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Visualization: the ability or skill to see something that doesn't 'really' exist in front of your eyes, either keeping your eyes closed or open. Also, forming and using a clear mental image, used in magick. Simple! Everybody can do it, if they only practice hard enough! But what if you simply aren't visually oriented and your visual imagery works better when “images” are actually heard, felt, smelt or tasted, or when they are metaphors? What if you can't see anything when you close your eyes, but your other senses or one of your other senses work quite well?

When you look at basic articles dealing with visualization, almost every single one of them will concentrate on visualization as something sight-based, as if there were no other options or if the other options were quite unimportant or effective in magick or meditation. The importance given to sight can be seen in the terminology used: visualization is the general term used to cover also the practice of forming mental images with other senses than sight.

When it comes to dominant senses, people who are visually oriented form the largest group, but there are still plenty of people who don't think or dream in pictures. According to some statistics, audio-oriented people are the second largest group, while people who have touch or movement as their strongest sense, or who have scent/taste as the strongest sense when it comes to dreams, memories, and mental “images” are left to form smaller minorities.

When your strongest sense is something other than sight, all the talk of visualization as something connected only to seeing can cause feelings of being inadequate and even worrying if one can even use magick. This is quite understandable, as visualization is explained as something that is very important for being able to use magick, even a precondition for it. When given practices center on developing sight, trying and failing can make you doubt your own skills and make you feel like there's nowhere to go. If the instructions of your traditions tell you that you should be able to see the circle cast with your mind's eye and you can't do it, it isn't that strange you'd start doubting if you can do a ritual. What about spells? If you are supposed to see the result in order to succeed – are you doomed to failure if you simply don't function visually?

Visual “visualization” isn't the only possibility there is, so you shouldn't be too worried if you can't do it. Working magick, rituals, spells, meditations and what have you are perfectly possible for 'sightless' people as well! It can require somewhat more work, as texts and instructions are written for those who function in sight, but it is possible. By modifying exercises and instructions you can make them work for other senses as well. That modifying requires a bit of (creative) application, but you can do it. By working on your strongest sense, you may with time be able to make your other senses stronger. Even if you are visually oriented, doing exercises on other senses can help you in creating a more complete visualization experience.

Some Exercises

Here are some short, simple exercises to get you started:

As usual, it's good to have the place where you are doing the exercises somewhat dim and peaceful. Having people buzzing about and having other disturbances around don't exactly help with concentration. Part of the preparation is to sit comfortably, as you will be staying in one position for a length of time and relaxing yourself to a light trance state.

As a side note: it pays not to train yourself to be able to meditate or get into a trance only when it's perfectly peaceful. Total quiet or nearly so isn't always possible in situations where you need to work magick, nor is requiring such sensible. When you get basics in order, start doing your exercises where there are external disturbances.

Sight

A basic exercise one is often given is a candle-based one. Here's one version: Light a candle and have it stand at your eye-level about two feet away. Look at the flame, inspect and study it, its movements and colors, how the flame stands out against the dark background. Concentrate all your attention to the flame until it's practically all you can see. Then close your eyes, still facing the candle, and start building up the image of the flame using your mind's eye. In the beginning you may see only a faint glimpse of the flame, but don't panic – exercises take time. If your concentration breaks and the image disappears, try building it again without opening your eyes. When you can keep the image in your mind for a long period of time, try adding the movement of the flame, then expanding your exercise later on so that you can see the whole candle. You can also start modifying the image in your mind by making the candle larger, changing the color of the candle or the flame – whatever you can think up. Clarity is more important in this exercise than the time you can keep it up. With time you won't need stimulus to start with, that is, the candle to watch.

Note that some people can visualize in two dimensions, but not in three. If you're one of the two-dimensional people, work with that ability – don't feel lacking because you aren't a “three-dimensional visualizer”.

Hearing

If you're one of those people who has an internal jukebox playing songs and sounds out on its own initiative, or who remembers discussions down to the tones of voices, you can learn to “visualize” sound. Starting to exercise with “auralization” (“visualization by the ear”) doesn't really need stimuli. However, it pays to rehearse your aural memory to work under your will, also to meditate on soundscapes. You can add concentrating on a certain sound and examining it while meditating; rehearsing single sounds, tunes, rhythms, repeated words (starting with, for example, type of mantras with no personal importance), sounds of nature, etc. If you have trouble clearing your mind of thoughts while meditating, you can try using soothing nature sounds like rainfall to “fill up your mind”.

One useful exercise is to transform a persistent “ear worm” (a piece of music, often a quite unwanted one, playing as a loop in your head) to something else, like a mantric sigil. For those who are less hearing oriented, the starting point can be meditating on repeated words, mantras or simple sounds, with a stimulus to reconstruct in your mind's ear or without one.

Touch

When it comes to exercising this sense, you can approach the subject through feeling touch, temperatures, air streams or presence. However, it's good to practice all of these. It is quite difficult to give any direct exercises, as the way each individual feels is rather personal. Therefore finding the way that fits you best is left to your own activities and aptitudes. It helps if you know a relaxation routine when you concentrate your thoughts on one part of your body at the time until it starts to feel warmer and it feels like a stream of air / gentle touch would be around that body part – that exercise can be modified to be used here.

Scent and Taste

The basic principle with “scent visualization” is the same as with sight visualization. Light incense and breathe in its scent. Let the scent fill your whole consciousness, excluding everything else. Concentrate on the scent, examine it in your mind from all angles, studying its effects on you – what it brings to your mind, how it feels. Let the incense burn all up, keeping the scent alive in your mind as long as you can. Later on, after the scent has all but disappeared from the air around you, concentrate and strive to bring the scent back to your mind using the associations you created. There's no need to worry if you can't do that straight away – you can always practice more. In fact, you should always practice more. Let the incense burn for a shorter period each time you do this exercise, trying to keep the scent 'visualized' a little longer than before, until you are able to 'visualize' it at will without the help of the actual incense.

For taste, you can work using the same principles as with scents. Other possibilities?

In the introduction to this article, I mentioned metaphors. You can use and develop 'word/verbal visualization' not only as a technique of its own right, but also in aiding and strengthening other imagery. You can use the previously described visual-visualization as the basics. Work otherwise like you did in the earlier exercise, but after closing your eyes describe – with words – the candle flame and then the whole candle as vividly as you can. Keep in your mind complete certainty of the candle's existence. Why wouldn't you be certain it is really there? After all, it does exist, even though you can't see it at the moment. If you would extend your fingers towards the flame, the flame would still burn your fingers – even though it is “visible” only as a description in your head. Take that certainty and be that certain when you are, for example, describing to yourself deities called in rituals. Yes, right, but what about all the rituals and stuff like that?

Exercising different senses as such doesn't solve the original problem, that is – how to manage with a weak or totally nonexistent visual-visualizing ability while meditating and working magick, and how to enrich one's sphere of visualization.

You could say that the basic idea is that of “mixing sensations”. That is, observing stimuli often associated only with one sense, with other senses as well. At the same time, taking into consideration all senses if possible, finding out your own strong and weaker senses for example by using the different exercises. Even “in real life”, what you experience of the world surrounding you is formed by all of the senses you have working together, not through one singular sense. So, why would things be one-sense-dimensional in the world of magick?

You can start bringing down the walls separating each of the senses by, say, asking yourself what does the taste of a given feeling sound like, what a taste feels like, what does the sound of a scent look like, what does the sight of a tune scent like, etc. To put it in other words, by questioning the limits of possibilities and bending your mind to accept the idea that the possibilities of different senses are not set in stone – especially when the senses in questions are inside your own mind.

Instead of concentrating on what any given object (or 'object') looks like, you can concentrate on how they sound, feel, smell, taste. You can add sensations even to quite abstract subjects, choosing the associations according to your own experiences or the 'tables of correspondences' used by your religion or tradition, searching for connections crossing the boundaries of senses. One tool to use can be, for example, Aleister Crowley's Liber 777.

Discovering and writing down your own associations and correspondences is also quite a good exercise. You can expand your overall magick usage through building a network of correspondences speaking to you on a very personal level.

I'd say that one big reason for exercises, instructions for rituals, and so forth concentrate so much on sight is that it's the easiest way to explain. Unfortunately, at the same time many other possible approaches get overlooked. What also can get overlooked is that no matter what approach your visualization takes, the certainty in what you are doing and experiencing is more important than whether you are able to reproduce something in your mind. This “mere reproducing” happens all the time in your normal, everyday thought processes and few would call thinking visualizing. It may not even be possible to 'cut down' a visualizing or magick working experience and even when sight is playing the major role, it is (most often) only part of the experience.

With rituals, you can instead of (or in addition to) seeing symbols and other visualized parts, hear sounds associated with them, draw them as a trail of scent or feel their presence. While meditating, you can sense colors as scents, sounds or feelings. With spells, you can 'visualize' the result of the spell by hearing clearly, say, the company you applied to calling you and telling you that you got the job.

Bathe in imagery, whether the images were pictures or something else.

Some things you could ponder...

• What does blue smell like?
• What is the sound of a pentagram?
• What does a magickal circle feel like?
• What does a deity you are invoking (or evoking) taste like?
• How would you sense the energies of magick with all your available senses?

#Magick #Rituals #Meditation

It's November again. The sun makes itself scarce through the day and leaves the stage to the fog which often rules the day and even the night. The other day, I followed the impulse, grabbed my gear, plugged in my earbuds and went for a late walk through the foggy night.

I had no clear destination and somehow just followed my inner compass. I had no lights on and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The gothic music I heard from my earbuds was a perfect support for this dark, foggy and somehow unreal night. When I walked down the small street, I reached a tree with a street lamp behind it. I was immediately caught by the light rays and sectors of light that built up perfectly through the fog, turning the leaves of the tree into perfect silhouettes.

So I set my tripod and did some shots of this quiet, dense scene – playing with aperture and time, while listening to the music.

I folded up my tripod, put it on my shoulder and continued my walk, still without any light other than that of a few street lamps and their dull reflections in the fog. I tried paths I knew from the day, but it turned out that they were too dark and didn't make for an interesting night shot.

Well, I turned around again and took the direct route across the meadows when I saw some street lights that made a nice picture from a distance. As I approached them to get the right angle for my prime lens, it wasn't as interesting as I thought it would be.

As I walked on I found myself in the middle of a rather mystical scene just a few minutes later. A backlit group of trees next to a shed caught my attention as they showed such wonderfully soft but distinct silhouettes. It's simply awesome how fascinating taking photographs can be on a foggy night.

I've posted both pictures as a goodnight wish to the Fedinauts out there in the wide Fediverse.

observing observing the senses thoughts emotions

see within without: intent question blame shame judgment guilt

observing observing the mind no thing to: conclude gain obtain claim remain choose loose divide hide

see within without: preparing searching learning yearning

observing observing observing observing awareness isness suchness consciousness pure essence

Infinity was the thing of the 44th week of the photo challenge. I thought of circles, the number eight, stars above me, the view through an industrial chimney or a large pipe, cemeteries, love, and so on. And it seemed to me like every time something came to my mind a toot was posted covering the association. So the challenge persisted, and I let my mind run wild 😁

And so it was that I spent Saturday afternoon playing with two mirrors and their infinite reflections 😎 I had the idea of creating something atmospheric, candles that form a line into infinity.

My setup was quite simple: I placed the two mirrors opposite each other, covered everything I didn't want to be seen, mounted the camera on the tripod, turned off the light and that was it. I also tried playing with focus stacking, but I wasn't really happy with the results. So next time I might go for a higher ISO and faster shutter speed. But that's what I love about photography – there are always plenty of possibilities and ideas to play with 😊

And voilà, here goes my result that I tooted on Sunday.

Maybe it's Thursday out there too, where things were normal. (From Tales from the Valley: Phantasmagory Shorts)

CW: blood, horror themes, mentions of violence

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Seven died on a Thursday.

I can just see the calendar from where I'm cowering under the desk, rows of little red x’s that lead to a big smiley-face. That's really what does it, a bright red smile like the blood on the curtains, the walls, the crevices between my fingers.

Thursday, Thursday It was always fucking Thursday.

Maybe it's Thursday out there too, where things were normal. That’s a morbid thought. Thursday at my empty desk in the dingy office park behind the gas station. Thursday in that apartment on the hill, the bathroom door busted off its hinges and a forest of grocery store plants dead on the windowsills. Briefly, I wonder if someone else lives in that apartment these days, or if the rest of the world went ahead and ended too.

Whatever. It's not like these are even my memories.

Fine, it's Thursday, as if that means anything, as if that matters, and there's a big red smiley face to mark the occasion. Seven probably knew what was coming then, of course she did. I feel a twinge of rage at that, bubbling up through the stupor. The audacity she had to draw that, knowing what was about to happen. The nerve.

And maybe it’s because it’s one of those cheap calendars the admins at my old job used to have, tacky and badly typeset, filled with pictures of kittens in fields posed in an array of tiny hats, a collection of miserable, blank kitten faces staring into the camera, maybe that’s what finally snaps me out of it.

Hang in there, she'd say with a smile that lit up the basement, watching them open me up on the table again. Yes, I'm sure she would think the whole thing was hilarious, if she could think about anything anymore.

God, how I hated her, truly.

My legs are stiff and angry when I pull myself up. I've been under the desk for days now, or hours. Time was blown apart in the chaos, strewn about the floor in little fragments. Who needs time anyhow? What has time ever done for anyone? I go on without it.

Seven is probably still splayed out on the dining room table. She shouldn't be, she wasn't even real, but it's the kind of thing she'd do. Just for me. Just so I know what I probably did.

And it’s true. I flinch when I turn the corner, eyes dropping to the bloodstain painting the horrid, ugly carpet. The body looks happy, manically so. At least someone is.

Are you satisfied, Mother Seven? Have all your dreams come true?

I'm a proper monster now, and Seven got a vacation in whatever hell things like her go to. No one has cleaned up, or bothered to close her eyes. Who would have? I'm the only one left now. My head is ringing. The only one, the only one.

Apart from him.

Wherever he is. The real one, the fake one, the fraud who stole my face. However you want to spin it. He's been gone for days now, decades. My head has never been so blissfully empty without him in there screwing around. Maybe I really am the last one left. Maybe my awful owner is dead in a ditch somewhere, clutching his horrible little hands to his horrible little head, pretending it’ll all go back to normal in the morning.

And bless our shared, malignant little heart, it just might.

Hilarious. I could scream. I could cry, if I had anything to wet the tears with.

At some point, I wander into the kitchen and make a cup of tea. I don't like tea, but it's better than staring at the blood on the curtains, the windows, the ugly blue cabinets. The body in the dining room... My shirt is cemented to my skin, tugging my armpit hair when I reach for a mug. There’s blood in my armpits and I don't even like tea.

The kettle is whistling harmony with my head. A major third, my brain supplies helplessly. Ding dong, Beethoven’s 5th. I consider throwing it through the kitchen window. That's what a proper monster would do, I think, and I'm a proper monster now. A terrible beast that ruins the carpet and lurks around snarling at calendars. I set the kettle gently back on the stove.

When I wander back into the dining room, the body is still on the table. Just for me. Just so I know what I probably did. For godsake, she didn't even really exist, why the hell is she still here for?

Looking at her is making my eyes burn, so I go back to staring at the horrid, ugly carpet again. Red splatters on lime green swirls. The smell of blood and earl grey is making me sick, so I tip the mug out and watch my tea bleed into the mess around it. It doesn't matter what I do at this point, not that it ever did. The carpet is already ruined.

I'm making a noise like a giggle. It's not funny, so I must be crying. I don't even like tea and it doesn't matter even if I did because the tea isn't real. The house, the horrors, the body on the table. The fake wind-up monster clutching his fake mug of fake tea with fake shaking fingers.

God, how I understand the fear in their eyes now. It isn't real, I yelled, watching them claw their arms with that horrible look on their faces. It isn't real, it isn't real. God, how I killed them all with three ugly words and I wasn't even enough of a person to die with them. Black trails of nothing slip down my face.

At some point, I go back to the office to wait for time to pass again, for lack of anything better to do. It doesn't. It sits in pieces on the floor like an angry toddler, staring at me in silent accusation. The creak in the office chair agrees and I make a note to burn it later, along with the papers flung across the desk and the books lining the shelves behind me. Endless notes on the town, the victims, the fake plastic monsters like me. Rules, lessons, faith, belief. Books, trinkets, junk, mess. That's all we ever were. Paper monsters piled in great heaps against the doors and windows, suffocating ourselves with gleeful malice.

Yes, there will be a lot of things to burn later, I think, idly picking flecks of gore from my nails. The calendar is boring a hole through my head from the wall, but I'm going to burn it later with the rest of the house and maybe then the ringing in my ears will stop.

I wonder how well fiction burns, if the last of it will drift to the sky in a column of smoke or if it's carved itself into the hills, waiting to leak back out when no one's looking.

I press my dirty fingers to my face. I'm too tired to go looking for answers today.

—–+ #Horror #ShortStory #Writing #Fiction

Birth, asthma attacking my soul borne blue,learning as I grew, I walked and I babbled, cute as any Hair was so curly, mum thought the world.

I soon learnt that other kids would be quite cruel, Not understanding me like nothing else i knew Dumbass and idiot moronic labels would be thrown

Something im working on, my life story background about my nuerodeverity in poetry form.

Not sure it does the issue justice...

Even the teachers thought Little, Till school did I move, learnt to run.

Other labels would then be me, Dyslexia and dyspraxia… More I learnt, harder the world seemed to be Thinking differently, not quite the same as all else

I got the help for that, didn't stop, self doubt and self loathing, I became depressed becamem toxic.

Fell into drug use, a bit of that, bit of this My friends wherent great, often trying to lead off the straight and narrow course, Users loosers, nafarious folk but, where still mates, only one i ever knew.

Ended up hearing voices, reality was obviously a sham, distorted A psychic war had began, delusional Was placed with more labels then I could count

Spent a long time stewing in purgatory With my misgivings, lost Not quite with the world, not part of society. No faith,no hope, no chances

Only recently light was shun in the darkness Rays of hope broke through. Cut loose old friends, made new Found a passion for art, started becoming Alive,

Sought help, admitting faults ,got the support I needed Therapy meds, new friends, a place to belong, I even Eent back to mass. I found peace and solace, With the father's homilies.

Finally I feel more whole, still with issues but more able. knowing now with some self worth,

I'm loved.

At least not longer in such a dark place.

Started posting to allpoetry.com too username psychicferret84.

Decided to write a poem for a painting ive got going on. Doing a picture of Christ atm, a portrait. Think ill put this poem ive just written as a warm up to go with it. maybe glue it to the back of the canvas or to go along with any online post

Prayer of the fallen Subtle god, who listens, in the cool wind I sense your presence.

almighty holy spirit, the flame who guides. More than a feeling, less then a voice. I hear you whisper, closer than consciousness. Burning into my soul.

Rituals and genuflection, scent of the church, the frankincense, a memory of old. A part of human dogma, something to please us, fallen.

We are all sinners just trying, following an example of the sinless, the blameless one. Endlessly trying to never forget.

His kindness, his openness, He loves us all, for that I'm truly thankful.

Do need to write poetry more often. I've also been reading some poetry by Oscar Wild recently, was totally surprised at how religious inspired it was, he might not of been accepted in his time due to being gay or bisexual but he is a true Christian.

The photo challenge week #42's motto was heimlich (means secretly). My first thoughts were about scenes of doing something secretly. But I discarded that first and quick association, as it was just too boring.

On Thursday that week we had a full moon and I saw it in its full beauty when I came back from a short walk. So I set up my tripod and my camera and took a few photos.

Friday I thought – well this could do, as the moon somehow secretly raised behind the tree... But as I was still not really satisfied, my internal fantasy unit™ kept on working in the background. Leading to browsing the phone book and looking for someone with the name Heimlich...

Well, I found him in the big city. Mr. Heimlich. I rang the doorbell and he opened. After introducing myself, I explained the photo challenge to him and what some really nice photographers are practicing by this challenge. I asked him, if I could take a photo of the nameplate on his letterbox. And so he agreed. I also offered him to take a photo of himself – if that would be fine for him, but he felt uncomfortable with that idea. No problem, as I was really happy to take a photo of the nameplate. So we said good-bye as I needed to get my camera from the car and he went back into his house, closing the door.

Back from the car with my gear, he was there again, standing in the opened door – he smiled and said, “I'll make you an offer, come in and look at this frame”. I was completely overwhelmed as he showed me the drawing of the family coat of arms that I was allowed to photograph. I noticed the written year 1427 and learned from him that the name comes from Silesia and that the coat of arms can also be seen in a museum at Nuremberg.

When I finally left, I thanked him again. “Maybe that's better than the letterbox”, he said with a smile and a gleam in his eye.

During the last poetry session was asked to write a summery about any story and if time try to write a poem from the eye of a charecter, I've choose little redcap as red riding hood had been featuring in my days recently.

Little red cap by brothers grim is the original story of red riding hood

Her grandmother lays in her cottage il and the mother of Little redcap gives her daughter an errand. To go to her grandmother's cabbin with cake and wine but be carefull Not to wonder of the path

On her way Little redcap meets a wlfm unafraid She gets tricked of the path, while away the wolf hurries to the grandma's cabin, gobbles up the grandma and puts on her clothes and lays in bed, waiting

Littlered cap wakes the wolf in grandma's garb and questions why her ears are so large, why his eyes are so large and why her mouth is so large

The wolf jumps to swallow Little redcap and then falls asleep in grandmother's bed

A huntsman hears the wolf snore, checks into grandma's rabbit, sees the wolf and decides it safer not to shoot but cuts open the wolf wide with scissors saving the grandma and Little red cap

He then fills the woof with stones while later dies,

On another occasion another wolf try to eat redcap but her grandmother tempts the wolf with sausages and from his perch on top of the cabin, the small enticing him then falls and drowns in hot water from where the sausages where boiling

Grandma gave me once,a velvet red cap It glistened in the evening sun

On my way In my red cap, being sent With leftover baked cake, with wine To my favourite grandma whose poorly

But when trapsing along, I come upon a grey mainedwolf Unafraid I greet him, hello wolf and he me

He tells me I should take a fine walk of the path To breath and enjoy the fine day while it last So I go gather flower and posey? To go with my grandma's cake and red wine

Little I knew what a trick, the wolf had Played in mine

He was set to gobble me and my grandma, to dine

But the fool met his match, when the huntsman Set about, to cut the wolf and free Me and grandmother

Then another later tried what the first wolf failed In time. Snuck on the roof to be tempted by sausages scent Slipt and fell straight into a vail of water and drowned.

now streaming until 10am:

※ silent views of nature ※ kitchen organization ※ reading from This Arab Is Queer: next up, Zeyn Joukhadar's essay Catching The Light: Reclaiming Opera As A Trans Arab ※ abstract paintings ※ cough drop comparison ※ me wrestling with the concepts of Right and Wrong

https://www.twitch.tv/humanissome

Never, ever read comments on articles about artists' (nonexistent) income.

An artist not getting supported by income from art seems to be “a parasite” – but, say, athletes should get all possible support from society.

“If they don't live off of competing, it's just a hobby and hobbies shouldn't be paid for by the state!” said no politician about sports, ever.

“If you/your kind of sports doesn't interest the paying public enough, switch to somwthing they're interested in or get a real job.” Not seen.

“Only a tiny fraction of athletes ever support themselves fully on sports, so better not encourage kids into it or spend on training 'em.”

“Those with TRUE talent in what people will pay to see for, will find their way to the top anyway. No need for athlete's grants.”

“What good is a sporting event anyway? You simply go and see it somewhere and can't even take the experience home as is.”

#RandomThoughts

One of the most common reasons I've seen given for supporting #populists is “they speak their mind not bound by 'political correctness'”.

In practice this means “not caring if they hurt somebody's feelings – or downright lie, about a person or a huge group of them”.

Of course, these same folks cry persecution upon any and all disagreeing opinion, claiming their freedom of speech violated.

I've worked with kids and saw that pattern in some of the littlest ones. Not literally the freedom of speech line, but the general idea.

And, to put it frankly, I'd never want to see adults still in that “I'm the center of the universe and the only one that feels things” stage of development in position of power, but – sadly – too many are. Put to place by people enchanted by that “speaking their mind”...

So, unless you're willing to be governed by people who act like the littlest kids, demand adult behaviour in those you vote for.

Demandning true adult level of understanding with all the shades of gray & levels of not knowing enough to form a set, informed opinion would be much better, but seems a tad too much to ask in this day & age. I can hope, though.

#RandomThoughts

Every now and then I get a feeling like I really need a few copies of me to get things done, with all the brain buzzing going on. Not to mention all the outside pressure that tends to always be around. The work I do in order to be able to afford to do art, the clubs I belong to and in which I seem failing to be just a member and whatnot.

What would really happen, though, is that all of the mes would be busily doing one thing, with all the other stuff still waiting to be done. Yeah #ActuallyAutistic special interests for the win.

But, when projects now in various stages of realization WOULD be finally finished by the mes, I'd go dancing with myself (oh-oh-o-oh). And to go with the dancing we'd do some boozing and get drunken ideas about a bit more intimate versions of dancing with myself. Oh boyoyos.

By the way – would only the original me be married, or all of us? If all, would it actually count as polygamy when there wouldn't be multiple persons, just copies of one person?

Anyway, how long would the one I/we are married to actually stick around with multiple mes running around? One me can be a bit much, I reckon…

But… to get things done, a few copies of me might be nice.

#RandomThoughts

Afternoons like this I sit in the waiting room of my own life. Listening to on-hold music gazing at the empty hallways.

Behind my eyes worlds wander and the clouds gather, dissipate.

#Poetry #SmallPoems

Do You Believe in Good & Bad?



I sorta don’t.

“Do you believe in Right & Wrong?” In the super long mega song American Pie by Don McLean there is a portion that begins, “Do you believe in rock & roll…” It’s one of the many snips of music lodged in my permanent memory that my mind transforms into one of my humanism hymns.

“Do you believe in Right & Wrong?” is an undying conundrum for me.

If I believe in Right and Wrong then pain is wrong. Accomplishment is right. Busyness & business are right. Indolence, a word that means “not hurting” in its derivation, is wrong, because it has come to mean lazy. Why is lazy wrong? Lying down, lazing about, is deemed immoral. It's no wonder that US Americans burn out and have to be reminded to rest.

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On the next stream 7-10 a.m. on 10-17 maybe I'll explore this subject.

So I've started a poetry group

I thought I would document my journey going from a dyslexic, non-poet to a poet wannabe.

We are following the BBC maestro course poetry by Carol Duffy, unsure of which i would recommend without also having a teacher. It is informative but no set exercises which might be limiting

OK so polishing up a few poems that i started during the 5 minute allotted time

To tell the truth

tell all the truth let it wash aside

all the lost time, wasted agonies

tell the truth, own all the past

heal from brokenness and lies

Heal all the bygone times woes

move on and let it all go, heal

start renewed become all which

once was dreamed, finally

instead of wasting away in a haze.

Climate change

climate change a monstrosity wrought

denied truths by some crackpots alts

climate change Armageddons time has come

those that agree get called force

but will humanity survive if we unite nought.

such tumultuous times have now become,

For the homework we where set an assignment to choose one an art peice and write a poem from the charactors voice, i choose to write as lucifer from illustrations of paradise lost.

Lucifer my pride and fall

How I spite the limitation of thy god

rise up I tried but now cast off

fallen ever fallen into the depths

in sulphuric fumes now cast out from heaven's gate

Now I shall tempt every human,

in all manner of sort

Turn them from God's grace

And make thy kingdom of my own

they shall only worship ME,

not thy not God above

blight and spite

I shall set Him in my sight

that heavenly thrones shall be mine.

Wonderous now am I now twisted in the depths

vanity ha but pride I laugh

I grow stronger and stronger each millennium pass

madden those cast from Eden's grasp,

turn them into figureless forms,

Make them my minions shades,

A horror full blight

A tempest has he wrought,

my army shall rise and fought

over throw choirs and dominions,

of angels with my demonic horde

I shall be the one in charge,

they will all worship me and only me