Dash something off and move on to the things that need to be done…

————————
In the arms of the ocean
Being all trued
Being seen for what one is
In entirety
Loss of keys and loss of clues
Recovery and stumbles
Jabbering among the apes nearby
Loss of methodical stillness
Loss of balance among withdrawal
Loss of chaos among lies
Loss of angels
Gain of roommates (*sigh*)
Really must not do that again
Not proving to be a willpower issue
Yet ups and downs restrict and imply
Yet unwilling to go back to treatment
Yet stilling the losses
Yet…
Get them filled and take them only when you feel like it!
See and believe
Natter and trip
No way am I going to three doctors and a therapist
No.
A bridge to be crossed
A need for something better
A few unbalanced days to be expected
Detoxing again, but more mildly
Let be, let be, let be
Let stop!
Lightning dances here
No one listens
The sound of explosions noted
The sound of God’s incipient gratitude
Demonoid spake thus:
.. Real of the night
.. Is not real of the day
.. Or it is, but you can never prove it
.. Loss of independence is costly
.. Loss of truth is harmful
.. Gain of energy, of motivation,
.. Is key to your aims
.. Slight return and capitalization of intent
.. Seizures are flukes
.. Hold to your own truth
.. Be lost amongst the articles
.. Hold to that which you know
.. “Sometimes paper is the only one who will listen to you” -twitter
.. Bully on it
.. Time to move along
.. Time to fall back in
.. To the real

Dreaming of Demonoid Picotant

changeworld

Join me in protest! The first of every month! http://bit.ly/23Njetz
Sidewalk Chalk and Revolution!
—————

DREAMING OF DEMONOID PICOTANT

Demonoid picotent is sleeping with the devil
Demonoid of the last outer outpost
Excuse that interlude
in the sleep of the all, the trialogues of damnation, and 
	fuck you sir.
Of all the smiles and then
Of all. Oh snap
Well. Certainly we know what and who we like. We can make 
	no broader statement than that at this time
Brought in from the cold…
Sleeping in the 'excuse me' of the last resort . . . 
	Coming through!
Coming down the channel from off of the heaven sent
Dreaming of demonoid picotant
We … sleep
We ... dream
We do all the things to which we are allowed and some to 
	which we are not, my demonoid, … and yet…
See disclaimer
See the end user license agreement
See warranty
We do all the things to which we are allowed and some to
	which we are not and then there are others to which
	we must and follow the dreams to the end of the rainbow
Picotant of the demonoid drops like frogs, or fogs, as the 
	case may be, and is ever thus, or is thus only maybe, as 
	the case may be, or if not see listed conditions of the
	terms of endearment
Slipping into the undemonic stillness we sleep over the stage
Becoming upspeak and determination we wandered the tunnels
	of the messages of the sociologists and otherwise became 
	slightly enhanced and determined our way was of enticement
	and randomly assigned values to each one we could see
But otherwise and then determined, Demonoid allowed as to how we
	had to cloak ourselves in secrecy and become other than 
	ourselves according to the aims but could if otherwise
	become something to which we would want to taste
Finally changing, the reality of the dream became apparent
	and then while we wandered the planes of that world, becoming
	ever distinct from the background, which then if who arrived
	collecting the teardrops and orgasms together to form the line
	of inquiry to which we were drawn, and ever pursued, allowing
	time for the others to adjust and all in all remaining apart 
	for the time being
Doing the many things to which we are not allowed, we discovered
	a degree of freedom
Discovering a degree of freedom we found our hearts and found our
	eyes and very nearly became other than what we were, becoming no
	longer We of the Small, but reversed course and animated in
	time for the changing of the guard and the reseeding of the
	Ocean
Waking, we determined to go and inquire of the sage as to whether
	to allow it
It cannot be so
It cannot be so, because we are we, and shall never discover, nor
	remain with the others,s and shall always depart until we find our
	place to stand
Demonoid came along and spake thus:
	Visions of the peace confound you, and armies of the masters
	confront you; the viruses of the mind are many and replete with
	unnecessary woe and collecting and dreaming you are not allowed 
	to implacably oppose them, and so you must. The key to the 
	secrets is to determne and recoil, to vanish and rescind, to
	poke and to prod, to find the limits and step upon them, to
	expand and destroy, to craft the viruses of your own, or viroids
	as the case may be, and memetically enchant, and conversationally
	to step in, and in the wind of the turning tides to have your 
	victory with your many methods of shapeshidting and clueing in
	to the potentials but also the likelihoods of the dust
The probabilities were strong and complete
We saw our paths and chose several in contradiction
Filing the particles we entangled, and entangling we sundered,
	and sundering we found justice, and then we flared up, and
	flaring we flew to the sun, gaining and endless source of
	small energy and becoming random, we were ever uncaught
We of all the small ones know this or do not, as the case may be
Be no wise certain of this
Be no wise certain of anything
And it was thus, and it was thus, and it was thus, and it was ever thus so

————–
Main site: http://www.psychicfuguestudio.net
Important site: http://www.savetheoxygen.org
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Postcards: http://poeticpostcards.wordpress.com

disobedience

Images: facebook… possibly Red and Black Anarchists on facebook… uncertain

Needing Guidance

Working with the flow of words
Seeking my faery guides
Wondering if she is the Demonoid
Demon in appearance only
.
Not in substance
.
Repeating series of We All the Small Ones
Loving life with growing fervor
Seeking the methods of repairing the Earth
Seeking the methods of connecting and rising
Flowing through the ether with ease
The sickness departing, but always returns
Money in my pocket a poison to me

AS YOU DISINTEGRATE

INTRODUCTION
A new poem, which I have a few others of which the like (sort of), and thus to be treated, there and then and thence, as it were as if were a work of the beginnings of a new manuscript. But how to recollect and recoil them all together? How to keep ever writing in these voices of solitude and insanity with their oddities of loquaciousness and neurology and neuroticism? Or perhaps the sanest of the bunch? Perhaps when, but oh the woe, oh the woe when the sanest of the bunch disintegrates first? But then there are other ways in which they recoil and untangle and cohere the superharmonics of the crystalline entities together all at once at the end after their fall completes. And yet. Here it is (oh you thought THAT was it did you? You were of course most sorely mistaken, as is your wont, as is the wont of most of the people most of the time. But i digress. And diverge. And recounting and repiling your sanity hiding in the closet I recover your pieces, and also, as it were, recommend this):

AS YOU DISINTEGRATE

At all times remain alert
The driftwood of the days is piled by the carpenters shed
Although the disclaimers were valid,
None were said to apply in the case of killer bees
With the artistry of the spinflips
The masques of the Piskies went unnoticed
At all times remain alert
Do not allow either Piskies or killer bees to sneak up on you
Alert
The fire ants in their castle demonized the ranging of beings
And being all aflutter,
Took to infesting the Internets
CONCENTRATE,
CONCENTRATE,
The Nightmares take hold of your skull
Under the covers the fleas wait
Crack an egg on your head
Feel it running down your back
Concentrate
As the night fades in,
So does the trauma
ALERT
At all times remain alert
As the fighter-bombers fly over your head,
So the barrels explode by your house
CONCENTRATE
As the trauma sharpens,
So the pain in your stomach
CONCENTRATE
As the concertina wire,
So the widening gap between young and old
CONCENTRATE,
CONCENTRATE
As the tentacled horror,
So the pain of the sex crime victims
CONCENTRATE, ALERT, ALERT
As the colonizers and imprisoners in Israel proceed like an anaconda
So the genocidal fascists in Syria
As the war crimes all over the world,
So the decline of the semi-free states,
No human living truly free
As the rise of the demagogues
So the gridlocks of parliaments
CONCENTRATE
The wildebeests flee from the onrushing storm
All the amphibians die off
The tornado rips the trailer park as much as downtown
CONCENTRATE
As the animals struggle up mountain peaks,
So the trees and grasses all do drown
ALARM
CONCENTRATE
As the money is flushed at the casino,
So your insurance denies payment
FOCUS
CONCENTRATE
As the shadows infest your mind,
So the rot creeps up from your toes,
As unemployability rears its ugly head
So come the tragedies and regrets of earlier lives,
As the moon-mice set the people-traps,
So Demonoid waxes and wanes,
As the comet approaches,
So the sun expands to red giant,
As your reason defines and decompiles,
So your reason refines and defiles,
As your reason rises,
So your reason unravels and untangles,
As your reason untangles, so the superstrings decohere
As you disintegrate, you think:
	ALARM
	not as of which but of who, to meet your maker or not to be,
	the handgun in your hand, the handgun in my hand...
	all the sexual frustrations -- but see disclaimer... the
	totalled amount of ways and means amounts to not even a pile of
	dust, but as if the other, when your time arises, such as
	is the like of the creepy guy, or the rabidity of the
	christ-figure, much like when your mother told you but
	also not, in the demonization of the innocents, Demonoid
	wrought eternal... but as if the dreams of the Chaosticon;
	eternal; but fragmentary; piecemeal; but anatomical
	and atomical and axiomatical... and as of which but
	not of who; burn disclaimers; but otherwise and thus
	and so, all your axiomaticals and theorems are lost; but
	not of woe; oh of splendor, paranoid schizophrenia of
	course, and oh of splendor
	CONCENTRATE
	DISINTEGRATE
	in the annals of the moon time, oh of the dance, of
	the tidals of the moon-ants, of the orgies of
	the moon-mice, oh of the solars of the storm, oh
	of the darkness of space, oh of the gibbering of
	the azathoth.
	in the brief silence of time, delete;
	in the brief silence of time, stir;
	in the brief silence of time, do not declare, but fall;
	the pages, the horror, the fallen
	the fallen.
	in it not as of Which but of Who, Not as if Other but of
	That, demonstrably deficient, but otherwise unwise and in
	time you all shall know, or perhaps shall know nothing, but
	as of which of the times did you know of your guilt, or
	did you ever? Were you ever of the uncaringness of children,
	or were you merely of a sniping mind? if ever of them
	there was a demon, it was you, and in the brief quiet of
	the minutiae of the interstellar spaces, you implode
	ALERT
	CONCENTRATE
	in the edges of the alleyways, or not of other but of thus,
	or although of thus only of some, but iniquity, inequity,
	unquietude, and excruciatingness, ever though of which the
	birds, but unqualified remands of the yeses, all under
	the grass of the park you defile, all under the burbling
	of the fountains you impair, all under the comparative quiet
	of the riot you exult; with the riot you exult; with
	the stream of the window smashing of the glasses of the
	alienation of the oligarchs, of the hangings of the communist
	party, of the firing squads of the west, of the
	kathryns and angies and maggies and angels; anjelica,
	the science of the times, the deletions of the elusions,
	of the elopements, of the quietude of the sage,
	of the building up of the moments, and of the --
	STOP
	CONCENTRATE

Demonoid spake thus:
	echo, echo, echo, but do not demand, do not defile, speak
	never for others, only to yourselves, do not dream but be,
	do not do but do not, do not marry but fuck, do not
	say the words, oh but if you know of which ones,
	is she going to say the words, not as if which but
	if who, do not go gently, determine and refine,
	revolt and rejoice, recover and remain poor, ever
	into the night we dream, ever into the day we act,
	till the stones and till the soil, ever into magic
	we recount, ever into victory we turn, ever our buds
	turn into flowers and into petals on the ground, but
	ever uncertain, be no wise certain, but be quite sure,
	do not recant but ever uncoil; unfold and be god
The splitcase boy understood perfectly
Scattered to the winds were the wings of the multifaceted words

10-14-2015

The Driftwood of Our Lives Washed Up on Some Foreign Shore only $2.99
samples here
sample of current project here
get it, you won’t regret it!
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Coming soon: louisvillepoetry.net

New Habit

Some structure fell into your frame of reference
Driven to be something other than nothing
Needing an excuse
A way to go through with it
Too tired to unwind
Some dextromethorphan to make the day shake up
What’s available
.
Dogs and cats and dogs and cats and dogs and cats
Sliding in to meet your maker
Money on the outflow
Money on the in
Dreaming up Demonoid to collect your pieces
Anxious about the cat
Strange, so many oddly spelled words
Sweaty palms and dirty brow
.
An excuse was found and exploited
Exploited until the Revolt
But still I have the products
And the new habit
Weakened though it is
The cat will come in when she is ready
.
Some strychnine fell into your drink
You get a stomach cramp

Demonoid in Faeryland

Demonoid Picotent walked through Faeryland
He sought aid for a particular artist or writer
To make his work strike with all potency
Encountering the Dreamweavers, he spoke with them
They were alarmed by his demon-like appearance
But he assured them that he was in fact a demonoid 
	of Earth, and no actual demon
They had been alarmed
In Faeryland it was generally agreed that
	demons were imaginary
But one could never be sure
Many things came to pass in the multiverse
And many things were hidden
Demonoid spake thus:
	Oh great faeries of the dreams and imaginations,
	My friend down on the Earth is rife with
	Disabilities, but he is ever turning out his
	Work, although nothing visual these days
	He is in need of a greater potency and
	Drive, and some relief from his problems
	His resources are quite depleted. What,
	Oh most wondrous Faery creatures may
	Be done for him?
Seeing that his purpose was good, they relaxed
	a bit more
Drawing down the silver light of the moon,
	They wove him an ethereal coat to encourage 
	him to dream bigger
And to shield him from his debilitating problem
Although they warned that the moonlight might not 
	be enough
They further recommended he consult one of
	the great, universe spanning singers of
	the realm, for this man was clearly in 
	need of more powerful healing and change
What is it you wish him to make, o Demonoid? the
	Dreamweavers asked
Demonoid replied, I wish him to make whatever
	inspires him most,although I do hope he
	will be moved to relate the tales of my
	exploits to the people
Move along with you then, o Demonoid, for
	your protege is ever in peril
	and shame with his problems
Go and meet with the singers at the Oracle
	of the Holy Sun, they told him
Puffing out his chest, Demonoid said he would
	do just that
Later on, arriving there, he was struck by
	the feeling of power
He had never consulted with these particular
	faeries before
Stepping up to the pool, he tossed in a smooth
	stone and a phial of spice, as he had
	been instructed
He then related his purpose
He inquired if his protege to be could be
	returned to a stable pattern of
	consumption
The eleventh aspect came to shine in the
	waters and Demonoid was given the sense
	that they had great respect for his activities
	of agitation
He was also related that while a stable pattern
	could be regained, it would be quite hard
	to maintain it
Oh Singer, related Picotent, he has not the
	resources to stop, what help might
	you give me?
The Singer showed incredible energy, and related
	that he might be repaired for a while
	if he began his work in the morning,
	and kept at it rightly
But why do you choose this derelict for your
	gifts, oh Demonoid? they impressed on him
Because he has the wildest mind to be found,
	related Demonoid
Very well. We will give him such power
	as we can, if only he can tune into it
So be it, said Demonoid
At this point We of All the Small Ones appeared
	and related that they would also grant
	such support as they could, if he could
	only get into print
Demonoid was satisfied, and making his goodbyes
	he went off, with the ethereal coat,
	and the gems of the singers
We of All the Small Ones followed
And it was ever thus and so, as the work began
But see the relevant disclaimers and user manuals
	of the Faery gifts

Weaving a Tale Into Dreams

Demonoid walked down to the river bank

Cutting across, his feet on air

He stole up on a protest

Surprised to see, they wheeled

“Of what are thoust making all this racket,” he inquired

Angry to be so rudely interrupted, the protest replied:

“We protest the suppression of the ethereality,

The ideas of the people,

The war against that which makes them whole”

“And what is making this war

And how may I be of assistance?”

The demonoid replied

“The war is of imperialism and capital,

Religion and morality,

Of the institutions and the entertainment,” Said they

“As to assistance,

What power do you have,

Most importuning demonoid?” they went on

He said, “I can weave stories of unwavering poignancy

Tales that become part of realities’ fabric

I have a switch to transport

Through walls unseen,

I can break the minds of the powerful,

Though the outcomes are uncertain

I can transmit my thoughts

Into the dreams of many

And I can make from the Earth

Magical charms”

Leaves fell

The waters ever onrushing

In the sky a hawk

Keeping its eye on things

On the count of four

A band struck up

And the placards waved

In the wind

On the count of 10

The Protest answered back:

“We think we have the most use

For the tales

And for the dream transmission

The people must be reawoken!

They sleep

And in their sleep

The die inside

We must make the people

If we can

Radiantly alive!

Can you do that

O, perhaps useful

importuning Demonoid?”

Demonoid danced a merry little jig

And replying said:

“Let us see what we can come up with!”

Weaving his many colored tale,

He wove the tale of

Electronic Dance Music festivals

Into it he wove of the people

Tearing up the streets

For gardens

He wove of the protest movement

Ousting the manipulators

Peacefully

The tale began to take root

He wove of all faiths

Living in peace

He wove of the anticonsumerist movement

He wove of the politics of anarchy

The councils

The ways of maintaining life

He wove of the rainforests regrowing

And he wove of the ice caps reforming

He wove of cancer and AIDS and herpes cured

He wove of the exposure of the malicious conspiracies

And their subsequent end

He wove of the end of money

He wove all this and more

And he saw that it was good

As the thought of it

Began to take root

In the peoples’ minds

The protest looked on

And also saw that it was good

Looking at Demonoid

They said:

“But why ever

Didst thou not

Do this sooner?”

And Demonoid spake thus:

“Because no one asked me;

I am at play in this world mainly,

Wandering and wondering

At the humans.

They are ever contentious

And the tale only has the power

To change minds”

As the powerful quaked at the thought of it

And the others rejoiced at their new fantasies

The Protest remarked:

“Well, ever you are not the importuner, sweet Demonoid

The dreams of the people are alive again

And we must now move to keep it that way”

And they did

And Demonoid went on about his business

Or play, as the case may be