Reptile with a forked tongue
Earths orbit an ellipse
The soul integrated out
The knower is the known
Is reduced to a thing of knowing
Knower reduced to a thing to be known
You think you know it all
But you don’t know who knows
The observer is the observed
The song is in search of a voice
But your voice knows no song
(But your voice knows not how to sing)
A vision seeks your eyes,
But your they know not how to see.
Seeing with unseeing eyes
The spirit that envelopes and wraps
That plays by the rules of the heart not reason
And that bursts forth from the violin in a corner on the street
But which reaches you not
The man with the violin stands in the corner
Pours his soul into the notes
But you just turn and walk away with unseeing eyes.

Very expression
Every song of the poet
Every word of the writer
Each stroke of the painter
Pointing to the inexpressible
But all this and every attempt to describe the world and to transcend it
Is just another thing added to its contents

 you became a computer

smart, the computer decides for you, very smart aint it
smart cities, smart buildings, all decide what's good for you
overpopulation, smart algorithm decides who lives or not
smart and intelligent everything but you

ending of dr. strangelove: in the bunker, who gets to live on the basis of different characteristics




snooping on you
tracing your every move
you gave your freedom away on a platter
to your smartphone sensors
and cameras on every corner
in the name of convenience
since data privacy is not an issue in india, maybe it can be done in India
you're up for sale, for all to view

snooping on you
tracing your every move
you gave your freedom away on a platter
to your smartphone sensors
and cameras on every corner
in the name of convenience
did you not comply with our diktats
did you think that thought we banished
did you not stand for democracy and humanity
or whatever our latest buzzwords are
did you long for the soul and spirit
and forgot you're just matter and do not matter


-----------
Masters of propaganda and the information war (who was that takla who spoke of this kind of war?)
Manufacturing consent
Like Trust "The" Science

Hiring psychologists to steer us with nudging and other tricks
Masters of persuasion what we're doing is for the greater good
Convince us to demonise with witch hunts
Those that do not comply with their diktats

Maybe you'd think we've learnt by now
Maybe you'd think we're smarter by now
But no, no, no,
The truth is,
We'll get fooled again.

 

These symbols of the eternal Divinity carved in stone in a bygone time,

but after all, these are also subject to ravages of Time. And yet the drive of the artisans and kings that built these structures is eternal, it lives eternally, and that is why they moved me so much, called me to them, have been calling me to them all these days, and will live on eternally in all the yugas to come, and for everyone, till one realizes that all Time is an illusion and there is no beginning or end: naasato vidyate bhavo nabhavo vidyate satah, and then anyway realizes that it is all the Divine Eternal to which these stone structures are pointing, and which itself is beyond these pointers: sadasatyattatparamtat.

Symbols of eternity captured in stone. The fading sculptures in the shore temple reminded me that the stone, the raw material out of these symbols of eternity were carved, is itself ephemeral.

Never mind. They are just pointers. I goal I have to find myself, I have to find within.

Quote Bhagavadgita 30-34.

The stones may not be eternal, and neither am I, the jivatma, eternal.

Zombie Apocalypse

zombie
dogma

Being paid to forge the chains meant to enslave you
Wonderful kind of slaves
Who let flow tears of gratitude for their captors, or should I say big brother.
So happy in their captivity, no room for misery, thanks to the jab that numbs and stupefies.

open the doors but all the doors are closed
no access to those realms
where the spirit used to soar
tied to an earthly existence where the algorithm tells you what to think

Brains sing / tuned into unison
Being steered by the same algorithm
Coursing through millions / That courses through millions
Empty cold eyes that see without seeing
Without a soul behind or a spark of the eternal mystery
That once used to see wonders now see nothing.

Moulded by conformity
Numbed by / Of facebook and instagram hashtags and inanities
Want to be like everyone else
So you peddle your wares in the attention market
Sucked into the mentality of the herd
What you say are not your own words

Told what to think and what to say
You turn your pain on selectively
Feeling pain for those you're told to
And make monsters of the rest / those you're told to

I look into your eyes but there's nothing behind them A hollow shell A hollow space
I call your name and you respond like an automaton

I look into your eyes but there's a hollow shell
I call your name but you've become a shadow of your self.

Chorus:
zombie apocalypse
zombie apocalypse

 Told chatgpt to write a poem combining the styles of Pink Floyd and Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

In the realm where minds unfurl,
Pink Floyd's dream and Coleridge's swirl,
I sail upon a sea of sound,
Where echoes of a distant hound.

Through darkened haze and shifting skies,
The prism's light in fractured guise,
I chase the spectral albatross,
Across the abyss, I feel the loss.

A distant pulse, a heartbeat's drone,
In echoes of a time long known,
The clock's relentless, ceaseless flow,
The sands of time in endless woe.

In Coleridge's dream, a mariner's plight,
A ship becalmed in endless night,
But Floyd's guitar, it cries and wails,
A sonic storm, where truth unveils.

The walls of stone, the ancient rhyme,
In Pink Floyd's realm, we bide our time,
A brick in the wall, we're just a pawn,
In this grand theater, we're drawn.

As Coleridge's words in ink doth flow,
In Floyd's music, we ebb and glow,
A synergy of worlds, a cosmic dance,
In the mind's expanse, we take a chance.

The lunatic, the dreamer, we're all as one,
In this symphony of moon and sun,
From Coleridge's ink to Floyd's guitar,
We journey far, we journey far.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

In the realm where shadows dance and dreams unfold,
A psychedelic voyage of the mind, we're told,
Pink Floyd's ethereal melodies take flight,
While Coleridge's words weave tales in the night.

Beneath the silver moon's enigmatic glow,
The ancient mariner's tale begins to flow,
His ship, a ghostly vessel on a boundless sea,
Lost in a world where time has ceased to be.

A spectral specter, a phantom ship's embrace,
Invisible hands clutch at the mariner's face,
As Roger Waters' haunting voice takes the lead,
"Set the controls for the heart of the sun," we heed.

Through the cosmic rift, we sail without a chart,
In Coleridge's rhyme and Floyd's cosmic art,
The albatross, a symbol of guilt and despair,
In the mariner's soul, it's a burden to bear.

"Comfortably Numb" we drift on endless waves,
As the mariner's fate, his spirit enslaves,
"Shine on You Crazy Diamond," the stars ignite,
In this surreal blend of day and night.

As the mariner's eyes meet the ancient mariner's gaze,
Echoes of "Wish You Were Here" through a purple haze,
The boundaries of time and space start to blur,
In this poetic fusion of Floyd and Coleridge's stir.

So let us journey through the timeless abyss,
In a land where dreams and reality kiss,
Pink Floyd's soundscape and Coleridge's rhyme,
Merge in this cosmic tapestry, transcending time.

 pg 47 we: you just want to put a little wall around infinity. And you're afraid to look on the other side of that wall.

pg 113: the night covers the things that can be seen (the day reveals), the day (sun, light) covers/conceals the things the night reveals (the things that cannot be seen).

 

install/place ur puppets in departments of justice
In committees adn boards
and have them judge you
when you gaslight and ghost
totalitarian state


surveillance and snooping
snooping in a hightech way
every breath you take every move you make ill be snooping you



we'll get fooled again (a la The Who)

 it's a wonder you did not run
like a cat on a hot tin roof

You claim to have read
orwell huxley solzenitsyn and arendt
but apparently they passed you by
like rain on a bald man's scalp/head