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…
I paid in full.
I pour out my heart…
On the page.
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.
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)
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.
Thusly is it always.
Trust me… All these hallways lead now here.
We found fear.
Leave our gear.
Seething seas… Teething beasts…
Lead yourself deep.
These waters upkeep
mists on mountainsides.
Rifts amongst A-and likes…
Drifts and dams… Desires and design.
Swift my plans… Real fire resigns
to light up where it resides
like Christmas lights.
This fits just right.
Resist one’s plight it persists, it is said.
Is that right?
From truth exact life.
Come loose; react nice.
It is never all it’s cracked up to be.
No one has to act tough for me…
Walk and talk love.
Exude a well being.
May all know peace.
Errol Percival Jr.
wearing this shabby treatment on the sleeve
where the heart used to be.
jaded and jangling danger
veils fall away…
you’re no angel ether baby…
lips sync with the halo…
formation foundation fame leads to polarization effect
love hate relations slip back and forth on thin lines
and razor edges…
fickle flickers and aching tickers…
go hand in hand…
skipping like stones over seas of trends…
plots and plans…
two wrongs make two wrong
the self-righteous are often too wrong
for far too long to amend their ways
for fear of shame in admitting
some would slay to save face
question the quotings…
memes set in motion
seeking emulation of some ideal
that works in theory but not really
not for these nimble nuances
that dance an upper room jig
zigging and zagging
dipping and dabbing
you’ll never master by dabbling…
failed spell casters resort to stabbing
jabbing sour grape rhetoric resides behind lips
they poke their heads out now and then
some are too power inebriated to spot them
yet we are more than just options
free the pictures of captions
they tell you what to see
they leave naught to imagination
they tell you what to think and you believe
social media guinea pigs are we
or are we?
Facebook is a freebie
That’s becoming just like T.V.
Freud and Bernays…
Practice and theory
we are made by what we make
we are mated kings and queens yet pawns at play…
in what are we engaged…
love now before it’s too late…
don’t be strategic
be honorable and brave.
wash off the world
wash off the taint…
look deep into real eyes…
stoke the fire that’s faint and fading from neglect
take spark and make conflagration
glow in the dark that the lost may find their way
waver not… lest you would make all prior efforts waste…
hide no more…
unveil your radiant face.
Tired for no apparent reason to those outside…
outside of what is concealed behind veiled pain…
How dare I share such debilitating energies of loss and abandonment?
How dare I bid another drink from a soiled grail?
How dare I remain and wallow in such?
How dare I abuse this life infused dust…
It didn’t go my way… yet.
My way remains to be seen.
As of now fingers point to the way and I look in that direction…
and that direction…
and that direction…
None lead to correction of missteps that bid me view myself as misfit…
for so long…
compounded by how long I held on…
Love strived valiantly but in the end fear won.
Well that was almost the end.
Fear had its parade and such.
While love laid hemmed up…
strapped like suspenders to a body of dirt
and a body of work secured in knapsack.
I trusted in a lie but tied a hump to my back
for the house was never locked due to lost and never recovered keys.
So I was in the club looking like a camel even after my release.
Habits are insidious…
Protective measures reveal the weakness.
Aggressive levers are pulled by the weakest…
for every blessed thing…
All they wage is war…
on everyone… for even their smile is often deception…
a momentary lull in the onslaught upon wills
to attain their own ends.
Three fingers point back at point blank.
It wasn’t all bad. It couldn’t have been.
Foresight is more sight.
Hind sight is blind sight to a degree…
for one looks through conclusion clouded memory.
We often see what we want to see even when it’s not what we want to see.
I know my love is real.
I know I gave of myself.
In the end all is well.
I refuse to vow never to do it again.
Wholehearted love is not a scar when the pains pass.
It is a superpower tempered in the fires of doubt and deception
That emerges even more brilliant than before.
This isn’t from cultivation.
This is how I am wired.
Acknowledging this… I am no longer tired.
Love do your best and your worst… Just don’t ever retire.