Journal of a Spaced-Out Brain -poetry-

Time to Crack the Nut

1:17 am
So far there's been nothing but BS come from these writings, but no pressure, eh? I'm beginning to understand the point at which an old person get a little tired of life.... not earning for death tired but just lay down and sleep and sleep and sleep kinda tired. Sleep to excape the day long labor of breathing.... sleep to block out the constant diabetic pain in the legs, feet, and finger tips... sleep for peace and quiet. What do I say in my sleep? I've been told I'm quite a sleep talker. Who do I call out for? Do I call for my Mother whose heart I broke so many time when she was alive? Do I still argue with my Father although he died inj my driveway of heart failure? Do I dream of my birth mother who they say abandoned my sister and myself when we were babies? Do I still seek out my birth father who found he had no use for children without a mother? I'm glad I don't remember... Let me remember those dreams I had in the Phillipines with the first woman I ever slept with and, even though she was bought and paid for, I still cried when leaving her on the pier. Let me remember the beautiful strawberry blonde who I shared with her husband, until my jealousy of him blinded my love of her and having been so torn I faded into the back ground. Let me remember my perfect match found just weeks after getting married. Let me remember all those beautiful female family members I could've had, had I known I was adopted... damn!

3:25 am
I like oriental poetry. it makes me feel like I can say the most important things and everyone will read and understand immediately. I taste popcorn aftertaste, so dry... I need a drink... all I have is cold coffee... but that will do. Ahhh! Not as cold as I thought it would be, thank goodness. Sometimes there's a light that seems to shine down from inside my skull and behind my eyes, yet I can see it in my normal vision. Am I insane or am I blocking out, ignoring a gift, something special from God? Another question to ponder... why do some people come up with questions while others seem to have the answers? Guess which type I am. I guess it's hard to have an answer if no one asks the question, so maybe I'm both. I hear my Velvet working on her hobbies in the next room. I love her so much. if she were the rain, I'd dance in it... if she were a chicken I'd treasure her eggs, if she were a raisin I'd marvel at each and every beautiful wrinkle.

kilo anderson soft ring music kind peace glad happy love shadow mouth open receive spelling thoughts drift like a bird flying in calm water sky. our father, you are king, a father, and daddy... forgive my ignorance and misguided spirituality for I know nothing, I don't want to know anything. I just want to live. I cannot live without your life giving waters. without you I wither away into the sand from where I came. I am dirt, sand, mineral with no vegetable. and yet you love me for what I am not... you love me for that part of me that is really you. do I live just to be your accomplishment? Does the fact I exist for now bring praise to you? I would rather be your puppet than to disappoint you in any way. If the fruit is eaten by the worms, do the worms sing your praises? I go higher into the sky but also deeper into space and farther away from home. I have fantasies of playing beautiful music but I'm ashamed of the sour notes along the way. I pray to feel spirit flow through me like the waterfall creating rainbows in it's mist. A roadside flower that trembles in the turbulence of passing vehicles. a mountain that both grows under the pressure of contracting plates and shrinks from erosion of the rain and gravity.

dripping drops of viscous liquid clear refraction of light waves falling toward massive objects unknown. no use to worry for your fate is in the hands of nothing. random chance may decide but you can dream and maybe your dreams will be read and fate will decide to allow that joining with liquids of your same kind, or better yet, liquids that are different yet exciting, and even is your life last only moments maybe the combustion will create such a sight , with ripples that become tsunami throughout the ages and as such you will live in memory forever. memory may not appeal to you. if you're not remembered does that mean you never existed. what of the billions of those that have live yet no memory lives, they've allowed those who are living to be alive, if not directly, then in some manner either assisted the bloodline or removed bloodlines so that others may proceed to this point. so that every living and non living mass has worth. a grain of sand may one day be that catalyst for a myriad of universes.. or exists as their remains.

Forgiven by the great I am
for asking many questions, I'm
forced by a lack of answers to
forget about this dialog.

She is a sweetie and I'm thankful to her. She allows mw to dwell in this world of make believe while she deals with the residue of every day life. how can I ever repay her for that gift she gives so freely. If she reads this will she understand the depth of my love for her? Do I understand it? If the time ever came that it was her life or mine I pray that she be spared and I may have the honor giving myself in her stead.

Hours of showers are eating my bottom lips hahahaha... bleak is the hour before 6 pm in December of any year... it overs above one's head like a crown of thorns just before being pressed into place... eyes, eyes, eyes everywhere... staring holes through my body as if lasers focused on the evil within. Why do they vex me so? Others seem so secure and happy in their place but I suspect either some hidden knowledge or lack there of in maintaining such an environment. such a good time to practice my touch typing skills/gives me the ti,me tothing of what to say while nort thinking of what i am saying. and so speaking of posture... itls itl; it's good to relaz relazxs relax with hy typing. a r great deal is being made of politics lately and i thinlk itls u it's great because finally pr people are choosing side and mismust therefore ez explaine why the they feel like they do. in aharblr harbor there are many exotic br birdsongs, lonely songs that call for your heart

1:43 pm
My head is swirling from the battle between old age tired, coffee coursing through my caffien resistant veins, and globular clusters of an American breakfast.