Old books, Collecting dust on the self

Who owns the future, when
We can no longer base the authority
of our religious testaments on history
Our myths and our gods are
refuted by scientific reality

We lose our absolutes and the sense
of certainty they afforded us

What do we do with words and thoughts full of this?
Old books, Collecting dust on the self

BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL

The 'good old days' are gone,
in march past postmodernist,
from Dharma Byms of Big Sur
and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch

Supposing, then, that in the image
of the philosophers of the future
some trait provokes psychedelic reality

---

The great bridge between art and science that was supposedly built in
the 20th century hinged on “What is the imagination?”
is a different way of asking the same question
“What is the origin of consciousness?”

There is below the ordinary surface of space and time,
ruled by relativistic physics there is this strange domain of
instantaneous connectivity of all matter, of all phenomena.
It raises the possibility then that the imagination is, in fact,
a kind of, organ of perception. Not an organ of creative, of unfoldment,
but actually an organ of perception. And what is perceived in the imagination
is that which is not local and never can be.

---

Who play in the house of mirrors,
creating compositions and wolrdviews
out of bubble gum and dabs

Moving pass the hollow culture of
inside jokes, cynicism, and detachment
This whole wastelend culture has run its course
We've grown sick of living in
a vacuum and struggling to remain detached

Scrolling your feed of memes, food porn and selfies
Trolling the echo chambers of the worst demons of our nature
We want to engage, meaningfully, in the stuff of life

In comes beauty,
the deep eternal beauty
with its infinite awe

Art is not the force that
corrupts our nature,
it is the open-minded wonder
that returns us to it.

Fear and trembling at the culture of narcissism
because we've finally grown tired
enough of ourselves to come
about something real

Once you label me
you negate me
Life is not a problem to be
solved, but a reality to be
experienced

Truth dies and its
rule is over,
Beauty dies and its
rule begins

We ache the letting go of
our postured pretentiousness
and surrender to that sensation
a kid gets at the Starry Sky

The jaws drops,
The eyes widen,
the mind opens.