The Granularity

I close my eyes.  My breath is slow and shallow.  Finding myself in a field of liquid emory paper, I begin to move through it with no effort.  It seems to be the same as an ultra low frenquency sound.  A symphony of counterpoint.  Flutes and strings percussing.  A trumpet.  The mysterious sounds of the Enhala drum.

Emory paper darker than night and constantly moving.
A deep black background with tiny tiny sparkles finer than sand.

A granularity.

And superimposed, a transluscence  of light and dark shadows.  Three dimensional shapes constantly morphing.  Some curved, some square.  Some round, some pointy.  A shapeshifting DNA spiral.  Occasionally a brighter than usual diamond grain of sand.  A ringing hum.  Like distant stars in space.
Always moving.  Always changing.

And then, a cluster of bright sparkels.  Stacatto ice picks.

I always enjoyed black and white movies.  An infinite gradation between light and dark.  From the flashing bang  of white light to the velvet deep without bottom. And in between every possible shadow of gray.

And so I stare at a white wall.  A high pitched gong.  The granulated emory paper in negative polarity.  The granularity in constant transformation.

And yet another dimension.

Color.  A quartet of tetragrammation.  At first only an infrared star in space.  A tiny tiny sparkle tinkling.  A flash of red in the rolling sea of dark granularity and moving shadows of sacred geometry.  Then a flash of blue, whoosing.

And suddenly, yet another  new dimension.

Crystal clear.  The garden of the world in crisp living color.  The Piscaderian Choir.  Accompanied by the Modern Jazz Ensemble.  Garden of the Octopi  gliding in and out of sand castle corridors and passing by shards of crystal glass  covered with multicolored flashing Christmas tree lights.  A piercing  rainbow haze of Meissner fields shooting out from high resolution reality.  A constant ringing in my ears.

Oh, excuse me, here comes Dr. Wise to give me my medications.

Outcome

Tiny smudge of cumulus floats across blue sky,
growing neck smoke angel morph
dissolving by and by.

I fell in nest of shamans
with hoo do voo do too.
They carried me to other worlds
now what else could they do?

All psychedelia soon applaud
the ayahausca transverse god
of dreamtime angels
I did nod.

Where the heaven am I?

Mother Earth soon gave birth
and out came Newtime big toe first
to cast the oneness spell include
of rain... and sun... and peace... and food.

Twelve Strand

Twelve Strand stepped into the field, hummed the song and quickly dematerialized into the portal, catching his breath and struggling to keep his vector intention from dissolving.

Never before had such an exit shown herself by flyaway protocol and upwards gleam about sheer energy been so relevant or so frightening as night fell and whalesong screech enveloped the mechanism of popping into unexpected showers of radiant snowflakes bound to catch the breeze of passing travelers.

And suddenly, the bridge collapsed and out he popped on garden floor, entwined with vines not known but shown to be definitely hostile and hungry.

To find the stone and not complain and get back home again, began his search of mind enclosed in the limitation of timespace quantum leap.

And there, shining in the darkness, the glistening not too stable and less familiar morphing conundrum of that which is but is not.

"Let's make a deal," he croaked to snapping vines.  "I take the stone and go on my way, you can eat the lizards."

He tore the vines from his flesh, bled and soared.  It was hard to grasp and get the living stone into his bag but such he did and began the homeward hum.

"Nothing but costume jewelry," said his mentor.  "Next time remember to pull the choke."

Taboo Facts

Three blind mice.
Three blind mice.

They angrily charged at the holoview,
Because of the facts, their reality blew.

Three blind mice.
Three blind mice.

Let's Borrow From Next Month's Salary and Jump Into the Pool

I'll float with you,
I'll gloat with you,
I hope I do not choke with you.

Sail away,
Sail away,
to that island in the sky.
Straight up my soul will fly,
(I've never been this high)
I hope I do not cry ...

Mysterious, mysterious.
Gets down to the best of us.

Them reptiles green ...
EATING MACHINE!

I truly hope that they're not mean ...

"Rob Roy!"
"Rob Roy!"
"Your such a little boy!"

" ... huuuuuuuh?"

"Robert Roy, I want you to get up, put on your tuxedo,  clean the catbox, take out the garbage and wash the dishes before breakfast!"

"Yes, dear ... right away dear ... should I wear a cumberbun?"

Chinese Love and Fear

Ching Lang Fu and Walinda Wu,
fell in love at a petting zoo.

Nevermind what they did do,
but, certainly, it was nothing new.

Security got all upset,
and captured them in a tiger's net,
handcuffed them on a stright flush bet,
and flew them off on rendition jet.