Close My Eyes


Close my eyes…so as not to be distracted by the last word that I wrote…whether or not I mis-wrote or not, the point is that I’m doing my best to invoke the true expression of the moment, the true manifestation of the now. I feel a burden to carry, being this task of expressing the current moment in truth. With the youth being so boldly mind controlled, they haven’t got much hope of ever seeing the truth in type and font for much longer. The Most High has blessed me with ten working fingers and a mind for linguistics. Statistics confound me and but the broad picture is where my mind eclipses mainstream propaganda and mystification. My soul’s elation is in the Most High. Open my eyes.

Close my eyes. Symphonies are people, music is the language and the topic is whatever it is. This moment sits here with me until the next one moves in and takes it’s place. Hello, new friend, how do you do today? A breath. A sigh. Let it go man, it’s not even worth holding on any more, you haven’t been holding it anyways. Realizations, salutations, masturbation ..all the same. Lift it up or bury it, it will resurrect with tomorrow’s sun. It will pour down with the following day’s mid afternoon rain. It will grow wings and fly away, and a feather will be shed mid take-off and float gently down and rest in a puddle and an old woman will smile, creases in the corners of her mouth that speak of miles of trials. Is it worthwhile? Is it not? Is the distance a bullet travels worth the time it takes to hear a gunshot? Did you really ever hear it? Depending on whatever, whether clever severs tethers from their fetters or whether nonsense is worth reciting, now you’re finding out that which is all those things you feel…just be glad to be here…mind and soul and fingers tapping plastic keys. Far from there, far from fear. Shake your spear and raise your voice if you must. Targets like things are vague and unnamed whereas I am nothing but the breeze moving through all of these things that be what they are here and now. What does that make “me?” What does that make “me” think of “you?” I don’t really think much of anything if I must tell the truth. Open my eyes.

Close my eyes. The grace of the Source has enamored me in it’s tranquil, shimmering “is-ness”. A knight, none too subtly so, shouldering a load mere mortals will never truly comprehend. The howl of the dog next door carries on the hemorrhaging newness of the autumn wind and shakes me from my infantile state of sublime cosmic consciousness and rattles me back down to third dimensional reality. Words like revolutions demand a reaction, but over-tapping that demand brings weakening reactions to the satisfactions of the Man, whoever he and all of his kind may be. Bring the self-realized inner revolution and think not of the fact that it is the only revolution that means anything. Open my eyes.

Close my eyes. Love always remains…whether that be in this form or that, whether this reality knows or sees it or whether it transmutes these current laws of physics and travels to regions of the multiverse that none will experience, nothing is going to change. Love always remains. Light always reflects the love that is always there. Darkness is an illusion of the third dimension. Open my eyes.


This is a writing exercise that I do. It helps me to turn off self-censoring and blocks out visual distractions. As I start writing, I close my eyes. I type this and continue to freewrite until I can’t bear it anymore, then I type “open my eyes” and stop. I’ve gone back and corrected the typos just to make it more reader friendly. Try it for yourself! -Josephus


Through Empty, Whole


I’m losing everything that I’d gained before
And loss is only walking through an opened door
Closure brings a newness seldom few endure

See, I’ve been born before
Incarnate, so I am a wave upon a shore
Breaking, forming pure.

I’m taking nothing new yet I’m losing more
And emptiness is wealth, an alias of “poor”
Hold and then release and know that nothing’s sure



An open mind finds what a closed mind denies.
Time appears to fly to he who perceives life through a linear perception of time.
A part will never see the whole as it stands as one, complete,
It can only observe the differences apparent from that particular part’s individual seat.

An accepting spirit welcomes what a rejecting spirit lacks.
Lessons made of flesh and bone like monuments, teachings of the past.
As carbon, oxygen, nitrogen and hydrogen unite to form this universal whole,
So do you and I and sun and moon and star and earth unite to form the movements, come and go.

An orbiting reality prospers where stagnation does collapse.
Relative to my environment are the compositions of my task.
Just as any two autumn leaves will fall with uniquely different and eloquent dances,
So too, children jumping in leafy piles will share uniquely similar and joyous experiences.

An ever-expanding perspective relates to that which a limited perspective cannot fathom.
You think you feel small and insignificant, try and see the universe through the eyes of an atom.
A copper penny would be the solar system, a silver dollar, the milky way.
Accept an open perspective of reality is all this writer is trying to say.


STERiEAUX Undead Ch. 6

Chapter 5



The bass rattled everything.

Stars pulsated more intensely, meteor fields shook with every 808. Somebody had patched an old NASA satellite through to the soundboard. The party could be heard anywhere within a lightyear of Pligar Six. Stereophonic scenescapes sprawled out in every direction from the center of the nebula. Hoards of fluorescent ravers swayed rhythmically with the most current in astro-hop.

Sylver Sterieaux made his was through the crowd of ragers and ravers, looking for something.

His was a household names around Pligar Six, notorious. Sylver, along with a few other riotous partiers had caused the “dormant” volcano on Pligar Three to erupt incandescent lava at the peak of one particularly extravagant bender. Sylver had been close party buddies with all 27 sets of Rok and Ravebotts back before Bottuia imploded. That had come as a shock to everybody.

Bottuia was said to have been indestructible.


RAGE! RAWR! GROWL! Barbaric gurgle…zombie spit. None of my existential pontifications could restrain the blood rage. None of my soul searching insights could keep me from lashing out at whatever hunk of metal it was that had resuscitated my undead body back to un-life…


“Don’t…you…be lookin’ at me crazy…” – Outkast

RokBott 10o had never personally encountered a zombie before.

RokBott10o’s internal programming had alerted him of a zombie infection present as soon as the saliva projected from the zombie’s mouth landed on the bott’s shiny exterior…however, a rare lag in processing caused the information to go unnoticed by Rok until the heat of the moment cooled. His self-defense software did recognize the all-too-obvious “zombie lunge maneuver” though, and swiftly switched on a series of precise counter blocks and blows that rendered Zombeatnik useless for the foreseeable future. At least the humanoid was in one piece and breathing now.

Progress was being made.


Grok had seen enough.

Somehow, one last, primal, intrinsic, survival instinct had white-knuckled it’s way through the cosmic trip and was now demanding it’s refund.

The ancient man gathered up his energy and with all his might roared…


Neither the strange metal, fire-breathing warrior nor the blood-crazed man seemed to pay him any mind.


Urogk jumped awake. Some far off, barbaric belch had snapped her out of post-coitus comatosis.

She had slept in past the rising of that holy golden orb that brought life to her existence…past the chirping of the birds, chattering of the animals, blossoming of the flowers, symphonic movements of the wind…she had slept in through all of heaven on earth as it unfolded without her for the first time during her short, profoundly wonderful tenure on this wonderful planet.

She had been missed…

….by whom, you may be asking…



“Dr. Sterieaux, genius mastermind behind BottCo’s founding invention, the Dimensional Wave Projectile Cannon has publicly apologized for inventing ‘Pandora’s Cannon,’ as it’s now commonly called.” Headlines all over the intergalactic news reels circulating throughout the many realms of this known universe read similar stories.

You see, the BottCo. (Inter)Dimensional Wave Projectile Cannon became the bane of Dr. Sterieaux’s existence the very moment he invented it. Albert Einstein would probably say he could relate…relatively. The cannon emitted a frequency that rippled out and created static between dimensions, tearing the time/space continuum and, in theory, dissolving whatever it was aimed at into another realm of existence entirely.

The UN had commissioned the invention and then aimed the cannon (albeit the prototype) up into the black underbelly of the cosmos and fired it at a chunk of space rock the size of Brazil that was on a collision course with earth.

The blowback caused the hairs on the back’s of every neck in the world to stand on end.

“The earth will completely pass over the meteor in the safety of our own dimension, our own reality undisturbed…”

Dr. Sterieaux hoped this would be the outcome of his cannon’s use.

Buuut…it wasn’t the outcome…not by a long shot.



Grok and Urogk lived back in the time of the last Golden Era…the age of the gods.

Powerful sentient beings walked the earth freely with their creation.

Urogk had been loved by the likes of Apollo, had been the sparkling twinkle in the eye of Dionysus, and, probably most notably, was the favorite baby mama of Thor. That’s right, lassies and lads, Urogk had birthed a child by the god of thunder.

Had Grok known about this?

Nope…he just liked to watch her bathe in the nude under her waterfall.


I woke up in RokBott’s spaceship.

RaveBott1Xx lay beside me, unconscious. This was now an ambulance spaceship.

Rok was smoking a joint when I came to, his feet kicked up on the dash of the intergalactic cruiser.

He was playing “The Horizon Has Been Defeated” by Jack Johnson.

“…and people are just animals with too many tools to build all the junk that they sell…”


Grok, still in fourth (or higher) dimensional frequencies, was really losing his shit now.

He ran straight through RokBott10o and Zombeatnik, and although RokBott’s extra-dimensional frequency detection softwares registered activity and “bleeped” and “blooped” a few warning signals, neither the bott nor the zombie were phased in the slightest.

This is finally when Grok remembered the large, god-awful tasting mushroom cap that had been stuffed down his throat. He knew that certain varieties of fungi were lethal. He had watched his uncle Griylch keel over and die after swallowing a mouthful of bright green mushroom caps.

Grok assumed now that he was, in fact, dead.


“I wouldn’t wish scientific prowess on anyone…we should’ve all just kept climbing trees.”

-Dr. Quincey Sterieaux to his kitty on a particularly bleak night.

Soon after the DWPC was fired at “Brazil Nut”, the nickname given to the now quantum phantom meteor, strange things began happening to life on planets elsewhere in the galaxy. This newest tear in time and space had shifted, moving moisture into dehydrated galaxies in remote corners of the cosmos. Planets began the slow germination process that would lead to sprouting alien nature, alien life…aliens…


Grok hovered silently beside RokBott10o and Zombeatnik, now barely paying them any mind. His own mortality had seized his mental processes.


Grok most definitely believed in the existence of ghosts and the spirit realm. In the Golden age, this information was widely known, accepted and assimilated into daily life as common knowledge, as say, sidewalks are commonly accepted as good pathways to walk on. Grok had witnessed several hauntings by his dead uncle, like the time when his good ol’ uncle Griylch made all the bats in Grok’s cave fly out in a fit of rage mid-day while Grok was doing some cave cleaning. Ol’ uncle Griylch had been quite the prankster in life, and, as it seemed, in the afterlife as well.

So now it was his turn to do some haunting of his own. He snuck into RokBott’s spaceship just as the cargo doors were shutting. He could have simply passed through the doors, but Grok was still getting used to this whole ghost business…he’ll get better at it eventually.

Grok heard the smooth tones of Jack Johnson wafting through the corridors of the spaceship’s cargo hold…

“…and there were so many fewer questions when stars were still just the holes to heaven…”


Earth also was affected by this audacious display of mankind’s (or at least the very rich, the UN and BottCo.’s) will to live on….affected by strong, sudden shifts in gravitational pulls, in tectonic plates rubbing together too roughly, the planet having been drained of all it’s oil…oil burned and spilled, polluting the water, oil manipulated into substances more foreign to life than the new moss growing now on Pligar Six…affected by the intensity of the sun’s rays, after burning off what was rest of the atmosphere with nuclear war…yes, nuclear war took place after Dr. Sterieaux swore to dismantle the DWPC, incinerate all parts, plans, drafts and sketches of the project and to devote his life to restoring a balance in life.

Nations sought the power attached with possessing the dimension bending cannon, as did mafias, cartels, radical religious sects and renegade mercenaries of all kinds. They killed each other in the process of getting it.


By the time, “Symbol In My Driveway” began, RokBott realized that I was sitting upright, staring blankly at the strange scene before me.

I spoke.
“What the f@#k are you?”

Instead of answering, RokBott10o simply extinguished the roach in his hand, pointed at the small inscription on the bottom right corner of his torso which said in etched lettering, “RokBott10o.” Then he flicked the roach at me, turned towards the navigational panel of his starship and hit the big red button that said simply “GO!” and we were off…blasting through the atmosphere of this once beautiful planet.

“…got a phosphorescent secret…don’t you tell nobody else…”


Sylver Sterieaux finally found what he was looking for…the keys to his all-platinum-everything BottCo. PanGalactro2000 space cruiser.

He had to get to earth…fast.

Che! Man! Kane!

Che! Man! Kane!
Life is sacred!
With every breath, remember this.

Remember  la tierra, the land, ka ‘aina.
Remember el mar, the ocean, ka moana
Remember el cielo, the heavens, ka lani
Remember la vida, the life, ke ola.
Remember that they are sagrado, sacred, ‘ihi.

Remember that love is the breath of life.
Remember that peace is the breath of innocence.

Remember that this life is not your own, not fully.
Remember that you are one vital,  yet temporary manifestation of this life.
Remember that you possessed by the force of life for a short while.
Remember that before anything alive is able to be categorized as anything else,
It is FIRST a living being.

Be aware of yourself in this moment.
Remember that you are only given the moment which you are presently in.
Remember to be consciously aware of your self.
Stay spontaneously awake.
Do this now.

Remember life before thought.
Remember thought before speech.
Remember speech before action.
Remember action before reaction.
If you must act, do so in love.
If you must react, do so in innocence.

Remember that any action made does leave a mark on the universe.
Remember to be careful of the marks that you make.
Remember that there are marks that cannot be erased, not by man.
Remember that innocence is unmarked, sacred and clean.

Remember that thought is only a tool meant to assist in the LIVING of life.
Discipline your own thoughts so as that they do not hinder your growth.
Become aware of the energy that you invest into each developing thought.
Do this now.

What is invested into life becomes it.
Invest love into life.
Remember truth.
Invest truth into life.
Truth is the foundation of innocence.
Innocence is a ceaseless trust in the provision of love.
Innocence is the delicate muse of love.
Channel love.
Protect innocence.

If innocence is lost, love has nothing beautiful to reflect into life.
Remember that fear is only an emotion felt.
Remember that fear without love breeds hatred.

Practice peace.
It will show you new innocence.
Practice patience.
It will steer you safely through fear.
Practice love.
It will dissolve any lingering hatred.

Let there be laughter expressed before tears.
Remember to laugh often and in good spirits.
Let there be joy felt before sorrow.
Remember the good before the bad.

Pursue a broadening perspective in every aspect of life.
Perspective is the tool used for gaining humility in this life.
Humility is living in the state of innocence.
Discipline is the tool used for living in humility.
Meditation is the tool used for gaining discipline.
Practice meditation in life.
It will lead you onward.

Resentment is the hatred of humility.
Remember that where there is hate, there are enemies.
Remember that wherever a group is formed, division occurs also.
Remember that division without love is prejudice.

Remembrance is the re-membering of what was once one.
All was one, all is one part of one now, and all will be re-membered as one once again.