Buckingham Palace

The energy is in the air here, my palace transforms into my creative lair there. Buckingham palace, where the poet resides and sometimes hides.Where he bribes his consciousness sometimes, where he imbibes and spits out his imagination flaws. Colours his mistakes on a canvas waiting to be filled with eccentricities and pot shots like artistic entities. He is an artist, period. Centrepiece, period.

Reborn, born again and again but no cat with nine lives tales. No fairy-tale. Somewhere the destination reforms to inform itself. We don't know where, we don't know how, but we work it out everyday. Each day and each time we try. There is indeed a mystic flowing through the air. The poet feels this flair without fear his queen is on his side and calls him her lion. Tau e legageng la yone,  The lion is not hiding in his lair. He is unleashing his creative battalion force by fire and african chemistrical sorcery on a Credo Mutwa side-dish tip.

The lion checked in from sleep in his lair.

Buckingham Palace.

Parliament in progress.

I am conquered, smashed and grabbed like a bugs bunny caught in front of headlights, stunned. Munching on a carrot. One morning, that is all it took. cosmopologies just aligned and made things to froth. i dreamed my dream came alive and then i felt it like reflexively. And then boom like we were thinking alike, messages flew in codes.

Do not know how to explain it though. I am giving things a real try. So working on a technique where i write the song using a poem or lyrics or mashed up words so that something that i want to say with the instruments can come alive.

The song will go a little something like this:

Everything is going according to plan
Patience you found
Waiting for me or not
Friend it doesn't matter
In the end we bond
by love that was always meant to be
my lover my friend
love you till the end.

      I think when the dew melts and all is well and when the rain comes filling up wells perhaps i will be able to stand tall. It is not simply just a matter of finding that language in particular texts but it is about not being able to get this one specific person out of my mind. 

     Even as i try to articulate myself in imperfect reflective tones she comes in and invades my thought space. the literal laterals form holographic intentions that i can't shape but feel. like i am connected and disconnected, i am desired and not desired all at the same worrying bloody time. it's an addictive violence i come to perpetually.

      it reminds me i am human and i am not perfect. I am not God's gift to women, i will not be a perfect husband, i am not a genius- i am a creator, i am an artist; i eat, sleep, drink and fart.

Opening Prayer

Woke up in good spirit, my first gift pack, thank you for listening and being a friend gold pack is almost done now. the finish line is preparing itself. More than anything it is a mark of a journey and many other journeys i am rediscovering. to be honest to self and others so that the path to the greener pastures is seen and pursued selflessly. that mountains are meant to be scaled, not always to the top, sometimes just around them, where footpaths can be drawn and worn down, where it is easier to navigate to our destinations peacefully at peace with our spiritual selves.