Friday, June 20, 2014

Cherish the Day and Believe -- This is Not A Dream.

(yes, I'm in one of my weird crazy mood. This one is for the believers, not the dreamers. This one is for my wife, my best friend, and my constant companion on this quest to change the world--Lauren Campbell Kong. The believers steps over the dreamers and actually DO!  - jin)

To all you sleepers,
Coming from the speaker.
Be prepared to liftoff,

To know fear and
To love experimentation.
To all you sleepers then.

This is the century,
This is the day,
This is the imaginary time that we know to be real,
Surreal,
Probabilistically not sealed.

Travel then,
Friends, to be asleep but know that you control a dream,
Have faith in waking to find your soul.

Hear yourself sing,
Taste the delight and the bitter rain drops of yesterday’s tomorrow.

To all you sleepers,
Coming from the master of disaster, the Maharishi mediator, the salted chew free from concerns,
Be prepared to be lifted,
To abandon fear,
To love LOVE.

This is the color of your faith.
Be kind to paint it as tall and deep as you dare.

Because this is YOUR FAITH. It is not a hope.



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(I wrote this one a long time ago. . . funny how things have a way of singing back to me in time)


No matter how long, how high, how grim,
If I can sweep, nearly free, let my mind be tricked and story be told.
My life too precious, but it never leaves;
On solid ground, I let my words flow.

I am here, I am rotting, I am illness-stained;
I listen without pity, hear me not;
I bury without a shovel, smell of garbage, but it really don’t matter no more.

A different sound I hear, like milk and honey;
I asked myself if I am made for this world.

Golden roads, fixed, crumbled, fixed again,
A different taste, like spring freshness at the end of autumn;
Winter is here again, smelling and tasting cost the grown man his patience.

Play that song again, lock up them folks in the cells again;
But it really don’t matter no more.

All my life, cycles cooked onions in dreadful tears,
Cutting with a smile, square fits a few short years.

No matter how long, how high, how grim,
Let me sleep, nearly free, let my mind drift into the thicket plot untold.

Any day now, late night shadow remembers where the path leads.

Convince me to walk into the sun again,
The future is just that part of history.
Think sharp and preach slow,
Remembering but it don’t really matter no more.

Because this is the dreamer's dream and I'm a believer and I BELIEVE.

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