The Thinking That Created Me

The thinking that created me is subtle.
It started with an initial attraction.
Two eyes, two smells.
Beyond, deeper… so so much deeper were the forces.
Name them? No, I know not.		Shen, shon, that it lies behind the black curtain of our understanding is reason enough for praise and hugs.
It is incomprehension.
			EU, also known as AB, TC, MO. This is derived from socialist ideals and Christian hopes.


I saw a zealot in black carting a cross in my dream. A huge wooden structure intending on bringing death by his own design. A cross between a crucifix and a coffin, "ingenious," he thought. Brought by the train, he had to drag it though the yellowish country town.

What has become of Democratic idealism, pushed into new territory by the old thoughts on dying federalism?

What was it before it became perverted and distorted by people in suits who have forgotten how to fuck.

Instead of ripping hair and giving each other love wounds, they have turned their internalized energies into popcorn machines, exploding…ping…pow, ping, paw on the metalic surface.

	Ccchhhoooppow, one escapes, into the moon of its fate.	At its core it is a yellow kernal, no, at its core it is energy.

	Moving from sun to plant… transformed by nature, transformed by thoughts and human agriculture. Transformed by all.



		It is the energy principle, the principle of movement that brings it into my reality for the moment, into my turquoise pots.



	The rule of law has been broken by our parties and dancing. My feet tap tap tap, your fingers weave into my air space, we huddle through multi-level beats that send hips flying. The drums, fuck!!…the drums pound, beating sensations of sensual bliss into my muscles.


		How can sounds enter me like this? It is so good.


How can it be so good?

Something physical.

The force of rhythmic chanting and head bobbing has taken over the federal government of my bodily system.

		Another description for the limitations I place on this mind, no, on this Being.

		It is the mind that has the rope, supposedly liberal and free, yet with all the trappings of economic expansion.

	The ruse. Always a farce, a lie pushed by not-so-beautiful people with not-so-beautiful faces practically crackling under heat lamps.

			The heat, it comes from other places, they say the sun, but there must be other words, other explanations. The beautiful man with a multi-colored black beard probably has some theories… he smiles as I ask the question.


	The post-war experience has left him compassionate, even to the death squads. A context of love, based on working experience.

"The enterprise of sound and movement is also important," he whispers in my ear. Trying to make sense of it all…get it?			This bed is so warm, like glass butterfly wings wrapped in silk, your words coat, emerald blue…pouncing. After the shame of upbringing and taboos have left this space, warmth has spread to every pore. Swans bathe in the sweat pools you have left for me.




Like Nazi and fascist regimes, we have worked to oust our doubting minds. The bread of Germans, the coffee of the French, the tight pants of the Italians all of them have entered my body, by sight, sound or smell.

Like these groups, others have desired a major reorganization of body consciousness, the tight ropes and chains of government structures.

Like these systems that I have internalized, writing now helps to bring their collapse.

			Perhaps it is in this manifesto... This sentence that will stretch me beyond what was an opportune moment.


Perhaps with this we will create reconciliation and unity among protons and electrons.

With the European side of me in fine lingerie and stockings, the other side will want to assert democratic and mutual understanding with the hippy farm girl that rubs herself in front of a roaring fire.