the Veil is Thinning the Spirits are spying thru the keyhole of the in between of all yet unheard & all yet unseen
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@meyeball
the Veil is Thinning the Spirits are spying thru the keyhole of the in between of all yet unheard & all yet unseen
“Eye Blink, therefore Eye Am” -Murry Eyeball
"Eye won't eat you... April FOOL!" ~Murry Eyeball
#aprilfools #fool
If you are chilly, here take my sweater. It’ll make you warmer and you’ll taste so much better. Cause I love the blood that’s pumping thru your veins. & you willing be my dinner guest tonite!
#vampireclown #blood #clowning #spaghetticabaret
"Into the Unknown
Do Eye often choose to wonder
For curiosity is the seed
Of Creativitys' flower."
a moment of insomnia w/ Murry Eyeball
HOT OFF THE PRINTER: ”Chronic ConcoctIONs of the CosMIC Orb”
a creative poetic zine musings of Murry Eyeball
“Eye'm a demon that does good” received & imbued by Murry Eyeball
Eye'm a demon that does good or at least Eye do try when the shadows cast over in the dark of the night
the wicked will it will take me to creep onto the scene & you bet Eye'm a tired tailor trying to stitch up the seams
it seems it's not always best to get what you want like it's not always noble to follow the cause
cause in the case of spell breaking you know that's where Eye'll give 'um hell & in the game of hell raising who better than an angel who fell
you wanna know if it's a thrill? you wanna know how Eye get off? by itching scratches while roaring laughing! TRUE there's a satisfaction ...and it comes with its costs
the better you know me the less you'll fear who Eye am & sure, you can phone me when you're losing your Head!...
my stare may it sear a scar upon your soul from the side-eyed psalms of the bonds contorted from prayers of long long long looooonnggg ago
can you really blame me for being who Eye am? Believe me, it's not always this entertaining existing with a nature Eye cannot withstand or comprehend...
Eye'm a demon that does good or at least Eye do try when the darkness takes over the path of this potent plight
oh Eye'm a demon that does good best believe Eye do try with this play of light & darkness what's truth with out lies?
We, the Ladies of Death, entice in the new year with our core carpe diem intentions: “now is not the time to serve up our love in moderate and polite proportions”
To Life: A Most Momentous Feast! Of Death: The Inescapable Beast
Eye've built a home entirely of sticks. Why? Because they bend and reach and bleed and even after severed from their settling, still grow and shift in hues their leaves. There it sits, a pile of sticks with a hearth on a floor, with windows, without door. & my pocket jingles not with keys, for anyone may come & retreat.
Eye'm not sure if its trading in whats inspiring for wiring. To be connected to a current that's currently conspiring to unlock a box of infinite finalities- some days Eye'm fine with it and sometimes Eye just want quit & trip the circuit & sit in silence, declare in solitude an alliance to grow roots & be like trees, in unending prayer for the limitless air we breath. For naught will sway me but the breeze & my only covering: dear companion leaves.
& sought once Grown in stock, rings spanning wide-the axe Eye suspect may befall my side. & after Eye am cut down, please bury me in the ground & knit my trunk into a home so Eye may never be alone.
In the next lifetime, Eye surmise, if the trees exists Eye'll be content as a pile of sticks.
a Letter from Murry Eyeball: Just a Pile of Sticks?
Dear Eyeballs,
The sacred fool-we clowns are forever- forever alive, aware of all the unawareness, oblivious to feigning the obvious, comforted in the uncomfortable occasion of existential debate with determined resistance amid our undying acceptance- constantly untying the knots in our hearts for a fresh start- a rinse and repeat, but never a delete. We clowns carry the essence of our abstracted spectrum of existence- we move to the tune of the instilled “soon” with the imprinted posturing of our lasting past in its physical proportions. All in relation to the ancestors that fraction up our presence to a whole being through their resounding resonance. We listen & in quest, learn to speak in translation to time.
Oh ancestors, may we live in lingering-questioning our destiny with our grip on the eternity of suckling from the transcendent teet of your sweet and sour milk.
It's not all days Eye remember of this divine existence- the plane of belonging, of carrying a song in humbling resistance to the persistence of apathy. Its not all funny, we grow up to realize. But it sort of is at the same time, if we can size it to the proportions of emotions as our alternative architecture for measurement. Laughter! Tears! Embodying our true selves through the exploration of fears and dreams as inspiration. Each in our own effort of conduction- we create our live-wire of current to power the collaborative atmosphere we are working with Here.
Down the rabbit hole we go & we find the reminder in the center of all we unEarth. Throughout the sphere of our contemplation & impulsive action we construct the bridge to our worlds, the Here and the Next and the So On & So Forth: the archetype is birthed!
& of it, we are served the conundrum of clowns as complex & simple! This is not an oxymoron, it is a bridge to ascend from the binary of “either, or.” The archetype acts as a bundling of diving rods would be perceived by the eyes of the cosmic collaborator or to the superstitiously sighted: when unleashed from their binding, the diving rods rise to action by way of symbolism—if received in the moment, their impulse is a message; if observed in their aftermath, their configuration is transformed back to just a pile of sticks.
As the veil thins between the Here reality and the spiritual realities, or so to speak, there is a crescendo in accessibility to alternative realms of conception and experience if we allow awareness, Eye observe the surfacing of curiosity of archetypes throughout our world. Having passed the eve of Halloween in New York City, Eye was enticed into deeper consideration of the clown archetype with every passing mask of the horrifically presented "It" personage: bloodied and frozen forever in maniacal form. "Lacking" in the emotive range of the true clown was my initial reaction to the mask. Yet with each subway car sighting, I found the undertone of character grow in truth- the simplicity of the clown is rooted in its upheaval our stationary opinions. What a simple access point for unquestioned fears to latch onto the archetype and declare "I'm afraid of clowns (BUT i'll dabble with the UnKnowing as the veil welcomes me into the caverns of my fear)." Whether we are aware of this, OR not, through our dabbling we embody the root of Halloween- derived from a more-recent Christian shift of Pagan calendars to concertize "hallow," or holy, sanctify, consecrate, with "een," or eve: an opening to an alternative portal of perception AKA an morphed evening suspending the reality of the taboos of society and welcoming these abstractions into common and accepted form.
No wonder Eye am ever so steadfast in declaring Halloween as the favorite of all hallow-days! What greater accessibility for the possibilities of experimentation & research for the clown that otherwise "sticks out like a sore thumb" amid the abundance of un-suspended imaginary times. In the lead up (as the veil thins) to this hallow-day, to unpack the potential of connection between the cosmic collaborators & the superstitiously sighted becomes the dance exploring the complexities of the archetype. The sacred fool, we the clowns, must always remember we do not exist without our audience, just as the old saying goes, "If a tree falls in the woods & no one is there to see it- does it just become a pile of sticks?"
How hallowed are these times as the possibilities of realities resurrect the sacredness of the fool and the questions that accompany its contorted reappearance into the mainstream flow of folly: complex & simple; simple & complex.
OH sticks and stones may break my bones, and fools they are oh so wordy! Down the rabbit hole we go... Oh, Eye hope this ladder's sturdy!
In Madness,
Murry Eyeball
Let the form inform you.
from the snowsuit pocket notebook of The Eyeball
behold what you see set it free
there are those who are not who are trapped who are locked lost away away
away
behold what you see it is free it has costs it has toils it is host to the most
beauty
from dreamlandia of the Eyeball
jester dark jester chase what you're after the taste of disaster on the tip of your tongue sipping sweet swelling of sirens waves to ride by notes as boats careeningly sung
Crystal Belle
from the woven tree notebook of the Eyeball
Crystal Belle flourished in obscurity: flipped a bowling ball on it’s heels & read its veins with mystic surety. “It’s like rolling the dice or the first time you’ve cooked rice- most attentive that somethings been boiling. It’s like flying a broken kite, crying the devil’s 6 thrice- a labor crusaded by foiling.”
oh so tiring this strange admiring for a Belle toiling over a ball
it’s ludicrous! it’s lascivious! it’s mischief! well it’s magic, after all.
I’ve found that I’m a much happier person when I make time to write, so I try to do that first. Before answering e-mails, before checking the news and social media, before getting up to take a shower sometimes. First thing. Then I feel like I’ve had at least this small moment to tend to my spirit, to honor what’s most alive or mysterious in how I’m seeing or engaging with the world. I like to try getting a whole draft out, but even a couple lines or one image can make the moment glow, and I can carry that with me into the rest of the day. But, to be honest, much of the time I just try to squeeze in some writing here and there.
Chen Chen, in “The Whole Self: Our Thirteenth Annual Look at Debut Poets” in the Jan/Feb issue of Poets & Writers Magazine (2018), read the complete profile at pw.org! (via poetsandwriters)
hand-made mask “The Skategoat”
May snow on Mount Humphrey in Arizona