He Likes Coffee But He Doesn't Like Tea

He likes my poems, not my

short treatises and rants.

They're too tepid, too tame,

hardly crazy enough for him.

My mind machinery may be

broken...a harrow that inks

a page no much in evidence in my

self imposed dry spell...a spell

of a muse never looking over my

crazy shoulder and egging me on.

Nothing to write about except

causes and conditions...no

visions, dreams, unusual morphs,

ironic scenes. Just turned into

a straight man, a foil for banality.

He likes coffee, but,

he doesn't like tea.

Orwellian Addiction

The term "brainwashing" was in vogue 

in the USA around the time of the Korean

War. It referred to the implementation of

various psychological techniques on 

captured American troops. The movie;

"The Manchurian Candidate" was a 

distillation of that concept. But the term

brainwashing is anachronistic in popular

usage. The fact of the syndrome, however, 

is everywhere apparent in the world, and 

particularly in the USA, so, I decided it 

would be good to update the term as 

"Orwellian addiction".

Addiction, as a concept and a fact, is 

everywhere apparent in American society

and culture. It usually is used in reference

to the chemical or substance variety of

addiction, but I propose that addiction in

the broader sense is valid to describe the

forces shaping American culture as a whole.

The political foment that is occurring during

these elections is a direct example of this 

point. You have two candidates, Clinton and

Trump, at the opposite ends of the spectrum.

Hillary Clinton stands for the status quo. 

Many Americans think their country is the

same great nation it seemed to be in the 

Fifties, particularly the elder generation. 

Any person with their eyes open has already

been disabused of that notion. Whatever it 

is now is nothing like it was then. Yet, there

is comfort and seeming security in having 

life go on as usual. 

Trump is for real change, not the platitude

change of Obama, but real, somewhat 

painful change of institutions and attitudes.

He has so many supporters because the

middle and lower classes are waking to the

fact that government is not working, that 

media is a manipulative mechanism to

maintain the status quo; that, perhaps, only

Bernie and Donald are willing to say what

they feel is the truth, painful though it may

be. 

And there are those that believe what they've

been fed and told by a power intent on 

distraction: Orwellian addiction to a lying media,

entertainment that stresses the appropriate 

ways to regard what's happening, appropriate

language that obfuscates communication, ideas

that please and sooth, such as "We're Number 

One!" as a glaring example. Many Americans 

are addicted to the junk of nice sounding words,

pleasant, smiling, reassuring faces, the feeling

of being "us", not "them". 

So, of course, when a red faced, independent

billionaire stands up and says "I'm mad as hell,

and I'm not going to take this anymore!" the 

Orwellian addicts react with vicious anger that

their comfort is being threatened and challenged,

even in the face of the truth. They don't want to 

wake up. They don't want to have the lessening

boundaries of their comfort challenged, just as

an addict feels threatened by an intervention. 

The power in America, the corporations, the

pharmaceutical companies and others, have gone

to great pains to maintain their profits at the

expense of the health and welfare of the ordinary

American citizen. This truth is being exposed,

and the addicts are starting to freak out. It is one

reason why, no matter what the media slings at 

Trump, his followers appear steadfast. It is why

many people that have given up on the electoral

process will vote this time. People are getting 

tired of the crap, both material and psychological,

they've been forced to consume. Some sheep

are taking notice and looking around and 

beginning to understand the feeding pens they

have to live in. Yes, this is revolution. The 

outcome is highly in doubt, the time is extremely

dangerous.

The Jihadist Handbook Of Rules

(Because you gotta be clear why

you're blowing yourself up)

1. How many virgins

The number of virgins you get in heaven

depends on the effectiveness you achieve

upon blowing yourself up.

If you are a devout jihadist with an intense

hatred of infidels that makes you so blinded

you accidentally run into a tree with your car,

or, when walking, fall down a manhole and

die, you go to heaven, but, no virgins.

If you are prepared with your dynamite

clothing, but it accidentally goes off before

you reach your target and no one else is 

hurt, you get one virgin...a fifty year old 

spinster, whose father was a plumber and 

she still lives with her parents.

If you were born into the faith, and blow

yourself up, with at least one death and

several injured, you get the standard 

issue of sixteen pretty good virgins.

There is a bonus of virgins after five killed 

or wounded...one virgin for every five more

killed or wounded.

If you convert to the faith from a Christian

or Hindu sect, or, if you convert from atheism,

become a jihadist and kill or wound the requisite

number of infidels, the number of vigins is

doubled. If the infidels are members of your 

own family, that number is quadrupled. If you

are a successful jihadist that has converted 

from Buddhism, the number of virgins 

increases tenfold.

Obviously, these standards point to a requisite

of efficiency if you expect to receive your 

just rewards in heaven. He is watching!

2. Planning And Preparation

Load yourself up with dynamite and walk 

towards the infidels. Make sure your finger

is on the detonator. Make sure you don't

press it before you are in range...you want

your virgins, don't you?!!

3.  Prayers

Say your prayers before you proceed towards

the infidels. You won't have a chance to later.

And you can think of all the virgins you'll be

getting as a motivational factor.

3. Group Actions

Group actions are beyond the scope of this

handbook. Please refer to the Advanced

Handbook of Jihadism if required by your 

Imam.

Jesus Is Dead

"There was only one Christian, 

and they killed him."  Nietzsche.

Jesus was talking to a crowd:

"I don't know....I walk on water, heal 

the sick, raise the dead. All I ask is 

that you practise a little love and

compassion...is that too much to ask?

But, no all you want to hear about is

eternal life...what's that all about?"

A hand raises at the back of the crowd.

Impatiently, Jesus says: "What is it?"

The man stands and says, sheepishly,

"Can I have a car?"

Jesus looks down, shakes his head, 

and sighs. He looks up and says:

"I'm sorry...Only God can make a tree,
but, only Ford can make a car."

My Writing Sucks Lately

I enjoy doing it, sure,

like gluing model airplanes.

It's lacking something....

fire, passion, probably drugs

and alcohol.

So, now I'm tamed, now

all I have is a hobby.

Is that why artists need 

to suffer? Another cliche

to add to my resume.

Going gently nowhere,

can't fall in love...

outrage becomes a joke...

meaning is a good sleep.

I'd be better off writing haiku;

a line or two is all I have to say.

Compassion is ok; not the same

as sweaty, gritty love. Only a

scorpion to sweep out the front door.

What is there to inspire me now?

Only so much to say about beauty...

pointing it out feels stupid.

Rimbeaud quit writing when he was

young...maybe that's happening to me.

Even my enlightened teacher wondered

how many times he would have to say

the same things over and over.

There is nothing new under the sun...

it just seems new to each generation.

Each time humanity has to be taught

how to live. Even that is being lost.

Oh, Ikkyu! Seventy five falls in love

with a blind girl, writes erotic poems!

I'm not trapped! Anything could happen!

Maybe I should plan an accident!

Maybe my muse ran away 

with the milkman!

Freedom

Free from the complications

of discursive mind.

Enough money to live

and not be a slave, or,

starving in a ditch.

Free to write whatever

I wish, not burdened by

deadlines or the possibility 

of fame.

I crossed the finish line,

yet, I find myself still alive,

a joy to bask in non action.

i followed the unwritten map,

seeing signposts in my beans 

and coffee...avoiding potholes

of trapped minds...nodding and

smiling to the policemen of

control, obviously not worth

their bother.

Humor is my atomic bomb,

assuring mutual destruction

of pretense and fakery.

I write because it's what I do,

without effort or reason, failing

to impress, no other purpose

but that I love words and am

curious as to how they will

come out, the way some 

people dance.

Virgo Moon

I woke up and my phone/internet didn't work 

and I found out soon after a line was down. 

The store where I buy cigarettes opened an

hour later than usual. I'm not that much into 

astrology, but I once met a guy who pulled out

his ephemeris and nailed me without ever 

having met me before. And an astrologer

predicted Buddha would be either a great king,

or, a great spiritual leader. I don't know how

that affects the statistics, but at least one

astrologer got it right big time for once.

Astrology has been around as long as

astronomy.

After all, we're just intelligent bags of water,

so why not think that large masses hurling

around our solar system might have some

small effect on our mental tides?  If mystics

can walk through walls, fly, and read your 

mind, which some can, why not see that the

mechanistic version of the universe and 

human consciousness has a few major blind

spots?  Seems obvious. 

I'm a Pisces and the general description of

that sign seems to fit me to a tee. Look it up

if you're interested. My Buddhist teacher made

a number of predictions of my life of minor and

major qualities all of which have come true. 

And, they were very specific. Got any 

explanations? I thought not. The difference

between some of the things I've mentioned 

and superstition is that the latter is based on

folklore, not even folk wisdom. Even poetry has

a slight aspect of mystery in its very existence.

Eliot was looking for the "objective correlative",

the Holy Grail touchstone of poetry, how words

could not just represent experience, but could

actually be experience. Like a scientist trying to

find the original state of matter, he didn't even

get close.

So, whether it's UFOs, ghosts, paranormal 

phenomena, how the I Ching works, or other

examples, the ultimate always shys away

from the tool of knowledge to the profound

mental state of not knowing, square one, where,

if you contemplate it, we all reside eternally.

An open mind, which most bags of water think

is a good thing, is our greatest treasure.

Two Spring Poems

Spring, first thing

stink of mud as ground thaws

residual rottenness not fully

decomposed.

The flowers will come

like new skin, new hope

of renewal, as they

cyclically do.

The world will relive the same 

process as it always does or

seems to do; always just

a gap of memory.

.............................................

Empty cafe, Rolling Stones echo

memory of time long gone...the

chatter that filled the air no

longer lingers.

We've grown old, what we never

thought would happen in eternal 

youth...it was all so exciting and

important, our loves and tears,

hopes and fears, gone: an ashtray

full of butts, the smell of stale beer.

The barkeep in his apron sweeps

the floor, readying the venue for

the next group of tourists.

"Here's where Thomas fell drunk

and died...here the spot Ginsberg

blew a sailor...Burroughs shot up

in this hall...Kerouack was against

this wall."

The landfill filled with the trash of

those lives...a mountain of refuse

all that's left of the Utopia we once

dreamed. 

Just then, a bubbly San Francisco 

mother aerates through the dull,

empty space, a quick complain of

her task to clean her house, a burst

of life, sweet joy, and gone.

Imperium Of Time

Reaching the end of this life maze,

(unity of time and space),

on the balcony, Sunday,

in Mexico, I find myself again

having negotiated that continuum

in flesh body for this phase

of fulfilling my vow.

Survived the exegesis of 

growing up a man, 

in spite of admonitions

not to be the way I am.

Had to get around the detours,

sidetracks, the mass of

stupidity all around me,

the numbed dumb graspers

of invisible brass rings on the

carousel circling constantly

going nowhere.

I knew what I was looking for

only when I found it, then there

was no alternative, no turning 

back, no other course of action,

like smelling food and knowing

it is good and healthy.

So, now I wait in repose, not 

knowing exactly the end to this

charade, but confident of applause

when the curtain comes down, if

only my own dead hands.

And the next life, the next portion

of the maze?

That time, that dimension is already

made, constructed by this life. It only 

remains to be seen what body takes 

place, and how it all shakes out.

I know this because I was given a

secret message by the master of the

Imperium of time, who told me:

"We will make time." which no one

but myself could understand.

There will be more lives, more careers,

more plot arcs, more tears and joys, How

could there not be? Otherwise, this life is

just a one-off miracle, such an absurd 

notion, as are the ideas of Eternal Heaven,

Eternal Hell: "Better get it right, folks, 

'cause you only get one chance at life!"

I would gladly make them martyrs.

If God is love, why do you kill each other?

Is there need for arguement about this 

point? If karma isn't true, why do people

get born where they do? Is it random?

Does that mean that God, the creator,

is, really, chaos?

I have time for silly reflections such as

these. having finally, for this life, escaped

from the Truth, simply sipping coffee,

feeling my body age to inevitable conclusion,

knowing, not that I am right and have all the 

answers, oh no! Knowing, rather, that I am

simply here for now.

No Poem (for Roger)

No mental elaborations,

no poem...but, didn't you just say....?

Hot dog, a thing of beauty.

Tune the instrument, and even if they 

aren't always the right notes, it's still

beautiful music.

Report: Ordinary Day In Paradise

Usual cafe, usual chatter. The lady from Australia's

interest in me is fading because I don't pay her the

right attention. Lee is not here, angry because he

didn't get the joke, and his tender ego was bruised. 

My grocer was drunk yesterday, first time I'd seen 

him that way. He's a wonderful man, but perhaps
his wife still finds a reason to hate him sometimes.
He  smiled and was friendly, but was not all there.
Later I'll go to Mango's. I hear they have a nice
hot dog for sixty pesos. Saturday, and the streets
are full of  people. My neighbors, tattooists, are
still moving in. It's still paradise...the jacarandas
are in bloom, warm with cloudy skies, last night the
arial bombs were plentiful, today I hear saws cutting
wood. Not much to ask for, and all I want and need,
except the tienda is out of V8. It might be days or
weeks before they have more. If this all sounds
boring, you should be so lucky.

Three Poems...One Day...All Crap

There's nothing much to say

about nothing.

Shall I draw you a bridge?

Feigning interest

in the stock market.

Current events

short circuiting.

Tattoo artist neighbor

stuck in his own pattern.

The plant medicinoids

came to a head...

unable to come to consensus

for obvious reasons...

trying to save the world

from itself.

Artists have painted 

themselves out of the picture.

The Pope infanta-sized.

Humanity reached its 

predestination, still more

still born into futureless present.

The greatest challenge is

to remain human.

Stay Away From My Foreskin (For Lee)

Stay away from my foreskin,

you got no business there.

I may be a Jew, but they

cut it off before I knew.

Foreskin, lost chosen 

piece of me, they should have kept

you and thrown away the man.

Output

My output failed

due to lack of input.

I couldn't put one foot

in front of the other.

I had nothing to utter,

couldn't even stutter, 

stammer, lost the hammer,

the train of thought,

bought out no doubt.

Just words of nothing to say,

automation stuck with no luck.

Some would call this a poem.

I hope I never know 'em,

frog walk 'em to the ocean,

their bubbles the end of our 

troubles...could go on like this

all day...why not? No salary,

all the words are free, so,

sue me.

Poems Happen

Rainbows happen

but you can't touch them.

Invisible beings are 

everywhere but you

can't see them. 

You know the other side

of the world exists but

you're not there.

Many astounding things

happen that you can't 

explain. 

Why did you decide to get

up earlier than usual, so

you accidentally met your

future wife?

It may sound silly, but it's

absolutely true.

Forty five years ago, my

teacher handed me a picture

painted in Mexico. I've been

here ten years so far. I will

probably die here.

How did he know?

Japan: True Nation Of Barbarians

Japan only became a unified country

a few hundred years ago at the time 

of the Shoguns, dictators that ruled the 

land with an iron thumb. The highest 

caste was, and is, the Samurai, warriors

that never hesitated to take life, for their

masters, for their tradition, for their honor,

even to the extent of taking their own to

preserve that honor, even if it was really

because their leader felt they were in 

the way. 

Japanese culture is not Japanese in origin.

A great leader sent his most brilliant subjects

to China and Korea in order to obtain their 

arts and ways in order to uplift the nation.

Similarly, during the Meiji period, Japan went 

from a feudal society to a modern industrial 

one when the leaders, realizing they could no

longer remain isolated, and couldn't compete 

militarily with the West, sent their best young 

minds to Europe to learn business, education,

manufacturing, and science. The complete

transformation of society (at least outwardly),

took place in less than a hundred years.

But the Japanese never got beyond their killing

ways. Their treatment of the Chinese during the 

war of the thirties, (and other people later), 

speaks of a nation not merely racist, but 

xenophobic towards the rest of the world to the

greatest degree. No other modern nation on earth

has suicide embedded in their culture as Japan.

The industry they created, the arts they embodied

are surface embellishments on their warrior, 

barbaric true nature. It's as if they were Nouveau

Riche, claiming more sophistication than was 

actually warranted.

The West should have left Japan alone. Once they

had the weaponry, imperialism was the next logical

step on their path. Because of their inflated sense 

of themselves as a people, they had no problem

with treating their conquered with inhuman
barbarity. Like Germany, they didn't have the
experience of hundreds of years of subjugating
others as did  England, and, by example, it's
child the USA. But  Japan knew once the United
States stopped  providing them with raw materials,
that they would  have to confront them, sooner or
later. The United States might well have stayed
out of World War Two for more years, allowing their
rivals to weaken further, until they actually had the
atomic bomb, except for Pearl Harbor.

Japan was doomed because its resources, (oil from

Indonesia a prime example) were so far flung. The

USA had all the resources it needed at home, with 

two oceans giving them breathing room to develop 

them. The greatest fear of American power was 

German technology, which is why the Manhattan 

Project became so urgent.

Japans loss of the war, not only defeated them 

militarily and destroyed much of the country, but it

also killed their spirit. Japan, as a nation, is in
suicide mode. The denial of Fukushima is
embedded in the society itself. even before the
tragedy that took place. The government knew
for years that precautions  against a tsunami were
inadequate. Stone stele in the mountains hundreds
of years old warned of building there.

Perhaps Japan today is a replay of the story of the

forty seven ronin, Samurai loyal to their master who

avenged his death at the certainty of their own. The

disaster of Fukushima, the lack of asking for 

assistance from the rest of the world to solve the 

problem, the continuous streaming of death into
the ocean, the laws prohibiting the media from
reporting on the problem all point to a suicidal/
homicidal attitude.....a barbaric tendency of the
Japanese mind that has been the case throughout
its history, culminating in its own demise and
its revenge on the planet.

Steven Wright-ish Joke

I tried to get credit at my school

for life experience,

but they gave me an incomplete.

American Nazism

The history of civilizations, since Rome

and before, has been grounded in 

imperialism. Germany, a newly unified 

country in the latter part of the Nineteen 

century, thought it was strong enough 

to beat England and the West, even 

though England had hundreds of years 

of imperialism under it's belt and a 

commonwealth (at that time colonies),

that supported it. How wrong they were.

Between the world wars, (and here the 

parallel with the United States begins)

Germany was a defeated country with

many enemies that bled her dry with

sanctions and reparations. And Germany's

people were also beaten, diminished.

No wonder Hitler could arise when 

Germany had so many to blame for its

misfortune! The path for the USA to power

was very different. Many US citizens were 

convinced that their country's involvement

in the world wars was to save the world

from evil repression. Little did they see that

the USA waited in the wings, in both wars,

until their rivals had beaten each other to 

bloody pulps before they entered the battle

and took credit for the victory. Most Americans

didn't recognize USA imperialism until the 

Vietnam war. Then, the public galvanized and

contributed greatly to that war's end. The true

power in America, (and before it in Europe, the

banksters and the great businesses) realized

they couldn't count on the submission of its

populace, because it hadn't faced the hardship 

of war on it's own soil. So, instead of aggression 

towards and in the name of it's people, it took

the "wisdom" of Goebbels and created a 

brainwashed society, enacted by control of 

media, entertainment, and, more and more,

education. 

So, now you don't have brown shirts disrupting 

communist rallies. Now you have organized,

"politically correct" college students starting to 

do the same thing!  American power doesn't 

want or need a dictator as a frontman. But its

problem is still that it's not in control of its own

people, because its people have never been 

defeated!  They've tried to defeat Trump by

destroying him in the media, but it has failed.

All they have left is violence, which we saw a 

glimpse of in Chicago, but that seems to be 

just a taste of what's in store. Don't forget the

FEMA camps and the coffins stored in forests

in the South are already in place. If the 

American people won't go willingly to their 

demise, power will do whatever is necessary 

to maintain itself, as it always does. If Trump

is the only real standard bearer for the American

people, heaven help him. They'll get rid of him,

when it comes to that, just like slapping a 

mosquito.

Paper Sun

Holding hands 

on the beach.

The moment when

she closes the door

behind her.

"I forgot my mantra!"

The report card

you threw in the trash

and told your parents

you lost it.

There was no chicken

in the chicken fettuccini

alfredo from Trader Joe's,

but it was still delicious.

The paper dosa that falls

apart when you eat it.

All your plans
for the future.

Beautiful Poem Without Words

I have the poem you requested, 

without words.

I left it outside your house.

Step outside your front door

and look for it.

Politically Correct

Let's straightjacket speech

so we have to walk on eggs

about the words we use.

Let's never offend anyone

in any way, because doing so

violates their rights to be idiots.

No dodge ball anymore in school,

because putting someone in the

center makes them feel picked on.

No competition anymore, because

people will feel hurt if you call them

a loser.

No more performance evaluations

because it would mean calling

them incompetent.

No more malpractice suits for 

doctors, because we all trust

doctors never make mistakes.

No more parent teacher meetings,

because we know every child is 

special.

No more absolving of sinners,

because who has a right to cast

the first stone?

No more karma, because no one

deserves anything bad. No more

prisons, because criminals are

basically misunderstood.

Fuck the PC niggas. (Even Chris

Rock said there was a difference

between "black people" and that

dirty word.) Fuck the youth that 

subscribe to free-less speech. 

They can all frog walk themselves

into the ocean. They all need a good

ass-kicking talking to.