Crossroads

All roads cross here

because that’s what I’ve

been doing.

Yes, this is a moment in

the Mandelbrot mix….yes,

this is a time in the timelessness

that stretches forever…yes, this

is a moment I won’t remember

because, I’m too much in it for that.

That’s hard for you because it’s

hard for me. Or, it’s easy for you

because you don’t have to read.

Everything comes down to something…

even if it’s only minor and just 

disappears. We cross roads or,

ourselves if we believe in that shit….

it’s still real, whether we believe it or not,

and, why did the chicken cross the road?

Because there was another side.

Buddhist Rant

Who ever got enlightened by studying philosophy? Naropa,
the great pandit of Nalanda, gave up everything to wander
around with Tilopa,, and his graduation was a slap in the face.
I just don’t see the point of all this speculating about which side
of the head of a pin should one part one’s hair?  I was a heavy
thinker when `i was in my 20′s….looking for answers in whatever
I read. When I found Buddhism and met my teacher, I felt I had
all that I needed. Sure, there was intellect involved in turning
the mind towards the dharma…but, as practice grew stronger,
reliance on concepts grew weaker…instead of parroting the
teachings, there was some real understanding based on
experience of the path. The problem with philosophy is that
it talks about perception theoretically, but really has a paucity
of tools to develop that perception….unlike Buddhism, which
does have them. Intellect is a tool….a sophisticated version 
of the basic split, that can manipulate phenomena, 
but, by it’s nature, is incapable of understanding it.

Coming Attraction

Hey, good title for a poem, but that’s not

what this one’s about….it’s about a three

day adventure into Mexico City to get my

passport renewed, which might not seem

that interesting, but, I bet it will be.

Coming into Mexico the last time, `i decided

to stay in a hotel because it was so late…the

hotels have kiosks in the terminal, and the one

I chose, the Geneve, had nice furniture, so, I

sprung for it. This was a serendipitous move,

because `i discovered later, when, I knew I 

would have to stay at a hotel for the passport,

that if I booked the room at the airport, it was

half price. And, the hotel happens to be a ten

minute walk to the embassy.

So, I get a Mexico City fix.  There’s a Chinese 

restaurant next door…first thing I noticed when

I got out of the cab….so, and this is plumber’s 

logic ± if you notice something good right away,

chances are, there’s more good stuff there. 

Same for bad, actually. This trip will cost me

a few bucks…..hopefully not much consternation.

I will document it….might as well get something 

out of it. I will go in next Tuesday, after `i get my

fresh laundry and pack my bag.

My Dice Ain’t My Paradigm

They say don’t sweat the small stuff…

but I don’t sweat the large, because

Billy already got all the big pieces.

We all took a chance with this life,

didn’t we? Even if you got down some

place and stayed there forever.

Someone was stuck on the highway,

or, in the ditch. Your neighbors needed 

you to help bring in their crop, finish their

barn.

We want stability because we know life

isn’t…that’s why the high rollers go that way.

If you treat life as a game, you will win or lose.

If you see life as a mystery, the only koan to go

on is your own uncertainty.

Two Sinking Ships Passing In The Middle Of The Night

Not much more to say about that

glub glub…..or, we could have a conversation…

“Ahoy!”

“Why?”

“OK!”

Which seems to be the way it goes with my 

beloved, soon to be dead in one way or another 

friends… even though in our final days or hours 

we’ll say some of the things we’ve been holding 

back all these years…yes… we will…even if only 

at the last minute, so, why wait? That’s what you 

think about when you know you’re going down.

Track Record

I’ve been on the right track so long

it looks like space to me.

You can record the journey,

but you can’t understand it that way.

Pictures may say a thousand words,

but they are no substitute for being 

there. That’s how Hunter Thompson

lost his muse.

My track was lost in the undergrowth

of my upbringing, but my wheels found

their bearings, like learning to dance 

again after the surgery called birth.

People leave their tracks in many ways

and forms…things they create, children

they sire, disasters they cause…hey, a

scar is just another kind of legacy.

What I can do is look back at my track,

backtrack, and know that I was in the

right groove all along

Media Creep

That’s when you start believing

in the things you’re reading, not

like UFOs that you knew were real,

no, the bias in the news that steers

you in a CERTAN direction, where

what appears on the page feeds

your hopes and fears….gives you

reason to believe.

No need to say much more about

that, it’s obvious to the unbrainwashed.

The problem power had with the masses

was that they had no efficient way to

deliver their infected propaganda….that

ain’t true no more.

Sitting

In my house now

looking out the window.

I sat in meditation for years

watching the mind stream

‘till it emptied of itself.

It used to be called waiting,

because we always assume

there’s something else.

But old men, like me, aren’t

waiting for anything except

the inevitable….been there,

done that…yes, it all looks

about the same as it ever was.

And, now, it’s all captured in

media, so, no need to have new

experiences…we just reboot the

old ones….no need to have new

lives or explore the world…been 

there, done that…and soon virtual

reality will be so much more than

we could have ever even hoped 

for for our lives. Now the only goal

is to make enough dough so you

don’t have to experience reality

properly….like, just sitting there,

blood coursing through the veins,

breath going in and out, skin 

tingling with sensation, tastes 

and smells delicious and disgusting,

and all the rest of it. Nobody’s made

a better interface with phenomena.

I Fell Down For A Moment

I was right there, then I fell down.

Nobody was there to help me get up.

Luckily, I was in my home, talking on

the phone with someone whom should 

have been there….they weren’t, so I 

called them back.  If you call them back

enough times they become there.

It’s all about persistence, not what you

have to offer. That’s the way these people go.

That’s the way these people go…..so,

I called back and got all my answers….

they didn’t even know what`I was asking.

Eskimo

I feel the wind blow in through the windows

on me, while I try to make sense of the

world’s inventions in front of me, which, I’m

too old for.  But, as a mammal, the ace predator,

I have to keep trying ‘till some one puts me on

an ice flow.  Bye then, and, thanks for all the blubber.

Marbles And `Mobiles

Caulder and the kids i played

marbles with when I was a kid

had one thing in common….they

weren’t me.

When I saw things that were’t me,

my parents, my family, I realized 

I couldn’t be me, because, what was

all the rest of it?

A hippie understanding…a lack of 

ground. But, only the strongest 

got up from that fall.

It’ s nothing personal…it’s lifetimes.

Did I ask you to believe me?

It's Too Late To Change Your Mind

	6:58 PM (3 minutes ago)
well, that's a trope, but

shall I fart my fair behind? 

do I dare to snitch a Sneech?

I've been wearing white flannel trousers

longer than there's been a beach,

and, walking hand to hand, each to each...

which is not to say I'm not crazy, but,

where's the cool aid coming from anyway?

I already heard it sing to me.

I grow old, `I grow old...I will wear my clothing bold...

the mermaids will have to sing to me....

'till human voices remind me I am free.

Nods and apologies to The Love `song Of J. Alfred Prufrok  by T.S. Eliot

Free Home Delivery for Johnny Winters

Poems to your home free of charge
in this glorious morning you wouldn't
need to believe  if you once saw it...
clouds a curtain to the sun for sleepy
heads...air fresh, moving gently, clear...
power back on, so, music...all the
vicissitudes of civilized life...and the joy
of making music in the morning, ornate
in it's slattern simplicity.... as if painters
could improvise chaos, well, they do in
their dimensions...poem like taffy, sweet
and extruded to your satisfaction...this is
a commercial for nowhere...cash your
coupon at the local fan fair..set your house
on fire..find a new place to go.

You say you can't get there from here, but,
you're already there, so, shut up, bitch, and
look around, for once, and keep doing that
forever.

We're very shy of improvising our lives,
because we feel like wall flowers on the
dance floor....give me the same furrow to
plow my whole life, and sweet sheets to
sleep in, oh yeah. What's your version of
freedom?

I think freedom is free fall, like, you never
really land...I mean, for metaphor, Lindberg
took off after he landed...and Earhart flew
forever.

Can of peas.....Le Sueur,  Minnesota...driving
home to Northfield, after work,  heading east,
into the rising light, smell of fields omnipresent,
the summer before my senior year...couldn't go
home again...lived with some Carls...learned a
lot that summer, just being with them.

Got to cut this extrusion off at some point...is
that a blues song?

Tomorrow Will Be Thursday

In the arbitrary designation of time.

Tomorrow will be Thursday….

I won’t have to get up for a job…

Tomorrow will be Thursday….

I won’t have to get up at all…

Tomorrow will be Thursday…

I remember how I longed for Friday,

I remember all the days of the week

as if they were yesterday.

But, now, tomorrow is Thursday,

and I taste it’s irrelevance with delight.

It Has To Seem Seamless To Believe In It.

The mind can only process, 
like, twenty four frames a 
second….enough for believability.

Beliefs only need one or two
ideas for the mind to make a mess
of itself. A good worker never blames
the tools… they utilize them for what
they’re worth…they know the
capabilities and limitations. The mind
is a tool, like a car…we give  it a name…
out of identity…out of affection,

like a car, but, we never really looked
into it. We never took it out of the
package it was  shipped in.

Why are we moved by music,
art at all? Because it speaks to the
heart, behind the  music, the real
curtain of OZ, Utopia, Eden,

Xanadu, what we feel we are lost
from, but, never really were separated…
the thread that runs through all
our lives like silk.

What Was Theatre?

But the first abstraction

of human behavior…well,

maybe the ancient rituals

were that…may have been

more true even…true to life…

but, the first plays…some

carried on carts through the

streets of England, were the

first attempts that led, ultimately,

to reality television…It took the

mysterious and made it palatable

and entertaining….because…

that’s the drug we all share now.

I Lost Myself

 I must be somewhere…

on my hard drive or i cloud…

luckily retrieval has become 

a science. Even “fetch” now

has become a command for 

us all.

Not In It For The Long Haul

The long haul is behind me…

it took it’s time. The long haul

is what happened before,

how I got here unloaded.

I’m empty. I just want to park

myself here, and throw away

the keys.

Killed Another Computer

Wrote a poem about it…

want to hear it?

goes like this……

Spilled a drink on my computer…

Lit up like a Christmas tree and then

went dead…instituting restraints now.

Life sucks…computers just make

the suckiness more complex.

When a bull charges me, I know

what to do…die, or, get out of the way.

a computer is not so simple…I die

while I’m trying to get out of it’s way.

Computers come up…the rise of the

machines. We’ll know when it’s over

if they develop a sense of humor.

Not yet…this looks and works the same

as the last one.I see no point in giving it 

a name, like some people give to their cars.

and ships and trains…at least, those 

machines actually take you somewhere…

they don’t tease you with everything….

all the things you’ll never really see….

computer is a vamp, not quite yet a vampire.

Let’s see how smart it gets.

Poem About Clouds And Light (for D.D)

The clouds in the Midwest, Illinois, were line storms…

you could see a line of delicious blackness growing east…

I used to lie on my lawn, watching the darkness come to me.

The clouds and light in Boulder, (Colorado, the whole state even),

and Tepoztlan, Mexico, where I live now

are similar…clouds and mountains quarreling over light, 

darkness and space….the storm directions and intensity 

dictated by the mountains' physical enormity….

Light plays, as we know, chiaroscuro….I go where the light plays

all the time because I identify with the light and the dark, and I

enjoy their conversations.

I can tell how long before it rains here now. 

It’s probably where the real shamans came from…

I’m certainly not claiming to be one of them.

Does a Bear Sit In The Woods?

Tiny Tulku a.k.a., "Camby Bear” found himself born in Maine, 

a beautiful state with many woods. The forest was a natural 

place for him, (or anyone) to be.  He  had spent many lifetimes 

in meditation, in solitude, taming his mind and opening his

perception, all in preparation for this life, when he would take

his training and be in the world fully, with people. He wanted to 

be the center of attention because he knew his attention was

centered, and that he could use it to help others who were not

so endowed. He’d seen glimpses of masses of people swarming

in environments, where there were no trees, on the television.

He knew instinctively that he would be in that maelstrom someday,

that that was where he was needed. He knew he would not have

as much opportunity in this life for training. He would have to wing 

the path. His life was truly to be meditation in action. He was ready.

Sheeple

And the bleat goes on….

fleece the flock, it’s what

they’re there for….

Soylet Green is sheeple…

ask not what your country

can do for you…ask what

your country can do to you.

After Reading Phil Lesh's Book

The Grateful Dead started their adult lives as musicians...

coming together and forming a band which was all 

their adult lives....and, they are settling it in the end of 

their lives in the sunset of that experience. Complete

lives at the right time to have and fulfill them. We were 

a little off in time, but we got the torch that was passed...

we were Zulus, dying in waves in the new/same direction....

trying to repel invaders of our lives, of our momentary 

realization of freedom. We were poets and musicians 

and realized that these were our natural 

paths towards being ourselves.

Nuclear Waste

I agree with George Carlin;

swimming in polluted waters 

when I was young gave me 

a strong immune system.

As a plumber, I inhaled lead 

fumes, solder smoke, glue and 

cleaner, acetone….smoked 

cigarettes for thirty five years,

drank since I was sixteen…how

glorious my German/Jewish  genes.

I should be glowing in the dark

by now, or maybe, huge anomalies

sprouting from my body….my 

generation was healthy and ate 

good food..drank pure water.

I don’t mean to beat a Fukushima

horse….I don’t mean to split

Gulf oil spills…it’s all waste at the

nuclear level…the brain, the mind…

Nobody intended these disasters

to happen…I didn’t intend to write 

this poem. I think I took the right

fork in the road.

“Bug” The Reality Poem

I look at a bug…crawling, inching along, towards me

across the floor…

“What the fuck do you think YOU’RE doing?!”

The bug stops in it’s tracks on a square white ceramic tile, 

that, to the bug must seem like an acre.

Still still there, hasn’t moved….I’ll sweep it carefully outside….

When I got close to the bug, it wasn’t facing me no more…

it was facing the door.

When I'm.....

Baby, sometimes it’s simplified.

righteous,  I forgot the other word…

but it’s one of the only things I trust, 

since people let me down.

I’m not saying it’s their fault…I don’t 

know what choice they had, as we didn’t either,

to grow up in a paradise and see it dissolve 

in front of our eyes.

Really, I just go on like  a train, looking

to run out of track.

Spare Change

Can you spare some change,

do you mind changing a little, because

you hard currency is beginning to get

to be a little too much?

Vice Versa

I’m not really advice averse

I’m really into verse, never 

has it vized me in it’s 

 vain intensity…I need a visor,

the light so bright, no advisor

to guide me in the brilliance…..

no guarantee because, 

there’s no guarantor.

E Mail To My Editor

I love Breton poets...I love Breton, the poet...I love 
the surrealists and the Dadaists because they prove 
even the French can have a sense of humor....I love 
escargot, because only the French could have figured 
out how to eat those bastards... I love meals that 
take all day....I love hairy legs leading to wet pussy....
France is the land where art was the purest,

because, besides art and food, there was nothing.....

I love that they loved Josephine Baker and 

Jack Johnson...I love the Beat hotel and the filthy 

pissoirs......I love Genet, Rimbaud....Prevert, 

Apollinaire, Dumal, Artaud, the spirit that the Beats 

inherited....Dali and Picasso may have been 

Spaniards,  but they were French in fact. They didn't 

have internet then, so, it took .....a long time....to get 

everything out of a poem, of a painting, of a symphony.  

The only re-play was through their senses.

Interesting Fact

Liszt's "Les Preludes" was the theme music for the
pop cereal, sorry serial,
of the Thirties: "Flash Gordon" daring Buster Crabbe,
Olympic swimming champion from Chicago...also,
the music Hitler listened to the night his armies
invaded Poland.

Jeff Bridges and Bill Murray (a short)

I’m not just fans of them…

they are part of my family, look, like,

those people you meet in the world,

in your life, that you feel just fit in.

Hey, Bill, I grew up in Winfield!

There but for the karmic boundaries

of public education of the times go I.

If only everyone could graduate 

into being Dudes…( you are Bill…

you know you are.)

Every time I see either of you again

I fall in love again with my life.

Knock You Out

Go for it

stop

Isn’t that what you do?

Do you realize how simple

your actions are?

Go for it

stop 

have you ever been told

anything else?

Wake up…

it’s only a TKO.

You can live your way

out of the concussion.

It’s not too late to wake up

before you die.

Morning Dew (for Rick)

Morning dew happens anytime

a light crystal, evaporating 

when waking into a new day

which just happens forevertime

when the time is right.

“Is it today again?”

…sure is….past and future

just a memory, a fantasy….

those shards of crystal perforate

our hearts and let the joy in…

aerate with light the darkness of

the night before….hangovers

don’t stand a chance…we fumble 

with our baggage in the face of such light.

We realize we might be missing more

than we think we have.

Trauma (for K.)

We’re all in a bad situation.

We’re all traumatized into thinking

our lives are real.

Whether we think well or ill of

ourselves,  it’s all still ego…our

ideas of ourselves created by

the trauma of being alive.

Ego is trauma…

the scar that comes

from being born.

We can see through this paradise

nightmare…we can wake up from

this dream. 

We can see the world without laying

our scar trips on it. 

What would we do without ourselves?

Great things…great things. In fact, 

nothing was ever done with ego in the way.

Let go the rope you hang yourself on.