This Is The Way It Was

In Paris, nineteen fourteen, sipping

aperitif at a cafe on a lazy afternoon

as the Krupps mobilize their monster

machines.

In Hiroshima, during a tea ceremony,

contemplating the ephemeral nature

of life seconds before a star bursts

outside the tea house, and 

contemplation becomes reality.

In Tepoztlan, election two weeks away,

great coffee, nice lunch, now, writing...

the power went out, but, that happens.

The townspeople will go to the cemetery

tonight, feast and drink with their dead;

the dead will come back this night to 

visit... at least, the drunk ones will claim

they were there. The dirt roads and paths 

in this town remind me of when I was 

three in Chicago.  

Closure.

Manifestasia

Tired of living. 

Allergic to the vicissitudes

of that endeavor...yearning

for non-existence.

What can be done

has been done.

The great men are forgotten,

their deeds buried in the dust.

Archaeologists discover

ancient civilizations....

"What fantastic lives they

must have had!"

"Thanks...I'll tell them."

Meanwhile...

life continues...

meals are good,

and the feel of clean sheets.

"Will there be nuclear war?

Will Trump/Hillary ruin the USA?"

It's a moot point...what can happen

will happen, as always, and the cries

and the protests about the way things

are fall on deaf ears.

Meanwhile, time still is, and

the ferris wheel still goes around,

games are played,

Homo-sap "gits 'er done!"

the tamasha continues 'til the end.

Hey Joe

Yes, Jimi, I went way down south

where a man can be free. No one

cares much for this town, so, it's

free. Fresh air and a nice place to

walk around, so, everyone leaves

it at that. You paid for your freedom

through a vein. No one's going 

anywhere here. That's how we got 

here. We were done with rude boy

life...rude boy in the street, office, 

bank. Rude Boy doctor: "We're 

going to have to take that out...my

kids need to go to college."

Yes, Jimi, sorry you got sucked into

the maw of the music industry... 

certain death. "Hey, Joe, where 'ya

gonna go with that sum in your hand?"

It's still the company store....whether

you call it Mafia, Government, Bank, 

Corporation...you been had.

Liszt Les Preludes

Theme music for Buster

Crabbe's Flash Gordon...

grandiose, in your face

powerful...if music could

conquer. Hitler listened to

it the night he invaded 

Poland.

Another meme, a reference

point for emotions, feelings,

arising at a time in history

when those sentiments 

needed to be expressed

exactly, so, Liszt captured 

them and manifested them.

Suitable, now, at the latest

beginning of the end of 

the world...

Only, this time

we mean it.

Closing In

An older lady I met in Tepoztlan

said: "It was a paradise here,

fifty years ago."

It's relative, I guess...sure; more

taxis...more people on weekends...

compared to shopping malls

condos, etc., it's still a paradise

bountiful cornucopia of life, flowers,

mountains, rain, wind, people

connected to that, so, real...

...but..."Fifty years ago it was a 

paradise"...so...closing in...

even here.

So Much For Belief

Of course belief in God of any sort

is a myth that people are waking up

from. How's about belief in Democracy?

How's about belief in a two party system?

How's about government by the people

and for the people? 

Belief relies on faith and trust.

Who believes in and/or trusts the United

States government any more?

The proof is out there. Trump represents

traditional American values...even if he's

a son of a bitch sometimes....but then,

Lincoln and Kennedy probably were at times.

It's wake up time for the American Dream.

This election will show what percentage of

Americans are irretrievably stupid and what

percentage gets it...if it's not completely

manipulated...like it has been so far.

A Few Small Poems (can I know that?)

Every time we exhale

we return to the sky.

When we inhale, the

sky comes into us.

That's because I'm 

listening to Vangelis

with a banana in my 

ear...."I was listening

to Vangelis and all I

got was this lousy

banana in my ear."

....which sums up 

every conversation

I ever had.

Ripe limes falling down

like tennis balls.

Have I always been here, or,

have I merely been here before? 

The Poet Sits Down To Write

Am I forgetting anything?

I mean, all poetry is just

one poem....all music just

one song. All art is just one

big shared heart.

That's not sentimental;

it's hard fact...unless you

say:

"Guernica by" Picasso

"Lord Of The Flies"

"Catch-22"

"Howl"

and on and on

ad infinitum

are sentimental.

That's why, right now,

is there anything left to say?

We could talk infinitely at 

a table over whatever 

deliciousness, or, leather

chairs in the library,

long past when we died,

about ever arising topics

we hadn't thought about

because no one has thought

about everything, even Albert

Einstein who still believed in 

God, so, he must have missed

something...

What's left worth talking about?

What colors, images left to see?

That's why I like to listen to certain

music over and over....

revisit Dali.

Certain perceptions stir certain 

emotions...the way the Blues

works, for example.

Nothing new under the sun...

a latah in Phoenicia invented rap...

an old man wrote a protest song

in the Ming Dynasty...

...the same songs play on Mexican

radio as adults sang in their youth.

To summarize:

The same words never come out

again. Even the same song heard

anew is new....is now. 

Reprobate (pre-destined to damnation)

Might as well

could have been.

Pretty heavy karma

if you ask me.

You can change karma.

For example. my small

house is a palace to me...

to others, probably a hovel,

or, a novel.

This poem is reprobate,

but you don't see me crying.

Damned if you do,

damned if you don't,

so, yes, reprobate, but,

I think I'd rather go down

swinging...

...which I'm doing wildly now.

Not For Writing

This is not writing stoned.

This is taking the paint off 

the wall stoned.

I didn't read the warning

on the pipe:
"Watch Your Head!"

But I'm writing anyway,

like a frog splayed on a

dissecting table...

time for lunch.

Nothing wrong with that

frog that a life as a toad

couldn't fix.

You see?

But, you see, we hippies,

what's left of us,

never could abide your rules.

You have to learn technique 

to paint, to do music...

but even these disciplines 

become second nature...

...then, you improvise.

Which is a description of how

we learn to live on our own 

at all anyway.

"Kill the Buddha"

For Sale

Bird for sale

cheep.

Poet for sale

deep.

Farm for sale

reap.

Ocean for sale

neap.

Mountain for sale

leap.

Car for sale

beep.

Hay for sale

heap.

Army for sale

jeep.

Chick for sale

peep.

Septic tank for sale

seep.

Politician for sale

Veep.

Emotion for sale

weep.

I'm for sale

creep.

In Celebration

"Of what?" you might ask.

Might be more fun to guess.

The hints are the words 

themselves...but writing,

(always a cause to celebrate),

is not it.

Good guess.

Perhaps the state of mind I'm

in....oops! I just told you! But

you still don't know what that is,

or why. What and why are the

reasons I celebrate(?); I celebrate

the truth. 

I celebrate the ephemeral 

moment the lime falls from my 

tree. I celebrate the music of

John Fahey, hermano. I 

celebrate this cigarette, and this

one and this one. I celebrate

that I can still walk, my general

health, clean sheets at night,

when I open the window in the

morning, reacting to my friends,

buying milk, smiling at a child...

blowing its mind.

Yes, the ephemeral 

eternity of now. 

I just gave it away.

Goodbye America!!

I never thought you were my country.
There was always something fishy
about you after you killed Kennedy.

I left eleven years ago, but now I'm
saying goodbye...

...because you'll never get back
to what you should have been...

...because you have a criminal
psychopath and an out-of- control
egotist running for president...

...because you want to run the world
into the ground...

...because your people don't realize
they've been brainwashed crazy...

...because you're addicted to everything...

....because you're a spectacular failed
experiment...

...because I can't afford to live in you,
even when I gave my life to you....

...because I found a place to live where
I'm not afraid of what you'll do to me....

...because no matter how corrupt Mexico
is, it is not as evil as you've become.

The Spaniards wanted gold, so the natives
here poured molten gold down their throats...
poetic justice which power in America
richly deserves.

So, goodbye, America, and thanks for all
the hamburgers!

Thanks for planned obsolescence and
the atomic bomb!

Harvard and Yale, everything you did
was wrong!

Thanks for all the great people:
King, the Kennedys, Fuller, Ginsburg, Corso,
Cummings, Brando, Lenny Bruce, Carlin,
so many! Too bad you didn't listen to them.

It's sadly amusing that you still think you
know what you're doing.

I'm out of you like a bad marriage...I'd say
go fuck yourself, but, wouldn't that be
redundant?

If you start nuclear war, maybe some
million dollar bankers would survive....
I wouldn't want to be left with those people...
I'd rather die here, by the side of a dirt road.

So, America, dream of freedom, goodbye!
I don't say goodbye because I left, America.
I say goodbye because you're gone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeCpLcjxOq4

Bukowski Knew

Bukowski was satisfied to know

that most people are full of shit,

but they couldn't stop him from

drinking, writing, getting into fights.

He knew he had the precarious

freedom of one escaped from

conformity, mindless routine

just to keep the body going

on someone else's track.

Two Swedish women came to

his house one day, fans of his,

just to fuck him. That's when he

knew he'd made the right decision.

Punchline

We laugh at jokes because

we recognize the truth...

you smile at a baby, and the

baby smiles back, copying,

then, realizes what a smile is

by smiling...then, it really smiles.

You learn balance by being 

unbalanced and feeling the

difference....another of life's

punchlines.

If you don't try things, make

mistakes, you don't learn, don't

get the punchlines.

Skydiving has two punchlines:

one, when the chute opens,

another when it doesn't.

No Loss No Gain

We didn't gain anything from being

born human, except a chance to

understand. Growing up was a 

natural process...for some it was 

better than for others. Arriving at

adulthood was a landmark, and the

rest of life continued. Saying that

you gained anything; material

possessions, knowledge, power,

prestige, is a false assumption.

Yes, a crab gains a shell, a home,

that it decorates with seaweed, but, 

it's just part of the life cycle...all the

buildings you built, and everything 

else you own, is just part of that 

cycle...you don't really "own" 

anything for more than a few dozen

years...those things are only a 

manifestation of living that will have 

to be given up when that process is 

over. Nothing is gained, nothing lost

in that process. Awareness is the only

worthwhile thing that can grow and is

lasting.

I Don't Speak Bullshit

I was at the coffee house and there was

a table with five people at it, three of

whom I knew. I got my coffee and moved

a chair to the doorway so I could smoke.

The table was lively with discussion. As

I was about to leave, Don, whom I knew, 

said: "What's the matter...not social? Don't

want to join us?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't speak bullshit."

They all heard that, and there was some 

reaction. Don said: "That was a pretty 

snarky thing to say...you think you're

better than us?"

"It's not that...maybe if I explained myself,

you'd understand." One woman left in a 

huff...the others remained.

"You're all adults...went through the growth

process...had your share of challenges..

now you're somewhere in the middle of 

your lives. You have some problems to 

deal with, you experience some joys, and

you probably have some plans you want to

execute..am I right so far?

It's all bullshit...it has not much to do with 

the importance of life. When you were 

young, you might have thought about 

the meaning of life, contemplated what life,

in fact, was...but then you got busy. You 

got involved in various ways and were

captivated by the process. Instead of 

remaining curious and making some effort

to understand life, you took it for granted.

Hence, bullshit ensued...the bullshit of self

importance and the meaningfulness of the

trivial details which caused you to lose the

sense of life itself. So, whatever comes 

out of your mouths is an expression of 

that bullshit. I don't have time for that."

"That sounds pretty arrogant," said Don.

"Hey, don't blame me...blame the truth...

that thing you only have a use for when

it seems helpful and seems to agree

with your conceptions."

I left then. The table was quiet as I was

leaving.

  

Gone For Good

Don't come knocking on my door...

I'm here, but I ain't coming out,

not to say the same things again,

and again, all like before.

What do you want to talk about;

the weather,

what's happening to the world,

who's your favorite band?

How's your garden? Did you

fix your roof? Jimmy's doing

well in school...Susan couldn't

care less and you're worried?

Enough novels have been written,

enough sit-coms to distract you

from the life you can't get a handle

on because you haven't been

paying attention.

I'm sorry your insurance went up,

that you had to put down your dog,

about your argument with a 

neighbor about a tree....no, I'm

really not. Get with life or off the

planet...you could surprise me...

maybe... if you suddenly

came to life again,

like when you were three.

Everything's Better When It's Hot (For Samantha Fish)

Cajun stew

par example

grease and sweat...paint

a pretty spicy picture

lighting savors flavor

slide guitar and lips

same woman

this is bothsexual

boltsexual

man and woman heart

as one music lighting

agrees...and watches you.