Watch the Pied Piper play his tune and the millions of faces in Bacchic ecstasy!
Watch the waves become tidal and watch the lovers laughing!
Watch the grass become hay and the dog eating chicken pillaged from that café!
Watch the 1961 bottle of Latour Pauillac Bordeaux!
Watch the Karma Sutra reading pensioner licking her chocolate ice cream!
Watch the roses that people like to put under their noses because it reminds them of moments spent when thoughts completely escaped.
Who accepts? Who nods their heads and says yesyesyesyesyesyeysyeysyeysyeysyes?
When is it ever really that “you” muted censored unthinking masses of atoms&chemicals&neurons&plasma&blood?

Noooo, surely not, surely surely there is, I mean, you know, surely there are there are
(ta ra)?
Surely there are there are, well, surely there is something a little more meaty than just blah?
-(Caviar)?
Phantasmagoria, oh Gloria!
Welcome to the world you don’t know because you try and know,
now watch. Watch the plodding scientist (whom I also secretly love) with his face-less facts,
with paragraphs called theories and (clever) things called microscopes and words like “Evolution,”
and sit and he’ll tell you of
“Australopithecus afrarensis who became Australopithecus robustus who became homo habilis to erectus who meandered into Neanderthals who prowled their way to sapiens, homo sapiens,
“And did you also know, he’ll ask, winking as he pulls his white rabbit from the hat,
“That Bryophytes and Pteridophytes are just a type of plant?
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha aha ha ha ha.”
And far away in a garden that isn’t secret there grows Little gem, and Golden Zucchini, turnips and squash,
and far away (in another place) there grow a vagabond variety of iris’ next to bonsai trees and pine forests, sunflowers and cactuses.

If what they say is true about the freedom and the terror,
then come with me to the war, the fight to the camp where Hades lives,
come with me to the pythons mouth and the place where the quicksand spreads,
come with me to where the rapist prowls and the jail-bird dances his jig,
come and embrace this chaos, this nothing-ness and everything-ness,
reverberate with your nothingness
because you them and him her and obviously always I,
are matter-less, matterless, (matters less)?

Climb up to the mountain peak with the truth seekers and hurl your questions to the air,
ask them and shout them, just don’t be devout about them,
ask if the Divine is really sublime,
or ask if it drips with an odourless slime.
Ask and then know that separation exists in the realm of the mind,
then come run with me through the garden of Byron, the paintings of Dali and the words of Oola Wanee.
Lets go and pick the black tulip whilst staring at David as you tell me about your acme acne,
come be amazed with me,
lets make loud noises screaming like Banshees’ with body-shattering joy,
lets sing arias of nonsense and move with no place in mind,
lets leave all this intrinsic extrinsicality and instead fly to the moon,
where aliens painted by six year olds that drink tequila will dance with us till we
slip off la Luna and drift down to the marina
where seagulls glide over the fisherman's catch:
abundant and overwhelming, unpolluted and so real.