liquid options

heavy clouds over the northern territory

the wind blows empty cans down a stream of pissed drunks

which turns left when the devilish morning light strikes their bloodied eyes

and again one has to climb a pile of bottles

in search for easy fluid options.

bodies anchored in a sole reality

another question flies the basket

Do monkeys stumble on life’s dimensionality?

let’s say the same wind blows

your sanity, no crime;

it’s just the dime one pays for all those

adventurous ways of experiencing with needles in the hay.

a brutal crowd shouts its vanity in the darkened streets

mornings are for peace and sleepless creators

could one survive in one dimension?  

with nothing but the simple acts, scenes of the normal

the lifeless mediocrity of the working man

in vain we plan sustainable developments of our domain

‘cause future kids have a inbred fear of nature

they stand for the new human generation

kill your dimension, kill your future

new paths will unfold and there’ll be no shame

in straying or praying to the green goddess

symbolic structures will serve for guidance

and one will no longer be a novice.

and where are we, when one takes it all back

All those options and all those strings,

It’s you that takes the blame!- the choir shouts in despair!

Down with the agitator clown, your nose is white and your skin is red

You’re on your way around the bend!

all our sins incensed with a smooth flagrance of fear

one must live 7 lives in one year, optimized spaces of truth

drained of lies our heads will grow invisible antennas

and then we’ll see the crossroad in a dead end of

monkey times

The hungry time bites on reality

With angry minutes devouring life

And hour drops of metal hit the ear        

The sound of rolling coins

Melt in the far away

Cigarette smoke makes it clear

And the banjo plays for a blossom May;

The drums announce an ancient rite

There’s no trust among those in the animal kingdom

A troubled life, fear glued to its master

In the northern morning chill when the guitar falls asleep

And the beer is stale, thrown out of the bar

 With the delusion and frustration of the early drunk

Another night, another reality

Swept away by a dizzy time

Induced insanity, called upon humanity

No answer

The sound of seagulls mating on the pier

Images of the past gushed from a fading memory

At last the monkey has collapsed under possibilities

Unexplored roads and bottomless holes

Too many half journeys through the luxuriant jungle
Left alone with one time, one banana tree

The monkey has to adapt to one possibility

Unless Jack and Jim won’t pair up with Hector

And influence the being of a poor primate

Unless the unholy world will unfold again

Creating crossroads of endless options;

Disturbing the animal kingdom

The monkey will try to fly again.

spiritual mutilations

In my present times I stopped searching for rhymes,

‘Cause The Spirit was lost in the lugubrious long winter nights

When the flesh was wrapped in rugs until blood gushed

And sprinkled my glasses while I was running through a red dotted cloud,

All humanity flushed in front of my eyes and away with it, my convulsive mind

 Was put to rest by the robot in disguise, no end flame only showery blames

Washed bits of sin, demons remain with grins on rotten faces!

No more places to escape the senseless system; no feelings

In a physically exhausting present I take the blame

For my spiritual death, consumed in long working hours

And minutes counted by some faceless people

Mindless robots feed by the grotesque media,

Organic news, home grown to amuse the large audience

And act as a catalyst for the ignorant viewers induced by

The 4^th power in a cloudy democratic state;

A glorious crusade is developed as we scratch our heads,

A mass spiritual annihilation which spreads a deadly plastic disease

A wave of human mutilation frozen in bombastic contemplations

Of the new psychotic trends.

No self-reflection, no inner knowledge, no meditation, no awareness

Plain spirits devoured of their connections and what remains

A walking carcass, an empty shell

a home for squatters;

In my present time I sit under the sea

Accept the land, the time with no thoughts to flee

I take the blame

Until I’ll set myself free.

    

some don't like it cold

All thoughts locked in denial

She lives to forget, she lives to learn, she lives in vain

As the bottle is empty one hand grabs the smokes

“Lort” says the drunken Dane and walks across the fjord.

Foggy fears gathered in her homesick soul

In essence, all the senses bored

Misfit feelings drained in her being

Filling the ordinary with hate

Blind eyes can’t see the weight

Of ones decisions.

Angry human sitting on the chair

Life never happens for one that

Only uses air

Once in awhile one needs a chat

With a worthy aftermath.

Dig the system, screw the city!

from one to another

invoked the new year from a mountain of months

climbed some high fences and jumped over summer hits

only to find blocked paths and bits of sun on a rainy day.

engaged in this dry run without the real play,

there’s no joy in the backup division of space.

no trace will be left on the nice shinny floor

no more rum, no dust left to ignore, no exit door

just this rotten perception of well in a gray colored shell

which dwell in cotton covered decisions

taken at a high speed rate by inflatable wizards,

no sun will penetrate the darken glow of back alleys

where we hide infants from the great sky

and comfort their desperate cry for wisdom with commercials

and pop sounds popping their ears until tone deafness,

hits one string and lyrics sold word by word on auction!

this beautiful routine full of meaningful events

every year twisted stories whispered in web contents

without a further reading we’ll all end up dead

metamorphosed into a mass of mules

obliged to climb another timemountain

and then another, and then the same

until we reach that freedom fountain

and drown our nameless demon to proclaim

humanity as the new world order!

I find myself lost in dreamy thoughts

Wondering through flat land

Skinned to the bone

My every step disappears in sand

I want to expand but I’m blown out

rolling over potato fields with angry farmers

chasing Indonesian girls wrapped in the national flag.

I don’t know if tomorrow’s dream of a multinational unity

Is for sale in Asia or if I can understand the future plan?