Election or Nuclear War?
Yes, the election was the start of the
Second American Revolution.
Yay.
Doesn’t matter if nuclear war starts with Russia.
There won’t be two sides anymore.
There won’t even be one.
"Belief in anything is simply a way of labeling the mystery." Chogyam Trungpa. (Continuously Morphing List of Quotes: APRIL 08; November, 2009, July 2010, June 2017)
Yes, the election was the start of the
Second American Revolution.
Yay.
Doesn’t matter if nuclear war starts with Russia.
There won’t be two sides anymore.
There won’t even be one.
Is nothing sacred?
No, “nothing” is not sacred,
neither are any other words
or emotions
because they’re just words and emotions.
So, if I hurt your feelings, it’s not that I’m
happy that you’re suffering, but I’m not
worried because, if you’re an adult, you’ll
get the fuck over yourself.
Due to unforeseen circumstances of
Trump’s reelection.
Don’t worry…hope of all is lost is not lost.
My personal life is precarious, and I see the
United States in the same way.
Just for the sake of fantasy, let’s imagine that
Trump is the Savior of America, of civilization.
People are still trying to kill him…organized people.
Many politicians, the Same Stream Media, all the
usual suspects don’t care that the American people
said they wanted Trump to run the country their way.
Too much power, control and money is still at stake.
This is not yet a movie one can predict a happy ending.
If you like history, we’re where America was against the
Japanese after the battle of Midway in WW2.
The anti-humans, the socio-psychopaths, the Satanists,
and more, that hold power must be forcefully removed.
As Jack Kerouac wrote:
“Walking on water wasn’t built in a day.”
X blocked me, I don’t know why.
I’ve only been on three months.
It was the height of the election,
so that was good. I saw what X
was all about. Now that I don’t
have it, I’ll be writing more, not
distracted by that time sucker.
A black butterfly with a yellow stripe the
whole of its wingspan, zig zaggy because
of the corrugating of the ribs of the wings,
fluttered fifteen feet above the street as if
pausing to look down on the scene, holding
it’s own in the air current, in one spot above.
Was it a messenger?
Might as well could have been.
(Just then, a flash of metallic gold, the sun
reflected off of gold metal, and simultaneously
a low boom in the background.)
Magic
For everything there is a season.
This is the time of hell on earth.
This is the time of the flowering of evil.
The Lords of Materialism have seized power…
It is their time.
The karma they accumulate from their evil deeds
Will rid the world of them for a long time…
They will not be reborn as human.
It is the time of the purge of evil.
Remain human!
Don’t get sucked into their trip!
This has to happen now!
Don’t give into their bloody game!
What goes around comes around!
Cultivate compassion!
The leaders are lost in lust!
Their self destruction is inevitable!
Gone like the jazz in dark nightclubs in the Forties.
Gone like the dog that lays on his side in the sun.
Gone like the philosophers that suddenly realize
they have wasted their lives.
Gone just an old man waiting to not be here anymore.
Gone like a life that is just dim memories.
Gone like everything that ever was.
Looking out into the clear light of the gone world.
Looking out with gone mind simple crystal perception
with no explanation.
A Coney Island of the gone.
The beginning and the end of everything is already gone…
….the perfect view of all the Buddhas.
A play within a play….aren’t they all?
It’s hard to tell the actors from the real
people anymore.
This is part of the chaos manifesting.
It’s the same story that was told before.
Only the names and places have changed.
We heard the word “freedom” and that
got our hopes up, as it has for others before.
We can see how that turned out.
But, still we play the game of thrones,
the only game in town.
Under a spell
in a trance
fooled by a mirage
hypnotized by symbols
on pieces of paper.
The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge
(we ate the fruit which turned to shit in
which sprouted the stick that’s up our ass.)
words,
symbols,
caused us to be banished from Paradise,
which humanity has failed to find again
in any of its books or experiments.
That’s why Buddhists sit in meditation.
It’s the only way back to the Garden.
An acquired taste of sweet darkness
like bitter chocolate so delicious
sweet dark music you can almost taste
richness of dark smoky gloom
dark smoky understandings machine
their way to oily clarity in the poignancy
only to dissolve into chocolate quanta
until the next ripe flavor wafts its way in.
They say the home is where the heart is.
If you don’t know where your heart is,
that seems to be a problem.
Feel your heart: that’s where your home is.
If it’s so protected it’s not felt, it’s imprisoned.
We have a choice, if we’re smart. But even
those that aren’t smart find their heart’s home.
So what?
What does any of this mean?
Meaning is just another word for something
we can’t find.
Luckily, we never lose our hearts.
3D living color shadow of a man.
A history with no mystery…we know
how this story ends.
Denouement is no big deal, just bleeding
out like the rest of the victims of lives they
never asked for and never really knew
what to do with.
(HAL from 2001 movie in New York City):
“I can feel it, Dave.
I’m afraid.”
“Everybody has a plan until you punch them
in the face.” Mike Tyson
I’ll keep that in mind.
It’s a good idea to be polite.
You never know who’s ready to snap.
They feel it, even if they don’t know
what it is.
They see the times changing all around.
We are all part of it, like it or not.
Our plans might not figure in.
The future may not be what we hoped for.
The world may not be as we thought it was.
What do you think about that?
What’s it gonna take?
I’m empty streets are empty.
Boomer glam time gone now
doom and gloom boom ditty boom ditty
boom boom boom. We thought it might work,
the Sixties, it didn’t, ditty boom. Now we’re the
elders no one listens to. But what if we’d
never have happened?
Just look at the world….sheesh…
anybody alive feels something.
We all want to save the world,
or we just want to save ourselves,
or we want to destroy the world.
Every manifestation of mind is
represented, now on display
everywhere at once. It’s quite a show
and the truth is stranger than fiction.
We haven’t seen most of it, but we will.
Meanwhile, my coffee tastes great today.
Feeling chipper, sparse people, the
kaleidoscope moves the colors, the portly
old ladies gossiping along, beautiful moms
and kids. That’s what I see, that’s my
manifestation you silly hopium salesmen.
This is real, not that dream. The only sure
thing is the money you steal…but there I go,
besides myself again. Don’t cry, Grasshopper,
we all go this way.
Many people are having love/hate affairs
with Elon Musk. I don’t blame them. Any
famous person that can go on a podcast and act
like a real human being is someone I admire,
let alone the richest man in the world who looks
like he’s in his late thirties. He said he was an
outer space alien, and I believe him completely.
I created something once, a play, and the way it
came together, manifest, I know is similar to the
process Mr. Musk utilizes, though on 1/10000 the
same level. The fact is, this process is scalable.
If I’m close, as in horseshoes, he gives his
engineers freedom and space to create. Hence
“Space X”. The same thing happened when I did
the play. Students would watch rehearsals, then,
one by one they’d ask if they could do sound,
set, lights. They asked what I wanted, I told them,
and they did it. Simple as that. I really didn’t even
know what was happening exactly. We all saw at
same time as the different aspects came together
and coordinated, synchronized. I acted and directed.
There were two other actors. I realized through the
process that I could do it, I was actually doing
something new. When our performances were through,
it took a while to realize what had happened.
Did Mr. Musk feel that way when the tower grabbed
the rocket? Might as well could have felt that way.
But, there’s more. He’s an alien or an Icarus.
Dionysus. Already mythological. You don’t even
have to believe. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.
New true super hero Musk appeared out
of nowhere like everything does the Great
White Hope (wasn’t that Jesus for eons?)
doing things no one else has bravo for
letting peoples intelligence creativity be free
not controlled and governed by little minds
sure that’s good but where are we going and
does getting there mean we’ll finally understand
anything more know anything more than we’ve
already learned and stored away somewhere I
guess we’ll find out soon enough pass the hopium.
The whole Musk thing,
Assuming that’s where you want to go.
Heaven, Paradise, Eden, a comfortable
pair of shoes. You can’t even lie your way
into a pair of shoes. No money, no shoes…
that’s the way it goes, let alone Heaven.
How does one get to Heaven?
If you’re not there already, there is a problem.
What’s the problem?
You have to look into it, find out what it is,
no one can tell you.
Many say that they can; religions, politicians,
gurus, life coaches. None of their words matter
if you don’t take action.
Learn how to be.
You’d think that would be the easiest
thing to learn, since you already are, but how’s
that working out for you?
“To be without description of to be.”
That constant thought disaster in your head
is the problem, takes up all your time, gets
in the way, keeps you from simply seeing.
Until you dissolve that mess into nothing
you never can just be.
I didn’t make the rules.
I just followed a path that’s been around
for thousands of years that thousands of
people have followed successfully.
My teacher complained to his students that
he had to say the same things over and over
again, and he was a patient man.
That’s the truth for you.
It’s difficult to hear even a word of it,
let alone to understand.
Stuff (for George Carlin)
“It’s only love and that is all.
The world right now is a charnel ground.
In Mexico it means: “It’s nothing.”
A phrase that translates to “karma” in Buddhism.
Karma means cause and effect.
One’s karma manifests over the course of one’s
existence, more than one measly life.
As the plumber’s saying goes: pay me now or
pay me later. Nobody gets away with anything.
Installed outside the coffee shop, no ceremony
was involved. Last night a drunk driver smashed
the door of the shop just in front of where I sit.
It’s a big wooden door stoutly made, and they
bucked it. An outstanding exhibition of drunkenness
I had to admire, having once been there myself.
That’s the news from my vantage point, not worth
a post on X, it will never go viral, the goal of social
media, infecting millions of minds. Social media
should be called something else. Quantum circus
of infection? Plague of the 21st Century? Something
like that. All it does is give morons more slogans to
chose from to rant with. If you can’t see what’s
happening by now, you haven’t been paying attention.
The truth may feel negative, but it’s always positive.
This could be the end of humanity.
This could be the beginning of a Dark Age predicted
by all religions and prophets.
I still have some coffee left. The clouds kissing the
mountains are beautiful. Maybe I’d put some red in
my hair to make myself look a little better.
“Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin’ to the jailhouse rock.”
Plenty of places to go from there…
Jan. 6 political prisoners but don’t get
me started. Innocents are always losers.
Have you noticed? No? Why?
Because they’re dead. More to come.
It’s not morbid. It’s just what happens.
Humans dream of Paradise, Eden,
Heaven. They just numbly don’t get there.
It’s just what happens.
“And so it goes.”
Who could have imagined it…..life?
Whatever….it is, and then everything else
happened. People live as if this is the way
things are, even though they were never this
way before. “Things are more the way they
are now than they ever have been.”
Eisenhower.
Can you see where I’m going?
Nowhere, that’s right. I’m a good Buddhist
so I always point to nothing.
Yet, it’s a movable feast, all our minds.
The great thing about Nothing is that
everything arises from it. That’s all that
Buddhism says and it cost you Nothing.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
At the boys’ bed and breakfast, nice cloudage
on the balcony, classical music. I like Ed and
Mike. They’re regular guys, Johnsons, Burroughs
calls them. Guys that would help you if you
needed it, but otherwise minded their own affairs.
Ed talks to me his brain on autopilot, driving
itself into the ground. I give him a different view
and he comes around.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Now at lsabella’s in the new Mercado.
Eggs, bacon, pork, rice, beans, all the nutrients
I need in the Matrix…this illusion tastes good.
A hint of Thai flavor in the peanut sauce…I could
go on like this forever.
When the center of society is corrupt
it’s saner to be on the fringe.
When laws become oppressive it’s
better to go around them.
That’s something we learned as hippies.
Did you think we were wasting our time?
We weren’t playing their games. We made
up our own. Creativity is the father of
invention. Necessity, the mother, is always
telling us the lawn needs mowing.
One thing’s for sure: there’s always something.
Even getting up insists on adventure…even if
we have a rut, a routine, derailment is always
Da likelihood. One can be smart and be numb,
stupid and be enlightened. We have what we bring
to the table, and also what we are served. Over all,
the whole thing’s a feast, if you look at it that way,
or a holocaust, if you’re so inclined. One of the
Khans, I forget which one, tried to kill Karma
Pakshi, by fire, by boiling him in oil, other ways.
He was never harmed in the slightest.
It’s only a story, but it happened they say.
He was an outlaw of the laws of physics. How can
that be? “There are more things in heaven
and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your
philosophy.” Hamlet. Shakespeare was an alien.
I have a great disguise, costume, persona that fits
very nicely over my corpse. Is it possible to be
morbidly awake? I just thought of that. Anyway,
(My Muse is winging it.) Even writing as an outlaw.
The Beats did., Bukowski, Miller, etc., all the great
ones, like all the artists, presented something that, if
one digested, one would see the world in a more
clear way. So, Buddha was the greatest outlaw of
them all. He showed humanity how to transcend
imprisonment at all. Just say’n. And, he did it
peacefully. Me? I’m a cheap imitation of what I
do not know. A word salad, like Kamala does, but
with anchovy, hard boiled egg, artichoke and bacon,
you know, something nice….that was an outlaw
thing to write.
Social media is a charnel ground
where corpses of people’s thought abound.
A steady stream of scream goes forth;
just the homosap letting off some steam.
People in Tepoztlan are truly nice people,
a lot of them. When they say hello, they mean
that. When they don’t say hello, they mean
that too. It’s not like on X, where “community
standards” is an algorithm. Not so good, Elon.
Build some cars, fly to Mars, have fun, you crazy
genius wannabe! How many tricks does a pony
have? Not all of them.
I’m curious to see if you forget you’re only human.
You and Russel Brand could have a talk on X Spaces
all about God. That would be fun.
“I don’t hate people, I just feel better
when they’re not around.” Charles Bukowski
Move over, Rover, Jesus is coming!
Eli’s coming, hide your heart, girl!
Why should we argue?
Do your own thing! Even we hippies had
some wisdom way back then.
“Chill” didn’t come from raves, you know.
I’ve loved being at some of them, they were
cool, groovy, out of sight.
“Do it again, just a little bit slower.” We had
the best music back then. I say “back then” as
if it wasn’t now, which it is. I picked out the good
stuff all my life, wherever I found it.
You’d be surprised.
My Muse only has this tool, me, to work with.
The universe does what it can.
“Hey, look! Humans! That’s pretty good!”
Whoever thought that life would happen?
Another proof that thoughts don’t matter
very much…
only when folks take them seriously.
Comedians have to be the way they are,
or else they’d explode. My mind’s a blank
until the universe peeks through.
Wouldn’t you?
I only had a taste tease of moonshine once,
as a plumber at a rich man’s house in South
Carolina. It was the best liquor I’d ever tasted.
My father wanted to teach his sons how to drink,
so he taught us and we became drunks. Drinking
helped me because I was very sensitive and uptight.
I always used, like Tarzan, the vines that
were available.
I don’t care.
I’m old.
You try it.
Re : Donald Trump IS: “BOSS MAGA MAN”
I’ve been a boss and I’ve had bosses and
they’re not always necessary a bad thing…
except for…. plumbers. One of the few rules
we plumbers have is that the boss is an asshole.
Folklore….oral culture…..jokes…it’s the truth.
Oh yeah, saw The Beach Boys, Chicago, 1963.
Half of the day I rest.
The other half I don’t do very much.
The entropy of the Matrix has me.
Social media is like turning on a faucet
of shit. I can’t say it any plainer than that.
It takes up too much energy I don’t have.
I like looking out at space, the direction
I travel.
Social media sucks the life out of me,
but it’s something I should know.
Is Trump relying on God, or Project
Looking Glass?
All belief is magical thinking.
I start writing and don’t stop.
It was that way with sex…
entropy again. Writing is easier,
if only it could get me laid.
Bukowski wrote simply..didn’t pontificate.
I am a Pontiff of pontification, opinion,
verbal clarification. Are we clear on that?
It’s all just algorithms.
Labels: …
Morphony…more funny…not taking
the whole goddamned thing so seriously.
Slap schtick getting the punch line in time.
You get the jokes?
Well, you’d better laugh, folks, because
these are them.
It’s based on the fact that change is inevitable.
One of the only things we can count on is change.
It’s a Buddhist thing, you wouldn’t understand.
Imagine if Buddha had become a comedian instead.
Comedians must rank somewhere on the spiritual
hierarchy, excluding from spirituality all organized
religions.
The Tibetans just got lucky for a while.
But, after thirteen hundred years, (pretty good)
they lost their power/the Communists took over.
Blah, blah, blah….it’s all The Big Myths’ Take.
That’s an old guy’s slang term for a job well done,
with good workmanship, even a bit beautiful. It also
means no need for further praise, next thing.
The new Mercado in Tepoztlan is that way. Many
people here, of all stripes and feathers, were querulous.
It’s the opposite now, as it is for me also.
As having been a plumber that did commercial
construction plumbing as well, I could quickly tell two
things: The proper vision of the place had been
implemented, so that the building itself was already
becoming an integral part of the downtown space,
without being intrusive. That’s saying something for
the only four story, 1/4 block square building in the
vicinity. The construction was, in my eyes, beautiful.
The workmanship was not shoddy, it was rather
impeccable. The way the work itself was done made
it more beautiful. It enhances the magic of Tepoztlan.
It’s really swell.
Next?
(Spoiler Alert! first you explain the joke, then you tell it.)
All organized religions are organized wishful thinking.
We are born with amnesia
of how we ever came to be.
But. a mind like that, doesn’t
understand all at once.
When I was born I had forgotten who
I had been. My father looked at me and said:
“Where have you been?” I couldn’t answer him.
I was back at tabula rasa, square one, beginner’s
mind. From then, I made it up anew, as I went along.
T.V. was new. I was watching a show, The Big
Picture. I thought: “Oh boy! I’m going to find out
what life is all about!” I didn’t, it was a military show.
So I went on in the clear fog of not knowing,
discovering that nobody else knew either, although
they tried to tell me they did. I never believed any
of them. I could tell by their words they were stuck
in a rut, parents, teachers, the whole lot of them.
They were all full of shit. I read a lot of books,
thinking that someone must know something,
figured it out a bit. There were clues in poems I
memorized, a few words at a time. I thought if
I had enough clues, things would begin to make
sense, it did. I realized very few had any idea what
they were doing, or why. I became friendly but
distant, wondering if I would ever meet someone
that had it together. I did, Trungpa, my teacher. He
was so together he had a body with no bullshit inside.
It was rather intimidating because, by that time, I had
accumulated plenty of bullshit myself. I didn’t mean to,
but there it was. He taught me to shed it, dissolve it,
vomit it. I went through a lot, but now I’m fine.
What else shall we talk about? The weather, the
mountains, the sweet dogs I pet as I go to the
market? I don’t want to bore you with details,
but that’s all I’ve got. There’s nothing more to explain.
I self evolved, like anyone could, but few do; too
ravenous for feces, as Shantideva put it, to even
look around. I write because I breathe, it’s part of
it all. I send poems into the quantum matrix, the Void,
like other poets did, aspiring that some will catch some
of the clues that I send, the continuity of awakened mind,
so they can find their own paths, their own awakenings
from the sleep of their lives, and finally remember
what they are.
Are you seeing what I’m seeing?
Are you seeing one side?
If so, it’s the wrong one.
If there’s a war going on in America,
and there is
Someone’s fighting with somebody else.
This is not another four year election.
Have you noticed?
Something’s rotten in Denmark, and
it’s not the cheese.
Ho hum….all,I can do is wait for you
to catch up, if you ever will.
I throw my two cents into the mix,
like a snowflake landing on a burning stove.
Everyone has their own ideas, but some
of them are correct. No one can tell you
what to think, but, shut up already!
Aren’t you getting tired of talking to
yourself in your mind? Why not?
You may realize by now most of your
thoughts are useless garbage. That’s
the matrix that’s got you. Just because
you walk on two legs, doesn’t mean you’re
not more animal than human, if all you
rely on are your survival instincts and
seeking pleasure that can never be fulfilled.
Even Jesus wanted a little more time, the
Son of God, some say. Don’t be so damned smug.
Use the senses to let reality seep in.
Let that sink in.
Here we go, the curtain is rising again.
What will the show be this time? Only
time and my Muse knows for sure.
Really, reality is pretty good right now.
I don’t need to get high. I do it for
humanity, not that it pays attention
much right now to other than the sideshow
that consumes most people’s minds in the
current chaostrophy. I’ll take a shower soon
because high is always better when the body
is clean. There, that’s better. A little patchouli
to top it off. Perfection was never like this.
Are you still looking for that, perfection?
I could tell you where to find it but you
wouldn’t believe me. Some already know.
It’s been around since the Buddha, who
was the end product of human evolution.
People have used his teachings to self-evolve
ever since. I know. I’m one of them. And yes,
since you ask, there are intelligent beings
throughout the universe. There are minds
with no bodies that are as vast as space.
It’s possible to communicate with them.
The Gnostics did, which is why the
Church eradicated them.
“Nothing scares people more than
the possibility of freedom.”
Robert Anton Wilson Music has
charm to sooth the savage beast.
Music saved my life before I
discovered meditation.
Buddha said that language is
the least effective form of
communication. If you see the
truth, words aren’t necessary.
Totalitarians use language to
confuse, which is so obvious now.
Every ruler should have a “Fool”,
one who can speak the uncomfortable
truth, the opposite of a “Yes” man.
I think I’m having a conversation with
Elon Musk on X. Maybe it isn’t him,
but anyway it’s a great conversation with
whomever. “Have you heard about my
investment opportunities? “ always seems
to come up with him, whether it’s him
or not. Oh well, I hope he works for Trump
and has his ear.
Now then, on to something else, but what?
A pleasant experience continues. I’ve gotten
all I’m going to get out of psychedelics.
Ecstasy is the only one I’ll occasionally do.
It’s somewhat refreshing, turns the mind a
little to the left, whatever that means. Just
a beautiful day. I wish all sentient beings
could live in my mind for just a little while.
I could take care of them there. Actually,
I do anyway because that’s the only job
I’ll ever have in all my lives. It’s the thread
that makes sense of the discontinuity. It’s why
you knew you wanted to become a ballerina
when you were two. One thing my mother said
on her deathbed that as a girl she wanted to
travel to Tibet. A Tibetan enlightened guy
liberated her mind just before she died, so,
I guess she knew something way back then.
If enlightenment wasn’t an awakening of the
senses, it would be senseless, like religions.
The uncertainty is where we can learn
something. Pretty sure about that.
I used to be a teacher of meditation.
Now, this is the only venue I have
for much of anything.
I never wanted to be a guru. In that,
I’ve succeeded admirably. It’s better
to get nothing at all than something bad.
All that’s stuck in my mind are some
quotations I remember. I’m glad I have
them because they’re beautiful and some
good jokes. A few Captain Beefheart
a capella songs he sang, sung poems
really. He was a great poet. Lots of the
great poets, after the fifties, were singers
of different genres, because that’s where
the money was. They were the truth tellers
the Elizabethan “Fools” of our age. The
ones that told the truths that people could
hear and sing along. Fantastic. Bob Dylan
definitely contributed to my awakening.
Joanie Mitchel too. She met Trungpa and
she was definitely touched by the experience.
Ginsberg asked Trungpa once if he wanted
to meet Bob Dylan. His answer was: “ I
couldn’t care less.” I’ll leave it at that.
My wife and I gave Ginsberg a ride once
from Vermont to Boston. It was just before
his poems he wrote about the Rolling Thunder
Review were published in Rolling Stone
magazine, and he recited some while we were
driving. One that I still like, to this day, goes
like this: “Nobody saves America by sniffing
cocaine/ jiggling your knees blank eyed in the
rain/when it snows in your nose you catch
cold in your brain” I think his Howl was the
most influential poem, in English, in the second
half of the twentieth century. Same as On The
Road was the most influential novel. That’s
what I think. All pleasure and no pain makes
Jack a dull boy. Like the weather in Colorado,
if you don’t like what you see, just wait awhile.
I like what I see, clouds, rain, sun, the sellers
in the market, the dogs roaming free and
undisturbed, children dressed up in little
costumes…sometimes they’re on horses,
with their parents by their sides. I’m never
sure if these people believe in anything.
They sure like a good show, though. Don’t
we all? When’s the current “bomb” going
to end? Not soon enough for me. And there
is still the possibility we might go
full Kali Yuga. We don’t have long
until we’ll know. Meanwhile, which I call
being in Mexico, I live in a special, magical
place, maybe not in the way you imagine it.
Find your own, because it must be somewhere.
You can’t become enlightened when
you’re a God….too much pleasure,
you’re not interested. Only, the Gods
don’t know their existence may be long,
but it’s still temporary, like the biggest
mountains. Think about that the next time
you want to go to heaven. Like Blind Faith
said in one of their songs: “Heaven is in
your mind.” That’s what you find when you
come back to your senses. That’s why
meditation. If it didn’t work, no one would
have been doing it for thousands of years.
The future was always the present growing
up…how much greater America could become.
The American Dream which seemed to work
for some, others not so much. It’s a relative
goal, all of which are disappointing. Even when
you get to the top you realize you’re on the
bottom, Bob Dylan said. He also said you’re
either busy being born or busy dying, which
also true for everyone. A good place to stop.
Labels: My
I’ve made an impression
in the space where I sit
outside the coffee house
in Tepoztlan.
When I die they won’t
remember me, but they will
remember my colorful socks,
the ties that I wore: “ Where is
that guy that used to sit there
with the striped socks?” they’ll
wonder. Perfectly out of place.
They’ll remember me as a thing
that used to be there.
Space has a memory, like water,
(the scientists say), don’t think it
doesn’t. Space has a memory,
otherwise, nobody would remember
their past lives, some do. They will
remember the colors there for a while,
the ones that saw me, after I’m gone.
Emptiness is the best gift a Buddhist
can give.
A comby (van) ride to town past
Mexican buildings with bright
colored murals. I get off at the main
bus stop where I saw a UFO two years
ago. Straight to the coffee house, I sit
down outside. I’ve come here so often
a friend painted a portrait of me here;
it looks like he captured my soul.
Most people are calm in this un bourgeois
town. “Still, it would be lovely, to wave a
cut lily and panic a Notary,
or finish a nun with a left to the ear.”
My craving for revenge at being born has
abated. The world does its thing and I do mine.
After coffee, I walk a couple of blocks to the
new Mercado. Grand Opening yesterday, I
didn’t go, mostly through with fiestas. I have
a routine and a route that I travel, like all
paraplegics just waiting for revelation. It won’t
come from a God, I know that now. I find the
meaning of life in strangers’ faces, or pick it up
from the street, lost by some unconscious slob.
Things in themselves are symbolic. There’s a
secret code that runs through the world. Only
if you look can you see it, and most are too busy
for that. This town is fiesta, when it happens or
not. Everyone’s up for a joke, laugh easily at
not very much, my kind of people. Everyone
knows life’s joke, the uncertainty. The icons
they carry through the streets in processions
are imposing. I guess they have to believe in
something…no one tells them otherwise.
They go on this way for centuries. I’m still,
not walking, but very moved inside by their
sufferings and their joys.
Good times, but not the way you think.
Just being on the street delights me, like
an old man sitting on his front porch with
his shotgun, waiting for nothing in Paradise.
Sitting in a chair looking out my front door,
second floor steel steps leading down to
walkway curved to the right, block steps
I had cemented into place so they wouldn’t
wobble, then a cobblestone walkway,
a few steps, a steel railing I had
put in, the walk is steep but not too long
up to the street. In front of me a wall of green,
trees and bushes, some wires strung head level,
a little coiled plastic pipe on the ground.
A wall of green, and earth and stone behind the
green. Silent except for the rare car, occasional dog.
No fireworks yet, although I expect
there will be some. I hardly notice anymore.
Internet’s back on!!
Fuck it!
It’s only poetry!
I wish I could get ahold of that guy
just once. The best things may not
cost anything, but you still have to
work for them, like
education,
enlightenment,
a good used car.
“You can’t take it with you.”
is another thing they say.
For me, that was easy because
I always gave everything away,
not caring to carry baggage on
my continuous journey, which,
I know doesn’t end with death.
How do I know that? Well, I can’t
really share my experience, put you
in my head for a while.
Birth is another beginning, death
another end. As dharmas of samsara,
they are relatively true, not absolute.
Buddha told the whole truth 84,000
times. That’s what he did, that’s all
he did. He was the Terminator of the
illusion in which we all live.
Buddhism is no longer popular.
The ways of the world dominate in this age.
Faster and faster, more and more is the rage.
The world is ablaze with the three poisons.
Look them up, I won’t do your homework,
you lazy bastards.
I had a girlfriend once that was a young girl
when she was in a Nazi concentration camp
for three years. She came out of that marvelously
intact. She was better than any Prima Donnas
that are everywhere today in this gone world.
“When I die, they will place my hands like this.
It will look as though I am flying into myself.”
Bill Knott, Chicago poet.
As the clouds come and go, whether you like it,
or not. Change comes hard for us, whether we like
it or not.
Even if we want to get better somehow, it’s a
difficult journey.
All the wisdom we need has been available for
thousands of years, whether we heed it or not.
Sometimes what is familiar gives us reassurance,
whether it’s good for us or not.
Humans are strange, have the ability to change,
unlike dogs and elephants, but, never forget:
you do what you do, whether you like it or not.
One teacher I knew said his teaching method
was like a blind man swinging a stick in a crowd.
Whomever he hit was coincidence, auspicious
at that.
The world does what it does, whether…..(you
remember…whether you want to or not.)
We do what we do, over and over, ‘till we
get life right. Lives recycle, called reincarnation.
Comedians try the same joke over and over
‘till the audience gets the punchline.
That’s called compassion.
There’s only one poem, one song, one joke,
one punchline. Don’t you wonder, sometimes,
what it is, whether you want to or not?
I write, then I stop…I do what I do too,
whether anyone likes it or not.
Open air on the fourth floor of the new
Mercado. Valley and mountains laid out,
mind expands for miles, no thoughts while
eyes take in what it sees. Vipassana, clear
seeing, what happens when you practice
meditation and the ego begins to wear thin.
It’s the mind that moves, not the flag.
Experience moves as the mind moves,
a very moving experience. Everything
arises in the mind, including the universe.
When we look through a telescope, all we
see is our own mind manifesting perception.
But, the pigs don’t know that, and the ponies
don’t know that. “You mean, only we know that?”
“That’s right.”
Clams, smackers, gelt, moola,
Lots more names I’m sure, filthy lucre.
“What it takes to get along”,
post Depression song.
Really what it’s all about, isn’t it?
Would you agree is what I want to know.
I get along more without it now, I’m
shrinking rapidly, a slow fade as the music swells.
just a slow dissolve and segue into a new scene.
It never was my idea.
Whenever I relied solely on my rational mind,
it was always a big mistake.
I foretold, only to myself, my future up to now.
It’s hard to believe, for you, some of my realities
that are true, (Ah, goofy poetry, foolish me).
I’ve never been a coward when survival was at stake.
I haven’t killed anybody yet. I had an opportunity and
wanted to, but didn’t. It’s always a possibility.
Why I mention that now I have no idea.
I’m just writing down what comes out of there.
No point in this one, no punchline.
Might as well should give up now.
It turns out money wasn’t so important
after all.
I write poetry, if you can call it that,
because I fell in love with it in high school,
and that continued on. Back then, colleges
educated people in culture, not like now.
I continue to write because I can’t help it,
the way an alcoholic can’t help drinking,
the way a dancer can’t help dancing,
the way most people can’t help thinking.
Sometimes my blog gets a lot of hits,
which could be a glitch in software, or,
someones read me.
Still, I don’t really know how popular I am.
Younger people don’t even read books anymore.
A patron is what I need, an anachronistic term
for those in olden days that had “fuck you “ money,
and could easily afford to patronize the arts.
I don’t mind being patronized: “There, there, poor man…
here’s your hundred bucks.” if it gave me an hundred bucks.
But, I’ll keep writing anyway, Fool that I am, though there
may not be Royalty of any ilk that could appreciate what I am.
The desperation of iambic verse,
no more no less,
no one likes to be a wolf howling at the moon.
“For what it’s worth…buy my album”
the musician said, as art is bought and sold,
tailored to Consumer’s Mind. (Suzuki Roshi
would have been proud of that). I give myself,
my poetry, to all the beasts that eat me.
And that’s that.
How many billions of years
before this coffee house appeared?
I’ve waited for my coffee, but never this long.
A lady passed me with an ass
that could stop a truck. How long have
I waited to see that? How long will it be
before I see my teacher again,
drunk Trungpa, with his crystal mind?
Not long at all, in fact, he’s with me now.
That happens when you make connection
with the quantum maze. Few have that
experience, that perception. Most wander
in Brownian motion, pinballing through
life, in one direction. “Tilt”, and it begins
again, another quarter in the slot,
another life. People don’t believe in
reincarnation, rainbow body, enlightened
mind, phenomena documented for
thousands of years. In the West, most
still have never even heard of those
realities. They only believe in money,
pleasure, tangible substances, their
lovers’ skins. It’s a game of diminishing
returns, like Patchinko.
Maybe going to Mars is the brass ring
on the carousel. Fat chance. You see,
there are some things I don’t believe,
like Gods of any name, religions…
there are some mythstakes I don’t make.
Eternity is real, for sure, but it doesn’t
happen all at once. It’s discontinuous,
like the uncertainty of our lives.
Humans arose because man eternally
arrives. Everything you can imagine
is happening right now somewhere.
There’s a universe in a drop of water,
Blake, or someone said. The microcosm
scaleable to the macrocosm. Each mind
is a universe unto itself, the same number
of possibilities. Even science, still primitive,
at least gets some things right. They still
seek ultimate reality by examining smaller
and smaller things…larger and larger things,
when everything is here, right under our noses,
but, who takes the time to examine that?
Buddhists do, that’s all we do: Terminators
of all the myths until all that’s left is space.
“Spaces-Are-Us” is an empty store,
another Buddhist joke, that’s two.
I’ve got forever to become a comedian.
A new mercado opened in Tepoztlan,
a four story building in the heart of town.
Surprisingly well constructed, with unmatched
vistas of the mountains and the valley.
It replaces the market that’s been there forever,
with it’s ramshackle stalls, crowded together,
plastic sheets protecting from the rain not well.
It’s the first big change to the town since I’ve
been here, twenty years. Open, airy and breezy,
feeling out of doors, earthquake reinforced, the
right answer to a chronic question.
No bad vibes of McMansions, strip malls,
condos on top of one another. It’s happy
industrial magic, if that is even a thing,
compatible with the magic that abides here.
As an ex plumber, I admire the quality of
workmanship with a bit of astonishment.
There are capable people in Mexico, but
sometimes they’re hard to find.
A gringo saying about Mexico is:
“Mexico: the country that almost works.”
In this case, it does.
Sometimes poems are about ordinary things.
Poets always go where the magic is.
I wrote a senior college thesis paper
on “Man As Machine In 20th Century
Literature.” People don’t write much
anymore, here in the 21st Century, only
a few words written on a magic screen.
Mainly, it’s social media, a frenzy of
quick impressions working directly into
the mind….Danger Zone!!….so, we are
merging with these machines, surreptitiously,
behind the scene becoming more like them,
so we begin to forget who we are, which is
textbook brainwash. Orwell didn’t write
much about the technology of control, the
means, just the method. And now, Homosap
is controlled by machines. He thought he
had escaped from Dr. Caligari, but, he only
found himself in another cage.
Now, my paper is up to date.
A good one…solid rain from mid June
through August…more to come.
Clouds decorate the mountains, people
looking moisturized. Streets as clean as
they can ever be. No rubble, no protestors,
no riots. I was smart to leave the USA.
Even if Trump is elected, by the time he gets
the USA back in shape, I’ll be dead. I never
trusted a plan I couldn’t see. Americans, many
venal, many dumb…they do have a Musk no
others do. Let’s see if he degenerates into a
Savior. After all, he may be a genius, the richest
man in the world, but he has no mind training,
and his mind is numbed with God. One thing is
sure: I’m a better poet than he’ll ever be, and
I’m not that good. Poets are a dying breed from
a time when language was used to communicate,
not indoctrinate, which both sides always do.
The pendulum is swinging towards the Dark Age.
Not every prophet, for millennia, can be wrong.
More was known about the mind 2500 years ago
than is today. People still train their minds, but
few go that way. “The reason why there are no
revolutionaries in America, is that it would be like
being a spoilsport at an orgy.” Richard Dreyfus 1971.
Revolutionaries are in charge of the orgy now…the
lunatics have taken over the Asylum. There would
have to be a Mao sized extermination to get rid of
them, but the good guys are too nice. If they did that,
no doubt they’d become evil too, and the slaughter
would never stop...what to do? It’s only business,
after all, and, as we know, the dharmas of samsara
are futile. Over seven billion people in the world,
but not for long. Mother Nature doesn’t listen to the
homosap, and there’s going to be hell to pay.
I’ll die in poverty while you continue to dot the “i”s
and cross the “t”s. It will make no difference if you
go to Mars, as you will see. It’s just more hopium to
buttress against futility. Your vision is because you’re
still young. Wait until you’re old, like me. Are you a
Renaissance Man or a freak of nature? Time will tell,
we all will see.
Yes, rainy season, where I am. I write easily because
I’m in a magic land, in a world of diminishing returns,
caused by man.
A Buddhist is the zero
between God and dog.
People get confused
whether there is a God
or just a dog. They get
confused if they are a God
or just a dog.
I’ve eliminated the extremes
to the point of zero, which, as
a Buddhist, is where I belong.
If people ask me: “Who are you?”
I form a zero with my lips and
am silent.
Few seem satisfied with this answer,
but, for once, I’ve given them a gift
that keeps on giving.
Commentary:
On the Norm Macdonald show,
he and his sidekick, Adam Eget,
had a little shtick they’d do, a joke
played on their guests. Adam,
the foil of the two, designatedly
would ask the guest: “ My question
to you is: where do you get your ideas?”
The guest, at first flummoxed and chagrined,
would be silent, (the correct answer they
never seem to get). After that, as comedians,
they come up with something, but most don’t
seem to like the trick. Is that why it’s difficult
for Buddhists to be comedians? Because, really,
that’s their only joke?
Is that an oxymoron?
If I told you why I was trapped,
I’d have to kill you.
It’s not a bad thing or a bad idea.
Where I am is Shangri-lha, about 30%,
more than I’ve seen elsewhere.
A wiseguy like me is just a bright flower
on the side of the road, that distracts drivers
and causes accidents. I don’t mean to, but,
there you have it.
Language has been the cause of many things
good and bad. Wallace Stevens said that poetry
is a destructive force: it destroys misconceptions
about perception. It shines a light into our shared
experiences. A little should appear on all social
media platforms to aerate the bullshit, to distract
the rabble from their rabid reactions, if only for
a moment. Getting a little bit of something good
is better than getting nothing at all. And, getting
nothing at all is better than getting something bad.
For example, smart Mexicans speak English.
It’s a good filter to know who to relate to.
Contemplating suicide….
the pros and the cons.
Money is the issue…if I run out,
there’s no way I can survive…it’s
still an iffy issue…it’s too early to
pull a trigger. I never was interested
in money…never good at making it.
When I had it, I took it for granted.
Now the end game is afoot.
I gave my life away already to all
sentient beings…
I helped all those I could the best I can.
If no one helps me now, that’s their business…
everyone does what they do..
I don’t blame them, I did too.
As a Buddhist, suicide is a bad thing, very bad.
I’m not afraid of dying…
I’m deathly afraid of karma.
Sitting on the edge of that question
is very powerful.
There will be no more poems.
I don’t imagine that matters much.
I’m rambling because of uncertainty,
not freaked out, but with a cautious
apprehension. This is not a note I leave
beside my body. I’m just thinking out loud.
Ironically, I feel better than I have
my whole life. I’d hate to throw that away
because of some stupid move.
I could have died so many times already.
Why I’m still alive is something of a miracle,
a blessing, an opportunity to contemplate my fate.
“Even Jesus wanted a little more time.”
Trying to help was my only inspiration.
I did radical theatre, social satire, a mirror
for society’s mind. I realized whatever effect
it had wore off quickly.
I helped my Buddhist teacher bring Buddhism
to the West. I’m most happy about that. Of course,
it didn’t make me as rich as the Pope, the opposite.
If anything, that’s why I find myself here.
Still, I wouldn’t have had it any other way,
which seems suicidal now.
Fuck me if I can’t take a joke.
I have no idea my poetry has done
a whit of good…some people said
they liked them…so what? Poetry
and music have always inspired
people…only Dylan and his ilk
have been worth a hoot, became
rich. There have been plenty of prophets
over millennia. Few ever listened to them.
No, if you really want to change the world,
it takes power and money to conquer the world:
Prince Ashoka, Genghis Khan, even Elon Musk
and Trump. Hitler made a splash, but he had the
wrong idea. Money and power corrupt, but they’re
the only way to get things done. That’s the quandary.
Berryman jumped off a bridge. (I wonder what he
was thinking just then.) My dear friend, Thomas,
master artist, burned himself up in his trailer after
twenty years of intense suffering. His reason was
better than mine. My grandfather begged me to
kill him. I didn’t, but now wonder if I was kind.
I’m willing to go…too many people anyway
on the earth. Bill Gates wants to help, but in
an evil way. Elon wants to colonize Mars; to me,
like pouring water from one glass to another.
There’s a question if his marvelous inventions
will help anything at all, or are they all just
brilliant hopium? Only the enlightened know
what to do, and they’re in short supply.
What if you found, at the seashore, a message
in a bottle that read: “Look behind you.” ?
What would you think?
Would you understand?
Would it be a revelation?
Would you keep the bottle
and throw the note away?
Did that note save Donald’s life?
People tend not to see the treasures
in front of them, too busy to notice
anything besides their comfortable lives.
As a child, I already knew there was
something more than that. So, I gave
my life away because it seemed the right
thing to do.
I have no regrets or doubt of that.
All that’s left is how to close this out
without leaving a mess behind. I’m
in this moment to ask that question.
It’s the same question I had as a child:
“What is this life thing anyway?”
My only answer is: look behind you.
Handel and Leadbelly wrote music
that got them out of prisons.
I doubt that that will be my fate.
Labels: N
Social media isn’t for me.
Oh yes, I’m addicted to it already,
and I’m already suppressed by the
algorithm.
It’s a tar baby of attraction.
I can see days go by when
I forget about everything else.
I may have to delete X from
my computer.
Elon is special.
He’s already on his way to becoming
a long lived God, (one of the six realms).
I’ve never met one, but supposedly, they
live for millennia, longer than Methuselah.
Supposedly, just before they die, (for none
of the realms are eternal), their flower
garlands start to wilt, and they start smelling
their body odor. When they die, they’re
immediately reborn into hell.
Karma, ne?
Sifting through the debris of social media…
leaving my entrails as a trail.
How can I fly to Mars in three lines?
Poetry was from a time
when people had literary minds.
Writing was one of the few forms of
entertainment, as well as education.
Now, with social media, it’s all entertainment,
dispensed in tiny bites to fit the manic
attention spans. No one is learning much
anymore…. too busy consuming
information pollution to satisfy appetites
for bullshit.
So, as I write here less, I write on X more.
More people see and read me there.
It’s a natural progression,
and I love telegraphing snarky comments.
So, I’m going away, but not disappearing.
Just a fade, a dissolve, into a different scene.
When you live among the Lotus Eaters,
you can’t choose the menu. But, this way,
I can complain about the service:
“ Hey, waiter! There’s an “I” in my soup!”
“If I seem to act unkind, it’s only me,
it’s not my mind that is confusing things.”
John Lennon
Social media is questionable usefulness.
If you’re not already convinced of the truth,
it gives plenty of reasons to doubt yourself.
If you have emotions, it’s a tar baby.
Would you have coffee with Elon Musk if he
asked you? Why would he want to?
How could you be sure it was him?
Maybe he wants to know normal people.
That’s a good reason.
Maybe he wants you to invest.
That’s a reason.
The problem seems to be the world suffers
now from an overactive imagination.
If Mr. Musk showed up outside my coffee
house, or sent a representative to talk to me,
that would be proof of life.
Otherwise, it’s just a temporary mirage.
There are plenty of those on the internet
to chose from.
I can wait for the truth forever.
I’ve got time.
“A man could make a modest living
playing the marble game.”
from the play “The Time Of Your Life.”
Pachinko, maybe…not roulette…I’ve
got more balls than that.
It’s a game of chance, if you look at it
that way…karma if that’s how you see it.
“Many times for brief moments” is the
most profound instruction.
Losing is not a problem if you know
the game is rigged.
In that case, you just make the game bigger
until the marbles fall through space.
Started on X the past few days
realizing why I stayed off of
social media since it began.
So far no one has said anything
about my ranting. Tentatively
good. Takes up a lot of my too
much time…old and in the way
and all…not complaining…if
you’re lucky, you’ll get here too.
Other than that, it’s just
a tool I’ll use more if
it continues to be useful.
I am an ape and all.
Beautiful young petite Mexican
senorita all tatted up with the sweetest
genuine smile. I’m in love again.
Too late for this lifetime doesn’t matter.
“Old rats like cheese too.”
South Carolina plumber.
“Just because the director says ‘Action!’
doesn’t mean you have to do anything.”
Marlon Brando to Al Pacino
Where I live in Mexico people
say hello in the morning.
They don’t in Kyoto, Chicago,
New York or Boston. Being an
American means never having to
say hello….too busy…crust of
isolation, illusion of separateness
and individuality, full of themselves
with little room for others, no sense
that we’re all in this together, which
we are. “I’m me and you’re not” is
the battle cry, though there’s nothing
much to defend. Being the best at
trivial pursuits, but losing the game
of life.
Saying hello is meaningful. It says
you acknowledge you’re not the
only one there.
If not, if everyone’s center stage,
there is no audience to see the play
in which the truth is revealed.
Life becomes a clown show with
everyone just fooling around in
goofiness.
It’s a mad mad mad mad world.
Late night city street sidewalk
street lamps red and white car
lights sizzle of tires through the
recent rain.
It could have happened.
I wasn’t cold. I lit a cigarette
under lamp light watched the
smoke drift upwards and fade.
Not much movement on the
cityscape. Most of the lives
buttoned up for the night. I
wasn’t going to come up
with something new where
I was standing. I had to go.
Sagittarius moon afternoon rainy season
rain shower splash of downburst windows
just a slit open even so rain sprays ticklishly
with the wind over me lying in bed mind
cloud wisps flurry along dissipatingly with
the wind I imagine it’s the weather of Shambhala.
Mountains hidden in clouds,
obscured by fog, just like
the fog of mind that obscures
what’s in front of you.
When the fog lifts,
the mountains are undeniable.
When the mind clears one sees
the formations called reality.
Awareness, the breeze of delight,
dissipates temporary obscurations.
All the Buddhas say the same thing
again and again.
It’s simple: just follow nature.
A tree never says: “ Hey! I’m a tree!”
A tree has no ambition to become a table.
Why do we insist we are any different?
We are part of nature.
It’s not nature’s fault we don’t act naturally.
Scorpio rising outside the
coffee shop. Doing my due
diligence, token Buddhist
in Tepoztlan. Usually nothing
happens except occasionally a
brief, friendly word or two.
Not inspired to write, but it’s
what I do. The coffee is good
today…they always make it
differently….that’s the
Mexican way.
I gave my life away always,
even before I knew I was a
Buddhist. It seemed the thing
to do.
You’ll forget what you just read
as soon as you’re finished, if you
even get to the end.
These days I feel unburdened,
(thank you Kamala),
by all the things I gave away.
My cigarettes especially remind
me of impermanence.
I have to give praise to all the
Vajra Masters who spread the
dharma throughout the world,
now available to everyone,
first time in history.
Arnold Toynbee said the most
important event/trend of the 20th
Century was the coming of
Buddhism to the West.
That’s what happens when
you have good coffee…still,
nothing happens.
If you have nothing,
you have nothing to loose.
Even then, the non-existent
beat goes on, and my seat on
the street
is a portal to another realm.
Poco Cumpleanos
mostly dying, but sometimes
finding myself suddenly born again
a cameo of myself in my movie I recognize
like a movie star, which I was
in my own movie in memories of great scenes,
like when my mother overturned the Xmas dinner
table, completely set, in a fit of rage when her brother,
my uncle, showed up unexpectedly.
That took three lines of memory from my mind.
It was as if happened yesterday.
But that’s not what this poem is about.
I’d better start again,
or is that another birth?
That’s what keeps happening,
even as I age: always finding myself
again, back at square one.
Reason enough to keep living.
***************
Afterbirth
Yeah, like, when you’re born?
And everything that comes after
that is afterbirth, until death, and
it’s as messy as it sounds.
This is the big problem with
social media influencers
Communist politicians
main stream pundits and experts…
the list goes on.
They trip over themselves trying to
pass off partial truths with loud voices.
I can hardly hear myself think anymore.
I have to look at trees to get back in my body.
The marching morons making something
out of nothing once again raise their strident
historical voices, brandishing self righteous
ignorance as before, the new barbarians, the
darkening of the light,
eschewing basic decency, common sense,
what’s seen when looking clearly.
It’s all I can write about because it’s all I
can see when I look at the sad world we’re
on right now: the rise of the Kali Yuga.
The only question I have is; will it change
after November, or, will it last a
thousand years?
This is a piece I wrote in November, 2011,
just before the whole thing started.
The Purge Of Evil
For everything there is a season.
This is the time of hell on earth.
This is the time of the flowering of evil.
The Lords of Materialism have seized power.
It is their time.
The karma they create from their evil deeds
Will rid the earth of them for a long time.
They will not be reborn as human.
It is the time of the purge of evil.
Remain human!
Don’t get sucked into their trip!
This has to happen now!
Predicted by all religions!
Remain human! Remain human!
Don’t take part in their bloody game!
What goes around comes around!
Cultivate compassion!
Their leaders are lost in lust!
Their self destruction is inevitable!
****************************
I publish it over and over….
Days do go by.
Even during war, some days
just go by without much happening.
Even lives go by
without much happening.
My life is going by
without much happening.
Since the industrial/information
evolution, hardly a day goes by
without something happening.
Change has picked up speed.
Change is becoming exponential.
You think the Mayan calendar
was wrong?
“OK, frogs, it’s 2012. We’re
turning up the heat now.”
Maybe it just took a while.
By now, we all know people
that are getting a little hot.
We are living in a time that,
one day, will be called a myth.
Old beliefs can only
drag us down.
Cigar Store Indian.
Any surprise that that icon is gone?
It went the way of Aunt Jemima,
Uncle Ben, and other racist affronts.
Icons have moved to people’s bodies,
branded by tee shirts, monograms,
tattoos. They feel a certain way when
they wear them…now everyone is
their own cliche.
People in uniforms demonstrate that
they have the same purpose.
Clowns are made up that way.
A swastika is an extreme example.
These days, no one has to guess it’s
meaning.
“What you see is what you get” some say.
“Things are symbols of themselves” is
another way to say it.
People see through the filters
of their symbols, their brands,
their group, their team, the scars
they got becoming one of those.
My poetry is not philosophy,
it doesn’t care what you think.
It only cares what you see.
“Everyone’s a winner!”
That’s what the carnies bark.
“Barking” is the term for
the words they say.
Plenty of carnies around these days.
Everyone’s a winner: believe that
and you might just as well believe
anything.
It’s all for show for money.
The carnival exists because
of the rubes.
Without the gullible, the mysths
would disappear.
Sounds like the politics today.
You could say
Trump glows like the sun, or,
Kamala looks like a clown.
As humans, we are brainwashed in all
kinds of ways:
by culture,
national identity,
family,
lovers,
intellectual sidetracks,
politics,
the Mob.
It’s impossible to avoid,
but possible to overcome.
De-programming takes many forms.
It could be a conversation that presents
the truth.
“If the truth can be told so as to be understood,
it will be believed.” William Blake
It could be a life changing event.
It could be clarifying the mind through meditation.
One side effect of de-programming is that, for a
time, one has doubts about one’s own judgement.
What is life, anyway?
Who looks into that question?
Certainly not the brainwashed
in the artificial certainty of the
rut they never find themselves in.
Brainwashing has been a standard
tool of power and control forever.
It is based in language and concept…
just read Orwell.
William Burroughs said the word is
a virus. When words infect the mind,
the result is brainwash, a crust of
resistance to new information.
An example?
“Biden is sharp as a tack and able to
be President again.”
After the debate with Trump, the same
people say: “Biden is too damaged to
run for President.”
What changed?
Only the words.
The American Civil War was not a war to eliminate
slavery. It was a war to maintain the United States
as an entity. The South just happened to be where the
treasonous Democrats were. Now, they are everywhere
in the United States, determined to destroy the Union
the same as the Confederacy was. The Democrats have
always been the racists, and still are.
“Take a masterpiece…burn it a little…
makes it even better. “ Chogyam Trungpa
That’s what happened to Trump when he
lost a piece of his ear and raised his fist
in the air. Many people saw him for the
first time. A change happened. Rich people,
like Musk, gave him more money…one
obvious result. People saw him in a new way.
Giving the credit to God is puerile, simplistic.
The event underlined his mind, brought it
into focus.
There have been incredible humans
throughout history…maybe the aliens
don’t agree…still see humans as
undifferentiated monkeys.
A man, Buddha, discovered
enlightenment, the logical
culmination of evolution, which
certainly is not nothing.
Meanwhile, the beat still goes on…
the play’s still the thing in which
the truth is revealed, if one has
eyes to see. And, right now,
Trump is standing center stage.
Racist is a term used to insult people
when reasoned logic fails. It is used extensively
by the Left to denounce it’s critics and stifle
debate. The proper response to the slur of racist
is: “you’re brainwashed” because it’s true
empirically and not just an insult. The dramatic
reactiveness of people when you just say the word
“Trump” or“MAGA” is an indicator that these
people can’t think or see clearly, that they are
brainwashed.
The real racism in the USA today is against white
people, because they are the biggest threat to the
Communist takeover of the USA. If one looks at
the history of totalitarian governments in the
twentieth century, it’s clear that propaganda and
the resulting brainwashing were an essential
engine that brought these governments to power.
This is what’s happening in the USA right now.
Obama overturned the law that made propaganda
illegal in the popular media. How many snakes does
it take to make you realize you’ve been bitten?
An old woman walked past me…grey hair,
stoic expression, holding up a bunch of flowers
at shoulder height. The mauve flowers matched
her flower print dress. She looked like she was
walking to her grave, an apparition. She’s my
image for the next year of world civilization.
The USA is the hot spot for the world’s changes.
“The temperature’s rising, it isn’t surprising,
it certainly can….can-can.”
If it was an asteroid, it would have hit you.
The next year…the next year…what other time
in history we’re we as aware that big changes
are imminent? 1914? 1941?
The prophets on YouTube are pulling out their hair.
It’s no joke, but black humor is a thing.
We see which way this situation that has
reached its boiling point is going.
Some frogs will not survive.
“Hurry up, please, it’s time.”
My last twenty years went by in a
second, but then I live in Shangri-La,
where the only time is now.
This year is and will feel like the Truman
Show, glimpses of bare wires dangling
from the sky.
Time itself will slow, like when you’re in
an accident, to be sure it doesn’t miss anything…
flashes of invisible realms.
Who will survive to continue to evolve once
the truth is fully revealed?
We live in interesting times.
The shooter, a twenty year old, was two years out of high school.
He was a loner who had been bullied a lot. His father was a licensed
therapist, from whom he may have acquired the gun. He hated Trump.
He gave money to Democrats. His mother was also a therapist.
Sounds to me like a CIA/MK ULTRA kind of guy.
People in the crowd alerted the police to the man with
a gun on the roof of a building, 150 meters from Trump.
FBI marksmen had him in their sights and were told to
stand down. They only killed him after he got off a number
of shots.
How did he get onto the roof of a building with an M16?
A ladder. Did he bring it? How, plus an M16? If not, how
did he know it was there? It was inside the building, so,
he must have at least known that. You really think he
had no help? “Lone gunman”? Yeah, that theory has
been the number one excuse. We know now in JFK’s
case, and RFK’s case, that was not true. It’s the same
puzzle with the usual lack of pieces, but the pattern
is mostly the same.
There were differing reports about why the sniper, who
had the person in his sights, didn’t take the shot. One was
that he needed confirmation to shoot, but was told to stand
down. Another was that those anti terrorist snipers don’t
need further orders to shoot. What is the truth? The coverup
is happening right now!
Samsara is the world we all
find ourselves in.
It includes all the pleasures
and pains; every experience
we have in life.
Ultimately, it’s results are
always unsatisfactory.
One might be Bruce Jenner,
the glorified athlete.
His fame faded, so he got it
back, for now, by becoming
a sex change champion.
Annexing Czechoslovakia
wasn’t enough for Hitler.
Even Alexander the Great
wanted a little more time.
First, you have to see the
problem: desire, longing,
grasping, clinging.
Then, you have to train your
mind to let go of those things.
Then you can be in the world,
but not of the world.
That’s why Jesus said:
“Unless you’re like one of these,
(children)
you cannot enter the Kingdom.”
(with all the bullshit in the Bible,
it’s amazing that, perhaps, some of
Jesus’s most profound teachings
survived).
Children’s minds are uncluttered
with all those “adult” concerns
until they come “of age”.
We do have to get back to the Garden.
Not a Utopia…
everyone walks around in a permanent shrug.
“Oh well,” is the common greeting, like Mexico,
only, here they really don’t care…lazy Samurai,
they don’t do much but they’re ready to die at
any moment.
“Where’s John? I haven’t seen him.”
“He died.”
“Oh well…” and so it goes.
Shambhala.org?
It got corrupted
Democracy?
It’s over.
Society?
Taken over by A.I..
The human species?
Heading towards a cliff.
Oh well.
Greetings to all my friends I haven’t met yet!
Have you thought about life lately?
Have you looked into what life is?
Are you having too much fun to even think
about it?
Are you so burdened you don’t know what
to think?
Whatever the case, you’re not alone.
Most people are either too busy being born
or too busy dying to even ask the question.
What other question could be more fundamental?
Most people only look for the truth when
they’re cornered; when their paradigm falls short,
like, when they walk away from an airplane crash
and wonder why they’re not dead…this happened
to a friend of mine. Her life changed forever.
“Why me?” some people say.
“Why not?” is an appropriate response,
but maybe not that helpful.
If you don’t look into what life is, you
might be like Marlon Brando on his
deathbed when he asked the question:
“What was that?”
I Wouldn’t Put It Past Them
The Democrats have declared Biden has
entered a spiritual realm and his garbling
is actually him saying mantras. He’s too
spiritual for you to judge him.
The pharmaceutical companies have issued a
statement that their improved vaccine will now
be effective for any pandemic they intend to spread.
The military has instituted a policy that soldiers will
no longer carry weapons. Instead, they will be armed
with wands.
(Sorry. I’ve wasted too much of your precious time on
this already.)
Grouchy Old Man Song
I’m a grouchy old man,
yessiree!
If you get too close I’ll grouch
at ye.
It don’t matter that you did nothing wrong…
you just got too close is why I sing my song.
(repeat)
Gone
I was just smoking a cigarette, and
now it’s gone.
Where did it go?
It was just here like
all those relationships, projects,
triumphs, failures, all those years.
Where did they go?
What did I expect?
Haiku
Living in a dream.
“This paradise is so real.”
“What’s next?” I wonder.
A new word, maybe, meaning
what humanity is going through now,
Childhoods End, end of the road for
the homosap, archaic revival, even, if
E.T. was our ancestor/engineer/God, it’s
about time we knew maybe? So, we’re
hearing cornucopias of chatter about
every organized government, all the
rumors we heard or believed for the
last sixty years about the way things
are being challenged, destroyed, and
the truth revealed.
“The future is already here. It’s just not
evenly distributed.” William Gibson
We are all beings made of light,
so hard, so hard to see, so stuck
on the earth, stuck in the mud are
we, concerned about the longevity
of a mirage.
In magic, movements play tricks
on sight, the ephemeral solidity
is revealed. Even the elephant in
the room can disappear.
There is a “mind’s eye”,
an artist’s eye,
seer’s eye,
quantum panoramic eye,
eye yi yi!
So,
no words…
just performance.
You can go to the past,
but no one’s there anymore.
You can go to the future,
but no one’s there yet.
If you remain in the present,
you’ll always be right on time.
Maybe it’s better you don’t know
the truth, what’s really going on
in the world.
That’s what our rulers have been
telling us for the last seventy years.
Inasmuch as it doesn’t affect your
penthouse, your retirement plan, you
don’t care or pay much attention.
“It is precisely in unconscious
involuntary manifestations that
all evil lies. You do not yet understand
and cannot imagine the results of this evil.
But the time will come when you will
understand.” G. I. Gurdjieff 1916
It’s going to be a woman
it’s going to be a woman of color
it’s going to be a Chinese
a Christian
a Mexican
a black man
a white cracker
a yarmulke wearing Mofo,
it’s going to be somebody
so just let go.
Old Man Picking His Nose
…could be the subject of a poem:
“Desperately Seeking Dementia”…
a documentary about famous people
that picked their noses:
Abraham Lincoln
Ulysses S. Grant
Napoleon
All the Greeks…
someone would watch it,
to be sure,
to be immortalized by A. I.
like everything else there ever was.
With such knowledge, what forgiveness?
####&####&####&#####&####&####&####&###&###&###&####&######&####&#####&####&
Faster than the speed
of smoke
the DMT
hits me
suddenly
rainbow waterfall
Splash!
…and that was the world
for a little while, not exactly
the “I’ll have the usual.”
familiar landscape oh boy.