Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Figures Of Speech

Letters of an alphabet
Colloquialisms
Public statesmen
Body languid language

Emotional evocative provocative inciting 
words that bloviate communication
to the point of manifestation

Cliches that capture common captions
of a culture…

…which political correctness would erase
along with memory itself…
not on my watch


Sunday, September 9, 2018

PSA

Public Service Announcement

Notice to brainwashed American citizens:

Please don’t take offense when someone
points out that you’re brainwashed because
you still think Hillary should be President,
that Trump is Hitler, because you haven’t
noticed that the economy is burgeoning,
(no, Obama didn’t cause it.) and on and on 
Brainwashing doesn’t imply stupidity! Your
brain was washed so you can’t help but 
think the way you do!

It didn’t help that you didn’t care who was 
running the country as long as it didn’t affect 
you personally, but we’re all a bit guilty of that.

And we’re all a bit testy when we discover that
something’s not the way we thought it was.
But the truth that’s coming out now is so big, so 
different than the lies we’ve been fed for decades,
That it’s a bit hard for even those that see it to 
swallow.

So, try to educate yourself to that truth, before
events happen that you’re not prepared for.

Friday, September 7, 2018

Painting #1

Afternoon
music (blues)
panorama green
verge 
edge
shore
of time.

Off the tracks
loose cannon
screwball
tin hat
hermit
yogin
blessed
naked
unafraid.

Clockwork universe
unfolding ceaseless
our little lives
so sweet
so penetrating
so magic
so long.










Day Off

MDMA while drugs are still not yet palliative, 
not that I don’t feel a little terminal. “I drink to 
experience ecstasy of mind.” said Kerouac. 
Yes. I did too, and it worked for about fifty 
years, then,I quit….not the ecstasy part, 
obviously.

Day off? There was a billboard with the Dalai 
Lama  on it in India showing a photo of him 
drinking a  Coke@. The caption read: “The 
Dalai Lama takes a break.” Chogyam Trungpa 
saw the billboard, and his  response was:  
“From what?”

Day Off. I retired when I was fifty three. Not so 
much retired as stopped working…..plumbing…
my livelihood. It served me well for thirty years.
The minute I thought I could survive without it,
I quit.

I had a privileged upbringing, but I didn’t chose
a privileged profession. They all seemed to be 
traps; entertainment, law, writing all required a
certain amount of capitulation in order to attain 
success. No one wanted to be a plumber…one 
of the few remaining professions for outlaws. It
was perfect for me. Lazy? That’s why I moved 
to Mexico. Also, because the pressure from the 
process of America waking up from it’s 
misplaced dream was becoming too intense…
the way it is now.

……………………………………………………

Goodbye yellow brick road…you just numbly 
don’t get there…there’s always a man behind 
the curtain…the farther we get from the earth, 
the further we get from ourselves…ashes to 
ashes, after all is said and done.

When young, one thinks one is immortal…and
now, chronic ironic little reminders that life is 
just a process, an ephemeral event. Just 
because you have a name doesn’t mean it’s
not an illusion.

First “servietta”, white butterfly looks like a 
floating napkin. They appear at the beginning 
and end of the rainy season here. It’s too early
for them. They’re probably confused along with 
the rest of us. Progress was such a hopeful 
concept…gave a sense of stability and purpose.
Now we’re thrown back to survival.

That’s why I’m ready to die…a little early, 
maybe, but you never know. When young, I just 
wanted  to know what was going on…what was 
life? No one even seemed interested. That’s why, 
when I  stumbled upon Buddhism, I realized that 
someone had figured it out. When I met my 
teacher and realized here was someone that 
knew and had worked it out, that’s all I needed. 
After decades of work, what I know and my 
life are the same. No more struggle on the path. 
So, unless I can help someone, be of some 
assistance, I’m ready to move on.

It’s hard to meet the Buddhist teachings. When
you do, there’s no guarantee that one will connect
with them. Most people will agree that there’s 
a subtle, or, maybe not so subtle, nagging feeling 
that something’s missing…otherwise, there’d be 
no religion.

I like Robert Anton Wilson’s religion….where 
everybody gets to be Pope, infallible unto
themselves, which, if you think about it, is the
way it should be. As the teachings say: “Even
if the Buddhas of the Three Times rise against
you, you will remain in the Indestructible vajra
nature.”  I’ll buy that for a dollar.

I had a course in college that was Zen meditation.
The instructor was a sensei form Kyoto University.
We would meditate for an hour, and then sensei 
would tell a funny Zen story. A party was given in
his honor at the end of the trimester. Sensei got
quite drunk, and gave a teary monologue about 
how he hoped he had done well, and that he 
wanted to help everyone. It was embarrassing 
for his mainly white, Protestant audience. What 
we didn’t realize  was that sense was being 
authentically Japanese in his drunken ramble, 
that Japanese are allowed  to be truthful when 
they are drunk, which is why  it’s a nation of 
alcoholic businessmen. When I was in Kyoto, 
I saw a vending  machine that had bottles of 
Johnny Walker  Red for sale. I didn’t appreciate 
sensei Nishimura ’til years later.

Sheeple….and the bleat goes on…don’t say 
we didn’t warn you….this is what “2012” 
was all about, the  battle of good against 
evil, “great awakening”, “cosmic attractor”, 
“singularity”, “armageddon” even.  So, it’s a
few years later. As Jack Kerouac said: “Walking 
on  water wasn’t built in a day.” (Died on his 
toilet like Presley).

I write. Some people knit, ride horses…all  
kinds of  things. Some people like trains, I 
like words. That’s all It is. On the other hand, 
art, communication,  appreciation, transmission, evolution. I like reading what I wrote, which 
doesn’t mean I think I’m any good at it. Practice 
for next lifetime. One person in the world 
thought I was good enough and published 
me…that’s good enough for me.

The end of my life is an attractor for me, not 
in the  sense that I want it to happen, though, 
to be honest, sometimes I do…not out of 
depression, more out of a sense of “let’s get 
on with it” or something. No, it attracts 
because I feel it heading in that direction, and 
I want to know the experience. 

























  










                                   






Wednesday, September 5, 2018

Autumn Cannibalism (a painting by Dali)

Two human distortions meeting
in an embrace of consumption.
.fruition of Western precision/
machine/mind/melding with 
human heart/spirit…
Houston, we obviously have a 
problem…the soul does not
compute…
open the pod bay door…
Frankenstein’s dilemma…
the soul is greater than the sum
of its body parts…

…to everything a season…
the season when the train
runs out of track…that day
when you go out for a pack
of cigarettes and never 
come back.

Random Word Poem #263

Loophole charade parade masquerade
pretending to uphold the law, while, all
the while lamming it with the goods out
the back door….they called it 
“government of the people”
when the people hadn’t a clue what was
going on, which secrecy was said to be
“for citizens’ own protection”…when
what they really needed protection from
was their own government. Take your
dead horse and beat it.

Monday, September 3, 2018

Wasted

Dogs bark in the night
again…and again
and it all seems to make sense
because every day happens
more or less like the last
every Monday a Monday
each Friday a Friday
and life becomes a plate
of White Castle sliders
a revolving door
a treadmill of faded good intentions…
we forgot why we came into the room
let alone what life was for.

Looking For Pepto Bismol

I’ve found the meaning of life…
not looking for a partner to complete me…
no need for books, self-help courses, 
discussion groups to study material.

I don’t feel anything is missing, that life is
a mystery; I don’t need a clue. All I need
is a store that sells Pepto Bismol. In Mexico, 
you never know which store that will be.



Sunday, September 2, 2018

Twitter Nation

Twitterpated
a nit-twit
having a hissy fit
reducing communication
to base emotion
reaction
self important
disconnection.


Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Live Streaming Burning Man

Listening to 60’s acid rock…there’s
a 747, a pyramid, a stupa…I can
see a jeep pulling the jet, a line 
of people in procession…a gigantic 
onion comes into view, dwarfing 
the plane…the Progress moves 
behind a rainbow arch into a sparely
populated area with no sign of 
stopping…

…in the foreground, a line of port-o-
potties, a van festooned with a 
second floor, people moving in lines
across the sand like code on a screen…

…now it looks like de Chirico, tight line
of horizon. distinct yet abstract forms;
giant “Ha Ha” stark white letters in the
foreground as the jet comes to a stop.

Saturday, August 25, 2018

In Other News

It’s a toss-up between enraged denial
and realizing that everything 
you thought you knew is wrong.

It’s not easy giving up something 
you’ve clung to your whole life,
but people die every day.

Holding on is understood. 
We don’t know what letting go is for.

Forget survival, 
‘cause it ain’t gonna happen…
then what?

Death, rebirth, 
in this existence or the next.
Pay me now or pay me later.
Let go of the rope.

Simulacrum

For all I know, I got here yesterday,
with memories of a life I thought I once had.
Logically, it doesn’t make sense that I would 
have quit drinking, let alone move to Mexico.
Am I the star of my own Truman show?
Like Eliot’s music from a father room
it’s impossible to say just what I mean;
but imagine that the magic lantern is everything…
that we are in the magic lantern, the hologram,
played by some million year old alien genius.
I must say, the church bells at night 
are a nice touch.

Thursday, August 23, 2018

“Kind of outsmarted you, eh, Little Chum?” *

gangland gang-bang chain gang gangrene
you never know what’s coming out of there…
over acted, unredacted, a little hard to swallow.
But why should you get to make the rules?

Narrative, scenario, point of view…
what you see depends on what 
you’re looking at and how it affects your mind.
But why should you get to chose the material?

Trash talk, Newspeak, logical fallacy…
lying to create a false perspective, then, 
turning up the heat to make it seem more true.
But why should you get to fabricate the news?

I prefer cartoons to newscasters’ earnest appeal.
To my mind, none of them ever seemed that real.
Line ‘em up all against a wall, 
and have ‘em write their last editorial.