Welcome, and thanks for stopping here to read selections of my original poetry and prose. Only half my art is here. As you browse my puppets, words if you will, think of them as empty hulls whose dance and form are only animated in Play through my vocal conveyance of their characters and via my direction of their tone. Lyric to the ears, its whole message soon appears, in thus the conjuring of ancient daemons deep within to combat the evil ones brought up infernal by the Craft of ages can be our stage tonight.

On this blog the theme is AWAKENING and how Revelation is not some story plural in a Book but supposed to be one of yours in this lifetime. Here in verse I share with you my inquiry to which has bonded Muse.
YOUR STORY IS THE STORY. Their horsie four so full of holes they named that way just to have a laugh. Revelation and Creation coincide, they never stopped. A daily occurrence in a Live Show me is true Prophesy which I assure you, smells nothing like a library book, and for which no innocents are ever killed. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you copy it to heart.

To Press not Fasten

Bring me buttons.
Buttons to PRESS!
They took away all the keys!

Click is a total LIE if nothing even springs to touch.
Oh tactile bumpy imput!

Phantom of the Opera, wavy music rolling in like tides the rhythms, arms branch fingers out the many strings of Mind.

The writing process should share in the revolution of device independency. Composition in fluidity got relaced by standard all-cap rigidity.

So now we're just chickens pecking dirty barnyard seed. Machine gun percussive and henpecked angry at the glass box in hand one thing pretending to be a whole systen with a board of controls to post our thoughts socially.

A charade fun house mirror distorts inspiration with correction every time.

This awful flattened plain imposter alphabet box choice menu thing just will no longer do.

Buttons. Bring them back.

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