this is trip delusional
playing with illusion
mixing up frequencies
frequently facing complication
in the interrelation of
social inequity to
daily activity
separating the dust
from the must complete
the beat and the heat
breaks me down
i was a molecule
I'm just an atom now.

hypothesis A:

every monkey every monkey every monkey is a star

yeah this is triplanetary weavin words and rhymes
from the confines of my mind an infinite syndicate
of interconnected particles and lines projecting
psychological radiation and information direct
into your head, yes, feel the beat now dread.

I just don't get it doesn't make any sense.

look both ways before you cross the road there's more
directions than you imagined at least 360 in the horizontal
plane factor that by pi r cubed and your vision extends fully
into the third dimension it's a minor point which allegorically
speaking has a number of potentially significant implications
even more so when you take into account the full range
of potential sensations available to your brain

what what what? what?

let me explain

(namya ho renge kyo)

All That Is is an illusion (Maya). At the root of Maya is I am
That (Tat Tvam Assi), the seed. There is nothing beyond I am
That. I am That divides numerically, fractally, literally,
allegorically, archetypally, intelligently, recursively and
hyperdimensionally to create All That Is. In apprehending
itself, nothing becomes One (The Self) and then Two (Space and
Not Space) or the Root of the Feminine and Masculine principles
(0/1, Earth/Sky), then Three (x y z Spacetime), The Future, the Past
and the Present, the tree expands in every direction
exponentially, 3*3, [the infinite, The finite and the
infinitesimal], [the manifest Creator (Yaweh, Bramha), the
Preserver (Christ, Krishna), and the Destroyer (Satan, Shiva)],
[the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost], [Ain, Ain Soph and
Ain Soph Aur], [Sat, Chit, Ananda] then 4, 4*4*4*4, 5 etc. The
tree iterates combinatorially and can be percieved as a self-
similar, fractal recursive infrastructure that extends
infinitely from all pasts, real and imagined and all possible
futures and ends simultaneously at a single point in what
appears to be the present moment. The point is constructed and
reconstructed continuously as the future is transformed into
the past. The point is a centre of subtly interconnected
consciousness fixed in n dimensional spacetime, or 'human
being'. There are many human beings, many points.

Play it louder

yes fly higher, on the wire
but don't touch the sun
see your self reflected
in the sky, go higher still
now you're on fire
yeah get high mate
until you know,
until you become
a snowflake,
unique,
i hear you speakin
in tongues, got your
own way to talk about
what's goin' on
and that's not wrong

but i still see
all my brothers and sisters on the street,
running round town,
trying to find a place to sleep
the hari krishna's
blessed be, looking
after god's children,
but krishna's crazy
tellin brother to kill brother
teaching arjuna kung fu and yoga
don't make no sense to me
this city's hard when you've
fallen all dem
wanderers trying to make ends meet
stallin for time
hustling to survive,
droppin' out to find out
what it means to be alive
ain't safe no more now the
police's at your door,

got people everywhere
sleepin where they lay
eatin out of bins every day
bumming cigarettes
surviving's okay
gotta keep playin'
this town needs raisin
babylon's awaking
callin' for love
callin' for love

So here's the concept. A proposal, you could say. A game to
appeal to the uk today, to the disaffected, to the
disenfranchised, the undernourished, the un-encouraged, the
hopeless romantics and the hopelessly paranoid, yes, this is
London, a melting pot, the schizoid heart of the UK, where we
may be all in it together, or we may just be out to get one
another, which is it? Just a matter of perspective. Let's move
beyond duality. Let's hit the ground running. Where do
revolution and social evolution meet? Can we find our feet
together? It's cold and dark outside, we're balancing on
knives, time to live or time to die?

Time to open up our third eyes say the mystics, we're looking
at the end of an era, the hippy says, smiling over his bong,
Jah Rastafarai, I'll fill me lungs, sit back relax it's not
wrong, police and thieves, the radio's playing the same old
song, the artist in the corner's been painting for days, got
paint on the carpet and all over her face, the ex-marine's on
the sofa, passed out like a light, if you buy him a beer he'll
be yours for the night, the street kids are out skipping, the
ravers passed out, the time traveller's ranting, and I'm filled
with doubt.

----

The artist turns to me and says 'You're not dead yet, kid, come
on, let's play', hands me a brush, then
walks away.

My name is trip and this is my message to you