A run through the shadows of canopied skies
Where the limit of light is a further tree
Encased in dew is a melody
Of the creeping thirst of mahogany.
In a ballad short, the wind dances nigh
Whispering screams of a dying height
Crushing walls and seamless lands
Are the black, white, gray of the running man.
For a second split, the end came so close
There are no friends and all are foes
To the mirage elusive and the decadent roads
Tear not the dead leaves into ghosts.
The rainbow peeks through the branches
Painting hollow portraits, before the dances
Of the winds that seek to showcase grace
The wild man, wise man prances the maze.
Love is a blinding force and not just gravity
The curls of my hair are my vanity
Seek not so keen the touch of gasoline
Electricity is but an anachronism to me.
Craze and passion is not on the crystal shelf
For were it there, I put it on sale
Hunger is all but thirst that you buy tonight
For run not chase the wise and bright.
Was there a brazen man with a thought in place
Forcing the trees to fight and pace
Making the walls crumble down and wait
Lost in time and ignoring fate.
Behold my eyes, Oh! man of might
Love is my name for this mourning night
Where is your run, see I none,
For you sat and held Love in your fun.
To you I come, and not the fool
Who chased me so, not knowing my rules
I am not a treasure, I am not a find
I am but an accident of consciousness and time.
Chase those who are deficit in order or being
And to those there are few who will sing
A poem, an ode to selfless devotion
That exalts not the man but own lack of emotion.
Full man, completeness is the food for my soul
My clothes are a shelter from the hopeful unwholes
My mind can give you naught but company
No value, no learning, no hope and no honey.
Your way is not mine to tread
My light is not yours to shed
Full man, gain not from me
And then you can set man free.
[growling]Come, let’s play the stupid clown.[/growling]
(These are lyrics inspired by the music of Nocturnal Depression’s song As Fall the February Snow. Most of the four liners are sung along as the female vocalist sings the very first verse of the song, but there are many variations everywhere. The growling part is just like the growls done in the song, not death growls. I’m not sure if they’re even called growls, but they’re sung just like the male vocals in the track. It doesn’t sound too well while just read, but I like the way I want to sing it. I’d be glad to give the song if you want it, just IM me on any messenger.)
Seventy souls in black and red
Sway and twirl to make this ball
But you sit alone under a flickering lamp
For the outcast does not deserve to dance
Women so high need men to bow
Whilst your song is the night of self-sustained might
She asked me to take her to the floor
Can I touch her waist for which the outcast is waste?
Her smile is for me and my enemy too
But the outcast reserves it for this fool
I will throw a ball and you will dance before all
Just to hold you close I will sing your song
Dedications are flung and here’s to you my dance
My touch, smile and the desirous glance
And they will come for their gossip
See they will their security rip
For none so valiant will ask your hand
As burn their hearts in our wonderland
Confinement is not yours to stand
And I will throw a ball to take your hand
You will smile for the fool and no other man
As I build your dreams in our wonderland.
The following has been transcribed from the audio recording of the 21st Marijuana Conference in Amsterdam, 2043, on August 9 at 1540 hours.
To imagine the state of consciousness of a man under the influence of Marijuana is very easy – and feeling it is best left imagined. This state of consciousness, once the bone of contention of many scientific theories has been best understood by the application of our scientific protocol, if you forgive the oxymoron, when the observer, himself, is a part of the experiment. Marijuana, it is known, takes us to another world. I will play a little semantics here, and substitute the contents of the first rule of this experiment with the contents of that assertion.
The first question that immediately comes to my mind is – How many worlds are, then? I assume I’ll get an answer like: “There’s just one actual world- the other world we are talking about here is actually just a state of consciousness. The first state is when we are in sync with reality – the world as we see it – and the other, not second, state of consciousness is when we have a reality of our own, when our perceptions are altered, and our lines of thoughts are very different from our regular behaviors.”
Very fancy, verbose and popular, I chuckle. I, however, have another obstacle to clear before I start agreeing with a scientific viewpoint. Is it possible, I ponder, to accommodate with the Theory of Evolution with the most fundamental necessities of our Marijuana Conference and wonder: It is a scientific agreement that every drug takes the subject to a different state of consciousness. Anyone who has even experimented with these drugs will know how the intoxication of alcohol is of a nature different from the nature intoxication of Marijuana just as that of Marijuana is different from cocaine’s. We already agreed, scientifically, that the different worlds we speak of are nothing but different state of consciousness. So we can deduce that cocaine takes you to a world which is different from the “real” world and the World of Marijuana. Going by this, we can safely name out a few ten worlds. It is also not inane of me to ask if there were, or are, species that live in different states of consciousness? We can safely rule out the argument that us, scientists, would have discovered if it were so with the help of our keen zoology department. Different states of consciousness, different rules of perceptions. How would we, the scientists, know a language we, the Homo sapiens, don’t?
Modes of Perception and anatomy are so closely linked that a slight alteration in perception of a living being would start an evolution cycle which wouldn’t have occurred otherwise. This we agree on, too, do we not? To come to the last and now obvious part, could evolution make happen on a conventionally permanent basis which Marijuana does on a temporary one?
Not that this has anything to do with me believing what you asserted about Marijuana…
I will, anyway, put aside the rest of cancerous queries apart and proceed to tell the purpose of my soliloquy. You see, I am making one of the most courageous public seminars explaining the philosophy behind a simple statement of a scientific theory being stoned. Ah! The introductions - I’m Dr. Mary Jane and you are the greatest, most diligent, most selfless men on Earth.
I have often been told that we scientists are cold hearted, the language of numbers we know, but the touch of emotions we are cursed off. I beg to be offended. The talk I give tonight will seem frivolous and unworthy of time after you hear the theories that tell you you can wake up the next morning in 1972, when you were but a pink 20, and theories that tell you you eject a living organism, as living as a dog, and as much an organism as you, whenever you relieve yourself with jerks and a Rita Hayworth poster. I beg to be excused for that too.
I thank Amsterdam for existing, to make possible tonight. Ahem. I will not be Dr. Mary Jane today; I will not be the Nobel laureate you know me as. I will not be the austere woman who solved impossible problems orally. I will be Little Mary Jane from the suburbs of a third world country. I will not assume the tone of authority which is so becoming on me. I will speak softly, with emotion, yes, with an exalting submission.
Mary Jane was a silent little kid with the stereotypical large eyes filled with big dreams and a consciousness aware of the certainty of realizing them. She committed a sin against you and me; she was the blasphemy Jesus died for. She had seen not the real world, she knew not the conventions. Innocence is oft a form of arrogance, and innocence of the highest degree was the nature of her gaze. Her parents would scold her for her conceit, and looked up the dictionary she did well, all in vain. There was but one light in the tunnel she crossed, but so far off that little did she knew she would reach not the end. There was no end, there we no limits. Her biggest enemy was herself. Tortured her not a soul as mercilessly as she did herself in the nights, by a solitary lamp. Cursed be she, who had sinned against all mankind! And sinned have you, and sinned have I, and sinned did Jesus.
Stir not uncomfortably with your righteousness pricking at you to slay my head. You were but Mary Jane when you were a little taller than the chair you sit on now. You knew not a thing but what your own mind, and no others’, told you. It was you, your primary concern. Yes, sinned have you and sinned have I.
Mary Jane, she grew up to be a lady. Gracefully pouring the tea, she charmed and bewitched and you were smitten. Her words petted your righteousness and your shoulders sagged with relief. She was undoing the wrong she had done to mankind. She was atoning for her mischief. You were still not content. You sensed the faux pas of trying too hard, something of an abomination for a lady! Mary Jane, you shouted! Changed have you not! Still are you the little devil with not a concern than the evil one! Give up your mind! Be considerate! Be like Jesus – be selfless.
Kind sir, she replied, in a voice Humility would shiver listening to. Changed have you not, either.
(I’m yet to complete it)
//Notes:
Conditioned – you’re like something when you are a child, and you’re like something totally else when you’re 20. so this other world is you when you were at 5 or at 10 or at 15, when you were your most selfish you, the totally you, you as yourself, not as a sum of many things. So, mj is trying to live THAT world applying the rules of THIS world, to me. Your actual, unlayered self with the knowledge of your present self.
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