A Song Is Being Written

In the dark, there is no time for hesitation. A nightmare at my back closes in.
Not now. A song is being written.
There are voices coming from the shack, quick and precise. This room, only reachable by sympathetic vibrations seeping into the sleeping mind, is protected by a radiation field. Unnoticed in the middle of downtown San Francisco, a knife breaks the stillness of the ages.
I may take a walk to the other side.
The decision must be: do I leave or do I stay? 

The desert, an inch away from my throat, pierces through a thousand minds. Not now.
The shack continues to reverberate. Every Starbucks latte drinker in the city begins to explode. A meeting is taking place, crunching electricity spiraling upwards.
What if I continue to hum the tune?
As my brain chooses between the flicker of a shadow and the fiery doorway leading to the coffee cups of his very soul, the knife makes it look to outsiders like I already have the city.

I am afraid there will be no disguising this shack in the middle of anymore.
A flash goes: "Was that an earthquake?"
Forever I am straddling the melody, chords and electronic accents. What if I continue to hum the tune?
Those in the city are adding themselves into the mix.
A song is being written. The singer is ripping the walls of the shack, its contents unknown. Lyrics are coming forward now as the safe and the ordinary continue hesitating.
In the middle of a small shack stands a helicopter, the electric camouflage  increasing rapidly. What if I clear these words from throughout the chamber?

As space absent mindedly closes in, I listen closely.
Forever I am straddling the melody, chords and electronic accents. Some begin where the words explode in rapid-fire staccato.
Soon there will be the fire, the song, this enclave of sonic disturbance. Or worse, a small office where the echoes are safe to hide.
The static begins to choose the now and soon the nowhere.
What if I continue to hum the tune? 
A knife unnoticed in the middle of downtown San Francisco breaks the stillness of the ages. Do I choose, or do I die?
I take a walk to the other side.

Aim

Many years and quite exemplary days were spent wandering the hills. Climbing up to survey the land below, I had the innate ability to charm and beguile. In this lifetime I came to a beginning understanding of all being all. I was not too familiar with wasted effort. In church, any great attachment invoked the blood and the body. I had no use and little respect for childish things.
There came a journey concerned only with our material well being. Nights were spent dependent on prescription medication though I could discuss and debate at length with the priest. How many cat’s eyes were provided the lessons for humiliations and frustrations? At home I did as I wanted, went where I would, seemingly from thin air.
Hiding in dales and caves to merely exist far removed in time and space.

My grandparents without much effort would set out maps on the bedroom floor and plot ceremony,  grandeur, the emotional state. As it was time to put aside large and grand union with all foretold in a moment of intense reality, I was born to a family.
Up to that point my aim was understanding the basics.
Leading armies and explorations, I had little understanding of the meaning of this life. My intentions came in contact with a system that was not easily accessed as a truth. The only ones who mattered to me were from long, long ago and quite mad.

As I knew there should be commanding logic I had a grasp of the magic verse of silly clouds. I explained in pervasive detail the nightly game show on television. Military, political and financial empires vanquished by the old philosophical tomes set my effort anew.
One thing worked. I was very young. That life had been to that time something that would bend all. I had the ability to pass oral tests, which I desired, with little or no payment. Each defeat was science fiction, fantasy. Clamoring within, yet, step by step it was only yesterday in which the father was the concept. The trite, insubstantial feel of exercises, dances.

No barrier our minds had previously reached hinted at mother. When reading and listening to music I would lay root to all my myriad of voices. I could hold my Bible and the content of lessons at study that led me to something.
I tried to obtain an emotional wreck, alcoholic, and intellectual needs written with little worry. When I didn't have to chant in those carpeted campaigns of conquest it was something that was new.
To have that, the brother and sisters in imagination became boring. For a long time our heart was not much inclined to my sight. That and my efforts and thoughts yet known to me became more difficult to reach. Each insurmountable dream that I took on followed that path. Soon the difficulties began, kept as a victory of knowledge. The only ones who mattered to me were from long, long ago and quite mad. Clamoring within, yet, step by step it was only yesterday in which the father was the concept.

And yet it has been a long time of that ordinary state. In school: grasp, write themes, and in life soon to be dead. Step by step our bodies so freely waste and can only be held by each small moment. The trite, insubstantial feel of exercises, dances.
Every moment was lacking very small periods of time. Somewhere inside the oblivion of life I would stay the course. We can reach a place that has discipline and direction and slips not into illusion.
Our bodies wish to sleep. To dream. To emote. And consume. And, and… no matter where we are, is when we must, tripping and falling, remove myself from the desires. Dreams are for the clearies and the steelies.
If we use all of this energy my awareness would hold.  It is a small aim of being dead awake and quiet in each small place… Hiding in dales and caves to merely exist far removed in time and space.

A Night of Illusion

We should go down, between eye blinks, from body sinking to empty space. Jigsaw puzzle fragments, banished. Jenny and the stonewall walking. I detest… myself I found. Sound communication. A series of blurry spots slide little by little. An enormous snake introduced little by little into a cave. I was not scared of it. We should go down, between eye blinks. I found myself strongly impregnated during the day, more vegetation on the inner part of the cave walls. I knew I was in the water, passive, to reconstruct the scenes of my surprise.

I was producing a series of blurry spots and objects previously described. I felt as if all mixed up, awakened. Sensations, colors and sounds at the restaurant gave me the sensation of being attacked. Rolled up in slowness, someone else observing. I saw myself… just a little, once again talking with the bright greenness of a lawn. I tried to fit in. The heavy blackness of the night seemed to expand and contract. My memory extended over the surface. At that moment the subtle memory of my work was just the way I had seen them when it was about to fall into the water.

My eyes, jigsaw puzzle fragments, banished. We should go down, between eye blinks, from body sinking to the very beginning. I noticed half of my body going to sleep. Some strange green flowers once again advanced in slowness while I watched. The risk came into my senses. Someone else that was walking awakened. No sound; a little dizzy, but adjusted. Sensations that remained from someone else. Jenny and the stonewall talking, once again mixed up with the bright greenness of a lawn.

A stony road that went down, no sound. I slowly opened the cave that was already invading the room. Disoriented. The roof and the walls usually do reconstruct the scenes of my recent information. It seemed that some of them remembered observing myself standing on a hill. A blurry spot of colors that I work with at the road. The girl, looking from within, saw myself found with half of my body… just a little. I told a river I couldn’t feel it but I knew I was the presence advanced. In slowness trees were growing. The snake started to distinguish and locate my room.

That place towards the roof of the cave did run about to fall. Again I noticed a series. I was producing a series of blurry spots and objects previously described. If maybe I did fall, I woke up. That remained remembered, effort. We should go down, between eye blinks, to sleep. How, also, the first thing that came, I had seen before going, little by little.