Feelings

you used to ...
no you don't seem so proud

YeAh, like a rubber tire on the beach
surf rolling stone

no secrets to conceal
a 1 zero
just shadow on the passage way
(Hello, they say)
How does it feel?
me used to ride safe
car, card, beer
theenyou night was part of that
by Xelas barrio, with smoke green of grass

now
rain blind mementos
of 1 day
you used 2 b so amused
but things (Donn know why) changed
no longer
fun
&
beer
&
China

So
it's just feeling
those feelings

of
a
primeval
sense
of feeling

well, stole image
prose mine

Slaves

and now you know
that everything is unreal
We
are all slaves
of our impotence

yes, my love, she said, smoking lucky strike
(well, if love is not love, if you is no longer a You, then...)

Slaves
Workers
Money
no more poetry in taberna
no more Joy

so long, honey babe
(he thought)

-Revolution, man, Revolution!
he said @ the Gas pump
me, sittin' smokin' good old hash, no worries
(seen worse days before)
but

she came, ballerina, rebel Dean night with a cause
he smiled
she smiled
(no revolution after all, i said to meself)

Just too many I Think That
Just too many I's (Me's, you better know what I mean)

proteins are we
and stucco
made by gods

the only thing different is
We want It!
We wanna Be!

If
God
(Gods of written Books)
thought We would behave like slaves
they, poor God fellows,
made a glorious Mistake

We go our Way
and that's It

to Guy Debord
IS
& me when i was older than that now

FIRST BLOOD

first moon
rockets fire insane near the border
sulphur smell
volcano lava
far
jets flash by
cold bullets fly
over the field of rocks
moonlight wars
just love this...,man...feel free, ya know
heads down!
100 meters
kaaaabooom splash
day & night
hell, is good 2 b 1 warrior here, ain' it ezra?
keep you' head down, phi!
The night thunders
misterycal
femalish
vagina
yep, iz a manz struggle, 'bra'him
no
moon all over the plateau, the little snake crawls...
rocks tepid summer hellmet sound
shots there
a rose flare 'gainst the moon
2 rockets fly over, jetting out
this can b fun, u knô
ô me ô my
trace bullets, cartoon type, red, zigging all over
3 jets vomit fire over the hill
and then whistling huge
hell

Hell
carcasses
metal junk with blood & muscle & bone & human things moving dead
heads without brain
legs carbon silver under moon
bellies smelling gasoline
sand on fire, yellow red
1 crazy just walkin flameboyant till fall
explosions of glass blue
and
dust
moon dust, i should say

who won?

Plastic Green

The End

Rotten flags
lost cities
killings
plastic green memory of an unknown soldier

the war that never was...

Images...

images of us, images
sepia colored already
yesterday's news

what is this?
is This living?
Human living?
When will the will ends?

So near
and
in the way
lost

we do not yet understand
the inner meaning of life and death

we are just
poor
souls
scavenging
the past

looking for the first ray of light

almost a dream

photo Reuters tansformed to sepia...

Wu Wei

So much Tzim-Tzum
So much Sufi Heaven

That much of rumble nothing.
i said this.
He says that;

Well, the moral of the story,
The moral of this song,
Is simply that one should never be
Where one does not belong.
So when you see your neighbor carryin' somethin',
Help him with his load,
And don't go mistaking Paradise
For that home across the road.

dylan
me
your war

waiting

the sun fires outside
men do not talk at this hour
rest dusty
and maybe dreaming

oily boiling light
yellow white
grass hot air

shadows cut the street
cars like colored stones
the old hat woman
talks to the chicken

the only

here
standing
and
waiting

the red flag has no breeze
the Party is in siesta
with some red wine
caramelita

fan zealot
to move the air
propelling
colonial engine
and the cat
there
sleeping calm, no dreams, feline

is earth heat
that
fuels the fools
in Holy Land

i think
with the fly
crazy green with no way out
crossing Descartes charts
with speed and turns
buzzing

smoke, cigarette
hear in the distance the lorry flipfloping behind the road trees
traffic
usura up up in the road

A las cinco de la tarde
we, now, have to think
'cause the world is like a bull
cutting blood and flesh
killing

above,
the Sol
furnace jet
vibrating

flames of gold liquidity
solid virile
stir
the

waiting

Zipf productions

A BATTLE

wait stand strike
feel
wait
the salt sea waves us

we wait
closer
closer

then
Hell and Noise and Thunder
zip bullets fly
wood explodes
some blood now

twist and shout
more blood and flesh burnt black smoke
Howl

Louder!
Starboard!

falling
apart
if
it
never ends

breast
thy
musk
silk, Jo.

Go, my songs, seek your praise from the young
and
from the intolerant,
Move among the lovers of perfection alone.

guess every man has his inner battle...
something in between life and death..., said the father.
I only see life...pa. Said the son.

Another cigarette.
The stars above.
Night clean.

-Ye you are right, son. At the very inside of all this...is...the will of life...immense.
The son smiled, eyes blue.
-It's simple pa, it's everydays life...even our dreams of what gonna be...they're today's life...see what i mean? Life is now!-. He almost shouted nervously, the son.

Dogs bark
Baker Street
3:17
night
Mahler
Das Lied von der Erde
daddy you're a fool to cry
1st degree logic
Godel at the boundaries
we goota do some LISP thinkin', Watson, some Quine thinkin'
his long, thin fingers waving over rubi light colors...
Yes, Lock, we must have to do some...thinking.

and the war?
it's victory, sire...your victory.

maybe so
for the time being
playing

Turner
Pound
and
Zipf
one hell of a bunch

Burning....

burnin'
some
of the
few

fire
metal
sand
water
salt

turner painting

Oops!

Oops!
out of line
i guess

not in the beat of time

collateral
damage

ALEPH

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.

Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.

But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

Never

never

never

Play

without this card

music by Bob Dylan