Never Never Land


“So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned. Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever, in Never Never Land!” – James M. Barrie

Nothing had ever forbade me to dream of that home I searched for, that place in childhood where I felt safe. Still it seemed to elude me in my nightly visions, for to go there would require a balance. A threading of the needle between lack of, and want to. The summoning of the spirit of will. A belief in divination. The conquering of great adversities to find “Never Never Land” and to own within my own nature, that I was “The Pan”.

3:00 AM August 7, 2021

Left alone it would seem in ferocious weather on a roughhewn stone, in a violent sea. Dreams in phases am I young man, or am I in want, an old man deceived. What would I say has brought me this mystery, brought me this sword that cuts flesh from bone. Sold me naked in a world not my own. What would I say surrounds me in darkness, comforts me more than a warm bed at home. Standing still, I feel so disabled, lightning comes and I am alone. I am so alone.

The dragons have risen to lighten my darkness, come to demand a payment a toll. Deals made in ignorance, while I was younger, have put a strain on my inward soul. Questions unanswered, one and another, why do we search to find what stories have told. Too many thoughts lost in reflection, time owes no man what he cannot hold. Still I say it bold, a legend of fancy, a legacy behold. I am The Pan.

For what is the discomfort here? In my own thoughts, a judgment made clear. Flaws ingrained by my own instigated fear. Aged frowning daemons attack. To what I would not wish for myself to go back. To find my comfort in what I do lack. Wrapped in darkness within my soul. Not to see this storm in phantoms unfold. Not to see the rocks that I must climb, lines on my face, say I am out of my time. Tick tock, tick tock, I should have ran. Still my better ghost remind me in this late hour. I am The Pan.

So on to my hunt, with old bones creaking, tame the dragon my childhood is seeking. To find the tunnels, to enter the arch, know the secret that carries the ark. A covenant of mystery I see, an ancient rite brought to me. Count the numbers ahead, they fall from the skies and enter my head. Enter the sea the spirits forbade. The sky is spinning, my best plans unmade. Enter the doorways ahead. The seal is broken and time is unwed. For I will go on, straight to the castle, the light just ahead. To find the final truth, in G_D’s plan. An old man young in “Never Never Land”. I am The Pan. I am The Pan. – 08.12.2021- דָּנִיֵּאל‎ 

Treehouse (An Attic Adventure)


Do you ever forget your first attic adventure, do you? It’s like a treehouse in a home. It’s a world all its own. What if Deep Purple is playing in the background? Do you let your imagination run free? Do you let your clothes loosen and follow the pictures in your mind? It’s hot you know. Really hot!

Climbing on up to my treehouse, a place without rhythm and blues, its old glory road, with mystery of host, and sprites that come called when their due. Sailing the world all around me, here and beyond what is new, developing war on ancient shores, I’m asleep but in truth I am you. Climbing each step of a ladder, the bark fills like part of my shoe, am I so old, that what fog does hold, will still be a naked view. Feeling the beat of Deep Purple, a back door knocking woo hoo, a 16th in time, a Mozart of time, I’m hard, a man still stuck in G_D’s youth. Thinking a ladder is needed, to climb to the top of the roof, I want higher still to seek a strange thrill to dream and know I’m alive.

Climbing on up to my treehouse, where circles light when I smile, a deadly a dew my fortune a strew, I’m naked, in search of the ark. If I open the back door of heaven, a strange and beautiful way. Alive at last, the stars fly past, the strings of eternity, stay, and Ritchie plays in such a baroque, weird kind of way, “it’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase“.

You see up here in my treehouse, adventure comes quickly and free, for far and spread wide, horizons abide, by wishes and magic and creed. It seems I found the mystic, a pleasure not found by speed, in sinewy grace, my hair all misplaced, the world all crawls under this tree. I climb to reach now this backdoor, now older but younger in me, while deep in the gloom, the purple blooms, my imagination is wild and free.

Come scale your mind in my treehouse, bring your body for free, loosen your clothes, let yourself go, and be yourself beauty in need. Come hear the 1/16th beat beating, the hammer of music and tongue, as Deep Purple plays, let yourself stray, to the backdoor of heaven’s gate. The backdoor of heaven’s gate. The backdoor of heaven’s gate.

Climbing on up to my treehouse, a place without rhythm and blues, its old glory road with mystery of host, and sprites that come called when their due.

Do you ever forget your first attic adventure, do you? It’s like a treehouse in a home. It’s a world all its own. What if Deep Purple is playing in the background? Do you let your imagination run free? Do you let your clothes loosen and follow the pictures in your mind? It’s hot you know. Really hot! – 06.04.2015 –דָּנִיֵּאל

(It’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase) – Knocking At Your Back Door lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

Desktop (A Winter Day)

All Rights Winter by 3D

I would like to walk through that white stoned arch, dance in snow summon magic full of art, maybe just to sit on that fairy tale bench, and pretend I never have to come back.  For in this office chair, I’m caught quite unaware, but, still I think on this busy afternoon, I’d like to scale that pixie white gate, in an enchanted Arthur Pendragon swoon.  It could be I’m just a little boy.  Still needing knickers and a propeller hat.  It might of sort of happen, that I wish to be a wizard, wearing a cape and a stove top hat.  So if I look really hard into this picture, on this busy work day, that won’t give my soul unto me back.  Would you think me a foolish virgin to this life, ungrateful for all that I have?  If I were to jump into this desktop, ride the ghost line to the inner machine.  Take a ride of golden rhyme on an ice filled cathedral, fill my arms with immortality.  It could be I’d be like an angel, a daemon of the arts, a blessing you can’t see, it could be I’m in my desktop, and it could be I’m finally me.

Like Pan into the ice I’d fly deep, the snow filled green boughs spin me by, a light upon a lamp post there I see. The blizzard of all time has come in digits ones and zero sums lined, red ribbons tied by candle light, eternal sun that shines on even winter night. It could be just like this day at work, the clock stands still forever at 12:03. So much more time for play in time, to discover snow and charmed like finds, it could be I’m in my desktop, and it could be I’m finally me.

It could be in electricity you would find me, digital art, black code, and futuristic fantasy. When upon a sort of day, when the laws have all changed, and the spirits all allow us to be what we would be. For there as you felt and formed your desktop. Freed your hands from molding clay, let your virtual art be free. As you looked upon the clock, as you lit the candles true, holly holly, bush of magic, is that Daniel that I see. For there you see the stairs, sparkling, even free, summoned, by a wild eyed man, grey haired child in never land, what you see is where I’ll stand, it could be I’m in my desktop, and it could be I’m finally me. – 02.04.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל