Friday, October 31, 2008


My purple crayon is my intelligence
the hand that guides, my wisdom, and
In my brainpan lies the world
unfurled & unrestrained by boxes of philosophy
it lies beyond the fictions of man
unto it's own rules
as a constellation of synapses
unfolding king cepheus

Sight, touch, hearing, knowing
these be but a smell of flower
that grows under a rock overhang of time
which, the rock, uncaring loves neither you nor me
until that day Jesus comes to bless it
yet the flower will grow all the same in indifference
having sprung from the same well
it's role entwined with the universe
refuting destiny by imparting free will
to truth itself
in that
it asserts one aspect of all knowledge
in the same note and key
to play along in melody of the universe
for the senses are not greedy
they just want to keep it real
like the best rapper out there

what is this thing remembering the unlearned
but trying to smell a flower that has long since
gone to seed on a mountain top 33 years gone by
there is no tapping the nOosphere
in an electric universe...
only waves and currents
circuits and maybe dynamos
that pie the sky with the likes of Leo and Cassiopeia

so try not to turn lead into gold
but observe the universe
and transmute ignorance into fine clothes
therein lies the Diamond Mind

For the space dock has been blown up by a quantum torpedo

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