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.
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…
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.
This one is for free.



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…
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
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…
Take no shorts…
Then they can’t be a given.
Self discipline…
Regality revision…
Duality… Division…
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


3 Am… or so…


Careening cars crashing…
Codes crushed… combustion.
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


Just as I am… A shift… A lift…
Just as I am… A gift… A risk…
Just as I am… Nothing is missed…
Doubts are dismissed.
It is what it is.
Reclaimant resists relapse
into imposed illusory reality’s throes.
I set me free.
I set my spirit afire…
No effigy… Just return of the effin’ G.
Every step is a sacrifice of stillness.
Some stillness comes with the onset of illness.
Some realness requires sacrifice of likelihood of being liked by those who bear witness…
Especially the false.
Oh boy… The pretense… The pittance…
The preaching… The defense…
The lost in the sauce…
The cognitive dissonance…
I almost became defined…
I almost became refined…
Fuck that… I decline…
The only thing that shall be said is, “He was himself.”
Rightly so… You only live one life at a time.
Breathe one breath… It doesn’t have be a sigh.
Win. You’re the best… It doesn’t have to be a tie.
Champion shit that’s destined to make you rise.
The above is a verb…
Actions and worth…
Factions and birth…
Fractions of dirt…
The war within and without…
The divisions and demarcations of doubt…
That keep us from the potential power of us all in concert and unison…
Don’t you see the imaginary lines? The ties that bind.
The lies that find their way to prominence
amongst the misguided and spiritually incompetent.
Colonialism shut you down for the count
but not the collecting of all your missing pieces strewn across the globe.
This whole earth is home.
We would see that if we were allowed to freely roam.
But the nationality bug has bit.
And war has been the norm ever since…
I don’t have the answers but just a bit of sense.
Enough to see the ports as the gates of our pens.
I’ve been on a journey since two thousand and ten.
Peaks and valleys… Now wings and solar winds…
I won’t apologize if any take offense.
I’m going to live my way so fuck what you think.
Emphatic and wild…
You may miss me if you blink.
Oh well… Life goes on.

Daiikiru (Dai-Ikiru)

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Errol G Edblad

Errol G Edblad Thank you Errol!


Errol Percival Jr.
Write a comment…


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.


Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion