I liked him,
I heard him,

He spoke through me,
His butterfly knife
penetrated my invisible,
clear plastic liquid glow.

It enticed my inner knowing,
to prowl from above,

A silent noise.
Noise unheard of,
Noise unheard.

Only a seen spectacle,
A clean sparkle,
A ray of intelligence.

Justification of bias,
An allowance
of radial fractals.

A bias with intelligence,
Anti-governmental oppression.

The control factory,
The control factory,
The control factor,

The intelligent stream,
the uninhibited commentary,

Directed straight at the followers,
The believers of conspiracy.

What is the Einstein theory you are
talking about?
Is it me in a nutshell,

Relativity…what is it to me,

What is it to they,
What is it to they,
Are they the is,
Or is it the they,
Godemaga, Godemaga,

Any of this sound familiar yet?
Man is as far as he can reach,

It is he, it is she, it is it, it is is,
It is they, it is all and the none,
just for the fun,
Just for the one,

The none of the Sun,
The center of the hot cinnamon bun.

Drastic spiral,

! (Exclamation)

The one ideal,
The one ordeal,

Wow! A freedom of now-ever,
for whoever of humanity,
for the sound of,
for the inhumane
of those who remain
saddened (as happened) to me,
to be,

As indiscreetly as the Bruce of Lee,
With the intention of Tao.
Finding the Now,

able to manipulate the absolute flow,
The uneasy destruction of creation.

Ceaseless as, and as if, finding out that,
what means I is Zen to me and,
Christianity to the other guy.

Not but the indifference of difference,
the similarity of identity.

Freedom as freedom,
the freedom that creates,

Uninhibited and uninhibited,
Undeniably as unreality,

Find your robe
where is it,
Wear it!

Is the Doe John the John Doe,
or is my figure of speech foreign
to you?

It is section unknown,
It is the dark empty zone,
It resonates from within my bone,

Ripping from within my marrow,
Rippling as if it were the end
of the whip.

So the Zen to me is the Zen to me,
and I thank the thee.

So for the other Zon Zoe I am not the foe,
I am the Arctic region in which no one goes,

I am brave you see,
I am one who channels reality through me,
Threw me as the sea it clears.

Can I spell it or can I call it?

Alright, a few tips back to reality,

So please do not oppress me,
do not,

Do not dispell me,
Do not attempt to spell me,
(Not me ME) EM EEE,

Really, I don't care about spelling,
EM EEE not me.

Get it swell,
Thanks again for that,

For understanding me
Not EM EEE
Spelt not spelled ME as in me.

So can you hear me while hitting those,
two claves?
How did that go?

Duh Duh Duh,
Don't smoke you'll choke,

Smoke something else like a chair,
A chair made of,
A chair of rope.

Can you charm a twisted yellow chair
with a kazoo,
Mister Reality man,

I love you,
I think?

Thanks for finding zero without me,

Express me,
and exonerate my name
Mister Ginsberg.

03/29/1998

Author's Note: I was in NY in 1996 and never heard of this man but got to go and see him perform somewhere by Columbia University. I thoroughly enjoyed his performance. I somehow felt like he was transmitting his knowledge through to the audience via telepathy or mind transmission. Something like that of a direct Zen transmission. I felt like he was speaking with his mind to those who would listen or hear him and that he was sharing his information. Although, I never really understood what I felt until a later point it simply all clicked one day. It was the impetus I needed in order to express myself through poetry. This is when I wrote some of my first work since that of my early teen years. I had just come back to LA and something sparked in me. So I wrote.

Posted on 12/25/2009
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