spineless (holy holy)

holy holy.
down on your knees, hear the voices calling your name.
it is time to awaken.
the meaning of the words astounds you as you are able to understand what’s what and what’s not what through your persistent confusion light up the southern sky to reveal your theoretical inner self supposed to guide you into unknown realms of being here now as your true only self flowering into a lotus blossom.
the loud, rude, and boisterous don’t get it, nor do they want to.
them and their physical world they fight to conquer.
grunt grunt.

polishing silverware in the master’s house to the decay of spirit in your hearts wander away toward the reaches of distant sky you can reach up to touching your faces against limitless limits now encouraging your imaginations to rebel in favor of the free ride in the free world opposed to everyone thinking differently one by one as it soon all caves in in theoretical marxist disgrace wanton sick and twisted pleasures.

sucked into hell of another womb to give you another life to live without knowing jack shit as usually and you’re tired of the game smelling strange pineapples rotten to the core of disobedient boobobs hopscotched into turbulent manifolds of despairing joy at the appearance of the son of man who walks the line.

the moon appears though it is supposedly fake according to certain citizens among the population discarded with wisdom to be forthcoming with the good news that there’s a war on.
at last.

eating the last of the food before you know it.
wolves circling you determining if you are a threat or a meal.
you know which it’s gonna be.
you try to prepare yourselves to be eaten to death.
it’s not easy but it is the truth of the matter here and now.
reality.
welcome home, baby.

tits on parade the shirtless old men push their walkers down easy street toward the burning theater where the show must go on since it is the only thing happening in town.
everything is a hit, even the boring parts.
excitement isn’t what everyone seems to think it is.
the klown’d rather sit alone in the dark – watching.
get it right this time.

later the next day.
sirens out on the street.
the klown is cozy warm at home – for the time being.
may the gods give him the strength to keep going.
keep going where?
toward some sorta awakening to self-enlightenment?
what?
he knows what.
he knows very well.
it’s not always what it seems.
that is your first clue.

clues, riddles, puzzles.
frisbee redux formative symbiosis regurgitation umbrella walking down easy street toward the wide open doors of the burning theater free for all examining different flows of rationalogic devising gestures exploding hairbob redundant mysteriously growing under sewers dug down tight legit lit turnovers for sale.

when all else fails, make it up – guru jeff.

the klown typing not p0em into the cloud wondering aloud at the sound of his own name he hears with no one here nor there.
so many things to do.
so many things he’s not doing.
what next? ���I��