|Birth Dream by Johfra|
I hid in triumphant bedrooms of young fear and coarse humor, watching my love’s eager tongue, to lick night’s end with a tearful silent dimming of conscience and the earth’s bounteous tune of motion, she stopped and looked at the drug-stung gang of princely wealth.
|The Mahant Offers Child Birth Medicine to Elokeshi by Unknown|
They passed around a newly synthesized batch of 2C-I, a wrongly attributed artificial form of mescaline, and into the innocent palm of my blue-pill eating love. She sang in the company of the greedy minds that drank Smiles in a worshipful torrent of a sleep-lust rush, yet I knocked the beady teardrop-shaped tablets from her hand and mind in an instant of tough self-worth.
|A Portrait of Frankie Howerd by StuartHampton|
I drew her character near, and as dawn waded in the shore-sent horizon, I pointed outward, to an island off the lakebed shore, where the upstairs cottage-lights roamed out onto the moonlit waters, faintly giving way to the sun’s scintillating swarm of heat and meaning. We walked, silent as the ether out onto shore, and for the first time, I saw her swim.
|Shore Landscape by Fanny Churberg|
I witnessed her smooth body glean the uncanny movements of a dolphin’s glowing visage as her inward celebration of life met with my dusty ruminations on the natural way, the right road home, without minding the needful eyes of that ghastly rush that now lay strewn over the colonial walls of a midsummer cottage, alone in the wilderness of one natural hallucination.
|Painting of Sohni Mahiwal by Unknown|
The samsaric fish swam with the mermaid intelligence of true human pride, and I saw her, she knew as I, that the metaphysical dome of the potent seed can dry out the natural host of our musing otherness already freed by the practice of our unique and artful sanity.
"with true knowledge of her leaving,
the door closes behind you twice,
in absolute Love,
a vacuous throat
shaped by the corridors walked
and now stared through
sitting in the awesome lesson of the moment’s own home,
a dream over 10 years,
that this cave is positioned to open towards a passage,
one’s only point of departure
and perceptual environment is no more or less than passage,
whether through the mixed celebration
of alcohol and music
in Iquitos jungle vibrancy
on the neon drug night
of America’s wandering life"
excerpt from "Blakean Consciousness on a Rainy Day"