Mighty Joe Young sends blessings from the All-Father Odin. Im bound to seeing sounds.

all I hear is an array of colors. synaesthesia

It begins when information starts gathering,

starts to form a pattern, Fibonacci,

a sequence of chevron's upload as heavy

Smoke flows out my ear holes. as I think? toward the Egyptian rings, Stargates,and links

to a distant moon orbiting around Saturn

with a gorgeous beach.

All I need is a peach, a Corona, and a comfortable seat,

a few peeps to listen as I teach.

Behind my eye sockets is where I design.

Cogs and sprockets intertwine.

I will build my intergalactic sky rocket in my mind.

There's no permission for this vital mission.

All you need is a vision to guide intuition

Suddenly your eyes contort.

You try to analyze and sort,

but interdimensional logistics will support.

Review the information and statistics, don’t abort.

Confirmation through adaptation, no risk.

It’s real quick, the acceleration.

The soul is persistent,

exists as noxious gas,

lifts and rises fast, escapes out your body last

through a compressed trip, a helium drip.

Not to brag, but I can really get in my bag.

You know how Mighty Joe flows.

The butane flame blows from my torch hose

like a volcano melting glass.

Liquid smoke bellows thick and mellow.

The mind begins to process, be cautious.

As we encounter the lawless, the onslaught is onset. Start the conquest.

From out the conceptual cage, break the chains

under these constraints.

Rating, engaging, urging, resurging

144 billion light years

through the shadows of your imagination.

Eyes closed, do you see the flaming arrows

aiming at your rulers habitations?

As we gain speed and momentum,

we race in like a eagle through the residual occupation,

overseeing the population to make an observation,

seeking purification, spirituality, duality,

intentions for ascension, divine indoctrination,

contemplation to reach higher elevations.

The destination is the Holy Mecca. Land of Jerusalem. Or Bethlehem

Eat some lamb with Abraham

and break bread with Judas watch as water turns to wine when in the company of the Son of Man.

So hold hands and band together, no pressure.(Pray).

As we begin to tap into truth,

out of the atmosphere without fear,

with a vision so clear.

Don’t look back.

Why?

We’re almost there.

Visually on the horizon, now start analyzing your spacesuit

for cuts in the material and in the fabric.

Try to prepare.

“I can’t breathe.”

Relax. You need to adapt

to the air pressure, because gravity is way lesser.

Now we’re searching for the buried treasure,

pleasure beyond the measure of yards.

You can’t comprehend a goddess

or the distance between stars,

quantum pulsars, flickering quasars,

picking up inside the radar,

echoes, a sonata in the sonar.

We have to last.

As we’re going far past any astronaut,

moving so fast in this starcraft,

everything we pass gets hot.

From the countdown to the takeoff, the blast,

the highest concentration of fuel burns, turbines turn.

At last, my supreme task

is to no longer strut on green grass.

I will become a beam of gas

and utilize teleportation

to arrive at my travel destination

through my portal that’s not meant for any mortal.

Unable to be picked up through coaxial cable,

out of the reach of fiber optics,

of all manners of communication.

Sky examiners point lasers.

Heaven scanners scanning the righteous,

giant antennas and high-tech space cameras won’t see.

No evidence in any cemetery, obituary.

Not found in any library, dictionary,

encyclopedia, or media.

I’m in star mode with the mastery of discipline.

Now I’m leaving Allah’s road

into nine realms of the cosmos

where only Odin knows exactly how Thor floats

when he levitates slow and holds Mjölnir up high,

electric flows out every pore.

Then Freya blows me till I soar.

I give up my work clothes for more,

only to glow with a holy robe,

then explode through mysterious black holes,

deep warp extrapolated to the outer zone,

without a tone, silence to the unknown.

To sit on my throne alone, steady ascent.

The pilot on this galactic plane of knowledge.

Mighty Joe Young evolves, problems solved.

Through culture, my sculpture lights up

in neon ultraviolet incandescence

so you can see my brain is symbolic to a palace.

Therefore, I keep it stylish.

Next stage, examine my next play like an X-ray.

Take notes for your essay

and let the em p 3 play

for longer than another decade.

As we begin to blaze through the Milky Ways,

repent from our filthy ways,

replenish from the creative ways.

My balls swell up to the size of eggs.

Neon dreamland spans.

Between her thighs is where I reach.

Destination of the ride is to reach is the peach.

threw soundscapes I take the physical form

behind the hidden gates of space.

as we go through at a phenomenal rate.

As we cruise into magnitude,

as we break up into a multitude of molecules,

going through a long hollow tube

with a new stylized view,

as the beat of outer space enters into your face

through treble and bass

that Mighty Joe Young makes