Friday, January 20, 2012


SR-015 Critical Beats vs. Govinda by Street_Ritual

a thousand petaled story
with a million and One variations
each and every time we bring ourselves back to these jungles
of the wildish co-creator hood (icaros to the frogs and cicadas)
the wheel turns, the sphere learns
to sing the bones awake.

feetbare omniscient oil in ancient soil,
upgazing the story traced in the sky
the big bang at first kiss
that never disappointed the lips of the prime creator
a quasar burned bright and fast
just like the life of an embodied sage
right in Time with the sun worshippers

maybe its time to pack it up and move to sirius
leave this story in the mud to ferment and bud,
become lava before the Sol of god decides
to repeal its shadow against the stargate
and then again maybe i'll stay a while...
be like water, benefitting all
obstructed by neither death nor numinous stone

just alchemy
just tide
just immortality
just life

get my kicks in the dream of a universe forgotten its name
are the masters of limitation finally ready to call it a night?
to call in the morning, awake to inevitable stars in the belly

they will call and god is always a yes,
unless... its a no-thing-ness...
and then we will just rest with the best
excuse me while i undress
and digress...
into a cerulean sea...
sipping on brevitea
on serentea, eternitea
on infinitea and divinitea...
now THATS the sacred blend...

prostrated before the mirror,
laughing on reverb, the echo is heard

the shivakti shaktiva rises up
the crown shakes, the ocean floor vibrates,
the nebula surges, the shaman purges,
and before anything ever happened, i was unnamed
and after everything happened, i remained

-aluna verses-

Thursday, January 5, 2012

a cozy detox thus far in 2012. all i can seem to do is satisfy myself with the perfect balance. from the gnarly to the fantastic dreamrealms (what is good or bad?) to the unrelenting propulsion to feed high doses of spring water lion's mane and reishi to the once intellectual candy now ordained as regal rubbish at the bottom of my throne... all eye am is a poem to the moon, living vicariously through a future me by the sea, a lover with a thousand stories to play on a cello in C sharp. when the judge ceases, the crown appears and a majestic bow to the currents of impermanence is all the doing i can handle..