meditationmeditationmeditation

Let us ramble in the cathedrals of Europe,
open the main doors for my strange devotion,
let us become drunk on your hard wooden benches
I will take my Indian pillows with me
and burn my incense from the backstreets of Bombay.
Let us be naked and dance
high on our holy altars,
make our dreams conscious
in the stain glassed sunlight
and let us forget ourselves in the ancient energy
that came from the Celtic woods
the veins of this planet of light and dark
before the unknown masonries build
those elevating structures,
and the masters paint
appeared in rainbow colours.
Let us make Love with Sophia, the goddess of knowledge
and smoke in peace
near the symbols that are pointing
to our sacred hearts
let us blow life in the saints of clay again.
Dear cardinals, open Gods houses for the divine tribes
to party,
let the deejay spin some Atlantic records
full of scratches
and let us marvel in our ambrosia skies,
let us enter into
the old ship of Sion,
a change is gonna come
since I fixed it up with Jesus,
mother Mary is smiling again
four blind boys from Mississippi
will sing those broken harmonies
the new moment wants to proclaim
thy untold name in a thousand different sounds
the cosmic blue air six armed prophet plays
the brass pipes of the organ
the healing has begun,
the echoes of the Tibetan chanting,
the mantras from the travellers of the enlightenment
of all corners of the world
the longsome howling the poetry of the wolf,
the muddy waters clear again,
the gypsies saw the garden in a crystal ball
the drums like cleaning rivers
with sampled voices
of Mahilia Jackson and Johnny Cash,
make us holler “what’s going on!” and drink the holy water.
The deep soul of the pow wow , the fire walks
the vision quest, we will do the secret rain dances on the ceiling
with the spirit of Sitting Bull, the wise nomads from snow mountain
and the Irish drunks with lightning in their eyes.
Open those golden gates
let us whisper the words of the great Egyptian sorcerer
and contemplate the eclectic words of Merlin, Chief Seattle, captain Beefheart, the Sufi master Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, Alexander Smit, Van the Man, Osho the great one, the madness of Tantra and Zen
feel the untouchable sentences of Shri Ramana Maharshi.
Let the Disco lights of the transsexual ecstasy of Berlin
blend with the rhythms of a New York poetry slam
let the tortured prostitutes of Amsterdam, slaves from eastern Europe,
the African desserts and the wounded jungles of South America
warm your dried up monks and nuns in their heart
and help them to be without their shameful guild
pay them back with your stolen gold
and priceless treasures of inspirational art.
Bring the little children from your dungeons of lust
and give them strawberry lemonade and delightful cherry pie
let their pure voices sing Bob Dylan classics
in their own true cartoon style
and listen to them speaking in joyful tongues .

Let us play all-night on that violin and the two guitars
and talk about Avalon and the eternal flame, let us be human and divine
with a smile on our face

rob2006


The smell of gasoline
(the First version of a paranoid cloud)

A hundred years of memories
It seems so strange
to smell the gasoline all day
where once a white lion
played with a child
the game of life
and dead

burning woods
crying in our books
this are the times
of broken water

on cheap cocaine
he drove the pure life away
too high flying
in a plastic paradise
didn’t see
this little boy
and girl
dancing ecstatic
in the middle
of the street

and on top
of our economic power
structure
behind the mirror
in a castle on the hill
lives a dead man
dealing in
a crazy masquerade

the ice cold thin white lines
behind the sunglass
gives you
cybernetic dreams
and the same old song
on an empty beat

a pornographic nightmare
twenty-four hours
all day
the wheels are turning
much too fast
on the smell of gasoline

we are on the brink of a new market
the dealer was thinking the other day
do the Chinese like cocaine?

we have to get our business straight
and handle very quick
and try to move the Vatican
to forests of the southern part of our state
without those bloody condoms
you will get an army of poor slaves
trying to survive
they harvest the demands
you can get them there for nothing
who cares about their life’s

to protect our new technology
and the investments that we made
we keep the masses stoned
and drunk
hungry for some love
let them fight among each other
about an ancient dream
the best way to hide the light
is to rule and to divide
everything in two
in every aspect of their life
there have to be much strife
give them no second to stand still
no silence only noise
fast food and much to see
keep them thinking and hoping
keep them flying around
always keep them searching
between tomorrow
and yesterday
they have to keep faith
in a thousand different philosophies
so keep your hand on education
you need a lot of talking heads
believing in themselves
to keep the wise away
and play it hard
don’t doubt
just shoot them if you can
because it’s the only danger
for the gold digging man
a divine child
is more useful
for devoted one’s
when he is silent
in the grave

the little shit said:
no man did it before me
I’m the first in history
I nearly have the whole world
dreaming my best dream.

the little Indian said:
can you own the air!

the little shit said:
yes I can!
I’m selling it as we speak.

I’m lovin’it is a brand
can you own a word today
yes you can!


be flabbergasted
it is the only natural thing
you have left

the dolphin and the meditating machine2007-01-21


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