BLOG 4 POST 07. TRANSITIONING THROUGH SOUL

The Will To Arise. Sky, Blue and Black. Work Dies. To Dream. We Could Be High.

Heretic - Exclusive Jar Jar Binks Clip (2024) Hugh Grant, Sophie Thatcher

Are you sure, this post is relative today? Its one of those Fridays - ¿No ve? The first three paragraphs asks alot, like a congelative imperative bot. This be Friday night, no school and work tomorrow, a lie in, a bed right. Mightn’t your post be alittle off, like? It be close ta Christmas man, readyin’ for Santalan’. You could be viewed as a pike, Mike. Cause here me out, fella - none of us be worrying 'bout, early mornin’ rise rites. Singer some…. man, sing High like Buchanan, by the by. Eyes think, this be still relative…. likes, the series Utopia alone, will have ya sayin’ yikes. These first two recommendations, sends one over the rainbow Ae fond kiss and then we sever, a dissonance dis to try, naught to never. You’ll resonate standing up, back a de neck. Winter winds, tiddly winks - jubbly bits, wreakin’ deaths. Songs ‘n clips, will bong ya lit. If you let 'em sit. Mr Mojo rising. Fu Manchu wakes up as Joe Wick. Tok/tik, Friday 13th seeps in, eerie silence be, dead a night, halfway house. What spirit join you for tea? Gin, jinn comes to mind, then comes the fright. A pull from mainframe mind tonight, a Hugh Grant payment in kind. A travel beyond the common lot, a find. Where’s me jumper, where’s me bot, they' all been lyin’ a hell of a lot. There's more between heaven and hell, Horatio, yet the majority prefer not, to give these strange things a second thought. Grant says do, Kelly too and the ‘Spears Horacio above, calls it all blue. And I too, saying come undone, become…… you. Deacon blue told me to. Ricky said - be seeing you. Workin’ in a coalmine, gonna down down down, with Grant above, this next rhyme - comin’ round again, like a brideshead revisited Ken, agatha all about. Isn’t it “along” Finn. Either way - it’s always been wrong. Never the actual thin’. Is there time, for a continuin’, a Den-din sequelin’? What ya thin’, could ya pen it in, ag’in, Den? Buried since 2014, few have mentioned this series since, even all the way through lockdown. With it, there’s been a wince. I too, said nought.......Til now, oh pass the gin. Sugges-tin’ give it a go. Yet ……go slow’n. Take’n, the full significance’n. Don’t be thrown, a time capsule shown. Do not comment, until you see the complete two seasons. It was a rushed job, to get out, Dennis probably thought - what luck, not believe’n the buck. Like Diane Jessie Miller's One by One (good luck finding that ‘un) - you won't believe what either's all about, when and how, they were firstly called out. Just remember - I’m saying this lightly, got a fake fin, it’s friday 13th, that wants this all about, sure I'd prefer a stout, and sure wouldn’t ya know, they're all bloody out. Along with, haven’t I got the gout. Deliveroo won't do takeouts, damn louts. Great buildup says you, lets trailer it in says I - gates are open now, we’re off & out to fly ta nigh/deny/da nigh’.

UTOPIA - TRAILER Tomás Daze Channel

I jest but I don't. Believe shows like Utopia, should be aired with documentaries, or live discussions, right after. Psychopathy, abuse, even those experiments I wrote of, in a previous post or one a coming to refute. Future/past or past/future, all playing out. Might be the next one, you’ll just have ta wait it out. American Operation Papercliped, changed America from the inside out. How far have they advanced from there. What, if any, have crossed the line from experiment to implementation, there or here. This need of so many, to be part of a cause or simply to fit in, herd vs individualism. Mental health, child abuse - what actually can a teenager take onboard, starting with obtuse. How to teach self worth, intuition, reliance. Since back in the West, I see a call for such a huge change in education and life - for zest. We are calcified in robotics, superficiality, yet we talk about - who’s wearin’ a dress. There are people who can hold down incredible specifics in a working environment, yet are inept at everything a soul requires. For these 80/90 years of life, round others as brothers, affecting/effective fathers, troubled mothers. So what ya suggest - we all write blogs ta hypnotize out - thoughts, conversation, common sense, actualization. Eh no, this intro’s gone woke-rote-naught, better finish it, nowt. Here’s the original post spoke before I diminish it, agatha all alout. Just go slow with Grant's Heretic (2024) and Kelly's Utopia (2013/14). Before they walked among us, now hidden though curtain falls, plunge us. Sacrifice in war was known since ancient times, those who led the charge, became the food dine/dyin’- ritualized through society, the invisible collective entity community entirity, rhine lands drying. Now hyde hidden from Jekyll, be bomb and drone feckle shekel. Sterilized hospital bed 2001: A Space Odyssey alone wrestled for vessel. War reduced to armchair gaming. Both series and film are not fully fleshed out, yet still nuggets to watch, conceive and make out. We live, we doubt, isn’t it ironic, don’t you think. As this new world rages and collectively shouts out. Oh to break the conversational 5 for 2025, not suduko and all the rest, that they ply us hypnotized. Are you playing chess or checkers? No Grant says…….Monopoly! For the record, wreakers. Break the conversational 5, don’t get paperclipped, get High. Buchanan like, fly.

The Blue Nile - High

Is this post on world pulse, right now? The world man, is fallin’ assunder, so bloody wrong - wow. Even Christmas has lost its luster/wonder. Well …..don’t know amigo - wrote this post, weeks before, decide yourself - whether it still calls out a residing score. This blog, had me pushing back, my own fight against the man, joined by the world at large against authority barred, Sam. It’s about self actualization, rather than the world robbery bath taker, back-taken. We can only change the self, thats our power, Elf (the worlds best cup of coffee, belched). To be read as such, lived as much, no less than he’s your bother, intuitionally, we must trust. So on I go with the other, writing through me, like brother/like mother. There are two of me and two of you, two who have betrayed love and two who have been true. So read on to - me, but think on as - you. Through Baracades spandau true, morrison break on through. Free, free, set them free - sting see……… It all goes to soul, to you, to me, all through the waters of lethe. The resist continues, now more than ever, the song is sung collectively forever, don’t let the bastards get you down.

Resistiré 2020 - Video Oficial

Waking up early morn', goin' ta work in the dark, forlorn. “For now we see through a glass, darkly”. The repetition soul killing moon Koan, smart watch smartly, river run ronin, artly. This high a low, Nile song, sung above - be the blow. Comes a change - through flow. Like Anohni sang a few posts back, his last album, a dojo. We must go far out, rowing deranged, merrily merrily down the stream, estranged. Known vs unknown, uncaged - slave waged, saved or saged. The frightened turkey, everyone feels like, these days. Soul crushing, this early morning….be. For I played this song before, like Teena Marie. Didn’t hear that one, last post, Phoe. Go back, ya fool, it’s the first one ta listen to, then you can come back here, to read. Mourning a morn’, a killing spree. Second only to winters chill, in lethe. The attack comes in the form of - lack of sleep, show and tell, traffic monotone and the five topic typical, the slow killing remedial spell. Oh those conversational 5 be from hell - the weather, the football, the church, state and cakes.... for christ sake. A change a comes, slowly...steady wins the race. We will "will", weave together, or morph into the same face. Like Ken and Barbie, sure it could prove a simply marvelous date, go way ya rake, I’d throw ya in the lake. "Will"ing life individually, most of us very much alone. Black magic christmas box delighting - thoughts, driving us round the bend, home. Down dark December days, losing sight in headlighting flights, driving home for Christmas, in decorational squinting hazing foglights. Did a change come to all - last month? Like the monthlies just arrived, like tension came waned, everything calmed/claimed - to take a subside, an ease like lies. Trump derangement feigned, Trump entrapment bound, both written on the kite, a sky dance playing as both fox and hound, puppy delight. Blood flowed but didn't flow, named yet unnamed, four score and seven/four turnings a meme’d lamed. Was it all just ordained? Or will "will" man! finally come a calling as blame. Attention to intention, no more a falling, a shame. Can only be individually collectively witnessed, as we all create new kin through sickness, comes the tame. Spirits within us, covered in skin provides us. A material world - be us, as the duality plays in, to free us - we all decide individually collectively, whether it be sin or win, that defeats us. Might you be the younger brother with the fake fin, or Quint grinnin’, drinkin’ gin? Some of us live now in The Halfway House (1944) ……inbetween streamin’, train a thought beamin’, in an old Welsh countryside inn. Be seein’ yee’n, when you too, come in, to the pan within…….

This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a subscriber or buy a cup of coffee with a fiver, fork sake boay, its christmas like, be kinder. Bell tolls, could even be your own wake. Damn, give the singer some, be a minder, partake. We are spirits in the material world, the spotlight turns now to fake.

The Police - Spirits in the Material World
There's a collective sadness of melancholy going through the soul, that fills autumnal nights. No more summer, way past that blame. Which blame? The one that never came. What never came? The summer man, where the fook were you. In Spain? Internal though, manifested out externally, into the world as woe. The superconscious and the fool, feel these tensions most and dwell. We weep to see them suffer, though we didn't know them well. Who? The ones who wrote the book a Kells. Pay attention mon, you’re startin’ ta smell. We all try and make believe, but it's getting harder. Some of us try and affect our everyday, like a baby chimpanzee having larger. No no no no no…..I mean having love. Yes, it’s love - that we're all after. What was I thinking, I must have been finking. How now brown cow, Lou Gehrig/Benny Hill disease, gone fishin’ or feekin’. Love withheld - in scientific super-duper experiments. Having our invisible cumulative straw weighing in pain, dying on that blasted vine in vain. So many are now playing kamikaze consciously and sub, the straw that breaks the camel's back, sing out to us with luv "Who's gonna save my soul tonight" so many lives snuffed out. We go off like firecrackers, all affecting all, climate/country/color/creed - a kamikaze fallacy fall. Don't egg it on, a conspiracy theorist, language riffin’ as tool. Go way, buzz off, ya eejit ya, ya fool. Be a conspiracy realist. Cause if ya believe, there ain't any conspiracies whatsoever, then you're crazier than the rest of us, though I try to endeavor, to be clever. Lets create the trust. Who's gonna save your soul tonight - the pain, the pleasure or the lust.

Gnarls Barkley - Who's Gonna Save My Soul (HD)

Blogging should not be emotional but used for passing ideas, memes, humor, layers, gems. My humble belief, my two cents worth, bottom of the barrel, my very least, best and worst. Will go to where we all feel certain times/climes/trines, too deep to even rhyme. Known by skin, cortex in self, sensed cymatically, in multiple line-timed-lined-fenced, flatulently. Wind and tree felt, the king has horses ears and welts, intuition believes beyond tears. Blogs should spark, diary reveal, novella touch, audio a speel. Some of the heavier topics that passed by my pen, are chasms. Humanity has gone so deep down well. Huge abyss abysmal align, personal doorways to define. Best to play "gosh I say, this might not be the good place". So should, have meself a sambo, and go about my day. Crucifixion being a doddle and life's a laugh, deaths a joke you'll see, searching fae. It's not wearing a mask, delusional or blindsided. We choose where to put attention and at what level, mostly undecided we cast. My words hint, if happen to slap, at least it was with a rubber hammer. Tweeties runnin' round me head, tangerine and lightnin' fast, we stutter. As a species, individual, we see, hear, smell and sense, a small amount of what lies around the bend. We play kindergarden in ancient hallowed lands. These are not the days to cry in the soup, begging to differ humor, to boot, but to band. We must be vital for the 21st century and the young. Must be cultivated. I'd go as far as - teach it in the school, beyond rite skull. Everything is so laugh tracked. We've mcdonalised these magic internal/eternal lanters, bestowed by soul, stole phantoms. Don't mind me, I'll continue to hint, to jest, to play and mess and be free. Those far spokier like O'Flaherty’s Black Soul, can prose more, giving Christmas presents as coal. We'll all just go about our business, secretly acknowledging between us - if we prick, do we not bleed, there but for the grace of god, go we. Both pain and pleasure, the feed.

Tim Buckley - Once I Was (HQ)

Now for something completely different. Wave goodbye to say hello, a higher octave's curtain call, to a new door. Catch 22 takes mind a stew - with one of the best things to do, as an individual like you, is to be less of an individual. Wha? Can't comprehend that, I'll hit ya over the head with me shoe. All I'm sayin' is - How about being a cuckoo. We go within to go without. Living breathing koans or incomprehensible tontero moans, banshee screaming louts. All such infuriating fun. What can I do, to be part of this new story "What have I done today, to become a good ancestor" - Roman Krznaric calls for us to stay and play. I don't know if my contribution here is relative, we all just hope, that our addition be some way imperative. My stuff is not an art form. Does not register as a current affairs curriculum. Un-niched, in the end, a slap happy friend, just beached. Whales the mullets eat. Orca, orca, a killer whale, in defeat. The seafood beef. I cannot stand up local, regional and claim, to plamause a privileged restraint. Blindly or wisely, I believe in my contribution. Simply put - cultivating thoughts (Blog 1), Conversing them (Blog 2) Common Sensing fae (Blog 3) and Actualizing (Blog 4) all now in operation as play. We do what we can, know what we must. For the world is short on doers. It is not our fault, but system designed, which be far far worse. The very reason we must be weary of the AI alt - curse or nurse. Those within its corridors and those steeped - must fix politics from within house, or weep. I've seen in South America where groups took power, fired everyone to the detriment of all - from state down to the mother’s withdrawal. Like something out of Lawrence of Arabia. When they took Damascus, then came the mania. Finally taking power, but didn't have the wherewithal, the skill and experience.... floundered, devoured. It all went sour. This is where we find ourselves, in all industry and relations. How can each profession clean itself up, when so many pivotal pieces, are immovable objects remedial leeches, at sixes and sevens. How can ya have any puddin', if ya don't eat your meat. If we all become selfish, within our own worlds of industry and relations. Fixing ourselves up, how/when/where, once we were soldiers/were nations - then to be an individual, by being less of an individual, might just give us more station. Oh my Jesus says you or heaven sent. Play the music, danger and thought, how many of our very best are spent, rent or have to tent. So many Clark Kents. Supreme Swans or Mr Mojo Risings, all Lament.

Danger Mouse & Black Thought - Sometimes

Why do we all continually acquiesce, agree to fight on millenniumly, mycelium runningly, oligarchly, defect. Don't know, Tweedledum, tweedledee. Haven't got the foggiest, ja'see. It be cloudbusting, geoengineering, the death of the bee. Kate Bush, runnin up da hill, Reich's libidinal energy pill, that makes ya pee or kill. Porn hub jibbin' it up, primordially. Cue balding a man, filling it up, fueled with testosterone, god ……we’ll have to postpone, giving away the combine harvestor key. Pills til we pop, good for the grass, cullin' the fans, reality active, chronicles a rona manned - ah sure…….your only man. "Ontop of the world, looking over the edge, you could see them coming. You looked too small, in their big black car. To be a threat to the man in power". "Yet just by saying it, could really make it happen" - Kate Bush Cloudbusting, rappin’. What a power. A Book of Dreams by Peter Reich. A yo-yo in the dark, my merchandise. Don't rob me ideas now, ya bollocks, like. An Orgone box captured/preserved orgone energy, deep in the atmosphere, hidden cleverly. Drone's, ender's game warrings, rain and wind received granule tipping pointing orders. Sugar coated salt particles, we brush off our hair, crystalize when having tea, a KitKat, sharing the care. Yes, sea salt, aerosols, didn't sulphurly scare the bejesus before, hexxing the sky now, more with the spore. Our internal SKY, BLUE AND BLACK before. Brimstone and treacle for tea, oh come away human child to the waters of lethe. Forgetful fools or unmutuals, don't matter, both be blind and dead as bees. Boys from the blackstuff, inhaled too much tar, like our skies, water, plastic particled bodies lie/lye, becoming a bridge too far. Others to dance "Making moves from a passion play. As these ties that bind us, just slip away. The piper calls out a different rhyme. He cracks the whip and we step in time".

Midge Ure (Ultravox) "We Came to Dance" [DMX RmX]

The Truth is flying telepathically, we hunger no more for others opinion, fork in the road, like a fork n knife havin’ dindins. Cuts hot butter to bread, as we mesh and mash our lives instead. We stay on horse, fearing old age, stay in cage, as we rage, rage, rage. Those not helping, only look, are becoming thought activated, fake plastic tree beings, perennial shook. How do you know all this, I saw the secret to heinz beans, krieg blitzed - those feens. The time be now. The time was always now. Now or then, for them or when, the secret be hit men (too many beans, the flatulence pig pen). Take a knee, for a fee, or go cruxifcitionally free. Or invite the owl and the pussycat perennial for tea. Content creators like politicians, should be community service career’ers and not simply mindless takers. Deja vu I fear, but the point be clear. A give back from those on top, to each culture in care, in lieu, like the successful were in Greece, an eon before the vultures flew. To give a year and help humanity. Of course room to roam, for co-option like religion and health care, the banking and bovernace of fear savings and loan. So much easier to see the genuine, true poli/podder vs sell the grannie for the fiver fodder. Oh too many of us have left shore. You can tell these transition posts, have been down the funeral wells fargo, well before. But I won't tell. Blogging should not be emotional? Lets bomb - the ideas of Dr Fell. So close to kitchen, we're burning/burying ourselves, ta funeral, we're half tombed tumorous, lets keep it all humorous in spell. Like kids do in summer sands, luminous. We soldier on. Once I was true, a soldier blue.

https://tv.apple.com/gb/clip/the-halfway-house/umc.cmc.47r4nobsra7o3bomf0z63i8t6?targetId=umc.cmc.2ftg8uiiu0pqj44nmpyde0b4n&targetType=Movie

The Halfway House (1944)

Hothouse Flowers - Born

https://www.apple.com/tv-pr/originals/before/trailers-videos/

Before - Series

Afraid to turn, pillar a salt, the memorial preservation of fear. The true evil that stops living gogol dead souls, in tear. Awareness in brevity, we learn again and again, always its seems ungainedly, the rain, that bane, in spain - playfully or heavenly? On and on it goes, until they'll be no one left to die for our sins. Hey, we could do a sitcom script about all this, make a million with your wits. Ya man, what about a movie, throw in a few superhero’s, make a billion (a million’s for dicks). Our lives have been, up there on the screen. Some as comedy, some pickin’ their nose, anomaly. Though in fairness, they kept the sofa clean. A Self-Made Man sang David Byrne and his band reamed. Must always be our motto, lonely are the brave, who's on first, the bother blotto. Annie, does the sun comes out tomorrow? The populous pontificate so vein, they're shuttered back to shutter island, obtuse and vain. Never ever dreaming of breaking free, a joggers high, a strange religion, oh version girl the refrain. Exo therapy for the skinwalking soul. Sensationalist, goofy, hippy dippy, mellow yellow troll. Daddy says, when ya have nothing good to say, don't say nothin’ atall. Well that shuts up, so many of us, nothing left, to out a call. One man's meat, Floyd - if you don't eat your puddin'. Nature shows it differently, everything now forest digested, 'cept plastic wooden as puddin’ insectly, jaysus like, I couldn’t. Like a bird on a wire, waitin' on those immigrational eating mycelium fires, as James Brown could say "modular", J.C screamin’ Jesus Christ was born in a stable, oh version girl, am I able. You mean sceamin’ out himself, like? No, not atall, man - says John Constantine, I’m the real Moore fan. We’ve all been juggling, all so long. What's coming in? We abstain, fall or bong. Poli, podcaster, prince or pauper, real life, tik tok or plato's cave waller, a forger. Inauthenticity of the over influenced, tragedy called individual herd vigilant. Indoctrination sealed performing set patterns, walk talk think stink it all out, leader now holds, the nerd/herd/word patented pout. The rational person irrationalizes everything to a razor's edge, while the majority walk on broken glass, hypnotized singing jordan, barefoot blue blooded fed, with cut feet on red red wine grass, a reality dying to a dead black mass. Bono boay, gis us a blast.

U2 - Stay (Faraway, So Close!)

All your writing is just for yourself man. Only what you need, want, long for, with what you write with pen or press with key, only be’s for thee. Si o No? Dépendre à coeur, mon ami. Oh yes, them keys lethe, them bones. Dem dry bones and me. You go Joe. Yes and No, to this writing, as a extroverted journal, bourbon pour. I think I am, says the choo-choo train - Dumdo. I will bento, get there, beyond the self, complicated Colombo. I'm getting close to a 100 juggles a post. It all becomes a flow, where you master a play, even as small as mine, it becomes ones duty to put it out there ta flow. Once honed, you say yes babe, I say Divine, popular or rare, incline to decline. Even if it be kitchen table level or old time sitting room floor, you must take care of the score. Where you only have the cups and saucers, not the new radio/tv/internet as core. And not as Johnny, who got the snobby - School a music lessons of the drummy, oh what a ponse, what a dummy. When its Animal of the Muppets who should have been given the crowds duckets. We do what we can, we resonate out our beacon. Yet the platform picks the ones, we fan. It's our duty son, seen or unseen, we’re perennially the pan within the pan. Those world woes that are because of herd mentality, must be wrestled back to the personal level, in egality. Which ones? The funny ones and the mystics. The Carabi parts of humanity come back, beating out to risk it for a biscuit - its personal sonny and not so strictly business, that the perennially revolutions hack be forgiveness. Though we sadly and mostly go unnoticed, we always say - go kiss my ass as a wisecrack, no ve Dax, boast it. ThaGreatWhite - do a duet, get him back. Bit a bent, Yan. Bitta megalopolis, Fran. Whichever way we interpret the world now, it's personal, we attend/intend our garden tao, immercing in, we blend, bend golden bough. To juggle open source. We bounce off one another, time now to rebounce a new octave beyond 2024 higher. Four to the floor, I was sure.

Starsailor -Four to the Floor

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.

But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

13 Corinthians 13:12

Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters, any way the wind blows - Mercury.

“You're the color of the sky. Reflected in each store-front window pane. You're the whispering and the sighing. Of my tires in the rain. You're the hidden cost and the thing that's lost in everything I do. That's just the way love is, Sky, Blue and Black”. Be seeing you!

Jackson Browne - Sky, Blue and Black