2 meals a day.
Bread, water.
8 banners to wave
3 eyes to watch
A whole heart, to listen.
Walking up spiral stairs, to know, in the end, this is all I need, your eyes, your bony fingers, the smell of your sweat, right around the place where your hair meets your neck.
There is comfort in your quivering voice, the way your tone vibrates my emotional body into a state of questioning, this is proof, that god exists, everytime a teardrop falls, every time my mind decides yes, or no, a fresh batch of scriptures.
Years and years and years they spend, trying to decipher that which exists here and now, that which gives birth to and lays waste to all myths, that which dethrones kings, which smiles and lovingly beckons the kiss of death, that which gives birth to time then eats it’s own tail.
2 meals a day
Bread, water.
8 banners to wave
3 eyes to watch
A whole heart, to listen.

As uncomfortably LOUD
and unconscious the yelling.
as insensitive to the grander implications of their actions,
I must trust
that the story of each I
will bring each one closer and closer to me.
and each I that asks
what is the nature of this carnal funhouse?
can there be an end to the fulfilling of these desires for pleasure?
will eventually find the answer in the REALITY of this.
each time you tempt the tall tale teller
to spew forth ejaculatory laughter there will be.
and so it is.
but bricks fall for every seed lost
and trampling beneath horses for each voluntary insult
and twisting of hearts into knots beyond fathom.
the great divide grows thinner as actions spring from wells
eternal and full of the liquid light that creates all expressions.
In other words: always realize that you would not be
were it not for your mother and her immaculate ability to
create life.
becoming her son your eyes spring into action
your thoughts spring into action
the light allies that swarm around your every action
delight in your wielding of this incomprehensibly grand
act of creation,
how to taste and offer this flavor at once,
YOU
the answer
in the middle perceiving the gift, giver and receiver
crying over the pools of tears and blood
honoring the inevitable rights of passage
the lawful fulfilling of all action,
you become the queen, the king, the prince and the princess.
never an unsanctified action.
putting on the jet black hair of the publisher
you grin for no apparent reason at all
and yet I know, I see it,
you
providing the tales
of truth that mark these passages of human time.
you
seeing the importance of each bottle thrown
each hand offered
each act as a representative of the actor
a gift, a glimpse, the hidden truth underneath the revealed.
a life.
life.

“You exist, as we have said on numerous occasions, in multiple timelines and probabilities simultaneously. One of the timelines you and humanity are living in at this moment is a fulfilling of the prophecies of doom and planetary destruction. This is a very real timeline. But, this is only one possible timeline. You are at a convergence point, a time node, where it is possible to jump from the doomsday probabilities into a new type of Earth and a new order of existence.
This timeline, which we call the New Earth, is a very different dimension of experience than your current reality. In this timeline, Earth is deeply honored and held in gratitude by the bulk of humanity, which understands and appreciates the truth that all life is interconnected.”
the above quote was extracted from an article by Tom Kenyon, please read the entire message here on his website.

he’s inspired by the animals that hang from the walls
she’s inspired by:
“i guess like people, the act of bringing things together to make new things
i think one of the coolest things about being a person is the ability to make things,
whether it’s a structure or a social force
making is a way to get in the mode of contributing to this,
it’s something that your just as much a part of making, it’s fun.”
she’s been changing a lot,
and will go to Germany in just under 2 months
>>>
the tall one in black carries his white helmet to the door,
she questions the size of a space 7 meters squared,
ample living space for an exchanged artist?
<<<
she and he have a similar way of talking,
is it astrological?
many people in Chico drink "almond shakes"
her hair bow is very colorful.
he longs to unite pleasure and pain
creation with destruction
to stand in a deep pool of red syrup and cry
gallons of blue tears.
PURPLE
and the ability to strike oneself down
BECOMING MORE POWERFUL THAN EVER!!
he draws the 7 of pentacles:
ACTIONS
assessing
evaluating the status
reflecting on progress to date
reviewing what's been done
pausing to check results
making sure you're on course
finding out where you stand
taking stock
reaping a reward
finally seeing some results
enjoying the first fruits
getting returns on investments
receiving payoffs
being able to let up a bit
reaching a milestone

A new friend Brian visited the temple recently and told me that the street adress of the heart temple (1004) means angel or “chun sa” in Korean.
a morning prayer poem:
everyday she pulls her thick
undulating luminescent body
from the dark depths of her own shadow.
everyday he awakens her with kisses
with a new reason to live
an offering of light.
this she delights in
her flying friends shreek
in ceremony
impressed by what she’s become.

Side winding spinstress angel mechanics
dance within your being
in fact are your being
every move you make ends in orders
given to a billion molecular magicians
who shuffle and shift like blazing wildfire
to interpret and fulfill the task given them.
“your life is ours” they say,
pledging allegiance out of an inner adherence to the code
with which they were written.
These, little luminescent love dots are your personal sons and daughters
of whom you give birth to every day.
every day, every second, of every sleeping and so called waking hour
they play and huddle, play and huddle
retreating to skycaves rejuvenating shadows
only to emerge again in the heart searing heat of solar fire.
your exchanges are written neatly in a luminescent script
within the walls of your own inner temple and the magic blips
are bricks with which you construct or destruct
according to the latest mandates declared by you
THE DICTATOR.
yes, you the dictator.
There is no choice in THIS matter,
you elected yourself to this position thousands of planetary sun moon cycles ago
and so it is, your word is the bonding agent,
a billowing mass of ejaculating sensations
thrown onto a concave purple plastic discus, spun around
then pushed down a steep smooth snowy hill.
You hold every office in your nation
you are the treasurer, director of defense, internal affairs advisor, president, vice president, HR, PA, CO, CEO. Your job is never done
the MAHA OVERLORD of a trillion shining rainbow monkeys tattooed with ones and zeros,
you
the hero,
and so
the book of your nation is written
the divine secretarial skills of your living operating system records
all negotiations between other nations, hostile or otherwise
giving aid or selfishly secluding.
your nation is governed by the laws
you choose to create
and you
are governed by the law
that creates all nations.

The rhythmic pulsations of a dreaming planet awaken within me.
My role has become similar to that of a solid gold dancer.
I move, in a way my inner senses demand,
a way, which inspires the observers,
I don’t even know what it looks like,
but the responses I get from the audience
and fellow dancers, makes it clear,
I must keep dancing in just this way.

Her arms are wrapped around a million dreams
who’s inhabitants snap and attack
then recede,
always attentive to the shift of her likes.
A pre-apocalyptic protocol to inspire a million more
longing for the intrinsic relationship this one has been caressing since birth.
The boy touches the feather in his hat,
he pulls the hat off to closer examine it’s immaculate beauty,
a pigeon feather?
a pigeon feather, the grays mingling to perfectly with the whites
immaculate as the red armed man
with a swarming body of eyes
who walks, guided by the flying umbrella queen
through green undulating tides of change.
The spacious grace she’s conceived and constructed
arduously adorned and carefully caressed into a fun house of creative furry.
She’s gathering about her an army
microscopic titans
who’s bodies shape shift into the exacted forms she needs
This war will not be televised
at least, not in the normal sense of the word,
The only screen that’s important to this battle is that which projects
the subjects onto the objective field of the minds eye
where YOU are the messenger, capturer, pertinent articles of revelation revealer.
Your heart explodes at the notion,
bulldozers push mountains of flat screens into a forgotten and useless pile
miles and miles line the barren fields
marking on her body
the exodus avenues
which lead to renewal

This is the Pagoda Altar i’ve been working on. It exists in the back yard of a friends house in North Chico.










before

after