The Universal

Transcend yourself,
your lines and limitations.
Go. Move on further than you can
ever imagine yourself to conceive.
There is a tie that binds you,
to all that you can’t admit.


The strangers in this crowded room
your brothers of languages you don’t know.
From places you haven’t seen
and skins that cower
under an unseen oppression.

Find yourself
where you have never been.
Take the trip,
fall flat on your face
and see yourself
for whom you really are,
not what.

The crowded room
is where we live.
Sutta upon sutta
grimacing
in the gaining wind
mildly charged
with college memories
and stains and cig burns.

We don’t see them,
our lives outside the details.
Where else can you be?
Perhaps not the best of locations
but there it is.

I find all,
those I have not met
for being who I am.
My wholesale price
of opportunity.

Of chance and providence,
of missed trains
and the planes I took
to places where I wasn't known.
Here I am alone
and unknown.

I find others like me,
unlike me,
finding themselves
in me.

In a midnight cig ash,
I share myself
with who evers,

shivering on the cold nights of oblivion.

Guitar riffs and smoky trips
beyond visible horizons
in hidden alcoves
of accompaniment.
I can see you all,
for what I really am,
nothing more.

The naked feeling – are you ready?
Sweet, supple and virgin.
Perhaps not.

But I will deflower you
with sight and voice.
I will seek you out.

Behind the sun, shines
light you'll not see
with your eyes

blaring in an apologetic tone.

Saying things
I will not care to listen
as I’ve played this game before.

There is something different
in the way we smile
and lie and
play this
life,

across the void of our meager existence.

Blame whoever comes
across your path.
I blame me.

And I am surely redeemed
for all my actions
for punishments
inflicted
out of habit
of addiction and pain,
and pleasure and laughter.

Of the undercutting insults
thrown on my face
by the withering
niceties
of my comrades.

I am the horse
that will be shot
in the dark
of the stable
to free me
from pain.

And then beaten.

Apocryphal Now!
The Irony! The Irony!

[The travelogue will follow shortly, having trouble organising (recognizing) the scribbles across surfaces temporal and temporary.]