Allister Reynolds: August 2008

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Everything © A. Reynolds, 2006-2008.

Who is Allister Reynolds?

Verse 27

"a good traveler has no fixed plans
and is not intent upon arriving
a good artist lets his intuition
lead him wherever it wants
a good scientist has freed himself of concepts
and keeps his mind open to what is

thus the master is available to all people
and doesn't reject anyone
he is ready to use all situations
and doesn't waste anything
this is called embodying the light

what is a good man but a bad man's teacher?
what is a bad man but a good man's job?
if you don't understand this, you will get lost
however intelligent you are
it is the great secret"

Lao Tzu

http://snipurl.com/3jbqp

A physchoacoustic existentialist experience

I am sorry sweetheart, but you're wrong
you will always be reaching out
for something unattainable and
ever changing

so please don't tell me
that you know everything,
or even that
you are aware that you don't know anything

your awareness makes you
alive
and life is a journey

Feeling strange.

If I were to explain my exact feeling at this moment
I would say something like

"You know how well spellcheckers
work most of the time,
but there are little annoying differences between them all that piss you the fuck off.
Like how some spellcheckers always capitalize an "i"
and how others don't.
And how some spellcheckers automatically add the apostrophe in "don't" while others just underline it,
making you feel dumb even though you left out the apostrophe to save time...."

That is how i feel.

Fuck this place man, fuck it.

I am nothing
you are nothing
and we are laying here
decomposing
and opening up to the earth
while the sun flies overhead
and the river flows below

we are all shifting
at the same rate
and we are all spinning at the same pace
we all have the same weight
except for the remote polar regions

between
the nucleus
and electrons
is a world of space
millions
and
millions
of
fucking backyard parties
tonnes of lifetimes and children
and garbage
insurmountable unmountable amounts of garbage

and we are nothing,
watching,
with two eyes
and a brain
to put it all together
and write crappy poetry
attempting to explain it all

Death is a beautiful woman in a white dress

She leads you down
To the river
Where the water creeps
Up your legs
And down through your lungs

She takes your hand and pulls you to the fishes
Where you meet your maker
And where all your wishes
Are floating by and by
Waiting for you to
Reach out your hands
And take what you please

And down here
There are no feelings
And the only sense
Left
Is the sensation
Of contentment

Because the water
Finally filled up
Your wet insides
Which were trying their entire lives not to dry up
Your blood flows out through your fingers
And toes
As the water takes its place
Beating through your heart

She puts thoughts in your head
And you realize, that this whole time
You were walking on land,
Was wrong
And now you are placed back
Where you came from
Where you belong