\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ THE DONKEYODEON one solution is to beam on the higher frequencies . another secret is love . in the world and in our hearts . such truth lies in the formations of sanity which is unrelenting ability to love each other . we as men and women feel no shame in expressing such love , in upholding both men and women as equals within our love it is beautiful . it is beautiful . only the love itself matters . the love strapping is a very friendly shmoo . devoid of sex pure love is utterly universal . a child of five or a puppydog can be your close friends the love strapping is a very friendly shmoo . our horizon I mean our human horizon is no longer diminishing . doors to perception seem to be opening with snaps . with it grows a lifetime revelation - to find love universally . it seems our potential increases with each long flash and smile . how can we be fools any longer since we are honest and no fool is honest . thats what particularly hurts because today the world has visibly darkened with a blast . the world's schizophrenia is alive again . today I am thinking of the Donkeyodeon . civilization rolls on a vast and mindless amoeba with some parts dropping off and other parts being added on how about a can of worms to start the motor cycle ? the message is predictable concepts lurching with loud noises in the brain arteries carrying city energy to the fantastic Donkeyodeon brain . the heart is the motor whose lines of force can reach out from the machine to arrange us . our lives change no more questioners the questions defeated by the brain . in the process is change a strange agony the pictures shift harmless behavior becomes no longer disorganized something seems to grip the trusting mind and twist it sideways altering Reality with a jolt only it sticks there for we don't have the will to change the Donkeyodeon has touched our minds with a black blast of iron . but now ladies and gentlemen my projector is ready : for your own reviewing pleasure let me present to you the poems of the Donkeyodeon - roark roark roark kloon : (in some other language) whats real in the world - ah master so easy it is whatever you want to make it roark bidgit bidgit ! oh oh games ego making funny noises again this time a little too loudly - if I want to look at something above me I float up to it then glance down if I momentarily loose control of my environment I shoot backwards down the corridor into the dungeon . the pin is my one contact with Reality . the sea is choppy with a deep sea freighter just pulling into dock the freighter being attacked by the city whip a whole slew of cops rush in . I run headlong from cop to cop confronted suddenly by a blinding flash of pain in the face it is the whipper running gleefully backwards out of sight laughing having just punched the cop straight in the face . but the cop has caught ME - still strange looking with the implant of a fist imbedded in his face - and whispers verrry good ! ' what kind of a guy are you .' the brain asks ' how can I tell the state of your kind ' ' the one contact I have with you is through your can of shoe polish ' wrong wrong I have given up polishing my shoes for greater things now Im floating up from the sidewalk past walls and buildings past incredibly evil suggestions on the top floors of buildings I frantically twist and turn to avoid these evil suggestions the long bumming corridor in to which I am stabbing the pin at the floor walls ceiling is meaningless . I am hurtling backwards at terrific speed into the dungeon . here it ends with a clang of closing doors for the pin is my one contact with Reality . in the dungeon I am sage as long as I keep touching the pin to the floor I remain safe . the instant I break contact I find myself back out on deck with the freighter just pulling into harbor , about to be attacked by the city whip while coppers rally in the background and evil suggestions rattle their presences at me from the lower story windows . the pin is my one contact with reality . motors for sale : Fog Motors Grand Stay in Business Ends This Friday but Trapp Motors 3-Ring Circus of Big Buys Still Goes On ' - yes yes life goes on endlessly give me another cigarette ouch - little motor pinched itself hardly noticed it was only a machine the shorter end of human circuitry I know that kind of man no turn-on to speak of he is blind in a special way but this is fantastic ! the typewriter isnt even human ! I am working on this manuscript . the typewriter comes towards me . there is nothing I can do . go away , I try . but it ignores me . help I cry . the typewriter comes towards me . the doors vanish the windows are asleep . leave me alone I tell the typewriter . but it ignores me . the manuscript falls to the floor . the typewriter comes towards me . I pick up the chair and beat the typewriter . but it ignores me . where can I run to . the typewriter comes towards me . you insane thing I yell to it . but it ignores me . what else can I do when the chair lies broken and the typewriter comes towards me . outside , on the eerily deserted thoroughfare only one main vehicle a streetsweeper comes towards us on the same side of the street : big mechanical , and subliminally howling - the hermit in us shivers . while my own voice is saying as we move ahead into history we still tend to peer rigidly backwards into history to the traditional whip which follows right along behind our rapid accelaration into the electronnic motor of the 21th century future . because we are still plugged into the past by our umbilical cords of uncertainty we loose the ability to grasp the meaning of truth which is suddenly all around us as we arrive innocent in the future . the result is abnormality and distortion ending metaphorically in a crippling process which leaves many of us as ontological spastics and the rest of us as consciousless disasters . the trick is to free our minds from the false psycho-delicious trip of making history perform before our eyes in a rear view mirror . otherwise lsd - horseless carriage of the twentieth century ' women might lapse into sexual orgies the speed of the machine might drive men to suicide ' ' the trip might encourage the lower classes to move around restlessly ' ' in time it will seem like a 12 hour tunnel suffocating riders in every carriage of the train and reality will rush out the other end a driverless beserk hearse ' ' innocent passers by will be driven jabberingly insane by the mere connection with one of these roaming smoking serpants ' everybody unhappy about their ontology move our tongues to set the mood in motion machines set our tongues to the off position a moan now glimmers over the treetops across the gorge a ninty foot hard rock apartment juts out of a ravine in which our homes once used to repose overlooking the spaced downhill trees lovingly ouch ! little worm notched itself she has fouled her self rubbed her body the wrong way slipping in to core eating apple outward to meet day delicious forest of fingers in her eyes she curls through out side in roots of the apple tree . donut fashion . she does not have the warm clear windows of the truth meter thats right . the sky is big breath over blue canopy . that big blue mushroom tolls spring images like dayglo . robins laugh merrily from tree to tree . yet clouds are still roiling in the sky in pictures . one blue and flowered day vest has a pout of sadness to it . the whole blizzard of our consciousness might be slipping into another gear but neither is it moving upwards at this moment nor downwards but only sideways . in inlet harbor at the foot of Burrard Street a deep sea freighter signals its coming departure with a profound kloon . otherwise mind remains much the same agonizing . I remember the question of love and after that the politics and the brain and the forceless carriage . running through it all is the Donkeyodeon which still continues to touch our minds with a black blast of iron . this story began with love ironically its ending seems to be heading again towards love . but something has taken me a lot further than just to this pause for in the space of just one year I have changed . we have changed . just as the world has changed . or is changing . or will be changed . to end the Donkeyodeon . /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ - Finis - Vancouver Summer 1968 Revised Ottawa Spring 1995 Revised Ottawa Fall 1995 Revised Ottawa Winter 1996 Revised Ottawa Fall 1996 Revised Ottawa Spring 1998 Greydon Moore