Mindblown: a blog about philosophy.

I’s in an elevator going up, and tho woman called me supergirl, I had to go back down Angel has to cop my sarcastic jokes ’cause mums in hospital, I said, I’m sure James Joyce didn’t have a wannabe writer cat who kept attacking his books, pens, and phone I love making freaks look stupid,…

If you want to hear the word lesbian, hear my lovers’ unfulfilled sobs Pierce the devils hoodoo in the night, in love-filled old sapphic moonlight Hear her honey voice in my poem, say love, together, we’ve grown old We’ll live forever, in love never severed, and die together, too soon, my lover

Without you – the atom of each elemental season In astrological procession which cannot give up Is there even one unchanging atom, that became Of that flower, us? And can never separate, even you, Two lesbians in love? Petals falling, forever Unchanging, is that what become of us, a contradiction Glancing obviously back at us,…

Comparing Artisson’s An Carow Gwyn, to Plato, at Christmas, thinking on g I’d considered in such abstraction the manner in which spirit took Form Christmas season, carried in spiritual form, the seasons’ procession Of spirits, where, out of season, mum leaves home, an illness brought on What I called abstract Form, draws closer to your…

The universe of idle thought to fathom, I Want to explore my body before I became me But only you can become my body Are we becoming this or that, what Am I becoming submissive if plato Contends, Being she got big Ideas? But I can’t know until I know you, won’t Hold back that…

To the woman I love I wrote I found this really funny So I put it on facebook It’s probably going to be a national controversy now, and I’ll be tried and put to death for saying I don’t find raw salmon steaks that tasty THE CUCKOO CLOCK CHIMES V So, I’m telling mum I…

So you got stuck in this dystopia, at first I thought It was my mind, but it’s coming true, no fault of your own Someone else drew up George Jettson and his psychopathic Wife Jane, them at Sunday mass, stars in the same weird Fandom-cult, a witch trial grew on the myth there’s never been…

The song of magpies Open the gate to Heaven Light floods the morning skies While I look around Heaven For your eyes A slight obsession But you’re not one to point the finger, g Pray goddess let me see you Appear again Two minutes later, you arrive And I know I’m forgiven in your eyes…

“Far hence,” said he, “in wasted wilderness His dwelling is, by which no living man May ever pass, but through great distress.” Spencer Love’s Long Road was ripped during war time The odd divine, like a ghost, forever passing thru A new history of love’s long road Began, when on this road, I met you…

All books, nature opened up herself, on a Branch hanging upon her words, she led me out From the philosophy of patriarchs I gave up guilt, I said I’m innocent And life‘s story wrote, a car pulled up beside The nature strip and her face said, I’ll give you The discipline you seek, I know…