If you knew what a joy it is to see ya’,
you would limit your exposure to the world.

If you knew how many wanna be ya’,
you’d say: the aperture’s too high as I excel.

When you smile, everyone is happy
to be shone, alit, awhile by your pearly whites.

Eight miles high – you and sister Kappy,
re-defining multitude as a human rite.


What the fuck is prayer?

Doing. Saying. Wishing. Hoping. Praying.
What is a prayer? What is an action?

What is hope?

You can only hope for things that is already at place in the reality you find yourself.
Other things you would not know.
That makes a prayer rather silly.

Listen! You are in a can with a square and a circle. How could you know the triangle? How could you understand the ellipse? Or the rectangle?

You have the floor; the roof and the sides. You have the things inside as you understand them. You have yourself and your limitations.

So what do you wish for?

There is a story about a swede; a dane and a norse stuck on a remote island. They find a lamp with a genie. They are granted one wish each.
The dane wishes himself home again. The swede wishes the same.
The norse guy looks around.. sighs and says: “It’s so lonely here. I wish the others where back.”

Another tale is about the fisherman and his wife. You’ve all heard it. It ends with the fisherman (or was it the wife) having a sausage for nose.

How could you wish (or pray) for more than you understand is possible?

The answer is: within yourself.

You could be called Al, Bobby, Zimmie or Adolf “Fuckin’” Hitler. Wrapped inside this story-book of only good and bad, you lack normality. You lack yourself. Because you are not Mahamtma Ghandi or Mother Theresa. You are not Jesus or some Nepalese munk.
You are not the Zodiak killer. You are not the moth-man; the serpent; the slender man or the task-force.

You are you. And you contain multitudes.

I would like to get into actions, but it would take text-space.. as actions cut through everything.

The worlds most unwilling guitar solo.