I believe SuperEgo bicameral comprehension
functions, forms, and flows organic
ecotherapeutic integrity;
I believe balanced Left-Right consciousness
orbits toward ecstatic psychology.

I’ve got nothin’ to say
And I’m gonna keep it just that way
’til my mean old SuperEgo
lets me go outside to play.

Imagine with me for a moment,
if you would be so generous,
god as not only love
but also the most joyful joy we could be,
cooperatively networked together.

And why do I want to play this imagination game
with you
or even without you?
What is this joy of which you speak?
I know peace in silent music
and wind and surf,
but is therapy of sound this joy?

Perhaps not quite enough,
maybe only halfway here.
We grow toward pregnant Now becoming being joy
with you.

While I assume this will not be news
I need to remind you
that your presence does not always feel like gift,
source of joy,
not so much really,
sometimes more painful to my drift.

Yes, I know.
But, it brings me joy to recall
in our more dissonant crash
that I feel precisely the same suffering way
about your sorry ass.

Perhaps you should find a different therapist.
One who evolves less sure of god as graced-love
and much more joy,
one not so sure your God is humor,
Eco-ing DNA’s RNA CommonSense.

If I understand your cynicism
I might write your song,
“I’ve got nothin’ to say
And I’m gonna keep it just that way
’til my mean Ol’ Dad
lets me go outside to play.“

Your issues with remembering who I am
rather than who you thought I would be
seem not too distant clarity
or even acceptance,
but your troubling habit of editing my opera
into your joyful musical comedy,
this tangles our melodic frequencies
and harmonic function.

How can I reach heavenly you
when all day through
you bind me to
your flight toward unEarthy game wars,
your fear of losing rich rewards,
blockade toward joy,
your life your toy
to blindly scream away?

How could I throw away this toy
you never gave me?
My defeats,
static surrenders to right-now desire,
or lack thereof,
steer me far clear of your enchantment
with ecstatic joy.

What is your purpose
when Earth’s becoming
is your wise Being,
if your Being
is not also Earth’s meaningful becoming?
If you are not part of Earth’s mindful nature
then Humane Being cannot naturally co-arise,
develop,
regenerate.
Your becoming cannot be not Our becoming,
my Being fades when we are not We
together.

What is this to me
your wilting Earth
and flat-line monopolistic dark comedy?
My joy turns tragedy to operatic outcomes.
What you label Oppositional Disorder
I hear as contending Cognitive Dissonance,
hoping for a Draw someday,
someplace away.

What you find unnaturally cacophonous
confuses my spirited silence.
Your values are not Ours
on my side of your Oppositional Divide,
my values are my own,
and I am free of Win, Lose, or Draw cultures
and competing for scarcity gamesmanship,
Our Truth as Consequence game
contains our Tug of War.
Imagine with me
in this Eternal Moment
your Ego filled with endless joyful joy
as you pull all Earth toward finish line
and you are confidently winning
your Boddhisatva Interdependent Challenge.
Even should you not choose releasing survival’s course rope,
you have full faith that We are winning
and this joy will never end.
Your Being has become,
your response fulfills your stimulus of birth,
your effect regenerates your course’s cause,
your What Ifs? echo and mirror your What Are We?,
all Earth recreates your joy.

I’ve got nothin’ to say
And I’m gonna keep it that way
’til my mean ol’ life pilgrimage
through dissonant pathology
let’s me go outside to play.

That does indeed sound operatic.

Right, and not so much joyful joy
this side of my playground.
See ya.
Wouldn’t wanna be ya.

Oh, but you are,
except your opera damns divine divas,
weeping and shrieking in off-stage wings
of perpetually-coming purgatory,
while Earth’s musical comedy,
reenacts all that drama on your Win-Lose playground,
where Her Sun ain’t bringin’ no bad news
all eternal day.

Why do you always need to have the last word,
the last line?

We have a shared last line.

No, you just did it again,
with the We thing.

Yes We did.

I’m closing the door now.

Yes We are.

Hopeless.

Joyless.

Can I maul your head?

Our head.

My head.

Imagining with We
brings joy.

LAAAAAAAAAST WORD! HA!