Origins of Transcendency




Title art by Rimel Neffati. Click images to visit her studio. Closing art by Michael Protzik.



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Listen to Suggested Audio


Portishead “Strangers”





Leave it to subconscious
To act on your behalf
Address all correspondence
To conscientious back room staff
As honest as the day is long
They will not do you wrong
For all ideas are stationed in the one place they belong


Call yourself deep thinker?
Well then you should be familiar with the whispers that are screaming from beneath the screening blinkers
Streaming data to gray matter more to flatter than deceive
Shifting like the clappers as they gather all that we perceive
Doesn’t really matter if they shatter false illusion
For manners do not factor once we’re backed against a wall and all at sea


Tough to forward lean when positioned awkwardly between straightforward murder scene and all things unforeseen
Not every hit is clean, not every wit held in esteem
Not all thoughts are agreeable, endorphins have been known to disagree on rare occasion
Persuasion analgesic can leave one deeply seasick
Though formation is strategic, this often leads directly to negation of a mind state more cohesive
Cognition is a thesis that teeters on anemic when seen as detrimental to prevention of the incremental trembles of a mental paraplegic


Suddenly the outlook’s not so scenic anymore
Restitution no solution when unproven substitution then concludes in fools delusions of grandeur
Should you be a raconteur, then repertoire will most likely proceed you
But that does not exclude you from bleeding through the trap door in the floor
The conscious mind may prime itself to offer well-timed preview
Of that designed to blind you and mislead you


Consigned then to the slag heap, we black sheep tend to sleep with one eye open in the hope that we were dreaming when we sank deep
Banking on a flag-ship to sail these choppy waters
While mighty fleet are flanking port and starboard
Chartered towards harbored thoughts that alter course to waterboard us into wrought disorder
Nautically speaking, we are drowning without wings
And every time we walk the plank, the flabby siren sings


However, once we weather storms
Subconscious tends to lend extended metaphor to precious things
No need for an appendix, this vessel runs unleaded
Nestles in the head space, remaining undetected
Would do well to respect it, or better yet, reflect this in every introspection then augmented
No point in navel-gazing or other forms of simulation gaming
Need not approval ratings gyrating in the wings
The situation facing us may not be quite the bullfight that we think


Fickle minds decline the mindful tickling of pink
Sticklers for little more than reasons left to sink
Leave it to subconscious
To deliver us from bitter brink
Introduce us to the missing link


Vast imagination surpasses expectation but cannot make a statement when stationed for too long a time in snowblind hibernation
Get behind the bacon rind
Elevate subconscious mind
Mastermind your own design
Go realign your psyche


Find your inner Aphrodite
Your Hades
Your Persephone
Always were within you see
And need not lift a finger
Just be prepared to let it linger
Cling on to all the precious things
Leave it to subconscious
To act as your dead ringer
Make your mind a little trimmer
Go make that date with destiny
The treasury is yours to keep
And therein lies…







© Copyright: greykeeper ™ Chapel Black ™





1 Comment

  1. “positioned awkwardly between straightforward murder scene and all things unforeseen”

    Love that!

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