About Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion

I am...

Tendencies

Tendencies…
Frequencies…
Tempting me…
to resent the leap
it took for me to leave a peak
for verdant valleys
and urgent tallies
of recurrent follies
that humbled and brought wisdom.
I tumbled across visions
interwoven with religions
‘til I read words telling me to let it flow.
So here goes…
Here goes nothing and everything.
Here goes a heart open to aches that furrow brows.
The clever reign where the not so clever feign that they know.
Faithless… the turning… the yearning
for a space where nimble mind may alight for a time.
We seek surcease from uncertainties.
And trade them for the clinging taint of certainty.
We sell ourselves out for comforting back pats.
We sell ourselves short cavorting with our backpacks,
heavy with the accoutrements of our acumen.
We carry untold treasures.
We tarry on cold ledges awaiting the faith for leaps.
While the faithful sleep like bambinos exhaling frosted breath.
By frost the bow and bridge are called to being…
chakra shades and all.
Sacral space evolved…
The lower being and higher being merge.
There are no lanes
in this endeavor where forgotten pains
emerge and make it clear nothing is forgotten.
The ill-gotten goods you unconsciously despise
for what they remind you you have become
if you are mindful…
If your mind’s full… Empty it.
Breathe a little.
Reclaim who you were born to be.
Let that which must die die.
Reclaim your throne…
Don’t frown here in the darkness.
Feel it as it goes.
Don’t call the law.
Embody truth… again.

Errol Percival Jr.

01

Thought pollution

Streams of interpreted information
What revolution?
Cycles of same like seasons or holidays.
You conform too much.
You contort to fit your fate…
Colonizer’s crutch.
Man, help yourself up.
This is us.
Earth is us.
Nations are bluffs.
They separate unity.
Oxymoronic…
Imprisoning with impunity
so you can’t see the you in me.
I’m not puffing chronic.
I won’t waste medicine.
I’m already high enough.
Clarity grants me prescience.
I’m most high when at my lowest and still rise and take my stance again.
Sometimes spirit is all I can rely on
to bolster me to defy odds
like the many Neos and scions of Zion.
My life has always been challenging.
Fitting… as I am a champion.
A champion of the cause of freedom and authenticity…
A champion composed of reason and intensity…
A champion a warrior with a poetic propensity plus a profundity proclivity.
Pulse; beat.
Chorus: I gotta live with me.
So no sleeping with the enemy breathing on my neck like I’m caught in sleep paralysis.
Waking dreams of vacancies at the top of the food chain yet not animalistic…
Nah this is that Natural Mystic.
I’ve been flowing through the years
unbeknownst to those who are not my peers.
Hmmm… Who are my peers?
Perhaps those who add verse to the equation and alleviate fearful conclusions that the world is destined to maintain the illusion that domination and destruction are strong suits or improvements and not progression towards losing… everything priceless.

Something New… The Old Way.

I won’t borrow style.
I will burrow into my wild, wild best.
Diminishing returns…
Impoverished… It burns.
For there is so much to be brought forth.
So, in I go.
No bars to hold,
No scars to jade,
No point to prove,
No one to entertain…
My pen is free again.
As am I…
An awakening proved itself necessary.
So slumber shan’t stall stories from monumentally being built.
I relinquish my previous entries and exit onto a bare field.
I reminisce back to tabula rasa
(stated as status no more or not quite as much…).
I do due diligence in documenting the passage.
All is passing…
All this passion…
Result…
I’m enacting purpose filled action with no outcome attachment.
All is dancing…
So I smile as I type.
My pen is metaphorical.
It is rod, staff, caduceus… if you will.
I will… aligned with divine will…
I am of divine ilk.
Hence the divine ink.
Connotation to the winds…
Convocation of the wins…
Dusty trophies.
Batty belfries…
Cathedral palsy.
They say the best things are to die for.
But aren’t the best things to strive for?
Successful struggles are ones we’re alive for.
It is easy to put words in the mouths of dead martyrs.
Who can truly die for another?
Yet who am I to cast anything…
least of all aspersions and assertions?
I am I… That’s who.
I am I. Is that you?
Then act like it.
To hell with political correctness.
Deception is war. So is politics.
It is a war on the use of your own good sense.
We trade responsibility hence power for the security of authorities
then cower.
Am I doing this right?
No! If you have to ask.
I’m just doing me.
Proud.
This one is for free.
Loud.

Peace.
Crowned.

Ignite and extinguish

The light the dark the clutter the clarity
The fight the art the utter disparity
The bite the bark the muttered vulgarities
We might depart from lovers for sanity
But every step away is a wound
There is no get away from the tune
That reminds you of them then blooms
flowers of memory whose scents fill the room
and that’s every song on every station
every film or book seems a representation
of your lost love or the sunken relation….
ship that has sailed
into troubled waters and successfully failed
for those who wished it…
out of existence
Errol Percival(Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion)

final1

Charge

I challenge myself to a duel
to the depths
I could almost be lost in my own consciousness.
But that’s a stretch.
I won’t unconsciously accept my foot on my own neck.
Or any idle threats to be less than my best.
My past won’t hold me hostage.
My future won’t confound my current steps.
As for now…
Too fleeting to pin down.
There it goes again…
Lazy language limitation…
We talk ourselves out of Els and into L’s.
Have a nice day mankind.
I don’t like ties.
They seem to signify leashes.
And being tied to the matrix
OR the water cooler.
Or paternal pathologies passed down
Or passed on.
What passion in pencil pushing?
If the figures aren’t figments of artistry lifting from pages to dance with the daydreams school tried to kill.
They almost made me sedentary and trained me to sit still.
This Lion Can’t Tame!
Research my last name and read of the grail.
I perceive all… My body will never be a jail.
My mind will never be a warden.
I beg no one’s pardon.
I am my own sovereign.
This hubris won’t harden.
My heart is merely charging my soul
for the journey, struggles, and battles ahead for my Squadron.
Se La Vie… No problem…

I fated.

I fated faded gene…
To then imprint another scheme.
With true avowal and action ensuing
From the true in him…
Altruism…
Why not make that a faith.
Why not make that relate to all…
Even the creatures of the field.
Even the initiators of the fall…
For are not all falls the call for orchestrated rise?
Who conducts themselves thusly as aforementioned above me?
Absolve me…
Make me clean again
Oh meditation…
Oh divine dictation
Taken…
I leave all on the page.
I am vacant…
No one asked for full sacrifice of all you are for their own ends.
You assumptive closed yourself into a box…
Lion defend…
Stand…
Take no shorts…
Then they can’t be a given.
Dignity…
Self discipline…
Regality revision…
Duality… Division…
Decision.
Waver not…
Heed O-Sensei well.
Memory cuts to the chase…
Tentative tut
Preemptive put…
A whole in one…
A whale of a tale…
A fluke then a flunk…
Every dog has its day…
As well as each Garbage pail…
As well as broken clocks have their moment of truth…
But will never again Alarm…
Unless repaired… and well.

Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion

lion-i

3 Am… or so…

​Career?

Careening cars crashing…
Codes crushed… combustion.
Catharsis…
That is often why I write.
It is compulsion.
The words come and I must go.
Especially when things are stressful.
This is my healing.
This is my dealing.
That’s why I share with such feeling.
Because it’s the real him.
Hubris speaks in numerous persons.
Egos leak vitriolic versions of truth
at pain’s urging…
You never know fully what they are going through.
So don’t hurt them.
It’s hard sometimes.
Some scars confine…
and with odds combine to convince
the crying to commit ultimate crime
against self…
Giving up.
Or lashing out…
Becoming less than the divine in them dictates…
Circling cycling… stoking fires of hate.
Love is the answer ask Martin or King…
Can’t ask martyrs a thing.
They are paraded as subtle subconscious deterrent… at times.
Salute Assata…
Don’t mind them.
We can win.
We can reign.
We are not here to entertain… failure.
We are not here to become lame… Saviors.
Each one carries capacity…
Each one teach one.
Love lavishly…
Neither tomorrow nor next breath is promised…
Comfort can breed fools.
Yet… A love that does not elude out of fear of being vulnerable proves powerful when not abused by the dour and sour folks who have become jaded… or cheapened by cheating…
Or lustily leaping through rings and taking whippings and administering the same to end up defeating the purpose of first meeting…
Oh my…
Love nuh.
Stop the bullshit.

Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion