Me, the Prisoner of My Perception

Me as a prisoner of my own mind
I am a miner of the grind of my mind

Bound by the imagination of my infatuation
I am the reincarnation of my infatuated imagination

My imagination as my perception
My perception as the perception of the imaginary imagination
I make up my the destination of perception
Reality as my perceptions reality, I make up my perception as my reality, I make up my perception as my actuality

Perception as my creation and my cremation
Perception as my formation and my destruction
Perception of my ratification as my gratification, I have become a decoration of my perception, to my perception

To the perception of the perceivers perception perceiving the perception of the perceiver unto its own perception
I make up my Perception as my feed

My Feed as my need and my need as that which I bleed, that which I breed
I seed the need of the deed
And for the deed of the greed, I make up my web of the weed

In this web, I move step by step to loose all of my pep
Lost and frost in my own knots, the knots and not’s of my thoughts
I search for a way out, a way out of the web through the web, only to go round and round in my own web of perception through the deception of the perception
Until the moment I realize that I don’t know that I don’t know

Maybe then, I knock on the door of that which is not known
I try to stand on the floor of that which is not known
to undo that which is through the known
For every perception is of the known and every known is through the perception of the known

Maybe then, I may come across the unknown that which is not known to the known nor to the known-unknown
For I am neither the well known nor the known or the unknown through the known.




Survival as My Revival

For a few loaves of bread and a few grains of grub
In-between the joys of pleasure and in the sorrows of pain
I find my life I call life, I define this as my life

Enslaved to my desires
Engulfed by the objects of my desire
I make my desire my attire
And I roam the streets of slavery in the savory of my for hire

Unable to create a life on my own
I recreate and procreate on the knife of pleasure and pain

Lost in the images of imagination, I build walls of hallucination
And I deck my walls with accusations of the other

Comfort as my fuel
Comfort of Security as my duel
I burn in the flames of my own habit

Unable to open up to the unknown
I stone the unknown for the known, to the known, through the known

I trade freedom for security to find freedom through security
For I know of no freedom without security

I wonder if I am dreaming, if I am asleep
Only to realize that the dreamer and that which is being dreamed are me, one and the same
I wonder of that which I wake up to, I wonder if that is another dream within my dream of the dream

Unknown of my own known, I weave a web of a prison, a prism
Where I am the thief ad I am the police

Tired of the games and afraid of the memes and the names of the memes
Walloped by my own imagination, I no longer can gallop through my memory of life
For my life has become a few grains of grub and few loafs of bread




Escape to a New Scape

Some wants to Escape, Some wants a New Scape
Some wants to Escape the New Scape, some wants a New Scape to Escape
For some wants a scape that is a cape to cope with the escape

In name of hate, in the name of fate
In the name of the love, in the name of the dove
I play the same game, again and again for the same gain
I say the same name, again and again for the same pain
Wanting the same thing again and again to cling on
For repetition has become my petition and my repetitive petition has become my imagination
Imagination breathing through the respiration of precipitation of the anticipation, anticipation to escape

With my hand full of experiences
Mind full of memories
I live in the thoughts with knots and not’s
For I am caught in the knot and I fight the not

My fight has become my flight
My night has become my light
And In the name of light, I take my flight
and in the name of flight I hide behind the might
Filled with might and the imagination of light, I lost my sight
For my sight has been blinded by the darkness & brightness of the light alike

Thinking this is light, I escape to another scape
A scape formed from my own memory to commemorate my memory of my repetitive imagination of the same name and the same game, Same gain and the same pain
Which I label my life
For I know of no life.



Game of Love

In the name of Love
In the game of Love

In the fame of Love
In the frame of Love

In the blame of Love
In the shame of Love

I try to fit in to the same name to play the known game and share a little fame in the big frame while all along I am my own blame and my own shame!
For there is no such “thing” called Love, no “description” called Love, no feeling called Love
For something to call love is to separate it from it entirety and label it, isn’t it?
So is separated part called Love?

The Love that I call Love is another confinement, a refined confinement to fill myself with the idea, to live in the imagination of this idea
A comfortable idea per say that provides me with the fort of comfort and the hidden pleasure within this fort

In this idea, in this imagination that I have borrowed from the memory of the other and repeated unto myself, experiencing other’s memory
I live in this idea, hide behind this idea, Abide by this Idea
Is this idea Love?

I say I love you unconditionally, with no condition
Isn’t that another condition that i borrowed to study the rules of an unconditional condition of an idea called love?
Isn’t uncondition a condition, for another condition

I say, I love the world, “I love” everyone and “I want” every one to be happy, want every one to live in love
What is that which is common in all these statements? is it “I Want”, “I Love”, I this, I that?
Am i not satisfying “MY OWN WANT”
Even when I want good for them, isn’t it still my perception of my want of them that I am trying to satisfy within myself?

So How can I love someone else, when all I love is my own perception, my own image of my own idea of the other?
Is that Love?

So to satisfy this idea within me
I tag along, drag along and brag all along
I hide behind the tide to abide and confide
I become a strife to my very own grief

Walking in these perceptions of myself,
I become a deception to myself
A contradiction to myself
As I walk this path of addiction to satisfy my own satisfaction of my own restrictions
I make this my jurisdiction

Never to ask myself who is it that is within me that thinks about this notion of love to make it my motion of love
Where did I get this thought of love to begin with

For all my life, I have known of the known making it my known which was never my known
So I wonder if the so called idea of love that which is known in million different known’s called Love?