I looked around me for miles and miles in every direction, and all I saw was a few scattered lights in the distance, the bright pregnant moon and stars. Then Yolee got up from sitting indian style on the plains grass and I saw him rise like a blossom into my line of vision. With his wild beard and his finely trimmed and moussed hair that reflected the moonlight in its sheen, he appeared to be an epic figure of some sort and indeed it was epic in my mind that we had reached this place, past Linkly borders by 3 in the morning to witness unobstructed the return of the great poet spirit Double Woman to the blank canvas that was our admittedly primitive uncrafted planet. I remember Yolee bursting into my small shack days ago, his eyes wide, sweat dripping from his brow. I laughed, "Did you run all the way here, man? What gives?" He was silent at first and he handed me the paper, allowed me to read a few details then said, "Isn't it great, finally.. some culture!" And we had made it all the way here, and now all there was to do was wait. I feared the worst as the hours passed, we were told when the ring of feathers had been completed and the full moon passed over the does in spring the poet would appear naked in the sky, immense in size. She would then bend down and take us up on her surfboard of wind and guide us through the cosmos, giving us the secrets of life and death, and making up new inside jokes for us to slowly spread among our friends and comrades. It was three thirty now, and there was no sign of her, we had begun to lay daintily in the grass like lovers and look into the stars trying to pick out constellations and shapes. I pointed and said, "Thats pisces, and thats the little dipper!" Yolee remarked, "These stars against the wisest sky are usually the most satisfying thing for me, but now their astral hum only whets my appetite for Double Woman's brilliant and emmanent return." I love it when he talks like that so I smiled and we waited a bit more. I wanted to pee but the rain started to come down. We were slowly getting soaked and we huddled together for warmth, the sky was so thick with clouds, I wanted to call it off and leave, but Yolee was adamant. He said, "Adam, there are some things that we just have to do." So we layed there and mud got in our hair, and on our clothes, we were breathing together. It was dreamy, but the rain trudged on. I thought about my family far away, and all the people of the world, then I relaxed as much as possible in Yolee's strong arms. Everything was pointless, all false purpose and endless striving, I wanted to give it all up and die. So many times it had come down to this. I looked at Yolee once more, and said, "This is enough!" Just then the rain began to clear up, I decided to give it another try, and as the clouds blew away a woman's face did appear in the sky. A thousand businessmen cringed in anticipation. She reminded me a little bit of Miss Piggie, but far more beautiful, and more fair. She looked at us kindly and the surfboard came down. Flames of cool delight burst through the land and over us were birds now, and they all spoke english they were screaming the words, "Newt dialation!" I uncovered then the stone underneath my head I was using as a pillow, under it the water seemed to swirl in a miasma of whirlpool black holeness, there was myself, little twigs that could have been trees, a frog, and Yolee even began to slip back into it, the birds changed their call. "C'mon in, guys the water is fine, if its on your mind, give it time, give it time!" So I let go and began to flow, "So this is love?" I wondered. The woman in the sky seemed even bigger now, but now less discernable as a woman, and less discernable as sky. I wasn't even looking anymore the waves of the waters overwhelmed my vision but I could feel it all there still an undeniable warmth and beauty, beyond all reason and thinking! Suddenly I felt a hand reach for mine. It was Yolee, and he had the surfboard. He pulled me aboard and we rode smoothly by shifting our weight, like riding a bike, like rolling down a hill. Geese live life in this way, their broad wings stir up the ether for new flocks, leaving an invisible mark upon all of eternity, a foothold for their fathers and mothers to have vague preminitions of. Suddenly I reached into my pocket, I remembered I had brought a few sunflower seeds in case we got hungry. I was in the moment, so I flung them out into the bright and blank liquidy expanse. We both heard rumbles, from deep within the vortex. "So... ... .." I realized I had nothing to say, and held on tight to the board, I wondered if I should let go, so many people had told me about letting go, even Yolee, he claimed it was best to let go, but I realized I had just let go of the seeds, in which case I needed to hold on in order to let go of the let-go. Double woman, with eyes of jade was right behind me. I tapped Yolee on the back and he turned around and was pleasantly suprised. "Hey, how is it going?" She said, in a calm voice. I shrugged while Yolee, fumbled for words. "Yeah," she replied. This wasn't really going anywhere. "I like your eyes." Said Yolee finally. "Thanks! I like your hair, and outfit." "We are here to inquire into the deeper meanings of life, the algorithm or lack thereof to which all existence falls in capacity to, we wish to breathe water and spread love and goodwill among our people, we want better art for our planet, and we can trade you sunflower seeds." I said, then shortly after I blacked out. I came to in Knowles Apothecary, that place had been there for three years but I never entered it, the smell was familiar somehow, bringing whiffs back from my days in Silmaria, throwing pizzas. I had no memory of anything except my normal life, the various medicines and strange clerkish actions of the staff working there was a bit offsetting. I walked out the door onto the street, and it was a bright, beautiful day. A gentle wind blew as the cars passed on the street, I felt lucky to be alive, like deep inside of me something had been set right. So I took to the trash in the street, whenever I saw a bottle or random peice of debris, I deposited it into my bag, oh canada, your misaligned holidays, your freaking dads. When my bag was full enough I took it home, and settled down for one more rest. I used to take eat so many magic mushrooms and watch the walls breathe and open windows, spilling out into the unknown like a born wizard. Its always, the subtle remarks, and cute country arts that pull us together and through, weaving two sides together like when I used to dream of being a rock star on stage. I was wandering then and I wander now, but I fast and trip out on flashbacks just to get back to Yolee, to see, the woman dancing as the snow, all of us together, chewing grass and sometimes on our knees. Giving to the day which would bend back and down the blessings would roll. Cybele's sweet smile and all kinds of other faces, all kinds and all places, but that tired feeling in the morning still persisted, and it was that feeling I knew would be the death of me. But still, out in the woods foraging story, finding spiders in old teepees and roving, grooving, whatever. It was the only life I could live, that suited my insanity, the thoughts were simpathetic, and even there were boundaries. But who can worry and perhaps this is the cure, the backseat with those I love and who hold on like I did that mystic surfboard after letting the chips fall like leaves against cool soil, is there a message becoming apparent now? It didn't even matter. I had a feeling my enemy was around then, as we watched the rabbit scurry between fences, but also that my enemy was my closest friend, that things could so easily fall in either way. And I grokked Bob Marley at that time, and smiled and sang along with the group as we did our renditions of New Day Rising and I would try and fit my room into the wails. Oh, it was sweet, it was careless, just like our neighbors, and they were invited but never arrived, like me preferring the back stage. And yet even among these people, such deep valleys and higher peaks, was it just one bad thought that passed it along? It didn't even matter anymore, our imperfections are the sudden dips that create waterfalls, our tragedies are the springs that bring water. Yeah. But I woke up and the door was cracked, I smoked the last of my weed and wrote two poems, it wasn't saying much, but I could imagine it giving high caliber folk something to think about. Why did my friends let me stay here? The spirits are harmonious, all is right with the world. These are real things I speak of now. Double woman, the gypsy who brings me beautiful things in the street, and leaves them so as to retain an air of mystery. We've had this relationship going for several years, but we don't want to touch eachother too much, after all she was raised in a christian home, which I always found funny. But I found maybe that rabbit was just calling to us, giving us a sign that he had something to say, to hop through my front door, and leave quiet, graceful, meditating on the almost aways ending moment, that light burning away like sticks of incense. Animals, leave so much little mark down, yet even our talk and houses bring around the same thing, just more of an action that laid out. Chaos everywhere, pushing off lines and shutting doors, rolling matchsticks to a low whistling pace, and still just sailing, flying out on intervals of time. A rabbit that sees the cut ins on the film. That rabbit I 'knew' crossed my mind for days. Rustles leaves stuck in her hair from time out, joking. But a cosmic joke springs so much further out, like our triangular love circles. What is under the sea? It was just something that happened. Are these just the fruitions of our sighs or what? Yolee! We came back in the day to the same spot, the grass was not yet green, it was open and I picked a few berries, just because I wanted to have that experience, Brahman soaking through the woodworks. But all this just makes me wonder where that old book, Fractal Chaos is. Some people shout when they speak, I am quiet I am a lark. I had submitted to the wills of the universe, who spoke in the language of being. Black night, and old apple pie, scattered across the land, soap in hand and a dry feel coming in my bones, in my very heart a dim fire burns, that the winds blow into. I became a woman and lost myself to novelty and desire, only to realize desire and action are one, and we climb this mountain only to come back down again. Many people, passed me in life, on in particular the late Albert Einstein, who spoke under the guise of farmer with a mushroom hat. The soma, and the grace of life. Why so much talk of the Soma, it holds little in sound, but resonates somewhere in my heart, though it is just a name it was just a way of being raised. All of us tandem forces, in a universal turned in on itself, reflecting its own multiplicity through a space that is inconceivable yet motioned to. What? Ballerina's tiptoe across these words and bring life through the desk that holds the laptop. My breast, warm with the love that pours into each word. There is no need for correction, until there is a mistake. LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE Walking around more, no story ever really forming, more of a list, that is life, for me, big events are not neccesary, as long as in the end, we reach the destination, ecstasy. And we always reach ecstasy, because we are ecstatic, and have never really left ecstasy. What a great thought, my mind is dripping with fruit and apples. Ecstatically. The free songs of travelling bards who don't care about life or death, or 'expense', unhinged souls, they rest here for a bit them disperse into lands of dream. Flipping guitar players, around the corner, the school teachers quarter mile lap. Music is spilling out now, like ecstasy is fills my heart, it moves this boat along on the sea of awareness into eternity. But now I'm talking like a meditator, and I am only a writer, I sway for the words and stories that come to me from the world, and questions that seed in mind. The goodness here expands and is ever giving, the creation of thoughts, and from thoughts all kinds of things. Our entire life, just a thought long ago. I want to sing it but it just is written, indian music playing and a different look to things from smoking hash and drinking mint tea. Why paint this picture, this pleasure that is like the pie charts of school. This holiness, even but what is that? All things, ringing in one ear and on the other side falling out as whispers to my uh lover. There was no questioning, there was just the desert, and culture, we finally realized, could go suck cactus spikes. Yonato! WHO! Read these words soaked in pure essence and fall into union like a thousand before, it is only a matter of time, it is a thing like gravity, or an uncle who will agree. Buddha and Jesus, reaching their arms out, random despicable people, pointing their eyes to the corners of rooms. Falling silent like cigarette butts whiffed out. "This is a smooth jazz world, baby, and its always been that way." Said Yolee reminding me that he was still there. The implications of his statement scared me, because smooth jazz was so saccharine, sometimes it got to be too much. This sutra of unknowable wisdom that grows in word and world, and is a flower to eat, is nothing, a worthless daffodil by the road side. And could proverbs be the repitition of order? Walking into convenience stores and throwing out receipts, kept us going until the rains came again, our tent was the cozy castle of cascading joy, the weather our moby dick. Wet stones like eggs, Yolee pretending to eat wood, and talking about the time he almost died canoing down the potomac. He talked about tapping into your inner conscious will and be at one with the world, as you are always, then add intuitive pressure and flow, whisk dizzy spinning. Well, he just had walked twenty miles between two towns and I had no reason to misunderstand him, though I chuckled at his motion. I stay in one place, it was a time when that kind of thing was fashionable. And fashion meant something. That is what they made, and you could feel it in your stomach walking. A dead deer's carcass, headless, a bottle of water appearing on the riverside, what did it all mean? Oracle, saids the sun is high now, and go outside, you will see the laughter of squints, you will know inner peace. rattling like sparks in a tin can making a mean thing being dominated by the frost a jack Let us play the name the things around you game. A record spinning, four walls, a poster of fish, drawings, on the floor is a carpet, many articles of clothing, a stereo, assorted books. These are ways of life, I'm off to get drunk, so theres something to say, isn't that a cliche? Sleeping on the floor seems so right sometimes, its hard to explain. laying. I realize, I haven't gone outside, and this glumness over my eyes is kind of a jungle in itself. Peats balls and fragolee, give me cold summer anytime before you kill my cows. But one wonders, how the cows feel about this, or where the cows come from? Do they represent something in me? Are they totally different. Sometimes I just feel confused and alone in the world, I am very vulnerable, all the time, because I have a sensitive mindstate, called schizophrenia, its kind of interesting listening to the voices and wild ideas that come into my head and the places they take me to, the life lessons I learn and shit, theres two kinds of voices. There are the spirits on the physical plane, like people and music, drifting into the birds and animals who sing and speak on higher levels with images and sounds that are echoed in the physical. Each letter that goes down is another vibration to send it all into motion, each breath is a fuse holding all the energies of the universe. But altering your mind is the greatest virtue that may behold one, is death is the freeest meditation. Swinging on a swing singing for sweet unholy matrimony, the lesbians running under lights. God? what? sounds. Yolee, was no longer around, but giving freely of himself, everywhere he is abundant, being funny all crazy, rarely saying anything, his phrases all memorized from long ago. Like a bassist. I want to have his babies, but the night is too short, and during the day, I'm busy. It was here that Joshu was finally enlightened for real. The little green men in the video game, had lost the war, setting the remote back upon the table, there was simply a discontinuance. I cry, the pain of many years of this strange ignorant spell rest upon shoulders in the wind. We never see eachother anymore, so many change of plans, baskets never woven, sitting in some room in some dream thats going away, out of here. My pockets, full of the anguish of this society, like a funny bone, ringing, playing out, centuries. Dancing or flailing, whatever, a bunch of us in limelight. Can you break down here? We jade eyed, total sun streaked out, 80s babes coming into the field now. We were just looking for a place to smoke. Diane passed Laura a cigarette, then they packed it into their plastic bottle bong and the rest isn't writable. So I guess I should explain this book, and why its written in japanese and thus hard to understand. The world is hard to understand. Sympathize, lose, become the black suit fading away backwards on the carousel beach. I realized I hadn't even gone outside yet. My parents left, I only wanted a peaceful venue, but this was burning hot in warm waters, this infernal jacuzzi! Italy! Calling, calling wildly, books, ways. Or the one like a mushroom with a long stem, thats straight so I wanted to take a picture of it, I never see them like that anymore, but this coming spring who knows? Wandering in strange clothes, making the river sows, what do these people do when I'm not around, I tried to figure it out, sitting still, avoiding thoughts, watching the walls. I almost forget when the posters began to loosen up. But what can I say, just pretend I'm not here, theres no words here, nothing to see, move on! Balmy storm, disco kids, move on. and this is how fucked up life got in Tokyo; HOW FUCKED UP LIFE GOT IN TOKYO odr uohden? ! AIdhuh plaurn xdosi Me and everyone I knew had become deer. moving was our talk zen.. shit it was wanti, pure wantism, sitting meditation, whatever, walk around, drinking water and iced tea, fall down blacked out, blacket out, blacked out, bring a blanket.. I hardly know you, I Hardly Know You! Yeah, this was free love, and sitting under the trees, I felt my gown blow in the wind, it was burnt with many cigarette butts, ones that weren't mine, that I had found the old days, in baby blue. I'm trying not to breathe too much, that was the lasts of me. Not even a friend. Woods, legless, so large nights, skinny arms, a head full of ambition. It works out. "Um!" Yolee jumps back, he's about to make a point. Thinking quickly, the mule bursts forth! Still, "Did you get it? All of the phallic references were mentioned only as acknowledgement and in respect for the male form," He flexed his strong arms. If we had a soccer ball between us I still could have destroyed him though, because I had dexterity and agility on my side. It was pointless, in my heart there was a deep hatred burning for all things, yet around it multicoloured birds sang lovely songs and swept my soul into such a wonderful paradise, and the two balanced for a while, and always do, a heart and blood thing. Even that hatred bursts away into more love and simultaneously all time swells, and takes one more breathe, the infinite log is set once more upon the pond of decision making and floats off. Joy Groovers. Chief. Its apparent that this is what needs to be done. These strange ties are loose, the hill tops, hark. I'm the one that writes, I'm the one that tells the stories. niice But back here theres this endless great work, that is love itself. Kids are our teachers. My soul which is brahman, bows to yours, which is brahman. Meanwhile, in Tokyo a young girl lamented. Her boyfriend had broken up with her two weeks before but her heart still ached. When it became to much she would look out of her apartment window into the clouds and sky, like tonight.
