Visions on a Mud Ball. A Map Is Not the Terrain. By Moreno Franco

This Is My Song - Ésta Es Mi Canción

It is a theme of encapsulated moments – like Chinese boxes, each inside one a little larger...

The world contains a life, which itself contains a story.
The story contains dreams, predictions that came true, as well as those that failed. Detailed accounts. Accounts of imagination. Imagined outcomes. And outcomes resolved in reality’s harsh Light of the World – which cannot its-self contain these, for they appear to be too fantastical –

But Jokesters are all thru’ when they find themselves talking about challenges so real and immediate and appalling to their listeners, that no amount of laughter can make their listeners feel safe and perfectly well again. I have found myself doing this on several occasions. Not that I had enjoyed it at all, and yet I was there doing that .
A shock of recognition. And all “In the Frame” where I was just wondering out aloud, for instance. And all I might be talking about was how you might be screwing a person in the same way that your society was screwing the planet.

But then, to cap it all I patented Circular Irony.
You - of all people will remember that young boy from your skin close youth - and thus, in this manner prompting in my audience, a Shock of Recognition, like an aesthetic purging of the emotions by some Alienated Majesty, or even some Alien Dignitary.

Someday I’ll Find My Way Home.

Shadows of The Mind

I know YOU think life’s boring and dull, then try this. My Favorite Movies. Starring You. In the lead role. A saviour. Dominant. Submissive. The Patron Saint of Concubines. A girl of a woman. A woman in girls clothing. Deceptive as a girl in woman’s clothing.

A liberator who holds the keys to the prison. So that by the end we'll have more ways for me to be My own State Of Independence as a Fallen Angel .

In my life I have learned how to Wash Elephants, lived through more February Heat than most men could, or should want to. Or even have to. I believe in having Music to Watch life go by, and every song I hear, reminds me of some moment.

I have lived with the Girl From Ipanema, for most of my life, in what ever form you took.

Brunette, Raven, Blonde, Hazel, Red, Platinum. . . you were always there, your skin of glass and a body like the streamline tireless motor of the limousine
You were on the back of my thundering Honda. You travelled in my Blue Biscayne, You slept with me on trains and travelled with me on planes. You were with me at The Tropic of Capricorn:

you, Solitary and Burning in all my life, my Dona Conchita. You.

Young girls are a great art-form, but one requiring exhausting study and application. I should know.
You were the first. I studied and painted you when I was still a young boy. And you were not wearing a brassiere yet.

You know I have almost lost my mind: because of wanting You, the Impossible. Almost lost all hope because of You, the Self-Righteous.

And once because of You, the Selfish. I should like to explain but the thought is gone again.
Impossible, you can never be to blame for circumstances in which we are bound.

Selfish, I will always cherish the memory of our love, but you know that your actions have removed you from my future, despite your almost monthly protestations over the years.

Righteous, be so for I have a preference for righteous people to be so. . . but not in my time and my life

Yes! I wish to promote a science of discontent Questions of Science. Science and progress. No one said it was easy. No one said it would be so hard, either.

Look at it this way. Look at me as a man who went out for a walk in the hills. . . and when he returned he was never the same again. And You? You know me. . . you know better. You know me like a brother, and any one who counts themselves as one who knows me, should know this:

I sit and talk to God – and he laughs at my jokes. And I too, Laugh at his.
I tell God that we have only our selves to use as a model for conscious function.
God tells me he used the same model.
??????????

“I just want to be loved as I am. I just want to feel real love in the home that I live in” . . . sings Robbie Williams in his Dec 2002 release. . .
And I think to my self that I have been fortunate - but not yet fortunate enough to have been loved by The One .