Crystal Blisters
This puzzle is missing the weirdest piece:
The eyes of the monkey.
We appreciate your cooperation
With our employees
As they carry out their duties;
And hope that you enjoy your trip.
My chakras are bleeding
from over believing,
My parietal lobe’s melting
the data it’s retrieving.
Twisting the ways
in which it converts—
Like branches winding
so daft and absurd,
Translating the songs
of top secret birds:
“We are not colors,
we are all bad words.”
And I’m just glad that it still kind of works.
The password is “shrapnel” to access my heart.
But this site
is temporarily
down for maintenance.
The sky is lower than usual today;
With interference theory on total display.
Slimy investors claim the unknown
Erecting their plastic imperial thrown.
They have bullets for sale for guns on loan
To try and protect some, so called, “home.”
It seems this mechanism is quite the scourge.
For out of technology, the terrorists emerge.
A mighty melody of disdain and drone
To try and protect some, so called, “home.”
And while I pondered my current state,
I recalled a dream
To which I could relate,
Of a devious scheme
On a previous date
Of a past regime
With a similar fate:
‘Twas a miraculous day to murder some trees;
A perfect lot to plant stale people seeds.
My temper was lost during all the disease,
I had to defect and rescue the weeds.
A colony of spite and a sharp blade of grass
Distracted them all, so I took my chance—
I cornered the king from within his brain;
Ripped through his veins
With hooks and chains,
Drove him insane
With the unexplained
Till my message was clear
And carefully ingrained:
I will help you through this world
And prepare you for the next;
Every separate life is a lesson in context.
Scientifically frustrated and spiritually vexed.
We drudged on and on through the side effects.
To some distant reality….
I remember everything vaguely….
What is the meaning of answering “maybe?”
If I am what I think
If I think what I am
Then I must not exist
For I don’t understand.
I looked in the mirror and I could not stop,
Trying so hard to move it.
You can tell yourself that you’re something you’re not,
But alas! You cannot prove it.
Pleased to meet you,
I’m not even here.
It seems—
There are always going to be some obstacles,
They may be intelligent,
But they may not move.
Suddenly, I came back!
Exactly where I’m at!
When I’m overwhelmed
And mad as well,
As you can tell
I talk to myself.
This is what some
Might even call Hell.
Because—
I make mistakes now and then—
Lucy ate my brain again.
And from the southwest corner,
She softly speaks….
“You are now on a mission;
A psychological transition:
To erase all thoughts
Of evil premonition
With a vision….
A vision of war,
A war against crime,
To be fought with words
Through a trial of time.”
Language was never my best subject
Here on earth….
I don’t know who they are.
But in outer space—I am a master.
A karma blaster.
A complete and utter
Schizodelic disaster.
And upon this dream, it occurs to me,
With the blooming flower of memory:
The eyes of the monkey, the missing piece—
‘Twas apprehended by the Vision Police.
Lysergic tears leak from my lonely third eye.
Your beauty doth fade as I bid thee goodbye.
