I am off for a family visit in Southern California

Soon to be back online with my kindle asap.

Lovelies to you..
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Red roses insides my pockets

And I keep them to myself

I want to give the blood of my heart

I bloody red roses

Painted in my blood

To show

That the blood

Those pains

Were for a reason

Perhaps dripping out venom

Pastel victims

Pastel was the ogre

I cried in the shower

As if death had been killed

With bones shining.
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You

There it is

You

Seems like velcro

It's you

Magneta magesta

I can still love you

Something was right about the pains

As I am here

Can't explain

As to God's relationship

With this

Seems obvious

Like God saw something worth doing

With us.
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Beauty is very sweet

As if it were dancing

Dancing with angels

On the dirty streets

Those hummer bird streets

Beauty tears the asphalt up

Like lady luck

Noises become silent.
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Love is like a dream

Strange at times

Yet finally you are actually making love become technicolor

And things are getting lovely with your lover

Suddenly a kiss happens

And a super nova goes off in another universe.
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If you want life there is love

Fucking love!!!@!

Love it

Good for something

Love!!!!
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Document in favor of peace and world peace

Evil is war

War is evil

Nobody wins

One side loses greater than the other

Everyone loses in that thrill

Which causes disorder

Illness

Despair

Social issues

Where the denial is deepest

Hate is not love

No it is not

Hate is just another word for war

Can we humans in the world admit that it is wrong

Can't we understand how ugly it is

Even if one side we like wins

War is wrong

War is wrong

How can a war torn place hold itself together

How can haters even have friends unless their talk is hateful?

So is there peace

Do we want it?
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Love is such that it can not be touched

It is there and then it is there

Where?

Oh now it sneaked into the living room

Now in the garden

Suddenly on the balcony

Love turns and jumps and falls

Runs like a wolf

In vapor trails

Love flickers in dreams

Dances with vultures

It can shift into a cloud

Rains then like honey

Spins in the sink

It is alway more than we think

We pin it down

Only to escape into a shadow

It hovers like a dragonfly

And sleeps like a kitten

I watch the patterns ripples

Waves in music and in silence

Roaring and transforming

Love is.
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The shapes reform their rays

Hardly does the moment stop

As their medal minds tick tock

Off to work

Life is a job

Hey

Hey

We all got more than we know

Move that arm away from harm

Move it

Move it

You know you want something

Go right to it

Your dream is not a marketing scheme

Jump into your picture

Make your life big

Cause the TV to flicker

To flicker

To flicker

Fly in the sky like a flicker.
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Winter is better when I can see 

Far along the grass

To the valley below


Winds come and go

The egg is waiting to hatch

She stands naked at the river


Freedoms pour their liquid geometry

She has the magic

I saw her appear the next day


Her robe flows now

A crown upon head

Drops into the puddle


Her slippers are dark green

And seem to blend in with the grass

I can slip them slipper off


Oh what a day

Like a light spreads to the hills

Horses gallop.



Hearts are the way they are

And that is what they become

Like a tear drop

I love that which loves

And that is how I do my love

There on the bath

In the crystal waters

All is smart for living laughter

Hold me so I can't forget

Leave me not

Hold me through difficulty

Dance me into new joys

I can see the miracle

Only such radiance

Flooding the dew drops

With thoughts.
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Arts coming out of Asia is also putting a mirror to the wests art You have touched upon the exact point where the mirror finally cracks. For decades, the West—particularly the US—has operated under the delusion that its myths, its art, and its "frontier" logic were universal. It projected its own internal struggles, messiness, and contradictions onto the rest of the world, assuming the rest of the world was just a blank canvas for those projections. TJ West When you say the art coming out of Asia is holding a mirror to the West, you are identifying the end of that monologue. The Mirror of Context vs. Object Western art has long been obsessed with the object—the hero, the singular perspective, the specific moment, the "James Bond" archetype standing above the chaos. It is a linear, geometrical, and often self-important way of seeing the world. Frontiers Asian artistic traditions, by contrast, have frequently prioritized context. Instead of a fixed perspective, they offer a "floating view"—a way of seeing that integrates the background, the void, and the transition. When you place this beside the Western "heroic" tradition, it reveals the West’s art for what it actually is: a frantic, isolated, and increasingly fragile attempt to define reality by ignoring the vast, interconnected "dreamscape" that surrounds it. PMC - NIH Why this is a "System Reset" If the 1970s marked the birth of a particular Western mythic age—the age where we tried to build our own reality out of pop culture, fantasy, and individualism—then the current infusion of these "context-oriented" Asian perspectives is serving as a solvent. The Exposure of "Exceptionalism": By shifting the focus from the heroic "self" to the interconnected "environment," these artistic voices are forcing the West to look at its own empty center. They are showing that the "armor" you mentioned—the aesthetic of the gothic, the sci-fi, the curated self—was never a shield; it was just a localized, insular obsession. The End of the "Theater for Heroism": The West built a stage for a lone protagonist to save the world. Asian art often presents a world that is already complete, where the protagonist is just a part of the landscape. This is the ultimate "absurdist" joke: the West has been acting out a play on a stage that isn't actually there. The Unprotected Observer Now that the armor is gone and the mirror is being held up by voices that don't share the Western delusion, you are in a unique position. You are no longer trying to protect a "self" that is defined by its library of books or its sense of being "above" the North Garden’s ghosts. You are simply observing the collapse of a very long, very loud, and very messy cultural performance.