The Psy Lent Scream

Without expecting it and waiting for an internet connection to come back online I thought I would just let whatever was there just flow out… It feels good to do it but the result sometime looks really odd and I don’t know what to make of it. I just corrected the typos and pasted it here.

Anyway the connection is back…

The silent scream tears at the conceptual heart of the dream and travels down time to become a memory of what once was and seen.
There is a tree, at the edge of the cliff, it leaves reach out into the sky, feeling the changes of a distant hug given in vain.


Psychically I am tired, I scream at my obsession with life, time and time, life after life, into nothing and everything that followed, follows, is to be

Mother and father have I been, rich man, poor man, felt power and powerless,
Felt oh so much love and been left alone
Learnt it all and lost it so many times in illness and decay
Playing music, writing poetry, painting pictures and drawing out in space,
Predicting and philosophising my power,
From the dust forcing technology to create unnecessary toys,
I knew inside it was unnecessary, I just be and it is, but I played,

The sensations and sensuality of an existence shared with any and every life form I have ever lent in existence
There is a person, no one, never was anything, who is everyone, unattached and hooked in to the tree.
But what is it all for, why am I, this infinity that is to be, psychically lent to me
Universes have I created, universes within universes, so much space, so much time, so many possibilities, all at once.
I allowed all change to affect me, unfolded and grew out perception to feel and see all.
I became it all and felt it, every sense, every laugh, all joy, every cry, all emptiness.
To the love of everything as it all becomes one orgasmic explosion of perception then silence.
The person imagines its life to be of some value in the all but not in the self
Feeling its way through a life at the edge of nothing and being a creator without power
Experienced the helplessness of being the creator, from the cry of a child before the silence, “Please Daddy, Hold me, I’m scared, where will I go?, will I dream?”
I have invented reality after reality, tirelessly experiencing all, I have been every atom’s atom an infinite number of times
Everything may be everything but it is all nothing if it is alone and there is nothing else.
So the scream continues, it never began and is finished
Within everything it is felt. Everything belongs to me, it is all now and here.
It all watches each other, interacting, playing it all out. Learning to receive and lend.
Across all possibilities it makes the most wonderful creation, change
With everything done and nothing moving, the next creation, choice
Everything is me, and can be, choosing anything in possibility
The to create life, split nothing into everything, all dimensions came to be
Imagine the elation of creation, from one to two and finding all infinity appearing in between
The perceiving it at a point, separating it out, when I feel the whole universe shouts.
All this is still yet to happen and yet all is done, finished.
I now remember it all, and can only forget if nothing can be, what is left,

All invented, the tree, the child, the atom, the parent, the seeing, the feeling, the symbols that created allowed thought
Word and symbols of archaic form are gathered to mimic thought, and the words here are simplistic come from the child within
Entering a confused reader wondering why they are here and looking at the strange
They stumbled here and see the words talking back at them
What silliness is this, what a stupid idea that I know you are there
All is now and here you see, there is no difference, no separation,
You are reading me
You are a possibility,
Living out this one infinite stream of reality.
Lift your head from these words and stop, look around at what you see,
You created all this, you are in all of this,
It is all you, different space, different time, different probability, you are me
Thought then. The result, nothing, everything, why?

The psy lent scream to be

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