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I stare at the white plasma page first thing most days

days that blur by me lightspeed timeslip next same day

alltimes and as if oracle I wait for divine word revelations

never arriving telling myself I need a typewriter

a more organic alternate magic linguis mechanico

to continue this somewhat treacherous water world words journey

since the recent end of my Letters War but for me irony

makes the need for ol typewriter clearly apparent

an irony wall with two faces built up from soft soil broken reality

one facing illusions past the other illusions future now

raveling second by second we fly on the magic carpet putter putter

powered by society’s noxious vapors we inhaling fear weariness

together we are alone evermore insulated and at purple night

the hinged mirrors we peer into are our own cracked singsong



copyright 2016






About a. edward watkins

With the exception of 2 years study of western music theory and harmony- I am a self taught percussionist, writer and abstract painter. Not your drummer boy drummer - not your writerly writer nor the painterly painter. Creativity is an integral aspect of my existence - as it is for us all - in some form or another. My experiences in life have informed and shaped my world view profoundly. I am the disrupter - the never quite satisfied - the relentless creator of word, sound and image. I question the answers and question the questions.

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