contradict this definition; evolution may even be seen as its ally. Although defined by humans, evolution addresses the non-biased transmutation of species on planet earth. Evolution theory and the process of adaptation can contradict what we have deemed ‘natural’ in western society.

The missing link in this discussion is consciousness; I see evolution theory as falling short when it comes to understanding how consciousness came to be and what contributed to its formation.

Theorist and ethnobotanist Terrence McKenna proposes a theory of how the human mind and ‘consciousness’ emerged in his ‘stoned ape’ theory.

‘The presence of psychedelic substances in the diet of early human beings created a number of changes our evolutionary situation. When a person takes a small amount of psilocybin visual acuity improves. They can actually see slightly better, and this means that animals allowing, psilocybin in their food chain would have increased hunting success, which means increased food supply, which means increased reproductive success, which is the name of the game in evolution. It is the organism that manages to propagate itself numerically that is successful. The presence of psilocybin in the diet of early pack-hunting primates caused individual that were ingesting the psilocybin to have increased visual acuity. At slightly higher does of psilocybin there is sexual arousal of the central nervous system. Again, a factor which would increase reproductive success is reinforced’. (Mckenna, hightimes magazine, 2000)

This places the use of psilocybin at the forefront of the evolution discussion in how we have formed cognitive abilities to increase fitness. What we see here, is what you eat alters the parameters of the environments that are selecting you. ?

The discussion on the impact of diet in regards to human evolution and its nature is under adressed in evolutionary theory. These leaps in primate evolution are associated with a transformed diet.  McKenna continues to state:

There was a period when, because of the presence of psilocybin in the diet, the natural tendency to male dominance hierarchies was interrupted. It was in that moment that community values, altruism, language, long-term planning, awareness of cause and effect, all the things that distinguish us were established. Then, as the mushroom became less available due to climatological factors, after 15,000 years of this human-mushroom quasi-symbiosis, the old dominance hierarchy hard-wiring re-asserted itself in the ancient Middle East with the invention of agriculture, the need to become sedentary in order to carry out agriculture, the need to defend surplus, the establishment of kingship.’ (McKenna, Mondo interview, 2000)


McKenna identifies our ancestor’s use of psilocybin and other plants compounds, such as DMT and opiates as critical to our survival and formation. Increased reproduction, acuity for hunting and most poignant of all was the ability to self-reflect. This defining feature of ‘human nature’. The experiences with these compounds gave birth to religion, another factor in what McKenna believes created linguistic thinking.


For McKenna these are the most defining features and most important in the promoting of our species and evolution into Homo sapiens. After this transformation took place, our species would have begun moving out of Africa to populate the rest of the planet.


‘McKenna points out many consciousness catalyzing effects on human development when we realized that there were opiate plants that made us not feel pain, stimulants that enabled us boundless energy, psychoactive that enabled deep states of introspection and changes to sensory acuity, tranquilizing agents to aid sleep and rest and other consciousness catalyzing ‘Terence McKenna (1999) 'Food of the gods: the search for the original tree of knowledge: a radical history of plants, drugs, and human evolution - Medical B



"The 20th century mind is nostalgic for the paradise that once existed on the mushroom-dotted plains of Africa, where the plant-human symbiosis occurred that pulled us out of the animal body and into the tool-using, culture-making, imagination-exploring creature that we are." - McKenna


We could not have walked this path of self-realization without evolution theory. Here we have so uniquely come to be. To reduce the vast complexity of humanity to ‘just another species’, is to deny a crucial element of evolution. What constitutes evolution itself is not defined by theory, as its very nature is to transmute which transcends definition, as does the idea that there is human nature. Rather we should turn our sights to consciousness and the many other variables that assist humanity to transcend the cultural definitions of life and nature. To be all that it is, all that it will be and all that it is not.



Elephant sway

Parade outside, everyone together now accept the swaying elephant.  Dancing and moving to his own weight.  Pulsating for the ache to go away. He sways so elegantly one may think he is funny. Little do they know he is droopy and drained. Only the motion between him, the dirt and the air keep him here on this plane. He doesn't know how to stop this humorous way.

The dust rises from his deep folds causing pigeon feathers to puke. He puts his his trunk to his heart hoping it might awaken . Alas he realizes that he is unaided in a small room, his head touching the roof, the walls not wide enough for his heavenly grey robe. The ground begins to heat. He calls for water, the swelter to be released. A pair of slippers for his dry tattered feet. The sun peels them back red and raw. An invitation for rats to nestle in. His soles now full of rotting hot apple, it moves like seed,  a crumbing stout, the famous ears, all a glam, the children cheer.

His eyes near eclipse, the sway begins to mute. Flies dressed and ready to build a boot. He surrenders the temple, his grand hall, now full of troops. Sore tooth pillage the mighty creature beds his myth. Twists and curls the fetus crowns, a space womb surrounds, the light plasma all warm chords of melon yellow sounds. Elephant sways into a dream. Only the death rocking saves him from the vultures hip hop knocking. The armies suckle on the sap, where now, vermin fill the pit and squatters sit.

Goodbye elephant, your sway stains the dirt where fungus rules in honour of your search.

The Tango

In the dark night when rain strokes the hour of two. Naked alone in my chair facing white screen with black holes of hopeful repair. This hope is a frame around the landscape I paint. For I too live in the shadows of a Hollywood glare.

With the tango I can move with eyes closed and the one who guides me disappears in the movement of the trusted union. Here with the tango all thoughts of past company disappear into the distance of old wars and card games. Here in the sliding pavement my feet follow the subtle shifts of gravity. So exposed in my clumsy clothes I take the challenge of the tango. What a sweet feeling to become velvet water, the brief encounter with the other.

Tango I come to you with childish flippers, my rushing sips, tipping light and cutting rags. I come to you removed from sophistication, a waiting appendage, ready to throw it all into an ambiguous soup of happy fish and sentimental drenching. Tango you understated being so tall and unmoved for love and salted sexual calm.  For once we may be able to mount and spill this framed old blood - With its prolonged nectar and heavy heroism - the engines dried up frisky tale.

Here my tango I may hum with the typhoon and glide like strings with broad breasted piano . A yolkie goose sitting peacefuly on my head.

With the Tango we can all wear our narrative flag....above our attic and in our grasp... the tango wishes only for us to be bare and beating. Here now - on the streets - in our face and on our breath - I don't mind if you're alive or dead. The tango leaves all aside. Nice to meet you, good thanks. Now we are talking.

Jungle Jingle

To blow all the soot out and into the ground, she can take it. udder mother. I want to be touched light until I am only particles, waving through the miracle of the physical soak. Painting to find out what shape the universe really is. The plentiful mountain of physical desire. The climax of clustered tickles and sneezes. Eat dirt and penetrate worms. Like the creature that you are, unbiased, unbounded by ideas, other views of what the prism is. The bushy toed tangled tongue and pounding finger of orchids and alien drums. Dig in old dog and worship the holy sex of sacred synchronicity. No vagina or penis required, for that duo represents the deeper duality, the one that can keep you as moist or hard as the rock inside your mind. Here the muses collect there sonnets and whisper sexless pleasure where the arrow of time cuts trough the stale pillow of yesterday's daring crummy mirage. Watch how you watch another soul, do you see the creature in the key hole of the eyes gold. Or are you dripping like horny dogs waiting in the wings for the hospital calls.

Time to clean the scars and bare them with no shame like a sweet whistle, like a clear broth ready to heal.

To James

This makes me want to scream goosy wailing froth cakes.
Peel the feet sores and show the rotting habits of grandfathers fathers civil obedience.
The universe doesn't mock the open crying river or the dusty floor so why is your house so neat, your manners so cutlery beef. Your breath so minty mercedes meek. The swelling capillaries of hidden scents lie with naked horses. The frowning second of the upper fore head, shinning a light on the frolicking winds of masturbating glory. The sandy swelling pull of gravity grips your clay and takes you out into the middle of your blood. Here you look back and see how far you've come. No need to hitch hike, ticket bust, you are always pulled somewhere. Even the black hole has a name and you are always the named nameless couch where god sits. God and his cheeky goodwill chasing super nova and clustered perfumed rings. The vision is too broad for ant hunts. Keep building your dimension, soon you will see that the breath is a dot where the reed sleeps and blows gently through the high water holes of unblocked bliss.

6.45am airport starbucks, Lima

Without my pride I reach out the inside.
Stripped of all windows. No escape. The light and heat drips from the nose of my inner sense.
Working hard to keep the helmet on and not run my head into the pit of screaming widows.
Atrophy weighs in heavy. I am living memory and time dims on this watch. All is real 'nothing', the foe and friend of 'everything'.

Salted, broad crumbed cotton mouth.
Flocking coffee beans and backpacking bastards. Everyone is an orphan at the airport. slung, tired and waiting for the bus to take them to another frame.
I like the world of transit zombies and stiff necks. Crouched over there high screens and telepathic palms. Here we require a passport and metal checks to make sure we don't bomb an island of investment bankers and secretary zoos.
How many times can you imagine the plane to crash, burn, drown, As many times as you imagine the world to collapse into a slurppy callipso.
Holding on to death, like obese angels and crafty cheese makers. Elegantly spread over smiles, thick of dread. Clenching onto soft hopes and giant money bar dreams. The moment is anticipated, manifested, quilted , it comes and you are in a glare, fuzzed out over what the moment felt like before sunrise. now the moment has passed and did you get your cup full of sugar cane and deers, lying flat on belly potato sacks you re count the moments like lost bank accounts. Teary frog on turtle balls back. nature flooding in with drying lands, ice caped pain , and pleasure thick shakes.
When the center tree calls upon the wicked clock the fight for wrinkles will descend onto glossy croissants and satisfy the toilet cleaners wilted branch, where realities are flushed, bleached and feathered.