On this day of low grey clouds, a blanket of fog over the landscape, my thoughts are of you, wondering what was, is and could have been.
I remember the words that were said between us, their efficacy to destroy in that moment, the bond of our past, present and future that was before us when we first met.
On this day of low grey clouds, a blanket of fog over the landscape, my thoughts are of you, wondering what was, is and could have been.
Those words, have transformed themselves into the silence that is now between us.
I will forever curse that day.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Fall's
fragile pale light
will not last,
in deed the days grow shorter.
Winds strip trees naked,
and while they shiver
the moon watches with its cold blue light.
Black cat held prisoner-
at midnight the latch is raised,
and the prison is empty.
Clouds of slate hide the black hawk
flying out of the north,
spectre of a spell cast centuries ago.
will not last,
in deed the days grow shorter.
Winds strip trees naked,
and while they shiver
the moon watches with its cold blue light.
Black cat held prisoner-
at midnight the latch is raised,
and the prison is empty.
Clouds of slate hide the black hawk
flying out of the north,
spectre of a spell cast centuries ago.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Untitled
How did your beliefs come about?
Through reading exoteric and esoteric works, experiential learning?
Did these ways of knowledge lead you to a perfect, doubt free certainty about reality?
What if those exoteric and esoteric works are completely wrong; based on false assumptions of those who came before you, and what about your experiences through your senses- perceived, conceived and abstracted, are they wrong?
What would be the condition of your existence then?
Through reading exoteric and esoteric works, experiential learning?
Did these ways of knowledge lead you to a perfect, doubt free certainty about reality?
What if those exoteric and esoteric works are completely wrong; based on false assumptions of those who came before you, and what about your experiences through your senses- perceived, conceived and abstracted, are they wrong?
What would be the condition of your existence then?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Who, Why, Where
The child asks not, "Who am I?"
For the child knows the answer.
It is we grownups who ask, "Who am I?"
The child asks not, "Why am I here?"
The child knows the answer.
It is we grownups who ask, "Why am I here?"
The child asks not, "Where am I going?"
The child knows the answer.
It is we grownups who ask, "Where am I going?"
A childs laughter is its answer to us grownups.
For the child knows the answer.
It is we grownups who ask, "Who am I?"
The child asks not, "Why am I here?"
The child knows the answer.
It is we grownups who ask, "Why am I here?"
The child asks not, "Where am I going?"
The child knows the answer.
It is we grownups who ask, "Where am I going?"
A childs laughter is its answer to us grownups.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
L.
You saw your mother murdered when you were young,
and went to live with an aunt who despised you,
so you left that loveless home; fell in love, had a family,
until your husband started beating you every night;
you had to leave.
You lost your children to the bureaucracy, now you were all alone.
And that is how I found you, alone on a crowded street hawking newspapers.
You miss your children terribly, but they will have nothing to do with you,
You yearn to be with someone you could love and who could love you.
Nights find you in a park or hallway exhausted.
Unable to sleep you cry, alone, with no one to wipe your tears or comfort you.
The dawn reminds you of how deeply alone you are.
In your own words, "It's just I know I do not fit in, and knew it when I was a little girl. I just feel it now more because I'm bigger and nothing has changed as far as me not fitting in. I guess I have to keep trying."
She tells me she's sorry when she's not in a good mood, I tell her she's beautiful and love her very much.
So we sit on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and I hold her close to me while we talk for hours.
and went to live with an aunt who despised you,
so you left that loveless home; fell in love, had a family,
until your husband started beating you every night;
you had to leave.
You lost your children to the bureaucracy, now you were all alone.
And that is how I found you, alone on a crowded street hawking newspapers.
You miss your children terribly, but they will have nothing to do with you,
You yearn to be with someone you could love and who could love you.
Nights find you in a park or hallway exhausted.
Unable to sleep you cry, alone, with no one to wipe your tears or comfort you.
The dawn reminds you of how deeply alone you are.
In your own words, "It's just I know I do not fit in, and knew it when I was a little girl. I just feel it now more because I'm bigger and nothing has changed as far as me not fitting in. I guess I have to keep trying."
She tells me she's sorry when she's not in a good mood, I tell her she's beautiful and love her very much.
So we sit on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and I hold her close to me while we talk for hours.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Streams
When we dream why do we see?
It certainly isn't with our physical eyes; they're closed, but we see people, places,things as plainly as with our physical eyes.
The same can be said of the rest of our senses in dreams, but I'm using sight as an example here.
So who's eyes see when you're dreaming?
Thoughts remind me of the bubbles in a bottle of carbonated water. Some rest on the bottom, the sides and others suspended in the middle.
All these thoughts waiting to reach the bottleneck of awareness at the top. Sadly only a few reach the top, while the others remain below the bottleneck of awareness.
What is the stuff of thoughts? That's another thought.
Bring on the night the darkness has more to say about you than the day ever will. You know that to be true don't you?
It certainly isn't with our physical eyes; they're closed, but we see people, places,things as plainly as with our physical eyes.
The same can be said of the rest of our senses in dreams, but I'm using sight as an example here.
So who's eyes see when you're dreaming?
Thoughts remind me of the bubbles in a bottle of carbonated water. Some rest on the bottom, the sides and others suspended in the middle.
All these thoughts waiting to reach the bottleneck of awareness at the top. Sadly only a few reach the top, while the others remain below the bottleneck of awareness.
What is the stuff of thoughts? That's another thought.
Bring on the night the darkness has more to say about you than the day ever will. You know that to be true don't you?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
One Night
Through abstract time,
in shadow's womb,
an apparition in deep reverie.
Your head bowed down in a veil of hair,
my voice whispers,
"Why are you here?"
In silence you sit,
not a movement of breath,
nor a quiver of limbs.
As I close my eyes to sleep,
I leave you on my bed,
In the stillness of your being.
in shadow's womb,
an apparition in deep reverie.
Your head bowed down in a veil of hair,
my voice whispers,
"Why are you here?"
In silence you sit,
not a movement of breath,
nor a quiver of limbs.
As I close my eyes to sleep,
I leave you on my bed,
In the stillness of your being.
Friday, May 29, 2009
At Any Hand
Triradiated matrices residual detritus of Buddha-Mind.
Invalidator.
Claustrophobic riddles leave me three-quarters-bound.
Archangels hold the keys.
Demystify the mystical,
so the monkey will cease howling.
Fate is rigged.
A Gotterdammerung in Spades.
Love bastardized.
In the speaking thereof.
I'll say no more.
Invalidator.
Claustrophobic riddles leave me three-quarters-bound.
Archangels hold the keys.
Demystify the mystical,
so the monkey will cease howling.
Fate is rigged.
A Gotterdammerung in Spades.
Love bastardized.
In the speaking thereof.
I'll say no more.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
B S
There's too much bullshit out there and I'm tired of stepping in it.
As is plainly evident you're not.
As is plainly evident you're not.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
2012
Predictions for 2012
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
True Psychics will tell you that you're guess is as good as theirs when it comes to 2012 for one simple reason; there's a veil or mist not allowing psychics to see past 2012.
Now I find that more interesting than any predictions.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
True Psychics will tell you that you're guess is as good as theirs when it comes to 2012 for one simple reason; there's a veil or mist not allowing psychics to see past 2012.
Now I find that more interesting than any predictions.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
No Return
Call it enlightenment, spirituality, higher states of consciousness, what we seek is that state of Being in which we can only be silent.
So why are there all these books,practices, "masters" who claim to know "the way" regurgitating someone else's words and actions ad nauseam and we in turn do the same. Above all why do we think "the way" is like a romp through some flowery field on a warm sunny day all light and joy. Have we really thought about what we ask for when we seek enlightment, spirituality, higher states of consciousness, that state of Being....?
We are so desperate to be saved from the meaningless life we percieve ourselves to be living; we take our first oblivious step on the "path."
We have entered the Tiger's territory. The Tiger senses our movement and we sense the presence of the Tiger. This is not what we expected when we first started on the "path." Remember, flowery field on a warm sunny day all light and joy?
We know we are being stalked,there's no turning back! The only question left is when will the Tiger strike? And the Tiger will, devouring us into "nothingness."
This is the "path" of no return, called enlightenment, spirituality, higher states of consciousness, that state of Being in which we can only be silent, literally.
So why are there all these books,practices, "masters" who claim to know "the way" regurgitating someone else's words and actions ad nauseam and we in turn do the same. Above all why do we think "the way" is like a romp through some flowery field on a warm sunny day all light and joy. Have we really thought about what we ask for when we seek enlightment, spirituality, higher states of consciousness, that state of Being....?
We are so desperate to be saved from the meaningless life we percieve ourselves to be living; we take our first oblivious step on the "path."
We have entered the Tiger's territory. The Tiger senses our movement and we sense the presence of the Tiger. This is not what we expected when we first started on the "path." Remember, flowery field on a warm sunny day all light and joy?
We know we are being stalked,there's no turning back! The only question left is when will the Tiger strike? And the Tiger will, devouring us into "nothingness."
This is the "path" of no return, called enlightenment, spirituality, higher states of consciousness, that state of Being in which we can only be silent, literally.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Otter Regions
Atom Bananas in the Otter Regions, swirling grape galaxies, pulsing pudding pulsars, Red radish giants, nebulous nectarine clouds.
A man looking to find Nirvana spotted a monk standing on the corner of State and Lake smoking a cigarette.
The man approached the monk and said, " I want to find Nirvana."
The monk flipped his cigarette, and pointed West.
"Tibet?, asked the man.
"Nepal,meet me there", said the monk.
The man found himself in the foothills of the Himalayas,the monk was there as promised on a path heading west. They walked miles the silence broken only by the occasional farts of the monk. They saw a village a short distance away.
"Wait here", said the monk.
The man waited and waited and waited,but the monk did not return.
Finally,he began walking and stopped at the edge of the village,paused and turned a corner,with wide eyes and open mouth he found himself staring at a decrepit building with a balcony. Underneath the balcony was a sign:Welcome to Nirvana.
The man entered the doorless building, found the monk sitting at a table smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee.
The monk grinned, "What'd you expect?"
Memory loss, not a bad thing. Every day is new! I once knew a woman named Chole the name means: young shoot. She was sitting on a stoop when I walked by,she got up, walked towards me and took my hand; no words needed to be spoken.
White horse on the crest of a hill,flaring nostrils, the dawn sun rising, wild hoofs approaching, and then I woke up. The desert, a good place to come face to face with yourself. What realities do you live in?
Atom Bananas in the Otter Regions.
A man looking to find Nirvana spotted a monk standing on the corner of State and Lake smoking a cigarette.
The man approached the monk and said, " I want to find Nirvana."
The monk flipped his cigarette, and pointed West.
"Tibet?, asked the man.
"Nepal,meet me there", said the monk.
The man found himself in the foothills of the Himalayas,the monk was there as promised on a path heading west. They walked miles the silence broken only by the occasional farts of the monk. They saw a village a short distance away.
"Wait here", said the monk.
The man waited and waited and waited,but the monk did not return.
Finally,he began walking and stopped at the edge of the village,paused and turned a corner,with wide eyes and open mouth he found himself staring at a decrepit building with a balcony. Underneath the balcony was a sign:Welcome to Nirvana.
The man entered the doorless building, found the monk sitting at a table smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee.
The monk grinned, "What'd you expect?"
Memory loss, not a bad thing. Every day is new! I once knew a woman named Chole the name means: young shoot. She was sitting on a stoop when I walked by,she got up, walked towards me and took my hand; no words needed to be spoken.
White horse on the crest of a hill,flaring nostrils, the dawn sun rising, wild hoofs approaching, and then I woke up. The desert, a good place to come face to face with yourself. What realities do you live in?
Atom Bananas in the Otter Regions.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Memory
I look at the one I love,
never changing, always the same,
by the hour, minute, and seconds.
Persistent memory,
root of permanence,
its fruit, illusion.
I look at the one I love,
ever changing, never the same,
by the hour, minute, and seconds.
Illusion of memory shattered!
never changing, always the same,
by the hour, minute, and seconds.
Persistent memory,
root of permanence,
its fruit, illusion.
I look at the one I love,
ever changing, never the same,
by the hour, minute, and seconds.
Illusion of memory shattered!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with it's sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.
~R. M. Rilke~
Until....
and the little churchyard there, with it's sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.
~R. M. Rilke~
Until....
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Center Line
Got a pack on my back.
Highway under my shoes.
What's yours is yours.
What's mine is mine.
With a mountain on my right.
An ocean on my left.
I'm walking the miles.
I got the travelling blues.
Highway under my shoes.
What's yours is yours.
What's mine is mine.
With a mountain on my right.
An ocean on my left.
I'm walking the miles.
I got the travelling blues.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Where are You?
What ever happened to the barker, bearded lady, fire eater, fortune teller with the turban, the giant, rubber man, snake charmer, strong man, sword swallower, the guy who could lie on a bed of nails?
Let me know if you're still out there.
I miss you all.
Let me know if you're still out there.
I miss you all.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
My Blog
Why the f**k are you reading this blog?
To read my profile, so you know I was born under the sign of Taurus in the year of the Rabbit?
What the f**k is that to you!
There are probably thousands of you born under the sign of Taurus in the year of the Rabbit and to those who weren't there are thousands upon thousands of you born under one sign or another in the year of some animal. What purpose does it serve to know that you're nothing special.
Why do you want to know about my interests! Photography,Painting, Drawing, etc. They're my interests not yours. What about my movies, music and books are you going to watch my movies, listen to my music and read my books? Bullsh*t! I'm not going to watch your movies, listen to your music or read your books; if I have it sure as hell wasn't because of you. Or are you looking for a "connection?" LOL!
I write on my blog for my own pleasure and read it for my own edification not for f**king you! Isn't writing on your own blog for your personal pleasure and edification enough for you? Is your imagination so barren that you can't imagine anymore and all you put out is drivel?Is that why you read what's on my blog to spark your smoldering imagination?
And in spite of all I said you'll be back, won't you?
To read my profile, so you know I was born under the sign of Taurus in the year of the Rabbit?
What the f**k is that to you!
There are probably thousands of you born under the sign of Taurus in the year of the Rabbit and to those who weren't there are thousands upon thousands of you born under one sign or another in the year of some animal. What purpose does it serve to know that you're nothing special.
Why do you want to know about my interests! Photography,Painting, Drawing, etc. They're my interests not yours. What about my movies, music and books are you going to watch my movies, listen to my music and read my books? Bullsh*t! I'm not going to watch your movies, listen to your music or read your books; if I have it sure as hell wasn't because of you. Or are you looking for a "connection?" LOL!
I write on my blog for my own pleasure and read it for my own edification not for f**king you! Isn't writing on your own blog for your personal pleasure and edification enough for you? Is your imagination so barren that you can't imagine anymore and all you put out is drivel?Is that why you read what's on my blog to spark your smoldering imagination?
And in spite of all I said you'll be back, won't you?
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Purple Shoes
I want to be dressed as a clown at my wake,
with a red blub nose, and a giant painted grin,
dressed in a lime green sport coat and lemon yellow slacks,
with oversized purple shoes, a huge flower in my lapel, as mourners gaze into my coffin,
have my huge flower randomly squirt water in their faces.
I want to leave them laughing!
with a red blub nose, and a giant painted grin,
dressed in a lime green sport coat and lemon yellow slacks,
with oversized purple shoes, a huge flower in my lapel, as mourners gaze into my coffin,
have my huge flower randomly squirt water in their faces.
I want to leave them laughing!
Reality Street
Seeing-eye man strumming on his guitar.
Blind dog singing along.
Old lady shaking her tambourine.
Oh, what a scene to be seen!
On Reality Street.
Blind dog singing along.
Old lady shaking her tambourine.
Oh, what a scene to be seen!
On Reality Street.
Friday, March 13, 2009
One Thing
I Want to know one thing.
I would dare to say.
I taught myself to live simply.
Still it would be marvelous, as soon as I get out of bed,
to never say no.
I would dare to say.
I taught myself to live simply.
Still it would be marvelous, as soon as I get out of bed,
to never say no.
Random
I just stare out the window not lost in you,
I am not yours.
It's funny how forever never seems to last.
It's an empty feeling that cannot be described.
What to do, what not to do?
I cannot find you, it's very sad.
What the f**k do you know it's in you head!
Just I want something more, something.
I am not yours.
It's funny how forever never seems to last.
It's an empty feeling that cannot be described.
What to do, what not to do?
I cannot find you, it's very sad.
What the f**k do you know it's in you head!
Just I want something more, something.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Origin of Orange
Originated in Southeast Asia a hybrid of ancient cultivated origin between a pomelo and tangerine.
The word orange derived from Sanskrit narangah "orange tree."
The word orange derived from Sanskrit narangah "orange tree."
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Hanging Out
I've been looking for God in all the right places, but when I get there God is nowhere around so I hang out for a while watching and listening for clues to where God might be found.
Follow me this way, listen to me, so I follow and listen only to find neverending paths and voices with empty words.
So I'll hang out at the bar and maybe God will join me for a drink someday. Cheers!
Follow me this way, listen to me, so I follow and listen only to find neverending paths and voices with empty words.
So I'll hang out at the bar and maybe God will join me for a drink someday. Cheers!
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