Mmmmmmm..

Someday over the rainbow

Blue bird sigh

Blue bird hiding in dark clouds

Over the mountain

Into the heart of self

Wicked irony that it just

Disapears.

To improve your impress idiot qualities

Love of comfort recommends

Smash you brain shampoo

And lose social conditioning with remain ignorant conditioning

For a more dangerously annoying you
With added alpha male ingredients!!!

Blow blow bubbles with love oh sweet damn...

Being spanked by Grandmasters hands

I love how she does it good

All the power is real

Thats understood

As it takes practice

To see this mirror image

A tatoo fades each night

Sweet tender lips

Everything will be fine

Baby

Baby

Hit me one more time

Hit that butt

I told you

Got it going on

Oh grandmaster

Your ways may old

As your hand tight

They hold

Im getting old

Grandmaster's hands

Oh yea

Feel the power

Of those magic hands

Magic hands

Oh yea...

Take nothing.

My heart speaks about the music pushing a dam to bust apart:

To purify into a fun loving flow

And the places to go

You can talk to me

By the melting snow

In a the yellow light of dusk

There are little birds

Singing in the morning

Completing the night

Rising with strength.

What do I believe in now besides writing and friends?

Egad?

My faith in much has gone down!

I believe in myself

I have unshakable belief in my country

But overall the world has shown to much of a dark side in the last few years.

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.