A Picture of a Thousand Images

By Kai Johnson

These are collections of original inspired poems from 1989, 1991 to 2020 which
have been re-transcribed from pen and paper journals into a book from
a writer who chooses not to copy other writers; but, to be inspired by where a
creative mind takes him and sees images of a thousand words to paint a pictures
on the printed pages of how he sees the world around him.

Kai Johnson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawes & Jenkins Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637841228

Book preview

cover.jpg

A Picture of a Thousand Images

Kai Johnson

ISBN 978-1-63784-121-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63784-122-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Kai Johnson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Hawes & Jenkins Publishing

16427 N Scottsdale Road Suite 410

Scottsdale, AZ 85254

www.hawesjenkins.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

Book 4

Book 5

Book 6

Book 7

Book 8

Book 9

Book 10

About the Author

Book 1

1989; 1991–1994

1989

As the sun began to slowly rise above the pearly white snowcapped mountain peaks, it sent forth its soft and tiny spears of luminous light, quiet and gracefully casting its tips on through to the cool dark blue waters, lying quietly and peaceful below the darkened mist of the mountains beyond its woodsy and lush green banks. I watched the rays of light happily dance all around on top of the smooth rowing waves tossing them all around across the lake only to fade away into the deep turquoise water and to rest calmly upon the white sandy bottom below the surface. I was still gazing and amazed at the beauty of the picturesque landscape, that which I was now surrounded by as I slowly got up from my black and white sleeping bag that was now abandoned outside the tent where I had camped last night. I slowly strolled over to the lake and lay down, peering over the other side of the bank into the water, daydreaming. How long I lay there enchanted by what was around me, I haven't a clue, for I found myself staring at what looked like a loon that seemed to be calling out my name over and over again. There was something strange about it, though. Its bill never moved at all, but very clearly though, my name drifted over to me from its mouth. Then it vanished into nothing, and in its place, a small, smooth, soft, and shiny closed hand slowly emerged, sliding up to the surface of the water. It shone brightly as it floated very still and unlocked itself to reveal what was trapped inside of it.

1991

I found a window open on my way over yonder hill to a wondrous place of mine to find time in a place of mind where others find space to wind into this place, out through this space of mind once before. I came back out of my wondrous pondering to the setting where I once lay down with face to the ground yet no one to found to my place of sound. Where many went round and round the ocean breeze with chariots of great ease to yonder hill and up, over chasms of seas, yet, with no one to please. I now open the eyes of this mysterious light to once seek and twice to destroy. Come into the greatness; step out of the light and into the mighty…the darkness of night. Over periods of the all potent, this distant yonder to fields once trampled in play and in sorrow and in death, but now doors closed evermore to thee. How must I compare all this to the dream we once shared together when the cold and wet morning's dew danced about the lush green vast open wide backyard of ours, once shared in the morning's light upon thine shiny face. Now, though, I must leave to wonderland where I found an open window over the hill to the distant places never I found. The winds now blow so I now must find the spot wherein the window once sat silently amongst a violet-colored flower which took the place of the lost and cherished love which separates me and her in the dark, misty, cold pits of death and despair. So I now must cry in shame and in pain—for this I can never focus any longer upon the bad things of thy own past. For tis awful to one's own soul to paint the blackness any darker again, but tis goodness to look upon the light and bathe in its refreshing warmth and beauty after the passing of the midnight sun. My sun now shine on the crown of my head for glory days are upon us in havens of heaven's sparkling light. Spinning…spinning all around outside and in through our souls for we can now be free from sinning…the sinning midnight sun. We can be rid of falling…free falling into depression and loneliness, for it's all vanished into my old thin air and has departed from me forevermore! Now I will be happy as the stars in the sky once I found her in the heavens above, to be with her for eternity.

Standing in a shadow, standing in the night, standing in the morning…standing, standing…standing in the pale moonlight and staring into the enigma of shock. I once stood in the inside in through the outdoor wondering why I stood where I was and why must I ask why? I don't think I'll ever know why I ask what I do. But, one thing I do know is that I'm not going to stand in the houses of the holy, that's for sure! For the song remains the same inside this hollow shell of mine. It's pounding and falling down over everything I own. So just as well that I create physical graffiti inside out my presences while I turned the corner. So I'm now at a watershed this time in the road and the world thinks it has come to a coda, yet what little they know, for this is not the end. I have seen better things than this, but then who am I to judge my actions, as I—we—stand before the never ending throne of codas. In time they will understand their actions as they stand in their shadows, in their nights, and in their morning lights. Once it happens I think I won't be around to see this great sight, for I will be inside the pearly gates of heaven forevermore and to the end, which is where I'm going to be. They will fall down before the throne of the majesty, of glory and splendor, and therefore worship him forever into times never end. I've not reached the place for the meantime because I'm content just where I stand, right here, right now, for there's no place I'd rather be in this spot on through the indoor. I once heard from above that we should and must live life to the fullest extent and do whatever we must to have fun but not to fall into sin or corruption, for they may color you jet black and pollute our mind, heart and soul with the garbage from the dirty boulevard of the outside world. This was once the image of the world living in sin. The inside out ones are flip-side with white hearts, souls and minds who happen to party clean without sin or corruption. I look at this and smile at my bleached body, then say, see you, whitey, in heaven.

Walk onto hard, rough, rocky gravel flying, dusty road one foot in front of the other, slowly strolling along as old time country scenery passes on ever so calm and gentle with my so-called religious wholly shoes burning rubber. I once stopped at a house some time ago; it was very dilapidated but stained with white and black trim at one time and was nice, clean, tidy, and perfect in every way before the owners passed away—died, that is. The marker by the caved in and rotted porch reminded me of myself, once perfect in so many ways but just the house of my parents both died at a time 15 years old and my life has been a nervous wreck ever since then. To have no one to put a protective wing around my young, confused and troubled soul in which to guide and light my way. Now, 19 and still rolling on down dimly lit streets of downtown Easton, sleeping in a big, dusty cardboard box in an alleyway and still a bum without hope and very road weary. Every morning I sit on a warm, black wooden bench begging pitifully for bits of food, or if I am lucky perhaps a dime or two. Then one day, on June 29, 1957 when I was in Philly, Pennsylvania on a cool afternoon, resting up to move on, I was stopped by a bright, burring hot ball of light frying my eyes to a crisp and sizzling myself outside in till all that remained was dust to dust and ashes to ashes scattered into the midnight sun, only to open the winds of change to reinstate into body drifting around, my old person walking down Main Street and out back into the modern countryside til only an outline was all I picked out beside the narrow pine trees in the distances. He was never seen again by anyone but by me—his protective angel watching him every day. The reason behind this is that I have not believed in reincarnation but in one life and one soul and no matter how alone you must be feeling inside or what you have done there's always someone watching over yourself along this hard, rocky, dusty gravel road of ours to light the way. I once was all alone in this way until one day I opened the door and washed in white light—I was whitewashed into a new person. After that I was never lonely anymore, for I had a friend who cared and was with me always, until I passed away and he took my hand which took me home.

1992

West winds over yonder breaking to the sky of ocean blue to take me away on treetops we sway in my month of May. I say not today that we may sail away on ships of clouds in wonder of the oceanic way, way up yonder…the sky on the day of the month of May. But here I stand where blue go hand in hand, never ending, never starting, they flow into the distance to ends that never must end anymore thus under yonder my mind of pain enters in, then quietly shatters the lonely soul of beauty once more. Next on the waves we wake and thus we take…only once quaking to twice a fake on swords of rock and stone they take to west winds over yonder breaking land and sea. Travel they must to my coastal island of souls open wide and free needing only wild, thus free to be. Tell them, who remain far behind, thus over yonder way back home as they all gaze at wondrous tranquility where sky meets sea to schools of clouds, drifting, swaying on flowing palms in winds of calm just as they say to marvelous crafted rocks that bathe to peaks of whitewashed geyser spray, thus at once God's making under his own brightly illuminating smile. Thus, thee, we, they…me, myself and I say looking happily, smiling upon his sun. I reflect on my coastal inland soul of mine as I say today is the right day that we all, and me, myself and I travel over yonder to open the calm skies and never ending flowing blue of mine. As I once said to myself, me and I, take what we can of today's life, we bring outside of this gracious thing we call life and enjoy for tomorrow maybe none, thus it is too short to waste. Never mind me, for thus I'm already there.

Reach out, take hold of one tree hill up there where midnight's sun spreads forth its shadow once as stars crown the head shine brightly upon a reflection-less, watching face of its own, twice. So, take out heaven's midnight sun touching everything, thus all wonders never cease to query why they question the faith, the hope, the love of one. As the lonely painter makes out a picture of another time, of another face, some other race, and paints in the distance as worldly things lie frozen stiff. While the glazed-over faces of the landscape watched as the one tree hill ascends to widening depths of the heavens, soaring, whitewashed in clouds of light. They run out of time to reach out, taking hold of one tree hill, for the world is destined for destruction and devastation. Such is the prediction of the unbelieving non-light followers. In the end, the ones who find out will feel that they don't deserve the desire of the design that was already plotted out for them since jumping off the cliff and into sin. I will have to look down upon them in shame as they detest God forsaking them, for they are destined thus, once thou burns then twice develops all over again. So the sinners can plead, beg and cry all they want, since once they pledge their soul over to the devil-prince of the jet black burning underground, this is the fate of thou nightlight choosing. But, now is the time to look upon the one cross hill as the man who bore the thorny crown upon thine own bloody brow and speared through hands, feet and side as blood… water flowed forth for the unbelieving world of ours. So we are all the criminal on the cross whose eyes opened to the true and only light, thus saved from destruction. Only the yonder one tree hill still stands in the hilltops watching all our movements. Not for me, never the less he's in me closer than the rest.

Open thine own window to thou warm sweet smell of this our sun. This is early on Monday's morn and thus take a longing look to what you may find in this thine own summer's way. So come out and check out and take my hand by hand to come outside. Tell us, nature, what you might miss as the weary-eyed shades of yours upon the light thus break open only once to take a meaningful picture on a summer day such as today. The same such as thine own…my own feet, heavy, weighted with sleep, slowly slither out onto the hard and cold step of life on the morning alarm clock light shining. I tried to wake up on the last morn early this day of mine to open up my own window only to find the daylight dawn never ceased to come out at all to play with thine own eyes. For darkness of the morn's daylight, nightlight shining down upon me only to surround upon thee, breath of my life. It squeezed…squeezed the juice of thine own lifelines, thou own soul. Such formed me into a new person, which was nothing compared to the afterlife I experienced the other day-night morn's midnight sun yesterday. I was never the same since then but neither was the soul of mine, for I have none anymore. For the wild west rivers of mine over the city line street-ways to nowhere, the comings and goings into the heartland delta once my soul only hosteled twice, long before the empty blue ways and blowing drifts of sand. Now such as I shut mine own window as the tides of the school of people playfully sail on by all around me before the darkness sets in upon us all. So such for us all, they equally thus only twice come to seek and find then never to disappear, but always longingly to fade into nothingness again to me. Now my window's and soul's river are gone and faded or dried up, but it doesn't matter anymore for I died today.

I had a river once that flowed crystal clear, thus it never ceased to end up in my deep blue sea. There, where I used to live a time before. Now, as I sit, the days slowly drift along by the river banks which carry them along while I stay there waiting for a day in waters' time. I watched the river's genital waves of starry blue carry me, thus moving me back home to my heart's content. It's a funny thing, though, for I had not a home, but only a faded one that never existed before. So, thus ye thine own river is now myself, for such I am always going on and never ending up anywhere. For I live a solitary yet a peaceful life as I ramble on along the king's water highway. But every once in a while I must help these so-called two-legged giants, objects who call themselves humans, across my crystal clear body to their destination, t which my mind never comprehended if they ever had one at all. Such that I, now relieved of my duty, can go on my way to never ending into the deep blue sea forevermore. This is where I used to live a time before, now ye own eyes have seen, yet I still haven't found not once what my heart has been seeking, for when my body was unlimitedly wide deep, mighty stars of turquoise springs plummeted my face onto sands of time. Splash! My life has found its destiny in someone else's fate of puddles of murky seas on their dying, ending river that ceases today. Now, my glory days are such numbered from here on, though flip side tears as seen from eyes of others falling up where they have come from are not mine now. I'm fading, vapors of rain ascending into the heavens, thinking, nothing is flowing anymore. Oh, great river, end up…end up into the great sea…Death Do I Part, Thine Own Great River Of Life…STOP!

Here I stand on a starlit sky as snowflakes fall down from the heavens, yet nothing's changed on New Year's Day as I move across the river and into the woods underneath the midnight's moon. My black sky on my misty mountain hopping over one tree hill beyond thee yonder's day breaking. For I'm the crescent moon on cloudless nights in red mill towns underneath a once blood red sky, today twice times releasing open unto this earth. Now, right here stands the day of a new age of a year a minute old, yet, it seems as though eternity has passed as I must sense the life of mine now returning again onto a new crisp and clean page on New Year's Day. The old has vanished but remains in my memory of times yet passed before the very eyes of mine through mystical shadow's blanket, my shades of luminous blinding light thus thrusting daggers into hearts and minds of people long ago remembered but yet thus forgotten. So now, here I once again stand on a starlit sky as pearly snowflakes fall down upon me from heaven, yet nothing's changed, even on New Year's Day. I move quietly into the old life's chilled river and into the new day's wood on this midnight moonlit. Now, I state this, sailing on long ships of clouds into the sunsetting noontime sky, Happy New Year…Everything's changed on New Year's evening day. Come take a flower, come pick a friend to take a time of day in a ray of sunshine now. My friend says, What do you say now to take the old feelings of yesteryear and bring ye new start today—will you? I do now see the other side of night into day's light upon her New Year's smile, for everything just changed…NOW!

I found a friend just the other day; she was sitting on the fitting of my window pane, for which was rain in the drain of her pain. I took this stain in vain that was insane to the lying of this crane which has so much strain on top of that train in the pouring rain in vain, thus I fain to deign how much I love thee lain, of my friend of mine. Space, in its vast wide open freedom, for which she never had enough of. But, though the time slipped away just the other day in the window of my pain. I once took this space, this nothingness, of this my place in time to open thine window and drift away from it all, for such no one seems to care much anymore nowadays or takes the time to share in the setting of the frame of the window of my scattered, splattered pain. For I'm lonely back there where I once came from, and for such that's why I'm there on the other side of it all. I took the time to share the following waterways of my feelings, roller coasting up and down and all around inside the deepest depths of this jet black lonely soul of mine. But, never mind, thus they don't care to spare a dime's worth of space in their time to hand out something…just anything to help. Yet, ye no!, for they leave me. So, dust to dust and ashes to ashes am I, for I'm a nothing, a worthless speck of dust out here in this great vast open space and time. Such am I a slave to the mighty pain of mine inside for I want to get out…set myself free and shatter the bottles of feelings and crack the chain, the binding ownership of slavery to my feelings trapped way down inside the window of my deepest pain. Therefore, the end is near, right beside me waiting, thus hoping to light the fire and cast me into the promise land; on the other side, death's bullet in the blue sky way…way over yonder past red mill town where the shiny happy people exist forevermore. So, that's where I want to be and there's nowhere else I'd rather be than there, right now. Why must I stay any longer in this space of mine? Who knows? Then, who really cares anymore? For I know others that once long ago knew me but, well, I wonder if they really truly knew who I was. For I ask these question to myself over and over again and thus over again as I sit staring outside my window of pain. There still time…for anyone who really cares to take my hand and understand where I'm coming from. Now, such as to pull me back to reality to listen to what I have to say. Remember, the match has lit the fuse to take me over yonder, so whoever reads this, reach out and touch my window of pain. One Tree Hill—I stand…waiting.

How must I find this reason to live the way I do as I remember all the years yet past behind me. Taking this life into hands that can get over it all—the problems of mine all around tearing, tearing me inside out and outside in over days past, thus yet to come in through my windows open as sunlight breathes the morning's light forth. Now here I am with an empty feeling surrounded by four walls and falling ceiling upon the world's end someday. Come seek and ye shall find, ask and thus it will be given as he gives all that we ever need one day at a time, for why worry about tomorrow, such he's already there. But, I still think that there is more to this life than what it really shows as we all spin on sticks and stones and think about the days to come. Now, as the days sail past, as the finest hours move on by for what I need has been confused, yet, it's gone once. Who can unwind my trail, thine perfect blues predicts caution ahead in this life as it is the end of the world as I know it, but I feel somewhat fine now. So, I ask myself one more question as I walk out the door to my new life, thus, here it goes. Do I, can I, have love without dreams? I will say, No with unsure lips, but, someday later will reply, Yes, I love with my heart, now and forever. There's nowhere else, for this is where true love is—in friendships made to last as they help each other heal the past wounds, thus, getting over stumbling blocks of stepping stones in life's hardest moments never ever cherished for what they are really made for. I've now found the reason to live with the only one who can get over it—my heavenly friend.

As time passes by as I step into the light of day every way as I say into the gray sky looking for a ray of hope for my life in such a turmoil. What can I say today which can't slip too far away to pay a favor willing to give in order of handing out insights in life's not yet touched. My hand's dusty with bitterness, thus lined and bent throughout the years, climbing unclimbable walls around my heart, body and soul through which thine never less once saw days of shiny happy people swaying in harmony. For such my days are full of pain in drowning the driving rain inside mists. I try to take pride in all things I've forgotten and try to receive them little by little before the pieces of my old past winter places melt in the summer of my present days. For I've strayed from where I have begun in my earlier walk and talk on this path of my so-called Christian life, such, as far as I must have explicably fallen from its direction as the other insights glanced into easygoing earthly ways. For, now, thine leads an eccentric lifestyle impermeable to the echoes of voices hidden beneath masks and fake-ness which I now show inside outward to my design, blueprinted on the other side, dark-man subsiding in my soul. All that's been throughout upon the days in vain, into trees upon trees I write, thus paper and pen don't coincide with each other, for what's inscribed here are words put into nonsense, for each line changes just like from throughout to memories likewise out of twisting to make sense of what I must try to say rightfully to them all. I wrote many times that I've been dazed and confused, for such I am these days' stumbling blocks trying to be helping stepping stones. But every time I say I will fix them, I can't get over them alone.

I need to day, I need to say, just how much I pray every way. Oh, yah, I need to say, got to give away, needing less unforgiven words, proclaimed getting the blues down inside, way down inside. For I could laugh, such they don't scare me, from my enlightened ways, never! I'm closer to the perfect white as he has mercy, oh, has mercy for where he is at the alpha and the omega. I need somebody, for I can't get over it, can't get over today. Such, where he's at, have mercy upon me, for I've sinned in the lust, the flesh, my eyes and the pride of my life…oh, have mercy upon me when I'm gone. They say I've got the perfect blues in shattered mirrors, looking in to see what might have been missed over and over again, while they all laugh, they all laugh, but, it's not funny, no, it ain't funny any longer as shattered lives are left to melt way in the moon. I've think I've seen the light, oh, the light here in my heart everyday as the reign of truth in the eyes of amazing love. For my heart's crying in a heartbreak town, such the fortress around my heart is considered to be gone, yet sticks and stones don't look back in shadows stinging in the rain. Thus, they don't loop me, setting the ones they love free over the seventh wave sending quails and doves this way. So, yes, I need somebody, for I can't get over it, oh, no, can't get over my way today. For I need mercy, now, oh, mercy come down on me. For I've sinned a thousand times, yet, it's never funny, in lust, in flesh, in his eyes looking down on me heavy, in the pride of the life's lies. For when I need to have mercy on these lonely nights filled with broken dreams of walking through the forest of crumbling hearts filtering through my hands. So don't look back, for he's calling us over to a higher plain of living under sideways and down for every dream inside the heartland grace soul as he guides us with perfect and loving amazing grace showering down upon us.

A window opens as I peer outside unto the morning's light shining down upon my face laughing in the wind all around this place coming down. A door falls down, step on through to the other side, into empty places one never can find, screaming such not returning to the voice of thine lost. The sky spreads wide, thus, looking back at me smiling as clouds fall over above the falling star in the heavens drifting away on seas to the islands where daylight is mine, forever gracefully taking and gently giving forth, then back again, to homelands where ye once came before now. The time has come to take the light inside my days of old long gone before I knew of such that I was missing when leaving days once cherished deeply, yet, never the same as they repeated themselves over and around some more inside out of my head. Such the same as a broken record calling its name as it echo off the empty walls in the silent room. Windows, doors, walls, are still remaining desolate and lost from people who tried hard to keep them in place to utmost potential of dazzling beauty, but one at a time they must never last for so long as they open and fall down into the dust of nothingness in a final resting place of justice well deserved. I stand in front of my window as I step through the door while music plays its repetitious tune on my phonograph, squeaking out its own name off the walls while sunshine takes my hand and the winds carry thine own body away into everlasting life. As the light blankets out and onto the new enlightenment of better ways in better days. I could go on today, my way, as I say, such I'm gray in May, yet, anyway, it's a new day now to live again in freedom away from binding chains that pull us down to the ground and all around in seas of rocky waves. Yet, I have much to learn and much to know about things already known, but don't understand trying to fit together as puzzles not yet done.

Silence, silence, the only quiet word that moves through city streets over hills into empty buildings long ago abandoned as people sadly walk along into vast deserted plains beyond the city's gates, torn in two like a dying tree's brittle branches. Now there's nothing left to go back to, yet, really nothing to look forward to blowing like chaff in the wind, with nowhere to settle on the seven seas, always changing direction without any such warning of further destruction. So still, the silence echoes louder than the loudest word as it cuts like a knife deep into the innermost being of your soul. It blends us up in its quiet wash and spin cycles and spits us out, leaving a bitter emptiness in our mouths all dried up without any such sound, clamped shut. I want to speak badly, but the silence overpowers my lips as it numbs my mouth, such paralyzing them while its voice calmly hypnotizes its will, brainwashing my soul to its commands one by one as it floats into my inner being renewed as the darkness blinds the dying light with its own colorful paintings. Now its work is done, I'm colorblind to the old self, the once flowing waterways of word pouring forth to whomever its soaking covers naturally. I'll never yet be the same again, thine that I am silenced in words, in movement, in thought, in deed and in places which I will now never get to ever, now that I have been locked up and thus emptied out onto the table only to be scattered by the silent city streets as people rush out into the plains never to return to their now abandoned buildings. I watch dumbfounded as the people go by, in and out and all about through the city's gateways while they scatter in different directions, each with their own destiny, now. But, I still stand there watching and waiting silently as the silence captivates me with undivided attention, yet somewhere, noises attempt to attract onto my asunder of noises once lost, now trying to be found once more.

I remember the day when I took thy hand into mine own, to find a ray of shay trying to fray this cray into trays, unto praying for the sun to come upon cloudless nights of the daytime sky over, up and yonder reaching high. Yet, only to stoop so low, that's how the wheel spins in its continuance cycle. Try to say that this is not the same anymore, yet I only kid myself by saying so, thinking all the while as the hand presses deeper in its grasp onto mine. But wait, yet maybe it is true that everything isn't the same now anymore longer, standing still only when I want to run away, far away from here and be in harmony with myself today and now forever everlasting. There's nowhere else I can be right now for peace of mind, soul, heart and body is what I need most right now this very moment in time. For I'm very much confused as this battle, yet already won, still rages on for the very heart and soul of my ground, for eternity. Now, when it finally comes to me, I reach out, far out, yet falling over backwards to please everyone, but I got it in mind, knowing why it is this way that it is and still can't please myself in all that I do every day and way. I confuse the facts with reality the way that it is, but thine now can never really be any such way that it's the same-minded as it is now, spit into fragments on the wall. The day I can never remember anymore now as the sun sets behind the clouds on top of the western snow-topped hills as the lights go down in my city, still burning from unseeing fighting, burning intensely on for the winner of evermore. In the rain, sleet and snow upon it will go back and forth and back again, like a tennis match never wanting to end day in and out. I never could stop believing faithfully in the open arms that are loving, touching, and caring for me. Even though the lights may go dim, he will still be good to me as he sends me his love all the ways I want and need it, for he's caring and loving me for who I am one day at a time.

The sun shines down upon thy beauty today as they float gracefully around before my pleasing eyes, now sparkling with delight. I wonder just how they are the way they are, for I'm just blown over backwards at the magnificence of the style and oh, such gracefulness of thee. They are special in their own unique way as they try to use their charm, trying to impress the onlookers drifting by. I just laugh, laughing my head off, rolling upon the floor all about on the ever-twisting new sensations flooding my newfound wild life. It's so funny how they all must really try hard to make us all feel just right as we are mystified everywhere, in through the presence of the almighty that they thrust upon us. Everyone falls for the great expectations kicked in the newest takeover of the winding trails, such is thine in the fast lane, yet they never heed cautions ahead for they must always get to where they are going to the places they must be right now. But just like a bullet in the sky as it calls all the nations before its gun, they are out of time, only, it's too late, finding ten million tiny daggers in their heart and soul. I still laugh—though I guess it is never really funny—as I fly away while the sun drifts off into the shadows, inside out, never once succeeding to tear me apart from my one and only loved one in the mountain blue sky. While all the rest are suffocating on the suction of suffering in thine mystifying glorious new feeling inside tonight at the party of the third stage on its way. The people of newly found power and prestige in their ever-fresh, clean rockets, such to know the difference while thine winding stairs disappear as a dream of faith in each other, the suicidal car and himself pay the price now that bitter tears hear the sound with a voice to be found as the changes go round. Death's time ended here lately.

The blue skies lately have disappeared on the stairs right by my side for I've got too much faith in my silence to hear that sound on its way, sailing on through bitter tears. I've got a room above the busy streets and the echoes of its life are in fragments of the dark outside. Into the darkness of the night that I shared the same spaces with my walls as they pass me street to street and story to story and through corridors paying for the chain around my neck today. Now I'm crying in pain and suffering, trying to get free from all my problems and fears as the world seems to disappear. I now lose my mind with no windows spreading forth any air at all in the dark of the night with a room full of strangers down on their knees with filled pride. Every single day I never knew what I was doing, let alone what I was seeing, such to wonder what I'm doing here as the sun shines onto my blank face looking for tomorrow today, yet who pays the price as I stare out through the window not there, bringing a new day. Such exists in the mist, looking all over in the endless search for the best life while it all remains clear as the midnight sun begins to fade away by itself, yet it was not right. I didn't think it was doing any wrong in the hour of my deepest need to push away the bitter tears as the way for the very last time, pass away only to push me into the ground all over town, forgetting now why the changes must spin around as my time has come now. I wake up in the morn's light beginning to rise above the clouds, way up high as its quiet fingers tip toe into the windows of my room, watching me rise ever so slowly from my slumberland sleep onto the floor of a new day, on its way climbing the mountain's trail. The black skies give way to days by my memories of silence, once quiet rainbows swaying on the seven seas like winds moving through my hair, in through the open window, my new ways such that I hear that sound go down around into town, on the stairs with a faith in each other now by my side, now and forever.

Find one time where you can go outside today into the light, into night, into the morning's flight of fright, insightful now that it's right to find me falling into her arms of love once more. For they understand where you come from, dropping into misunderstandings, days of rain pouring down from who knows where as they all see closely. I'm rightfully jealous again in all this dang luck that must never stay patiently long in the same position forever. But I must tell myself, how could I really be so blind that I've started seeing things for the second season in this twisted cut out wasted life that I was so great before I tried to talk to angels while they stare me coldly in my pain-stricken face, insides out in the dust just feeling right, winding down in the end. Now, the new sensation kicks me in the face over and over again, for I'm too hard to crack in half, yet, though it is twice as hard as before in the greatness locking into fragments, kicked over blue skies of mountains over yonder, streams in thine darkness calling. What can I complain about? Nothing, nothing much at all, really. For nothing, I tell you, is left anymore that one can once or twice last standing still gazing at sky without spinning upside down laughing at their name squirting outside into, in through…what? A window falls from the heavens on my bitter crying glass pain of arms breaking in half. It's not funny, oh no, it's never funny. Find two times coming inside out tonight into the pale moonlight dancing around an inside of hysteria, in through this head of mine trying to break these chains of pain rains covering trains in cains to fains my danes how must I shane these pains too hard to hold. Once upon, upon once of times ticking slowly falling to the wayside of my side in times siding with me that they found me dead in the head with red twice spread over a day now passed and always forgotten. Now they walk away from me in shame, yet, how am I to blame for this dreadful rain? I still find one time to go outside in the light of the pale moon, tonight's winding trail laughing into her arms ever so lovingly once more again, never jealous as I see it the right way for the first time.

Freedom—what is this thing that we call it? For we have so much for ourselves, yet, even once do we stop to think about sharing a piece with someone else not as fortunate to have any a slice of freedom. There's way too much too hard to handle and too cold to hold, that thine many one freedom minded lender, pilled-sky in dusty crates stuffed in the moldy corners of an aging warehouse of long past, neglecting the freedom packages to the peoples of such in need of a place of this so-called freedom, away from the bars and chains of prisons where no one, but no one can be set free in the happy fields of freedom. They can only hope, thus, wish for a day when doors and gates will fly open as the walls come crashing down into rubble of fragment into dust for all, no freedom kind peoples to be set free once again to relive days for long passed and almost forgotten behind the cold, harsh and bitter self-defeating prison walls set up by one-minded dictator government leaders. Yet, all the while we hear in freedom-land, paint it silly until it gets out, but we still love it so much, thus taking it for granted too many times, such as they forget it's even really there lingering about in our clouded minds all blocked and filled to the brim with other more seemingly less imperfect knickknacks covering the already filled walls of the one-track minds. Freedom, oh this thing we all fight for to have and to be our own for the taking, such to give to others who don't have any at all that are locked up behind bars and prison of no freedom living. But yet, we don't give anyone ours that is rightfully are own.

I try to write it truly how I feel at this moment in time, but I can't do it at all as I stop to think about it all. For how can I when I'm so confused to put the feelings and everything else that's mixed up inside into words, such as it's impossible to explain in detail without getting lost in it. For it is like an ever-circling maze that keeps on repeating itself over and over again. I would only be kidding myself if I said that I understand fully everything that blends monotonously ever so roller-coasting its way up, then plunging way, way down past thine so-called stable shaky ground of mine like a wavy water earthquake. Everything I hear I can never understand, such do all the words mesh up into garbled gouckish ball bouncing, all the while into fragments and pieces in the mixer laughing inside of my head every single day nonstop until I'm rightfully part of its ugly design, driving on its winding trails over and over again as it's always changing, staying the same as the day nights. Such do I hate myself fully to the brink of death, the seemingly only way out of this never ending maze inside of my clear thinking of rational reasoning of the reality waiting to receive my rebirth into new ways of feelings, thoughts, words, mind, heart and soul. When I say death I mean death! Death, out cold and lying still upon the hard and rocky yet peaceful ground away from the problems I now wish would just pass on by me. So now, as I finish up this writing log of thoughts and ideas I'm still confused to the extent of explanatory writing down in detail, for how can I to tell myself the truth, if I think I can? I guess I will try to sort the winding trail thoughts of mazes out sometime soon that is, if I'm still around to retell all that happened to me working out of my confusion and disarray.

I doubt that I'm going to like this right here, right now two and two looking back, but yet, staring forward into the future as the world of mine splits in two fragments flying all around, now nothing can I do hold me down, thus I still have to trust myself while I'm only burning up inside these prison walls that I've created, while I was still satisfied with the real once ever-fresh international bright young thing myself use to be. So if someone tells me that I'm not really, really, real who I say I am, and not really that blissed while I left as I came back, leaving through the window getting stripped…what? Who? Where? Being welcomed back in through the outside door on the plain in bloom from the ground. But, I tell them I came as I am, a breed all my own. So if they don't happen to like what they see in me, who I really, really am they are just in the way getting drained as they made me go now on my own territorial winding trail. Yet, it might smell funny in lithium as this lounge art of mine coming as I am such in the way on a plain in bloom right now, right here splitting in two while I'm burning now. Never mind the above draining out, for as the sky falls down, who cares, really, anyway. Does it really matter that I must doubt that I doubt why I doubt it? Thus, I think something must be in the way twice as hard. For the black crows, as I'm seeing things, trying to stare coldly at them, flying above my burning stake on a plain all the while as I look longingly back into past, staring forward to the future for help. Now, here it ends as I found it, really, it is hard as it was hard to find yesterday, and today I heard that I am jealous again of others who have much more luck with doubts running around about inside their heads creating havoc for them. Oh, how I really despise them all so much with such scorn, yet I never mind them for as I come, I am one day at a time trying to solve my doubts and feelings that I have inside of myself that are in my way every single day, now!

I wonder how much I need to know about anything that's worth knowing anywhere at any such time or place, questioning, so long as the sun dissipates behind serene hills in the distance, slowly as night begins to fall. How much is too much for so much for thus it is never enough to find the forever lasting peace of mind with star lights glowing dimly to the dawn of a new day and age waking up? If I could have anything I so desired to have I can only help but wonder what it might be to me and such that I could see the real me to be somebody far away, never wondering why. We all, I guess, miss as we all wonder any such thing at all naturally, I figure anything is possible, wondering anytime to go and write down nonsense about something that means absolutely nothing, such that I might know why I wonder why we do the things we do every single day, in and out and all about everywhere. I don't think I'm going anywhere with this writing of mine, but do I really care? No! Not really, for I have three pages done already and much better than this one I'm doing right now to waste time so that I don't wonder why I'm sitting right here doing nothing at all bored and always wondering such. Now it's getting late and I must leave to go away today, right now far away,. I wonder as I wonder, nothing much as the stars are now passed before my restless eyes that are now fading fast. Oh, great, I'm late for a really important date. I must be ready to go right now. At least I think it's surely important that I get to it, and maybe not—really, I just wonder. There might be time to find, needing to wonder if any such things are worth pondering about, for days pass by way too quickly to stop and think or yet wonder why. For either we know or we don't at all, so still I must ask why I wonder why much anymore. For, if I wonder too much, my wondering question will just set down upon me like the sun at the end of a wondering day.

I had a thought a while back some time ago about a river flowing rapidly all around on top of clouds on a starry day I once had sometime before. It was funny, though it didn't make much sense to me at the time of the moment, but now, slapping me in the face I still can't believe that any such thing really could've happen to me. I don't know what to say, but I have to somehow admit and address it as fact. It's strange how things take a change for the better, worse time when things are not all what they appear to be looking at through the hourglass of nonexistence of time always standing still. A time awhile yonder back, in cobwebs of memories way deep in soiled dusty corners there's a place I once had to sail away to on the colors of the day in seas of bluish-gray fields of mountains rocking up and down on the willow winds of this, my joyous day now dying. I wish I could, I wish I may, I…I might take it back, all back, all back and fix everything up just like new. But, it's impossible to do, such that, for what's been done, has been done in the past. Thus, only unfixable memory in the past, now long gone, only to stay where it's been left behind by its owners, now faded in a dream. Where have I been? I don't really know, or do I? I guess I will never find out for a while, but when I happen to, I'll have forgotten the question that I had a while back when I had that thought flowing rapidly to the sea, just like wild animals on a crazy stampede. Oh, great I just had a thought about my writing here—this journal and how I go seemingly aimlessly from one thought to another, yet, still amazingly still stay on the same train of thought somehow, just drifting off. Now, here where I must get off the ship and onto my next expedition on the other side around the winding curve, just ahead starting to smile at me in a dream.

Start coming inside, right inside, down…down, down, oh, oh, oh, o', what can I do, anyway traveling on my riverside blues, swaying to the country. For it just feels right when the levee breaks to the geetar a-playing way down to the rhythm of drums thumping along down the row twisting up, down, and all around laughing away. What a summer on a black mountainside way up over yonder tree tops drifting just like ten years gone from poor Tom's life. All the while, Kashmir ties to fulfill his lifelong dreams in the holy, house of the holy inside out of the great expectations never achieved. Now, all I see turns to stone as the sun burns the ground while I spend this wasted life singing the rain song on the stairway to heaven, such watching bonoz's maontreax right down into the country as I'm on my way. For now, I remember walking in the park like a black dog on a rock, candy store rock, rocking away, yet they kick me out, leaving me with no place to go. I resemble a mountain man without a home going down south not knowing what to do, for crying won't help me. For now as it was again it is such as the courses may change, sometimes they always run to the sea while I rock n' roll away in tangerine's misty mountain, a-hopping outside, my days long gone. Now, hear my tales of down where the rivers run on in circles colorfully, never knowing what's goin' on, Moby Dick's mix of twisting rainbow song. I listen to the music on the radio playing inside my head while the bands in the background are getting ready to perform in the moonlight now that it has been a long time…wondering as I walk down the blue riverside breaking. They try to take me to the song of rain on heaven's stairway, yet I need a whole lotta love as today they can't be my one and only master. I need to start leaving outside, right outside, up…up, oh, oh, o' yay, for what can anyone do as I run to the sea trying to seek love's way out through the window before the levee breaks, when the rain song sings as ten thousand slips away, gone.

I only find the summer days slip away into gray as I sit here remembering how it use to be while a tangerine reminds me of my reflection as it fades into a thousand years everlasting in the spring of my youthful rain song. I try find things that are helpful as I wonder if anything I do is just right. I walked through the park just the other day as I watched people there with flowers in their headsets laughing. The things I remember are never the same as they used to be. For I change sometimes, but that's alright with me as I think of friends that used to be a dial away from my ear, yet now are out of reach and always slipping further away. There's one thing I can't forget that's even better than the real thing, as I see summer days slip into nights of gray skies, leaving. So now, give me one more chance so that I will be satisfied, but I need two more chances and I can't be denied, for my heart has been where it's always been. Yet, my head is somewhere in the middle of it all, I'm confused about the real thing. Can they give me one more chance to be free?