Theme
3:10pm April 23, 2014

Something about 4D

To stand within tornado
falling in love with the sun
by breath and upon
angels wings
This is the place
when mountains move
this is where
we may test our faith
to wrestle with waning soul
that glides into moonlit future
looking within tempered glass
searching for one’s own face
And how to know if these
are not dominoes
holding together the red sea
do we search out wisdom
of others mistakes
or let the child with a lifetime
burial beneath mankind
say unto the sea “part”
This is the place when
paths are made
This is when
fear dies to the sword of trust
Will we then wander encircling
year after year after year
enslaved to time
or will the fruit of the garden
call to us with heavenly scented love
This is where
we’ve met before
This is when
we become aware
Take my hand
ethereal as my soul
and see with the eyes of light
this is only another dream
in the land of lost illusions
In which we chose to each
play our parts
all this will pass away
and what’s eternal remains.

2:43pm April 23, 2014

I don’t need to dwell much
on the [times past]
staring at me one-laned
limping highway blinded.
Sacrosanct to headlights.
No, rather I’d like to kick
this pebble- only I won’t
call it pebble or stone
I will call it “idea” and will see
how it leaves moss free
prints in the dirt. Impressing
form in a folly of my shoe dragging
a swirl of dreams. Envisioning
them as a latter that goes nowhere
but still paints the sky in
bountiful blossoms gathered
in harvested herbal lore.
Even if the notion of rain or wind
or even the sunlight should
suggest that I acted upon
[In which] I am here to say,
*they* had nothing more to say.
{I use my hands, in doing}
Not by creed or fashion nor by
esteem. Not for passion or love.
Neither for what was, may or
the declared to be.
In everything I do, I do for me.

10:36am April 23, 2014

Observing blank canvas
considering only using
black and white.
For when rain falls
they still bleed true.

10:02am April 23, 2014
8:09am April 23, 2014

I have not been on here, and I hope nobody here takes it personal that I have not been “liking” or even reading many post lately. I have been going through some major personal transformations. At a bit a crushing point. All my illusions, dreams, ideas, thoughts… All just seem to vanish, backfire…
This realization has been harsh on my delusional “character self”
I have no idea where this will leave me, as I am still here… Pretending, acting out my part… I just don’t believe in anything anymore. And I realize that this being I thought I was- is nothing.
People have talked about this like it’s some great experience.
I wonder what is so great about knowing you are nothing but an observer stuck in limitation to the very story you made up?

3:46pm April 21, 2014

The Sea wants me to drink
and I say “This is not freedom,
this is not liberation.”
The Birds sing from branches
of history, and I say to them
“This is not freedom, this is
not liberation.”
When I see my name, and
these hands…I simply say
“This is not freedom, this
is not liberation.”
Until I see nothing, believe nothing
Until I follow nothing, Then…
and only then will I forget the words
“This is freedom, this is liberation.”

10:28am April 20, 2014
1:15pm April 18, 2014
6:31am April 18, 2014
Envisage ways she defines
ethology of inner
complexion

Devouring malevolent
leading to crucifixion
offending not with slavery
or deception

Elusive, sphinx like
circling this conception

Mesmerizing-she dances
her billet-doux 
living word

What language is this?

never seen - never heard!

Feathery wine
whispering mystery
pearly platinum
omniscience over history

Beyond the den - the dead
a consuming fire upon
her head

She illuminates as she waits
within golden wheat
Meditates upon 
weeping willows
this is her silent feat.

She is mother-midwife
to the birth
She is child born first
of the earth

Made alive in the
odyssey of truth
Fabely misunderstood
in the pages of youth

~Shamanfox

Envisage ways she defines
ethology of inner
complexion

Devouring malevolent
leading to crucifixion
offending not with slavery
or deception

Elusive, sphinx like
circling this conception

Mesmerizing-she dances
her billet-doux
living word

What language is this?

never seen - never heard!

Feathery wine
whispering mystery
pearly platinum
omniscience over history

Beyond the den - the dead
a consuming fire upon
her head

She illuminates as she waits
within golden wheat
Meditates upon
weeping willows
this is her silent feat.

She is mother-midwife
to the birth
She is child born first
of the earth

Made alive in the
odyssey of truth
Fabely misunderstood
in the pages of youth

~Shamanfox

5:02am April 18, 2014

I am the Dream and the Dreamer
inventing myself in everything…
A gatherer, of self-discussion
from my lips there to my ears here.
A believer playing a game.
Perhaps, now I will trash some old
shit-and make something new.
Something free from baggage
(Of all these nice labels- still
the same to an non objective observer)
Somewhere in between a sleeping
costume, and that in me- I focus on
my movements. Thoughts flowing
in, and out as oceanic waves.
Ahhh! Grab one set it down.
Yes! Yes… This is something new.