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.





I swing from the known to the known
for I only know the known that I have known

I find comfort in the known that I have known
I find pleasure/pain in the known that I have known
I am attached to the known that I have known
so I keep swinging from the known to the known

When I see the unknown that is known
I say, it is magic to know the unknown
I forget that it is tragic to know the unknown, for it is now the known-unknown

So I sing the known of the known-unknown
Never knowing that the known-unknown is also known
until it again becomes known to the known

As the days turn to night and night to day
I sleep and sleep walk in the known to the known
Until the day I wonder the unknown of the unknown
that day, maybe that moment, I may wake up to the unknown

The unknown to the unknown to unknown
And in that unknown I may find the unknown
For I am not known unknown-unknown
And maybe I am the unknown-unknown to the unknown-unknown



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




A Mind that Doesn’t Know

To a mind that doesn’t know, it only knows through the kind it knows, through the bind it knows
To a mind that doesn’t know, it only knows the no through the know but never the no
To a mind that doesn’t know that it doesn’t know, it only knows the unknown through the known but never the unknown through the unknown

For such a mind,
Life is a Game, Life is a Name
Life is a Fame, Life is a Blame
I have become a Muppet to the name of the Game and the blame of the fame

In this frame, I only know the name and the fame, the games and the blames
but never the very life
For all I have known is only that which I have known, the known of the known

With such a defined mind, constrained mind, will I ever know life

I may know life as a highlife, as a lowlife
Life as a Strife, life as a knife
Life as a fife or may be, life as a Rife
But never life as life

For to the mind that knows the meaning of life, only knows the definition of life, a description of life to make it a prescription for its life
But never the very life

May be to know life is to be life
To be life is to unknow that which I think is life
May be then, I may find out for myself the very life
For when I am within life, when I am life, I will never know life as life.


Memory as Life

From the unknown to known, I get to know the “You”
From the known, I fight for the you, I take flight with the you, making the you, an image of the You within me, making the me

I fight for the You to keep our memories alive, my memories alive
I come back again and again and again from the unknown to the known to make one more memory of you, with the you, for another dance with the you, a dance of me and you through me

Like a bee that searches for honey, I search for memories with the you, to make memories with you
Memories so sweet, sweeter than the sweetest nectar
Just like a bee that builds a hive to store all its honey
I build walls around my memories to store the memories of the you

In the memory I live, for the memory I am alive
In the memory I think, for the memory I drink
In the memory I blink, for the memory I ink
For another memory, I link

My mind loaded with so many memories of the you and the me, I go on creating more memories of me and you, to hold you, to feel you, to get to know you, so I can hold on to the memory of the you.

The harder I try to hold on to you, the smoother you slip through
The slower I lift you towards me, the faster you slip through
Only to show me that I too one day have to slip through my own fingers, through my own memories back into the ocean, to the unknown

Just like the water is no water to the ocean and the ocean is no ocean to water
For the memory has no memory to itself, to hold on to itself

So will I live in my memories making memories from memories, will I live in my memory of my memories?
I wonder…..
I wonder of life with no memory of life.


My World

My world is another mold
A mold of another fold

For i realize that every fold is just another hold
Another hold i can no longer withhold
For every withhold is of the told
Both the fool’s gold and the white gold

And all that i am told is now my own blindfold
Blindfolded i am, making the known my backbone

For my Laughter is of the known
My laughter after is of the known

My happiness is of the known
My sadness is of the known

My pleasure is of the known
my treasure is of the known

My pain is of the known
my came is of the known

The faces i miss are of the known
the spaces i kiss are of the known

And, all I know is of the known
All i have yet to know is through the known

To the known, i am alive
To the known, I die

And when i am alive to my sense, i speak of the nonsense of my sense
And when i am no sense, i have no sense to sense the sense

For my world has become a senseless sense with known sense of unknown nonsense, that has no sense of the nonsense, of the sense



In the name of the unknown, I make up the known
In the name of the known, I make up the well known
IN the name of the well known, I soak in the throne

And to this throne, I am born
I am born to warn of my throne and of the known that made me well known
As a slave to the well known I drown in the throne of the known unknown

I search for the unknown through the known, from the known
Not knowing the known, not knowing the nature of the unknown, I make up an unknown that is very well known

For to know this unknown, I need to know the known
In knowing the known, I make the known, known, i now see the known as known including the known unknown

But a mind that is bored of the already known, ignores the known and goes after the unknown, an known unknown, a magical unknown it comfortably dwells in

And Within this known unknown, the unknown become another known, becomes another familiar known, a comfortable known
so thus, the idea of the unknown through the known is born to provide me the comfort and magic of the known unknown
Is this really unknown? Does the unknown really have comfort & magic in it?

In this perpetual search for the unknown through the known, my mind becomes a perpetual loop looking for comfort to feel love, to feel the security of the terms and conditions of love

And When I get bored of chasing, searching, researching,
When all methods are done, when all paths are walked, when all that I have known are known, really, really known for what they truly are to my own mind, my mind (thought) falls unto itself
It may no longer seek the comfort of its own knowledge of the past, knowledge of the known and the knowledge/memory of the known unknown

For to see something different, I have to let go that which is familiar
or else, everything I see, is from the filter, through the filter of that which is familiar

May be here, may be now, my mind may come across the now, the known unknown, and the unknown unknown to the unknown unknown
May be …