Untimely Meditations

CHAPTER 1

Time is money. Money is time.

So, I keep seven o’clock in the

bank and gain interest in the

hour of God. I’m saving to buy

my freedom. God grant me wings.

I’m too fly not to fly. Eye sore

to look at humans without wings.

So, I soar. And find tickle in the

feather of my wings. Flying

hysterically over land. Numerically,

I am seven mountains higher than

the valley of death, seven dimensions

deeper than dimensions of breath.

CHAPTER 2

The fiery sun of my passions

evaporates the love lakes of my

soul, clouds my thoughts and

rains you into existence. As I take

flights on bolts of lightening.

Claiming chaos as my concubine

and you as my me. I of the storm.

You of the sea. We of the moon.

Land of the free. What have I done

to deserve this? Am I happy?

CHAPTER 3

Happiness is a mediocre standard

for a middleclass existence. I see

through smiles and smell truth in

the distance. Beyond one dimensional

smiles and laughter lies the hereafter.

Where tears echo laughter.

You’d have to do math to divide a

smile by a tear, times fear, equals

mere truth, that simply dwells in the

air. But if that’s the case all I have

to do is breath and all else will follow.

That’s why drums are hollow.

And I like drums. Drums are good.

But I can’t think straight. I lack the

attention span to meditate. My attention

spans galaxies. Here and now are immense.

Seconds are secular. Moments are mine.

Self is illusion. Music’s divine.

CHAPTER 4

Noosed by the strings of Jimi’s guitar,

I swing, purple-hazed pendulum. Hypnotizing

the part of eye that never dies. Look into my:

eyes are the windows of the soul is fried chicken,

collards, and cornbread is corn meal, sour cream,

eggs, and oil is the stolen blood of the earth, used

to make cars run and kill the fish.

Who me? I play scales. The scales of

dead fish of oil slicked seas. My sister

blows wind through the hollows of fallen

trees. And we are the echoes of eternity.

Maybe you’ve heard of us.

We threw basement parties in pyramids.

I left my tag on the wall. The beats would

echo off the stone and solidify into the

form of light bulbs, destined to light up

the heads of future generations. They

recently lit up in the form of: BA BOOM

BOOM OM. Maybe you’ve heard of us.

CHAPTER 5

If not then you must be trying to hear us

and in such cases we cannot be heard. We

remain in the darkness, unseen. In the center

of unpeeled bananas, we exist. Uncolored by

perception. Clothed to the naked eye. Five

senses cannot sense the fact of our existence.

And that’s the only fact. In fact, there are no

facts.

Fax me a fact and I’ll telegram a hologram

or telephone the son of man and tell him he

is done. Leave a message on his answering

machine telling him there are none. God and

I are one. Times moon. Times star. Times sun.

The factor is me. You remember me.

CHAPTER 6

I slung amethyst rocks on Saturn blocks

until I got caught up by earthling cops. They

wanted me for their army or whatever. Picture

me: I swirl like the wind. Tempting tomorrow

to be today. Tip toeing the fine line between

everything and everything else. I am simply

Saturn swirling sevens through sooth. The sole

living heir of air. And I (inhale) and (exhale) and

all else follows. Reverberating the space inside of

drum hollows. Packaged in bottles and shipped to

tomorrow, then sold to the highest NGH.

I swing from the tallest tree. Lynched by

the lowest branches of me. Praying that

my physical will set me free ‘cause I’m

afraid that all else is vanity. Mere language

is profanity. I’d rather hum. Or have my

soul tattooed to my tongue. And let the

scriptures be sung in gibberish. ‘Cause

words be simple fish in my soulquarium.

And intellect can’t swim.

CHAPTER 7

So, I stopped combing my mind so my

thoughts could lock. I’m tired of trying

to understand. Perceptions are mangled,

matted, and knotted anyway. Life is more

than what meets the eye and I.

So, elevate eye to the third. But even that

shit seems absurd when your thoughts

leave you third eye-solated. No man is an

island. But I often feel alone. So find peace

through OM.

Bounced