her eyes peer into the bottom of her nearly drained canteen
she contemplates what’s left here
on this ball of life
half empty or half full?
do the dreamers I’s truly make a difference
in the end?
are they not all skywalkers
in the end?
to translate in subtle yet deathly accurate details
the means for their survival
a task she musk grant to each and every one
but this is not WORK
the way the humans have come to think of it
there are no punch cards in her life
her body IS and therefore
her work is done
dancing with her dearest lover
she gives birth
and longs for you to seek her out
within your own heart.
this is at greyhound rock just north of davenport on highway 1. it was really amazing.
OMG! this crazy head (that’s what i call these buggers) was SO long, I swear, I usually whirl em around above my head but this one was so long i couldn’t do it.
I wrote this poem for the last “night of mayhem” at the frame, it’s called farewell to mr. and mrs. frametion.
1yard = 12m
4 = 48m
4.5 = 54m
within the walls it begins
2400 square feet
a quarter of an acre?
rainbow lights that dance?
there’s a tangible unrestricted reality
which presents itself within these walls
and pushing its way out there
where the taste really begins.
were we to stand three hundred and twenty four acres tall
like an avatar tree
destined to fall
sad, seemingly so, at first
yes, but building up for final test,
which begins with one single question.
where to go now?
but lo and be ever happy to hold
that the walls have picked up and they are walking
and your walking
and they start talking to you.
everyone thinks your crazy but you tell them
they can’t say anything cause the’ve never been to the frame
they haven’t seen the evoluTION first hand,
they haven’t tasted the CRUX of the matter.
and you tell them like the 500 year old chinese grandma inside of you once said
“the frame is a state of mind”
a way of being with it’s center being a disease
it starts in your heart and burns
it’s a plague of human happiness
i am here to caress, gently stroke and
eventually swallow the world but it’s a big one
and i can’t swallow it alone.
as we pick up our wharehouse bodies
and take them with us we must trust
that enough mouths open
wide enough for us to swallow the world
with peppermint perfection
like john the baptist, only placed in a 9 year old girls body,
who fights like bruce lee