This is a cross-cultural work, sometimes using Christian imagery,
but not wishing to be locked into the things that the West sees
as the Christian aura in this part of our century.   It's using the
anti-novel literary form: "anti-novel: a literary form with none of
the characteristics of the novel."   
		
                		1

	 I  really love  the non-existent  music, 1 2 3, New York
City,  every city,  a rainbow  me;  take  me to  the gritty  metro
silver lighted river, wash me  in swirls of higher thoughts; like
balloons,  like delusions,  like men  who thought  they were  the
Christ;  telepaths  who saw life  in shades twice  as bright; this
way always crazed except in the life of  the mind of Christ.
     I'm seeking something coming closer to heaven.
     Hello wake to roll in leaves in a place that has no space to
replace me....if I am not to love  that which is life I have died
the  death of  those who  die first  without dying.  I was
never  except  in  the  thrill  of   life  and  I  see  roots  of
sickness-plants to think my life wouldn't be something I love.
     I  just couldn't  do that.   I'd rather  escape by  writing a
strange book with meaning only to myself.
	Christmas decorations crackled  like dynamite for even
kids who love something someone told me not to love
-  can we  make solo decisions?
	  



				 2
     
     Silver beauty, old syllable threads, weaving oil rectangle,
flame petals ever burning, clear balloons swimming in peak force
virgin,  gathers shining of quiet showcases telling nothing is more
beautiful.
     Life bleeds a good meaning,  a good battle against nihilism,
talk of the  way life presents itself to you,  how does life talk
of itself? I see hopefulness as an older sister, I see healing as
sobriety and developing new skills.
	I had a relaxation for all, wildfire like gold music.

			       3
  
   ....are timesing 20th billion.
    Bring me to the light as I seek to bring it to the world. Bring
them to the light, as I bring it to the world. Secret spring
sunlight inside ferment!
      ....impressions  of the  sun, one  hundred thousand million
bolts of light, impressions bright and all of this glorious globe
of light.        
       Dreams of maps, hoisted away into gaps.
       The cold  ocean, breathing again  and again, hoping  it will
wash away some sins of the  day. The resilient sand beneath hands
and feet leaves  its gravity and picks up when  my body lifts off
it. It  is the beach,  the waves are  friendship itself.
     Sweet  dance,  white  miscellaneous  wall.  Join  the  mystical hard
charity core, high siphened childcloud girl parkwalk talkthought.
	Sorrow thoughts placed from  hearts regrets, in tick-tock
tones, this music plays rainbows, rainbows intentions. Kid's life
goals come  true in strong  men's lives. To  know oneself is  not
anguish, why don't you echo God's love for you?
	Astropassion   savior's  hands,   always  knowing  always
learning of us. Showing golden gleams; earth destiny smashing 
doctrines of the faithless.

				4

     Aged Iris....
     Oh aged, old ancient iris, seer of more than two hundred
years of continual figurative breathing.  Aged iris, reflector of
deposited Heavenly Father's solar system games' light waves.
     Noble lip women sought my noble man eyetouch.
Rejective  upbringing  spells  working  off  for  nine  years the
reaction. This  makes us shiver velvet  geranium patterns against
the sky.  Ovals all  rising to  the  top.  Nothing
happened  in self-enclosing  chambers of  artificial tips  of the
brain belt -- except a million lifetimes worth. 
	Hit the limits of fundamentalism, outside the circle of  
my ability a new situation impinges.  To   re-think  my  interaction   
with  God,  to   stay constructive.
       Spiral  peach ladder,  in like  a safty  net, magnolia and
daffidil frostings.
	Do we  attribute any intense afterlife  value to the actions
we do during the day?     
      Lo, if it could it would smash the prison walls in the minds
of those in real prisons.
     It echos the power of past contortions. Do I long for God to
make my life sweeter? My pen  is emptied the heart is still full,
sometimes  I seek  to write  that book,  can't understand  it, it
might be wisdom holding me back.
	Lo, if it could it would smash the prison walls in the minds
of those in real prisons.

 
					5


	Don't see 28 as young nor 58 as old.
	It is a map of antiques,  old dreams and hopes. It is the
inner truth  to find the  ultimate truth in  high aspiration. For
envy is easy  and is always littleness of soul.  Please a
generation living on whirlwinds, licking giant rainbow lollipops,
offering you  the one  they brought  to spare.  I've seen  a
multitude  in the  world, them  with good  intention get  lost so
easily in cobwebs of poverty, some ending up blind and miserable.
	  Life,  you   have  to  pour  out   your  Holy  Spirit,  your
regenerative  washings. Won't  be able  to last  one minute. 
How about much more peace that passes all  understanding? 
To  keep my  heart and  mind in  Christ  moving in His  ways on 
earth; alas, that is  your only aim. Can't  compare yours to  a man's 
theory,  to make  you in competition withany. You'll keep alive every 
little good  thing alive  that dies  in men (kindness, equanimity,  
generosity, hope).
       Starflower, all those many miles away.
       Fat long plane like forever is in lazy lay in horizon.  We are 
closer to the place where the pilots take stock in themselves.


				6

	Dream  away  from  culture  and  those  useless things of
class.
	Let's give life a name of love.
	Let's seek for good chance, coming closer to our old days
of superpower (but which were reckless).
	 Moving  closer  to  kicking  away  hurt,  exorcising demons,
learned to pray them into the dirt. Like a bird singing out faith
around because it found many getting these rewards, planned works
of righteousness ruling over rebellious world.
     Spectral art technical mountain relics, around ponds mercurial. See
the young dedicated to spreading the outer things of present existence.
Imagine the young spreading virtue -- feelings, taste for non-violence,
giving an upward consciousness a chance to help break us of simplistic
trend-mapped ways, giving up the prison of the chase for the clothes and
its phase. 



				7

       The luckiest trails  are always by  a precipe, and
yet the fall isn't to death, when  the spirit is right, just to a
slip  into embarrassment  and some  empty pockets.
	The value  was something like this:  life has destructive
tendencies, and  art is life's  positive tendency....so work  for
art and work for the positive.
					
			         8
				
			
     The power  of being able to  write is a costly power but one 
which must be
obtained.   It can be a method for creating a vision that let's us
see  the beautiful and the  meaningful. If we cannot  see the
beautiful and the meaningful, then our  style of living is not in
keeping with the  way it must be. We must  be seers of the beauty
of heavenly  love, how this beauty is society's evolution, evolution
as the sign of the cross,  how only suffering greats greatness in seeing
all men as brothers, upholding in our
writing that which keeps the furnace burning and together. We must gain
power by it, yet balanced by the beauty real art gives.  We
can make a difference, and we can conquer the millstone of 
the bright satanic mills which life creates today. We can  add
more beauty to this world, and
that beauty can send a light deep into the soul of humanity.
   These are the  words that have been too  hard to say. Almost
like memories that  have been to faint to recall.  Yet I know the
words and memories are there if I really want them.

                                     9

     The divine  is looking for  a saintly joy  to dowse, to
twirl,  to  contemplate,  to  enlist  a  spiritual  life  in  the
spiritual fast  lane and yet  how I now  ache: proven, I'll  never
make a spiritual life without grace.
     How much to pray for a blessing to be bestowed? At least for
the sting of  movement in a frozen heart.  Miracles done to those
unable  to  move  and  then  even  doubt  --  the miracle's agent
forgotten. Flowers are gone yet some hope is clear to be found in
you, only life suffers so.
    I'll taste the mornings welfare.

			       10

     Lines of actions time and days, beautific light, ours in horizon
waves.  Pattern of water vapor in mapped vortex haze, silly joys
become us, as materialism we put away. Yet achieving what we will
so we give it away, makes that money that can play.
     Magnolia and daffodil frostings.  We had days like a million
years a piece.  Time was the only thing disposable, not souls. 
Childhood awes and hopes.  Our invicibility then is reconcilable
with the present.   I rotate the spindles of trust evolving into
prayer.  Forested polymer antiques whet the glutted cluster of
parallel woodwork.
     You might think these were expensive tennis shoes by the way
I wear them out in the star-lit but obscured by daylight streets.
     Do you want half my whammy bar, you friend of the earth
beneath, passenger to the star-lit universe friend? 
     Can do nothing but to keep alive, keeping heart alive, given
what we  need to survive, avoiding  art-man's diatribe, forced to
earn a ride, had to walk in from the outside but now see we can't
hide, if we've got a lot of poisons inside.
      I can't go down sinking, you know? I've just been thinking.
I can't just go down sinking, that sure would be stinking.
     I love you, I love you,  everything is well accounted for. I
love you, I  love you, the works of man  made life fast and warm.
The houses in my old home town built a hundred years ago, made me
love you,  made me love you.  Memories sometimes the  only fire in a
cold life. Yet you are a continual bringer of hope, I can feel at
simple, gentle and warm. I have enough resonance to
echo the  love you show  me; I  prayed, "Lord, make  us to
have constructive thoughts."

				11

     You  give us  wisdom, or  give us  space, but  won't let  us
always stay in the same place.
     Baby whale maker is beautiful. The problems of Earth are not
of God.   He does what  He can to help shield us against the
catastrophes  sin makes.  A tornado  is often  the only thing that
will remind us of the cosmic, it is an angst machine.
     Today is tomorrow. For me, my eyes
     Today is tomorrow.  Today is eternity.
      Self-reliant, the thirst for the future lettting it flow out
again and may never be married get so tired of always trying.
	And its over,  except for grace and its  been dug out but
to go beyond futuristic ecotech  dreams and millions of new ideas
and somehow reach out to the silver sun's void to and do and make
conquests and to hate those who ignored me, but not them, just in
myself, how I tolerated it.
       Love is growing up all around -- love is, love is, authored.


				12


	Anyway, that goal that pushed ahead ineffable words, that
goal that killed all hopes for  a normal career, that thirst that
made one need unique intoxications, that goal that made us cast a
spell of a golden age upon earth.

				13

	I  love the  taste of  past, the  sweetness buried  deep,
different  often  from  now,  only  its  round globe green, white
mountain  pounding sky.  Alien to  all I  aquaint myself with, is
that unloving?. Unit soley responsible  for its place, sight, and
time,  in this  life it  seems you  have to  work so  hard to  do
something good.
	If I really love the country  I could have the wind in my
hair, the  clouds in sight  on April's celestial  nights. I could
live in the country, if it was  all I wanted. But I told myself I
wanted something in the city what was it? I forgot!
      Silver rain blossum computer, silver rain, grainy night,
suburban theatre of family blisses, union with society flourishes
higher qualities of the human spirit than angry subversives.


				14

     I, the fissure in the normal;  it, the fissure in the normal,
has created, ruleless, an open boat, aboard, set the sales, blown.
     A law is set  up to destroy intention, intention  of the gilded
hearts, gilded excitment, gilded novelty.
     Seen now  results of a  dozen places of  the efforts towards
fastidious  uptopia,  shaken  the  heavens to  enlighten the
earth. Each thought had  to be worthy of  containing its blue gem,
or the day was lost. Goals so pristine society shouted "insane!" 
Changed the heart,  diet  and  scope.

					15

	I have tasted and resisted  human corruption within
my soul. But it will never overturn me. The dove upholds my soul,
the dove flys down and keeps me whole, like a childhood opera,
a dove, a dove! ....whispers blessings, always spying over
me.
       All I ever wanted was love, warm clouds relishing sweet
dreams, it can be so real, passion for all people for all good
things.
	I saw nobody was aware of even being alive, of their own
power to stamp out injustice.
	Beautific future, red sacks, sacks of red light, carried and
tossed, uncarefully to the ground.  This day, this sunshine alien 
pinwheels of technology flutter, canvas painted by computer, blend oil
paint plotter, micro strokes revealed, somewhere in space,
somewhere in a place almost like our place.  Praise the blessings
of wondrous thought feelings, the tensile strenght of post-now
science truisms.  The lord dwells in Praise, so the bible tells me
so.   Come back to Christ and sci-fi, eating all modern image
glory, respect of the Universe's love for humanity, trampling on 
Pan-religionist fearforms.  
	Wondrous bird trapped again.....butterflies snorkling
at the speed of highways, oboe strained winds behind them, all
toward positive thinking picnics days in softened sunglight joy
soaked temperatures.
     Aerobic thirst quenched by playground games, I saw four adults
play a game of tag.  My blood is binding to joy.  pastel universe
is becoming coy...forcing education on myself...sun seedline is
splitting.

					16

     Shipment of energy, personalized gold coast. Anchors,  warm
heart-colored instruments.  To a  poor man's, grapes; to others jewells,
airborne romanticism longing for stratospheric rest.   Relaxations
in a heaven of sky.
     I developed a map of the potential universe in a way that is
very uncommon.  Since I desire eagerly to encounter what the
possibilities of the universe were, and to reach some of that
knowlege, I succeeded at a great feat of imagination.  It is rare
and should be appreciated.
     Do we attribute an intense afterlife value to the actions
we do during the day?
     Heaven and the potential universe, multiple listings of
occupency, manifold viewings a day over billions of years,
aristocratic use of life as a library, and connections of friends
throughout all time.  micronosize a meaning for our life on earth.
	I had forgotten the blooming ball, radiance of love, that solves
every problem, that soothes every concern, that creates every solution,
that casts out every fear.  Love swelling in my mind into my being,
drowning me with my own tears.  That even answers a problem of
considering, wondering, criticizing.  Casts my glances more into myself to
pray out now I've not forgotten the earth ball of love, indestructable
coating of the planet, cast out torment, cast out fear, why so much fear? 
why so much torment?  Lack of trust in the universal benefit of focusing
on love, Let your creative life bring everyone and everything to your
door. 






Creative
Virtue
Robert Pearson Poetry and
Prose