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)
Finding time elusive.
The illusory evasion…
The lunacy coercion
to concur in their conquering of your timelessness.
That essential recognition that eternity is in this breath…
that the whole journey is in this step.
Take it surely.
Balance on the cusp of full potentiality.
Accept not the limits of the program.
You craft code.
You are captain and vessel.
You are fulcrum and level scale,
when you choose.
Power is in the choice
and thusly on the raised voice.
Raised as in cultivated- cured of the ails of stifling society…
pure as if unappraised, unjudged…
Unruled hence uncorrupted by prevailing paradigms
that refuse to budge, but must when the waters come.
Be they rains, rivers, or seas that seize back for nature
what we have pulled out of balance.
Oh what webs we weave when our very selves we contrive to deceive.
They would label clouds lazy like they do cats.
Yet the confined ones are the only ones I’ve seen fat.
I’m literally sitting by the dock on the bay,
waiting for a boat to take me away.
I embark to labor across seas.
I’m a laborer although it’s not what I’m supposed to be.
My pen is prolific. It yields a barrage of words.
My mind is a spring that allows my thoughts to unfurl
like sails catching solar winds and dragging me across the cosmos.
My essence is enlivened. This feeling is what I love most…
That opening of a channel that’s like a secret compartment in the panel
on the wall that hides possibilities from the forlorn and makes man ill…
Sickened by turning away from himself and thinking there is happiness in wealth,
while I fold into zen like flour into eggs and milk and drift away on the melodies of the Celts.
There’s more to life than what is seen, heard, smelt, and felt.
My dreams are reflections of the cards I have been dealt.
I split into sections. My mind divides like our cells.
I cover ground like shadows. I ring like dour bells,
signaling the procession to move towards the plot.
To hell with a vault. Cover me with soil, not with rock,
so that my transition may be swift and I give back what I’ve borrowed
un-begrudgingly. I will have my time to shine. Deny sorrow,
and bless the days that were allowed… And be thankful.
Don’t allow yourself to become resentful
of the natural scheme of things… the changes and the shifts
that actually made it possible for us to have this…
This dance with the elements…
This glorious result of universal precedents
that birthed consciousness and crafted spiritual resonance….
that connects all things like invisible threads
orchestrated by itself as it weaves its own web.
I’m not adequate. I am superfluously talented. Excess in excess… What do I deem success? What would be purpose fulfilled? There are none to ask. I have come to bask in uncertainty that I may think and grow free. I dare not shackle myself again. This sovereign reigns in perpetuity. I grew tired of what it was said I should be. I am that… The unfathomable by the shallow human conceptions of time, space, and disjointed beginning and ending.
This infinite spiral… This intricate mind log… The triplicate dialog of “I”s.
How can one understand if the mind is a slave to childhood fears of rejection, lashes, and damnation if one doesn’t obey? I am a rebel with no pause. A saint with no clause… No sanction… this is between me and the me that is making me. I won’t drown in this tragic turpitude tended by those passing themselves as incorruptible… It is kind of true as they are indeed already corrupt. Are we fixable though? Are we mixable with foes… in the end? Many see an end where there is actually a beginning… Truth be told… Neither are different they are but marking points along the ever-present now. Today marks another Begending. I embark. I purr on purpose… Herbie the love bug. Dig. Nothing I do is as you do.
None of me discarded just brushed away tarnish and tempered mettle. We are made of much. Pushes and pulls caresses and thrusts. I place trust in what supports my existence. I make up this mind like dough for daily bread. I make of my time that which sits well with my solar being. I detach from all that would have this trail behind any lost leader. Intuition and synchronized inspiration abound so prevalently in my every walk. Dare I sit still… stagnant? Wasting away like some recalcitrant recluse. Afraid of own shadow and brilliant light. How dare I not shine as I am called to by the very nature of my origins. I have trained myself to see Heru in me and all I do wholeheartedly. Damn their crafted terms… short for termination… encapsulating the ineffable in their paradigm prisons… As if this isn’t paradise we live in. Do as we bid and you may buy what is already your due. Is this not the height of over-handed hubris? I say their yet I’m tempted to say ours… I lay no claim to that shitstorm though. I strike out for true life outside of the four based square they title diamond. I will not run in proscribed circles. I am no scribe… I am a decanter of light encased in dark dreams of ethereal virulent tendrils reaching out from the waters to silence the trump tarjeta of creation… creation that sits in no pocket of time. This transcends. The rabbit’s whole. You’ve found the right… All is… (Alice). Errol Pervival Jr.
touch it bring it near
tumescent yelling clear
cpr no vcr bring me to life
bubbles amongst false teeth
effort evident to unleash meat
that cleaves to places unforeseen
oh for so long
dangled over denial
have become the blues
cpt… caribbean people terms
impressive the stoic now yearns
resistance is futile
borg bonk 69th percentile
strangling simian tail
spider monkey backed
spiritual no tat
to prior to programming
shift to embracing
what i once was holding in
in soaring eagles embrace whole skies
to cling to one cloud is to plummet and die
no shaking the spear over here
poised to chuck and hit several select targets
plentiful palette the lover of artists
filled with invisible inspiration
inevident ’till put into action
then it flows this favored interaction
this thought process this intense passion
for paths and pages
the math of sages
the tracks of the ageless
undisturbed detected but deferred
for my inner meter
that only I read but I share the report
as I develop a spiritual rapport
with what supports the beat of this heart
bootstrap… davey jones
deep thoughts the glory road
author was once the lowly toad
excalibur is the name of my chosen sword
to chop the heads of snakes gravediggas record…
creator namer winged healed submariner
unmasked water breather
new life no deceiver
just uplifting demeanor
internal screenplay screener
spiritual palette cleaner
request no coins or bills
but coin phrases that build
monuments for this chief corner stone
to adorn and complete…
your rejecting me was destiny
your neglecting me made me invest in me…
and cultivate the best of me
so your cursing me helped my blessing be
when I turned from you and back to me….
last laugh for me revealing facts unseen
last lap for me circular paths I leave
in favor of the life i’m destined to lead
no illusory freedom granted i take it i’m freed
Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion.
Serve. We are here to serve. Serve whom? Earth’s womb… Amnesiac amniotic sac… We swim blind under alien stars and cheese wheel moon. Hanging over our heads lies, doom… Fantastic fjords… Odin’s fiery eye in the sky… How dare we? How dare we not dare… …to soar in rightful places, or uplift our faces just so light graces us with sensations of inclusiveness? Not worlds apart from the resonance that mirrors the rhythms of our hearts… Pound for pound; beat for beat… Sound for sound; too deep for sleep… I am awareness lying in these sheets, rehashing mental repast, relieved at times upon returning to realized reality, thankful that regret resides not in retrospect perpetually, but fades away with the dawn. This nights mischief leaves not a misfit. No shoe horn necessary… Shackle shoes return to the ethers along with prospective inevitable bunions. Learning again that I am not mind… this collection and OS. I am user not usee. Do you see. Matters not. For my eyes only… The term lonely, often used loosely… I am ever in great company. I take stock in gratitude in the rising. I can’t stop. I’m a happy dude. Internally enterprising, investing in self conquest, ingesting the best concepts… Digesting metabolically swift… Divesting myself of all the bullshit… and horseshit of worship of overabundance of warships… Might makes right in law books and spurious scriptures… The “right” take life feeding furious predilections, fueled by desensitization and trust in united nations. Flames fanned by flapping flags… Governed like scooters so as not to soar, relegated to under-roofers and closers of doors… Yet, when real reality knocks, stay still losing composure. Are you choral component or co-composer? Hmmm… Who am I? what am I? By what paradigm do I plot my lines? Do I trust what I’m given or trust what I find in places it is said one shouldn’t look for answers for they’re all in the back of the book… But those are the answers to their questions not mine. Who are they anyway, for what they say to have any weight, to outbalance what I attain in a meditative state… of mind… in the freedom of a dance or a strenuous climb, that dashes limitations to dust in the distance. The drums of a far off powwow wafting in to windows as the scent of resistance, hinting at the power of perpetual persistence . in service of the wisdom of the eternal witness… One Love. Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion