The Universe Is The Big Note

It’s all music to my ears, the good, the bad,

and the tasty ugly, from Beethoven to Beatles 

to Beefheart the buzzing of the bees is music

to my ears to my way of not thinking just listen

the world is music says Cage uncaged from 

limiting conventions/there are no lasting cons

or conventions I asked the universe, my mind,

just now, and it said Yes I heard it with my ears/

Hey Jude into Sometimes A Woman’s Gotta

Hit A Man/why not/find your own groove is

what we wee hippies used to say/I think I’m

going back (Byrds song)/Little Feat on Fiddlers 

Green in Denver tripping on mushrooms/wouldn’t 

you/can there be a good kind of trauma what

would you call that auspicious ripening of karma

if you want to get technical/Buddhism is a tech

manual of the operating system called human

life that your education never gave you ‘cause

they just didn’t know/2500 years ago someone 

evolved to the end of the algorithm and people 

knew about it and practiced it and learned how

to see beyond their reality tunnel to what is

bigger, really bigger, really very very bigger,

so what/sew buttons/but that runaway train 

doesn’t stop ‘til it runs out of track which is

forever but let’s not talk about that now.

That’s music too because all sound is mantra/

protecting the mind from the little voices in

your head that tell you to stop suddenly on the

highway/so you warn the drivers behind you

with a bumper sticker/the azure blue of the sky

is real not a graphic novel/Cyber Punk opera

/Face Book page/(you can see where this is 

going or can you)/I’ll takes some raw guitar

over a candy bar any day/two Halls lozenges

shy of a waking dream/almost time for my

close up.

Readorned dreaminess cortège skiffling

along un demonstrably in hirsute boiler

plate suits like Yeti or Little Big Feets 

hey! It’s my dream/move over/break on 

through to the other side/if I were any

closer I’d be on the other side of you/

surrealistic something or other/the

Third Man is always along watching/

I forgot  what I was for a moment…

ever happen to you….has ever happened 

to you…ever and ever…were you 

ever even there…a night of serious 

dreaming…some of my best friends…

…that o’l black magic…the Chinese 

landlady’s beautiful daughter…and

so it goes like forever melting in the

hot sun like an ice cream cone torus.

Coda:

I saw Disney’s Fantasia on L.S.D.,

an admirable experience, Night On

Bald Mountain had me riveted to 

my seat. 

I just listened to it again right now.

The music lingered on after the piece

was over.

Back to the Beatles for a palate cleansing.

Pisces Moon

I don’t want you to think I’m one

of those New Age loonies that sours

into terminal off the wallness…it’s 

simple mechanical solar system 

gravitational relativistic relationship 

effects causing changes in organic

beings made mostly of water thus

subject to the tides of all types in our

solar system, so, Get Wise to how 

things work or not 

always only the best

noir jazz as the sun goes behind the

mountain diffused light half an hour more,

I was talking with my buddies this morning 

over an excellent brunch, older guys like me,

and we were exchanging our brushes with the.

police, brushes with dead, with women, great old

guy stories in the flesh so you knew they were true

when we were young and learning the hard way.

Bill left half of his cigar after lunch, so I took it,

smoking it now, first of those for a long time.

Mundane stuff, but real, miracles take a bit longer.

Consider the price of admission.

If you read me, that’s enough.

Just kidding…

Waiter! Check please!

What? Yes…that’s very interesting. Let’s do lunch.

An Old Man’s Life’s Values

“Did you do your chores, Tommy?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Did you do your homework?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Did you wash my car?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Did you do all the other things I

told you to do that I can’t remember,

but I will later, and you jolly well

better have done them?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good boy….now get down on all fours,

I want to use you as a footstool.”

Random note: I think I’ll watch

“Starship Troopers” again.

(the first one, not the sequels,

which, being kind, are crap.

And, remember, children, everyone 

has got to be somewhere.

Moment

As the world seems to fall apart

and my life approaches its conclusion

in my humble sanctuary a parting of

the clouds of uncertainty to a clear spot

of time an infinitesimal Casablanca 

in the ocean of the time of my life

outside of the whirlwind of world karma

where the space of humorous irony 

takes me home to what I always knew.

Not a myth not a fairy tale not a parable 

only a taste of eternal destiny.

Waking Into The Dream

Slept ok lying in bed as sun comes up

first poem of the day maybe the last

hard to say but when I catch my mind

first thing before it grows hair of this

and that seems to be a good way to start

whatever adventures/disasters/ general

nuisance of keeping breathing/hunting

gathering/ staying alive staying alive

more and more I wish it would just end/

the world not cooperating with my hopes

and dreams but then why should my life

be any different/I watch videos of police

chases and arrests the police just the other

side of that coin/more fortunate more smart

than the crooks they catch/but when they

nab the perp and after a brief struggle they

all relax as if the play is over and they’ve

taken their bows sometimes remarkably 

peaceful at that/everyone’s performed their 

designated roles: cops and robbers/ cowboys 

and Indians/corporate execs and bag ladies/

Communists and Capitalists/the good the bad

and don’t forget the ugly/not games/reality

it’s called but isn’t it interesting that people

fall into categories as if designated like in

Huxley’s Brave New World/the cops are 

Gammas and the crooks are Epsilons for

example/prison camp inmate tattoos will

soon be all the rage/eliminates casual speak

because you can see the mark on the forehead 

and know instantly if you want to engage/

saves time for the important things like checking 

your phone to see if your memes have gained 

traction/don’t laugh folks because if Control

had their way we’d soon be there and the only

heroes left will be the outlaws that still have a

shred of dignity/living on the outskirts like the

quarter million people that live off of the

Mexico City dump.

A Royal Nonesuch

A theatrical scam written in Mark Twain’s book

Huckleberry Finn where two carpetbaggers, the Duke

and the Dauphin, bilk a town with their capering

antics in lieu of an actual performance…an analogy

for the world today…do I have to spell it out for you?

If you can’t see what’s happening with your own eyes

by using them rather than taking anyone’s word you

are part of the problem, a problem for you and you 

affect others with “opinions” so you’re a problem for

them too…families are at odds like no time since the

Civil War…have you noticed that, at least? What’s 

your guess as to why that should be so? I’m not 

interested in educating you, showering you with my

perspective. You have to do it yourself. A hint would

be to look at the trends and ask yourself why they 

would be that way. Listen to the politicians and ask

yourself who’s making sense and who’s sounding 

deranged. 

It’s a Royal Nonesuch World Order Globalist

plot to enslave humanity like no other before.

Act three is just starting.

It’s about to get interesting.

Old Jack Anything

Old Jack Anything

galumphing along

the highways and the byways 

in search of what he can’t remember,

‘cause he forgot,

never you mind,

just keep rowing.

I Made The Timeline Of My Dream

I had a glimpse of paradise in a dream

during a bad time in early years,

it consisted of a room and orange walls

I felt I had made it out of a bad dream in

that dream of orange walls 

in clouds of bliss

like I am now in my room

with orange walls.

Notes From A Lost Notebook

Open your eyes

You never know

until you find out

which is why it’s 

better to see where you are.

You never know how many

have fallen down open manholes

while talking on their cell phones.

The principal permeates our lives,

we notice a stray animal, alone, shaking,

we take it home, it becomes a spirit that

gives its love for many years….banal,

get as kinky as you want…if you 

don’t look across a crowded room

your eyes will never meet.

It’s all quite enchanting, really.

Old Jet Airplane

It could go any day now.

Any flight could be its last.

It cannot be repaired…

it’s just old.

The sound of its rivets rattling 

is the sound of tambourines.

It was well made.

Its pilot put his trust into it.

He loved living dangerously.

Suddenly, a gust of wind took it higher

than ever it had been.

Good day, sunshine,

you never effing know.

If I seem to act unkind,

it’s only me, it’s not my mind

that is confusing things…

it’s only me, it’s not my mind 

it’s only me, it’s not my mind  

that is confusing things…

coming in for a landing.

Moto Libre

Mi amiga was walking to her tienda,

a shop with really nice…expensive…

stuff.

I said “Hola! Commo Estas?”

She smiled, said she was fine.

“I hear you’re giving away free joints

today…I heard someone say.” …teasingly.

She laughed, said no, we talked about a

crazy guy we knew…sat next to me on the

street…offered me his dope, sweetly.

She told me that, later that day, he’d had 

too much to drink,

hassled a masseuse,

and another gal,

and the police came and took him away.

A little more back and forth, and then,

She said: “Come on in, I’ll give you one,

a fat one, like you like.”

So sweet, 

I offered a poem, a kiss, a nothing,

she said:  “Just be happy.”

so, I was.

Apex Clown

Dangerous to be around 

if you have no sense of humor 

if you can't take a joke 

if your mind is in some gutter 

if you believe the world is real

not a made up farce albeit with 

horrible consequences for those 

lost in concrete fantasies of

Ozymandian absurdities that

drive them along their lives

in ruts leading to a dead end.

Yes, 1.2 billion people have minds

that just ain't right, twice as many 

as in nineteen ninety, do you see

a trend my friend of course you do.

You can feel it even if your name

isn't Dave. What does that have to 

do with Apex Clown I'd tell you if

I had a clue I'm just mugging for the 

monkeys in the zoo if you ask me it's 

just about the only thing I can do

or maybe I should get a sandwich 

board and walk around a city it

reads: "Pull my finger" or "God is

a fish" anything to make them turn

their heads and stop, just stop, for 

once, derailed and in glorious shine 

of wonder.

After Watching The Movie “The Magic Trip”

The Magic Trip movie salvaged from forty

hours of film about Kesey and the Merry

Pranksters’ odyssey from San Francisco to

the New York World’s Fair in 1964 a good

job putting the craziness and ecstasy and

brilliance into a form that can be at least 

understood and maybe even appreciated by

anyone even the straights that have regrouped

from that brief Eden of dazzle that demarked 

the Fifties Eisenhower somnolent t.v. dinner 

dystopia even more than the Beats who started

the revolution of the spirit against materialism,

the Twentieth Century’s dominant new religion,

back to Dionysian archaic revival, and while

the expedition through America only lasted a

matter of weeks that spirit soar is still reverbing

today…you can see it in the growing use of 

psychedelics and other psychotropic drugs to

heal addiction to opioids, PTSD, depression 

and other ailments that Western Medicine has

only been able to make worse…you can hear

it in new music, electronica one example…the

poets never lost it as part of their endless tradition

of playing their minds as instruments…nobody

ever intimated that those experiences would get

you to Mars, (the new Eden dream), but sho’ nuff

it is still helpful enough to get you right where you

are. That message, that magic, that majesty looks

lost in the din of propaganda, of screaming voices

high on absurd causes and confusion, of political

Carnies shilling the rubes as they always have done

only now louder and more strident, but it never will

succeed unless lobotomy becomes America’s next

favorite pastime. You can kill the body but not the

soul/spirit/mind. The truth will out…always has.

Hamster Wheel In A Cage

" I've got to get my laundry done, walk the dog,

Oh yes, the party is today…what time was it?

4 o’clock, that’s right…I wonder if the Smiths

will be there? Probably…and, of course they’ll 

talk about politics. Why do they hate Trump so

much? I point out the good things he’s done, but

they won’t even listen. Just saying his name seems 

to set them off…well, I’ll just try to steer the 

conversation away…I wonder how Tommy is

doing? Such a smart kid…I wonder why he’s 

having so much trouble in school…they talk about

sending him to a military academy…I wonder if

that’s happened yet. Was I supposed to bring

something? I’ll pick up a bottle of wine just in

case. I don’t feel like going, but I guess it will

be fun…Barbara is such a good cook, and Frank

makes a mean barbecue. The weather looks good

so it probably won’t rain. I don’t know if Bill will

remember about the party, so I’ll send him a 

WhatsApp to remind him not to be late getting 

home from work…he’s more absent minded than

I am…I wish he’d shave his beard…it’s so

disgusting…it almost makes me not want to have

sex with him…I’ll put up with it a little longer,

I guess. I hate to nag him, but sometimes I can’t 

help it. What can I do? Maybe I’ll promise him

that sex thing he always wants that I don’t like

to do, or, let him buy the snowmobile that we can’t 

afford…that raise didn’t come through yet…I’ll

remind him to ask his Boss again…that’s not

nagging, is it? Oops! Did I turn off the coffee 

maker? Yes, I did…for once. I’m getting better

at that. Should I go shopping? What do we need?

Not much…I’ll go shopping tomorrow…yes,

shopping can wait…I’d better make a list. Let’s 

see…what should I make for dinner tomorrow?

I wish I didn’t have to cook…Bill’s nice about

eating what I make, and he likes it most of the

time….I wish he liked liver and bacon, my 

favorite meal…he hates it. He’s going on that

business trip next week…I’ll make it when he’s 

gone. I trust him…I know he’s not having an 

affair…I know he’s not that kind of guy…I wish

he didn’t bore me so much, but I guess I should

be thankful that that’s the worst that he is…Lilly

left her husband last week. She’s a mess right now…

I should invite her over, try to make her feel better…

she’s a good friend, but I’m always so busy! I’ll

try to make time for her next week…Thursday might

be good…I’ll write myself a note so I don’t forget.”

Maybe I should forget about the whole thing.

Improvisation #1

Mexican Independence (interdependence) Day

gasconading with drums and trumpets down the

street/might as well because that’s all they got

in the country that almost works oh well go ahead

and propound all you want but better fiesta as well

they will it’s what they do it’s all they do terminators

of delight since they’re alive and can’t come up with

something better/not being critical heck these people 

smile more and the kids seem happier than in cities 

in the U.S.A. except for occasional barbecues with

corn on the cob boy do I miss that 4th of July food.

The omens are dark and dank these days with

occasional glimmers of possibility of relief but

it’s too early to tell which time line reality is

going to take time will tell as it always does 

meanwhile nonbreeders with purple hair fill

the streets in the States not like here where I

can just imagine the snickers that would come 

if those deviants tried that down here the New

Age is not trickle down/it’s an American fad

like the hula hoop and just as long lasting but

not as much fun.

Word play is just another type of play/ we adults

usually forgot how in the seriousness of survival 

in a world that is capable of providing all needs

but greed prevents/not asking for utopia that never

comes about just decency and common sense which

if humanity grokked we would take care of each

other and ourselves easily eliminating streets of

homelessness and other ills because of the top

down strategy of power hungry sociopaths and 

psychos that inhabit the ruling tier/the trickle down

hopium hasn’t eliminated desperation is anybody 

listening is a question maybe promises of a Golden

Age is just another pie in the sky or not we’ll see

soon because if it is ladies hike up your skirts

because it’s going to get nastier than you could

ever imagine.

Klingons Are Evil Beings

Ego is attachment to confused perception.

That’s why we stay in abusive relationships,

the bad, familiar situations rather than change.

That’s why leaders cling to outdated plans.

That’s why we don’t have world peace.

Evil is just not knowing what’s good.

Common sense is innate good judgement.

Overcoming habitual patterns is the path to freedom.

Ready for anything is beyond your control.

Edgar Cayce was clear on these points. 

Waiting

Waiting for my laundry.

Waiting for a $5K dividend.

Waiting for a Golden Age.

Waiting for auspicious coincidence.

Waiting for humanity to evolve.

Waiting for space aliens to manifest

in their cute little saucer ships.

Waiting for a patron that appreciates 

my poetry.

Waiting for inspiration.

Waiting for breakfast.

Most of my life is already in the

cosmic quantum computer can.

My karma for this life is pretty

much fixed.

My bucket list is empty,

I have no axe to grind,

no bones to pick.

Still, a smile from a child is enough 

to bring me back to where I am.

I’m hardly noticed anymore…

I’ve become part of the environment…

I’m old, but not much in the way.

And so it goes; born, whatever 

happens in the middle, then dead…

we all go this way.

You can’t take your monuments with you.

Most of the famous people are already forgotten,

except Elvis…who can forget about Elvis?

He died on the toilet, but we’d rather not

remember that, among the many things we’d

rather not remember.

I’ve forgotten most of what I knew,

a blessing/curse of old age…

I can’t complain.

I’m not complaining…that’s uselessness 

itself and no one cares to hear it.

It’s more constructive to pay attention to

what’s still there and forget about the past.

You don’t live there anymore.

As to what may still occur, there’s no hope or fear.

I’ve seen it all before, nothing’s new under the sun.

Live, love, laugh and be happy.

There’s no profit in the alternative.

Tip of the day: relax, because 

everything’s not going anywhere.

Turning Japanese

Clouds like a Noh drama,

ponderous, majestic, threatening,

I can almost see a secret realm.

Gagaku nudges me towards the

shy, young debutant.

I see the Black Ships of Perry

sailing towards Yokohama.

Wakari mas ta ka?

It’s a little too cool for sepuku,

I really think so.

A Real Man

“But he can’t be a man,

‘cause he doesn’t smoke

the same cigarettes as me.”

You think we didn’t always

know what was going on?

You think we forgot…did you forget

we stopped going to Disneyland 

years ago?

Yes, my generation had a high casualty rate,

but it was only the weak ones.

Yes, I loved Jackie Gleason, (he built a house

in the shape of a flying saucer…it had three

floors, each with a full bar…the house only

had one bathroom…Nixon took Gleason on

a tour of a military installation when he was

President…he showed Jackie Gleason the 

bodies of aliens…It’s said Jackie drank more

after that, if possible, for a few months. I think

the stories are true.) Ed Sullivan, we watched

Bonanza together as a family…Fess Parker as

Davy Crockett…I broke a toy rife over my

brother’s back one day…I did want to kill him.

I was a real man…good? bad? sure. I tried.

I didn’t kill anybody…didn’t even hurt 

anybody real bad.

I haven’t been depressed since my teacher

slapped me in the face and said: “Cheer up!”

and everybody laughed.

I haven’t had (strong) thoughts since another

teacher said: “You don’t have to think!”

I’m almost completely gone, ha ha!

Gone, gone, pretty darn gone,

ain’t comin’ back soon darn gone,

yii ha! Ain’t it a bitch!

I’ll have those M&Ms now…

Fresh Metal

No olds is good news.

You can always count on the razor’s edge.

My only explanation is a fish.

Wait, it will come to me.

The curtain never came down 

on the theatre of the absurd…

absurd of you to think so

thing so

things so very very.

There was a T. V. show called “You Asked For It!”

a rather threatening title, if you ask me.

“Oh no! I didn’t ask for THAT!

Oh! Please! Not that!”

But, yes, over the cliff they went in the bathtub…

whoosh! just like that.

La, La, La, dum dee dum…

it was all in fun and for the ratings…

everybody loves a staged disaster…

somebody will always love anything.

Harpies And Furies

Harpies, Furies, something buzzing around

in my mind? Storm coming…maybe that’s 

the quantum communication I’m receiving…

I’ll look outside the window, see how much

time I’ve got. “Time I’ve got…for what?”

I thought. “We’ll see.” Who said that?

The breeze?

Shall I inflate a balloon?

Why that, now, then?

You want to graft with this Zeppelin?

Something buzzing around my mind.

It don’t make no nevermind, mind you,

just icing on the slippery slope…oops.

Boo bop shee reebop shee bop shee bang,

don’t let the quantum strangeness entangle you,

just a clever string of words, don’t mean nuthin’.

Next?

Just that this unexpected sweet taste of bliss

arose or came down deliciously which gives

me confidence in the natural order of things.

P.S. I left the M&Ms in the kitchen.

Until I want them, I won’t really taste them.

“Melts in your mind, not in your mouth.”

It Just Happened

A Mexican, stranger, sat down next to me

and started talking.

He was also talking to everyone else passing by…

got the picture?

He was crazy, but sweet, non threatening, fluid,

someone I could play with.

Then, ANOTHER one sat down, on the other side,

just an ordinary Mexican drunk this time a small

man, completely gentle, smiling, hardly making 

a sound.

Then, a dog passed by, with big piece of grass

hanging from his maw….a straw dog! HA!

Oh! Pueblo Magico!

Today you live up to your name!

I finally have my coterie!

Then, I went and had some noodles because my

noodle was a little discombobulated, and I needed 

to keep things simple, if you know what I am…

know what I mean?

It just happened 

like marriage,

like the big promotion,

like the fantastic trip

to the Isle of Capri,

like death.

Not like endless governments that 

promise to do everything right…

not like religions that promise Heavens

of delight.

I’ll stick with my temporary experience 

of cherished friends on the street,

grokking the gnosis, calmly sitting together

in our own real world.

(listening to Hendrix, putting this down on my blog)

Gnosis Vs. Materialism

Forget about politics, I mean, sure, it’s 

important,  but, it’s not just

about America…it’s a world war for minds and

souls…the Beats knew this which is why the

establishment feared and tried to discredit them…

it’s a common sense struggling against insanity…

the insanity of power and control over others.

The same dynamic occurred during the time of

the advent of the Catholic Church: the early 

Catholic Church genocided the Gnostics because 

they taught that one could have a relationship with

God (truth) directly and didn’t need the intercession 

of the clergy. The Church needed the clergy so it

could have control of the people and gain power,

same as the Central Committee of the CCCP or

any Communist government, any Crown government.

Power and control are hallmarks of a materialist

view: who’s got the most stuff, the only thing that

matters to that way of thinking. It’s the survival 

instinct run wild and unchecked. Gnosis is awakening;

seeing things as they are and acting in accordance 

with that. To gnosis, ultimate reality is spiritual,

apprehended through direct experience, not mere

“stuffness”, matter, as the only thing we can know.

The materialists think power over stuff is the path

to fulfillment, that concepts such as compassion 

are irrelevant to achieving the goal, and are 

obstacles that should be ignored or abandoned.

Satan convinced Eve that God was keeping her

and Adam from knowledge, so they could be

like God. Knowledge is mental stuff, the 

knowables. Enough knowledge and one can 

rule the world. But knowledge is not wisdom,

which is the absence of concept, absence of

“thingness”. Thingness is seeing things as means

to an end, a purpose, the path to fulfillment,

satisfaction, survival beyond survival to power

and control. Wisdom means not conceptualizing

beyond what is seen to serve an agenda. When

one does that, that’s how ego arises. Ego is

materialism’s engine that drives minds to create

constructions that reinforce the appearance of

solidity, when gnosis sees that those constructions 

themselves are temporary manifestations, that

holding on to things leads to confused existence.

So, the war continues. The materialists continue

their endeavors to solidify their positions, the

Gnostics rebel against power and control, or,

the best ones, who aren’t even concerned about

the struggle.

Random Word Aspiration

Cerulean sky beckons me home…

in my delightful barracoon away

from the maddening hordes.

Sending waves of compassion out,

mind decorated with jabots of delight,

knowing that what takes forever is

soon realized in inevitability of karma.

Whisht, dear suffering fellow travelers…

the praam of dharma will carry you safely 

across the ocean of your troubles.

My periphrastic phrases may seem 

overwrought in desperation of longing,

but it’s only my heart, same as yours,

that yearns for the same outcome.

Forgive my scanty splodges…I’m just

another Homosap, doing the best he can.

How Am I Doing So Far?

“How am I doing so far?”

said Jesus on the cross, blood streaming

from his wounds, a smile on his face, though

they forgot to mention that in the Bible.

“How am I doing so far?” uttered from the lips

of the psychopath in uniform, his list of latest kills

stretched out to his superior sitting at his desk,

anxious to fill the quota.

“How am I doing so far?” Lee Atwater asked

George H. W. Bush after his latest dirty trick 

removed a rival from contention and before his 

brain tumor made him realize he’d made the 

mistake of his life by working for that evil man.

“How am I doing so far?” wondered the second

rate poet to himself in Mexico where he had 

escaped to from his native country, which he

had left when he saw it was going down the drain,

before the possibility arose that it could change.

It was the last thought he had before there was a

knock at the door, the Federal police there to be

certain he would never wonder any more.

Still A Hippie After All These Years

It started with the Beats, Kerouac, Burroughs, Ginsburg

et. al., at the end of W.W. 2. Another war to end all wars?

No! They saw the pattern of endless war for profit that

went along hand in hand with Daddy in his armchair 

smoking his pipe, mommy in the kitchen baking pie,

consuming ever so nicely the latest items advertised 

to make unseen millionaires richer and said NO and 

looked for what their own lives actually were, the loves,

art, music, building ramshackle cabins in the woods 

or driving endlessly with glee of wind and freedom 

of movement unencumbered, music blasting away 

chains of conformity only for others’ benefit, YES

we saw through the myth of the Golden Corral, the

life plan that was planned for us. So “Beats” were

then “hippies”, just the next convenient label for

what was happening, same spontaneous whatever,

blazing with ecstasy, joy, tears, brilliance shining

with each new ephemeral saga…and now in old age

with openness and uncertainty still as then not having

made the pile of gold promised by the American Dream,

as poor as the Beats were in those post war days, so,

full circle, I guess, but at least I’ve lived my life awake

from that nightmare that we see ripened in full flower

of Hollywood for example, NO, the meat dream never 

got me and the powers that be will never understand…

it turns out that conformity is the most dangerous drug

of all.

Gagaku

Japanese Court music creating atmosphere 

environment, world, society

of beauty precision danger impermanence 

ancient timelessness into the present palpable 

immediate nowness so you can taste it

with your ears

as if you could see a thousand years in sound

cherry blossoms falling

a gentle spring rain

eating gyoza and drinking sake

silent, in appreciation, with a companion 

that truly shares the meaning,

until the moment when 

you must open the sliding door, go outside

draw your odachi

and blood flows.

Nothing Burger

It’s all a big nothing.

“Where’s the beef?”

Sure, many things occur;

pleasure, pain, satisfaction, disappointment,

anything you can think of.

We want, we don’t want, we don’t care.

It’s the Homosap’s dilemma: trying to make

sense of it all, fit it into a nice, neat package,

digestible, understandable, doable.

Lost in thinking we know,

derailed by circumstances beyond our control,

turning to belief for certainty that is not there.

Any of this sound familiar?

Round and round she goes…where she stops,

nobody knows.

Seeing reality as illusion may give some relief.

Not conceptualizing, but actually seeing it as such,

which is not as easy as you might think because 

we believe we really, solidly, exist.

If that was true, we would never die.

Even the long lived gods don’t exist forever.

Change is the only thing we can be sure of.

Oh yes, suffering, we can bet on that.

If you examine existence you know these things

are true.

Common sense means seeing things as they are,

without wishful thinking and interpretation.

Can you have that, please?

That’s all that Buddhism is, really, not that I’m

trying to convert you to another dogma.

As the bumper sticker says: “Buddhism…eventually.”

It’s just a matter of waking up and looking around

like you did when you were born before 

the brainwashing began. 

“Open your eyes” as someone is constantly saying.

Meanwhile, I expect nice thunderstorms today,

in the midst of my heartbreak for the world,

especially the way it’s going.

Poor Homosap…if he would only stop and

smell the gnosis.

Even though samsara (confusion) is endless, 

I vow to liberate all beings from its grasp.

A tall order, yes, but, fortunately, I’ve got 

forever to git ‘er done.

That should be enough time to show everyone 

there’s no meat between the buns.

William Cooper on CNN in 1992

He describes the show we’re all watching.

He was killed for it.

https://youtu.be/QAv5eLfEdQ4?si=B8N652GXGhVJ51kq

Enjoying The Show?

What show is that, you ask?

What are you looking at right now?

What cartoons are going on in your head?

What particular point of view do you prefer?

What T.V. shows, movies do you like to watch?

I mean all of those “shows”.

Take your pick.

Answer the question.

If the answer is no, who do you blame?

I’m watching a shaggy dog story that has

a happy ending.

Those that know, know.

I do love surprises, don’t you?

Nameless

There’s no name for it.

“Reality”, “The phenomenal world”,

“Things as they are” are words that are used…

not very descriptive.

Our names are not descriptive, unlike

Native Americans that named their children

after things…Running Buffalo is an example.

My Buddhist teacher gave his students descriptive names.

One of the names he gave me was “Dancer of Patience”.

It was an accuracy I could relate to and contemplate.

I call reality Bob, so I can say: “Bob’s my uncle.”

I say it quite often, which irritates a lot of people.

The joke’s on them, because Bob doesn’t care

what they think.

Some people say “God is everywhere.”

Some say “God is right here.”

I say Bob is everywhere and Bob is right here.

That eliminates theological debate.

God is another name that doesn’t describe.

In the movie: “Buckaroo Banzai”, all the aliens

had the first name John:

John Big Booty

John Small Berries

John Ya Ya

John Many Jars,

concurring with my observation.

In truth, John is the second most common

first name.

The first is Mohammed, any wonder?

Some common names stand for a thing:

Karen

Nancy (boy)

Mary

Chad

Dick.

“What’s in a name? A rose by any other name

would smell as sweet.” Shakespeare 

“Not an idea about the thing but the thing itself.”

Wallace Stevens

Thinking we know because we have labels for 

things is our greatest deception.

What was your name before you were born?

Good Evening

Lying in bed cool evening air

flowing through a relief and 

maybe some rain but the thunder

has gone away so maybe not 

but still there's relief and nowhere 

to go.

Whiskey Is The Answer

I saw it on a tee shirt.

The guy wearing it looked like he believed.

Maybe he knew.

All phenomena are vivid, pure illusion.

Why ask why?

That’s the flower the Buddha held up.

A smile was the appropriate response.

Going back to the title, when I was drunk,

I didn’t have many questions, only a few

good ones that I don’t remember because 

they were answered or they weren’t important.

The constant, important, intense questioning 

of my youth is gone, no longer there.

The military is right here, across from where

I sit, buying ice cream, luckily.

They have no reason for me to be a question 

to them.

“I’m just waiting for a hamburger, Senors.

I don’t want a revolution as I did when I was young…

there are plenty of criminals out there somewhere,

go there! Have fun!”

Drink some whiskey…you might find the answer there.

Don’t let fear keep you from the truth.

“When the windows all are broken, 

and your love’s become a toothless crone.”

It’s a claymation arising out of nowhere.

There’s always another door.

Listen to the dim/smoky light, the smell of

leather and oak and roses and death in the man cave.

A shaman sits near to me on the sidewalk,

not, I imagine, for no reason.

A black and red butterfly flew in front of me,

low, down the street.

An half an hour later, it flew past me the other way,

again low, close to the street.

Clouds peeking above the mountaintops.

That’s where the storms come from…

…later.

Busty McFlagstaff

Busty McFlagstaff had unfortunate parentage.

They were trailer park elite…they expected

Busty to carry on in their tradition.

Busty’s first name was actually Nancy, but 

when she turned thirteen, everyone started

calling her Busty.

She became a stripper that went under the

moniker of Nancy Smithhh.

She thought the extra h’s at the end gave

the name class.

It was good to have a few aliases when you

hung with the crowd she did.

She was very successful and opened her own

trailer park after saving her tips for ten years.

Her parents were very proud.

It was a friendly place, everyone knew everyone.

Nancy thought of robbing a bank, but she

hesitated when she thought of the wanted poster:

“Busty McFarland: Most Wanted Woman “

which didn’t sound bad when read literally, but

she knew it wouldn’t be hard to find her since she

had a tendency to stick out. 

The bullet bras she wore didn’t help.

Busty’s parents moved into her trailer park in their

dotage so Busty could look after them. All the people 

in the trailer park looked after them too.

There were a couple of drug dealers in the park that

everyone knew, and were stand up guys.

Having them there was a deterrent for other dealers

moving in.

The drug dealers came to occasional park resident

gatherings and were clean, well dressed and generous.

The cops patrolled the outskirts of the park at night…

they also had cliches they lived by.

In five years, only once did the cops come to her

trailer/office. 

They were looking for a run away boy, ten years old.

He happened to be sitting at Busty’s table, sipping a coke.

That worked out swell for everyone, and the cops gave

Busty an award.

After that, the cops called Busty before they came over.

Busty and her namesakes lived happily a while longer,

vanishing into the void leaving only an impression 

or two in the emptiness.

Theory

Dark matter and dark energy, which are only theoretical,

are said to make up 95% of the universe.

I bet those are a consciousness that keeps the ordinary 

physical universe together, continuously more complex,

leading to sentience and awareness separate and reflective,

invisible energy and matter naturally morphing with/into

visible smart matter….i.e. matter organically self organizes

and evolves to the point of consciousness of existence.

I’ve been wrong before.

Teleological

“What’s it all mean, Mr. Natural?”

“Don’t mean shit.”

“I did not gain anything from complete 

perfect enlightenment.”  Buddha

The Path unspools the ball of yarn until

there is no ball of yarn, which, when spooled,

is not a ball of yarn: “first there is a mountain

then there is no mountain then there is.”

Student: “Marpa, you taught us that everything 

is an illusion, so why your tears at your son’s death?”

Marpa: “It’s a very real illusion.”

No one who lives in fear their whole lives

gets very much done.

The Path is the goal, the journey is the point.

“I am a verb.” Buckminster Fuller

Change is the only thing that’s constant.

Break free of programming, stop making sense,

“the eccentric is the basis of design,” think for

yourself before someone thinks for you. “Don’t 

let your insatiable desire for bullshit drive you crazy.”

 

(Extra Credit)

A flower.  (Yes, the Eloi were eaten by the Morlocks,

but at least their hearts were pure….sound familiar?)

Bon appetite.

Same Old Same Old

I am not a-mused... not inspired...dull...

pedestrian...run of the mill schlepper.

It's a beautiful day, though...at least there's 

usually that... meeting friends for lunch.

A free day from beating my head against 

a dark age, clarioning the truth, my cause.

Samsara, (confused world), is endless, as

Gampopa said, trying to wake us all.

Are you awake, or do you do whatever 

the little voices in your head tell you to?

My teacher complained that he had to

keep saying the same things over and over.

Without curiosity and effort it's hard to 

see clearly for oneself, let alone understand.

With all the confetti on the internet, it's 

easy to see why people are so boggled.

Smoke and mirrors, deception, the man

behind the curtain, analogies for this time.

Hitchhikers we picked up in Vermont had

never been out of the city...the trees scared them.

When you leave nature, nature leaves you.

Realities Bleed

Realities bleed into each other,

like watercolors.

Remember leaving the movie theatre,

the story still vibrates in you, 

the surroundings tingle with movie scenery.

Aliens from space have been intruding into

human reality, at least in stories, intensifying 

since World War Two.

(My dad took my brother and I as kids to his office

in Chicago to show us off in our space suits.)

All the stories by authorities and agencies to

quell the anxiety “What’s happened to my 

reality, Dude?” because the UFO/alien issue

is part of our experience already, whether 

directly or via hearsay or testimony, (has been

my whole life).

If it wasn’t real, no one would talk about it.

It’s not going to disappear or go away.

Will we just become more and more aware of it

until we finally take it for granted, 

like the airplane?

If you don’t like the weather, just wait a while.

A Travelogue To Read At Tea

Green covers everything from my window,

the houses, yards, driveways, streets, as if

they belonged to a hidden realm.

My spirit is carefully ensconced in its aerie

next to the mountains, valley down below

a good place for the rest of them.

Beauty surrounds me.

The Hopi prophesie about the Great purification…

I’m glad I didn’t save my money.

So That’s What It Is

Moon enters Sagittarius.

I can feel the shift, a lightening,

a subtle change in the way things move,

occur, flow, seem.

I am what surrounds me.

Skin is only an ephemeral boundary

that defines my temporary existence.

The music of the spheres inspires me,

this way and that, the waves  of energy

the universe emanates inconceivably.

When an apple hit Newton on the head,

he was only responding to the message.

What now, my Love?

Could the universe be my lover?

Consort certainly is a possibility.

Prospero’s alchemy was realizing 

that mastery of the universe meant

mastery over one’s own heart.

So that’s what it is…that’s what I feel…

the return to Yeats’s ragged bone shop, 

the heart.

Did you know that the heart has axions

like the brain, and that it actually sends

more impulses to the brain than it receives?

When you ask a Tibetan to point to his mind,

he points to his heart, not his head.

The heart is a lonely hunter.

It’s the heart that hunts, not the head.

The heart knows, the head just thinks

it does.

That’s why intuition works.

That’s why inspiration is magnificent.

That’s where art comes from.

The heart is humanity’s saving grace.

This is what it is…it happened, it arose,

like anything you’d notice on your 

morning walk, a “petite ficele”, a trifle,

nothing more…but also, nothing less.

Stop knowing, stop making sense,

the universe has put you on notice:

“Get in touch with your senses;

I’ve got something to show you.”

View From A Tea House

 Sitting in the alcove of the tea house,

lying in the opium den gazing out the window,

music of the Imperial Court thickens the space.

A sparrow or a bat flies outside past the window.

Saw whine harmonizes with ancient flutes and strings…

smell of fresh sawdust recreates antique temple scents.

A dream within a dream…realm within realms.

Creation doesn’t stop at death.

Ripples in the pond are like butterflies’ wings.

Now For Something Completely Not Different

Nothing like a little Grateful Dead to sweeten

the deal…the first album they did on speed…

just burning it up like little munchkins on fire…

incandescence of an era…(America invented fads).

That music was more than mere sound. It was

elemental, tribal, part of the archaic revival…

(America had “tent revivals” for a hundred years)

South Carolina black Church music is rock and roll.

It’s religious in the sense of Discordianism, the

Church of Bob, freedom with responsibility, or,

true anarchy. Hmmmn…Corny.

Another page, another chapter, another iteration.

How’s about the way termites build their nests?

Little Borgs.

Viola Lee Blues.

Mandelbrot schmortgasbord.

Psychedelic excelsior.

Brought back by ever present sky rocket bombs

detonating somewhere over the mountains and

a sandwich.

White On White

When one looks out through the senses,

one is, in fact, looking into a mirror.

The mind is a mirror that reflects only

what the senses will allow.

Polishing the mirror, as they say in Zen,

is the path to enlightenment,

or, as the hippies would say, 

turning on the love light,

looking back out from the void…

as Suzuki Roshi put it, something like;

“You” is the swinging door between 

what you perceive and the void…

not much, really, also everything,

(sorry not sorry).

Seize The Day

Horace’s original quote is:

“Carpe diem, quam minimum credulous posterio.”

Seize the day, trust the future as little as possible.

Like monkeys in a jungle swinging from vine to vine.

Training for years for one chance to win the gold.

(Would you tell the truth if it cost you your life?)

As hippies, it’s the way we lived, with mixed success.

As the Zen monk said to the novice sitting next to him:

“There is nothing next! This is it!”

I play the music over, but it never feels the same.

It’s not a guarantee that things will work out ok.

Who ever got one of those that really worked?

Some promise what will happen after you die.

Getting ahead of oneself never gets anywhere.

I’m right here, now…no place I’d rather be.

“Things are more the way they are now than they ever have been.”

Dwight David Eisenhower 

…a facet of carpe diem.

Music Of The Spheres

Cosmic harmony, when disrupted,

is the source of human chaos and confusion.

The Hopis know and teach about it.

They are waiting for the great purge too.

The music never stopped.

Perhaps we got too busy to listen.

Speed kills.

There’s music in the air…

there’s music everywhere in all the sounds:

sounds of machinery and construction,

sounds of children playing,

bird song and animal noise,

thunder and lightning and wind,

Church bells, car horns, clock chimes,

water tinkling down a stream…

a natural order;

just one of the senses, without which 

we wouldn’t know joy.

Footnote:

When my friend asked some locals

why they shot so many rocket bombs

into the air, they answered: 

“It makes us happy.”

Transcendent Lounge

Like the neighborhood bar at the end

of a usual day…the music is as I imagine 

it would be…same stillness…same

atmosphere of  “what the fuck just happened?”

or what in fact is happening…why we’re all

there, isn’t it? At least temporarily or habitually…

a place better that Church to contemplate.

Of course, I don’t drink now, did for decades…

it was helpful, but now I have the same feeling of

being in a place where it can all just be simply…

that’s why we’re all in those places, isn’t it, not

quite ready to go home or whatever is waiting 

for us where we sleep, whomever else inhabits 

familiarity. That’s what’s different here…we’re 

all strangers or no more than acquaintances…

no strings attached…humans need that sometimes.

“Unburdened by what has been.” What a joke…

some things you can’t get rid of…they leave scars

on the body and in the mind…there are tools you

can use to help with that, but the people in bars 

would rather nurse their wounds and drinks and

think of them as who they are…easier than 

starting over.

Decent humans deserve a little peace in their lives.

Human history hasn’t been kind to most humans,

nor where there often times when humans thought

that they should be. Only with the leisure class did

many humans have time to take a break and look

around at more of the world…now it seem that’s 

all they do. Problem is, most aren’t educated before

they have an opinion…a different kind of slavery.

It’s like you’re on the stool next to me at the bar.

You’re probably as interested in hearing me as

that guy next to me.

Waiting For What’s Next

Waiting for Godot…

waiting for the change…

waiting for the truth to be revealed…

waiting for the Golden Age.

We know that something is happening here,

but we don’t know what it is, do we, Mr. Jones?

Every point of view is manifest,

every point of view is displayed,

on the internet,

in the media,

every available platform.

Much of it is clickbait to make money.

It’s a world war of manufactured opinion.

It is propaganda in order to control.

Manufacturing consent…

“Remember the Maine!”

“Remember the Lusitania!”

“Remember Pearl Harbor!”

“Remember the Gulf of Tonkin!”

…history has been this way for a long time.

Reality has never been clearer because we are

seeing every facet of the situation at once, every

side of the story, every act of the play.

No wonder people are all worked up

with the version they cling to.

No wonder the voices get louder and louder.

Simplicity drowned out by noise.

Senses bombarded by senselessness.

Time to take a deep breath, relax,

forget about the whole thing,

and start over.

Beautiful Dreamer

Everything is the same today,

but it all looks different.

Are the chemicals in my brain

balanced differently today?

What else could it be?

(Armageddon?

Never count out the possibility.)

It’s a nice day dream/dreamy day

for a while for a change…thanks,

y’all, whomever there is to thank,

real people like my buddy, not 

imagining Gods that give blessings

(although I know some that do) a

kindred spirit/soul/entity/simulacrum 

that aided me on my path, and anyone 

else like that….a dying breed.

It’s dreamy to not have to do plumbing 

anymore…I don’t even have to live to

see and do anything new…there is nothing 

new under the sun…it’s still an adventure…

new little twists here and there…the plot

thickens…

…it also thins out as people die and players

exit the stage…it’s happening in stages.

Birth, yada yada yada, old age, sickness, death

is how the tune goes.

It’s all Bardo, 

transitioning from one form to another,

one sensation to another,

trying to hold it all together with thoughts,

habitual patterns, thickening plots.

Distracted by beauty.

Where was I?

Oh, never mind.

Watch Your Head

It’s hard to do unless there’s a mirror.

It also implies we have vision beyond 

our bodies, which is true.

I had an out of body experience in 

high school before I’d ever heard of

such a thing.

I was up at the ceiling looking down 

at myself in the Seniors’ lounge on 

a couch.

I never told anyone for decades.

It’s hard to get over having a body.

It’s hard to get over not being young.

Things are hard to get over, but what

choice do we have?

Some things are hard to hear.

Should you be thankful you’re hearing them?

What are your thoughts on the subject?

Joy and sadness…

eight billion people?

Wow….that’s a lot 

of everything.

Refrain

Music’s familiar magic tunes me up

to whatever ordinary miracles might arise

in today’s perceptions such as the wavy

peripheral vision I’m experiencing right now

the lack of inspiration to put down words

no muse is not good muse.

The saxophone is encouraging and patiently

waving its waves into my ears…I’m beginning 

to relax…time stretches…less bunched up

between my ears…

knotted by causes and conditions I can’t control…

the blockage reamed and loosened by sound…

(plumbers take notice)

all sound is mantra protecting the mind from the self

so, listen up, Blockhead! (that felt good).

All self is blockage from seeing things as they are.

If you ask: “What’s the hold up?” I just told you.

I could write something more pretty…

or, could I?

Right now, beauty is lying in bed not in pain,

a few accoutrements to keep me occupied,

the world will have to look after itself for a while,

rinse and repeat, da da dum da dum da dum.

Syncronythmancy #3

Defined broadly as: “The beat goes on”.

A good example is the degradation of pop music

from the sixties when music had meaning; Dylan, 

The Doors, The Grateful Dead sang beautiful 

music you could learn something from. 

Also, they were prophetic.

Now?

You tell me.

Woodstock was a music festival for half a 

million people.

They were there for a reason:

“500,000 halos outshined the mud and history.

We washed and drank in God’s tears of joy

and for once, and for everyone, the truth

was not still a mystery. “  Jimi Hendrix

OK, now that we have our baseline…

Gregorian chants sound sacred.

The term “mantra” means: “protecting the mind.”

A character walking on stage is preceded by his music.

I listen to pulp jazz doom noir music.

It matches the bedsheets

and the changing clouds outside the window

and the wabi-sabi nature of my existence;

precarious, brilliant, scary, exciting, awestruck.

Past and future are one in the right now.

It’s a runaway train that’s about to run out of track.

That’s what I hear in the music…it’s inspiring

to know that the shit show is about to blow.

As a plumber, I’ve unstopped some nasty sewers…

you don’t want to know.

Unstopping them was inspiring.

Maybe looking at what’s about to happen that way

and listening to Debussy might make you feel better.

In any case, the leitmotif for the next act has already

been being heard on the airwaves and in quantum song.

I’ll let you ponder that one.

Coda.

One For The Gipper

I played on teams…

in sports

leading meditation programs

leading plumbing projects

acting in ensemble theatre productions 

so I know what that’s like/how to be on a team.

The experiences have been mostly fulfilling.

Now I am a team of but one…solo water polo…

you’re looking at it…over here.

I’m not sure I could do anything like any

of those activities again.

I’m not even keen on teaming up with 

a publisher

a venue to read poetry

a venue to teach meditation…

I had to try…a lot…to get fluent at those endeavors.

Now I don’t try too hard…kinda trailing off

here at the end…

“the end of what?” he asked,

as if nothing ever ends, is lost,

reaches a conclusion except relativistically.

So this is one for the Gipper,

one for the team,

one for all sentient beings,

one for all the blood brothers and sisters,

Yada, yada, yada, expanding joy to the

universe certainly might as well should have….

you see, prayer, aspiration, “happy thoughts”

are techniques that change the quantum matrix

on the pre-subatomic level and effect everything.

So it’s better to not think but if you’re going to think,

think positive thoughts and if you can’t think positive 

thoughts sit still with the energy until it changes.

I had no idea I was going to write that, Gipper,

so, that’s one for you.

That’s called a cheap trick, but since

I’m not on a team or playing against

anyone, 

I win.

Question

The only question is am I hungry.

My stomach hurts but I don’t know 

if it’s hunger.

Would that be a reasonable assumption 

is a question.

Notice that I haven’t asked a question.

Have you ever met someone who was 

beyond question is a question I have.

Go ahead. Ask me.

I ate something and am no longer hungry,

but what happened to the question?

Most questions are like that.

Words Or Meaning?

Writing with purpose but not intent.

I don’t know if you believe me, but,

I’m as surprised as you are as to

what comes out, just like a birth,

coming from the same place, 

same universe, void, space, 

whaddyacallit,

happening while you don’t wait

or you wouldn’t be reading this now.

Gotcha.

Now that I’m started…

and so it goes…

the horizon can be right in front of you 

inches away.

(he inched away to the awaiting utensil

unknowingly giving himself away)

and I give myself away…why not…

I’m happy leftovers. 

It was a moving feast while it lasted.

Moving on….now, the eggplant as an

icon…what’s up with that? 

Never mind.

Mind this: that means pay attention.

Why doesn’t it mean something else,

like,

“Wrap your mind around this”, or,

“Grok this.”?

I think it means: “Grok this.”

Grok me?

I don’t need to apologize.

You could simply stop reading.

Auto-Da-Fe

Waiting like road kill on the sidewalk

only

I’m alive, with coffee.

A sad piece of old, raw meat laid out on the street.

I gave at the office.

I gave my life away.

My tombstone reads: “He tried.”

Oh, the possibilities when I was young!

The dharma was flourishing and I was part of that!

Now evil in the world is the main event.

It’s a dark age when the truth is hard to hear.

The Golden Age won’t happen unless the truth is revealed.

Meanwhile, the waiting is a bitch.

So, a raga, a cigarette, puffs of smoke from sky bombs,

cool air fans my body,

assuaging my sadness for all those tormented by uncertainty.

Love is the answer.

Love is all we need.

That message keeps sounding the soul.

Without it, where would we even be?

I still have love to give.

This is it; to the ephemeral waves of the internet 

I send it in waves of words

not expecting anything in return

because that’s what mind does

because it can’t help itself

if only you would know.

You do know…you love your child,

your dog,

something….

you love something.

Meanwhile, the raga plays my heartstrings,

the breeze tickles my skin,

waiting for y’all to catch the drift,

get a clue,

catch the meaning,

stop thinking

and take a look for a change.

I’ll just wait over here…

my body burning in the afternoon air.