Someday God

May bring us back

When angels are great

And not just holy beings

For hope to have some wings.
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Dance me into a daisy cakes,

With all those strange beings within there

A spy maybe looking down on love

So cowardly and ignoble base humanity

I see the foul waste and wonder

When oh when

Will we do much better?
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Accept the shampoo..

Go into the feeling

The feeling you like

It feels good

Hair alive with snakes

Now it is good

Thanks to Medusa Shampoo.
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Map to the heavens...

It was in an odd box

With finger like locks

Held their inside death's hand

To look inside is to understand

The undead days

In which life can slip away

As in a day we love

We rarely age

Love your life.

Do better.
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MINOR STUFF

NEVER IS THAT MAJOR

ALWAYS LOUD

BUT I KNOW MINOR

FROM MAJOR.
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Dinner for Hater.

A lovely new destroy noovel.
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The truth about the super nova explosion.

It was extremely memorable

Very unforgettable

Watching it blow up

All I felt was

A lot of impossible

It was flashing intensily

With great intensity

Till the star gave way

And finally so impossible

I had to flee the scene

Star now gone

I mourn you

Though you are nobody

But a hole in the night sky

That had a beautiful light

On othet nights

At least now another thing of beauty

Far far away beyond my eye sight

New stars form

And I wonder why I was allowed

To see this a few weeks ago

A passion so great when

It did blow

Sending light across the universe

And into my minds eye.
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Be it the right way

Or be it not

The dirrection finder can get lost

Like some random sexual encounter

Twist of fate

Sometimes God is late

Life runs wild as you wait

Playing though with time itself

With meter to lay it out

Layer after layer of cake

To slowly bake

And rise

And r
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Take nothing for all...

How generous is the sound of music

Ready to join the fray

With an array of musical notes

For we all love the sound music makes

Take nothing at all

Kiss not when you are eating

How tasty is morsels

You must feed

You must feed

From a nightmare into a dream
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Speak in song and love and freedom!

Speak with kindness, poetry, passion

Listen for the human touch

Feel the life of all you love

Bring forth a magic like nobody else.
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Gree Haired Giant Woman!

Who was obese

But who would tell her

As it would cause great wrath

There upon she would crush you

Just by sitting upon you

You would die a terrible death

And oh yes oh

The stench

Even as they ate

She had horrible donut breath

And she said

You like me Alice?

Oh yes you are the best

I love your Gree hair

And everything you say

I hang onto your every word

Then you love me?

Absolutely

You give me life!


Authors note:

Alice is now planning an escape!!!
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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.