Success means something...

As love shines it's flashes

Wrippling through space

As a form of purity

Points forwards Destiny

Or the river ride if you are unwise

A spot of death and demise

The path is hidden near the river

Appearing as a flash of light

Take this one

You have the courage

Go soon

Go soon

As she moves

To change shape into driftwood

And then you lose.




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For beauty had a possibility



Was it her fault or what

The lame finger is fresh

The sound is a loneliness

A faight like death

We are the flowers of enchantment

On the street of fairness

Time for forgetting

And deep forgetfulness

Your wishes of the sacred

Hold my hand now.
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It was the life they knew

As if time has falcon wings

Your eye sharp as needles

Aiming at targets

You shoot out your missiles

I sense your tendencies

It eats the tail

Finally it is an abstraction

Too much paint

Not enough action

So I do something

Very strange and obvious

It is delicious.
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My form of poetry has this

At least nine lines

And less then nineteen lines

Line length can vary but,

Structure is as important as content

The more structure the better

Over the hundreds of poems

When structure is instinctive a bit

So if you are a writer

Remember structure

Freedom is a trap.
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Here we dream

Things fall from the sky

Like ice cream cones

The people fret instead

Only their eyes can see

Not into the landscape

But sizing the size of things

Your eyes melt

I can see what is true

To kiss into you

It feels like a disappearance

Then more to the skin

As if it lights up the horizon

Like a red sea

Hold me in your dreams.
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OMG

Someone actually found my site by typing the word

Thoughts

Into one of the search engines

I've gone big time!
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Down town

There are clowns, frowns, creeps yes INDEED

But it is also the land is of the FREE

FREEDOM.
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Fear not.

I can't find the castle in the sky

But my feet are walking

As the city sleeps

As it moves

As it creeps.


You glance into my window

I am naked and half asleep

As we make love

I count sheep

As the giants wake up


There is a war

For all mankind

As the memories of life

Based on victories

Perhaps lies


The truth was in the wine

The ice cream satisfied.
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Decades ago a wealthy influncial man convinced.

Or should I say brain washed the public into the idea that love is sentimental and that for that reason was a cause of "Inferior creative work" Take that!
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File Apart.



I raised my hand again

Though windy it made wine

Our pain transformed

Intelligence in acrobatic form

Holds the secrets

The false alarms

Where animal friends come

I don't speak squiril

Free the humans now.
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Tonight I put out a prayer to the God.

I need this one badly.
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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.