Here on earth

we’re spinning ’round

mirrored reflections

Oh whoa ho

sometimes I catch myself

and everything goes streaming

by this is where I see

I’m a part of it.

Touching that

which can’t be touched

I’m touched.

We’re spinning ’round

heart reverberates

into the endless mirror chasm

Oh whoa ho-o



back into myself

to continue

the mirroring of images.

Stuck on a loop

it keeps repeating

spinning ’round

when I stop

it’s then I hear the sound.

Can’t stop me now.

Oh whoa-oh ho

Can you feel the flow?

it brings you closer

to the hole

inside the mirror.


Live without thoughts,

that’s an interesting notion (the thought says almost simultaneously)

arresting me in another galaxy.

The karma on that shit arrives instantly,

i know cause i watch it taking place;

the future is forming all around me.

There’s no subtext here; i mean what i say.

How’s that for a moment of clarity.

They glare at me, i’m a rarity


in the presence of the mind’s eye

i sit in the womb of awareness


without words,

or worry

but only for a moment

Until layers of Opinions

and memories are turned

into thoughts.

Too caught up in this one


we’re lost within a stain of time

falling way behind

too late to hit rewind

and i just

keep repeating

trying to hit that benchmark

once blessed to perceive.

Remember just as we must let go of every breath

So too must we let go of everysight, sound, taste, touch, smell, and thought.

sight, sound, taste, touch, smell, and thought.


In this world death is boredom,

it is the sinking feeling in your heart

and your chest, pulling you down into the

couch. A voice echoes, rippling through the corridors of space

trapped within a mind.

When you are the dead you don’t care about anything.

Death is routine. It’s having the same reaction to a similar set of circumstances,

and feeling like every day is exactly the same

I know this world well.

It’s a living hell.

In this world death follows you daily

 because it manifests as the illusion of freedom

Real death is in action, as in the action of following


                   trapped within a mind.

                                    constantly trying to leave something behind

 You are the Dead.


(Note: the title is from the arrest scene in 1984, where Big Brother busts into Winston’s apt. and we hear, “You are the Dead! Remain exactly where you are. Make no moves until you are ordered!” Not meant as some proselytization of Buddhist theory. Since the poem seems to take from some of the themes of 1984 this scene came to mind and thus the title.)

What is freedom? Are thoughts free? What are thoughts anyway? When we choose to believe in the form of a thought, we die. Or so I’ve read.