Thread: Dannon's random writings, posts, ideas, and thoughts on life.

I imagined Kitty out on a fishing boat with a rod and reel catching a Tuna! Or pulling in a net.
That is interesting. I haven't thought too much about this. Dogs can live on a vegetarian diet but cats need too much protein to live off a vegetarian diet. Maybe if you mixed spirulina in. But then it isn't natural. Wild fish sounds good. My cat loves salmon and trout. The trout is so abundant over here that there is more trout than you can shake a stick at. I wonder if my cat needs a fishing licence?

Chapter One: Billie Jean



The phone rang at 11 pm. She fumbled through the empty cans of Hamms beer and old lottery tickets on her kitchen table for her phone. Maybe it was Daryl. It had been six months since she heard from him and today would've been their second anniversary. But it was just her older sister Barbara Jo.

"Billie Jean, how are you? I know today was your second anniversary."

"I am alright, just sitting here listening to the radio, watching the bug zapper and thinking about Daryl. I really miss him."

"I keep telling you that you gotta forget that loser. Him running off with that hoochie koochie woman is just a low down dirty thing to do. You deserve better than him. I know someone you should meet. His name is Bubba and he is a good Christian."

"Barby Jo, I ain't in no mood to go a datin' yet. I done told you that already."

"But you can take it slow. He's a trucker so he ain't around too much. You know you could use some company now and then to help your achin' heart. You are young and pretty still. It's a shame that you are just a wasting away in that trailer all lonely by yourself."

"I done told you, sis, I ain't ready for datin'. I ain't interested in no truckers either. You know I work at the truck stop diner. The last thing I want to do is come home after a long day at work to a greasy trucker. They ain't good for nothing, them truckers. Now lay off!"

"Sorry, Billie Jean. Just think 'bout it, that's all. By the way, how's ol' Cannonball?"

Billie Jean pulled out another Marlboro Menthol Light cigarette out and lit it from the butt of the one still burning. "Oh, Cannonball. He done just lay down and died the other day. He done tree his last coon. He was old, don't you know. Now he's in Doggy Heaven. I burried him underneath the ol' oak tree by the tire swing."

"Oh, I am just so sorry to hear that, Billy Jean. He sure was a good doggy. You were always so good with animals. Animals just seem to love you. You must be all broken up with that on top of that no good Daryl runnin off and all. It just breaks my heart to think about you all alone in yer trailer. Do you need anything? Can I do anything fo you?"

"No, I'll be alright. Listen sis, I'm gonna go to bed now. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Alright honey, you take care now, ya' hear?"

Billie Jean hung up the phone, lit another cigarette and took a swallow of beer. She sighed, and walked outside, leaving her screen door open, swinging gently in the slight breeze of the hot South Carolina summer night. She turned off the bug zapper and looked up at the stars. "Starlight Starbright, first star I see tonight I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." She looked at the brightest star and closed her eyes and wished that she could find someone special. "Today I Started Loving You Again" by Merle Haggard came on the radio.

She thought to herself: "Maybe Barbara Jo was right. Maybe I should start dating again. But Daryl broke my heart and it ain't healed yet. I wish Daryl would come back." Billie Jean looked back up at the stars again and felt a warm breeze blow against her skin and through her long blond hair. For a moment she had a feeling that everything was going to be alright, that her problems weren't so big after all, and that if she would just lighten up she could get through this funk she was in. Maybe she could go to the pound and get another dog to love. Billie Jean took a deep breath and went back inside and sat down at her kitchen table.

Just then a rooster jumped up on the table! Poor Billie jean was so startled she nearly choked on her beer. The rooster commenced to dancing wildly on the table and staring at her.

He was the most magnificent rooster she had ever seen. Such plumage! Such charisma! Such animal magnetism! He was such a proud, handsome rooster! And how he could dance! Billie Jean had never seen anyone dance like that before.

"Why, hello there, rooster! You must've come in just now! Who are you and where did you come from?"


Chapter Two: Roscoe Rooster



This Rooster was named Roscoe and he was the son of Billy Bob Rooster. He had been all around the world. He had hitchhiked down to Mexico and barely made it back alive. He had found his way to Spain once where he teamed up with a gypsy guitarist. Rosco danced the flamenco while the gypsy played guitar and together they had made a small fortune. But one night the gypsy took off with all the money and Roscoe returned to America with no money and very malnourished. Roscoe had spent time on five continents and some South Pacific islands. He had been a ramblin man. But now he was tired of the uncertainty and he was ready to spread roots and relax for a while.

But Roscoe didn't tell any of this to Billie Jean. Instead, he just said "Roscoe is the name, and dancin is my game. I danced for princes and princesses. I don't remember where I come from but it can't be too far from here. I don't know where I'm going either. If you don't mind I would like to be yer guest for a night or two. I'm plumb broke and haven't eaten for a week. I don't need much, just a place to roost and some cornmeal or cereal or something. I'd appreciate yer hospitality." The rooster continued dancing while Billie Jean looked him over. He noticed that her pupils were large, and that was a good sign. He knew that no woman could resist his magic dance. He knew that she was falling under his spell.

"Of course you could stay here as long as you need until you get on yer feet again, Roscoe. My name is Billie Jean and I am glad to meet you. You can just make yerself at home. Would you like a bowl of Cheerios?"

"Yes, please ma'am. Don't mind if I do!" He quickly ate a bowl of cheerios and then another. "Do you mind if I have a cigarette?" he asked when he was done eating, eyeing the pack of Marlboro Light menthols laying on the table.

"For you? Of course, darlin'. You just help yerself to anything you want. There's beer in the fridge too." It seemed like forever since she had entertained a guest.

Together they finished a twelve pack of Hamms beer and smoked three packs of cigarettes while Roscoe told her tales of his travels and showed her his tattoos. She enjoyed his stories a lot and it took her mind off Daryl and Cannonball. She laughed for the first time in a long time and she even opened up and told Roscoe about Daryl and how he done run off. But she didn't seem sad when she talked of him. She seemed happy, as if the future was full of possibilities of new adventures and growth. That night she slept soundly in her bed while Roscoe perched up on the bed post. It comforted her to know he was there.

Chapter Three

The next morning Billy Jean was roused from her sleep rudely at the crack of dawn. It took Billie Jean a moment before she could make sense of what was going on. "Cockadoodledoo!" Roscoe kept crowing at the top of his lungs. "Cockadoodledoo!"

"Won't you be a dear and shut yer darn trap! Lord almighty, how long have I been asleep? A half hour?"

"Sorry, Ma'am. It's in my blood."

"Aw heck, I gotta go to work anyway." Billie Jean rubbed her eyes, yawned and climbed out of bed. After she showered and got ready for work she said "Help yerself to anything in the kitchen, ya hear? You just make yerself at home. I'll be home around three o'clock."

All day at the diner Billy Jean was thinking about Roscoe and how he danced on that table, and the hours of conversation they had. She was tempted to tell her friend and coworker Maggie about him, but for some reason she felt that she should hold off, and that now was not the time to tell anyone about Roscoe. She felt like there would be more to tell soon enough.

Work passed quickly and before she knew it her shift was over. She stopped by the grange and picked up a sack of corn feed and then she stopped by the gas station and got another case of Hamms and another carton of cigarettes. Today was Friday and she was looking forward to relaxing tonight and entertaining her new guest.

When she pulled in her driveway she saw Roscoe, strutting proudly on the lawn and pecking at little things on the ground. "Here Roscoe, I got you a sack of corn!" She poured a little out on the ground and watched as Roscoe pecked at it.

WHen Roscoe was done he sat back and lit a cigarette and said to Billie Jean "I can't thank ya enough, little lady, for yer hospitality. How was yer day at work?"

"Think nothing of it Roscoe. My day was fine, it went by so fast. How was yer day?"

"My day was good also. I just took it easy and looked around to see which way the wind blows round these parts."

That night Billie Jean cooked Macaroni and Cheese casserole and a pitcher of sweet tea. They ate well and then they commenced to drinking and talking on the front porch. They talked about everything: life, love, music, cars, pickup trucks, Sarah Palin, and Barack Obama. During a quiet moment late at night when they both seemed all talked out they both found themselves staring at the bug-zapper. The case of beer was almost gone and there was a pile of cans on the porch and in the yard.

"There is something romantic about a bug zapper on a hot summer night." Said Roscoe Rooster as he put his wing in Billie Jean's knee and looked at her with his beady little eyes.

The next moment they were both in bed. Billie Jean's clothes were thrown all over the floor and it sounded like some kind of crazy barnyard in there. But the next moment Roscoe was perched on top of the bedpost smoking a cigarette.

"That's it?" thought Billie Jean to herself. "It's over so quick? I don't even know if I felt anything." She sighed deeply and tried to shrug off the disappointment by sitting up and lighting herself a cigarette as well. Roscoe was distant and it didn't seem like they had anything left to say to each other.

The next day was Saturday and Billie Jean cleaned up around the house and picked up all the empty cans of beer and threw them in the garbage. She didn't really understand recycling. To her, recycling was something people did somewhere else, in some exotic faraway location. And she didn't really get the point of recycling. The cans disappear if you put them in the garbage, don't they?

She shared another pack of cigarettes with Roscoe at breakfast. And another by lunchtime. Roscoe just took it easy strutting around the yard and eating bugs and cornmeal.

It was two in the afternoon and pretty hot, and Billie Jean wanted a beer. She was all done picking up and sweeping. "Hey Roscoe, I am going on a beer run. I'll be back."

While she was out she also got a fifth of Jack Daniels whiskey. Billie Jean wasn't aware of it, but she was starting to feel confused again. It seemed that the spell of Roscoe Rooster was beginning to wear off.

Well, when she got back they ate hamburgers for dinner. The whole time she was drinking sweet tea and whiskey, but Roscoe didn't know it. They started on the beer after dinner and Billie Jean was feeling pretty loose. She let go of the frustration she was feeling and started to dance on the coffee table to a Patsy Cline song. Roscoe joined her and together they danced beautifully. Billie Jean felt the spell tug on her heart once again and they started kissing.

The next moment they were in bed, and the next moment Roscoe was perched on the bed-post smoking a cigarette. Billie Jean sighed and reached for a cigarette, but they were all gone. Roscoe took the last cigarette! Billie Jean had forgot to pick up a new carton while she was in town.

She jumped out of bed and put her nightgown on and started yelling at Roscoe. "Why would you take the last cigarette?! I work hard to buy those cigarettes while you stay home and eat my food and smoke my cigarettes and drink my beer!" Roscoe jumped and dodged an ashtray that Billie Jean threw at him. "Why don't you go fetch a new carton of cigarettes, you lazy bum?" She yelled, throwing a cat figurine that had been collecting dust on the window sill.

"Whoa woman!" Replied Roscoe. "Don't flip your bitch-switch. I was just making myself at home. Why do you got your panties all in a bunch for?" Roscoe was feeling very inconvenienced at the moment. He thought everything was going swell.

"I can't afford to be sharing all these Marlboros with you. Now all I can afford is the generics! You son of a bitch!" She started running at Roscoe with a hatchet. Roscoe ducked under the coffee table. Billie Jean knocked over the table and threw herself at Roscoe. He feinted to the left and then jumpedto the right up onto the back of the couch and ran along the length of it. Billie Jean tripped on the coffee table and hit the wall. The Bud Light mirror fell off and crashed on the floor with the dirty ashtray and cigarette butts. Roscoe ducked behind the TV and was clucking loudly. He was feeling VERY inconvenienced at this point. "Crazy bitch" he yelled at her.

But then he quickly became quiet since he realized he was looking down the double barrel of a shotgun. He swallowed nervously.

"Now you listen to me" said Billie Jean. "I want you to leave, you lazy son-of-a -bitch. I want you to walk out that door and never come back." She was all liquored up and pretty mad about her bud light mirror. Darryl had won that at the county fair for her.

Roscoe was silent for a moment as he thought of his options. He fixed her with his beady eye and said "Now listen honey, don't be like that. I thought everything was going good. I didn't know that you were dissatisfied. Come on Baby, that's the liquor talkin. You don't mean that. I'll tell you what, I'll make a deal with you: let's play a game of poker. If you win, I have to leave. If I win, you have to marry me."

Billie Jean put down her gun and collapsed on the couch. She gave up. She couldn't resist him when he looked at her that way. She went and fetched the cards.


Stay tuned, folks, for the rest of the story.

Billie Jean is not my lover.

Awaiting the rest!

Here some pictures I took today in my wanderings:

You have a really awesome camera and eye . What kind of camera is it? Mine can't take nice close ups like that. . .

It is a Canon. It says Rebel XTI on it. It is very nice. The pictures are poster size and I have to resize them down a lot. I would like to make some posters. I photoshopped the picture of the Faerie kids but I am not happy with it. I will redo it sometime. I wanted the people in the background to be blurry but I made them too blurry and the chair that the one girl is leaning on shouldn't be blurry. But I like how it made an aura effect. But I will redo that one. But I love that picture of the kids. It is so candid. I also love the close-up of the magnolia flower. The magnolias are so beautiful right now. They are blooming all over the forests. And the dogwoods also. It is raining flowers.

The Wisdom Of Dragons

Some say your fire is terrible,
Some avoid your tail,
The Tiger is jealous of your splendor,
But it is your eyes
and your wisdom
that have hypnotized me.
With just a look from those
Diamond eyes with fire burning embers inside
you speak rivers of knowledge
without a word.
Knowledge in which I lose myself and the World.
I hear you in my head.
Your fire is contagious.
Even though your reptilian lips
are not capable of smiling
You have the most compassionate smile
I ever saw.
First you were an egg
incubated in a mountain river
for a thousand years.
Then you hatched as a small drake,
Living off of coal and minerals for
another thousand years.
Then you grew to be an adult,
The coal turned to diamonds in your belly,
And became the hardness of your scales.
Then you consumed gold and became wise
Then you chased after the most precious gem there is:
The magnificent flying gem of spirit-light, like the fabled Arkenstone,
For many eons you hunted it, until you attained it and it set you free.
Free and immortal.
I love you, Dragon.

Just thought I'd say I like your stuff here.
My heart warmed when I saw the picture of those kids, they are adorable.

I look forward to seeing more of your postings and such.

Originally Posted by juroara

:

I started making a list of all the things I want to buy to start my garden. But then I had this insane crazy really weird thought. Why do I have to sow the seed? Doesn't nature know how to grow itself? Couldn't I let one generation of carrots, flower, pollinate, let their seeds drop to the floor, and sit back. Let nature do what it knows how to do......grow? Lol...am I that lazy? It just felt like the more I read gardening books the more it felt like we don't trust nature to do what it does best.

Wild just started to sound better. I go to the super market, and nothing inspires me . But when I see fruit growing on a tree, I think YUMMY. Its even crazier when I realize, the fruit doesn't look anywhere near as perfect as the fruit in the store. It would be nice to eat wild food. To know where food is coming from. And to rival this idea that some how, nature can't provide for us.

I know! Sit back, paint a picture of your garden as it grows! Let the worms plow the fields! Consider the lilies in the fields, or the birds. They don't worry about tomorrow. Nature provides. Up in the arctic the Inuit live in houses made of snow and reindeer hides. They eat raw seal blubber. Nature provides for them, surely she provides for us. It is amazing how much food on this planet is consumed everyday! And how much goes to waste everyday! It is amazing to think of how many cans of tuna fish are in all the convenience stores around the world. Can they all really be tuna?

If we eat local, and know where I food comes from, we will appreciate it more. I try not to waste any food at all. I eat the tops of carrots. I eat the leaves of broccoli. I have a compost pile but I have a groundhog who lives under my porch who comes out and eats all my scraps before it turns to compost. But he is cute, just a huge ground squirrel. I don't mind him.

I am not good at finding enough food in the wild to live off. When I was a camper I definitely ate a lot of wild food: cat-tail roots, miner's lettuce, dandelion greens and dandelion fritters, nettles, cleavers, acorns, almonds, filberts, apples, asian pears, persimmons, sunchokes, thistles, walnuts. But I would've had to make it a full-time occupation in order to live off the land. I still bought rice and beans and tea.

But it could be done, especially if you were part of a community of hunter gatherers.

Some say that agriculture was where humans went wrong. That is when our psyche was split. I am not too familiar with the Biblical story of Agriculture, it has to do with Cain and Abel, no? Are they sons of Adam and Eve? If so, Agriculture was when we were expelled from the Garden of Eden (Eatin'). It definitely took knowledge to clear land and grow crops and save seeds.

But agriculture also gave us the freedom and time on our hands to ponder our place in this existence, and to express our deeper feelings with art, music, and dance. It gave us time to study the stars, to study numbers and mathematics, to develop culture.

Well, Juroara, can I be in your hunter/gatherer tribe? Or maybe just gatherer?

Originally Posted by Dannon Oneironaut

Well, Juroara, can I be in your hunter/gatherer tribe? Or maybe just gatherer?

LOL! Okay! Not that I know anything about living off the land. But I'll get there one day.

I just came from a book reading and signing by Robert Moss. He is an old white-haired wizard kind of guy. It was very inspiring, he shared some very good insights only an elder can give. He spoke of how as dreamers we pay attention to our dreams during the night and coincidences during the day. Coincidences guide us. Let me quote him:

Navigating by synchronicity

"Do you pay attention to coincidence? By monitoring the play of coincidence and the symbolic resonance of incidents in everyday life, we can tap into the deeper logic of events, receive extraordinary counsel, and have wonderful fun. Navigating by synchronicity is the dreamer's way of operating in waking life. We can get guidance on our life issues by putting our questions to the world and opportunities that come through chance encounters and unexpected occurrences. We can learn to live more richly and deeply by becoming open to the unexpected and playing with the Trickster - who is our devil when we insist on following old road maps, but our friend when we are ready to improvise and change. This is a path of natural magic, and when we follow it we'll find that we move beyond self-limiting beliefs into a world filled with juice and possibility.

Our dreams tell us what our soul wants, not what we think we want. Our soul goes ahead and scouts out the terrain. This was very important to 'primitive' cultures who lived on the edge of survival who depended on having some dreamers around to guide the whole community for the common good and the common wealth."

I had to do plenty of reality checks during the event since one of my dreamsigns is being in a school for dreaming or dream discussion with a teacher.

I am going to a workshop lead by him tomorrow.

Rebirth of Pan in Rock & Roll

Since JHVH exiled Adam and Eve from the garden and blamed it on Eve and the Serpent and identified the forces of nature infernal and evil, humanity has lost touch with its deepest connections to life and death. The church has waged war on nature and the worship of divine forces in nature. After all the witch trials and inquisitions Pan was thought dead. News of Pan's death came to one Thamus, a sailor on his way to Italy by way of the island of Paxi. A divine voice hailed him across the salt water, "Thamus, are you there? When you reach Palodes, take care to proclaim that the great god Pan is dead." Which Thamus did, and the news was greeted from shore with groans and laments. But Pan did not die, but rather imprisoned in the underworld of our subconscious, forced to take on all the projections which we fear in ourselves. Thus, humanity, cut-off from the life-blood of Nature and the numinous quality of nature magic, lives now in a material world with only material forces. We don't listen to the voice of the goddess Intuition which whispers to us from our hearts and our right-brains.

Now Pan is the devil, falsely accused of the injustice man inflicts on each other out of ignorance of our oneness with each other and with Nature. But Pan is more powerful than the church, Pan is more powerful than any man-made doctrines. Pan bubbled up from the depths of our psyches and inspired Rock & Roll. Now, he gains acceptance as he throws off all the chains and projections imposed on him by us.

Before you read any further, watch this video: SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

Can you see the spirit of Pan in this performance where Mick Jagger jumps around like a Satyr to the voodoo beat at a Dionysian festival urging us to have sympathy for the Devil? Can you see how the creed of Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll is a throwback to our roots as Nature worshipping Pagans? Mick Jagger screams "Tell me Baby,what's my name? You're to blame!"

If only our culture could relearn how to recognize entities in abstraction.

I chose not to go to the workshop tonight that Robert Moss was teaching,
but rather hang out with my friends who I haven't seen in a while.
I feel like I made a good choice.
Even though Robert Moss reminds me of my hero David Attenborough.

Originally Posted by Pink Floyd

All that you touch
And all that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
And all that you love
And all that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
And all that you give
And all that you deal
And all that you buy
Beg, borrow or steal
And all you create
And all you destroy
And all that you do
And all that you say
And all that you eat
And everyone you meet
And all that you slight
And everyone you fight
And all that is now
And all that is gone
And all that's to come
And everything under the sun is in you
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon .

I was going to write about how there is no Objective Reality, or if there is that we cannot know it, but everything I wrote ended up turning into these Pink Floyd lyrics.

Originally Posted by Dannon Oneironaut

I chose not to go to the workshop tonight that Robert Moss was teaching,
but rather hang out with my friends who I haven't seen in a while.
I feel like I made a good choice.
Even though Robert Moss reminds me of my hero David Attenborough.

We've got something in common. Didn't read all your stuff, but the bits I read I enjoyed.

I am.
What am I?
I am Now.
I am not yesterday.
I am not tomorrow.
I am now and nothing else.
Not when am I? But What am I?
I am now.

OK, I am Now Here! I am not over there.
Or there. I am Here Now. Not where and when
am I? But What am I?

I cannot think. Any thought hides the
NoMind's brilliant light by lagging attention
into the past or into the future.
Even a thought about now is only
about now, but isn't now. I am Now.
So I walk the straight and narrow path between the
past and the future so that no thought may cast
its shadow on me.

How does this feel?
Like a candle continuously holding
darkness at bay.
Or like balancing on top of a ball
or on a log in the river.
Or on a surfboard.
It takes balance to be who I am
Here and Now. Lose my balance
and I lose my self in Time.

I am not Time.
I am HereNow.
Time is Death.
HereNow is Life eternal.
Thought is time is death.

Every perception is percieved HereNow
by the NoMind. I can't let it go
through the egoic mind of time.

Any thought hides the NoMind's
Brilliant Light of lucidity.

I am small. Quivering like a drop of
Quicksilver in the palm of your hand.

Does ANYBODY understand?

My loneliness is absolute.
I get excited about nothing,
for nothing.
The things that are important to me
don't even exist for others.
I follow my compass to a distant star,
but I just sail around and around the Earth.
Others look for food, house, love, and family.
I am homeless, food is gross, love is ephemeral,
and family is temporary. They will all die, and so will I.
But I won't stay dead. I will continue to wander.
Some look for peace of mind,
others look for a piece of ass,
I want peace of soul and annhilation
of all separation. I want all boundaries to dissolve
in liquid blissful light. I want us all
to die and be reborn together in a Universal shared Orgasm
that never ends. Then I will be able to lay my head
down on the pillow, rather than the chopping block.
I lay my head on the chopping block but the executioner doesn't chop.
Where is she? I am looking for the executioner. Love is her axe.
Kill me with Universal Love. I want to drown in it.
I am tired of holding my breath. I want to drown in it.

When will it be? What can I do between now and then but
wait? And I grow old in the meantime. What if it doesn't happen?
What if I die an ordinary death again without it happening?

Hence the anguish. I need the Universe to breathe for me,
I don't have the will to anymore.
I am tired.

Death is my shadow.
The sun is setting.
My eyes can't see you.

I come to a wall
that I cannot go around
it all comes to this.

So today I was driving and I saw something. I pulled over and parked and walked over and found a dead vulture by the side of the road. I wonder if vultures will eat a dead vulture? I used a plastic bag as a glove and I picked it up and brought it into the woods away from the road and traffic. I lay it at the base of a tree and thanked it for its life force that it gave back. I lay some ginger snap cookies around him, I don't know why, and I cried. Not out of sadness for him, but just because my heart is heavy and this dead vulture was the only one who understood me. Someday, I will die all alone, and the memory of me will die also. And then I went back to my car, which was still running.

Who will remember the vulture? There is no security in good works and legacies. I will just die and leave no trace and it will be like I never existed. Even I will forget my own life, if there is an afterlife and/or reincarnation. Even I will not know who I am. I will lose consciousness, memory, mind, soul, and just be compost and food for vultures. Maybe somewhere else, someone else will be born as a small baby in this crazy world.

It is crazy that the more people there are in this world, the lonelier we all become.
Goodnight.

Originally Posted by Dannon Oneironaut

WHEN WE DEVELOP MEMORY WE FORGET WHO WE ARE

This poem is for you,
When we are young babes we know who we are, but we can't remember being babies.
When we develop memory, we forget who we are.
When we recognize what we see and hear, we become deaf and blind.
When we learn what we are taught, we don't know anything.
Unlearning is the way to knowledge.
Forgetting who we are is the way to be who we are.
Having liquid eyes is the way to see the oneness of all things.
Not looking, not hearing, not knowing, not remembering.
Rather, the Way is Seeing, listening, being, and forgetting all memory.
The head thinks the heart is naive, maybe crazy,
lost in dreams.
But the heart does not care what the head thinks,
The head thinks it knows about the origin of the world,
Only the Heart knows
That the world is reborn,
Our hearts feel for each other,
trusting that they are one,
Touching a tree in spring,
Who are we?
I know who I am,
I am blooming.

Wrote this one down and posted it on my bedroom wall. I also love looking at the pictures you posted. It feels like each picture symbolizes something special hehe.

And not to bring drug discussion into your thread, but reading some of your poems and thoughts while tripping (I've read them on LSD, and once on 2C-I) spawned some massively deep thoughts. In fact, reading this kind of stuff is one of my favorite things to do now (tripping or sober).

Thanks for sharing man! I'd love to read more!

Originally Posted by Motumz

Wrote this one down and posted it on my bedroom wall. I also love looking at the pictures you posted. It feels like each picture symbolizes something special hehe.

And not to bring drug discussion into your thread, but reading some of your poems and thoughts while tripping (I've read them on LSD, and once on 2C-I) spawned some massively deep thoughts. In fact, reading this kind of stuff is one of my favorite things to do now (tripping or sober).

Thanks for sharing man! I'd love to read more!

Wow, thank you. I am glad that you appreciate it. I pretty much write to myself and I assume that this stuff is meaningful only to me. I am glad that you can relate. And I love that my writings have spawned some massively deep thoughts for you. I am honored that this is on your bedroom wall.


If you like to read something that will spawn some deep thoughts while on psychedelics read my latest post in my dream journal about the haunted canyon. It is not a sleep-dream, but a waking dream spawned by ingesting a poisonous hallucinogen (Datura Stramonium). It is NOT psychedelic, but extremely hallucinogenic as you can see by my story.

Originally Posted by Dannon Oneironaut

Wow, thank you. I am glad that you appreciate it. I pretty much write to myself and I assume that this stuff is meaningful only to me. I am glad that you can relate. And I love that my writings have spawned some massively deep thoughts for you. I am honored that this is on your bedroom wall.


If you like to read something that will spawn some deep thoughts while on psychedelics read my latest post in my dream journal about the haunted canyon. It is not a sleep-dream, but a waking dream spawned by ingesting a poisonous hallucinogen (Datura Stramonium). It is NOT psychedelic, but extremely hallucinogenic as you can see by my story.

Yea I read up on Datura a while ago. In fact, it might of been you who gave me a peek of what it could do. Was it you who almost walked off a canyon? It's some crazy stuff, but I guess you would a lot more than I would.

But while I read your other post, I wanted to ask you; What 'inspires' you to have such deep thoughts like the one I posted on my wall? Does this type of stuff just naturally flow through your brain now?

Sorry if that didn't really make sense, I'm having trouble reiterating my exact question into written out words..

Originally Posted by Motumz

Yea I read up on Datura a while ago. In fact, it might of been you who gave me a peek of what it could do. Was it you who almost walked off a canyon? It's some crazy stuff, but I guess you would a lot more than I would.

But while I read your other post, I wanted to ask you; What 'inspires' you to have such deep thoughts like the one I posted on my wall? Does this type of stuff just naturally flow through your brain now?

Sorry if that didn't really make sense, I'm having trouble reiterating my exact question into written out words..

Lol! It is flattering that you think I am deep! Yes, this is natural for me. That is why sometimes I question my sanity. I can spout stuff like this but to me it seems amateurish, but that is me being critical of my poetry, since I am not a connoisseur of poetry. In fact, I don't really 'get' poetry and don't like most poetry. I like lyrics though, but I think music adds the missing feeling that I can't get from the written word. I hate going to poetry readings.

My approach is to write out my thoughts without trying to write poetry, because I don't really know how to write poetry. I don't know about meter and rhyming structures. But my thoughts come put somewhat poetic because that is the only way I can express them. There is a living juicy quality to my thoughts that I need to express. It isn't just the concepts I'm trying to express, but the life behind them that inspires them. Because what I am trying to express is not just mental concepts and intellectual theories and beliefs, but experiences and feelings. The true meaning is not in the words, but between the lines. The words are just to capture attention. Once I have your attention then I can draw your attention to the silences between the words. That is the real inspiration. That is where the truth of what I am expressing lies. Because, words can always be misunderstood and misinterpreted. That is why I posted those videos. But silence is the ground of being and is common to us all. When we are paying attention to silence, and our minds are in silence, mirroring, then we all are having the same experience. Then we are not only in communication, but we are in communion. A friend once said that I have a way with words, I guess that maybe I do. Probably because I am a quadruple Gemini!