Writing an Energetic Lightning.

Imagine that there is a totally positive part of your Self that you can always tap into. How does it feel? What does it want you to know?

The positive part of my self that I can always tap into, does not exist during times of anger and resentment. But most days are filled with clouds of sunlight. I tap into them. Afternoons of tea and chocolate delight, I tap into them. Tap dancing little girl scouts who look like Easter eggs, green lawns of spring, and tall table leggs. Every touch a tap and every where A prayer and invocation.



The world often behaves the way we think it will. How would you like the world to behave? Think about it and write it out.

Oh World, ye are but an animal of love and carnage, Oh Life and Earth and world from birth to transition, teach me about nutrition, what to read and eat . Life Behaves sometimes like a chimp throwing dung,. And sometimes like a Bonobo on extasy humping everyone.A bee hive disturbed and a new voice unheard before…before …Before my eyes a new God, an Idol, of nature.

Write an invocation or prayer.

Invoking. De- Yoking. Invoking a sprit, De- Yoking an egg. To Preside over something extraordinary, and to learn from it. To have others dance with you, to have others laugh together with you. To participate in a feast , to be one with all.
To have to sit through a family reciting grace with unoriginal words in total automatic apathetic blah blah blah over pizza, makes me want to vomit! Gleefully!

Practice being in the present moment, for at least half an hour. Let go of the past and let go of the future. What do you experience?

I am on a unicycle. I am the needle , the diamond needle of a phonograph. N.O.W. No Other Way. I am the thread through the eye, The typing fingers on the keyboard, The sigh of the mind. N.O.W. No Other way , No Other Way.

What spiritual fantasies do you have?

I fantasise about trees becoming octopi. I fantasise about birds atop houses who fly, like the constitution would fly , if turned into a paper airplane.
I fantasise about strange women, and spirits of the mundane world . A Church is a mall and a mall is a church. Sand is not dirt but India ink in my veins conducts the sounds of Patience Worth , amen .



How do we know what we know?

Wikipedia….. is how we know what we know. The media is a fork-ed toungue with many off shoots that stab us all wrong. The folk arts. Art and media for the people and by the people. Is how we know anything. Forget about school. Parties and bonfires of books burning, symbolic of the human mind. Some may light a candle and some a pak of fire crackers all at once. Teachers are a media, music is a media, art and shit you hear at parties are media… BUT NOT THE Media…Some say the Media is made up of people, is it?

How do you fell when you look at the stars?

so so So so So So far away. I want the stars to be in colors. Yellowish fire like the sun. Red blue Orange, Green stars! All in flames. So So So So very far away. Some are dead. Charlie Chaplin is Dead. Houdini Is dead. Abe Lincoln, Syd Barrett, The Elephant man … All Dead. All Stars. Stars we see over the seas and trees are dead, dwarfs of traveling light. Burned out years ago. Until out of sight. Far Out.

How do you feel about your mind?

The gift has gone through all kinds of warps. Doors of Warps and paper nests of wasps.
I feel my mind like a feel a kitty cat’s body. It has seen some bad days and some wonderful days. It’s television, a hearth , a fire of warmth in the artic cave, I cook the flesh of my brethren on the flame , and the images with in it always change. The smells re-arrange, the sounds transform , constantly. And At the end of the day, I sleep into a world of worlds. New worlds and old ones, which by the way never stay the same.

Thank You Holly , For making me write. I feel more in touch now. Everyone should do it every day.