Resurrection

Fortunate sun

dredging me up again,

more than every third day,

more reliable than Mexican electricity.

Alive again in the routine.

What did Jesus do the first 

thing that morning,

have a cup of coffee?

Might as well could have done.

All we hear about is the miracles,

as if that was enough to sustain us

for thousands of years.

Have any good resurrections lately?

No, but we have plenty of special effects,

A.I. videos, and you can resurrect them

again and again….forever and ever.

Ugh.

But I have chocolate cake,

music that sounds new,

and, I’m awake.

Space

Space is where the aliens come from

Space is where we come from.

Space pervades all phenomena.

Space is where we return to when we die.

Space is the “fecund minimum”. (Stevens)

Space is the cosmic potential.

Space is too much for our little minds.

Space is the same as our Big minds.

Having a body is a conundrum.

We feel limited by it, but our minds are infinite.

It’s hard to reconcile, takes effort to recognize,

realize space, but many have done it.

These are the humans that see the universe

in a drop of water.

These humans have become part of the environment,

not sticking out like a sore thumb

a sore head

a dumb dumb.

These are just words…don’t believe them.

Find out for yourself like Buddha did.

Believe it or not, space awaits.

“The truth is the most important thing.”

— Irvin Tischer

Tough Crowd

The brainwashed are a tough crowd.

It’s hard to make them even smile.

No room in their heads for anything

that isn’t already there.

Victims of amnesia as to what they

really are.

Amazing, really, that they don’t see

the truth staring them in the face,

like the Democrats,

like Nazis,

like Jim Jones followers into oblivion,

like all the cults that ever were.

A chunk of Americans are brainwashed 

in the cult perpetrated on them by evil,

corrupt social engineers.

People don’t want to hear this.

People don’t want to hear the truth.

Who even wants to read these words?

No one wants to hear me crying in the

wilderness of bewildering deception.

Question

They say the Dark Age is when

the truth is hard to hear.

Isn’t that where we are now?

Matter Of Fact

Sunny day, sitting on a rock, waiting

for the bus…I know where it’s going,

my rut, my routine, not heavy, light

like my life that floats on the waves

of the senses.

Matter doesn’t matter. It’s the illusion 

of solidity, the ground of confusion.

The words I write don’t become matter.

If someone connects with the words it’s 

the same as seeing a flower, really seeing

it for the first time, only materializing in

the mind.

Everything human starts in the mind.

Monuments are only expressions of mind.

They are the play of matter in which the 

truth is revealed.

The truth is not material, but it’s the only

thing that matters, 

like the Lincoln Memorial.

Life Is A Clue Called Existence

Clue to what, you wonder.

“What’s it all about, Alfie,

is it just for the moment we

live?” 

“Try to remember…” (how

does that song go?)

getting excited about

explanations

theories

epiphanies 

dogmas

doesn’t seem to satisfy for

very long, 

like junk food.

Some humans have found out 

what life’s about

so should you.

I’m not smart enough to even

maintain my own existence,

but at least I’ve discovered the truth.

That revelation will last for eternity

because it has already.

Soft Disclosure

“I hate to break it to you, but…”

Comey…Bolton

3I/ATLAS

The Blue Kachina

“I’ll be right back. I’m going

out for a pack of cigarettes.”

Catching Up

Starting to remember,

or, memory is catching up to me.

It’s all there in the karma cache,

in the DNA of which we only use

a tiny bit, the rest waiting to be triggered.

Meditation is the only way it works.

Nothing is ever lost.

Actions have inevitable consequences.

That’s why your eyes are blue,

why you always wanted to be

whatever,

why you have lots of love or not,

why you always had a longing

to go to Tibet like my mother,

though she never made it there.

Magically, I brought it to her, so,

it caught up to her.

Nothing is ever lost.

Please don’t believe anything I say.

Belief is spinning your wheels and going nowhere.

Catch up through the senses to where

you actually are, see the world for yourself,

not the picture painted for you by others…

it’s the only way to evolve,

it’s the only way to remember what you are.

Tepoztlan Redux

People aren’t crazy here…

if they are I don’t know because they’re smiling…

that could be crazy too.

(a haiku with too many syllables)

People here are transparent because they have

nothing to hide because they have nothing.

The old gringos I know here are crazy the same

as if they were in the USA.

I wear colorful clothes.

People know that, which makes me invisible,

invisible but friendly.

I smile at the children and they smile back.

That makes me feel ok.

That makes me feel I’m in the right place,

it makes me feel I found my spot.

(twenty percent Burning Man)

Everybody’s tripping.

It’s more blatant here, less purposeful,

not obvious to tourists.

There’s acceptance of the drunk 

passed out in the doorway,

ready to arise for the next fiesta,

which should be any moment now.

People are beautiful because not downtrodden;

poor but not afraid of poverty.

There’s something about the place itself 

that sustains life…nature giving people 

a reason to live.

Narcos seem to leave the place alone.

Even they know not to mess with a good thing.

I feel the precariousness of life here, a shared

experience with the people.

Tepoztlan is not like any place I’ve been.

Twenty years ago, I cried in the restaurant 

the first two mornings I was here.

I wondered why.

I realized, for the first time in my life,

I felt like I was home.

No Proof Of Life

Nothing is proven…things just work out

for a while, maybe even reliable, but

circumstances change, things wear out,

a new model comes along, a brand new

technology, better theory that explains.

Maybe we have evidence we can use

in a court of law, in the court of public

opinion, that we exist: we have snap

shots, diplomas, verified anecdotes 

that say we were where whenever

and did what, but considering eternity

even titanium explanations wither.

That’s exactly why a cup of tea is

as monumental as anything can be.

Art Is Life

From the Sumerians to today,

life has been expressed in art,

part of many a religion, more

or less.

Poets worked out their lives in

words…Ginsberg howled,

Rimbaud and Burroughs wrote

their nightmares on paper until

they lost their power.

Bukowski, Miller, DeQuincy

and more weren’t just scribbling,

no

it is their blood and sweat in those

lines that freed them from their 

prisons.

I know what they did so beautiful 

that people still read and feel the

breath of their lives as close as you

can get to eternity.

Ya Think?

I think therefore I am a fool.

“What was I thinking?” was

heard to be said.

“I break when the little voices

in my head tell me to.” a

bumper sticker read.

What about the people that go

into convulsions when they hear

the word: Trump?

Is that using their heads?

It’s a heady topic too bald faced

for many.

When I don’t think, there I am.

Lost from childhood, it’s hard

to get off that bandwagon. 

I was lucky…my world made 

no sense from the beginning.

I had to find out what was true.

I never believed anything for 

very long.

Most adults, growing up, didn’t 

even seem human to me.

That seeded my belief in other

world aliens. 

Now that I’ve seen their crafts 

with my own eyes, they’re real

to me, no matter what someone

else mutters in their dream.

Tick Tock

Another night late in life,

check off the box.

What’s happening out there?

So many things.

Can you handle the truth?

I think it’s stranger than the fictions

we hear about everyday.

Certainly everything I was told was a lie,

although those that told me didn’t know

because someone told them and so it goes.

I’ve seen UFOs undeniably as have so many,

still scientifically unproven says NASA,

Never A Straight Answer, and that’s just

one agency that eats money and is part 

of the house of cards so many are lost 

believing in.

But, in a way it doesn’t matter because

there’s not much time.

Precious lives, precious time, even if

it’s only a hot dog, a cup of tea.

Ballade Of A Tin Soldier

I was changing the sheets like I do,

the pink ones for the gold this time.

I had the music on something noir.

It started like that, the way it used to

start; interesting, fascinating, sultry.

But quickly the color wasn’t there,

washed out like faded, superimposed

film. The music kept on and I went

back to my chore.

Nothing monumental about any of it.

I wish my life had more pizzazz,

I’d rather be done with it,

but I still have my chores.

Just A Poet

There are/have been many poets better than me

that have died unread, unknown.

There are many flowers in the woods no one

will ever see.

Art is beauty and truth and just happens because

humans can’t help themselves and that’s the way

it is and should be.

Machine conglomerates put on shows that are

predictable, banal, and full of cliche, not art,

just another mechanism of control. 

Chaim Soutine (I love his name best of all)

painted rotting beef carcasses he hung in

his apartment, slathering them with blood

so he could keep painting them fresh.

It got him  out of poverty, but he died anyway

indirectly because of the Nazis.

Nazi “art” was brutal and simplistic.

It was propaganda lies in the form of art.

The Nazis shot Lorca in a field.

Disney does similar, albeit less violent,

travesties in the USA to the same end.

A country without art is a country without a heart.

Luckily, the beat goes on.

Krag watches, amused.

(For those playing the home game, that’s a clue.)

Broken Hearted But Not Lonely

I’m not lonely because I don’t feel separated 

from my experience of the world through the

senses no I’m part of the world part of the 

environment the space that pervades existence

between molecules of so called matter so quantum

connectedness between vast distances 

instantaneously like love does for example

but

my heart is broken for so many in bad situations 

or that don’t have a clue and wander in confusion

and in that space I am with them I don’t know if

that helps.

Spectre

Innuendos on the internet creating impressions

are they true, do they have any validity? 

the curse of the sound bite

if it sticks they think it’s true

and the roar of the crowd rises to give it weight

every conversation you have is a shouting match

until the volume is the only thing that pretends authority.

All in all it’s but a ghost imagining itself real.

Spontaneous Auto-Da-Fe

Parasitic random words emit their aroma

or is it stench half full empty is what you

get at the end of the day or anytime why

not but you saw that coming so more of

the same which I could just repeat like

echolalia until my mind is ash which 

always happens for a while at some point

until phoenix words arise again from the

swamp of possibilities how many lots so

you’re reading fire that burns into words

that become ash as soon as you read them

and on to the next thing fill it up so there

are no distractions that might just show 

you what’s really happening but we haven’t 

analyzed the data sufficiently we can’t find

the records I’ll refer you to my supervisor 

I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do.

Fat Back And Baked Beans

Or, a cassoulet if you prefer…

it’s only words,

but they can make your mouth water.

That’s not something you extrapolate.

It’s good enough as it is,

even though the words keep coming out

the life keeps living

senses whirring like bees

sounds of things happening 

that can be tasty too.

It all makes sense in the sense of the senses.

I mean, what else ya got,

the internet?