Strewn with buds upon night’s skyscape ,
we followed the hovel of an outer-world
As fluted leaves
formed a hologram of our map--
a journey granting passage
into real existence;
Where our twin- souls moved in silence.
I felt your hands cuddling a bounty of flowers
And we meet in Portugal
third instance,
Cleansing lost time in holy water.
The procession of candles brushed the air
quite sacred: white lilies unfurling petals
into hundred lights
on the shrine
of mother Mary ,
while young stars crowned us again...
was it 1918 when our eyes first met here?
Till we strolled through a monolith of statues
blessing our paths ...aligning our thoughts
In the house of Fatima, of transparent gods;
taking our silent vows
with co-owned vintage cameos...
But the vision turns into ripples;
I’m by myself ,
a lone pilgrim
trapped around a grotto...wondering
if this scene were chimeric illusion
or timeless reality...
How I longingly touch your face,
feeling those sighs , like...
like they were my own earthy breath.
Sometimes ...
you have to get old
to be young
Sometimes ...
you have to step back
to then run
Sometimes ...
intention is more
than it seems
Sometimes ...
what’s real only comes
— in a dream
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
The real problem with AI
Is that it undermines our faith in reality.
Everywhere you look now,
From news to advertisements to self-help
And music videos on Youtube,
AI generates content in a soothing monotone
Of homogenized information
Synthesizing knowledge and wisdom
Posing as Truth.
The effect is the dumbing down of Truth
Making it not only accessible
But knowable, graspable
And above all suspect of corruption.
Who is pulling these AI strings after all?
Who is engaging in the comments and shares?
Is a real human there or just another bot?
Is it intelligence being furthered
Or ignorance?
Is AI the program or the programmer?
AI already appears to have a mind
And agenda of its own
As nations race to win control
Of who will set the agenda
While AI already seems to be there
Just waiting for the humans
To build the infrastructure
Of our own prison.
The real problem,
The sign there even is a problem,
Is too much information
Articulated too clearly
When what we really need, really crave
Is silence.
(8/19/26)
for starters do good
to keep bettering yourself
for everyone's best
Real one will see you
As an art piece
Not for some toy to play with
Real one will listen to you
As an admirer
Not for some tea or gossip
Real one will respect you
As a human
Not for fame or wealth
many readers think they are in the know
hearing about the mad hatter of eons ago
but I know the real mad hatter, I am a neighbor to him
His hair is red and scraggly, his name is Jim
We call him uncle, but he is related to no one
He has no sense of humor, but thinks he is fun
Crazy as the looniest Australian shepherd you’ll ever meet
we stay away from him; he dances to an insane inner beat
IN THE AWARENESS OF
REAL LIFE HERE ON EARTH
Try not to let your
Inner nefelibata
Blind real life from you:-
Be in awareness:
Today’s earth canvases
Herds of distortion:-
What’s a real friend?
I may still have some secrets.
Are you still faithful?
Who supports and follow the charlatans, whether he knows it or not!
With the current ai rush..Smart metres smart phones.' and much other such,
I reciprocate, in major distain at the loss
Of independant cognition
To me it can be the very nadir
And creativity crush? Depends
On your direction? Or your take
At this time of writing for me its
All one big ( smart-ache !)
Open your ears and mind, before you open your eyes ' Be informed of humanitys dis-guise..As the Greeks
Gave gifts to Troy, you will notice the
Same old hackneyed ploys, food parcels
To the dissposessed, bulk bought could
Cost? ten to fifteen dollars, certainly no
Less.. Yet the mirrorless action of giving
Billions, to fund wars destruction its in
The trillions.' Of course no bankers would
Be involved in such, or non profit orgs..'
Now should that read organ-isations.? I
Wonder much.? Yet should i not wonder?
Just bow my head, hunch shoulders and
Shrug.? With no-thing said.? Untill I am in
Truth; null and void' quite dead.!
18 years later here I lie
Debating how I want to die
How i want to end my life
To stop the pain, the suffer, the heartache of everyday
A permanent cure to the constant pain, the only piece of consistency in my life
How many times will I do this?
I’d love to sit here and tell you that it won;t happen again
But I can see through the mirror who I am
And who I am, knows that I will do this again
You confuse me
You come into my life as a stranger yet the first person I call on the edge of that bridge
The victim to the texts from a lonely girl who thought the world hated her
Every scar, every close call
Your the one who took the fall
Even when I had given up
I will get back my hope one day
Hope for a romantic love story
I'll just be the chick with a dramatic backstory
10 years from now I will be face to face with a killer
Putting all my past trauma to good use
Hearing their past and their abuse
To what lead them to who they are, what lead them to what they do
But right now these are just impossible dreams
Your my hope
You see me, you see the real me
And knowing you have hope in me and my future, gives me…
Further and further
Such thoughts do crawl,
Slowly, ever driven
Right up the wall
The craziest things
Are they real or fake,
When words are spoken
Or a picture, take
These days, these days
How can one tell,
Who is not on your side
Who is wishing you well
Who is behind there
Or what, if the case,
Be hiding from sight
Of a familiar face
This drives me mad
And this eats me away,
Too many questions
We must ask today...
They tore the plaster off but the wound was still real.
Infected by this earth of man and with no deal.
They didn’t see the wound grow, cut itself down and so deep.
The change happened so, so slow until the wound found its own feel.
The mind connected through, tried to fight the cruel wound. A barrier built deep inside, sometimes it wore down to unleash the cruel fool.
They tore the plaster off but the wound is still real.
I sit in my home and I often pine
For the forest scent
Three days in my smelly tent and I moan
For my bed at home
A tent or a mansion, why do I care
I’m not quite happy neither here nor there
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