song: go along

I guess that I have made the same mistakes again
I guess I almost drove a fellow friend astray
Too sad I’ve cause much fuss this time
Just hope it’s not too late for me to fix my mind

Go along not to look back
just go along not look back
I’m sad but it doesn’t matter

It’s time for me to learn to grow on my on
And find out how to find the limits to my bound
I guess I’ve lost so much so you just go along

Go along and find your way
I’m sure we’ll never meet again
It’s lonely but I’m hopeful for a brand new day

Go along I’ve lost my way
Can’t see as far as that new day
But hopefully your nights will shine


to madness and joy!

Read this today and wanted to share its beauty with you. The poem is entitled “One hour to madness and joy” and is part of Walt Whitman‘s “Children of Adam”

ONE hour to madness and joy!
O furious! O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man!
O savage and tender achings!
(I bequeath them to you, my children,
I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)

O to be yielded to you, whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me,
in defiance of the world!
O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine! 10
O to draw you to me–to plant on you for the first time the lips of a
determin’d man!

O the puzzle–the thrice-tied knot–the deep and dark pool! O all
untied and illumin’d!
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
O to be absolv’d from previous ties and conventions–I from mine, and
you from yours!
O to find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of nature!
O to have the gag remov’d from one’s mouth!
O to have the feeling, to-day or any day, I am sufficient as I am!

O something unprov’d! something in a trance!
O madness amorous! O trembling!
O to escape utterly from others’ anchors and holds! 20
To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts–with invitations!
To ascend–to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate Soul!
To be lost, if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.

Walt Whitman

This poem is in the book “The Complete Poems of Walt Whitman”, Wordsworth Poetry Library, ISBN 1853264334

cover of wordsworth's complete poems of walt whitman

untitled – 2016 june 6

Don’t turn your head away or try
shutting off: you can listen still
as I can see you:
the killing fields have made you grave

Will you ever get back to play with us?
Will you ever smile leaving out
the evil sparkle that’s been shed by you eyes?

It blurred your vision, your kindness to oblivion
It made you blind to others’ fright
It turn’d soothing hands to hurtful wire

When you fell you chose to fall harder
And you dived deep into some abyss
that’d been forming up inside
Hidden from others’ sight

You wanted it for yourself, suppose
— but didn’t it grow wider than
could be kept?


Gaze upon these eyes o’ mine
  and find in your sight
    nothing! nothing! nothing!

Stride your knowing through my soul
  and seek seek seek to find
    nothing, nothing, nothing

No hole to fill nor dirt to wipe
No secrets, doubts, nae truth to hide

Oblivion has left us strained in
  No will, no cry, nowt but
    the onging galleries of


the killer’s bitches have no clue

… but you just might. Want to know what’s been going on in Brazil? Listen — and/or read — to this music by mon frère Nelo Johann and you might get the general idea.

“Lo-Fight Against Fascism”

Creepin’ Sense

proudly praise the blood on your hands
while red’s the color you can’t stand
well respected old christian speech
fits the hatred behavior myth

our man
makes a creepin’ sense

frightened people want security
find on guns the answer, that’s the trick
every man and woman as a judge
terror’s got new soldiers loving blood

our man
makes a creepin’ sense
our man
makes a creepin’ sense

rapists grinning their victory
over stupid automatic beasts
as your pride as a good citizen grows
we go counting our red fellas’ bones

our man
makes a creepin’ sense
our man
makes a creepin’ sense

be this killer’s bitch
oh, can’t you see
you die like me
hail to psycho state
all built in hate
now you create
what you will take

a merry charol

Twirl mill
twirling ’round
and inside me

Twirl & twirl
this vast gay

that you’ve
grown through winds
in me

twirl: your soft touch
uponn my skin;
twirl: your honest smile
on my eyes seeing;
twirl: kind words whilst
gentle touching
your skin upon hers;

to her: my dearest words
or sincer palaver:

“‘tho I enjoy
for thou digs joy
in out of”

twirling, twirling
sweet lov’d

the one I dare
this writing for!

For the ever thanks-worth
the one named “song”


Autumn in the south hemisphere.

Still nothing in my life is even remotely showing it self clear.
The air softly cools down.

Still my inside burns burns burns

Not with desire, lust or will —

it just burns, hurtfully, and I think this just might be hell

and there will be no redemption.

she never ceases

She never ceases to please me
& ‘though my heart feels in ways
hers feels diff’rent
I know I see I find:
love is more than whatsinyer mind.

She never ceases to love me
and it pleases never feeling
anything else but
Kindness. Joy. Contentment.
and all the ‘oys and ‘-ments
of soul-deep satisfaction

She leaves me pleasant fulfilled.


There’s a tree that grows high
above the mist you”ll see
There’s a tree its roots are deep
below your feet you feel

Descansaremos melhor quando morrermos
o bom sono da morte, saberemos mais
ao descansar a boa morte do sono.

to hear about yer dying

Sad to hear about yer dying
How was that? Heard you sounds of sirens
or laid yourself to sleep
to ever more?

Minded you of me at the fore moment?
Wish not to seem selfish,
but curious instead — did you?
Signed you documents presenting me gold
silver, iron, papers… confettis?

Sad to hear about yer dying
You shalln’t come back, is that true?
The news received are then confirmed?
You must understand…
One should always ask.

Taken among you memories
or are you now just the empty casing
which once bared a soul?

And can you give word to the worms?
I have nowt to tell them
but it would please me to know that
had I words for them, you’d speak for me.

Nothing have I to speak to thee either
so why — why — if
there is any logic — and there is logic!
Why then am I sad
to find about yer dying?

everything’s okay

the stupidity of clowning your act up

hooray! hooray!

shalln’t we all be dead by the time we–

hooray! hooray!

I haven’t even finished! let me speak–

hooray! hooray!

no time for mourning caring trusting

oh, but if we keep the smiles on

hooray! hooray!