God

There is but one moment, it is a fusion of the present and the past, and ideas of the future, it is all in the personal view of the life, and no matter how much we want to think outside of ourselves, we are trapped in our own life, and this life is our opportunity for movement, so then there is personal expression and action, and then there is the competition of outside forces, and then when you don't succeed in your situation, you tend to turn inward and give blame to yourself, but you can only be a part of the blame, when there has been a meeting of different forces, and mainly, you can only sense your own point of view, and mainly you can only see and remember the combination of the ideas and the words and the actions of interaction, and so ultimately there would appear to be something missing, something not obvious, a higher power, strings being pulled, truth being withheld, and you can then believe in God, or you can then not believe in God, but whatever it is that you may believe in, there is something bigger then we are, in this act of life, and of living.

Ignorance

And in the midst of nighttime, silent words occur, there are negative reactions to art, and forgetfulness of early days, with one who needed to be guided, I guess that I was the shadow then, and that same shadow faded as it disappeared and left you, and in the midst of the daytime, you spoke those irrational words of innocence, but knowing somewhere inside of yourself, that you didn't understand, perhaps to reach your awareness, at another time, I am lateral to the anger, and my quest is for understanding, and I think perhaps, that we are all the same, either with simplicity of not knowing, and with the selfish idea of knowing, feeling has to be stronger than mind, and mind is vain and it deludes, but feeling is the closest thing to the body, and you express a feeling that is unquiet, that seeks to conquer, and I am not going to be able to quieten it, when there is such passion given to your feeling, I really don't want to say a word to you, I feel, that I wish you to feel understanding, and I feel that it will come to you eventually, when you open your heart to its feeling, you have rejected me and expressed your intent of freedom, with new born life in the picture, and I think that you even refuse the picture, but someday, it will assault you with its truth, it will not allow you to leave it alone, and it will question you, and then you will have find an answer for yourself, not for me, but for yourself.

Democracy

What is democracy? Is it when you vote people into government, and then discover, that they make decisions, opposed to the reason that you voted for them in the first place? So it is democratic to be able to vote, to make your choice, your decision, and then apparently they strike, with their selfish notions. Politicians are liars and fakes, and what they see as democracy, is no more than licence for them to behave as they wish. It is all the nature of humanity, and it is no different, from that time, when you or I, have given solace or comfort to someone else, only to betray them, by walking on a different path.

You and I

We are far into the night, the story has stretched beyond its apparently logical conclusion, perhaps it gazes at the Pagan moon, and perhaps a little further. And I am lost within myself, and in the images of outside of me, dreaming of things to come, and feeling that I have to muster the courage to look outside of myself, when doors have been slammed in the face of my anticipation, by those who didn't feel the connection, there is silence in my voice, and its eyes search for you, and you, I imagine are searching on the same search, and I guess, that we are both lost within our personal search. And the clock continues, as we walk different paths, looking for them to align, and I wonder who you are, and how you look, and about the sound of your voice, and what it is, that you feel, and what it is that you seek in me.

Uncertainty

My feet in your shoes, you were Frankenstein in my dream and you asked me not to be so concerned, and I walked these city streets today, with you walking alongside of of me, I guess that the message that you sent me, is to say that you are alright, and that things are not so bad. And I suspect dream, and I ask, can it all really be from me? And then the morning arises, beside me, together with me, and I await for truth to invade the scene, and the dreams that I had were of yesterday, and I withdraw, and tell myself that they are gone from me now, and that I have to let them go, as they have to let me go, and I am lost in the change between yesterday and today, and this moment is a question, it would like to know where it stands, what it really is, it wants to be assured somehow, that it is somewhere, and I can't commit myself to the idea that it is, regardless, I am lost in this moment, not knowing nor understanding its meaning, because it seems to have become a fusion of the past and the now, and what might become, this moment indeed is uncertainty, and perhaps, would wish to walk in my shoes, in the same way that I have wished to walk in yours.

Literature

There are those who write, and those who achieve the quality of literature, and the ones who write, without achieving this, write within a certain kind of vanity, their eyes are not focussed on the soul, and they self opine, before they reach the end of the page, and they will express how great they are, and how accepted, but they are on a narrow road with a simple conclusion, and they will never touch the magic, that being in touch with literature allows.

Thief of My Soul

Thief of my soul, that is what you are when you plagiarise me, and my soul is pure, and what springs from it, asks for no reward, therefore I am not vulnerable, I stand alone in a comfortable and true place, I have no self acceptance, and no sense of personal acclaim, these are all just lies, and deviations, my journey is on a spiritual path, very much lateral, to the shallow of dillusionary acceptance, and alas, there are shadows, always shadows, and they can be so close, that they can dwell in me, and I believe that they do, these are the shadows of memories, of ones, accepted and embraced, there can be no aloneness, when there is the awareness of memory, just a beautiful solitude.

Difference

I misunderstand you as you misunderstand me I don't take the time and the trouble to walk out of myself, to walk into you, and neither do you, relationship is imperfect, and sometimes it is seriously so, and we are apart although we may seek togetherness, but it can only be very temporary, and we may try to compensate for it with empathy, but this again lacks reality and true conviction, love tries to help, but even love, doesn't always linger, only it lingers for it to make you wish for it to happen again, and there are different types and different understandings, disunity persists, there is at best duality, and we don't take the time to understand our differences and then we fight, and then we war and then we kill in the name of difference, and misunderstanding.

The Ugly Nymphomaniac

Book on the shelf of my mind, it knows, that I was the one who put it there, it needs no accompaniment and it knows that I will be there with it sometime, and its December and there is great mercy in the skies, in this apparent wintertime, and I discarded many clothes today, and I walked out, as I thought, even to the day, wondering about the ugly nymphomaniac, and where she might take her feelings to.

Children

Evil in the good, in the religion of Jesus, when the adherents don't adhere, and I wonder if they further question, or is the belief that they have sufficient to keep them comfortable and stable in the basic belief? And flowers cry for the little children, when they have been betrayed, and the priests are no longer priests, but thieves of the innocents, and in their hearts, they must encounter the truth of themselves, their lives have become statements, aggressive to reason and kindness and to the love and respect of the child. They walk in a selfish direction and every step that they take is contrary to the words of their speech, and the world spectates, sees the actions, condemns, and asks for answers, for it cannot understand how good can turn to bad, there is now ugliness in the face of beauty, but as Socrates once said, 'Beauty is Greatness' and the real of beauty, will assert itself and be free, and will be victorious.

Giving and Taking

To give is to receive, but to be asked to give, is invasive, it can be covetous and a threat to the independence of your freedom, and a slight on your generosity, your goodwill. There are those who wish to give, as there are those, who's only wish is to take, and to be subsumed is to surrender, be overwhelmed, allow for your own defeat. And there are people who will assault you, when they see what, what they pinpoint is your weakness, but this perceived weakness, that they may see in you, is just an attack on your beauty, the goodness of your heart, so hang close to your heart, and allow yourself, your personal freedom, and take care of yourself.

Fools

Fools have volume in their speech, and they will try to dictate, not knowing nor understanding, nor taking the time to try to understand, they know things that they do not know, and they can be invasive and provocative, and they will seek to overwhelm, when they feel intimidation from a person that they don't understand, and I don't think that silence is emptiness now, nor yet passive, just the way to deal with fools.

Reflection of the Sky

Indifinitive sky, changing like my perception, wondering what you really are, and which one of you is the truth of you, and then, I am a reflection of that same sky, and I think, am I any more certain about myself?

Awakening

Your body like an altar, where you yourself worship, on behalf of your collection of men, I remember that I stood to the side, listening to your expression, when I was lost in personal poverty, wonder how you eventually dealt with your duplicity, and to the world there was beauty, and then I discovered, that this so called beauty was deception and lied with your lies, and your version of events betrayed the truth of heart, and then I guess, at a point, you would have to stand alone and watch the film of yourself, and from an innocent sky, tears fell, and when they had subsided, there was still the tang of tears, and there was no touch, no, something to behold, no love, and no reason why, and in the innocent sky invaded darkness, and you walked on your indifferent way, leaving the pretence in your wake, walking toward your personal truth, to your reality, when I had been obliterated, and I wonder where it was, that you went.

On Not Understanding

Good and gentle spirit enveloping, rising to a positive moment, already there is successfulness, there is oneness in the day, and it seems to care, offer affection, and now I don't want to search and understand reasons why, just want to be still and silent and receptive, and return the affection that I perceived as I arose, and I can do that in spirit, and shine on the day like I feel that it has shone on me, and the day has its faces and its voices and its motion, it does in fact, have life, and the living, and the day is the world within the day, and the world within the day is everything that I can see, and everyone I can see, and everyone that I can connect with, and those same well trodden streets have a sense of newness to me today, and I have no words to say, I just want to listen to the sound, translate it into feeling, into the warmth that it has already given to me, and then I am back at the beginning, and my only attempt at understanding, has been through feeling, and through this feeling, I didn't even attempt to understand.

Dream

Rain falls from the sun in you eyes, and ambiguity leads one from truth, from oneness, and now there is uncertainty, and truth is a bird in the sky, circling endlessly, seeking the comfort of the tree at times, away from the storm, free from trouble, and this moment of the day wishes to escape, to a simple place, perhaps of an abandoned memory, now coming into focus, and there is a new moment, naked in itself, and looking for accompaniment, and the eyes are empty in indifference, and the mind is taciturn, in a neutral place, there is no knowing, and there is the mystery between the present and the past, with a question mark staring at your face, and your face refers to its eyes, absolving itself from responsibility, and you look for truth, perhaps from the memory of the dream that you dreamed last night, and the memory of the night, is but a dream also, and there is darkness in the eyes, in their search for discovery, and then the moon begins to moan, clouding truth, and truth, lies within, waiting to be expressed, and it gazes into its mirror of doubt, and the mirror looks back at truth, with a question that only truth can answer.

The Minister

She gives life to the bellringer, and her mind is free from her occupation, some say she is fake, while others let her speak for them, she is the God to them, of Sunday morning, and I have felt the kiss of her mouth and the touch of her breasts, yet, her love is for the man, Jesus, and she preaches her belief in him, and she will not let him go, not like, she let me go, like I have let her go, eye to eye and soul to soul, and body to body, and love to love, and severence, and departure, and the present and the past, and remembering.

That Masonic all seeing eye, may just rest in the shadows, neither in the third degree or the thirty-third, and then the kaleidescope continues in its whirling motion, and it journeys to peaceful places of soul and understanding, where you might feel that you belong, away from trappings of whatever society, and dreams hang on the edge of personal reality, and former relationships explode into some kind of hatred, and they are aside from understanding, and their feeling is confused, and extraneous to what once was, and in the evening, without any kind of touch, there is the suggestion, that makes you turn from the present place, perhaps to the wall, and there you are, clinging to the wall, lost to yourself, in a hopeless place, and then you study who exactly it is, that you are, and you are in motion, and the past enters the present time, and your life appears to be in oneness.

Awesome

The only thing that is awesome, is the beauty in life, when it enfolds you with its magic, to your fond embrace.

Eyes Again

Electric eyes seeking moon, they are a together dream, and they merge, and in the colours of the day, there is explosion, until there are no colours left to consider, and there is purple and there is orange and there is lime, and quiet, and easiness, that will not betray, and on the road to truth, I guess that you have to endure many colours, the search is on, and freedom is in sight, and it will take you to the strangest places, and time is alone, and you wonder if it is at peace with itself, and then you move on, continue on your journey, and perhaps love has cornered you, perhaps it wont' let you go free, and perhaps it has allowed you freedom, and perhaps you walk on your own, and perhaps you reject it, and perhaps you ignore it, and perhaps you look to a place where there is no spotlight, life is forever there and it assaults, gets into you face and asks questions of you, and there is weakness in your eyes, and all that they want to do is dream, and all that they want to do is see, and then they see.

Yesterday That Must Stay in the Past

A knock on the door of dream, in an intermittent sleep, and frequent awakenings, and then the seeking of memory of the dream, and understanding, and searching for the source and the reason why, and then the darkness of current memories, alive in the recent past, love that is lost, and the lack of that warm embrace, of the nearness of blood, and then, what is of blood, cannot escape, cannot leave to find another place, and then memories of the distant past, children and love and the treasure of parenthood, knowing then, that it was something to treasure, that wouldn't return at any other time, but the clock was ticking onward, and time became older and there was aging in all of the players, and then a revertion to my early time, and the vacancy that was known to me then, and the emptiness of the time, was the very thing that thrilled me into growth, into strength, into progression, and then I had to look at you, without that experience, without my experience, in our relationship, and there I perceived difference, and then our imperfection arose, and in all of my selfishness, I lie in a place of guilt, and in all of my guilt, I stand in a hopeless place, and I look to where love had been in this place, where I hadn't been true, had not been complete to you, and then I allowed you to wander on your way, thinking that freedom was the gift that I could give you, not knowing, that freedom could not be a friend to you, and this evening, just like the dreams of the last night fill me with dread, with my disappointment for you in me.

Sport

I think the stadium housing a sports' event, should be the domain of sport and nothing else, a place of brotherhood and understanding, a place of fair play, good feeling and spirit among the assembled. Once you start introducing politics, you create division, which is contrary, I believe to the whole idea and ethic of sport. Sport should be a uniting force, and a sporting event should be a celebration of humanity. In my country Ireland, I believe we have this with Gaelic games.

Memory Foam Pillow

Bought a memory foam pillow today, and as I was waiting in the queue at Penney's in O'Connell Street, I happen to ask the lady behind me if she had ever used one, and she said, 'I have, and I felt like it sucked the blood out of me.' Sleep should be interesting tonight then.

Media Gods

Just about had it, with the highlighters of social injustice, who offer nothing in reply. When you take it down to an interpersonal level, our relationships are imperfect, as our lives are, and as life itself is.