Haunting Beauty [Rev]

If vibrational harmony means we have all we need
to be healthy - illness illustrates the ways in which
thoughts, feelings and mood alter our bodies; with
medicine we control hormones and stop synapses
from relaying signals of pain straight to the brain

My mental template is feeling anxiety and nobody
can extricate the thin silver threads of happiness
from the rusting mesh of sad feelings in which my
life began; chemical imbalances which are caused
by my eating sweets to fill the hole in my heart -

I direct my eyes to happy words and pictures to
keep a lid on angst inside - I can’t look at things
that resonate with cynicism, inhuman conditions
or clueless characters with whom I can’t identify -
it pulls me down so far that living becomes an

Impossible feat instead of the joy it is; vibrational
harmony is my ideal - even though it’s a Quixotic
dream since my hands are burning with the fire of
rowing upstream, while trying to pull them away,
being still to drift downstream, is impossible - yet

I still sing of haunting beauty and cherish visions
of exquisite loveliness changing life around me…

Individual Sanctity [Rev]

Cuba’s government winnows 95% of the money
received by workers from foreign companies and
claims to use it for public health: covert research
reveals a run-down health-care system, shortages
in medicine, state clinics & hospitals in bad repair
with doctors badly paid

Fabricated health statistics add shine to Castro’s
revolution in Cubans’ segregation from decadent
tourist beaches, hotels and hospitals with the best
medicine & service - they’re second-class citizens
forbidden to enter beautiful tourist facilities, no
discourse with tourists allowed

The State uses profit from workers & tourists to
fund the lavish lifestyle of the officials who enjoy
free medical service in tourist hospitals - while the
so-called ‘free’ health care system is used to spy
on the people & report insubordination when an
individual objects to having no Internet access

No cell-phones & satellite TV keeps them from
Western individualism contamination while they
must provide cheap slave labour for the wealthy
government. Money & power corrupts & destroys
moral worth, the greedy become more insensitive
and take ALL from the suffering

Why should the poor grow poorer as the rich
increase in wealth? Maybe this is the chalice
they chose, the fire by which true worth will be
revealed - which would otherwise never have
known itself as good growing better and bad
rotting completely - these people are forced

To face themselves in a testing ground of true
nobility; is it by their own free choice to define
themselves within a socialist system? Why is
this happening to them otherwise? But my wish
for them is, may the oppressed rise to fight for
their freedom, may they discover the delight

Of individual sanctity & egalitarianism…

Oblique Obligation

No guesses necessary t’ set this status quo to rest, 

there’s nothing in the tank for running engines and 

recharging batteries; - and yet the lowest ebb stills 

inherent dissent - because, I quote, it isn’t dead - if 

you don’t believe me put a hand where you’ll feel it 

breathe, soft & regularly - just isn’t into the passion 

of proselytising Saint, exorcising crimes of Masses

that confront it urbanely - yet again - & yet again 

Tho they say never the twain shall meet it is a past 

tense defeated by its own chimerical perplexity; I’d 

be happier to compete were there a lot less onus it 

hadn't already derailed, so I’ll stay this way; please 

don’t applaud or rise to your feet, it wont matter as 

the rules you intrigue nolonger fête this game 

© 27 November 2016, I. D. Carswell 

It Might Be

Right after concluding that in a few areas of
life I have total control, my appearance and
order in the bedroom and kitchen, therefore
feeling proud of my discovery and admiring
the assortment of clothes artfully arranged
on my bed while I try to circle my eyes with
a smudgy pencil imitating a girl on TV, just
to receive comment from my family that I
look like the walking dead; I realized --

Though it is enjoyable to decorate my grey
hat with silver filigree & glue back the broken
arm of my Christmas fairy -- I’ve lost control
over my room with clothes strewn about and
blackened eyes make me look like the after-
math of a boxing match: the only two things
still all-right are my grey hat & restored fairy,
as the kitchen falls into chaos, I start to ask
why it is so enjoyable to do things for myself

When it always results in the mess facing me
now and why do theory and practice diverge
so much - I cut out pictures of the mountain
bike I desire and recipes for scorched potato
salad; yet my beloved thinks a bike would
be wasted on me & I never make the dishes
I read about, the control the guru claims we
have, seems to be lacking in my life & it’s my
own fault as we are free to create our destiny,

The guru claims - thus I give up my desire for
mastery to focus on my ideals as it’s the only
vision left after my world-view crashed, I just
want the gift of wisdom to show love in res-
pect & serve where required, control is not
yet mine – though it might be someday…

Without Chocolate [Rev]

I ate everything healthy today - fruit and vegetables &
a boiled egg, but sans chocolate; tried to make up for
its lack by eating sweet jelly - but it can’t compensate,
without chocolate life’s not worthwhile as nothing else
comes close to satisfactory, not ice-cream, cookies or
cake - nothing fills my heart and head like chocolate

Exorcising chocolate to lose weight’s counterproductive,
I eat more to make up for it, but raw carrots and apples
do nothing; without chocolate, my spirit sinks into torpor
and lassitude - and though the world’s beautiful after a
shower of rain, when clouds disappear & a golden sun
shines everything into a green fairyland - and I feel

Joyous & energised - its without chocolate & merely a
short-lived victory; so with tonight’s no-chocolate-delight
I can’t sleep; a state of affairs for addressing tomorrow,
nothing else can keep my inner gyroscope steady within
transparent glory, nothing else can take me to one of the
better alternate universes - & how did life come to this -

How did I forsake my love for the wonder of chocolate, it’s
pure masochism - a deprivation resembling death: my idea
of heaven is having a hot chocolate fondue - and here I am,
without the prerequisite for spiritual survival - this is no life,
this is a descent into grey where thoughts cannot soar….

In The Silence [Rev]

Blue Tango plays in my ears as I close the door
to its outside world - concentrating on my work,
to find myself leaning forwards like Mr Bean and
moving to the music as he does - knees always
touching and feet apart - being Mr Bean carries
me through a translation without my noticing, &
then Maria Callas sings Bach’s Ave Maria and
I become Salieri gasping upon discovering new
music- with an unfulfillable longing in the notes
reflected in his face; I lip-synch silently and the

Longing for positive expectation nearly becomes
overwhelming, my face contorted in passion, yet
no-one notices anything; in the open-plan office
we’re isolated with other people present only as
warmth - after my grandiose dreams I am but a
demon serving in a demon king’s bureaucracy &
part of the universe’s 99% invisible black energy,
a grey hooded Auditor without a face, recording
people’s great deeds & as I compare Nureyev’s
biography with my life, which seems bereft of

Feelings except LOVE - love for my family, and
fellow authors who are never read as we entrust
our secrets to a Poetic Internet Pensieve - where
they will remain eternally; now I’m looking for a
reflection of my feelings in music, JS Bach & The
Skater’s Waltz & Mozart, but sadness unleashed
by reading of Rudolf’s Nureyev’s death - and his
creative passion lost from this world - still keeps
me cold in its clutches - with throat constricted I
face my quiet duties and life regulated in the

Silence of the Crocodile Castle…

Emissary Need

If you write every day without the need for emissary 

words - you’re freed to express those inward trends 

too gauche for the literati; as if you’re likely to share 

‘em ordinarily - but there are jewels & gems - some 

so rare polishing them blinds everyone equally - 

It is like learning to hear the subtlety in a tune when 

played by an ear too abstruse to be copy, original & 

out where the icons are first birthed - like measures 

the cognoscenti instantly recognise as unassailable 

and blend incontrovertibly into the soothing scene 

And then there’s the agenda team corresponding in 

their factotum sense of what matters, by expression 

and riposte, following an order digested as the best 

use of words within a tier of sustainable interjection 

where meanings and agreements are their rules 

In my trade the tools are an inner ear unaffected by 

hot air and raucous discontent - the rhythm is leant 

upon originality freed of onomatopoeic contempt or 

metric mutuality & there’s no ‘agenda’ I’m aware of  

excepting the refreshingly fey freedom to be me 

© 25 November 2016, I. D. Carswell 

Infinite Flow [Rev]

A swimsuit-hunt is never a happy event - trying on a
million swimsuits aiming to be inconspicuous in my
black camouflage, to fade into the background so I
can bathe in the sea rolling to and fro in the shallows
where sand fills my swimsuit until I look like the Oros-
colossus; ended up trying on a million swimsuits in 5
shops, finally bought the magic-making-me-disappear-
one at the 6th shop, but it offers no protection against
the high breakers in which I love to tumble, shopping
again, another million, then found an amazingly-awful

Garishly-coloured-design top to reinforce the weak
swimsuit - a most unnerving search as prerequisite
for the exquisite experience of bubbling waves; we’ll
also visit Conan, the Queen of Hearts & my Duchess
while there - mother dreams I’ll sing ‘I Will Follow Him’
to her piano accompaniment; dad looking frail yet de-
termined to keep boxes with suspicious contents next
to his bed - his delight on hearing his favourite music
while I tuck him in - I‘m weaving these scenes in my
virtual reality - strengthening the Positive Vibrations

To become a strong, beautiful design to bring about
my currently transparent visions in at least one of the
many parallel universe-tributaries into which our lives
keep flowing as ALL possibilities are fulfilled, and I’m
working with these thoughts to dominate all the others
which play out in the infinite flow of the never-ending
River Of Life…

[Song: “I Will Follow Him” song from “Sister Act” – Whoopi Goldberg]

Can’t Listen To

Concentrating on Madame La Pompadour’s mournful
face while she elaborates on her aches and pains so
that not a single rational conversation on world events
and theories or books is possible, such as I enjoy when
talking to Sister Sunshine & the Mother Abbess; is a sore
Christmas-lunch-trial for me, a sinner finding it difficult
to show love to her fellow human beings

I love all people in principle and the IDEA of loving and
helping them sounds so good, but the actual application
of this principle in reality is beyond me, I just can’t settle
down and listen to their rambling gossiping - raconteurs
without the art of irony or satire – so please let me learn
how to listen in the RIGHT way, I pray: please send me
intelligent, loving, conscious energy – teach me

To push my own ideas and theories away to concentrate
on my fellow human beings; I love conversation in writing,
no desultory idiocies and description of pets offered in an
inexpert way: I love talking on paper - because when it’s a
verbal interaction with body language in facial expression
filling in the details and my imagination doing the rest – I
lose interest finding it all so one-dimensional –

Especially when someone drones on in an unlovely voice,
it is so difficult to like voices deliberately made to sound
unmusical, while the speaker dissects life in a negative
way… now I’m rambling, let me stop – are you fed up
with me as I may sound like those I can’t listen to?

Sentence For Negligence

Two boys unloved, plucked from the school and
countryside they loved in Nonfiction Condensed,
I’m on the side of the boys whose parents had no
love for them in their hedonist life, the boys sent
off to boarding school, parents without honour or
a moral code, no integrity, taught no forgiveness,
the boys living with burning hearts - persecuted
by a father who lived the creed - ‘IT’s ALL about
ME’, an uncaring mother chasing excitement all
the time: horrible parents who deserved to die

Never taught their sons a moral code - never
gathered wisdom to bequeath to their kids, I’m
on the side of the wild, forlorn boys who killed
their useless parents - they should not have
been sentenced for a crime instigated by their
cruel, detestable parents, snuffing out the fire
of love & emotions in their sons, condemning
their souls to ruin and perdition caring ONLY
about wealth and a social lifestyle in which
children were unnecessary and unwelcome

The situation growing worse as the boys grew
up & realised how unloved they were compared
to other kids; detestable policemen who punish
the sons for the parents’ deeds - now my mind
finds reality grey and stale; a sad account of the
lonely lives of two little boys - a burden to their
happy-go-lucky parents, the boys judged for
a crime their parents prepared themselves by
living like faux socialites, they are lucky to be
dead - THEY should’ve received the death
sentence for negligence…

I Still Dream

Are my desires still delightful - though impossible:
to be Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and
Miss Marple in frail sleuth beauty – to be at the ball
able to enjoy rock and roll - to win my appreciation
of myself, enjoy my own being without reference to

A point outside - to be in harmony with my soul and
strive to fulfil my own goal - without seeking anyone
else’s approval; I’m fighting with the soldiers in the
trenches, yet I still harbour the ideal of a wonderful
trip to Pixie Dell where I can fly with Tinker Bell and

Feel the wonderment of fairies visiting incredulous
human beings; of having fluttering transparent wings
which are carried by the North Wind who will prove
to be my friend – yes, these desires are still intact;
maybe to manifest as a play on stage, illusion and

The imagination; I still dream of merging with these
impossible dreams; I’m still fighting windmills with
Don Quixote – another ideal I will not let go; after
existing in readers’ minds for so long, he might be
alive, maybe Don Camillo is lovingly painting the

Image of the Baby Jesus and Comrade Peppone’s
helping him, claiming his belief Is beyond religion –
in the goodness of man and Jesus will agree with
him – my desires are still as wide as my reading &
reality is criss-crossed with silvery lines weaving

Our knowledge & stories into exciting new designs…

Mind Streams [Rev]

It was to be a treat - reading alternative theories
on the origin of the universe and different beings
from other dimensions and planets living with us,
looking for ideas on a hollow earth where lizards
& dragons give birth to reptiles, & shape-shifters
threaten us secretly; the author claims to receive
the information from his Oversoul… Lucky him,

My Oversoul never talks to me, it’s a construct in
fact, and could tell anybody anything with no way
of testing for veracity; everything has potential to
be true through our belief, & accordingly created,
so our ONLY challenge is deciding what we wish
to do: I wish to find the loving lines of reality - but
my mind seems to be hollow now…

I’m probably one of David Icke’s empty hologram
people without a soul - no wonder I’m depressed
on Icke’s earth, it is the universe’s bleakest place -
his visions appear as a nightmare mess of alien
lives & soulless humans, & I quickly leave before
I become embroiled in these threats to humanity -
though my own mind’s winding down, it still is

The entrance to my inner cathedral, & even when
I’m locked out because I dabbled too long in other
mind streams, it always opens up again and I can
chase beautiful thought-forms; and all the while -
using the mesmerising eyes of porcelain dolls as
the standard for the enjoyable illusions I create…

Her Exaltation

Why isn’t the world swirling with hope - why isn’t
the office bright in the expectation of the holidays
to come, I asked my Beloved who just shrugged;
a fellow soldier scoffed at my idea but she scoffs
at everything I say, shrinking me with a withering
look – scornful of my ideal to become a visionary
and look at dreams instead of the iron-clad reality
we live in; she offers darkness as living space

It provides a great background for lodestar dreams,
yet my desire is reconciliation, I regard her antipathy
as invitation to find the source of her discontent and
fear of life and freedom - fear to drive alone, fear of
admitting that ALL people are equal and individuals
are powerful in themselves; I interpret her symptoms
of dependence as I have problems with it also, I see
how the soldier next to me navigates life’s trenches

Hiding herself in the glory of her hero & referring to
him as the godliness determining her life’s purpose,
her illusion of his grandeur exalting her as cherished
treasure of her Prince, while I pledged my allegiance
to the Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle - who
gave me my own jalopy with which to instil fear in the
unwary slackers on the road - the soldier next to me
lives under a safe coverlet - without interfering kids

Maybe she loves her exaltation so much, she does
not care about freedom and empowerment…

Converse With Me [R]

The reason for my unhappiness is ‘Orwellian
Crimestop’ practiced by my ethical colleagues
enjoying the protective stupidity of deciding to
accept everything taught by propaganda and
brainwashing while I’m a sceptic, too curious
to believe just anything: there’s only 1 kind of
truth, intersubjective consensus & it changes
with political expediency, Belief IS the logical

Basis for the self-created reality we live in and
since the culture & religion I was born in used
religion to propagate hatred & racism, it’s clear
gods are created by humanity’s desire for any-
thing that furthers selfish interest, this train of
thought is ignored by those who blindly follow
leaders taking their power & freedom away,
brilliant minds are flat and one-dimensional

Refusing to look at alternatives to the current
paradigm, safely ensconced in this protective
stupidity - the sad thing is they are bored and
repelled by seemingly apostate thinking - they
live passionately according to the categorical
imperatives of  working hard, so wonderful to
see - the only problem is that nobody ever
wants to converse with me…

The Dunce’s Behest [R]

I.              The Dunce’s Behest [R]

A story - leading to the ultimate in humility,
because she chose to be the dunce in class
she serves under the dunces of the universe,
when she has taken 30 mile steps she must
stop and retrace every league at the dunce’s
behest, this story will not lead to glory since
she doesn’t know how to formulate a request
for improved conditions and respect, how to

Escape the smothering strangulation of those
unable to follow her logic & now she doesn’t
trust herself any more, everything she sees,
does, thinks and encounters is tarnished by
her corroding touch, her vibration slows so
only grey registers on her emotional scale as
she has to look up to pugnacious nuns trying
to tread on her fingers from time to time, and

She realises her fingers are crushed - as she
has ignored her emotional feedback system
her whole life long, her emotions solidified into
a flat plateau where nothing matters and even
less happens, another 5 years imprisonment
before she can escape purgatory under well-
meaning but presumptions nuns trying their
best to administer the lessons in humility she

Requested to purge her from desire and
refine her dreams; there’s nothing here for
her except criticism so her existence serves
as the platform from which the nuns get off
to get their daily dose of self-emulation and
glorification, she understands at  last - being                                                                      cast as the Ugly Duckling forever is not the

Fun it seemed to be in a world of fairy tales….

Threatened By Dreams

I’m listening not caring what I’m hearing, nothing
makes sense, nothing leads anywhere - we just
drift on the waters of eventuality -with no end in
sight - we have a state-capturing President and
America has a Trumpeting Trumpster heading
for the White House: I’m drifting in

The empty lanes of mediocrity, translating with
no prize to give meaning to assembly-lane work,
so I concede I’ve nothing to say, nothing to give,
nothing to contribute, the role I play – what is it?
I’m a nonentity, nothing to achieve, no ideal as
lode-star: it doesn’t matter what I feel –

Or what YOU feel, what anybody says - we have
a Zumadimi-Dudukini-Malema-dilemma and the
guru I like most declares the Donald as amazing
victor in the sweepstakes of creating through focus
and dreams: now I feel threatened by my dreams…

Life-giving Green

NO challenge, no hurdles, no accomplishment, and
now it doesn’t matter because the rain is washing
away all sorrows, the threatening drought is more
important than my ear-ache and depression facing
bleak words that carry me right back to the age of
9 when lessons on the merino sheep drove me to
despair, the same despair rears its head as this
existential phytosanitary text runs on roasting my
mind and shriveling my spirit, mute I’m laying my
head under a guillotine of grey auditors reinforcing
the work of the Dementors trying to suck all joy out
of my soul; determined to follow my via Dolorosa
to the end and continue my Pilgrim’s Progress I
feel my heart shrinking and my emotions dying,
step-by-step I descend into Hades, yet right now
it’s raining and everything else disappears in the
the joy of sheer survival and life-giving green

As You Want Me To

I hope I can stay down and resigned, that no false
joy or illusionary delight draw my focus away from
the blackness of our economy - from plummeting
markets and my own aches and pains & may I be
preserved from counting my blessings because

That is blasphemy unheard, may I stay in the dark
realm of unhappiness to save you from frustration
of a cheerful me – what a cross that must be! – to
keep following in your depressing footsteps, echo
your forebodings and soothsaying of an eternal

Drought in the heart, the shame of being unprepared
for comfortable income and easy years - yes, let me
sink my head and never lift my eyes, let me keep my
gaze firmly fixed on the anxious thoughts that inspire
our painful walk through life - may this absolute

Depression replace my hateful aggression - so I can
sigh and cry and be sad all the time - just as you
want me to….

Survive My Life

Deaf on the left - my left ear & learning state
capture isn’t clear - not clear enough to stop
capturers from continuing with illegal ousting
of honest people, and you complaining loud-
ly about losing your pension – finance being

Your sole interest in life at present; - robbed
me from the pleasure of browsing in a local
shop for suitable tops - I don’t care so much
that the country’s falling apart, your reaction
to this event causes the injury that smarts -

You rant and rave making me feel guilty for
trying to save my inflammatory left ear - for
living & breathing, then obtaining medicine,
the only short-term relief I know is watching
the most notorious killers in Britain, taking

Comfort that 1 day a mass murderer might
also help me to close my eyes for the last
time to become consciousness freed from
the isolation of being the failed bureaucrat
whose circumspect colleagues treat her as

An anomaly, imagination equating her to a
most abhorred incumbent in administrative
circles & do you know how awful it is to be
shunned by GOOD people? - - rejected for
not able to do routine assembly-line work

In a way that improves life since I’m also
plagued by existential crises and a brain
like a black hole-sieve that shunts all facts
into a pensieve before properly realising
what important terms mean, how could

My life descend into such a low sphere,
how did I estrange many GOOD people,
how selfish am I that others can never
confide their troubles to me? -- T’is the
end and I admit that I never got it right

Yet my spiritual website tells we can’t get
it wrong as we never get it done because
evolution is eternal, developing to Infinity
so there is no ending –let me continue to
thwart those who claim to know it all, not

To punish them, only to survive my life…

One Thin Shard

In quiet stupefaction I watch as my body
language as well as irrelevant or the most
unsuitable remarks destroy my life, I simper,
whimper and sigh until no positive feeling
remains in my breast, with a ballistic ear
directing my disposition & attitude through
pain, I watch horrified as even the basic
forms of interaction disintegrate, either

My body is a stranger to me or my mind
has gone haywire; sitting in 30 degree
Celsius as our old friend the ancient air-
con broke down again in the middle of an
overheated season - despondent, I can’t
visualize myself normal again & carry on
acting like a simpering simpleton saying
the most outrageously stupid things, so

Inappropriate my colleague’s endeavoring
to survive by ignoring the idiotic remarks
that keep jumping out of my mouth like the
thorns and thistles in the fairytale of the
girl who damned herself - why does my
mind keep breaking into pieces and only
one thin shard’s left for trying to do my
work and live my life?