36 musical colors, p.1
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       36 Musical Colors, p.1
 

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36 Musical Colors


  36 Musical Colors

  By

  Dwight Peters

  Copyright 36 Musical Colors

  By Dwight Peters

  Copyright 2014 Dwight Peters

  Contents

  Space Of Land

  Meditation On Love And Lovelessness

  Torturing Your Dog Because You Can

  No Longer Torture Yourself

  The Price Of A Priceless Beard

  A Beginning Of Storytelling

  We Blend Into The Ancient Sea Where You Will Find Me

  Tastes Of Red And Air

  A-Merry-Cause

  …[Story]...

  Song Of A Story

  The Medicine Fields

  Exotica Mist

  Silent Beating Jasmine Drank The Flower Tea From Cup In Pearls Ribboned

  Each Part Is A Party When Giving

  Flesh Incarnate Addiction

  What The Sea Saw On The Sea-saw

  Notes of the Restless

  The Joys Of Being A Full Grown Person Once For Three Hours And The Agony Of Enduring A Lifetime

  City Of Violent Silence

  Where To Look When Looking Where

  The Most Beautiful Part Of The Rose Is Its Thorns

  Outside Of The Outsiders

  Meditation On The Freedom Of Identity

  This, The Story

  Our Songs’

  Expressions Of Illness

  The Smell Of The Human Body

  Sketches Of Nature

  Sing/Sing

  Expressions Of Joy, Painting Of A Thousand Different Moans

  Who Are We With These Eyes?

  Meditation On Uproar Through Colors Of Sex and War

  Encouragement From The Bright Straw Colored Sad Wind

  The Stomach Of What Eats You

  The Self-Deception Of An Onion While Trying To Avoid The Stew

  Don’t Ask, Just Enjoy The Music—But Also Ask

  Space Of Land

  Know the feeling of all that is everywhere around you as well as distant from you. Make sure you know how to swim in the pool from all of this once it is melting into colored wax seas.

  Enjoy the shapes in this space in new ways: new wonders, new original experiences finding the enthusiasm that creates your creativity mystery. Relate this to the sky when water fails your thirst—who is it that you are pleasing with your happy disgust? Outlast your bones by listening to what the charcoal says because you need to remember that the wall has no place for it.

  Repeat help for becoming; repeat giving to those not becoming so as to perhaps allow; help the becoming; help the unbecoming: allow yourself too. Allowing to become inspiration’s truest musical groupings. Floating stones in varying squares and rectangles with smoothed rounded corners speaking softly. Know the feeling of stone.

  Enjoy! —Creating what is around you to the size of your enjoyment.

  Let ancestral photographs blur and distort to regain your freedom in absence of history—traditionless tradition of today and tomorrow: find yourself without contempt for your contemporary now. But become all people from all times and places, feeling what it is to be far beyond yourself.

  Watch the six hundred teeth sit at the table chewing corn from the cob in dreary pleasure. Watch for your joy glistening as spread butter reflections on teeth chomping; enjoy this unique feeling for it is good.

  Walk through the canyon and ask for help. Touch, to know what giving is.

  Just a few simple colors spread into open possibility.

  Play. And include crayons.

  Flee to the desert as your life’s dessert.

  Try making a world.

  Don’t ask how to do it.

  Meditation On Love And Lovelessness

  My body had become slow and depressed, and my mind had melted into tears of sad anger. My actions, even the most basic, were self-destructive.

  But, starting to become aware of my mistakes, through the cycles of pain that had come through me and back to hurt me, I began to realize that I had not lived with love towards the one I was closest with and who was closest to me, who loved me and I loved; that I was incapable of the capacity of love and used that as an excuse for selfishness when true love is selfless even in the necessary love of self. I felt like I had deceived myself, my lover and my love, and couldn’t understand what part of me allowed this to continue.

  This was the first time I truly saw both the destruction and reconstruction of honesty in myself at the same time in relation to my life and my choices in relationships. In this new view, love became a clarity in a way of doing that is and moves through everything but cannot be seen or found, only realized or not recognized as real.

  Still, in this new reality, I blink my eyes and the world crashes upon me; and, in the confidence of seeing, sometimes see nothing.

  Torturing Your Dog Because You Can No Longer Torture Yourself

  An animal with male parts on one end and female on the other, with no distinct head in any place, had on its back a saddle made of its own flesh as if the saddle for a horse—and upon this saddle was an androgynous being in the costume of a superhero. This hero had no shoes and had feet where instead of toes there were the beaked heads of baby birds.

 

  Encourage isolation of personality to withdraw— as a method to find character; or not—because not finding anything with nowhere to return to; beneath betraying is embrace finding what? Abrasive difficulties of this course, of course here and elsewhere also, disappearance of character. Present, dependent regret. Finding a foundation of....

  Low aid many many for follows, no aid accomplish, accompaniment. With good feeling one is of changes in many ways of selfless advantage—all a major undertaking, sympathetic of relationship to other freeing generosity and direct truth consulting you yourself. Impoverishment as thunder, neutral returning. Fluctuation. Impoverishment as thinking. Impoverishment of lives lived and being lived. Lines in man keep the price of his advice, pays sick price in deeds. Lies. Lie. Success advances guilt. Truth. True. Help— pleads in the flooding of needs, which is whatever can be felt and known—no—know—now—or not. Or improvement in deep red blossom from mountain of remains.

  In pink outfits little six-legged men dance in seven second intervals of hallucinogenic movement at a tremendous speed. Laced in the skin of their faces are strings that play sounds in the flowing air. Under each arm there is a nose. In the piercings of nipples are inserted party-favor noisemakers extending and receding and repeating again—and more and more over and after. The men turn into the letters of a well known story and tell it to each other as if none of them know it. And finally when it is over, they are set free as one in spirit as the vapor of spoken language.

  Transmutations hydrate in ancient migration; guidance is the oldest interpretation: sign of ear for us; she forks he as veritable set. Look at the river’s flowing breasts, divided conveniently into four: inundation— undulate—stroke my strong limbs. Come into being as abomination in the house of destruction—leave triumphant. The comic is trapped in a bowl. Everyone laughs at horrors. Breakfast is a party for the well disciplined. Polyphonic realignment from displacement. We construct a secret narrative, an enormous joke. Consider the laughter of the living: beyond misunderstanding. Dizzying intensity of voice—precision

  in losing certainty.

  The imagination is the island of children....

  Enchant history only after death. The raving woman in the street says: “the future of infants depends entirely on their ability to tell tales before they can speak.” The philosophers in their office say nothing. The poets in theirs nothing also. Lyricism is a meditation of laughter. Friends deal between the bought and the buying. Maybe it was—but we decided to t
ry anyway—we represent amiable wandering—we find as a matter of fact the advertisement of continuance and are incontinent because of it.

  Bang! Our superhero is shot! What shall we do?! Still somewhat suspicious we gather the eggs with excellent results.

  “Having a good time?” the superhero says. The superhero flawlessly intact—fine and healthy—truly super—as we cook supper. “Tomorrow, anyone who wants to help me put out fires...”—the superhero says to us,“...meet me in the morning.” We eat our eggs and then make a magic formula, and the next morning send our creation out to put out fires with the superhero while we watch cartoons. Human relations are a blazing fire.

  “What a reputation to live up to!” the superhero says as the superhero prepares to get married. “Don’t take it for granted—you have a fine reputation” we say because we read somewhere that extravagant praise is helpful to people—so maybe to superheroes too.

  Criticism is an act of violence. The echoing reprint is a favorite appearance tempted by children in moments of failure with brutal tyrant firing squads of ten-year sentences to nursery when rhymes are remembered without error—no perennially useless voices. Let’s make everyone happy!

 

  We all got really dressed up and went to the funeral of a make believe character that we all dearly loved. The character died smiling, so this pleased us. We can’t comprehend brutality. The repetition of the statement of mourning made us giggly. One of us blundered and we were reprimanded by creatures that didn’t exist.

  “How do you make people like you?” I asked the character in its coffin when it was all over—“So many people like you so so much!” The character told me that “You just have to be yourself and be
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