bonita oh bonita

Do I love you?
Do I lust for you?
Am I a sinner cuz I do the two?
Could you let me know
Right now, please
Bonita Applebum



Bonita Applebum, you gotta put me on




Hey Bonita, glad to meet ya
For the kind of stunning newness, I must have foreseen ya
Hey, being with you is a top priority
Ain't no need to question the authority
Chairman of the board, the chief of affections
You got mine's to swing in your direction
Hey, you're like a hip hop song, you know?
Bonita Applebum, you gotta put me on



You and me, hun, we're a match made in heaven
I like to kiss ya where some brothas won't
I like to tell ya things some brothas don't
If only you could see through your elaborate eyes
Only you and me, hun, the love never dies
Satisfaction, I have the right tactics
And if you need 'em, I got crazy prophylactics
So far, I hope you like rap songs
Bonita Applebum, you gotta put me on

a tribr called quest.

what the fuck maaaaan

illusive advesaries only known by codes of post
to my unknown host, i raise my cup to offer a toast
to ye, a despised icon ive never known
residing abode, an overcast home
do these coves of romance echo with truth?
or are they merely loosed articles of a desperate recluse
and who am i in this game of chess
but a pawn swept by the oceans crest?
just a momentary fix, one of six?
yes, perhaps a minimum of two
have i been drunk off this love brew?
alas i take a sip from this bottomless flask
with my furrowed brows i dare to ask
who the FUCK are you, and what is your intention
i feel intuitive to dodgy acts of circumvention.
you know, you and i we are one of the same
so i am conflicted to whom i point the blame
i have seen the specs i have worked the angles
and i can clearly see its a love triangle
what is it you have that i do not
and what is it you want that you forgot
what is it that i have to do
to see this seed sprout and bloom
my resourses have run almost nill
all i have is figmented parchment and inkless quills
beyond release, its past the lust
do i hold a special part between your bust?
i have laid thy trust in chaotic hands
will it be buried beneath shifting sands?

maya busks for businessmen.

20 even revolutions around sol, my consciousness has answered the call the bear witness the ritualistic embrace of the cosmic mistress. Maya in within her own deluded forms secluded behind her Bedouin veil, she hides a frail framework lurks a smirk of charades. She parades around a perimeter guarding a chest at the circumference. A sinister dwelling foreshadowing tragedy, what do you have there in Pandora’s box? Lulling hips mesmerize the fools and wise alike, the beads fastened to her ankles jangle a chaotic rhythm. I stand impervious with my hand stroking my chin, who is she trying to fool? I see right through the multicoloured fractal cloth, I penetrate the multifaceted trajectories of her offered escapes. I get a glimpse of what appears to be an infinite landscape that takes no shape nor form. It is the humble abode of the absolute awareness, our home everything and also nothing. the hearth is aflame and a pot of earl grey steams a welcoming gesture. “welcome home”. The contents of the chest hold the key to set free all of the guests in Mayas performance. I look at her again, she never noticed my blaring third eye for it is concealed behind a wall of pride. I do not step foreword for it is not my time. Though I pine for the Buddha mind, I have a purpose in this material plane, to wax and wane as the tidal rhythm. I bought the ticket for this karmic attraction so I observe its nature. Maya you poor insecure soul, I do not care for your frilling attire, your cosmetics, your hypnotic act. I will not return the favour until I am able to savour that one original flavour beneath all of your clutter. your lotus sweats the dew of yearning, allow me to lap it up.


…….long lasting times of labour. Capricorn finally gives birth to Aquarius.

fruit fucks

is it a felon my dear, to question upon a lesson of a pair of watermelons?
or perhaps honeydews for they construe a far suitable size.
i wont hesitate to imply the wondrous look within your eye
sweeter than a ripened mango would you care to tango?
take into consideration the temptation to fall into the rutabaga saga
sour turnips flourish in a furnished abode of thy broth. wading.
crisp reactions like romaine causes me to switch lanes, i have been trained to spot crops behind the window pane prepared for harvest
i am in love with the peach fuzz, the nectarine dreams, fun with plums.
haunting broccoli is stalking me, haunting me. oppressed by cauliflower power.
my god i want to taste that sweet juice. just fucking set me loose already, slow and steady becoming increasingly uneasy. i want to explode, bursting like a blueberry.
in a row stand the eggplants, rocking back and forth purple with mocking laughter. my impenetrable stature is indeed hard to capture even in the face of hot house tomatoes. these red faced jealous foes with there worried brows wilt at the vine. like a lavish radish you kick in. ive been spending to much time with the royal galas, the heroic spartans, the humble mcintosh's the golden hearted and the wise granny smiths. apricocks. if it takes a cucumber rammed up my brown eye ti wake me from this slumber. then so be it. i could use the fiber. i look upon the pistachios and dates with a clean slate. the bitter aftertaste is gone. just think fruit.

funky figures.

Current theory and observations suggest that the universe is between 13.6 and 13.8 billion years old. as to what stirred the big bang into existence is still a mystery. using my superior mathematical skills i have created a formula by multiplying the golden ratio with the number of funkatrons that make up a funky molecule chillen on moldy cheese from 4 day old pizza, divide that by the amen break you get the omega point. i have discovered that the primordial mover of all manifested existence is in fact the omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, Funk. the Funk boundless, infinite and eternally raw. some say that it all started when the galactic cosmic booty was disturbed as it came across heavy bass that erupted from a portal from the dub dimension. once these fundamental energies collided into one another the heavenly rump shook violently, twerkulating, gyrating, bouncing. as the ass cheeks rubbed together something miraculous happened. the funk exploded into existence and created to what we know today as the universe.

where does the funk reside?

the funk is not a process of becoming.
it is rather a process of realization
you already are the funk. the funk is all as it transcends both time and space.
it lies dormant within you, and occasionally it will poke its smelly visage in a stand of pungent glory. the funk is obnoxious in a musky sense, it secretes as your ass cheeks rub each other from a night of filthy bass. it thrives in sweaty armpits. the funk is best manifested as a dense, humid layer that expands in a room where jungle love has ensued, the essence can also be found in bootsy collins durrty drawers or george clintons dreadlocks. the funk exists on a napkin that sly stone used to wipe BBQ sauce off his funky lips. everything can be reduced to the funk, even rick astley himself harnesses a funky energy so large that it imploded in on itself and expressed in ways never seen before (http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=oHg5SJYRHA0) the culprit of baby making everywhere, this celestial force will forever be the initial begining and the omega point of all, all that will ever be and not be. the funk is empty, yet saturated with bodily juices. the funk is both malevolent and benevolent. it is the light and it is the darkness simultaneously.

the four noble truths according to funkism

1. funk is neither nor is it ever not.
2. Funk is fun. And it's also a state of mind, ... But it's all the ramifications of that state of mind. Once you've done the best you can, funk it!
3. the funk is the total sum of when you subtract the difference between how an ass cheek bounces from side to side. and you know that funk is hiding in there somewhere.
4.i gots the funk you gots the funk, who gots the funk? we gots the funk.

when the moon meets saturn

Inside his soul he aches
within him lies a vacancy,
a tender void of imagined slight.

her stare is so intense -
the same eyes that searched
inside of him just that way
the day before and since.

his eyes they shine like
sun on glass and glitter
flows from parted lips.

The colors circle,
swirl and dance
about his form.

she stands motionless
with strength and determination -
she appears so unmoved.

The moon can see, dear Saturn sir,
beneath the glow on rippled flesh -
another day and still she stares.

his phases wane then wax again,
she dares her gaze to glows within
her self-contained prison.

It is inside this woman the passion waits -
he calms her sea and she stirs his ocean,
luminescent with shimmering bliss.

she is drawn to him...
a senseless magic has consumed
her great defense.

Heavenly opposition causes them to seek
an essence the other possesses.

He will stand on principle impervious
to her mischievous
temptation.

anonymous

Resonating within the frequency of an earthy tone
Coming of age within this vacant tribe
I arrange the foundations for an empty home
Decaying leaves, fern, fauna and padded loam

Heavy calves roam fertile jungle
Warriors of integrity humbled
Stumbling on crumbled ruins
Fuelled by persistence with no reason

Seasons endured eroding the mind
Leathered skins clothed in panther hide
Your palms printed targets as the paint of war
Crosshairs aimed for the western shores

the seeds I planted I sowed with all my love
but what is love in the wake of locusts, sandstorms and drought
in the wake of doubt, my roots failed to grasp
giving way to the unsettled winds. I let go at last.

Reciprocal
Cyclical
Mutual
Opposing

A time unfolds this way of knowing
Haunted by peckish birds of death crowing

So close to becoming whole again
but i close off my gate for now.
return to the smokey hut to call upon my ancestral tree
delving into concoctions of DMT
i need to know whats happening.

regress into the shell
decaying slime hanging from these spiral corridors.
i pass by the same old portraits that used to emit vibrancy
but now it only has a tendency to annoy and project this self hate
foundations of diamonds
naturally invincible, they reflect infinite possibility
rooted fully within the whole.
and expressed through the many
i wanted to be the prism you shined your light through.
reveal your colors through me.

Blue Rythmic Night
Blue Western Castle of Burning
Earth family- Signal Clan- Fire

I organize in order to dream
Balancing intuition
I seal the input of abundance
With the rythmic tone of equality
I am guided by my own power doubled

Tone 6 Rythmic
Seal of the Day, Destiny

Blue Night (AKBAL) Dreams and emphasizes Abundance.
The seal of the day is the basis of life destiny, with power of the solar tribe.
Kin 123 of 260 day cycle(20 wavespells of 13 tones).

Tone of the day
Tone 6 Rythmic, creative power to Organize Equality,action of Balance.
Daily meditation- Administer Challenge.


Guide of the Day, effecting Outcome
Blue Night (AKBAL) Dreams and emphasizes Abundance.
The seal for the Guide of the day enhances the oracle reading in Outcome.


Antipode of the Day, the Challenging focus
Red Skywalker (BEN) Explores and emphasizes Space.
The seal for the Anitpode of the day enhances the oracle reading with Challenging power (strengthening memory, reconstruction).

Galactic - Occult tone of the day
Occult of the Day, the Hidden power
White Mirror (ETZNAB) Reflects and emphasizes Endlessness.
The seal for the Occult of the day enhances the oracle reading with Hidden power (the unexpected).

Analog of the Day, the Like-Minded power
Yellow Warrior (CIB) Questions and emphasizes Intelligence.
The seal for the Analog of the day enhances the oracle reading with Like-Minded power (galactic-solar planetary power).

Tone one starts the Wavespell
Tone 1 Magnetic, creative power to Unify Purpose,action of Attraction
Tone 1 Magnetic
White Mirror (ETZNAB) Reflects and emphasizes Endlessness.
The seal for the Wavespell sets the emphasis of the thirteen day, thirteen tone cycle.

Tone of the Year
Tone 8 Galactic, creative power to Harmonize Integrity,action of Modeling
White Wizard (IX) Enchants and emphasizes Timelessness.
The seal of the year is the basis of life destiny, with the power of the solar tribe.


AKBAL - ak’ bal - Night - West/Blue - Instinct/Physical - solar plexus; Earth.
Powerful, logical, organized, deep, thoughtful and conservative. Good endurance, introspective.

CIB- k’eeb - Cosmic Warrior - South/Yellow - Spiritual/Universal heart; throat chakra; Fire.
Serious, wise, realistic, pragmatic. Hardened to life, status conscious. Very high standards.

BEN- ben - Pillars of Light - East/Red - Emotional/Physic; solar plexus; Water.
Popular, knowledgeable, accomplished, competent. Crusader for principles. Takes on challenges.

ETZNAB- ets’ nab - Mirror - North/White - Spiritual/Universal heart; receives; solar plexus; air.
Practical, Social, struggles with relationship. Self-sacrificing, suppresses anger.

Alternative thinkers in western society have struggled over the decades in creating a fundamental foundation for their practices. The mould or template in which our population is geared for is seemingly very efficient at keeping our conscious thought in line; most of our talents, time and efforts are primed towards satisfying the essential needs of physical survival and temporary psychological satisfaction. We can observe clearly this phenomenon in economics, collectively we have created a sort of automated software program that supports and upholds materialistic supremacy to the unfortunate end that it has stratified the entire western hemisphere into this narrow perception where material is everything, appearance is everything and that by observing empirically humanity strives. It is true that all of those things are indeed essential for maintaining the fundamental base level of survival, after all matter must be ordered and maintained if anything above is to exist. But, the scale is tipping far to the right which is creating this imbalance that is transgressing natural order. The left hemisphere of the brain is dominating, the left hemisphere of the world is dominating, and masculinity has assumed power whereupon rationality dictates irrationality. I suppose a perfect example of this appearing in the manifest world is the historic display of patriarchichal dominance over the past several hundred years. The male consciousness has done what it needs to do to provide and to protect, but in doing so in such an extreme the female consciousness has taken upon itself to become submissive which again creates this imbalance of power. It is cosmic domestic abuse.

In response to this spousal abuse, alternative thinkers, intellectuals, artists and free thinkers alike have brought it upon themselves to return to this harmonious middle in which was originally where we wandered from. The most prominent movement that was expressed in the manifest world was obviously the vibrant and turbulent 1960s, the civil right movement proves a great progressive step into the “left” direction. more and more people were exploring their conscious potential through psychedelic substances and eastern philosophy made its way into the awareness of westerners. We saw sexual liberation, we saw some of the most creative music and art surface from the transpersonal realms, the times were beautiful. These waves crescendo over the concrete instalments that the rigid 50s placed, freeing many a mind from its own confinements. But once again the natural order of checks and balances occurred. Briefly for a small wink the voice of the feminine mind was being heard and recognized but it sought to manipulate and it faced a bitter downfall. Psychedelic culture took a pitfall once an entire generation of lsd casualties finally came back to earth. They didn’t know what to do with all of the information that they ignorantly tapped into and ended up as malfunctioning minds that could not operate properly in society. The beautiful irrationality turned into self deluded psychotic ranting, sexual freedom become an excuse for promiscuity, and the hippie generation became diluted with delinquents looking for an excuse to get fucked up. THIS BITCH IS OUTTA CONTROL!!!!! Lost in her own sorrows the female consciousness failed to last and resumed its submissive role. I suppose if she wanted to maintain a good relationship with the masculine energies she still needs to stay within the reasonable boundaries where she has the freedom to express and nurture but takes into consideration the other side of the spectrum. As the pendulum sways back and forth the constant struggle for supremacy will continue to arise as the driving force for the evolution of the universe. Since we are here we might as well make the best of this tango and enjoy the extremes of the experience and learning to appreciate the moment of peace and silence where the pendulum returns to the middle. We are destined to return to that source one day, well I suppose we are already there always connected to it. But as the pendulum loses momentum after every passing the we will return to the perfect and absolute harmonious nature of pure emptiness only to be thrown out again in a violent explosion of big bangs, and so we do it all over again.

Epitomizing the peak exercising stress limits of the cranium
I take a second to soak up the challenge of dualities split
So im chillen like a villain me and my krew you know were illin
Smoking blunts we never stunt we neva give a shit

Loc’n like a couple a dogs on tha street corner and from the corner of my eye
I turned a sly pre-emptive move on a brown hunny that had a tight ass
Passin grass, I was lifted and I had to get up in it fast, yea I thought id try.
She had a strut not one of a slut, her hips and curves rocked mad class

So I entered the adventure of the hunt for the slender
Minds gone on a bender my gleaming smiles gots a charming look
Hey miss….could you be the pixelated perfected selected to be rendered?
But the letters came back days later RETURN TO SENDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

golem

in line assembly embedded barcodes
my esophagus coughs up black charcoal
smoke stacks cracked, im the man in the iron mask
taking sips from poisoned rusted lead flask
mechanized limbs creak and lumber
waking ignoramus from walking slumber
you are the hunted i am the hunter
gaseous skies black, its no longer summer
work on textiles for a while
stamped and filed, coughed up bile
contorted body laid on checkered tile
shipped and stocked along the isles
90 degree angles encased
carbon copied and faced
experiencing one linear taste of the one time special offer
i am the cop you are the robber
burdened gears drive on this relentless self destruction
curdled liquids strive in the eyes of your seduction
automated recordings faded with static
rendering an entire generation flaccid
single handedly with tainted plastics
polished tactics that never fail
to obscure the blinds brail
an outer shell weathered and hardened by the elements
defending thyself from tainted and false sediments
this time i shed the bolts and screws
the boasts and prudes, the malignant krews
but hold a compartment for the very few
who fitted me with the pair of others shoes
i trade in these plated boots and hoarded loot
for a womans touch her fleshy suit
her fertile scape, her nourished fruit
but who am i to lay the blame
ego stolen by a swooping crane
possible for a heart to be tamed?
bolt action rifle cocked and aimed
ammunition blessed by Aphrodite
i weather this storm with all thy might
and like the moon i take the bombardment
stark and erect in fury take cover in the craters
i walk along the edge of a straight razor
i know the risks of exposing my neck
but i rather feel my jugular sliced than nothing at all.

cancerian downfall

Fresh blood currents pump hydraulics
Corrupted by circumstance, but pristine within integrity
Beauty in the beholder, my magnetized eye sockets
And miss. I do mean with all sincerity

Your untapped treasury weathered and cultured
Finely tuned, shines marbled sculptures
The steps to your temple stained with gore
At the base stands jealous Babylon whores

Confining voice accepts my tragic winds
Flowing west my foolish sins
A mecca of worship I have never been
A state of cowering kings and ruling queens
For now we acquaint behind electric screens
Connections stitched with faulty seams


You are welcome In heart of thy tribe
Pave your way humble sage, observing scribe
Cleanse my filthy hands and dirty feet
I want the white light of which you speak
Caught fulcrum between weighing scales
Linked chain mail mesh of Mayas veil

Your worried eyes drip with sadness
In wake of dying morals and chaotic madness
Need not fear for I share the same
Sight of fucking bullshit and circus games.

throbbings

far too many desiring eyes seek to reflect the tone of your skin
far too many groping hands seek to pioneer your curving plains
far to many salivating dogs and their greedy paws
far to many cunning linguists with stimulating words
far to many dicks all around

caught ball and chain we all trudge in vain
all equally selfish.
A race for a Darwinian trophy
And a chance to bask in your glory
Chaotic captivation
Derpived, deprived, deprived

I want to discipline
Sensuous suffocation
Violent passion
Release

222

what could it mean when somebody mentions “unsettling peace”. Hmmmm. A moment of frightening freedom to just purely be? A moment where your ego is its pinnacle of fear in sacrificing itself to the truth? Like a class A Freudian defence mechanism I quickly snatched my consciousness away from the ocean of potential, I needed to censor myself in order to defend whom I was. fight or flight reactions. Empirically observing a phenomena in which I could find no explanation, my opposite in the process of co creating her fate lifted for me with all of her spiritual strength, the veil of Maya. It was far too difficult for the rational hemisphere to comprehend so it was immediately dumped to be recycled and classified as unsolved……but is there actually anything to ”solve”. Is it supposed to be understood? Or does the very essence of the moment only exist as it is? Ultimately is that what she was trying to show me? in a paradox , the failed attempt at lifting the veil inherently was the answer to lifting it. the rational hemisphere justified its own pathway to irrationality. As the magma settled to reveal an island that erupted from the emptiness, the chalice spilt a thousand souls, an emptying of pre-conceptualized selves to make way for something even more miraculous…..a newborn of the aquarium perhaps? A newborn integral self perhaps? What sort of seed did I plant to finally adhere to such a spontaneous birth? What did I stir beneath the surface to cause this island of potential to call forth its own creation. The mending process between juxtapositions that is seemingly inescapable no matter how much we tend to cling on. “squeeze sand harder and it slips between your fingers faster”. and everything is as it should be on a cold brisk night on……..

fiery passion unattained
tearing squinted third eye strained
caught in the claws of a swooping crane
overcast shadows and falling rain

at what the cost for love thats lost?
to miss the texture, your knotted locks
curious whiskers that make me shiver
thrown this opportune upon the rocks

to dream on a summer day
your Bedouin feet may find there way
a familiar face amongst the many
trodding coasts slow and steady

your loving hand for those in aid
impressioned footprints that never fade
you leave your mark in a vacant heart
this extinguished hearth thirsts for flame

so close and yet so far

mongering lust and brooding love
this caress turned push to shove
condensing sunken eyes and weary brow
i lost my murder this forgotten crow

pecking on remnants of vibrant life
synchronizations that come in rife
this crab seeks islands birthed
found true love for the very first

flickering lamps gave me the chance
to dance in trance your inducing glance
clairvoyant eye
sits in the sky
channeling through to your fingertips exfoliating

it appears the leaves will whisk away
i drop the grip on this bouquet
i shed the shell that you etched
and sink back into the waters crest

blinded by the white light i failed to see with unobstructed sight into the intentions that may or may not be. clearly i was led in circles an oroboros devouring its own shit. shallow water disguised with deep blue dye, i expected to fall far only to smack the jagged stones labeled "confusion", "deception", "self righteousness", "pretensions". lesson learned? i cast the stones labeled "tolerance" "patience" "trust" "true" into a locked chest and watch it flow over the horizon. i wish to see them float back another day. hopefully. i clutch a single stone labeled "????" because it is unconditional and indiscriminate. as for now i lower my brow and hold my chin. to think what could have been. if there ever was.

Ego, and Maya walk hand in hand with their chins up and noses pointing towards the heavens in a pompous display of aristocracy, fuelled by false complacency. Tragically it has to be that our souls lay supine along the red carpet, Dirtied by the feet of scarlet harlots and Pharisees. Stained glass windows display the Stations of the Cross. On the crucifixion I forgive my left and my right for they know not the non dualistic truth. Where a scientist offers paper a sage offers earth so why not write while you walk. Document what you see.

Paws treading softly, my feral claws retract.
Released wildly a domestic wolf seeks potential
This canine has never tasted flesh
But curiously his muzzle catches scent
Releasing a concave snarl
Bearing teeth from end to end
In the bloodlust of the new hunt
Instantaneously he forgets his docile past.

Subtle like the static of a wax spinning on a megaphone, i scuttle sideways in the dusty attic of a neglected home. The tone on the telephone has been silent for decades, rotting vegetation in the concave of the gutters. Busted shutters and a creaky balconies tell stories that only the glass stain windows remember. Perhaps it was last December when my letter was returned to sender. She left a pink cigarette half smoked on the coffee table stained with shiraz. Flaky paint faded by a thousands of twilight hours, shady alleyways, broken faucets and cracked tiling in showers stained with the residues of soap scum, cracker crumbs scattered on dirty bedsheets, floors creak, and only the windows speak hissing winds. Frail limbs of a rocking chair, facilitate a djins stare that projects onto the dusty road where she awaits her lover to return from that war that ended a hundred years ago.

Fractal vines regress down ancient bark
Mending the sinews of torn hearts
Heavy paws print the mossy floor
Claws clinging into damp jungle tile
In hells kitchen this feline waits
Back arched that extends across nebulas

Oblivious prey stands with hair on end
Grazing, eternally alert, eternally at ease
A hoofed adversary, antlers protruding westward
Each ligament in full tense, suspended within the universal mind lattice
These jaguars piercing cones and rods connect with the marionette
She seeks to sever this fleshy puppet from his instinctual dungeon.

An eight legged widow knits away
Her red hourglass passing the time
She spins her mandala quietly
6 eyes observing

the jaguar shrieks blitzkrieg
Stretching her shoulders, colliding into galaxies
The marionette twirls his lanky fingers
The young gazelle stumbles mouth full of fern
As shiva and shakti toss and turn

silky sacred geometry suspends between branches
The arachnid flips over her red hourglass
And places the severed head of another foolish lover
on a pedestal that is dusted with remnants of past mates.