Falling Mushroom

Soundscape Landscape
Serene sculptures stride across the plains of sullenness. Creeping pleasure thunderstorms light up the evening. Small dotted lights pronounce life on the marina. Cradle sleep ships visible from afar. Her smiling cheeks lead parallel with her nose. Adorable and quested to become another casual cherub upon the life. Her aura serenades me with the instrument of her heartstrings. I embark in some sort of mania, just staring for some time at pictures that entwine her love of nature, and her default protocol to smile elatedly in every single one of those photos. I wish to bring her to earth from her dewy eyed pedestal via the madness of Mars, and the serenity of the Moon until an orbit of galvanism is located that locks between two. The notches of her slender spine spell charm in Braille. Beauty is such an ugly thing, unless its got things growing out of it. The girl is damaged because she never discovered what love was as she grew up. Battered from pillar to post between the pair of her creators who valued other things above the feelings she desired to reciprocate. And then when she grew up to become so beautiful, she thought shed found these feelings shed longed for in the eyes of illusionary desire all around her. She thus came to define love as the pleasure she could easily obtain, but she was still empty, and lost as to connotation between what she did not have. She realized that love is something far more meaningful. A dream of ascent into the clouds above. For if we were blind, would our eyes still dream for the things our eyes have never seen? And in the gnarled minds of everlong who can be sure of anything that good and bad provides us? The final light fades by the sea, glistening conch shell reflection. Broth ablazen, open mouth height of dawn soon to follow. A hopeful swing of the mind turns around, and Im proud to live my own life once again. Scrubbing star residue lights up the night. Cloth of litter luminary, that streaks and glows. The diet of explosive happiness, and uncontrollable sadness I consume, and cry in my spilt sanctity of pureness over. How I can only write as a young person of artificial pain, for my mind is ever so... Increasingly paved in self destruct, though not true. The light is found through alternative ways of spending time away from civilization. Until the clouds are long, and my sentiment is short, and the ghosts of my thoughts stop then so be it, and the life I lead. Ive sat in cars talking of the end, so close to it, with mysticism powders of death. To my knowledge they were beautifully disgusting nights. Nights where the value of time ceased to exist. Hours in a secluded world with secluded creatures of an unsure destiny, trying to locate heaven like its on some sort of map in the quarter light window. I used to drive hard, braking according to the dimensions of the will to live.

Searching In The Death Doorway Waltz

So here we go! Proposition nowhere! The clichd open road! The world, so round and vast to dig! Theres an angel propellaring in the sky above the car. I scald her at satellite temperature, inquiring about the chance of some mysticism to bless me on my travels. She smiles promisingly, kisses the car, then disappears in to where religion began, in to the inebriated monasteries where imaginations of free will are prepared, ready for bastardization by the outside world of ignorance. Tumbling tides, permeating invaders, skyfall, rainfall. Alone, other than a-lone wave of magic, of anticipation.

There is a grand gateway to explore. The intelligence of being humble is whats required to explore this gateway. And may whatevers up there strike me down! Ive broken many of your laws. And introspection suggests that theres nothing that the invisible adorning God can do. I am afraid of pressures sometimes, although these pressures are the result of my manifesting mind most likely. In death who will care longest to be alive? I am a reckless nirvana chaser in every sense of the word, and I wish to blister on a bed of matches if it should yield a story to tell. In fact the words youre about to read may well just be the crazed fidgets of a man possessed, but are probably much worse. The walk that seeks purpose dreams of adventure.... The darkness descends once again, and its the first night of this trip. Densely layered thoughts mean I cannot think of anything other. The place around me right now is green and alone. There is a derelict church in front of me that nature has reclaimed. Abundant flowers oozing with pollen shoot out from the church roof which has become concave from the pressures of shrubbery that rest upon it. It is an example of nature, the nature that will grow over everything. It has no expression. It is neither sad nor happy, its just nature! I can wish for a kind nature to bless my travels upon this earth, but it is the arbitrary hallelujah from which I can never see that will decide my fate. Hate in the space between my flesh and bones, lose in faint phosphorus that fertilizes new horizons of beyond.

Mirror Disk
Summers growing all around my ankles in the form of sunlight; lavender erotica of midday. One of the tyres of the car is bald, which provides us with enough of an excuse to get out of the car among the forest were at. Wandering woodland floors amidst chemical reaction. Creatures beside, and bowl-shaped light stabbing through the trees. Stumbling with exposure that runs from my head. For what else is the information inside of me but chemicals and gummy mechanisms? Does my spirit just burst out? Whistle of the wind, and oxygenated amnesia from both of us. The one girl is a girl morphed from two girls that were stood in front of me just five minutes ago. Shes so beautiful, and fucked all over. Dressed in green and sat upon a fallen tree, she captures breathe, and plays mind games with herself. She seems to win and lose those games judging by the schizoid smiling face she displays on my exposure monitor. The matted clumps of wool form craters of another world in her thick cable knit jumper. Im not sure what were doing! Just walking around a forest looking for calm upon the plains of hell I suppose. She is the first of several girls that have met my intrigue in a rather short space of time. Real earthward dynamite style, sunglasses and rainbow smog of black and white, and cigarette smoke musk, pale. We were walking around the world taking solace in the mutual confusion we shared, just hopeless worshippers of graveyard alley. She was dreaming of me. I could see the imaginings flowing around her forehead, which had become a telepathic screen that I could read her thoughts from, all the wild exposure. The narrow stillness, emerging lowlight that appeared to radiate from the ground rather than the sky, a chronology that did not exist. I was walking low, with hands in the pockets of my cargo shorts. Its t shirt weather, humid and damp grass. It took me 45 minutes to unlock the door of my car for a reason I could not remember upon access. After much deliberation I walked over to another car where she was, where the fox in the car park has seen a million people in the evening. We sat down for some powder, which I poured on to a road atlas, opposite the last page of the index, which lead nowhere. Id levelled off when we were holding hands and walking again, although I was rather disorientated, so she lead me as if she were my mother, or I was her most precious doll. At one point she was dragging me along, as my legs were just empty bags of bones attached to my irreverent torso. There was a lake with a few people beside. They were skipping stones and staring at the moss on the trees with numbing interest. Widowed aeroplanes in the shine of life. Escaping from something, or at least seeking alternative landscapes for their eyes to pre occupy. Reasons like testing the depths of humanity, inducing ego death for another body but the one where we reside. Dipping our feet into the capillary spider heads of our minds. No one questions each other. And its assumed that anyone at this location in the forever of this land have a common goal to detach from whatever lies outside of those trees. Dial stopwatch penetrates the intergalactic fantasy. Ive seen all the instances of time drank away from me. The times far gone, but for transcription. Its forever dead otherwise, and the existence is futile. The exposure within me, how may it be alighted? To be real again. Contraptions of living wherever they may be hang in melodrama, contemplating the exposures of the life and what those exposures could ever mean in the context of age. Older and more languid than theyve ever been.... Out of mind...... story of living. Heaven sends its condolences to hell, then precedes to open GOD. Steam bellows out through its coveted spire, and the eyes of existence stare across the savannah for fresh life. Waking up, walking to the next offspring of living.

Some will get out just fine, while the others live merely in lucid dream, whilst still hindered by their reality, until finally the contrary occurs. And thats when I congratulate myself on being the most hateful creature of all time. Then I look at all it has gotten me with a glowering smile. Interspaced praise upon the interface.... Charm machine, vendor empty. Headlights concealed by the hedgerows, but the ambling certainty of a metal corpse stalking through the rising mourn can be seen. Who is here to enter into our valley of chloroform? I cannot care and fall back to sleep snuggled against her.

A Synthesized Feeling
I awaken in the breeze after a nightmares of cancer death. Another morning, either the second or third one. She is gone from me, along with the others. I imagine her on the next leg of her journey chatting with weirdoes on the backseat of buses. One of those people who rides the bus with no destination in mind. She waits blindly at the last stop for a stranger, and then gone in to vapour of apathy. Memory fades away, for what was it anyway? People know, then lost, then reacquainted ,then undone, woven into crazy free floating free flow. Scent among the nature of extinction. I return to the car. The atlas is still out, and theres a message written on the back in permanent marker: DREAMS ARE COMING INBOUND

Alternative Nowhere
Dear Darkness Im sad to remember the death within you, although heaven heals me easier. I would like to sincerely welcome everyone to the devils dance hall. Gazing into the elongated shadows. Lobotomy eyed, and vexed, and crazed, and ravenous. Auto thought becomes painful. And everything is stupid and weak, and inferior to arbitrary comparison. It does not pass. And I must ride it out like a fever. Sleeping means innocence, which I cannot grant, for my underlying sentiment is hyper vigilance. The discomfort of it all, the rotten hypnosis; Real sick. Tempestuous cluster feel that makes no sense. I have not stockpiled enough matter to drive the waking impulse away. Words I always use. Thoughts too quick and numb to concoct new ones. The same as Ive always done. This sequence does not end until I shake this obsessive craving to see all that may be seen. I cannot control, I am control, though I cannot; so insignificant and flawed, with the doom medallion... Dangling! Fist clenched tense around it; the other is an open hand flower floating in the oxygen. Its quickly becoming apparent to me that the ideal life is out of reach forever in the lifestyle of this reality. A medley of mediocrity, a tragedy seat, an embryonic plague in the life of forever, son of a brisket! See synthesized fucking shit, and the itch that preys upon me. Sleep the passing sleep. The darkness beats the light. And I am glad to stumble towards the mire. The old stupid fucker. Indictment. May the scratching go away. And may my life be given purpose. And may the guilt of being superficial to this world leave me, for I know Im nothing. Im so certain when this mind wears off. Though all the possibilities of harm grow inside of me. You got anywhere to go? Anyone wholl listen? Do people really care about additional problems that are not tangible? We will solve them... And all of us... Where is the answer? I can see the answers clearly in front of me... No I cannot save. Subvert, now calm. Restless but calm somehow; See me, see you; The conduit between; Passing through, tranquil tranquil, kitty kitty, gaba gaba, glama glama. This is art my friend! You dont know art like I do, and Im telling you that is a gosh darn ART you got yourself there! Cathartic is what that motherfucking shit is! You go and take some more crazy pills boy howdy, because thats all this is. A perpetual game where you win and lose immeasurably, Take a spin and come on back to the dance! Journey to and from, and the place where I end up. Its all the same within me. Sure the exposure varies from place to place, but always will I return here, for this is the only place where youll be. So how could we have this conversation if we were somewhere else? The lifetime vigil. Just dont wind up dead, broke or draining your vital organs with a drip tube. All those who dance too hard, or stay too long, there is no avoidance. The wildness cannot be beaten, though it is inevitable that youre going to lose in the end. The only way out is a tactical withdrawal where you can look and claim to have lived without the burden of death. You will realize that life bears many fruits outside of mindless engagement. Try to hold on and watch the stars replace the sparkle dust. Anyone who medicates the dreariness of their existence with short happy fixes will undoubtedly lose. The reality must be stretched and broadened (perhaps with the inducement of

illicit mindscapes in controlled, reasonable measure). But the journey to enlightenment is wholly superficial seeing as the right way is unique in everyones minds. Im sure we can agree that the killing of one another should always be wrong. This is of course under the condition of whole world cooperation. Difference has challenged this species. Perhaps there is no saving us. The foundations crumble because they have always been rotten. This world would claim to be brand new compared with other worlds made obsolete by time. But how different are we, other than our incessant environment? How much have we really learned? One day we will die. And the unborn children shall rule the world. We are conscious of this fact, although oblivious to those who walk beside us now. Wholesale cooperation in the direction of humanity and nature would heal the world. The failing of this theory is humanity could never agree on a set of principles to cure the world that are not destructive.

Feral
Upon the trail, readily available for fail... Pinnacle of disaster (Screams insanity) without relative need for the future. Heretical spazoids waltz around, emergent symbolism of the end of any kind of culture as we know it. Blinded by the pursuit of the elusive easy life... the melancholic moonbeam strikes the turf. Belle of moonlight on a darkened night... wilted bloom in the breeze. Maybe we die in our sleep, and then wake up in our dreams? Slip some more revelation medication, and then watch the sand grains in the hourglass. Sentimentality grows weary, and faces become simple blobs of relative consciousness in the cafe where Im sat. Much of a muchness, of nothingness. Creed of need without credential recognition. In rapture and stir of the next dusk. Theres eight customers in the cafe, and theyre all occupying corner tables. I sip from the coffee carton mouthpiece scribbling some words down on a napkin. Just some interchangeable sentences to cure the boredom. Im worth as much and as little as I care to ride The kind of clouds where heaven appears to ascend Astral orbit of the gathering mass Walking around the car park for hours.... I lost my mind that time Transpire back to solitude. The people interchange so... lost. Sacred stepping stones above the tributaries, into the swamp, wishing they were plinths to be forever encaptured. Silk seal on the box of no return. Grows crops for the next harvest. Moon gravitation stronger in the evening. Heart heavy aurora to follow that wafts from the misty spray, roman goddess of dawn.

Excuse me, you dont happen to have the time do you? Asks a girl. Im sitting by the door, so the inquisition seems to be mainly on a convenience basis. You only need to know the time if youve got somewhere to be I reply. My response seems a little odd, and I probably look insane where I havent slept much over the days.

She rolls her eyes, which reveals her as younger than I first impressioned. Id imagine she is within five years of my age. She seems surprised by my response, as my faith melts systematically through her eyes during the pause which followed my answer. I guess youre right, but you have to have the intention of going anywhere at all if youre aiming for somewhere to be She replied, smiling in the duel. Why do you want to know the time? I asked. Its just something to do, something to know She replied again with more wit than before. I notice how pretty she is, and how that beauty probably expels powerful migraines at temperatures above 218 degrees in right angled masses... Or maybe 219 degrees... I cant be sure. Its eleven pm by the way I answer. What you writing on your napkin? She asked with child like curiosity. Just some wordy lines from my head. Whenever I think of something I write it down. Had quite a lot going around the ole skull just recently. The girl had quickly drank the whole of my attention. I envisaged the future from my fly on the wall exposure monitor. I revered as she sat down to sound out her next line of conversation. Ive had a real crazy time just lately. You want to write about that? She inquired. Tell me and Ill see if you qualify. Youve got to qualify I responded, still unsure of the correct way to address this creature. The cafe by the motorway zooms and rings as the empire of blood vessels in this grand human empire bustle past. The skin slumps upon the organs and bones within. A new direction seems in order, any direction at all. Well would you believe of all the things I am, that the thing Im known as best is a runaway? she replied. After the few days Ive had I wouldnt flinch if you sat there and told me youre a pigment of my imagination. Her dappled spirit lent forward, followed by her physical being some moments later. You want to know the inanes of life? Well Im Patient Zero of my own world, of this homely realm of deformed scruple, and obscurity, and undying masquerade. Wonderful! Another smart, crazy person to acquaint with I thought. I have been asked by at least one hundred people would I write about them, and Im thankful to answer that only a couple have ever appeared in my words. And only as essences of life, rather than a wholesome blend of devastating humanity. The unknown mistress of the cafe was approximate applicant one hundred and one, and she had made the cut. Id say your qualifications are in order. Now the writing process has no singular method. Just as the human never has one goal in their life... Or at least I havent found the perfect specimen yet. I finally told her. How do you know what the perfect specimen is? She responded inquisitively. The perfect specimen doesnt exist. The perfect specimen subsists externally, and only truly exists internally. So unless I could get at that exterior of yours, theres no real way of telling. Where you going next? I wish I could say something like thats for me to know, and you to find out, but I honestly have no clue! Ive got a car parked outside, and when I finish this coffee, Ill be driving around aimlessly just as Ive done for however many days Ive been in this psychosis. Follow me if you like, I can see the moon bounce in your eyes.... Thats a positive thing by the way! I see She said.

She followed me out to the car. The neon lights around the cafe were glowing uranium style within the dark. Recent memory seemed like the whole and only ever life. Walking mechanisms sojourn, transfixed, star bound. Another evening to tick from the exposure monitor.

Sunset Wither Juxtaposed (The Thrilling Encounter Of Cinderella Waltz Beam)

The self mutilation gage was low, and the quick dexterity was high to float. The moon eclipsing where I walk all the time. My own grasp upon reality seems to stop me going insane, alongside the undulating rainbow walls that meld into apple pies when the exposure monitor zooms out. All our unspent thoughts; to the abyss above. Into the enlightened divine....Exaltation overcomes all of a sudden; It seems apparent that perhaps we are not top of the food chain, for spiritual nightmare dream eaters wait upon the other side, waiting to feast as were blasted into nights everlasting race. I could be wrong though... So what is your name then mystery girl? It would be nice to address you by something other than you and her I said. How about Cinderella Waltz Beam? Cindy for short! She replied immediately Thats a good name, I will call you that... Cindy. Unless I get mad with you, and I feel the need to address you by your full name in some authoritative way. Whats your name? She asked. Its not Rogers Tea Party Doom Land, or anything like that Im afraid. The joke had degraded for so long in the pause of whats you name, that she did not smile as Id intended. She was difficult to read, and her actions seemed unsystematic to any code of typical humanity. My name is Pete I finally said. Anyway, youve been suffering my bad dialect all evening. Is that why you havent taken your lips off that Brandy bottle? Naw, I just have a thing for Brandy I suppose She answered. There was a short, much needed silence which followed where neither of us said much, and the chain clink of the engine was all that could be heard. So when youre not Cindy or Cinderella Waltz Beam, is there a more casual name youve got? I asked. Maggie She hesitated. My name is Maggie, though it changes all the time dependent upon the situation. Please give me an example of such a situation then Maggie I inquired. Well before it was Cindy, and now its Maggie. What changed the situation then? I did she replied in the most gorgeously intellectual way. (PAUSE) It turns out that Im sharing the car with Maggie (Cinderella Waltz Beam), the prettiest failure you could ever see. Swigging Brandy hillbilly moonshine swill style. Shes slurring like she barely has a tongue at all, the beautiful atrocity that she is. Though still somehow she leaks some sort of endearing magnetism from herself. I wanted to lock her into conversation for forever, or at least until I didnt feel so crazy. Each time a pause led to a silence, I was back on my own. Except her presence confused my thoughts into suspended rumination horror thoughts. I keep thinking my penis is out! I know thats weird, and that the onrushing current of peculiar cunt pussy is strange, but what else is there? Im bemused and optimistic that the world will be my friend.

Do drugs make great artists, or do artists make good drugs? I cant decide, and by no means is that the end. The crazies went home and asked if we could take their places to play? The world will be seen from an innumerable measure of perspectives. The ideas of yours will cease to exist, and the singular eyes will be all that shines. The compromise of the habit forming human, betwixt its need for stuff to need. One day I was thinking of everything, and all that it could be. Words spill out.... Scatter puff.... AND........THEN......FINALLY; I AM EVENING SKY. Foul bile interrupted my degrading brain, as Maggie undone her window and spewed her guts out the car as we sailed along the motorway. A strand of vomit remained on a strain of her hair as she leant back in. I removed it, and then kissed her forehead for some reason. She cried with a smile, and then passed out gracefully in the passenger seat. The saddening thought that my mind may once again switch to paroxysms of the arcane was my greatest fear, as that unconscious mouth dangled open showing the cutest amount of teeth. The energy was ebbing through my bones once again, much like death grants its victims one final flare of life before oh yonder occurs...

Electrifying Sidewalk (The Perspective Of Maggie)

Through the car windscreen, Monet painting vision over the vapour encrusted headlands as the light shines beyond. Hallucinations and fear of the dark, and those noises I used to hear. The fear of ghouls. Lowly morsels of road grains, and shiny cats eyes. Dreamful eye vision state of mind. The pure soul deserves all the world can give. And then gliding through the glistening doors of the eyelids; awakening... The car was empty as she awoke from a deep sleep. Petes passenger door was wide open, and there was an atlas on the seat propped up against the steering wheel. The car was parked in a lay-by on a country lane with high banks on either side. Her head was a prickly gossamer of words and contemplations that flowed continuously, until she almost felt the need to speak allowed from those thoughts. Like the proclamation of an ever present world beyond all that could ever be known. Maggie got out of the car, took Petes jumper from the backseat, and walked along the road. Thick glazed fog that disappeared into ghostly nobodies upon focus concealed location identification. Solace strip me naked, and windless skies take me high. Marked to the soul... The blood dripped from him, and she wanted to die. But didnt in lifes procrastinating limbo. Shivering and shy, Pete clenched all over. Maggie frowned and walked over to where Pete was. Vague as all the alone that the silence between signified; Anaesthetic angel blood may heal. Sullen and still as the breeze that blew silent and still, and undecided as to what would happen in the very next second both stood motionless. Im not a surgeon general, but Id say youve fucked that guy up pretty well! Said crazy old Maggie. Nothing purer than that said during the callowness of carefree youth. I hoped youd stay cool and reply with something like that Maggie ole darl! Pete replied. Is he dead? asked Maggie. No, hes not dead. I just got a little crazy walking around these fields, came across this guy who got all shouty, so I leathered him a few times. Pete was shaking with excitement, and started dancing on the spot, cool and slow; letting his limbs rock with the movement of his body. So what do we do now? Hes just laying there in the mud Maggie said pointing to the middle aged man laying unconscious upon the ground. Lets leave the old fucker! He probably wont remember much, or we could eat him, or we could finish him off. Its fair to say old Mag that the world is our oyster at this stage... Actually, I think the

very next thing we should do is go and take another whiff of that Ketamine, Im fairly sure theres some left Pete said. Darkness sauntered above them; The scene from afar; Sunset dust reflecting, pirouetting silhouette horizon on the night time. Words that speak to you.... Darth mysterion wanderer, play music of own transliterated thoughts, and sing deep in infidelity, sing deep. The sky surrenders another catapult... Moment rises, streets alive... Perfect specimens are so tranquil. Theyve learned to disarm care for the insignificance of it all. Relying, so sure on traceless words. Travellers of the all knowing consciousness, taking all the exposure life can give. Retreating in the arms of the skull, recycling unanswered pain into circulatory love. So cursed are the perfect specimens. I await death until the day I die.... not for as long as I live Dancing sway Daphne, air that pulsates gas stream style Plays away in some time deprived exploration mechanism. Lost and never found for as long as time goes on Time is the vintage of life Before we get all crazy again Petey, Do you think we should decipher over that old bastard? Maggie asked Id say we probably should Maggie, ALTHOUGH THERE HASNT BEEN MUCH OF A LINEAR NARRATIVE SO FAR! So perhaps almighty god will forgive us just this once.