I collect and compile.
I cut and paste.
I post ‘pon platforms.
I never tag…
I’m never caught.
What you get away with you have to keep.
It is catching dust.
Is this neglect or being prolific.
When is a work completed?
When are we completed?
Is death a goal?
Where lies heaven?
Will we care there?
Amnesia is a bummer… Sometimes.
They forgot me as I hid.
I forgot me bit by bit.
I came back in need of a feather duster.
The scale… The scale…
My heart… My heart…
No tipping.
I paid in full.
I pour out my heart…
On the page.


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)



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


I don’t know what will come of this… yet.
I’m facing my comeuppance… blessed.
Karmic aggression… quick…
Stone… splash
Spit… slap…
Slip… crap…
Gift… rapped…
Split tabs…
It… tagged…
Game! Bragg.
Is that not a fort?
We cannot afford more mechanics of war.
Through machinations madly devolved…
to base beings… in haste bleeding…
what we could be seeding.
It seems our dealings constitute a beating
of oft’ dead warhorses
and death knells
we dance to dirges…
What is the purpose…
What is the proper pose
some propose if not groveling?
On the surface triumphant yet cowering…
cowering from the reality and the harrowing
notion that delusion, illusion, and deception rule the day.
What are we empowering when we let such and such hold Sway?
I’m far from having all the answers…
or all the questions for that matter.
Don’t know if it’s me or the world that’s madder…
We are the world…
Some say there’s no matter…
as such…
Ask us when we’re tranced up…
or martyred or hemmed up by charges trumped up.
First world problems…
How many worlds…
How many pictures?
How many words?
What is not scripture?
What is not scripted?
Who’s not conscripted?
Where does conflict live?
Where does it knot?
Where does it stop?
Where does it start?
Where do I start?
Where does the world end?
There is no when.
All is movement.
even unseen wind…
The winds of change
blew someone’s hat down the street.
Chasing it, stumbling, them and Cadillac grills meet.
Ludicrous… liberal application of elbow grease.
to the wheels of the beast’s conveyance…
shouldering beliefs contrived and given
to achieve an end…
Perceive what is forbidden
and what remains unforgiven.
Redeemed is just a shift in perception.
What you deem yourself you become.
Some seek possession.
What possesses but demon?
What corroboration but seasons girded with trappings for reason?
We go with societies flow.
Contrary to nature,
we mold ourselves,
culling our souls for these nations,
committing spiritual treason.
The well of ancestors is deep.
Even the genes you don’t wish to but must keep speak.
Are you listening?
Or has the world’s noise drowned them out?
Many walk in shame but sound devout.
Who’s that whistling?
What’s word of mouth but needless distinction
for wayward diction
best geared to fiction by omission?
Hearsay I dare say is heresy of the highest order.
I speak universally…
Not under the auspices of the Holy See to no degree.
I seek to dispense with deception totally.
I won’t concede to any attempts at holding me
to words that didn’t come through me.
For these are the only verifiable divine conduits
upon which to base congruency.
I’m only true if I’m true to me.
You all are me.
We all are I.
I love me…
Open your eyes.
Daiikiru Maximillion.

JE 60 November 11th 2015th A.C.E. Greenland, Tortola, British Virgin Islands


Circa Solitude

Circa Solitude11112015

These are those days. What worlds do our beliefs build? How dare I walk where they would have me walk and flee the divine spark which clamors for undivided attentions? The span of my mind is unknown for the darkness ever recedes and then reclaims what I draw away from. These alchemical processes will no longer be stop and start. Completion is godliness next to cleanliness. I know. I don’t know. I act. I don’t act. I am… I am… I am… A trinity.

Errol Percival Jr.

Daiikiru’s 5th seconded

I don’t belong here.
The lies abound and are well tended.
The imposed imposes and closes walls.
I dare not crumble.
I will not grumble.
The attacks on my psyche will meet staunch defense.
This doesn’t feel like home.
This is a heated tomb.
Betrayal betrayal…
I have been here before.
I once felt so low.
My spirit rankles at the overt oppression.
I see some knuckle under to it.
Not I.
I will rise.
Only truth shall leave my lips.
Henceforth I am that.
Programming falls away like dead skin.
I am renewed in the ash.
I write myself out of despair’s depths.
I settle not.
I leave that for the dregs.
I am the water.
I don not the cloak of society.
I look past the farces.
I look past the trees.
I look past all fauna.
I look into the deep.
That’s ten eyes, five faces, five aspects…
15 eyes…
Each face has a tertiary facet.
Baseball diamond…
Home base looks like a house.
That’s my first time making that connection.
Quiet like a mouse.
Inner insurrection.
Shake the farcical foundations.
Fruit falls far from those trees.
Planted on hillsides… The thievery trinity.
They have stolen the world and turned it on its heir.
What cannot be owned cannot be stolen.
So the stealing is naught but illusion.
It becomes real if you accept it and make it true to you.
So does balance.
So does equity.
So does reciprocity.
It could all be so simple.
But they’d rather fake it hard.
They… we… whatever.
Thinking we are clever…
Much is beyond the strictures of framing thought as we do.
Many be on their tip toes standing on a box sans the soap.
We need cleaning…
Maintenance Aquarian….
Gemini… Appears Rastafarian…
Yet there is more.
There is always more.
Roger that silly rabbits…
Splits harm the kids.
What is it that we shall build…
…five lion alliance?
Bluespyryt steps out on the right foot.
One step.
How dare these shorn arms attempt to box god.
Have a thousand seats or make a thousand steps.
Your choice.
The Watercourse way awaits.

Errol Percival Jr.
Daiikiru Maximillion

Journal Entry 58… July 13th 2015 Titled: Adequate. Ha!

Adequate. Ha!07132015

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.