Crying In The Night

I'm Burd.  Thanks for visiting my page.   I love tomorrow and thoughts of yesterday for the future of the present moment may be yet to take place and nostalgia is nothing less than a joyful memory.  Remember to always whisper when the wind is silent and when it is loud and mighty, it comes riddled with phantasmagoria euphoria.  Suspended animation of fifth-dimensional brilliance as the core of the Earth slowly fuses with the sun then returns to home on the Grand Star Oasis of Sirius.  Despite the title given to this destination of our destiny, it holds not a brood in its brow, lest a tongue-in-cheek cackle that howls boundlessly through the sea towards the sand we ride into the sky’s dissolving light.  Our Seagull of Wisdom will teach us to be one ourselves, forever gliding past the release back to the nethermost of our being where all is beyond our wildest dreams and the pain is rendered formless and non-existent.  Even the sickos get relief.  Which ones up there chose a life of such illness?  I assume those who greatly needed to feel the treasure house in their hearts’ eyes as they close under a bed of red rose.  Send Brian Jones dead flowers.  Shine on with the craziest Diamond.  Waltz with the Masterman of Tambourine twiddling the edge of the screen in a way I can only hope for the next time I see him again I can imagine how he would be able not only to be in his place but also be in his presence as a witness of the future one step ahead of our mind’s magic, our heart’s ceremony of the never ending quest of cat-and-mouse, and the miracle to be an amazingly observational guest on this ride past the outskirts of the Overseers’ Parthenon ruins, where ethers of saturated iridescence shimmers through our spiraling spirits.  Fractalized ghosts of love crying out the pores of our skin when we laugh as one.  Upful as the tears of Maya fall above and away the sea of consciousness.  It is over-ridden by echoes on the peninsula of Texas by the distant, mighty roar of a primal pachyderm of mammoths and eledolphants that speak the names of those they’ve never known then swim beside them.  The tidal wave at your door.  The sonic Celestine waves of rose-pink neon filling up the fish bowl as we breathe underwater with more ease than ever are from the debts you forgot would be returned.  Keep it classified to the casual consensus and cast your line into the depths of abysmal faults in the ocean’s Mighty Triad in no one else’s lands of water or the depths in which the fish are found.  Every idea caught is going to have the bends when you reel them in.  Some will explode in your face, but only with a soft rattling of a mistake.  A mistake made out of the beautiful idea that gleams with the sincere linguistic luster of sempiternal authenticity portrayed with the most elegant expression of understanding ever lasting, overstanding the timelessness with a testimony of tender resignation.  The Queen and her drones reunite and become the Mother Medusa Mirror Machine located in the lost coordinates of the Chrysanthemum Anthem outside and above the highest mountain and found only by route through the Land of the Uncanny Valley, where nature is always becoming of a brighter pitched hum…. Um… Om… ahem.  One sound with no static and only volumetric doldrums of another perfect curtsy rendered by the the never-noise to reverberate past the ether-rich datura pedal Fibonacci-stepping into a dream-walk through the realm of the Ancestral Stream.  The Perpetuum Performance Portal joins the Earth Coincidence Commission Office in the massive black hole that has them both encapsulating the event horizon’s blaze of mirages that play the dreams of those we have become in the midnight sky-tower of the Universes that all fade in and out with every blink of the Three Morning Moons rotating aroan axis of nine doorways to the fearlessness of the six Setting Suns plus one.  Seven suns of the solar winds blow easy on the sails of silk into the Outworld betwixt.  🫶🖖✊🙏🌅♾️🙁💅

Crying In The Night

Andrew Bird