Time was ending

Once upon a time

There was no stopping it

Not even insanity would win

The clock does spin.

The flute does play

How dull

How dull

Goat jumped from rock to rock

His face was smiling

Goat was in love with happiness.

The waters were dancing

And danced right off the page

To choose a life that has some pain

Yet some people are lost for pain

And there blood has ice

Has icicles

And not a bit of frosting.

I realize I have done done a little ground breaking with my fiction.

I will say it was largely situational which caused it to happen.  It was a big surprise to me.  Yes there was great ambition, but the world around me gave me amazing assistance.

How does the little crocodiles

With their shining teeth

Find a swamp to dream in

Where the fish are

Lovely fishes from fishy kingdoms

How the wind would blow them in

Like spirits from the trees

Somewhere in a swamp

The crocodiles dream.

The leaking faucet was fixed

Sky was so blue

As if the possible

Was expanding new sounds

Soon the clouds will give way

Those dark clouds

Let the sun shine please

Through the doors

Though the windows

And into my room

The room within me.




 

Mind over matter...

Heart it!

There is no ready just when.

It means the drinks

Offer the same

Then later to flow faster

Backing from danger

The experience

The experiment

All signs point to:

Maximum joy.

Melt with me.

Night was long and sweet

Not knowing exactly as a dead clock

Hands dangling like rotting flowers

In a panorama of melting colors

Into a world of wonders

Sex seems like a cloud of pastels

Eyes full of heaven

The winter snow was gone

Hold on

Hold on

Don't let go

Play the very best songs.

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.