A rose for your love, for your love, a red rose. It is the rose that I keep near my side by my bed. It is the rose of my heart moist with tears I have shed. Petals like pearls in deep ruby red, like the promise of May in a vase near my bed. Made of burnished white lead with an inscription well said: A rose from above to remind you you’re loved. It is the rose of my heart in a deep scarlet red, in a beautiful vase near my side by my bed.



I am smaller than the least substantial pin-prick. I am that I am; a microscopic hole in an overdose of white-washed stucco walls. How privileged can one man be? What honor may be bestowed upon any man or woman without a place to call home? What grand sights do blind men see? What mystic sound does the deaf man hear when behind his little hole in his hidden world, there is you; a hurricane force wind of primal truth choosing a vagabond’s portal (among many others) to come & go as you please; to seek out new universes (where there were none before you manifested from lunar light) where you generously create new wonder worlds of marvel? I am a simple man but I’m a lucky man too. 


Riding out this storm tonight, I’m reminded of that fateful night, When thunder rocked the southern sky And good, kind Richard had to die. Near La Jolla upon the hill, The Church of Christ stood very still. Moroni guarding proud and tall, struck fierce by lightening, he did not fall.

The wild winds made halo rings as heaven’s angels rose to sing. Blue-green stars shot from the sky. It was the eve sweet Richard died.

Messengers from outer space out did each other for first place. Rubies, roses, diamond rings, From parted clouds Gods rushed to bring. Sapphires, pearls, his treasured wings, Were placed among sweet Richard’s things.

Joyous sounds filled all the world fot Richard’s newly christened wings. Muses pushed to rush the stage with poetry from another age; haunting, startling, subtle rage; lyric beauty on the page.

Sometimes it feels feels like such a waste when G-d took home our Prince of Grace. Why him? Why now? Why such brutal haste? A good bye kiss is tough to face. It was the eve He took home our Prince of Grace.

rrr rrrrr


The mind of creation constantly reveals its startling secrets, seldom do we hear. Messages are everywhere, in everything, illuminating many paths leading to a deeper understanding. Duty-bound, these missives are at our service loving without condition. Like love poems written on the breath of the early morning light, they hunger to caress our fragile hearts. They long to free our shackled spirit with nectar from the inexhaustible wellspring of their generosity. Still your fear. Listen to the wind. Take a trusting dive into your perfect faith. The rustling leaves along the creek will sound like an enchanted night of bliss filled passion  when we realize  our universe loves every living thing with the most profound affection. Ecstasy sweeter than the taste of a lover’s lips is our birthright if we will simply stop and listen to the silky winds of promised hope. 


Our queen is a day laborer and we are the lords of her kingdom. Blessed be our lovely queen forever and ever, amen.

Our queen is between our eyes and she calls herself our guiding light. Her wisdom is priceless, that is why she gives it away for free. Not because she has to, but because she wants to. This is why we call her holy when she passes us by, why we burst out joy wherever the sun touches our face.

Her face is shimmering jewels of wisdom gifted unto us by vagabonds and swine who rule this place. Go ahead and touch, it is a diamond face, spinning nuclei with a Buddha in the middle and another face, but that one is not human.

Our Queen is a lonely piper of tones in shades of love. She is a continent on a lonely planet singing with the universe, and the universe next door.


My body is your sacred chalice. Pour your hungry heart into my thirsty soul. Swim in the warm waters of my mind. More than this, there’s nothing. Wash your wounds in the sea of me. Nourish the beast inside the belly of my heart with succulents from the bounty of your harvest. More than that, there’s nothing.


I believe I was meant to live after the deluge. I was an innocent in the time of the great plague, yet I survived where all others fell. I believe I was meant to live before & after the great plague. That is the reason why you are here; we were meant to live after the fall; before & after the great deluge.

These, our final hours (regardless how many seconds or decades we are gifted with), no matter how brief or ephemeral the rest of our visit here on Mother Ship Earth will be (It’s her call, after all.), these, our final hours, will be spent loving life with those who love as you & I, or spent in solitude. It’s your call, after all. Love is all that is left after the deluge. “Let the music keep our spirits high.”

Я считаю, что я должен был жить после потопа. Я был невиновным во время великой чумы, но я выжил там, где все остальные упали. Я считаю, что я должен был жить до и после великой чумы. Вот почему вы здесь; мы должны были жить после падения; до и после великого потопа.

Эти, наши последние часы (независимо от того, сколько секунд или десятилетий мы одарены), независимо от того, насколько коротким или эфемерным остальная часть нашего визита здесь на Mother Ship Earth будет (это ее призыв, в конце концов.), Это, наш окончательный часов, будет проводиться любящей жизнью с теми, кто любит, как вы, я или проводил в одиночестве. В конце концов, это ваш звонок. Любовь – это все, что осталось после потопа. «Пусть музыка держит наше настроение высоко».

Brenne (Burn) Translated from English By Ms. Claudia Cologne, Germany

Verbrenne meine wilde Seele
Ich bin Papier, das an all seinen Ecken brennt.
Du bist der Rauch, zu dem ich werde.
Translated from English By Ms. Claudia Beine
Cologne, Germany



I walk briskly at first, shuffling sacred boulders between each foot, I teeter on the edge of humanity. I skirt  the precipice of earth’s flaming lips. My cup brims over with exquisite insanity; a wondrous mathematical equation, All the earth’s treasures lay scattered before me. I jump high on a trampoline sky.  I  rise, sail, I soar face to face a grand southern wind. Towards the west I go, again & again. I high dive, I skydive into the heart of a miraculous world. I am a skimming stone on an ocean of ruby red lava; a great pond we call … the ring of fire 



A true iconoclast, tailor made for the global population & not just the spiritual elites. No sarcasm here, for that is a beautiful place to be, but if it matters the quality of the message, well, here we are, again, at the right place. If it matters the quantity of souls illuminating our creator’s skies (the more the merrier), well, we have a powerful force of nature in the voice of our dear, beloved, Ma Shivamayi Acharya. She reminds me of Stella Adler, a great American acting coach, who said that on the stage, “You must be bigger than life. There is nothing small, insignificant, wrong or fractured about this life. Life is short but terribly eternal.” Life is short but terribly eternal. These are such powerful words.
Oh! Oooo! Oh! Oooo! Oooo! Oh, Ma Shivamayi Acharya, I know the answer to this one, may I please?
First, a Guru goes into a restaurant usually by her feet, including, but not limited to wheels, wings, fairy, spryte, or pixie magic, etc,
Next, I look at my life, my spirit, my body, my mind, as I soar to a place above all of this which I claim as mine (I know that I do this. It is so very easy to do), and I feel that which I am, and I see my life without Ma Shivamayi Acharya, which is a detachment of being here now, and I know, I do not believe, but I KNOW that Ma Shivamayi Acharya is the real deal, for I have been here before. I trust my inner knowing to tell me truth. Truth has a sound that pierces the air.
The truth is, I have made leaps & bounds into a calmer understanding of our humanity; therefore, a truer appreciation for myself, which is illumination; a happiness without expectations, once I began listening to Ma Shivamayi Acharya. Not just here and now, but earlier too, in this life when I knew Ma Shivamayi Acharya before her transcendental transformation, she had me smiling & laughing then also (and far beyond this singular life). Laughter is how I separate the wheat from the chaff. I question everything all the time, except when I don’t.
Yes, I have a penchant for rambling, I am a ramblin man, but I always strive to ramble in the same direction as the spiral of it all prefers to spiral. “I sing the body electric.”


I tossed and turned throughout the night. I felt something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by like comets, fast. I wondered if this night would pass? I prayed to God this would not last.

Take me away, my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in G-d’s name will loved ones say?

Morning came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. The day turned into early eve while deep within my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscious broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs.

I looked around for someone to share this miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon the chair, someone to play that old guitar driving by in her yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me, alone again, just me who sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?


She, a diva doused in deep scarlet, diamonds, glitterati eyes, black sable & hair electric blue, held her place before me as our elevator fell free from the top of the World Trade Tower. Between heaven & hell I fell in love. This much I could feel. This much I was sure of. I felt shame at being nothing & nobody she could love. I flashed back to the ghetto I was branded by. Blank-eyed, my head tilted forward, out & down, my perspective was a hawk’s eye view of Hades. Fifty-Third & Third … mine, mine, mine … used to be mine … my corner … I was fourteen.

Upon the littered streets of Chelsea, Sheridan Square, Christopher Street, the pier, the trucks & my old neighborhood over off Bank street by H. B. Studios lay debris & detriment & minced miniature genitalia of yesterday’s used up action figures greeting good morning through hazed, petrol glassed, excremental eyes. That was yesterday. Today? Well, today … I felt her. She felt it. Damn it! Oh, oh…truth hurts. I hurt. It hurt. Immediately. Yet my fantasies still flew wild just as the hawks on Fifth Avenue do when the pigeons fly their loops.

As her black satin heels hit the curb I found the courage to raise my head. She had glee’d me into submission with her eyes & then she tore my heart to shreds. A praying Mantis widowed black is unbearably attractive. A trickster out tricked by a trickster! That’s a switch. I was sure she was the one. I felt it. She made me feel that way. This must be what it feels like to be an old whore after Mardi Gras.

In the first moment, being mortal, I suffered profoundly. In the next, my blank stare turned starry as I gazed in wonder. Her eyes darted to and fro as her gold leafed head turned circles, I wondered just how she did that? I wondered if she even knew. And then those eyes, those eyes, those oscillating glitter-opticals illuminating my barren heart … what could I do? I simply turned to dust & blew away as she shimmered towards the fading light.



It’s just an idea. It’s not the end of the world. Think about it. No worries. No limits. No boundaries. We don’t have to talk at all to tell each other what we know. You can do those tricks you love to do. The ones that make me scream out loud are the very same ones that make you laugh so hard (you sadistic fuck). I don’t mind. I love it. Do it again. I’m not nearly as young as I feel. The other night when you jumped from the bushes, I freaked. You laughed. I laughed too. It was funny. I could of had a heart attack. I could die, just like that. You are not going to be the death of me, yet if you were, that’s the way I’d love to go.

I want you near me. Not all the time, not at all. Sometimes. If it’s too hard on you I won’t stick around. I wouldn’t do that. If it’s tough on you, it’s tough on me too. I bet you can handle it. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you couldn’t. I have lots of faith in you not misplaced.

I am allergic to heat. I will travel to the other side of the world just to escape it. I don’t like the chill either. When cold winds blow too cold for comfort, I follow the sun. To be able to do what ever it is I wish to, is a miracle. You’re a miracle. That is true. I see myself in me through you. If you open your eyes I bet you’ll be surprised to see yourself in me through you too. I never thought I would ever see another star as bright as you. This is also true.

Throw caution to the wind. She knows what to do with it. Follow me. It will be lots of fun playing under the desert sun. Then, as dusk turns crimson, the rising moon will extend an olive branch. How do I know? She told me so.

It is a great honor for us. You’ll see. Bedazzled & grateful, we shall graciously accept. Over the oceanic river of our ineffable mind, a starry domed astrolabe will sparkle ovations. You have never seen anything like it. I promise you. Shooting stars from inner space circle thrice, then take their dive kissing heaven on the other side. We’ll watch holy coyotes yelping shouts, throw cactus darts at cunning hares. Its life being lived without dark imaginings. It is life. This is Living. This is life. 

Then there’s the kit fox. The last time I was there, it was a full moon past midnight. Silence & solitude with no one anywhere in sight. The fox trots ahead of my car then stops to stare at me with that smile. Come this way, she was beckoning me. I was enchanted.

Along the way she searched for specks of gold. By God, she found plenty, too. Her mischievous smile awfully bold for such a tiny thing. She seemed nothing at all but her luminous smile & two of the biggest ears you will ever see. She tripped me out. You’ll trip out too, I promise you. I promise, you won’t be scared {as I am now}. I promise you. If you are very, very good & follow your heart’s desire, maybe, just maybe, I’ll run away with you. I can’t promise you tomorrow, but I can promise you that.




The Moon is a Sattvic or spiritual planet. It gives faith, love, openness, surrender, devotion, peace and happiness. As a very sensitive and mutable planet, the Moon can be easily influenced and overcome by other planetary energies. Saturn can darken it, depress it or give it detachment. The Moon represents not only responsiveness but also inertia. Through our lunar sensitivity, we can become accustomed to a life of pain, sorrow, or ignorance, as well as to a life of joy and truth.

The following is the special name (nama) mantra for the Moon as preceded by it’s Shakti or power mantra. It can be used to connect with the planetary deity and to energize all the higher powers of the Moon. 

“Om Shrim Som Somaya Namah”


The word ‘Shrim’ in above mantra denotes Sharana Shakti, the power of refuge, surrender, peace and delight. (The word ‘Shrim’ should be pronounced as ‘Shreem’.)





Divine mind is electrical. That may sound as if it is coming out of left field unless it does not, yet to come to this fabulous place where there is no ‘NO’ to fathom (because the universe spirals with a joyous sound), is not something frivolous or sacrilegious nor does it entail separation of any sort. 

It lacks friction ~  because ~ although there is an opposite of yes in the cosmos, G-d sees to it that going against ‘the grain’ of a ‘Sojourner’s Truth’, is fraught with pain … yet … who is anyone to judge the will of the one whose will is at a different wavelength, or frequency, than yours or mine?

Life on Earth: It is actually a beautiful spiritual mathematical equation. I believe a dunce in math-such as I-can see clearer for not knowing the rules, therefore only possibilities. I think words are tools to lead but no matter the language, even one of the four ancient tongues, can never be the end of a journey which does not use language at all.

The universe communicates with itself and other universes using numbers. This is reason why the science of numerology is a holy & sacred way of communicating. If not for the Jewish fathers who seized and ran off with the ancient texts regarding numerology, astronomy, physics, astrology, as well as other texts of excruciating beauty and palpable truths, which were encased in secrecracy at the famed library of Alexandria, Egypt, just before this grand and world renown edifice was burned and ransacked by Roman marauders, we would be a poorer people than we are now.Even to this day, there are innumerable texts of great wisdom hidden quite well in the deserts of north Africa and beyond that will be revealed once humanity sees the truth of its ‘oneness’.

To these people who risked all to save all, to such a people with such passion, love and foresight to protect our legacy as human beings of any epoch, saying thank you is frivolous, moot and not enough. To deny them the glory of their holiness is a sin in the eyes of all God’s children. Feel free to ask me why I know this or how is it the truth. I would not answer that question if I could. You have all you need  at your disposal to discover the truth for yourselves.





Deslizo o joelho até o mar silencioso. Sua quietude revelando as lágrimas de sal de um milhão de fantasmas não é diferente de mim. Imbuído com o arquétipo do amor. Eu sou grist para o moinho do meu amante. * Ouça a alegria das bênçãos de um condutor de clamores dotado nas páginas da intemporalidade. Somente os cóndores e os escribas de cor de rosa e rosa têm essa capacidade. Ambos falam os quatro tougues antigos.

A ostra do meu coração eletrificado é quebrada e cheia de pérolas em forma de lágrima. Adormeço gentilmente com cada bolinho preto e prateado cintilante e voltei para casa no ventre da mãe. Eu louvei sua vontade abandonar a gratidão por generosidade infinita por honrar sua gentil promessa de fé perfeita mantida aperfeiçoada.

Tornando-se um com o nosso mar silencioso, afogado em sua perfeição. No reflexo requintado de cada pérola, vejo o lindo rosto do meu amante fluindo para este mar místico. As pérolas caem daqueles olhos prismáticos brilhantes e eternamente espirais do céu do nosso criador. Eu os pego … preto, azul, branco, leve … e eu os arremesso em seu universo com todas as minhas forças.

screen aaaaaaaaaaaaa a lka

Ich wate Knie tief in das stille Meer. Seine Stille, die in den Salztränen einer Million Geister, die mir nicht gefallen, Mit dem Archetyp der Liebe erfüllt. Ich bin für meine Liebhabermühle gruselig. * Hören Sie die Freude der Sehnsucht eines Schreienden Kondors auf die Seiten der Zeitlosigkeit. Nur Kondore und rosafarbene silkfarbene Schreiber haben diese Fähigkeit. Sie sprechen beide die vier alten Tougues.

Die Auster meines elektrifizierten Herzens ist geknackt und überragt mit Tränenformperlen. Ich umarme jeden schimmernden schwarzen und versilberten Flitter und ziehe sie nach Hause zurück in den Mutterleib. Ich lobe ihren Witz, der Dankbarkeit für die unendliche Gattung für die Ehrung ihres sanften Versprechens des vollkommenen Glaubens auferlegt hat.

Als wir mit unserem stillen Meer eins werden, ertrinke ich in seiner Perfektion. In der exquisiten Reflexion jeder Perle sehe ich das schöne Gesicht meines Liebhabers, das in dieses mystische Meer fließt. Perlen regnen sich von jenen ewig spiraligen, glitzernden prismatischen Augen des Schöpferhimmels ab. Ich fange sie … schwarz, blau, weiß, leicht … und ich schleuder sie mit all meiner Macht in ihr Universum zurück.

www dot god hates you dot com

Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your flight attendant speaking: Please fasten your seat belts. The captain has asked me to remind you, there is no smoking permitted in the lavatories, and to tell you we are going down!



Our fiery crash landing into the snow-capped mountain below should be painless… but one never knows. The temperature at the site our destination is uncomfortable. Should you require assistance upon our arrival, do not hesitate to call upon your flight attendant. Beverages & continental breakfast shall be served at Heaven’s Gate, located in the main concourse compliments of our lord, Jesus Christ. Everyone is welcome except for Reverend Fred Phelps of the Hillsborough Community Baptist Church, Topeka, Kansas, sitting in aisle 2, seat 2, you are going to hell.



Because Freddy,  www dot god hates you dot com. 

Thank you for flying our friendly skies. And have a nice day.

www god


Full  moon silver frosted leaves, glacine dew robed sycamore sleeves. Sagacious spiders (masters of weave), slept snug & warm beneath my eaves. The creek roared fierce with a late spring rain. All things full must surely wane. Perpetual blossoms should not be sad, but I can’t sing when I’m feeling mad.

Atomic beats drove me insane. The sight I saw played on my brain. I wondered if the sky felt pain? Raven soar’d in for his attack. The Hawk’s quick eye did catch the beast but not before the Raven’s feast. The Hawk chick fell from the sycamore to the rocky banks of this canyon floor. The rest, of course, is etched in lore: 

An Angel garbed in feathered dress descended from her perch of rest. The battered babe, his blood now cold, rose from the dead on wings of gold. Miraculous in the Phoenix mold; fell from the sky then resurrected: A God-shot is quite unexpected for when the Reaper comes it’s time to go. Since earth’s first dawn this has been so, but then again, how would I know?

Heart returned to our beloveds’ sky, then the sweetest glint in our dear chick’s eye. The babe ascended his lofty nest to the greatest comfort, a mother’s breast. Successful in her Angel quest, our heroine in feathered dress returned to where all Angels rest. To this day this lore I’ve told delights all children, both young & old.

hawk ss




Throw caution to the wind. She knows what to do with it. Follow me. We’ll have fun playing under the desert sun. As you, I need to feel free. I am. That’s why I am so fond of you. I see me in you and love what I see. You have wings that never stop flapping. You are a great wandering royal albatross.

As dusk turns its cover,  the rising moon will extend an olive branch. It is a great honor for us. Grateful, bedazzled, with euphorica brimming over our trembling lips, we shall graciously accept. Over the oceanic river of our ineffable mind, a starry domed astrolabe will sparkle ovations. You have never seen anything like it. I promise you. Shooting stars from inner space circle thrice. They’ll then take their dive kissing heaven on the other side. We’ll watch holy coyotes yelping shouts, throw cactus darts at cunning hares. Life being lived without dark imagining is life being lived.

Have you ever met a kit fox? The last time I was there, it was a full moon past midnight, silence & solitude with no one anywhere in sight. Appearing from as if thin air, a kit fox trots a few meters ahead of my car. She just as mysteriously stops to stare at me with a smile. What a smile. What a night. Come this way, she beckoned me. I was enchanted. 

All along her pathway to surrender, she searched for specks of gold. Almighty God, she found plenty, too. Her mischievous smile seemed awfully bold for such a tiny thing. She, the kit fox; nothing at all but her luminous smile & two of the biggest ears you will ever see. She tripped me out. You’ll trip out too, I promise you. I promise, you won’t be afraid {as I am now}. I promise you, if you follow your heart’s desire, I’ll run away with you. I promise you. I can’t promise you tomorrow, but I can promise you that.


If you’re mystic, 

come this way & play for me.

Tune your strings sharp & clear 

with all the  pressure I can bare.

If you’re mystic, 

stroke my hair & kiss my lips.

Take me to your mother ship. 

Rifle me with your tough grip.

Anchor me to your bright blue. 

Show  myself to me through you.

Your platinum strings are clear & true.

Please play your harp.

This is your cue.

I know you’re mystic,

I am too.

Just say the word,

I’ll play for you.

sco kyf u tufy olyg