Tell me; what do you think about Syria?

A little nonsense poem for you. It’s about images…sort of…

FOOD FOR A DREAM:

There’s a city above the city, roads held up like elephants in a Dali.

The forever searching, and aimless movements from one to the other.

Looked on, as a monkey riding a dog.

I’ve dreamt a million dreams and remember them all,

my mind laid out in the other.

I have a taste for the macabre; it seems that way, from the many times I have been

seen.

Caught in the meat grinder of imagination.

And there in, Galangden, through streets of morcabady.

And throws sound, siren at the gnostacasity of Malendin’s eyes and Sorten’s true.

And from a stormcast of the meridian of Montcarneb, a moonbreath from a seer will

unite against the middle, and basilisks of basalt, harder that it all,

will collapse…under the weight of that great load.

The city now all bent and twisted up through a hole in the world.

A new thing begins, and the house never falls, but is retimbered in the next.

And when I die I will go there and live it; under the dream exhausted.

And it fades back into the Om.

And I will be lost in the belly of a viewer.

Food for a dream.

I, too, have vaulted many moments when all seemed lost, only to find that they were precisely what called forth my imaginative, creative powers. I, most certainly, will not give up now, no matter how surreal and dire life’s circumstances within the Matrix appear to be as the dream is unfolding. I will not do this “in spite of” what is occurring, but precisely because it is.

What an amazing time to be living as human being on planet Earth, and I am ever so grateful that I am here with you!