moving circles

kids fly through woods

in the morning after taking froot loops

(could you keep her forever if she stripped

in a Mobius strip, and she kept coming and coming)

and they play hula hoop with a planet's rings

getting crazy the magnetic fields

but spinning myriad aurorae over the hills

oh the purple wind how playful!!!
oh the marmalade fog how delightful!!!

soft Cyclopes with boomerangs

in ferriswheels unhinged

vomiting rainbows

fluorescent placenta

oh they are with the ducks in winter

quartz skies to skate

and make funny faces

of mirth immaculate mints

laughing at the monsters underneath

birdeye view of the messy earth

racing high with quetzal-sexy hair

tango tangling in the air

they´ve left

through the cleft of the milky way

mouth of the iridescent iguana

they played with at the beach

but could you keep her if you were

the drugmaker, the sender of circle stairwaves

kids fly through woods

after eating ecstasy placebos

chocolate spoons

lucid dream videos

so they came to realize

the wings of a planet may sleep in their ribs

and in the eyes of the starfox

past it´s beckoning paradox

they break on through

Daughter of the Sun

In Facebook a girl posts in her status : _______ is the daughter of the sun.
And she looks golden gleamed by the words in the screendropping frame of her face.
And i do believe she is, it works. I would never have believed it if it were my status:
Moth is the son of the sun. No, but her Croatian name interweaved, and her profile pic
smiling with teeth capturing light and her bronze body askew, sunshine it does.
I wouldn’t have believed it of another girl, a girl not as beautiful or outdoorsy.

Unworthy of sunlight’s incessant extensions, fiddling under skirts, grass, tables, sunlight tentacles always cringing into lotus flowers, sunpowerhousing the body’s wild swivelling door.

And the daughter is drunk with her father.

Castaneda´s power ring mothdust

There are many mothstories. Moth is a mystic enthralling bigger than insectlife insect. One, of course, is the famous one of the Yaqui witch who, tru morphic resonance or backyard astral visitations, compiled the stories of a sorcerer's lineage in which the passing of the staff or golden bough, as it were, was the moment the moth with the golden wings appeared in the dreams of the aspiring toltec buddah, an ominous sign which melts its wings into golden dust. The golden dust of eternity, it is called. A dust which one would have to inhale as a nasally active tryptamine or a deep neourocortex line of escape-the-world cocaine... and break the crystal skull. The dark side of Chuang-Tse. This is not said in the story but i deem a natural response and a gate creation to exit time.

i dream i am donnie darko

i dreamt the other day that i was donnie darko, this kid who saved the world fighting strange bunnies from outerspace, a turbine fell in his room. he was supercool. my gen , loved him as a closer neo, and suddenly i was him, waking up in the forest. somebody had stolen my bike, the day before i had stolen an ipod, and they where about the same price, so i guess its instant karma. as i went back from the woods into my neighborhood i saw this girl drive by with her family and take down a sign ON SALE and enter a white picket fence house, she had blue kalai(glide)scope eyes she smiled flashed cheshire cat in my soul and as i got back into my patch and lay in my bed panicking knowing that i would have to choose between saving the world (2012 parafernalia doombox) and being with her in a teen movie style boyfriendship with kisses under ferriswheels and fluorescent sweeps as i take her hand and the pop song -maybe mazzy star- starts , and i would rather let the world end, i thought as i lay in my bed and the alien rabbit was powerhousing himself berserk in the bathroom, i would rather be with her and let the world end but then i woke up and i swear i would like to time travel now. even if it fucks up everything.


related media: Container (film by Lukas Moodyson where Donnie Darko´s girlfriend does voiceover and says she would like to turn off all the radiation of Chernobyl with withe icecream)

we are a mirror

Coda collective animal brainpop

What came before: that i was feelling nautious from the tobacco ashtray 5 inches away or i got nautious from the Animal Collective song that said and she's getting you nautious?


Have you ever stopped to measure the aura of a strawberry jam.?

Does jam´s magnetic field react to music as plants do, at least slightly, and would it feel a positive, aura expanding or hue turning influence, revealing spiritual colors, as the Kirlian camera flashed while listening to a loop of Strawberry Fields Forever?


Is it a proof that we are constantly being programmed that the language in which i am reading automatically becomes the language in which i write and predominatly think. Like now.

What is inevitable is to be omnivorous mirrors. Like the girl with the vortex vagina in space that becomes the pregnant virgin. Of the multiverse.


I smoked the hydro 3 ahours ago or a little less.


Diamond fish fire.


And if you could just freeze the time i would take you out.


Think out of the box. Be a fish in the sky. Take you to dinner sushi jupiter moon.

Animal Collective space wood drive

I've just smoked hydrophonique (((((

This are my thoughts while hearing Animal Collective Merriweather Post Pavilion and writing some stuff and then gone again into mindjourneys (inner psychogeography):

I'm getting lost in jeune girls

like a lucid dream, dewandering

how i turn every lyric into some drug related or girl oriented meme.

....

Is metaprogrammation by cultural mainstream reality a distortion of some sort of soul perception?

It makes me so crazy but i can't tell you why

smoking in the night like that old film i once saw when i was beginning to read the Artificial Paradises and idolized the poppy and hash gardens.

(In an elegant movie this man went into a cellardoor and hid from his teenage wife to do a mysterious operation; that he later, after being metamorphosed, reveal to be the smoking of some drug.

in tha

spiral fire of lizards

withe girl that blends my spirit

Are you preparing a sort of alchemical drink, he asked

Sometimes i've liked to pretend you can hear a type of heaven overdimension in some music as a cosmic imprint.

A magnetic gateway, the strange attractor from the quantum psychedelic view.

The question would be: is not the starmaker, the hologramself projector, a kind, lovemaking being, or : is love also a meme not holding a particular hierarchy over such worldriving memes as the selection of the species, and the weaver of worlds is a nonchalant finger pairing entity that does not even intervene to send a blueprint of how it should be ?

would it be that i am dreaming all that is outside of me

no one should call you a tripper

i acknowledge i don t know well where animal collective is going, i just go ludic feral transmogrifying mayday crazy weather with:

au dérive

Odeon with Mcinerney:Hello blog

No introductions: that´s better. I have been researching a novel for another novel, working the loop: "Bright Lights, Big City". Rushing through this novel in the Metro, in symmetrical speed to McInerney´s Bolivian marching powder prose, i have found that expensive gold of the soul that is a kindred writer, much more than his brilliance, his a-like-ness, his affinity, someone you could, if transubstantiated memetically at one point be.  

Things he says that you have felt exactly, thats the power of a mirror of letters. What I've felt is that darkly quintessential night rambling through clubs feeling only drugs would help me find a propellor safehaven, and that a girl scored at the last second, lika a Michael Jordan clutch gamewinner, would be the only saviour, the blue heaven hologram password in the arm. This perpetually reliving itslef everynight. Even though perhaps last night you found it, again perpetually looking for something that probably is not just a line of coke in the bathroom or fucking a model. Something else, that's exactly what it is. Trance-fixed transfriction of the other. The sex ghost mirrorelectro.
´
I hope I am not anachronically living in the coke yuppie 80's a bit passe and cliched, for I also feel the softcore connection with Mcinerney´s partner in crime Bret Easton Ellis. I can´t think of anything else as interesting as girls and parties and drugs and the poetic feelings they arise, that is and will be my theme and in a way it is not undeserving of Robert Grave´s metatheme. I mean: the transformations of “the White Goddess‘, that´s something I can go on about with deep pleasure.

devil mirror moon
i will grow a horn for you
or chickenpox take me under
slow small rat thunder
at the porch of the church
eat me before i worship on my knees
free from authority i can pray
and play with skirts
and steal strange expensive candy
every sunday is saturday
and every street is the beach
i have cocaine and milk
palm trees follow me
everywhere i go there is a door
to the sea

2003, after chasing the dragon