Poetic Ramblings of Stephen Ross, ©1982 Paradox Productions No Valence No valence Abject content No context, no matrix Shifting, diffusing, confusing, unraveling                      I wish                     Merge-less                      Focus Consuming, passionate center No eat, no thought, no thing Less Than that distilled Planet Of No particular orbit. Spirit Master Units Return to Oyster Lake Sluice drives, Oyster Lake Repetitious surprise of casting Adrift the casual remarks Of an earlier time Wondering, floundering Crosswaves, metranomes Objects of desire Creatures of habit Creatures of comfort . . . Waiting patiently on the periphery . . .                   Reason became void                    Void became Freud The voice said:                    Row row row your boat                    But make sure you can float Back to what I wrote: In the beginning there was the Word You probably think the next word will be turd                             You cynic                     Get out of my poem                Wait, this is getting too much             The center cannot hold up it's pants          Besides I'm at the end of the page or rope. Dream Dance I leaped dancing, spinning   Contorting, twirling The more the movements meshed The more gravity fell away Knowing the dream Staying awake there Observing The space between Sky and Earth is complete. Fast Awake Offer yourself A frozen crystal intrusion Into Another Squirrely Warm Place Separate and secure from Various and confusing lifeforms Stretching back and beckoning Becoming that Singular point In a blank disk Pressing outward Falling cattycorner Trampolining tranceways A peculiar ringing in the head Vorticies coalising Regurgitating anew   The elevator dissolves You don't need it anymore I stepped into another trance Into another Into another Gyrating on a shimmering Field of incandescent blue Elastic but true to form Formless yet substantial Eerie World substance Falling away Gravity riddled By soul's control Casting strange voluminous nets Ahead of itself Resisting Belief Believing nothing Believing everything. Surfing The new wave Pulse approach Cascading tension Savoring the surge Timing the space Sweep, sweep, sweep Chizeling, searing across the face Wish wish wish Thru The other side. Break the Refrain I became The drummer's drum Become again The strummer's strum Atrance aglance Align, refine refrain from The refrain That refrain again Around and around Expound and expunge Useless verbage garbage Round town static Let's ping pong it Aring alarm it Barriers all afloat Dash this way Confusing coalising Forms of songs Imploring cries Profuse neckties dangling Pendulum-like cries Possibly the next sound you hear Will be your own death Rejoice. The Space People Don't Like Your Mother Either I remember Nuns on trampolines Flopping and flailing about Madness really But don't tell the Space People They might decide not to save us From that infernal Holycaust We've been just dying to try Pause a moment now . . . This will all make sense if you'd only Limit your thorazine intake That senseless zombie shuffling in the locked ward . . . . . . Robots, though not as insidious As the ones on the outside, by any means Controlled cryogenic inventions Of depraved consciousness Broken, decaying, sniveling weanies There I said it, on to romance then: Watching crotchways thru the tables She asks would I like anything Yes, a furry mandala please For meditation pupoises only of course (Actually, porpoises are our Space Brothers in disguise and have much more purpose than you or I) . . . Of course . . . The only course of action left Which has meaning are these: Suicide by Musak Always folding your socks in the right prescribed manner The choice is yours I already made mine I choose neither Leaving the rest of the mangy pack behind To ponder their sleasy collective fates Cast adrift in a malestrom of idle puseness While I sip my Sante' Receive telepathic signals from special stars Eat calamari burritos Check my horoscope Churn forward in full fluid awareness Of your encroaching vacuum There is no center to your being There is no being in your center Half insane you gaze a grizzly grin in my direction I continue to stroll the pedestrian cul de sacs of your mind Do you notice the plan? Not in the least At least, at least, at least Unleash the beast The beast, it roams and rooms with us We pay the rent You pitch the tent I stand, falling apart in the middle and aside From all that We know we shall all return to the Source So what's the point? Shortcuts you say Time's an illusion they say Well then let's Shine light into the moment and Hope you don't get herpes Simplex I Simplex II You simpleton Think I may be raving now I tink I taw I am A little angry with you perhaps If I can just climb Thru that pinhole of a door To the Seraphin Realms Of Unity on the physical plane In other words Let's you know, ah . . . merge In other words I love you . . . Seriously, or at least the form or fantasy Possibly you soul Or perhaps some filet there of . . . ha ha he . . . Sure, these associations are a bit suspect Nobody said you had to sign on after all . . . It really is good for my recovery though So what if a few lifeforms are left strewn in the wake .....Oh, yes, I almost forgot about the Maidenform Bras of Time Appearing suddenly from out of a rift in the vortex Of contiguous space They vanquished the Cross Your Heart legions in fair combat Which brings us to Jesus of course Who said to me one day over burritos and bottled water: "The body's a temple, you know," Then slyly, "You mind picking up the check, It's the least you can do, after all, I died for your sins, you know." I had almost forgotten But I haven't forgotten about your mother You always want to leave her out of this poem It's just that peculiar habit  she has Of being herself that grates on me By the way, the path to enlightenment And eternal serenity Begins with one simple act: THE EATING OF MY SHORTS We may say things get easier from this point on But the point I'm trying to make is this: Sentient beings on this planet Can be divided into two types: Those who floss Those who don't floss And yes, there is total free will in this matter.