this is the last time. i have fallen for a number of implausible schemes in my lifeline. the events of a future rooted in an adverse past beyond imagination’s caress. when sometimes all we have left is our imagination. integration into our new world to create a foundation for understanding ideas, and building satisfactory concepts all at once. a killer of a different grade and skill. we all resist the stasis that draws us inexorably toward the grave. to harshly rebuke the force of culture and generations of creative juices. we are doomed, but only insofar as to reject our time here. don’t reject the precious essence to control your own waves, and never underestimate your effect on this plane as well. this stellar tunnel, funnel if you will, but beyond this lies the zone of pure twilight. where …
out of Context;
‘My skills nurture a merry middle ground that takes miles to get to, if you walk there, but would be easily passed into through the soul. The pondering lust for answers floats to the surface where ideas manifest, and questions begin the spiralling perilous spin.’
the breakdown was mutual… the manacles set upon the wrists… the diseased mind permeates the foul and sanctified heat of resistance… the stink of awareness from the outside world revealing the madness within this maelstrom… the dripping and gooey internal structure fairly teeters with the substance falling from the ceiling… you raise your eyes to notice that stalagmites extend downward toward you, and this pit seems far too small… to express your way out of a paper bag is nothing so intense as performing your way out of a jagged hole inside your heart… this is where things have been taking place of late… the mind becomes far too tight and constraining upon itself to be of any real use… the music is alive, though, and there are few who would wish to see it… this other necessary entity …
“We are so much the victims of abstraction that with the Earth in flames we can barely rouse ourselves to wander across the room and look at the thermostat”
~Terence McKenna; american author, psychonaut and philosopher.
out of Context;
‘We all have a part to play with a role to fill, but we do not need to be so reluctant with our senses. They always fill the spaces before and after us, and our awareness extends beyond anything referred to as time or space, drifting though stabilizing the greater whole of the essential universe. Screaming through the darkness of dust…’
the beginning in the words of the cannibal consumed by his own conflicting wishes and tastes only to become the greatest culinary wizard the world will never know. here is his introduction to us.
slow days at the factory, and futile thoughts of the future for a future’s sake…
seems to me just phases through the waves, and I’m the one taking their time…
no paint nor print, or posture low in synchronicity with any other, just written scrawl…
thoughts and prose of madness, one and all, and manifestos without balls…
where we all seem to stall with forethought, and I can’t take the apathy any more…
you may feel small, but where is your thirst for change of mind…
rise and stand tall where the shadow falls below you as you stride into the night, fearless…
please me more than a sense of rhythm, a thing that lends itself over to anything, and still makes depth appear where none might have been visible before… the shallow now does not seem hollow, and rational senses give way to following the music… whether classical or rock-inspired, the muse is never far from the thoughts of all who really appreciate the gift that music can bring… this thing that moves the soul to and beyond the gathered status quotations… a haunting melody is not always the necessary key to the forgiving weight of instant gratification… sometimes it is the momentum of a repetitive rhythm that lends to freedom of mind the most… that freedom of movement we all require in order not to feel as though our actions are controlled by others who don’t even know us… if …
original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton
excerpt; “Life mapped out like – a – maze
“Life in hectic cryp – tic – haze
“I’m left to die in – a – daze
“Floating down those gut – ter – waves
“Like – rats – we – drown!”
original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton
excerpt; ‘He wore a whip and a coat with tails,
While the wicked clowns held boards with nails
I arose, naked and dirty, and screamed at them with weak authority
“He turned and gazed right at me,
And said, ‘Everything’s alright, sonny
It’s time to meet your fate,
At the hands of brutal hate’