Word Garden

Between 2000 and 2003 I made poems to help me integrate the energetic and elfin realms that spilled over onto my experience of ordinary reality. I’ve uploaded some selections of those lyrical sojourns which are found below.


Pharmako Philology & Philosophy Philters
Love Story
F Ability: Random Zen Blueprint
Dream Catcher
My Life As A Trance Party
Anything But Time
A Bombast in Linguistic Prison
The Textures of Time
Frustrated Infusion
Dear Darwin,
The River
Pastel Ubiquity
Majestic Extra Terrestrials
The Blind Edge of Sadness
Ode to Pheromonal Intoxication Amidst the Ultra-Black
Transmusical Metaphors:
(or, The Trippy Tribal Trumpets of Trance)

The Song Effect
Say It Ain’t Sew
Simple Sidney’s Sudden Somnambulant Salvation
Rhymes With Lime
Word ‘aBurb Contamourous
Hardcore Blues and Hylozoicism
The Isle of Manna
ETS Test

Pharmako Philology & Philosophy Philters

Wanderloving souls and indwelling deities,
release relentless cosmic logic,
reveal history’s best kept secrets
and ruthful reservoirs of rotational music.
Psycheactive keys to connectivity,
elicit electronic brain tricks;
Poly-chemically altered normality
bred by secret sacred mix.

Confronting preposterous possibilities
in our inexorably real mythologies,
we assimilate outstanding coincidence
into collaborative correspondence.

Possessive powers of sinful sorcerers
infect temporal territories,
allow sickliness in through the doors
and tell woefully depressing stories.
For a modest fee
we show our tickets for the usher to see.
Love now begins its saturating serendipity;
faces anticipating joyous triumph of the
perfect visions of this good night,
immanent wellsprings of concentrated liquid light.
Detailed geometry spiraling out.
Resilient wisdom settling in.
Relevant knowledge spills forth.
Language is lifted into tornado
of emotional events.
The tendrils spilling over time’s horizon
spell the rhythms that seep into our dreams.

Elegant Goddesses of Ganja and Grace
dance in dimensions of light and of space.
Hypertech seraphim, cherubim and pixies
Spin, leap and slide amidst biological cities.
Fun-loving critters made of luminosity and language
Goof around with objectivity and make you a time-sandwich.

Into and back again, entwined in and stretching;
indigo operations, subtle signatures meshing.
Cascading symbols, totems and codes.
Deep darkness so absorbent it glows.

Love Story

One day I went to war with Planet Earth.
I plundered the Mother.
I raped her fertile fields:
Linked an axe to an ox and carved obvious scars.
I enslaved her children,
plugged extension cords into their hearts.
I fractured the ears of the innocent
with information overkill.
One day she fought back.
I was captured in a Dream (of all things!)
Bounded, thrown into a Cell
of her own making.
There I felt the primordial swell
of the original orgasm coming.
In an infinite instant
light was expanding
ecstasy God faster than faster.
I heard my heart beat
for the first time.
I saw it beat with
every bolt of thunder
and every belt of laughter.
I heard my heart beat
for the last time
when it pum/PUMPed
in perfect synchrony with Her thoughts.
Then, I could not know if this
revelations’ source was I or Her or another.
The lady planet had triumphed.
She killed Me by reclaiming the hands, the thoughts.
Conquered my destructive plight by letting
the suicidal tactic run its course.
With Grace she laid Mercy upon my branded heart,
And loved the children
born of rape and incest;
fed them fruits and milk of her,
and occasionally used the
sockets in their hearts
for when she did the ironing.

F Ability: Random Zen Blueprint

You think you’re pretty swift at overcoming your fears?
I double-dolphin dare you to drink from
the River of Tears…
I hear you will become a deity-god
and be crushed like an ant.
Like a dog will you drool and heavily pant.
Your muscles will twitch with funky broken beat rhythms
And you’ll chant secret mantras with tonal precision.
A million planets will seduce you
with their foliage and sunsets.
The corners of the room will wink at you
when you’re overwhelmed with regrets.
You will be able to peep through a key hole
to the main office of Galactic Center,
And hidden voices will perplexedly tell you to enter.
So before lifting a handful of
Tear River to your mouth, you should think
that eventually you will cry again
every teardrop you drink.

Dream Catcher

What fantasies
What secret spectrums
Of fire, flesh and thought
In the ocean of sentient currents
Has your net caught?

Do wayward fears condensate
into shape-shifting ellipsoids?
Do words adhere to your woven threshold?
Each one a lonely gem, like so many snowflakes,
only to transform into opalescent icicles supplying
the reality-rivers with rhythmic drops
in intelligible iteration?

Poised against the inelegant blind ambitions
Of distorted, asymmetrical unlanguage grime,
Suspended spider’s webs sanctified
in the breezes of moonlit green dreamtime,
filter kinks and coils from sacred grain
with feathery grace and a silent chime.

My Life As A Trance Party

Joyful trancecore.
Haunting wicked techno.
Sublime psysexy sounds.
Flowy feel-good Goa songs.
Classy epic hallucihouse.
Diggeridoos making love to sitars on drum-skins.
Overtone horns lifting ancient chants up to atmospheric serenities.
Sawtoothed square sinewaves folding oscillating envelopes into animated images.
Filtering flange function effects with squeaky, squelchy resonance reverberate
time-stretched samples of tune timbre tweakage.

Subjective strobe light ontology art.
Pheromone flashbacks.
Pondering naked perfection of pumping pronoia.
Enraptured by unfolding eons organized in endless layers.
Tasting deep cosmologies of chemically conscious collectives
within nebulas of sensation and sight.
Sleeping spring-wells of joy
awaiting mystic arousals,
full spirit orgasms.
How lovely to dance with you,
A moment touching that ineffable fulfills a lifetime or two.
Mandalic sky-souls woven of the collective crowning fountains from
wonderful worldsmiths and working-word worshippers of the One.
Theophany thunderbolts;
The dam that holds back the River of Suns breaks,
rushing in are the bright-light billions,
pouring and cascading and bursting with brilliance.
The unbearably exquisite, erupting satorisonics,
soothcircuitry of subhistorical celebration,
and congregations of biological beautification.

Anything But Time

Effervescent thoughts
Verbal excretions
Love can be a product on the shelf
of a stellar catastrophe.
Meandering about the galaxy can take you
deep into futures that already happened.
Tasting pathways may take you
far into the labyrinth of life happening.

There is no paradox here.
There is no rule.
I don’t mean to leave you in the dark, my dear,
But I did warn you, that I am a fool.
I feel your heartbeat in a million suns,
I see your heartbreak in thousands of puns.
If there is a word for this infinite glory,
we will sound it together, and resolve the story.
I met you at the crossroads and to Zion we both treaded,
but now the night is oh, so dark, filled with
endless confrontation with all we have dreaded.
All I want, I crave, I desire
is to hold your hand,
but with you not by my side, all I can see is fire.
Yet if it is Hell I must traverse
to meet you again, I would
willingly endure these tortures perverse.
Luckily rainbows still connect us in dreams
and an eternity of beauty is almost born,
it seems.


Interdimensional devices; levitating, spinning, crawling and sliding.
Linking, dividing, harmonizing and synergizing
qualities, forms, waves and realities.
Trans-technological singularities of temporal matrices,
hyper-functional crystalline mathematic fractal baby gizmos of
light, color and sound, busy, busy, busy.

A Bombast in Linguistic Prison

A lexis lends confidentiality;
shrouds newfangled testimony.
Adroit flabber hooey has a healthily
infectious effect upon my
poriferous postures.
Pleasantly direct connectivity
ramifies poetic selectivity.
Germinating lottery tickets of mutation
to distinguish elemental attributes,
to rehash a ridiculous re-echo
or unleash undiscovered,
aberrant unorthodoxies.
Mere neurolinguistic allusions
seldom conduct one to what
scented morphemes intimate.
Articulating argot and etymons
Only accentuates fucked homophonic fustian.
Nonce neology expands reality
through portmanteau word splicing.
Era encrypting fables integument
slurred slang, sonorous souvenirs
and prickly poppycock prattle.
Dormant, sagacious whimsicality
awaiting arousal within our
vast vocables, friction traditions
and jaunty jabberwocky jargon.

Countless shards,
rainbows in darkness
are these

The Textures of Time

“Where do you come from?” asked the birds.
“How did you learn that neat flying thing you do?” asked I.
(Bittersweet injections of horrific nostalgia.)
Glimpsing ritual resurrections
of warriors and sages past.
Forgotten doorways to eternal patterns of creation
may need to await distant futures to be discovered and recognized by children playing in open fields of time.
A tickling déjà-vu, a mysterious sudden calm,
a hinting overtone, a guiding undertoe.
Some of these melodies unfold over years
over millennia
Over endlessly vast eons
and a million instruments play inside every instant.

The culmination,
from inside to out.
We all experience the accomplishment at the same time;
A vast variety of the only infinite journey
coalescing into the feathered finale:
Separate sources forming a body.

Do all the joys that have come and gone,
really arise from this moment?
We have made it to the other side,
We have passed through the End of Time.
Tomorrow is happening
right now.
Look! Into the past,
It is all accomplished.
This was foretold.
The folds of emotion are opening.
We are keeping the promise we made to ourselves
and remembering
the beauty
that is our birthright.

Frustrated Infusion

fortified as membrane of peril,
still permits a slight seepage in of
ancestors tangles, threads,
light, flowing lucidity,
along the paths reality
once traveled.
Currents in space hidden,
obscured by viscous time,
Time, too-funny time,
like a blanket of technological honey.

Dear Darwin,
How do you play this game so well?
How do you achieve your equilibrium,
Will you tell?
Go ahead, spoil the trick, ring the bell,
Or would you then meet ol’ Descartes
In the Seventh Circle of Hell?
I bet this is funny, I bet it is real,
To you it’s a joke, to feel, to heal,
To keel over and
start again.


Infinitely wondrous alibis.
Innocently cosmogenic allies.
Road signs in these animated oceans of energy.
Phylogenic ancestors communicating purpose.
Turning tears into mysterious fate
with their knowing smiles.
A timeless circuitry of transferring information.
Gravity pretzels of nebulas & novas,
Charismatic populace of giants & dwarves,
The structure of light
is a defracter that bends perception to the
ultraviolet halo
reminding your body of eternity.
Move through this pure light and movement of life
and we are involved in its generation.
A joke is a joke is a cosmic joke.
A roaring laughter is a simple paradox
is a cosmos of giggling waves.
An ocean of colors, beauty beyond beauty,
shows once again that you are doing this for a reason,
a very good reason.
The timeless quest of the naming of time & space
is overflowing with textured truths.
-Selection of pertinent truths
is where it all comes together.
The logic behind emotions is the sacred trust,
the technology of
There is a pervading rational love,
a simple presence,
a complex truth,
which embraces and accepts us amidst
the confusing fabric of appreciation.
From this rational perspective
we can see many directions,
and so begins the search.
Now the space between the stars
is equally majestic.
Kooky quasars and quirky quarks,
Beautiful Mystery encompasses our
second-hand maps,
consumes and verifies our
ancient sedimentary instincts,
and gives birth to numerous new universes.
The multi-frequencied multicolored healing of

perfect cosmic geometry
runs through our core
and out our healthy unborn senses.
Now is more than perfect balance.
the stars are right where their supposed to be,
in your heart.

The River

Psychological build-up:
you can forget about it,
but eventually it’ll grow on you
and lead to decay.
Better to use mental-floss.
Psychological clutter
eventually gets in your way,
on occasion tidying up
frees up more space.
Psychological wounds
should be treated with care,
so healing can take place
without infection.
Psychological tangling
will cause psychic strands
to become matted,
so brush you mindful mane,
…or make psychological dreadlocks.

What can I do?
The music’s so pretty
when we’re going downhill.
I just start to melt.
My smile says ‘yes’.
Gravity doesn’t seem to object.
But my body must be precautious,
because my pride loves to be wounded.
Error. Malfunction.
Syntax? Neologism?
Devastating nausea and fear.
[rumbling of acceleration]
We’re going to Mars!
Enthusiasm. Anticipation.
(wait, don’t spoil the surprise…)
One way ticket.
Tactile spontaneity.
We are dreaming reality together!
The orchestra that provides
the soundtrack to your adventure
is being conducted by your every move.
You wrote this music!
The director doesn’t get any applause
during the curtain calls.
Flowing fractals are just the backdrop.
‘This’ is cybernetic navigation
amidst the ultimate.
‘That’ is just a narrator in
a nature documentary.
Ahhh, the philosopher’s stoned.
You are everywhere!! You are nowhere!!
You are here, you are there.
Every cell in your body is linked to mine
and everyone else’s.
(Yeah, so what..)
So let’s sing and see what happens.
Architecture – dimensional symbolism
Pillars – arches – pyramids
rich divine light – deja vu smells
interlocking limbs – love’s rush
(You sunk my battleship!)
Mirror skinned beings
with big stoned eyes and swollen cranial capacity
Have technology for healing.
Have you ever seen the young Maya
with her voluptuous breasts, thighs,
and seven eyes?
Her scales change color based on what
problem she’s fixing.
She is so beautiful she could stop a war
simply by walking through the battlefield.
One of her boyfriends has plumage
that would make a peacock bow in awe.
And have you met the Holy Free-Holy?
He can transport you to any galactic center
with his gaze alone.
He has the ability to make women taste and smell
alien fruits with only his pheromones.
Amidst highly adorned royalty
and humble, simple beggars,
he blends in so well,
you don’t even notice his wrinkled green skin.

Itching with envy, lust, greed, anger,
fear and resentment,
I rush toward the river.
Leaving rainbow colors behind in the water,
I remember the Love I once knew so well,
and feel it now with arms extended
as if to hug eternity.
With patience and understanding
it is apparent;
We will keep dreaming and dancing
and singing and laughing.
This metabolic cosmos
is fertile with galactronic sexuality
and novas of eye.
So let’s do this jigsaw of sound,
these mischievous jokes,
those space and light conundrums,
these relative paths,
those inside-out challenges,
these sappy emotions,
those time-warping vehicles,
these resonant mantras,
those archetypal attractors,
these invisible interfaces,
those spiral dynamics,
these flexible forms,
the enticing chaos,
the implicate order.

a pattern
of smoke,
excitement of joy and wonder
streaks through calm air.
A tangled knot of thoughts
is pierced and evaporated by a bubbling laughter.
As evanescent realizations give way,
the purpose reveals itself,
and the journey continues.

Pastel Ubiquity
Emotions baking.
Unceasing beauty.
Disregarded aching.
Typical patterns
Love’s archetype texture
fashions the enduring structure
to live-love-pray-play in.
I am made happier than I thought I could be.
I have been enveloped and coiled
in love. I am
embraced, cared for,
given the opportunity to finally
devote myself to nurturing the most beautiful.
the skies flash rainbow lightning,
oceans leap to outer space,
and the Goddess of Language
wants to make love and mythology with me.

Majestic Extra Terrestrials

They say levity’s womb nourishes.
They call gravity’s tomb:  irresistible.
The subconscious senses an impending reversal.
Penetrate! Puncture!
Push through the language of the only lotus!
Your Will is implemented: make passage through natal gate.
Into the
other side of
the blissful infinities.
Out past the
new realms of
the unitive pluralities.
Through the
passages of transfixing, prismatic complexities.
Transcend the miracle of growth.
Transcend the ecstasy of decay.
Transcend the meaning of life.
Move beyond singularity
…they say.

The Blind Edge of Sadness

I feel like everyone has this magnificent and precise, digital and fluid, timeless, fun-filled and highly functional, communally collective psychic awareness, while I am a disgusting, more than repulsive, childish, plastic ego with deep mental illnesses that are contagious if not avoided, and draped in moist, disturbing psychological issues.
And the only thing I can do while cosmic ecstasy rumbles and ruptures in the endlessly beautiful and infinitely harmonic dance continuing to escalate into orchestral orgies of euphoria, which I cannot be a part of, is go alone to an isolated spot and weep and wail like a draining sack of life-long compressed tears, for my own irresolvable and simply pitiful paradox of existence.

Then what feels like fissuring fractures creep through my skull from the restrained intensity of icy pressures of glacial thought
and I squeeze new, permanent facial wrinkles from the
contorted expressions of agony I have wrought.
Then I pretend I am learning. I pretend so hard it becomes real enough that there is no turning back. I begin to see that new lessons are learned amidst the tricky and often frightening obstacle courses
and centripetal forces
of temporal circus circuits.
That every conch shell is an echo of the giggling eon.
And that no matter how hard I try,
I will never be alone.

Ode to Pheromonal Intoxication Amidst the Ultra-Black

How funny is this softness?
How eager are we to sink like anchors into
the passionate sea of aquatic manifestations
and trembling fluorescent colors amidst the ultra-black?
I pray, let us anneal our strange, delicate, emotional loops
with our juicy chakra math.
Let us invoke spirit-blooms from the heart of hearts!
Let us appreciate aeonic artistry through
symmetry, sensation, skeleton, systems, skin, hair, aura,
circulating cycles of fractal breaths,
the silky electric chemistry of desires
and warm radiation of moving muscular alignments.
Let us be swept up in the mammalian overflow
of love’s endless blooming of beauty;
peaceful perfections,
sensuous expansions.
Eyes beaming with the inner light of ecstasy transcendent,
urging us to continue
towards the infinitely calm intensity.
Let our roots grow unrestricted
while we spiral up to the source of All vibrations.
Saddening strife of time’s merciless tangling
may now evaporate in a friendly breeze,
because here-now volcanoes are erupting,
moons are orbiting, calendars are ending,
phantasmata quietly prepare for reincarnation,
a zillion bolts of lightning are pointing to where
mushrooms of language will swell in the dawn
and countless choirs sing exalted praises
in a jeweled lattice of majestic harmonies.

A happy paradox of love’s simplest realizations
and the crazy coziness of our playful unifications.
We have now infinite time to bask in
the ultimate miracle:
finding each other
amidst the confounding expanse of this celestial swamp.
Now laughter is the language of our emotions,
tears alone will no longer suffice.

Transmusical Metaphors
(or, The Trippy Tribal Trumpets of Trance)

Daily, regular stoning,
day by day drudgeries
in the age of nervous anticipations-
interrupted by interludes of
unbounded upsurges of utterly redeeming beauty.
Experiences exceeding the most fantastic expectations,
as sudden influxes of pure timeless truth:
unstoppable storms of harmony and happiness,
cosmic coordinates of where you stand,
the open air in which a smile expands like a vast liquid sunrise.
Tremendous arcane currents of consciousness
upon which surrendering language drifts,
are glimpsed vigilantly in circuitous tonal tubules;
surging telepathic star-songs.
A global wisdom-loving movement,
an always-eclipsed musical genre
morphing, bifurcating, blending
techniques, tribal customs, visionary methods.

The turned on, tuned in dropouts of the 1960’s dispersed
to anandaic mysteries of a perfectly hidden spiritual empire.
The 70’s, the 80’s;
New acid-jazz-rock-reggae wave,
synthesized sounds on Moog.
Paradisiacal beach gatherings gaining alien momentum.
Societal escapees,
anarchistic artists,
sincere seekers.
Intensely mystical
drug-laden and spirit-soaked atmosphere
giving rise to
devoted to manifesting utopian realities
of jovial post-modern occultism,
science-fiction mental dimensions
and liberation of the self and collective.
Dressing paradise-palm trees in
glowing orange and green fluorescence.
Trading exquisite clothing and crafts
from the cross-continental backyards of mystics and shamans.
Taking heroic doses of time-tested and novel hallucinogens
and sharing the freshest psychedelic sounds
from all the homelands.
1988, the new soundtrack for ritual appeared right on queue:
Acid House, God’s answer to disco.
Techno, the human heart’s answer to industrialization.
The electronic trance dance revealed itself and orchestrated
extended surreal and miraculous sacrosanct bacchanals.
Then the early nineties’ rave revolutions.
Goa gone global…
Settled with “Psychedelic”
Surfing the diamond-cutting edge of computational sophistication.
Utilizing innovative sound equipment and
creating increasingly complex, layered,
textured soundscapes and extraordinary effects.
An increasingly unlimited and detailed sonic palette
to create rich musical vistas.
Ten thousand orchestras of alien organic instruments
with multidimensional tones
and reality-bending percussive capabilities.
The premise presents itself:
as tools of technology advance,
the result is, in turn, increasingly ‘trippy.’
Suddenly emerged a pivotal force
in the aggregation of ardent music lovers:
former metal-heads dance excitedly with ex-acidhappycore ravers.
Pierced punk rockers and crystal toting new-agers,
white-collar corporate-folk and
dread-locked, globe-trotting, fluoro-fractal sporting nomads
all become 1 solidified amalgamation.
Classic-rock fiends,
dub-loving funky brakes n’ jungle urbanites,
seasoned world-music veterans
all get down together
to the relentless rapture-inducing body-sonic wizardry.
All musical styles are up for adoption
into psytrance structured soundscapes.
The good, the true & the beautiful finally have a common space.
The children, the elders, and the callused fingered drummers finally stomp on the same beat.
The proposition of illimitable artistic expression,
the liberation of body and communication through the dance of metaphor and matter.
Not merely idealistic futurism,
we have a fractal homage and exploration of deep roots
as well as new branches and buds.
The colossal eruptions of unity and love that occur on the ‘floor
reveal universal principles to all participating:
festivities as a carnival of imagination
and humanity’s inherent potential,
a more respectful form of the courting rituals
of modern late night dance revelries,
‘It’s about the music.’
The Gathering is a real ritual of
communal spiritual consciousness,
a sacred collective of creativity and cosmic events
synchronized in will and rhythm.
The mystical, religious and occult themes,
while used without reservation in
artistic imagery, track titles, samples and sonic architecture,
achieve a balance with
shrewd criticism, intelligence and sardonic wit.
Entheogens plus psytrance equals vast conceptions of times & pace,
hence themes as the historical, archaic, racial, religious,
animistic, celestial, futuristic and extra-terrestrial.
Many often choose to not use exogenous chemicals
for altering consciousness,
yet the unspeakable sacredness
of the graceful application of
teacher Plants (and Pills, Powders, Potions and Preparations) remains
thoroughly recognized.
Amplifying 144 beats per minute
in an aesthetic ultra-violet atmosphere
inevitably leads to a very greatly altered state of consciousness,
an energized trance,
even without ‘taking‘ anything.
By morning we become filled with renewed electric awareness
and perceive a panoply of brighter colors with ultra-heightened sense faculties.

Trancey compositions unfold, build up and climax
in highly dynamic progressions over time.
Infinity yields extraordinary stylistic variety:
Sometimes aggressive, sometimes celebratory,
musicians differ in their statements sharply
while somehow on paths to a similar objective.
Heavy music, flowing music,
familiar sounds, alien sounds,
deeply digital, organically analog,
hypnotizing or jarring,
silly or profound,
lilting or harsh,
it has a place
in the soundtrack to the culmination
of consciousness and history.
Full-on maximal trances for the
psychic warriors and explorers among us,
allowing us to test our sensory skills with
overwhelming amounts of
metamorphosing auricular novelty.
Repetitious and minimalistic style musicians
craft trances
that work superbly for those
with an innate sense of spiritual patience
or keen understanding of progression and kinetic energy.
It’s all too sexy anyway you look at it.

In the evening’s introduction,
treat me kindly.
Give me
unthreatening and accessible
groovy, deep, minimal and funky sounds,
or some avant-garde abstract electro prog-tekk.

Then unleash the barrages of intense, mind warping, ego shredding,
noise scratching, demon battling, stomping sci-fi symphonies.
For my rising sun rebirth,
spirit in the back-beat and start to drip gracious halcyon harmonies as the dawn stealthily presents its glory.
I hope for there to be blissful explosions
of uplifting and exalting trance melodies.
Then let the daylight be daylight;
a numinous culmination of this epic journey,
when the unity of the dancers flows profoundly
with seriously celebratory music.

The evening’s scenery is also a priority.
The optic language of the shamanic symbolic.
Decorative offerings to the Galactic Goddess and the digital deities.
Intense fluorescent tapestries of multi-colored mandalas
reach into the retinal fabric of rods and cones,
tweak and adjust innate geometrical sensibilities
into electrifying structures like
intelligent jellyfish from Alpha Centauri,
or the emotional exclamation of some entity
from a mathematical dimension.
Detailed, organic tripscape paintings
of archetypal terrain elicit intuitional resonance
with nearby and adjoining supra-mythical realms.
Illuminated string-art calculations
and scintillatingly sculptured mental geographies
produce bracing atmospheres of interstellar ultra-violet
and dreamlike, creative stimulation through geometry,
iconography, science fiction and hyper-hallucinogenic surrealism.

When it’s a time to unwind
there is a place for the mind,
with ambient, psy-world music and downtempo tunes,
and projected tripped-out visual montages in the chill-out rooms.

Add psychoactives, incense,
fruit and chai for the morning,
and you have the recipe for a very healthy
trance party.

Anyone initiated knows
the sacrament facilitated holotropic experience
is preeminently suited for the out-of-doors.
The psy just sounds better under stars and foliage.
Fresh air, streaking meteorites,
beautiful breathing planet in naked splendor,
all add to the experience
this timeless ritual proposes to achieve.
Nothing opens up the currents of communication
between God and a gathering of people
like a saturated psychedelic sunrise.
To see the brilliant smiles
of those you have danced with through the night
in the light of a new sun is,
quite literally,
spiritual healing.
But nothing can stop the people from gathering,
and we who dwell in colder climates
or amidst concrete and steel
surely have created cosmic environments
within the warehouses, the lofts and even nightclub venues.
Oh! and how we look forward to the
cyclodelic trance signal
aligning the heavenly bodies with
celebrating celestial splendor
on Earth!
The seasonal significances and ecliptic alignments!

How lucky we have been to catch a wave
and unwittingly ride transgalactic waters
of a spiritual tsunami safely beyond
the tangled ends of time.

Within the intricately syncopated pulses
and biotically textured vibrations
created by ever more complex methods of sound synthesis
we are honing the art of trance
into de-collapsing vistas
of organized shamanic sciences
and psychosomatic alchemy.

To be fully exposed to the heartbeat of technological music
is to be direct witness to the astounding presence of life
and participant in its æonic momentum.

The Song Effect

Mammal may still be the furriest animal,
but you must admit,
being a dinosaur was a trip.
I still enjoy an occasional bioluminescence,
crafting a web
or howling with the moon.
Whether soaring, swimming,
crawling or clinching,
there’s nothing so amusing
as remembering the
language of genetic soul formulas.
Sometimes it is easy to overlook
those rainbow ratio harmonics,
the ones used for balancing bones
and modeling vocal tonations.
That’s poetic dynamite, man,
the real thing; unrestricted objectivity.
The living, breathing geometry
is as much our heritage as
is the planetary sphere.
{(Six million realms to fly,
choose one, heh-heh)}
Stirring the cauldrons of yearning,
I hear the sound of sunshine
and taste spinning chakras.
When 3 colors chime
and a trillion galactic centers align,
the accomplishment crystallizes
in the spiral axis of elemental vibration,
and all reality becomes delicately
open to transmission.

Say It Ain’t Sew

the words aren’t challenging
enough any more,
my ennui-laden friend?
Just a cozy relic which you
toss around like dice?
Well then, I’ll just take all
those phonetic jumbles
off yer shoulders.
Mind if I look through?
I & I used to collect words
as a hobby.
….mmmm, here’s a good one;
(I’ll just put that in my pocket there.)

Simple Sidney’s Sudden Somnambulant Salvation

Simple Sidney said he was sad;
that he was weeping under the mask he had.

“How?!” he would ask out loud:
“How did I come to this predicament?
Have I always been surrounded by this thick cloud?
Or is it just recently that I have felt so bent?”

Poor Simple Sidney had lost his source of hope.
It used to dwell cozily in his heart,
Now it’s a challenge for him just to cope,
And a constant chore to keep from falling apart.

As lonely Simple Sidney tossed in his bed,
Dueling himself endlessly in his head,
The comfort of his blankets
wrapped around him like a cocoon,
Helped him find some security
and stop from calling himself a buffoon.

Into a whirlwinding storm of dreams he descended
As dramatic clenching to guilt had decidedly ended.
And in the first dreamscape he had befriended
A little dwarf deity, who in healing Sid,
proclaimed him to be mended.

Before Sidney could offer
the gnome thanks and praises,
It jumped up into the hands of a protective gray giant,
and they descended into a forest of mazes
of energetically shifting phases.

Dreaming Sidney suddenly felt quite relieved;
no longer did he feel peeved.

As Simple Sidney observed this new state of being
He realized that he held a gold colored key.
This key opened the doors to every fate and meaning,
And he discovered he could use it now to be free.

He had always been carrying it, whether on his head,
shoulder, in his pocket or hand;
Once he even used it to strum a guitar for band.

But for years now he used it to keep himself locked away.
Unconsciously forgetting about it, to use in a ‘better day.’
Now as he gazed at the key’s golden glow,
A tall door appeared through which he decided to go.

He inserted the key and turned it counter-clockwise,
And on the other side was a panorama of countless eyes.
Up, down, all over and around,
Layered like cells, everywhere eyes were to be found.

Then Sid noticed himself again, and thought,
“I simply must be dreaming.”
Yet he felt so comfortable in his recently healed body:
so real this was all seeming.

“This must be a dream” Sidney suddenly realized.
And in that moment he felt newly materialized.

Sidney’s new self-awareness
Was no mere reflection, of course,
But actually another head and pair of arms
growing from the same bodily source.

“If this is a dream, and it feels doubly
more real than time spent waking,
I wonder how far, this direction could be taking?”

Simple Sidney remembered the key which he still held
And thought ‘what a fine object’ it must have been to weld.
Sid looked around at all the eyes while thinking
what else could such a craftsman create,
And in his other three hands appeared
a little engine, a feather, and an engraved silver plate.

In the quick moment he looked back at the eyes,
right before he could react with awe,
A thousand more his own outstretched hands,
each holding something different, he saw.

A flower, a cup, a paintbrush and an axe,
A necklace of pearls, a pipe for smoking and a candle of bee’s wax.
A seashell, a riffle, a mushroom and a clock,
A drum, a coin, a book, and an obsidian rock.

He held a quartz crystal and herbs and potions,
and many small computerized mechanisms
moving with various motions.

After feeling these materials for a moment or two,
Sid looked again to the brick-layered eyes,
But this time they seemed to be looking at him,
as if indicating, “You!”

He felt he should respond, but all his words felt like lies.
Then from somewhere inside came out the sound: “Moooo!”
It was the sound of a cow, a bovine that cries.
The sound became a flame, and quickly upwards it flew.
The eyes seemed to be watching something wise.
And suddenly Simple Sidney felt something quite new:
A captured thought was released back unto spirit,
And by understanding the nature of cycles,
he had no more need to fear it.

When Sid noticed again the endless eyes gazing,
He experienced something quite truly amazing.
For now among the fractal eyes was he,
And realms of pure vision was what he could see:

The eyes seemed to form tubular walls of a cosmically tall tower,
The diameter of which seemed infinite as well.
Yet since every eye could see every other eye seeing every other eye,
It permitted the infinite potential of any multidimensional mandala, form or flower.
This filligri even appeared to generate limitless sounds, vibrations, tastes and fragrances,
Along with new senses unknown to people; Sid could even cry to Pi.

After enjoying this outside of time perspective,
Sid found himself once again asking
his most favorite question: “How?”
“How could this be? Is it all just
a universe infinitely reflective?”
Then came a great rumbling signifying the quality of

It seemed to be coming from the bottomless abyss of this
immeasurably wide eye-jeweled structure,
Escalating in volume as if something was about to rupture.

It came speeding up from the depths faster and faster,
as if triggered by some universally big bang.
And as it grew louder and louder and closer and closer,
everything increasingly resonantly rang.

Then climbing up towards him Sid could see
Humbling giant serpentine waves of free energy.
Despite Sid’s terror he was too transfixed to flee,
Witnessing the accelerating spiraling upward
of what appear to be the dazzling arms of a galaxy.

Up above the helical star-streams was Sidney situated,
While deep, dark energy in all the eyes grew.
Interstellar fabrics tore with chemical screams harmonically distorted and exponentially amplified,
The serpentine tsunamis rushes upwards by,
and catching along them Simple Sidney just flew.

Now Sid was spinning among electric violence amassing.
Riding snakes as wide as a million star systems
he could see the infinite eyes passing.
Quite soon, however, Simple Sidney noticed problem:

His rate of acceleration was accelerating in speed;
Each moment he was traveling exponentially more fast.
Interrupting his ponder a voiceless voice said,
“Oh Simple Sidney, you’re simply a seed!
The future makes this ‘Now’, not just the past.”

So Sid looked forward in the direction he was heading,
And noticed he was approaching something
from which light was shedding.
“It must be Pure Love!” thought Simple Sid,
as he basked in the warmth gravitational.
Then it began to grow brighter
As Sid grew meditational.

But the light became so brilliantly bright,
It seemed to explode with new shades of white.
Sid soon filled with such a deep fright,
Especially as he thought of his infinite height.
Then the light which Sid could not fight
Began to envelope his sight.

It burned so hot it might as well have been freezing,
The saturation… the proof…
The permanently hidden edge between torture and teasing.
Then there was a sureness that became poignantly pleasing.

As Sid started to dissolve into a formal illumination,
A new process began to take place,
this time without his nervous anticipation.
The light peacefully resolved into such infinite clarity,
that Sid was simply inseparable from its constant creation.

Sidney became one with the heart of universal cycles plentiful and diverse:
Creation and destruction entwined
in visions beatific and perverse.
In the dimensional core had Sidney just purged,
And from the somewhere, somewhen between forward and reverse,
Out of a singularity,
Sidney superluminously surged.

At the faster than light speed of darkness
Sid glided out from the universe’s untold unity,
and into a multi-colored multi-textured
cosmos of playful plurality.

He flew by resplendent galaxies and pitch black fountains.
He flew near thriving planets populated by souls.
He saw endless advanced alien civilizations,
Moving lights amidst vast 3D circuitry of architectural manifestations.

He came to a luminous planet of blue and of green.
Immediately towards this planet he felt very keen.
He zoomed across an ocean and along a shore,
Then into a city and up to a door.

He opened the door with a nicely welded gold key,
And hovered into a room to make a discovery.
There in the blankets, on the mattress bed,
Was Simple Sidney sleeping with dreams in his head.

The next thing he knew his alarm clock went off,
Sidney crawled out from his blankets so soft,
…and let out a cough.

He breathed deeply in and the Sun he politely greeted.
For some reason he felt like a great journey he completed.
Upon noticing a physical rejuvenation this morning,
he remembered the little dwarf deity doctor
from his nights’ dreams, and as virtual memories came rushing back he thought:
“That was reality and This the dream it seems,”

Then thinking of that healing little guru elf,
Simple Sidney thought to himself:
“Wherever there is beauty, pain or truth,
There’s where’s reality, it doesn’t take a spiritual sleuth.

As for what’s dream and awaking,
I must ponder on another day.”
And while using his key on the way out the door
He remembered and said, “Hey!
I don’t need to always be sad anymore.”

Rhymes With Lime

Nameless negotiator,
Do you have any time?
Dubious debunker,
Here, have some rhyme slime.
The moment is relaxed,
Feeling pretty good.
Breeze Brooklyn, breeze,
Blow like you should.
Brush brown bricks,
Bless this neighborhood.

Origami perceptions
Annihilate deceptions.
Reflections, complexions;
Learning to read smart perfections.
Don’t analyze the empty pattern, instead,
Contemplate common commodities.
Doze off on the rings of Saturn,
Sample some Christian oddities.
No howling hatred past the Pearly Gate.
Please just mime-sign the state of your fate.
They say be aware of this god and that
And try not to stare at the pod-person’s hat.

Let me rest my head on your feet,
Now relinquish your repertoire of roaring rhapsodies,
And give me more Jesus to eat!
Or I might hum some dumb harmful harmonies.
Easy greens, hypnotic blues,
The mean old sun still points out my hues.
So crush the avocado
(such a red watermelon)
Sweet summer corn glow
Friendly pineapple heaven
I stuck in the syringe
(it’s color orange)
I couldn’t have had more cringe
In my face from the syringe of orange.
Then I cleaned my puncture with your sponge
And drank the juice
of an orange.

Word ‘aBurb Contamourous

plasmic flerpshpaddle
polar marfeladon
meeonic forpshekspa
nelsoop paledo-stynidel ebozic

gosh, some times Eye wishish we hadad a more spontaneously fruitfunctional language.
Abundant blessings to Mr. Joyce and Dr. Seuss.

Hardcore Blues and Hylozoicism

bereft, blind,
stuck with my (illusory?) choice.
I want fractal orgasms.
I want to be surprised
with tasty fruit of gods.
A smiling nectar that,
in unitary endless love,
in vibratory orgy of harmony and destiny,
with my tongue-residing taste buds,
gives joyous, perilous birth
to quickly expanding, growing, awakening,
luminous, detailed,
delicate strength of infinity.
endless weight after endless weight
traps me and returns me to my static grave.
One after the other,
shovel-fulls of dark heavy earth pile their
crushing stillness
on top of me.
I push every last drop of drama through my
muscles, veins, tendons, bones,
…No: I breath.
There is capability of rapid eye movement.
I can hear my own suppressed whimper
in the depths of subconscious biological processes.
But this is interrupted:
Busy activities of life.
Actions disclosing events, pleasure and truth,
more, and more, more and more… …more?!
Fye! Fye Terra! Terrifying.
Galactic hieroglyphs bounce off Jupiter and nudge
the peripheral vision.
Is this now the ultimate ignorance?
Or is it a wonderfully particular struggle?
An acute acid causality?
Am I being rushed
or persuaded to slow down?
“Fucking arthropod, you die now” I say with my
cynical inner-voice that
constantly tells bad jokes that only I can hear
(right?… can anybody hear me?)
The indestructible demon grins inside me.

We are walking tetrahedra
who think the spheres have it all figured out.
Mushrooms sprouting from my computer
make me trust the ship’s pilots.


Walkin’ around the villages of Lower Manhattan, admiring psuedo-religious devotion to fluctuating fashion trends, I wonder how folks function so fluidly in this psychic bottleneck of avant-garde beatnik politics of the sexy smelling bohemian techno-jungle.
Waltzing through the financial district with a hard-on, noticing how the brightest colors around are of the fast food franchises and colonial remnants, I enjoy being a part of the fast-moving herd of business-class mammals. They are determined and confused. They aggregate in sky-scrapping compartmentalized configurations, and form the insane erections of the global economy.
Strolling along Broadway through the Upper West Side, I smile at magnificently cozy accomplishment and make peace with middle-class urban American ignorance (that irresistible Liberal innocence).
Moseying through the Upper East Side I am perplexed by extravagant displays of ennui in the tired market-place of the moneyed and well-to-do.
A supernatural sterility bequeaths a cosmopolitan paradise. Architecture and concierge protect the fragile tenants from the breezes that never stop blowing.
Ambling about Central Park, the infinite vulva of Manhattan Vagina, I enter, explore, navigate, and soak in the serene love between city skyline and tree: An immense wonderland of beauty and joyous splendor, where fantasy and science-fiction meet and smoke a joint. A place where supernatural talents lay naked in a swirling galaxy of illimitable laughter, psychedelic trips tinged with mythology, sweet air and a Zen balance of the deeply sacred and devastatingly profane.
Tree-lined blocks of brown stones housing families.
Tourist trapping Square of the Times.
Restaurants wafting rich bliss of intricate cuisine combinations.
Elite culture-hawks thirstily opening their ears to the sounds of urban streetspeaking.
Flora still transforms exhaust, soot, cement and tar
into new chlorophyllic flesh
and birds mimic car alarms exquisitely.

The Isle of Manna

I hawk one and talk some and ingest a ton of leafy smoke.
I cringe, grunt, growl, gesture, whistle and stride.
I love the peoples, the youths, the tourists, intellectuals, cosmopolitan folk,
My beloved boroughs, you make me dizzy with pride.
We are strong and perceptive enough to survive,
And push through these gossamer webs of telepathic congestion.
Busy and efficient we make one hell of a hive.
Even ancient forests enjoy taking our suggestion.
This bejeweled home to millions soaks in arts and metropolitics,
Begotten by intensified integration of swarms on psychic battlefields.
The heaven scraping, idol breaking, energy concentrating monoliths
are just the tip of what our iceberg yields.
Greenwich cobblestones and Central Park pretzels, Lincoln Center, Liberty, Empire State
and theatrical dramas.
Do you feel the cheery, music filled atmospheres
in the thriving undulating life of the city?
The sweet summer night smells of the lamp-lit streets
And the hectic melting pot of the wise and the witty?
There is far more wonder than meets the all-nude eye,
Just ask any sexy summer mamma
Or try our hot manna by the slice or the pie.

ETS Test

This is a test of the
Emergency Telepathy System.
This is only a test.
If this were a real emergency,
directions on how to proceed to nearest
psychic node-nexus would commence.
This was only a Test.


11 responses

26 12 2008

thank you for putting up your poetry. im enjoying it very, very much.

id like to ask; did you know that you posted the video of Juan Flores talking about the Galactic Center the day our Sun was conjunct the GC? i laughed at loud at the beautiful coincidence as id just put down Robert Tindall’s book, The Jaguar that Roams the Mind, in which Juan is a substantial character. it was too coincidental to be concidence.

in any case, your blog is fantastic. great work.

p.s. there’s a typo in _F Ability: Random Zen Blueprint_. ‘Your muscles,’ rather than ‘You’re’.

26 12 2008
Evan 057

****p.s. there’s a typo in _F Ability

Thank you Antares! And, yes, concerning synchronicity, I suppose it is an (occasionally) perceivable attribute of activity in mainly imperceptible dimensions.

29 12 2008
Ode to Trance: Words for 2009 | di.onys.Us

[…] Originally posted at Telemorph’s Word Garden. Share with your Tribe: […]

29 12 2008

i’m so glad you finally posted your writings- but when will you write some more? it would be interesting to see where you’re at now these days.
thanks again!

18 03 2009

i found you :)

27 07 2009
The Textures of Time « The Teleomorph

[…] Word Garden […]

14 08 2009

Amazing poetry Evan, thanks for sharing a peace of your mind, im enjoying your genius. Love you brother.

22 08 2009
Autumn 2031 course offerings… « The Teleomorph

[…] Word Garden […]

24 11 2013

I used to have access to a long arm qtuiilng machine and was fearful I might have result to hand qtuiilng (ugh!), but this a better alternative. I’ve put qtuiilng off for over 5 years. I refuse to pay anyone to quilt a project I pieced together and I didn’t want to hand quilt.? I’ve always used warm natural too and it’s my favorite. Now I can put together a beach/ hula quilt for my girls new bunk bed set. They’ll be so excited! A million thanks to you for posting this.

30 11 2009
Tundra Tamborine « The Teleomorph

[…] http://teleomorph.com/word-garden/#A Bombast in Linguistic Prison […]

27 01 2010

May all these intricate seeds of creative and wonderous thoughts continue to grow and flourish. X

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