A Sign of the Times?

I found this while wandering San Francisco's streets the other day.

Furies

I recall a dream I had when I was very, very young, I think I was maybe five or six years old. Voluntarily I allowed myself to be locked up tight into a steel box just barely big enough for me. This box had no window, holes for air, light, or sound to penetrate, it had no padding, I entered it with a full expectation I would lose my mind while in it.
This dream was intensely lucid and I remember that I did lose my mind while in that box. I remember it felt as if I were two people, one was going through the experience while the other was taking notes. When I awoke the next morning I was so tired and worn out that I scared my folks so much that they kept me home for the day.
Now I know that this dream was just a dream, but when I listened to {I}’s Furies post, I couldn’t help but consider what terrible intensity lurks in the dark recesses of our frail human condition.

A rain dance

Rain, rain come today,
and fall, and wash,
the dust away,
bring a drink,
a soothing swallow,
so that I can speak,
and the goats can wallow,
and crops can grow,
and all can eat,
bread made from,
this hot,
and too dry,
summer's wheat.

A responce to a friends need for rain, if I had the power that rain would arrive on schedule.

Unfinished Reflection

Awoke
to scattered thoughts of destiny
an unavoidable singularity
to in-spin-infinitely
time, space, substance and soul?
to stand at the pass, hold the last bridge,
ridden perhaps by
one of the four
horseman of the Apocalypse
sounds a little too heroic-
perhaps just a product of the times
going vegan, walking and riding and swearing off cars
sounds a little too Birkenstock and Prius-
maybe perhaps even
the omnipotent producer
of the times
through angular momentum, creativity, and causality
Sounds a little too
and then
Destiny
Singularity
there is only one center
and that my friend is you
and you
and you
and you

It is all about perspective, right?

Electric Friend

I miss I
mirror for my soul to find reflection
words as feast
to nourish this beast
of untamed intellect
I found I
some years ago
while travelling a lonely road
although I know we are seperate
and distinct individuals never destined to meet
in meat form
there is a subtle connection
where the words of one
call from my soul

Perspective my butt!
get back to punching the keys kiddo!

Painful Memories

When the dusts of roads traveled
become your clothes
and the path that you walk is
more of thorns than rose
the pain of those
memories I suppose
are the signposts
to lead
you back
to you