ST55 ... Time Travelling with Willy Weyer

Segments of a dead brother, Billy Way and unknown ancestors, in scenes and fragments thru hyper-dimensional time.

Welcome to WeyWord Times - Original Images and Writing by Patrick Wey
I had included you to my Weyword Times Blog email list because i thought you might enjoy and appreciate this form of original writing and unique imagery… if you would prefer to not receive these, please, just unsubscribe. This list is secure, regulated by myself through substack.com.
While I strive to keep most of my writing free, I do need to make it sustainable. So if you enjoy this post and want to support my work please consider becoming a paid member.

There are those that know what happened but don't seem to have a clue of what's happening. Covid happened, brexit happened, ukraine happened, variants happened, high death-rate happened, trans-missions happened, compassion happened, strange fires happened, gossip happened, vacations happened, love happened, more conspiracies happened, wtf’s happening, nothing happened….

I went on a long trip around the surface of the minds grasping endlessly for more stuff, stuff for their homes, their boats, their offices, their brains, their likes, their, their…

I left for the coast, to get away but they followed. I left for another galaxy but they clung to my dreams. I left and hid in the back woods of their silence. There… i found some peace. The pure strands of delicate sensitivity wound around the forests floor, up into the branches the tips of leaves and off into the ether, the whole space filled with a sacred essence free. It didn't last, but i remember the silent forest of their minds, and now, i see them again as they talk about their ventures across the globe, their turbulent compassion for the green, worn tongues garbling nonsense like a murder of crows pissed off.

born again, from the hollows of a dying forest

I love the way the mind flies across the sky, into one thing than bouncing off another.  What can you do? Life, it's worth every gulp of breath, almost always, just breathe, let go and watch the scene before you fly on by. Two kids playing by the highway of fortune…. loose ends. A miracle of love swinging by a dumpster of gratitude. It's all good.

In another part of town, time squared, by the melting clock, there stood a gun slinger, mad as hell, wanting to shoot this whole damn world apart. Killed indians, scalped warriors, fucked squaws to death. He was a mad mind, killed by a bullet to his brain, one to his groin and an arrow to his heart. No body missed him, cried for him, put flowers on his grave. He too once was a young boy with sweet dreams, soured in a cold world bent around a steel crucifix. Happiness is a warm gun, for some.

An old man in a forest by the side of a mountain, a creek flowing by. His cabin was of hard wood and work. Lived there for fifty years, he said, never killed anything but four-legged and wingeds for food. Was a good man, stumbled by some Asthmador, once, on a trip into town, took him on another trip, wild, to some alien lands. Talked to ancient elders, he said. They showed him futures flowering across the universe. Willy Weyer learned of civilizations of intelligent bazaar creatures living from huts to crystal observatories across the universe. Values of cultures through love and hate and time, he saw it all from his mind. He lasted hours into this trip with enough squashed time to last his life and more. It changed him forever. He could see that things surrounding him were not really real. The lives of these people from the back woods of 1800 Tennessee to 2066 capsules of harvested bio-humans in the lab factories of regenerative eras. A view of planet earth from a time dome, one afternoon, all from the back of a cafe somewhere.

Willy Weyer, looking into time

He went back to his home in the woods again and again for life was too weird in the cities and towns. He foresaw a future mass media crumbling into the ground, hydro and money power grids vanishing to a personalized free-energy off-grid existence of harmony and seclusion from the masses rule. Everything has its day of glory, he thought. Everything changes, refined, diversity, novel intelligent systems of cooperation he saw from over centuries of knitted time moving into view. The old rule with weapons and over abundance shattering the light was being crushed by its own weight. A new world, again, was on the move into a future of complexity and cooperation. Time was turning with a gentler tune round a softer curve. Eons of harmony was beginning from this dark new dawn.

Willy was trapped in these times but free in his mind. He went to the woods often, to survive, to stay sane…. that worked, most of the time.

distant dreams within a faded forest

Willy drank heavy whiskey sometimes, then, imagined things few could compromise. His dreams scattered themselves across the plains of abrahams, africa, the desert sands of wirikuta. He found Wovoka on a trip thru Nevada in the late 1880's in a little desert town's saloon while thinking sad from a view by the back wall. His mood wrapped itself around those little buttons he was given, hikuri (peyote), took him into worlds, heavens, realms only a saint could enter.
Willy found himself outside every inside that did exist thru-out these trails thru the middle of the midwest. Time twisted into dreams of devastation and miracles. In an hour he lived millenniums from hairy skin primates to realms of digital serenity. From visions to delusions thru a mind bending compressed time, Willy walked on.

Willy and Wovoka departed and Willy headed south. He knew he would find what it was that his/this vision promised, he didn't know where or when but he believed he knew it was close, just ahead somehow, and all he had to do was listen, listen to that soft and harsh voice deep whispering thoughts into his brain… then act.

Willy ended up in what is now known as Mexico, north of the big city, San Miquel de Allende, an artists haven, a cobble stone town of artisans and gringos escaping the north and the grooming madness laying itself, spreading across the pale-green northern lands of the gringo. He stayed, moved into the 21st century by accident. A mental cohesion wandering thru the minds of time of continuity and photonic wave lengths, he suspected.

Realms exist, travel thru minds as time like wind does thru forest trees, whirls around, tangles with the leaves like ancient memories from beneath the seas. The collective mind of a similar kind and the deep tradition of the transition from a series of dimensions weaving themselves beyond any real understanding from our little spec of view… to here, this miraculous planet sometimes struggling to be true to its nature and predestined attitude.

I'm here in a little cafe on the edge of town aware of strange happenings beyond my comprehension. A realm where questions beyond any imagination could ever imagine ever asking or knowing were answered, but never remembered for longer than a flattened moment. I been WIlly, i been me, i been all kinds, in moments linked like these…. and now this space around this bend of vortical time, speeding up, slowing down, going up, down, squeezing, all around….. seeing, seeing.

…things happening.

Thank you, for reading Weyword Times…. specifically, for your entertainment
Was it worth your time…. share… leave a trail.

from the cave to the light of the silent forest

Buy me a coffee….

WeyWord Times / All Writing and Images by Patrick Wey

Series of Photo Work in Progress…. Moments in Bent Time

Hang Me Up Somewhere…. View Images Here