The War For Your Soul

Soul, essence there’s really no difference.

If you haven’t been paying attention, it’s 

been going on for hundreds of years.

Buddhism says it’s the dark age, when the

truth cannot be heard…same difference.

Politicians who are blackmailed have lost

theirs already…people who vandalize the

reflecting pool, for example, are on their way.

What does it mean “to lose your soul”?

It means to be enslaved by the karma of

negative action, lost in misplaced certainty.

Like Dorian Grey, if they look at their own

reflection, their evil deeds will be manifest.

Ignoring the truth, rationalizing behavior,

doesn’t change anything. Common sense

means humans know the truth innately, but

patterns imprinted by propaganda obscure 

what that is…blindly following a doctrine 

that has been proven by history to be wrong.

Believing in something just because life is 

uncertain is the death of the spirit…it’s lazy,

akin to addiction to heroin, blocking reality 

doesn’t mean it goes away. 

Belief is the evil of ignorance.

Children aren’t taught in schools to think for

themselves. Instead, they’re told what to think.

Ask Mao, ask Stalin how that worked out.

Good and evil exist, but when evil preponderates,

the world is at risk of annihilation. 

It’s time to wake up before it’s too late.

Shadows

The shadows on the walls at Hiroshima.

Shadows on pages the authors gone.

Reruns on t.v. shadows of old plots.

Shadows over shallow graves.

Shadows of forgotten ancestors.

Shadows of monuments where we seek

refuge from the sun.

Some of the famous ones cast long shadows.

Living in no one’s shadow…hard to do.

Dreams are shadows of what we can’t forget.

Throwing shade to maintain the facade.

Smoke and mirrors artificial shade.

You could say it’s all done with mirrors.

John Fahey music shadows my mind

perfectly outlining the flickering like 

campfire light.

Who can stand the truth directly?

Eventually the bare light bulb comes on.

When you turn the rock over, beetles scurry.

Even the Million Dollar Man is temporary.

Meanwhile, hide if you want to, if you can.

Psychedelic Zoo Baby

Wombat vacuum cleaner rather obscene 

rather place my bet on that broom ribbed

hag dog he could use some love just like 

me I’m a zoo baby too human experiment 

like we all are from the aliens but don’t 

get me started you don’t think so but it’s true.

“Where do your ideas come from?”

“Where do your jokes come from?”

Yup. It’s aliens….all the way down.

Floating

“Living in the world…

floating on the waves of the lake.” Basho

I’ll take it

this moment now

somehow

floating

above it all

not buried in earthly worry

the time is mine

for now

we’ll see how it goes

slipping into a groove

psychedelic cowboy music

why on earth not.

I don’t need to write more

knowing I’ve said too much already

and it’s all there in the Akashic record.

That’s the same as Quantum strangeness 

in case you were wondering.

Season of the cosmic witch.

What your best friend never told you.

Who knew?

And so it goes.

We’re not getting anywhere from here…

just floating in insubstantiality…

no name for it…it’s not a thing…

just waves a solid body can float in…

not part of it, not separate, synchronized.

I wish this for the world.

Poor, disappointing world.

But let’s not talk about that now.

Any time is too much time for that.

There’s a good Hallmark card.

Sometimes a gap is necessary, in fact,

the more the better, tune into the waves,

catch the vibe, feel the environment.

Do this before you ever take action.

No action is required so I relax.

Life comes and goes with each breath.

Sprezzatura popped into the cabeza,

“Your need is greater than mine.”

Chod practice.

Everything must go.

A good line for life to end on….

….nope.

It’s not my head…

…it’s my neck blowing bubbles.

Falling…lying in bed.

The Hindu yogi said I’d die in bed…

…nope…cowboy music

galloping over shimmering waves…

Susie Q

barbecue sauce

corn on the cob

slathered with butter.

Are We Alone?

Who said that?

Who wants to know?

Whaddy mean “we”, Tarzan?

Look, Sparky, look at 

the facts that humans exist,

and that the universe is really, 

X 10 to the 60th power, really

big. Fermi Paradox? No one

has seen them? Some have.

I’ve seen UFOs. Many around

me have. 

Then what?

Well, if you believe, 

you might be fucked.

Doesn’t really matter what you believe,

because everything you know is wrong.

Not exactly nihilism, not atheism, 

a point of view for sure.

What it it pointing to?

Come to your senses and find out.

If you think the same as your parents,

well…

you’re the same fruity that they are,

unless your folks are very enlightened.

La, La, La, just words coming out.

“When I pray, I notice I’m talking to myself.”

Hey, it didn’t work out for a lot of people…

I knew two old guys who dropped dead of the vax.

That’s just for starters.

So, are we alone?

Not yet, 

could happen,

but let’s not go there.

Dead Poets Society

Sylvia Plath wasn’t good at Home Ec..

Dylan Thomas lost his drinking bet.

Apollinaire died in the trenches.

Lorca was assassinated by firing squad.

By all accounts, Wallace Stevens had

a pretty normal life.

Cummings was imprisoned but got out.

Eliot was good to his last coffee spoon.

Ginsberg helped his fellow Beats…they

all passed without much fanfare.

Berryman jumped off of a bridge.

Brautigan performed the Hemingway maneuver.

Bly lived demented for a decade before he died….

he was outstanding, and a maniac.

Poetry is the reason I’m still alive.

Getting My Ya Yas Out

I can’t hardly find any anymore, the carpe diem

seems to have run its course as I await my fate

in diminishing options and possibilities as what

happens to old men who didn’t plow through life

without regard for others who made their fortunes 

with the blood and suffering of the common man. 

It’s the way of the world in spite of short lived

kingdoms, communes, civilizations that tried to

evolve into righteous communities but lasted only

as long as serendipity and resources would allow,

the promised land a myth some still are looking for,

Mars maybe, only because whomever thinks so has

already given up on the earth, which may be correct.

We don’t know because only the mystics have seen

the world in another way, not the greed driven 

survival outlook espoused by even the philosophers

and other high minded thinkers that purport to speak 

for the masses but only compound confusion for money.

Buddha’s first truth was “life is suffering.” Why? 

Because it’s the truth that’s easiest to see if one is being 

objective. Why it’s that way and how to deal with it

comes next. It’s more realistic than thinking “if I get

my McMansion and three cars I’ll be happy.” or any

other ifs…no one gets there from here. Even if you get

there it’s not at all what you thought it would be, so 

you’re still not really there. Mars notwithstanding.

Just because you don’t like the truth doesn’t mean

it’s going to change.

New Storm

I can feel it coming through the window 

a ways off but the thunder speaks to me.

I have to wait to write more as the storm 

progresses/meanwhile look out your own

window/into your soul and see the weather

there and whether or not you’re there…oops

a flash of lightning near then thunder two

miles/may have to close some windows the

steady wind stream and another booming

thunder/windows closed in perfect timing 

as storm rain hits with thunderous applause.

The lightning is within the clouds/no close

cracks…yet…window open a slit to let a bit

of the storm in a sliver of wind and drops

because this too is love…yes rain washing 

down the window in sheets! perfect storm!

A good one. 

I’ll sleep in perfect lovely coolness tonight.

Many hours of sun left…the weather still

could change. 

Still time before the world ends.

For now the air is calm, the clouds are there,

the dripping sounds are slowing down,

even voices of people coming out again.

I’ll watch a video about disclosure, and

get back to you. 

Bereft

My sangha has dissolved as impermanence 

does to things…many of my colleagues are

dead or have lost their minds.

My family is dead or tenuous.

Past actions leading to a dead end.

No pain no gain.

This happens too.

I could perform the Hemingway maneuver,

but it feels a bit premature.

Time is a bitch.

I don’t know how long I’m willing

to live in fear.

I’m enjoying life more than ever before,

Do dah, do dah…

American Hero

Ulysses S. Grant is my hero.

He won the Civil War, not an

easy accomplishment.

Then he became President.

He was poor after all that, 

so he wrote a best selling 

memoir to make ends meet.

He drank like a fish on top

of it all.

Don’t laugh, but, now there’s 

an American.

I bet no one told him he couldn’t 

do it, or he didn’t listen.

Obviously, he didn’t give up.

It was as much that he did what 

he did, as well as the fact he did it.

You can’t get there from here, but

somehow he found a way.

We only remember him because he

was successful.

Others who tried lay dead in ditches.

I’m somewhere in between.

Phone Home

I'm phoning it in.

Tiny letters 

beefy fingers 

miniscule mind...

Come in, Rangoon!

Throw me a rope!

Send me a message!

Let me know I'm still 

in the game!

I implore the internet!

I pray to the Quantum paradox!

I write tiny letters and 

hurl them into the void!

Show me a sign I'm not 

wasting my time!

Everything must go!

To A Wallace Stevens Poem

“Last evening the moon rose above this rock

impure upon a world unpurged.

The man and his companion stopped 

to rest before the heroic height.”

“How To Live, What To Do”

                 Wallace Stevens

I remembered the title of the poem,

wondered why,

looked it up.

The heroic rock above a world unpurged 

is another clue.

I am no hero, nor a rock, not even an

attendant lord sure of my station.

I’m just another man that time forgot,

washed away by the tsunami of the era.

The unpurged world is where I live,

the world of mud men lusting for mud.

Not a pretty picture, but it is what is…

don’t tell me I cannot see.

The millions that died in wars…did they

ever achieve their victory?

Has humanity evolved past the instinct 

to survive?

Going to Mars is a cruel joke on top of

the cruel joke of being alive.

Only a mountain has the strength 

to remain unmoved.

Stoned In The Morning

I must confess I do enjoy it,

thus these first words.

Why should I hide it,

to make a good impression?

Some writers apologize;

“Forgive me, Gentle Reader.”

Fuck that….grow up, I say.

I don’t want to make more suffering,

let me make that clear…I don’t see

how that can happen if I’m just

being honest.

Ahem! Enough preamble, premumble,

predication, predestination!

On to the point!

I forgot! 

(that happens when you’re stoned)…

Just kidding!

The point is being here on the coffee curb,

digging it all,

taking it all in,

breathing in pain,

breathing out joy!

That came out spontaneously!

So,

As you were!

Fresh air, fresh and stale faces,

healthy bright children, one black

man, workers in day-glo vests,

donnas in aprons, 

an occasional dog.

Tell me, is this Paradise?

It all depends on how you look at it.

Might as well could be.

Heaven is in your mind….ibid.

And then, the inevitable interruption…

this is still samsara, after all.

“Many times for brief moments.”

Tulku Ugen.

I’m on my way.

Daydream

Home now…

I’m daydreaming that a beautiful widow,

from Albania or Poland, (it has to be a 

Slavic country I think), rich and bored

reads my poetry and decides she’ll come

to Tepoztlan, surprise me, and take care

of me for the rest of my life. 

It’s a practical daydream, at least.

It’s also deja vu from a previous time

when I also was on the edge of a cliff, 

in this life, 

not knowing what would happen next. 

Not a pleasant feeling, so I daydream.

Wouldn’t you?

“…to young people that don’t have the information.”

A good a place to start as any…

a sliver of conversation from a podcast…

young people have to struggle to get

the information, or else their indoctrination 

prevents them from learning anything at all.

Agree or disagree?

Comments below.

I was lucky to be a hippie.

There was a gap in power and control,

true anarchy,

which gave freedom a brief chance,

before it was subsumed by the tsunami of bullshit

that we are all swimming in right now.

“Say something more nice.”

OK, how’s about this?

I’m still alive.

It’s a beautiful day.

I’m old, didn’t leave too much

of a trail of destruction behind me.

My daughter loves me and discovered 

the dharma, so that makes me happy.

The peskiness of poverty haunts me,

a fact, like all the others.

It’s phenomenal, that’s for sure,

and I’m waiting to see a UFO again.

That’s all the information I have right now.

More details upon request.

Comments:

“I agree”. Joe Schmidt, Tulsa, Oklahoma 

“I disagree” Cathy Andrews, Mena, Arkansas 

“I don’t know…can I finish my moping now?”

 Joe Blow from Kokomo, Indiana 

Orange Juice

I’ll get a pizza later.

Depression, fear of death, actually.

Probably shouldn’t write anymore.

No energy for it anyway.

You ever have a day like that?

I hope I don’t have many more.

I need help, ayuda, succor,

the desperation of a drowning man,

only words go out to nowhere,

lost in the general din.

Funny, even that feeling has lessened.

“Even my sadness perhaps has changed,

as if I were not my own,

forgotten, even by me.” Quasimodo 

I’ve thought it through, I’ll take a day or two,

let the dust settle and look around before I

jump ship, hit the road, Jack, take a powder,

wander into unknown territory like a veritable 

babe in the woods of Armageddon.

I keep thinking of other oldsters in America,

the incredible shrinking dollar, eating cat food,

all the possibilities involved with a world in turmoil,

involving everyone, including me, so I shouldn’t be

surprised or shocked, I guess…(some help that is),

not a good time for bad things to happen…

interesting times indeed.

C.T.R.: “This is the nitty gritty, Martin.”

Martin Fritter: “Ummm…….errr…..ummm.”

C.T.R. “Yes, that’s right….you can’t get away with it.”

This pizza sure tastes good!

Foggy Day

Foggy day…

my horoscope agrees…

smiling feebly at passers…

words are unusually hard to come by…

shakuhachi echos ennui…

sliced turkey for breakfast…

that should give you some idea.

Nothing more…

the clouds are there in the sky…

I hope it doesn’t rain when I go

to get pizza…

hard to predict.

Hard to predict when the weather changes,

when the mood changes,

when the world changes.

I’ll just let it be, as always.

Then, I had some hair-of-the-dog,

(which dog?)

and a Nazi parade in 1938,

(just a little is enough)

and was propelled out of the gloom

suddenly, for how long no telling, 

but good lord you never know 

how slippery reality will go

this way or that…so, now is still now,

though the feathers have changed,

if you can imagine a bird molting 

in a claymation, kinda like that, only

without the D.M.T.. They say (it’s 

always “they”, isn’t it?) perception,

a sensation, is the only how we know.

Slightly sad, when the fog lifts (I guess

this is the way it’s going to go) like

my brother whose mind was clearer

towards the end, not dulled out by 

the meds, but what was more clearly 

there, the real Fred, was clearly an

asshole, to be clear, what he was…

interesting, I guess….not much of

an improvement… sad for me.

The truth is neither good nor bad.

Is it the sun that burns the fog away?

Does the wind move the flag, or does

the flag move?

It’s the mind that moves.

They’re building that house next door.

How easily the mind is distracted.

That’s not very interesting.

I saw Paula Poundstone in Fort Collins.

She did her riff for about an hour, 

took a break, and did another hour,

took a break, and started again, by that time, 

I could see that something  was wrong…

people started leaving…

It’s just a story 

on a foggy day.

A riff from riff-raff

in the peanut gallery…

why does the end

continue, unless…

Boom Shaka-lacka!

Bombarded With Coconuts Of Awareness

Waking up awareness,

Clouds of awareness/awareness of clouds,

What should I wear awareness,

Front door awareness,

In the street awareness,

Meeting a friend awareness,

Avoiding an enemy awareness,

Here comes a storm awareness,

Having coffee awareness,

Awareness of what’s next,

Awareness of what’s left,

Mind spinning awareness,

Clear moment awareness,

Getting things done awareness,

Things done time to relax awareness.

Can’t exist without awareness,

Can’t understand without awareness,

The mind’s eye is not what you think.

There is seeing only, not what you think.

If you got anywhere, you’d be here by now.

Heaven Is In Your Mind

Don’t believe me…the band, Traffic,

sang a song about it…wanna hear it?

They weren’t the only ones…didn’t 

the Bible say something about that?

Certainty might as well should have.

You have actually been there, present,

undistracted at times. 

Those are the moments we remember;

that afternoon barbecue at Uncle Ed’s,

the perfectly cold delicious beer you

hadn’t had for quite some time, yum!

When you gave the speech as 

Valedictorian, your favorite teacher’s

compliment, the look on your dad’s face.

Sitting with your daughter in your arms

right after she was born.

Having a cigarette outside the building 

where you used to have a job but you 

just got fired…

you’ve been there.

You could be here,

right now, 

any moment, 

why wait?

What are you waiting for?

Mr. Fantasy, play us a tune, something 

snappy that will make us all see reality,

not the stupid made up nonsense 

they call the world today!

I want rain, flowers, trees, cobblestone

streets, people I can see in front of me,

even if I don’t particularly like them I’ll

shake their hands or say hello because 

they’re there! Your mind is there! That’s 

where Heaven is!

“Humanity I love you because you

are perpetually putting the secret of

life in your pants and forgetting 

it’s there and sitting down.”

eecummings

And so it goes, Heaven right there,

anywhere at all…but you can’t hold

onto it either…sorry…but what you

can do is let go of everything else.

New Place

Michael’s bistro, hole in the wall,

a triangular corner, two tables with

chairs, a sofa and two small coffee

tables, dark and angular like a movie

by Fritz Lange, jazz appropriately,

those were the days, Michael, the

coffee connoisseur made the moka,

it was different, but by the end I 

really dug it…he seemed more 

relaxed than he had before. A crazy

little Steppenwolf spot tucked nice

and neat where it was a few steps off

the main street but invisible discreet.

Back In The Saddle

I lost it in the bright lights of the show I was watching,

a thought, the premise for some writing, a clue to riff on,

it only takes a word: “The whole world is triggers for me!”

so I just get on

the next bus, the next train of thought that comes from 

the unknown into the known…

Doh! How else could it be?

So far, I’m writing a distraction, what should have been,

and why it couldn’t be or wouldn’t, all abstraction.

That’s what happens when you loose your first thought,

fall off of square one,

get away from first thought, best thought,

beginner’s mind, 

misplace situational awareness,

yada, yada, yada, hi there!

Coming Apart At: “It seems….”

Or, as PeeWee Herman put it:

“Everybody’s got a Big ‘But’”*

The wise don’t hesitate when

action is required.

When you know, you don’t need

to think it out anymore.

Training in perception helps to see

when you take the time to look,

at a landscape,

at a face,

at an emotion

at an accident unfolding.

Timing is everything.

The only time is now.

*(yeah, we’re all pretty much a bunch of asses! 

Yes, I’m rubbing it in your face!)

What’s Wrong With The Word: “Ass”?

 I propose there’s nothing wrong with the word: “ass”.

An ass is an animal..”Look, there’s an ass!” 

No one complains.

The word, ass, is used constantly in common language:

“He made an ass of himself.”

“She has a lovely ass,” though slightly vulgar, is acceptable.

In the South, we hear: “I could eat an ass (a lot of) that barbecue.”

That’s just a few, so, the next time you cringe when you hear

the word, “ass “, remember:

It takes one to know one.

Once Again

 “Ignore what?” he said, as if the horrific 

accident hadn’t just happened…

as he dipped into the stew from the fetid

cauldron…as he stepped into the bi-plane

when the engine sounded funny…as he

performed all kinds of tasks with his head

up his ass…he won the Darwin Award.

He was Darwin’s Darling, 

what was left of him.

Trosang

Haven’t written about that in a while.

I’ll be an old hippie in Pisces moon,

carefree as in a Muppet’s movie,

not baying at the moon, 

howling in the rain, no,

enjoying this brief moment unexpectedly,

is that ok? Thought so.

Trosang means “hiatus from samsara”, or,

holiday to be crass.

“Today, I live!”  might be another way to say.

I take pleasure in just being now, and writing,

sucking on a lozenge,

Next, I take off all my clothes,

rinse my underwear and hang it on a chair,

take off three pairs of socks, 

(because my feet have shrunk),

light one of three remaining cigarettes,

(it always has to be three),

enjoy said cigarette while waiting to take off

the last remnant of clothes,

pull said vestment over my head and sit stripped

on the bed, plotting my next move.

I have to address the trash: “Hello, trash!”

before I lurch forward to tidy up.

I hang my shirt, time to wash my ass…

(Oh! You didn’t need to hear that, sorry!)

“I’ll be back”, said the terminator of the sentence.

I was getting ahead of myself by writing what I did

before I even did it. Suspiciously premonitious,

permiscuous and delicious and pernicious.

Considering carefully, crunching lozenge, puffing

on one of the last two fags, describing how I am here

and how it looks and feels, pretty cool, huh?

I like to think that. Some thinks you like to think

and some you don’t…being there had never been

like this before…and so it goes.

I’m going to have a picnic on my bed!

Dos quesadillas con papas con pescaro

frita con salsa verde. Unfuckingbelievable!

…music outside of dogs barking and  

someone singing a ballad…always some 

kind of mechanical whir hum or drone 

in the background like the Indian tanpura.

“You’ll die in bed.” the Hindu mystic said,

I wonder if it will be today?

At least, I’ll be well fed.

(I have yet to wash my ass.)

Quesadillas And Rain

 What could better?

And stoned in Mexico 

A few flies and it's time to go.

Fake

Covid was fake,

2020 election was fake,

January 6 was fake, 

Biden Presidency was fake,

Southern Poverty Law Center is fake,

Karen Bass/Gavin Newsom are fake,

The “Learing Center” was fake,

RINOs are fake,

The Democrat Party is fake,

(Thank you, Greg Gutfeld for inspiring me)

What’s not fake is China wants to destroy America,

and they have nukes and their country is failing

so, like a cornered tiger, they’re dangerous.

What’s not fake is the fraud and corruption 

in government that created 38 trillion in debt

and is starving seniors like me on Social Security.

What’s not fake is the stonewalling of agencies

that keep the truth of extra terrestrials hidden.

What’s not fake is that if your “triggered” by

these words you’re fake and a flake out of touch

with reality and heading for a nervous breakdown.

Have I covered everything?

Have I checked all the boxes?

You mad?

I’m very very sorry…

that’s not fake,

but it’s not the way you think.

Another One Waking Up

“And if I seem to be unkind,

it’s only me it’s not my mind 

that is confusing things.” John Lennon

Big sleep last night better than usual

waking feeling “genki” Japanese word

meaning “just right” rather rare lately 

given fear of death I can’t seem to get

rid of/following me like a petulant child

into the sweet spot of rainy season cool

air, so there’s that lying in bed late the

old urge to get up lingers though I really 

have no where to go nothing to do I could

just wait for the night again right here but

that just won’t do.

Whatever it is that’s bothering me I’ve

written about already/just repeat myself 

like all the wheel analogies going round

and round/hey, what’s that oh just something 

I’ve seen before like the Civil War/ not that

again haven’t we been through this before

you bet we have so why be so surprised at

what you can’t change like the inevitable 

march of time/remember the March of Dimes?

I wonder if they ever got where they were

going/probably not just another scam like all

the other slick willies that lift and drop a

question on your plate/so easy to lose one’s 

way in the world because of the ways of the

world but let’s not talk about that now because 

I feel like getting up so I will.

…maybe I’ll just continue rather than start over

more like life isn’t it? So my teacher was on 

retreat and spent a lot of time in bed seemingly 

not there/not in his body his attendants took care

of him/wondering/so when he came back/ woke

up they asked him what he had been doing 

wouldn’t you? and he said he had been 

“remolecularizing” which gave them something 

to think about for sure/not that they didn’t have

enough already.

The walls are closing in, so the only way I can

give myself space is to shrink, get smaller…all

I can do is give clues you have to figure it out

for yourself anyway, hey, Buddhism, there’s one,

not to pontificate, no profit in that, I just write 

when I feel like it, no other motivation that I’ve

discovered, though sometimes I make myself

smile, wouldn’t you? That’s a phrase I stole from

Burroughs…he wasn’t enlightened…he wanted

to take a typewriter on retreat, but was only allowed 

pen and paper…interesting, no? I asked Anne

Waldman if she’d teach me and she said: “I won’t 

go easy on you.” and I thought: “Fuck that, I already

have a job…I don’t need another one.” So, I write

like this….how am I doing so far? I knew it would

never make me rich it’s my bodhisattva activity

pointing at the moon clues upon clues within clues

if you catch the drift up to you I still feel good the

way the day started which is why there are so many

words I don’t talk to people this way because they

already think I’m crazy no need to add or confirm 

and they don’t have much to say…coffee now and

three cigarettes because I’m poor and contracting,

but it’s better to get a little of something good than 

nothing at all and better to get nothing at all than

something bad that’s the middle way..I stopped at

a new place a little hole in the wall two quesadillas 

first time I’m trying the place if the food doesn’t 

make me sick I’ll come back (process of elimination)

it’s cheap at least so that’s in line…my writing is

like taffy extruding I cut it off at some arbitrary point

I’ve only written one poem for my whole life, there is

really only one poem one song called the song of life.

Mystery

 “And your existence will not be

all that frequent either.”

You think you have it all figured out,

you have a pretty good bead on things,

do you?

Well, isn’t that nice.

Maybe…if you were born at the beginning 

of the Ming Dynasty,

if you were born into the Rothschild family,

(although, even they are starting to look shaky)

if you were a Roman Senator during the first

century A. D.,

if your name was Babe Ruth, Michael Jordan,

Muhammad Ali, sure,

if you were one of Elon’s children…

maybe then you’d feel certain about something.

I’m not here to burst your bubble, or, am I?

How could I, if reality hasn’t done it already?

Having DNA explains why your eyes are blue,

but where did DNA arise from?

Physicists look at smaller and smaller particles 

to get to the bottom of things, but find that, 

eventually, they see particles arise from nothing.

Does non-existence scare you?

Why should it?

You were good at it since infinity,

until you came to be.

It’s more your home than where you are now.

This poem comes from there too.

Fear is just a survival mechanism that

evolution must overcome.

No hope, no fear is the way to go.

“In the spring, the chrysanthemum’s astringent fragrance comes

revealing the hidden mechanism 

of machine within machine within machine.” Wallace Stevens

There are six realms one gets born into;

the human, the animal and the rest, 

depending on one’s particular obsession.

Even Jesus wanted a little more time.

Cycling existence is a merry-go-round.

How long will it remain entertaining?

When will it stop being fun?

Just don’t be an asshole and everything

will be ok.

That much, at least, is not a mystery.