Consciousness

New Poem...

2011-05-01T04:49:00.000-07:00

DISSOLVING, DESCENDING

The mind with its wet hands begins to fumble the social grids of the past
Its map and peg board no longer hold all in their rightful place
Its infrastructure and metal scaffolding no longer shore up support
‘I am’ no longer works
No longer has roots driven in the black dirt of the world we made
No longer has the grit to withstand the outbreaks of truth
All is now dissolving
All is now descending
Monk
Human
Earth
Cosmos
Word
Silence.

New Poem...

2011-04-09T06:10:00.000-07:00

PILE OF ASH

Wrinkles of fought love,
Wrinkles of enduring devotion,
Wrinkles of a fifty year marriage.
She stands there erect and alone,
A white pillar draped in black,
Waiting with hand out,
In the eye of a hurricane.
They respectfully hand her a pile of ash,
She cups her husband in her pale hand,
Slowly bringing him to her perplexed face.
Is this what it all comes to?
Is this what fifty years gets reduced to?
Is this the fruit of hard fought love?
Motionless she stares,
Stares into the dark flakes,
As though she were looking for a pair of brown eyes,
To stare back at hers.
Sifting the clumps with her gaze,
Trying to find her lover.
Devoted family and friends peer on at a controlled distance,
A crowd of black leaning forward on the tip of emotion,
Waiting to see streams flow down her confused face,
To slowly waterfall down her black dress.
Silence waits as she stares into her pile of ash,
No sound.
And then you begin to hear a faint chuckle,
A little more than a giggle.
The audience quickly looks over their shoulders,
To locate this sick perpetrator,
But they are nowhere to be found amidst the crowd.
It is her.
She cups her husband and begins to laugh.
It gets worse and worse,
She is convulsing with hysterical laughter.
No tears.
Only loud cries of humor.
The crowd gawks with a sickening disposition across their faces,
She turns to them,
Barely able to speak in between her laughter,
And amusingly shouts:

“How can anyone take this whole thing seriously!?!”
“How can anyone take themselves so seriously!?!”

No response.
Dead white faces illumined in their sea of black.
She spins back around to go forward and frolic,
She skips in the meadow of graves,
With her pile of ash in hand,
With her husband in hand,
Singing and twirling in between the flowers and gravestones.
The offended audience begins to snicker in disgust,
Motionless watching the freak show unfold,
Frozen in their lives full of meaning,
Shackled stuck in their grand purpose.
Believing that insanity has gotten hold of her,
She has finally lost it.
But this is the day when she became sane.
This is the hour when insanity leapt out of her.
She dances off her seventy-four years of madness,
With one tiny lucid moment of honesty.
Even now the black birds above start to squawk at her,
Since she now flies and sings more freely than they do.
She laughs because she gets the joke,
She gets the punch line at the end.
Frolicking and twirling about in a meadow of graves,
Flinging her husband onto the green earth below.

New Poem...

2011-03-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

NECESSARY DESERT

Need this not to be so new,
So glittery.
Need it to be subtle,
To be ordinary,
To be whisper,
To be what it is.
Then the red curtain can drop,
And the script can be burnt.
Just sleep.
Talk .
Eat.
Walk.
Work.
Sit.
Hands and toes.
Neck and arms.
Chairs and nightstand.
Open windows and empty desk.
No daunting hope to poison the moment,
What a burden that is,
Hope upon hope makes anyone sick,
Makes anyone escape.
Give me the burden of this,
Over that.
Only this.
Inward chuckles,
And dried out deserts.
Leave me to the sand dunes and mirages,
Springs will show themselves in the oddest of places,
In that mug of tea,
Or that brother’s laugh.
And only then will I dance with the resurrected,
Only then will it all be clear as mud.

New Poem...

2011-03-22T13:12:00.000-07:00

SEASONS END

Gray sky fills the holes of the window screen,
Heaven opens to earth,
And rain beats down its rhythm.

The sun takes a day of rest,
To let the ground receive its drink,
Its necessary cup.

Cool damp air lingers for a moment,
As Winter tries to hold on,
With its last pounding tears of goodbye.

New Poem...

2011-03-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

UNTITLED

The seasons move,
We stand here and let them wrinkle us.
Lying on my deathbed,
At twenty-five years of age.
Healthy peering out from the eyes of an eighty year old,
Looking back as I look forward.
Body of a young man,
Heart of an elder.

Sobered by absence of hope,
My lack of future.
I quit the future,
And live backwards.
My peers labor over their roads of destiny,
I watch.
My destiny is to not have one,
No road to build.

I dig my grave instead,
To go ahead and get in it.
Unmarked,
Unknown.

New Poem...

2011-01-23T16:08:00.000-08:00

GLASS, MURDER, FORK, GHOSTS

Contradiction upon contradiction,
Running rampant within the colonies of my own heart and mind.

I disguised my own disguise,
And knew that I didn’t know it,
Knew that I was even fooling the fool.
There was no… “in the back of my mind I know what’s really going on”,
Underneath all the willful costumes and conscious contradictions,
Because my mind stretched too far to have a back to it,
To have a back door where the light is always on,
And Honesty is sitting behind the big brown oak desk.

I always knew exactly what was going on,
But I didn’t know what that meant,
I didn’t know how to know under such sickening transparency.

My life turned to glass,
And I saw right through it.

At that my freedom was stripped of me,
I could no longer carry all my time-buying-speculations in my luggage,
Once that wall of reality was hit there was no room for such luxuries.

Glass.
Only clear glass that painfully lets you see all the
Contradictions swimming about inside you,
Schools of contradiction.

One single glance is all it took,
I saw Ignorance murdered that day,
Lying there on the scorched broken college sidewalks of Milledgeville,
Wheezing for its last breath,
With its blood forming streams down the sidewalk like August rain,
Trying to give me its last words and choking on its own lifeblood,
The very element that gave him life was now drowning him.
One never forgets a murder,
Ignorance was slain right before my very eyes,
And truth was all that was left standing.

At that a fork in the road was immediately put before me,
Decision,
Commitment.

One tiny moment when the bottom fell out,
And transparent self-awareness offered its kiss,
One tiny moment of glass and murder,
With a fork in the road,
And I now find myself eternally haunted by such ever present memories.

New Poem...

2011-01-15T05:00:00.001-08:00

SHOWER

A thousand rivers of hot water run down your naked body,
Fresh flowing with much heated force,
Winding around the banks of flesh,
Over the smooth pale beaches of warm skin,
Streams front and back poring down from the high peaks of your skull,
Swerving and sliding down with great speed,
Till they reach the cliffs of your boulder-like knees,
Where the raging and piping rivers leap off,
And waterfall down down to the pools below,
Deeper waters that mingle between the toes,
Finally to swirl into the dark abyss,
Racing down endless black tunnels of no promise,
To then do it all over again,
Morning after morning.

New Poem...

2010-12-22T08:24:00.000-08:00

ONE YEAR A MONK ON WINTER’S EVE

Winter’s eve,
Gray sky and cold air swerving through the bare trees.
Been a monk for one year now,
Winter frost reminds me of this.
Day’s seem like years.
The clouds walk past the morning sun,
For countless ages this has taken place,
Taken place in this spot,
On the ridge of a monastery pine forest.

All things pass,
But what is IS.
One year a monk.

Time to take up Siddhartha’s way,
Space and time tell me things are different now
Than they were for him.
“The Way” now in this century,
Moving through the crowded hallways of social social society,
Where everyone claims to know everyone,
And we’ve become one single person that we can’t stand.
But these are mere appearances,
All is the same for him and for me.

All things pass,
But what is IS.
One year a monk on Winter’s eve.

New Poem...

2010-12-19T06:29:00.000-08:00

DAY-DREAM

You and me,
Stars and cool skin,
Tent for two,
And clothes that peeled off like ripe fruit.

The night’s full cup spilled over onto us,
And stained our teeth and tongue with passion.
Your warm back was the white sheet of paper,
My mouth was the black pen,
Inspiration seized me,
And I wrote poems through the night.

The crickets chanted me on,
And my creativity did not cease.
You turned back and gave me glances of approval,
Encores that only spurred me on,
And those looks I will never shake.

I, the artist, slained you motionless on that green sleeping bag,
My genius ruptured you stuck,
A corpse of pleasure you became,
And a murderer was I.

I buried you with my mouth’s poetry,
And you rejoiced in your suffering,
Till the dawn I made sport of it.

All too soon to revive your wearied body with calm morning whispers,
And you yawned like a princess,
My work was done and your sweet back was marked.

I arose out of the tent to meet the dew,
Threw pack over shoulder and headed for home,
With a kick in my step,
And a poet’s smirk on my face.

New Poem...

2010-11-28T06:33:00.000-08:00

AND YOU BECAME ONLY FLESH TO ME

The fan above spun in the darkness,
Cutting through the dank air of college passion,
As the black speakers spilled out soft music.
I stood there with not much on,
Leaned up against the white sheet covered altar,
Waiting to offer up the sacrifice.
And in you came,
Slowly pushing back the door,
Into a room incensed with alcohol and cigarettes.
You quietly strutted towards me in your black underwear,
A proud peacock strutting and showing off her colors.
The vast gravity of adolescent sexual tension flung us together,
Magnets with poles of penis and vagina.
There was enough friction to think we were trying to start a campfire,
But I was.
I was trying to light a fire.
The winter night of being mere acquaintances hovered over me,
And the midnight wind of barely remembering your last name blew heavy upon me,
So I tried to stoke the fire even more.
Not driving into you,
For I was still too scared to hammer away,
Rather thrusting myself on you and over you,
Sanding you down with sandpaper and wet kisses.
Trying to work up a genuine fire that would keep back the cold of unfamiliarity,
But the temperature only dropped the harder I moved.

And you became only flesh to me.

A blonde corpse spread before me,
I kneeled over you knowing I had to do my duty,
Had to finish what I started.
Your eyes beckoned me to continue,
And you became a chore to me.
Your lovely breasts now only burdened me,
And the small of your white back oppressed me,
Your whispers and kisses I had to bear.
For you were now only flesh to me.
I didn’t know you,
I didn’t love you,
And I didn’t want to.
The task was finished,
I played the lover for a night.
A forged faint kiss goodbye as I hung up my costume at the door,
To then walk those lonely college streets back to my own bed,
Filled with shame.

New Poem...

2010-11-25T05:22:00.000-08:00

MANTRA

The crickets are so faithful.
True monks in their own right,
Never forsaking a night of prayers.

Their eternal song is the background mantra that reminds all of the
Sacred.

They chant,
And we live.

It is the streaming noise behind all that we do and say.
The very sidewalk upon which we move about.

Their prayer’s incense rise with the steam of evening dew,
And the Divine inhales their praise,
To only then exhale the sound and song of crickets,
In and endless circle,
That neither grows tired of.

New Poem...

2010-11-18T11:59:00.001-08:00

UNCLOTHED

I love the night,
When all is quiet,
And the mind can roam free in the pastures void of logics fences.
Where the day’s purposes run dry,
And motives are quenched of their busy reason.

The meaninglessness of it all comes out
With the snakes and the stars.

As darkness settles,
So does the dew of substance,
And the mind is no longer governed by cultural norms,
The day’s costume and mask can be hung up for tomorrow’s play.

And now I sit naked in wooden chair at desk unashamed,
With the underwear of the mind thrown down at the bedside,
Frisky,
And ready to get sexed-down by the Absurd.

The cheap prostitutes of the day won’t suffice now,
And I don’t bring society’s script to bed with me here.
I only bring man here,
In all his frailty and tenacity,
Not knowing what the fuck is really going on,
But just keep going,

Committing suicides everyday for the Real.

Honesty is my bread and confusion my wine,
The Eucharist of a truthful man.
Laid out on a splintered cross,
In the name of the only thing worth dieing for

New Poem...

2010-11-07T06:52:00.000-08:00

IRAQ P.O.W.

I saw evil last night.
I saw M-16’s and grenades assaulting a young man’s mind.

Round after round went off in his head,
He was closed in by hot metal and the enemy,
No weapon to grab,
And no chance at escape,
Only foreign voices yelling over his,
They circled him with calm smiles and clenched fists,
And he heard the clanking shackles being prepared.

All his brothers had left him.
All his countrymen had abandoned him.
All his sense had leapt out of him.
All that was left
Was a scared boy with flashbacks and an ungrateful nation.

A handful of medals and a heart full of scars.
And for what?
For freedom?

O’ no, this young man is not free.
He is a prisoner of war in his own country,
And there is no way of escape.
One can never run from his own heart and mind.

I saw evil last night.
I saw M-16’s and grenades assaulting a young man’s mind.

New Poem...

2010-10-31T08:12:00.000-07:00

AM NOT I

The mind always wants to talk.
It can’t withstand the storm of silence,
The dark black storm that swallows the I whole,
And turns the mind into a skitsophrenic.

Running mad and naked in the pelting rain,
Searching for the self it has seemed to misplace.
Silence is its kidnapper.

With raindrops falling it whines like a beat dog,
Screaming for its I.
Gurgling and spitting up the rain that falls into its open mouth,
It shrieks back and forth to itself,
In an endless ping-pong match that horrifies any onlooker.

To whom is the mind talking to?
Itself.

Insanity.

Crazy and crippled the mind hunches forward,
To limp around aimlessly searching and calling out for its lost I.

New Poem...

2010-10-13T05:23:00.000-07:00

AUTUMN

All that you want to say is in that
Bare sycamore tree,
And in its sheded leaves,
That people the ground like petals after the bride has left.

It is all right there in this one glance,
This picture frame in my brain that pisses on time,
With the gray blanket of clouds above,
And the wind let loose from its stall.

You bring the gropings of change,
And the wet kisses of eternity,
All in one glance.

I see all that there is to see from the four-corners of love,
And I hear all that needs to be said.
Change and eternity kiss each other to an early death,
And all that remains is what IS.

A bare sycamore tree and its sheded leaves.

New Poem...

2010-10-11T05:05:00.000-07:00

NOW IS A TIME TO WHISPER

You.
You are right there.
Standing,
With your hazel eyes facing towards me.
Look at me,
So I can stare into your silence,
Into the eye of silence,
Watching the pools of eternity.
You blink,
And I remember your body,
The intersection that you are.
Your small mouth opens,
And noise leaps off the pink tongue,
Noise that is beyond a whisper,
But all I hear is… “AlphaOmega”,
As I watch the starry Universe above
Turn about to face itself,
And go on to give an embrace that brings the whole thing to a sudden close.

New Poem...

2010-10-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

AUTUMN

She lightly breathes on us,
Signaling to us her presence,
As she hovers over our shoulders,
And her soft exhales push away the humidity.

Bending over she seduces us in,
And we can’t help but stare;
A harvest moon, thin whiffs of orange clouds, a rooftop sparrow,
And aged leaves putting on their best colors for the funeral.

The cooled atoms dance among us,
And we trade in t-shirts for sweaters,
You quickly throw on that green scarf,
And move on as if nothing has happened.

All you see is a change in degrees,
But all I see is her,
She has come to sit among us,
And I can’t stop staring.

New Poem...

2010-09-30T10:32:00.000-07:00

THE MYTH OF GENESIS

In the beginning…
There was a cold steel barrel pressed up against God’s head,
Held at his temple loaded and ready to bang,
With a clutched hand at the trigger…
Saying, “Create or die!”

Shivering God shrieked out,
“Hurry, let there be light!”
And there was light,
He divided the light from the darkness,
Calling the light ‘day’ and the darkness ‘night’,
God saw that it would do,
And said, “Please don’t shoot.”
Evening came and morning came: the first day.

“Ok, now let there be an expanse in the waters to divide them.”
And so it was,
It divided the waters above the expanse from the ones below,
He called the expanse ‘heaven’,
God saw that it would do,
And said, “Please don’t shoot.”
Evening came and morning came: the second day.

“Right, now let the waters under the heavens come together
And let dry land appear.”
And so it was,
He called the dry land ‘earth’ and the waters ‘seas’.
“Hm, now let the earth produce vegetation.”
And so it was,
The earth produced vegetation with seed bearing plants and fruit trees,
God saw that is would do,
And said, “Please don’t shoot.”
Evening came and morning came: the third day.

“So, now let there be lights in the expanse of heaven to divide day from night.”
And so it was,
He had the greater light to govern the day
And the lesser light to govern the night,
God saw that it would do,
And said, “Please don’t shoot.”
Evening came and morning came: the fourth day.

“Well, now let the waters teem with living creatures
And let the birds fly above the earth.”
And so it was,
He created great sea creatures and every kind of bird,
God saw that it would do,
And said, “Please don’t shoot.”
Evening came and morning came: the fifth day.

“Um, now let the earth produce every kind of living creature.”
And so it was,
He made every kind of wild beast, every kind of cattle,
And every kind of reptile,
God saw that it would do,
And said, “Please don’t shoot.”

Then God said, “Shit, I guess let us make man in our image
And let him rule over all.”
And so it was,
He created man in the image of himself,
In the image of God he created him,
Male and female he created them.
God saw that it might work,
And said, “Damnit, please don’t shoot!”
Evening came and morning came: the sixth day.

Thus heaven and earth were completed.
On the seventh day God was let free of being held hostage,
And so He ran home, locked the door, and rested.
God blessed the seventh day and made it holy
Because on that day he was let free without being shot.
Such were the origins of heaven and earth when they were created.

New Poem...

2010-09-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

CHRISTIAN WISDOM / WAY OF THE CROSS

The stripped wooden cane thumps the ground,
Tapping away a hypnotic beat,
As the old gray Master comes gliding down the dark corridor,
To sit at his young yellow disciple’s feet.

The disciple with youthful eyes too eager to quench,
Goes on to ask his eternal questions,
And the Master hangs on his every word,
Confusing who is to be teaching and who is to listen.

Then the old gray Master sits inside himself,
Waiting for language to clear its throat and speak up,
But waiting with enough patience to question time itself,
As he slowly answers his disciple:

“Leave God alone! God is too busy for you.”

The young disciple anxiously replies:
“What is God too busy with…?”

And the Master smirks out his response:
“God is too busy trying to become an atheist to
Be preoccupied with you!”

To this the disciple’s oxygen leaps out of him,
Gasping for air he only inhales more anxiety,
As the Master sits focused on something,
Another utterance is squeezing its way out of him:

“And you too should busy yourself with becoming an atheist!
This is the only holy path to take.”

Just as these last words are pronounced,
The old gray Master violently jumps up from his place,
To dance down the corridor with arms flailing,
As only a madman would do,
Leaving his wooden cane and disciple behind.

New Poem...

2010-09-13T10:48:00.001-07:00

TEAM HUMAN

“Heave…Ho”
“Heave…Ho”
“Heave…Ho”

Human next to human,
Person next to person,
Digging in the black dirt below them,
To tug on the tan frayed rope of Modern Life.

Callused hands of the old,
And blistered hands of the young,
Together grip the rope,
And throw back their shoulders in one swift motion.

“Heave…Ho”
“Heave…Ho”
“Heave…Ho”

In a joined effort everyone pulls the weight,
The pounds that come with modern existence:
Clothing, shelter, food, water, air, love, and
Technology.

Motivational speakers run down the line,
Screaming out their well prepared pep-talks:
Wall Street, Hollywood, The Joneses, Network News, and
The Empire.

And most backs sweat harder hearing these brittle promises,
But they sweat and pull to no avail,
The rope only grows longer with the kudzu.

But there are a few,
A handful,
Maybe five,
That fling back their brute shoulders to the wind behind them,
Digging feet in backward motion one after the other,
And grip on the rope sliding one hand over the next,
Letting it inch back through their palms,
Ignoring the noise of motives,
Letting beads of sweat slide off their ribs to pound the soil below,
In a thundering beat that shakes the plates underneath.

These few,
And only these few,
Pull the weight of modern life,
And the planets lean forward to watch.

New Poem...

2010-09-06T05:38:00.000-07:00

TO A DEAR FRIEND

Been down that trail before,
And know well the fork you come to every ten steps.
There are only forks on that trail,
And repeating signs of direction.

I don’t blame you for putting on your boots,
And trekking into those woods,
But I do warn you of its poison ivy,
When you scratch her every night in dark college bedrooms,
Way past the curfew of your godly convictions,
She will only spread.
And you will scratch her tearing apart your body,
And worse, yourself.

But I’m not telling you to hang up your boots my friend,
I’m not saying to not hit that trail with all passion
And unrealistic ideals of eros free from brokenhearted fear.
Hit that goddamn trail with everything your heart and penis have!
And don’t once look back.

But just know all that’s ahead of you is forks on the trail,
And my dear friend they will never cease.
The late night choice when her warm youthful body
That is smooth as grapes is clung to yours
Will always be there to haunt you.

And yes your curfew might get pushed back further every night,
As your convictions wane with every new explosion of ecstasy,
But those forks will always stare you down,
And you will always have to choose my brother.

You can try and drink yourself numb with
These passions of eros as I once did,
And always in the name of what I thought to be love,
Creating new philosophies and identities everyday.

But even in the midst of such intoxicating denial,
There will be no exit from this trail you now took,
Only forks.

One leading in endless circles of erotic suicide,
And the other leading home.
Where the old weary man comes running when he sees you,
With an eternal embrace that swallows you whole in forgiving love.

The fork is yours my dear friend.

New Poem...

2010-08-20T05:51:00.000-07:00

MOST DESIRABLE WOMAN (found in a Picasso painting)

Just gave birth.
Bloody screams come out her lily thighs.
Life to Life.
Cord attached,
Scalped no longer.
Woman and Child.

And a beaded necklace sweats down her smooth white back,
The small of her back,
Where a man’s hand can place,
Knowing the suppleness that lays further down;
Smooth as grapes.

Her handlebar hips finally put into use,
Now begging for a different kind of thirsting abuse.
With autumn hair put up in bun,
She holds her child at her breasts.

Filled with food and the hunger of husband’s eye,
Placed dangling with invite.
Nipples soft like full lips,
And wanting to be dabbed and slowly kissed,
So saliva swirls tastefully round the spheres.

No makeup.
None needed.

She gives a stare of content,
Mixed with deep swallows of awe,
Fixed on her child.
Her long hands of grace cup underneath,
And she breaths with all her might,
Using her back and her knees.

New Poem...

2010-08-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

CLOCKS AND CALENDARS

The days pass by so quietly here
That you never even knew they were there.
Time wastes its own time prancing through these
Stuffy corridors and rows of pines,
And envies the eyes watching its charade.
Now…
All that’s left is this green grape,
Is this grace,
Is this,
Is.

New Poem...

2010-08-09T15:45:00.000-07:00

ALUMNI

We gather
For what they used to call “fellowship”.
Worn out and empty,
We talk over thin words
And bulimic minds.
Too tired for anything, much less friendship.

But this is our sacred ritual,
We go on living for the weekends and annual visits,
For times like this,
And we can’t dare question it.
Just continue to pour the drinks and serve the food,
While we try to re-inflate this thing that’s been punctured.

Phones ring and emails buzz,
So we can take a quick escape from this necessary torture,
And then back to blowing hot air into the float of lost memories,
Thinking it’ll be the life raft that saves us.

Only to figure out ten years later and three kids later
That this whole charade is hopeless.
Just let the past sink into the waters of “our best years”,
And we’ll go on continuing in these to come.

New Poem...

2010-07-31T11:20:00.000-07:00

DESIRE

There they all sit,
In the bright pink room Compulsion painted.
About twelve of them in all,
Some better looking than others.
Sitting there each in their own black chair with legs crossed,
Tan legs always catch a man’s sight,
And only pretty sun dresses allowed.

Each lovely potential gets a nametag handed to them by Heart and Penis,
Then Fear goes around with clipboard checking each one off.
They all just smile back at me with enough makeup
To make a man question himself,
But nevertheless I continue with my examination and proper arrangement.
Interviews convene and resumes are exchanged,
No body inspection is required,
Neither Heart nor Penis is really all too concerned with that.
Just questions that show their insecurities
So I can make note of proper job placement for each gal.

But something went terribly wrong this time,
As the interviews were in session something wasn’t quite right.
As I was staring at them with questions,
Suddenly the mirror over their faces began to crack,
Cracking like ice on a frozen pond.

Compulsion and Fear, Heart and Penis became frantic running around the pink room,
I didn’t know what to do sitting there stuck.
I just continued to stare into the mirror over each girl’s face,
And piece by piece was breaking off falling to the ground,
My reflection falling with them.
The noise was eerie and all the commotion was worse,
Slowly minute by minute my face fell to the tile floor with the shattered pieces,
And the boiling water of Desire began to settle.

I sat there gawking at the female faces as they just looked right back,
Mouth frozen in sheer shock I couldn’t continue the interviews.
Slowly one by one each girl in her sun dress
Got up and leaned in for a kiss on my red cheeks,
And then with a wave goodbye they all processed for the door.

Heart and Penis tried to stop the girls sticking their arms out,
While Compulsion and Fear pleaded on their knees,
And I just sat there motionless watching it all unfold.
One by one the beautiful girls left my pink room,
And when the last walked out there was an instant of
Excruciating silence.
Then followed by a sudden uproar of noise.

Heart and Penis shrieked in mourning and loss,
Wailing on the ground like widows.
The sight was horrifying.
Then Compulsion and Fear came stumbling toward me in a drunken rage,
They began to roll up their sleeves and slap me one after another.
Flesh met face,
And I took it.
What else could I do?
One can never swing back at his master.

So they yelled and kicked and screamed and spit,
Threatening that they’d abandon me forever,
Orphan me vacant with no Desire.
I sat there still with no emotion or stir,
Like I had gone dumb.

Threat after threat fell on my deaf ears,
And they began to head for the door,
Slowing glaring back at me as each one left my pink room.
I tried to scream for them to come back,
But it was of no use,
I couldn’t utter a sound.

What was I to do now?
Sitting there in deafening loneliness,
With no one to serve.
All the one’s who had kept me company for so many years were now gone,
And I sat there lonely in silence.

New Poem...

2010-07-29T16:00:00.000-07:00

'DON'T STARE AT THE SUN TOO LONG KIDS'

I cut a hole in my mind so the sun can get in.

Thoughts of course peel like skin sitting out in the sun too long,
The rays of light cause flakes,
And thoughts crisp into Death,
Falling down down like Autumn leaves
To the nether world of the Unconscious,
Only to revisit me on the pillow.

Now with fresh skin and nothing to do
I go on tip-toeing through the glass hallways,
Trying not to cause a racket.
Moving about and trying not to bump too hard into clumsy emotions,
Ignoring the toddler’s fits,
And of course pretending not to see god.

I trek into the wide-open mouth of Silence,
And pitch my tent on its pallet.

New Poem...

2010-07-24T10:05:00.000-07:00

UNTITLED

Giant cliffs and raging rivers are all I see,
Big jump and big step.

Can’t believe I’m about to do this,
But what other option do I really have?
Truth has poured kerosene and match over all the bridges behind me,
No retreat.
How could I?
Go back into a coma dreaming my breaths away?
No.
No.
No.

Should have brought that big blue tent with me,
Could camp out on the sand awhile to think it through.
But what use is it?

The water currents will only taunt me into bravery,
Whispering ancient secrets and trust into my young bones:
“We’ve seen ones like you before.
Wshhh.
Many other have gone before you.
Wshhh.
Just take a step out and all will be fine.”

Such offensive confidence billows out of their wet mouths,
Knowing good and well the One who has always pushed them downstream,
They’ve never been failed and neither will I.

So I stand and wait,
Stretching in between the voices yelling in my head,
Contradictions contradicting one another wrestling and rolling around the brain.

There is no damn map for this trail,
And my compass doesn’t twitch right.
No pack, no tent, no flashlight, no extra wool socks, no cliffbars, no books,
No walking stick, no headlamp, no shirt, no shoes, no pants, no boxers.
Not even my body or my mind.

Just me.
Only I’m allowed to take this first step.

New Poem...

2010-07-18T10:17:00.000-07:00

THE PRINCE OF ‘JITTERY JOES’

The man comes into the coffee shop with eyes weary of seeing,
Mind worn out from one night stands,
And heart tired of being right.

Fingers tip-tap around the wooden table,
Callus of never truly touching anything.
Lays out pills in caved palms,
Trying to recall yesterdays’ when pills weren’t popped at every meal.

Glances out frost smudged window into the world of potentials,
But can no longer arrange the pixels in order,
And fumbles the images to the floor,
As his beady brown eyes turn in on themselves in one big cramp.

New Poem...

2010-07-13T14:00:00.000-07:00

HOST

The miracle of the moment.

Sitting here knowing I didn’t bring this whole thing about,
Certainly I’m not holding all of this together,
It just is,
Without my effort or consent.

It is here,
And it has always been,
I simply find myself hopping on its atoms like lily pads,
Enjoying what I did not make.

Welcomed by many hospitable neighbors:
Colors, wind, birthday cakes, walls, trees,
Sounds, emotion, sidewalks, people, thought,
Water, food, light, computer, and all the rest.

Just sitting on their splintered doorsteps
Waiting on me hand and foot.
Gracious neighbors they are,
And a great host we have in The Moment.

New Poem...

2010-07-12T16:12:00.000-07:00

AMERICAN NEWSPAPER

Your tattered life Africa is very real to me,
And your yellow movement’s Asia catch my attention,
And Europe your happenings I see.

Yes all these doings and people do exist to me,
And I watch them closely on the page.
Watch them pee and shit,
Watch them cry and dance,
Watch them be born and die.

Your bodies and your actions lie flat on
A piece of crinkled paper,
That is smashed together and curled up nicely into this
Navy blue pocket on the chair in front of me,
Sitting in this flying phallus they call an airplane.

You most certainly are real,
And I know so cause I see you lying there
In your pretty black ink.
Yes, you are just news to me.

New Poem...

2010-06-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

UNEXPECTED FEAST

Sit here on wooden high chairs,
At suburban pub,
Too late at night,
Over foaming pints of yellow beer.

Hoping that one-day
We wont have to sit over anything
Just to talk.

Brown waitress glances often,
Making sure we’re brimmed.
And we sip up beer carefully,
In between words.

Happy?
Not sure.

Lucky?
Of course.

Crouched in ditzy pub,
Feeding on the given,
With funny blood dripping from our pale chins.

Same red stuff that dribbles from chin of the tree.
Scavenging on every timeless moment,
As the seconds rudely stop to stare at us,
Perched up on their tip-toes,
Envious.

But we just keep on.
Ignore spectators to continue
Shoveling grace into our mouth that dribbles blood,
And stains our yellow beer.

New Poem...

2010-06-24T07:35:00.000-07:00

HUMAN-BEING NIGHT

The silence bends down,
And makes noise of desire scatter with the wasps.
Mind can now flounder on its lily pad in the waters spread,
As the waves of thought
Sway the green pad between its curves of crashing procession,
Sways of gentle repetition.

The soiled day,
Worn on the body of man,
Falls off at the spouts waterfall into a pool of wet memories.
The unearthed skin now burrows into its nightly ritual:
Blue chair, piping decaf, lit lamp, empty room,
And nurtured thought nestled in Night’s silence.

The delights of an evolved man,
Resting in rest,
And sitting to sit.

New Poem...

2010-06-18T13:49:00.000-07:00

HEIR OF AMERICA

I live in a bubble called American Adolescence.
Pampered and spoiled from hearing the shrieks of
Injustice ringing round the world.

The Internet is merely a set of binoculars
That give a false hope of sight and closeness.
I see all from a comfortable distance,
Peering off the golden rooftops of American universities,
Sitting in freezing classrooms of opinions and guesses.

The Church on corner claims to be the
Hands and feet of justice (i.e. love on wheels),
Digging into khaki pockets with well lotioned and sanitized hands,
To chuck metal and paper into wicker basket.
And an occasional mission trip or two
To clear my conscience and get my renewal.
Return home to indifference as usual.

Lazy bastards we are-
The Youth of America.
Not willing to use our brains and investigate
The systems of suffering that we’ve inherited,
And soon to be pulling its levers and smashing its buttons.

I know nothing of injustice and suffering,
Never tasted its blood or hunger.

No I’ve created my own world
That excludes all other green continents.
Sucking them up with vacuums of social networking,
Tweeting and posting my life away into a world of
Handpicked friends, coffee dates, crucial phone conversations,
Intellectual and super-informed debates, latest styles,
Ipod noise, and who’s who.

Call me your Maker if you’d like.
My world has become the world.

Profile picture flying safely as nation’s flag,
And army of listed friends ready to deploy.
All is well,
And all is right.

Yes, I am the eldest son of America.

New Poem...

2010-06-16T08:20:00.000-07:00

BREAKING-UP

We kiss on a bench,
Knowing it’s all over.
Death never doubts itself,
And has given us the only certainty we’ve
Ever had in this whole relationship.

Absolute:
Break-up or marriage.

We knew what was coming,
Taunting us with its black and whiteness,
Carrying on its inauguration parade through the muggy streets.

But O’how we tried to assassinate it that night,
On that bench,
Tried to assassinate Death with one last kiss.

New Poem...

2010-06-12T06:49:00.000-07:00

MONK

You say that I’m running away from the world,
But I say that I’m running to it.
You say that I’m just going into hiding,
But I say that you are the one doing the hiding.

You say that I’m fleeing from the world’s problems,
But I say that I’m taking off to address them.
You say that I’m just trying to escape it all,
But I say that you are the one doing the escaping.

You claim to live in the “Real World”,
And that I have fled from it.
But to this I must

DISAGREE.

My very life and vocation is to
Fall
Fall
More
And
More
Into what you call the true “Real World”.

New Poem...

2010-05-23T09:36:00.001-07:00

PORTRAIT OF A FEMALE

Ten-thousand mystery novels could be written about your windows,
My own sight being the detective.

That sunset surrounding your pupils
Puts off rays of pure seduction,
Causing this Sherlock Holmes to get out
His sweet smelling pipe and magnifying glass.

Mystery upon mystery.

From where does the glistening light that burst
Out the windows of your eyes come from?

I must brave these tunnels head first,
And dig my way back layer upon layer to their source.
With chisel and flashlight in hand I dig
Deeper and deeper,
Further and further.
Sliding down the slick wet walls of perception,
Dropping down to the cool of the garden where it all begins.
Swallowed whole by the light lights,
Burning in your bliss.

You are a female,
And you are a gift.

New Poem...

2010-05-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

MOMENT

I sit on back porch and break bread with
Warm coffee and lit cigarette,
As the healthy green of the earth
Taunts me with its wholeness and reminds me of
Past purity.

Disgusted.

Drop my tools of distraction to watch
Ash jump from ground and mug crack.
I leap from chair in need of sponge and hyssop,
Rush to the bathtub ready to rinse my soiled skin,
But something beckons me back to the wooden porch.

Be silent.
Be still.

Grab chair with haste fingers that
Only illuminate the fear behind them.
I sit and wait.
I wait and sob.
I sob and sit.

Then the black train of the past
Rolls into the station of the present,
And former yearnings reconnect with their strings,
And my dirtied heart is once again
Stroked by the fingers of the spirit.

To Conyers I must return,
To the path of the mystics I must run,
To the white robes of the monastic’s I must cling.
But even that is too much.
Even that is something.

I must return to the fields of Nowhere,
To Nothing I must run,
To the empty freedom of Nothing I must cling.

Fear.
Fear that I may have even prostituted this
Divine moment out for a cheap poem;
Made it into something.
I hope not.
I hope Nothing.

New Poem...

2010-04-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

SHE’S PRETTY

You’re so gracious and gentle with your looks,
But for some unknown they don’t
Stimulate me in a gentle way.
Your physical image sitting square between its dimensions
Runs me red with pure desires.

I just want to pause and look,
And that is all.

To commune with you at a distance
That brings us closer to complete union,
And flicks off the supposed limits of space.

It’s not that I awkwardly stand here on two feet
And contemplate your precious being,
But rather,
You walk away into the distance and contemplate mine.

I posture myself behind you with
My legs spread wide,
Ready to let you into my world,
That aside from popular belief is not
Dormant in the confides of celibacy.

No, it is buzzing with colors that scream
At the top of their expression,
Yelling the forbidden words of Eros.

New Poem...

2010-04-22T06:55:00.000-07:00

RIPE AS RED

Why are the juices of illusion so sweet?
Too often I let the nectar of falsity drip down my
Freshly shaved chin.

The deeper the lie,
The riper the stimulus of pleasure.

And this is as far as
My body and mind can see.
They are caught glued in
The duality of pleasure vs. pain.
They know no other world.

It is the blind leading the blind,
But even the darkness unto which
They lead can be so electrifying to my nerves,
Which causes my pumping heart to
Open the dams,
And let the blood dance in its rain
Through the tunnels of my fleshed vehicle.

Bottle-Rockets of pleasure.

The tickles of truth are
Many times too dull and even cutting.
At rare moments of strength in my life
I turn my tongue to sandpaper and can swallow
The bitter- sweetness of truth’s fruit.

But not today.
Not now.

New Poem...

2010-04-18T16:53:00.000-07:00

MY GENERATION

The drooling toddler with its sticky hands
From the Play-doh of social networking,
Throws its temper tantrum clutching the mouse.

Slowly,
Very slowly,
The lil boys and girls grow up and out.

Elementary School, Middle School, High School, College.
From one puberty to the next.

And hopefully one day the lil children will realize
That they wasted their best years on
Compulsively checking each others profiles, pictures, and status.
All to escape from the bloody misery of their own un-enchanted lives,
The brutally boring lives that they’ve made for themselves.

They’d rather watch and keep up with
Someone else’s meaningless existence then face their own.

Oh and by the way…

Josh and Sarah broke up.

New Poem...

2010-04-14T05:23:00.000-07:00

FEMALE BODY

As many college road trips as I set sail on
I’m confused as to why I didn’t take this one more often.

The smooth asphalt of these forbidden roads
Seems to always have had a bright orange
Detour sign of conviction,
And I would often turn back on a supposed
Safer road of holiness.

But was it true black and white conviction?
And were these more traveled roads really
Unstained holiness?
Was I conned by all those claustrophobic voices
Drowning me in blind tradition?

Blank.
And not sure if I’ll ever write down an answer to such questions.

I suppose that now since these roads don’t just have a
Suggested ‘detour sign’
But rather a definitive ‘road closed sign’
That I’ve been provoked to ponder such things.

Now
I can only study these road maps and atlases
With the meticulousness of someone who will
Never actually travel them (at least for a while).
Only dream and create tales of such epic journeys.

But I truly do long to know these roads in all purity
As well as I know my own.
To know what the poets are talking about
When they recall those loud moments from their past,
And to hope to build a storehouse of these moments
In my own closet of the Unconscious.

“I just want to lay and study your body,
For simply the pure act of study.
To travel and map this physical expression of
Something that is prior to its physical manifestation.
To know and fill every inch and craves
With my sight and saliva.
As any good surveyor does. (John M. Raymond)”

Truly how I feel.

Of course these roads aren’t exactly safe,
But what good road trip is?
I must quickly find a way to untie this rope of
Feeble conviction,
And set sail onto a road that might never loop back around.

New Poem...

2010-04-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

ME AND THE UNIVERSE

This whole thing is so interesting.
I nest here in this lil nook,
Crouched over a yellow wooden desk,
With dark pupils casting their string nets out the window,
Trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world,
Of the entirety of the Universe.
Ha.

I feel smaller than the adjective itself
Looking out of my lil corner of the Cosmos.
Peeking out my window screen of consciousness
Onto a vast ocean of black,
Knowing that behind its covers is
A massive world filled with light-years of stuff.

My imagination feels brittle and anorexic before
The night’s sky.
I have no clue what’s out there.

So I sink deeper into my chair,
Floating down down further into the dark ocean of cosmic space.
For some they suffocate and drown,
Choking on this vastness and their fear.
But I buzz with the Nebula’s at this,
And thrive on these charges of stifling fear and smallness.

Let me plunge joyfully with no tank into the
Astronomy and metaphysics of it all,
To never come up for air,
And realize that
I
really
don’t
even
matter.

And on this coolwhip lightness of life I will
Dance naked and unashamed,
And play with everything I got this
Ridiculous game we call
e
x
i
s
t
e
n
c
e
.

New Poem...

2010-04-07T10:07:00.000-07:00

WHEN COLLEGE IS OVER, IT’S FUCKING OVER (rap sonnet)

Wait, what?
What are you telling me here?
Your saying I must move out, move on?
But I don’t really like that verb.
How can I become that action when
All I know are these few blocks of existence?

This is a preposterous thing to lie upon me,
Impossible.
Do you even realize what you are asking?

You’re telling me to do something that you’ve
Never done,
“Become an adult”
Whatever the hell that noun means anyway.

You damn hypocrite.

How am I to morph into something that
I have never seen anywhere?
The whole notion of “adult” is pure fiction.

There were no courses on this subject in college,
No blackboards read Adulthood 101,
No professors taught me what it means to be
A mature and good person,
I wasn’t taught how to live.

These sorts of subjects have been outlawed
By the Sheriff’s of hypocrisy,
Who flaunt there money as a badge.

I suppose Lennon was right after all when he sang out:

“…They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear...”

Come’ on don’t play dumb society,
We all know that no one goes to college to
Make a life anymore,
They only go to make a living.

Apparently we’re supposed to all become
Individual robots and factories who simply produce things.
Produce shit.
The current measure of currency has become
What you do,
And not who you are.

And if this is so…

Then I’m broke as shit with both middle fingers in
The air raised to all the hypocrites and parents telling
Me to go get a job.

Fuck you. Go get a life. Literally.
I refuse to eat the shitty lunch food of lies
You serve here.

Too many of my fellow graduates are stressing
There spines out over this,
While living in the burbs getting older than their parents.

Well, here’s my message to all you recent
College grads across the land:

Don’t get swept up in the hype and
Undercurrent of lies your parents are telling you.
Only take this one piece of advice…

Go and get a life, before you get a job.

New Poem...

2010-04-01T05:40:00.000-07:00

SPRINGTIME ORGIE

Sex is happening everywhere I look,
As Winter coughs its last cough this year.
Out the creaky wooden backdoor of time and space,
But it’ll soon be breathing upon us again.

Till then…
All I see is sputters of orgasms all over the place.
The entirety of Nature is going through one giant orgasm.
This simply is what the season of Spring is.

So I sit on the splintered front porch,
Rocking back and forth,
And my eyes scan the scenery.
Every crevice my sight skates over I witness intercourse.
Birds, squirrels, insects, bees, more birds, deer, and the list goes on.

Clearly the repression of Winter has seen its last March days,
And like a teenage kid with new found freedom,
Nature is starting to experiment again.

Sex is happening everywhere I look.
Just take a quick harmless peek outside your artificial world,
Leave the virtual and mobile technological cubicle you’ve created,
And witness the erotic dance of Being.

It’s called sex if you’ve forgotten.

Might have slipped your brain when you were
Masturbating your life away in “likes” and
Representations of the Real.
Selling your soul to the virtual and artificial new universe,
Leaving Nature behind.

Just put down that video game you happen to
Call modern life for a quick second,
And come outside ripping off your clothes and underwear,
To join in the orgasmic fun of the Real.

New Poem...

2010-03-26T06:31:00.001-07:00

THE FACE OF THE GOD OF JACOB

Your mouth was my beloved,
Those full lips were caught frozen in the headlights
Of my stare.
I used to turn on my brights,
And fix my eyes on yours.

Those damn blue eyes.

They reigned over me with more force than lust,
But were as gentle as your pink lips
That watched my pupils and hidden freckle as a deer.

We used to just shine our lights into each others
For morning hours on end.
The dawn crackling like a camp fire just lit,
Would always be our alarm from the
Sleep we never had that night.
We clung together as spanish moss do all night,
And didn’t know how to undo the seatbelt.

Those eyes.
That mouth.
That neck.
That jaw.

Your face was the very Face of God,
And I couldn’t stop staring at it.

Lost in a trance that awakened visions of
Eros that I wasn’t sure existed.
Before this I had labeled my heart as
Cold,
Fiercely independent,
And unable to surrender to the sweeping tide of Eros.
This due to all my pervious female fiascos,
That I was the sole cause of.

But your face became my new
hope,
faith,
and love.
I trembled at your resurrection power,
But couldn’t tie my white shoes fast enough to run.
Stuck,
Shaking before you.

Now I slouch here in monastery,
Being held up by a four-legged gray chair.
Sitting next to an open window,
That’s letting in the cool air that breezes through at
5:13 in the morning.

Crouched here reliving those moments,
As the lowland country of the Unconscious
Heaves them all the way up to my mind.

I thought I left them down there forever,
In that dark abyss,
Locked away in a big black chest.
But I suppose they found the key and
Fled back home to their Master’s mind.

And now I find myself sitting here
On the cliff of tears.

New Poem...

2010-03-21T14:07:00.000-07:00

MY STRAW NEST

Violent violent Nature.
Letting out its groans and repressions,
Like a celibate priest,
Who has put the gray metal latch over his sexuality.

Release release,
The storm winds cry,
With their bursts of breath whizzing through the pines.

Rain, Thunder, Lightning, Hail, Sleet, Snow.
Tornado, Cyclone, Hurricane, Earthquake.

I, a human being,
Stuck in place to this Earth,
With gum on my yellow heel.
Live in the claustrophobic midst of this
Tame-less Nature shrieking angry and repressed for a
Release.

And It happens to be spitting out the wet saliva of
Earthquakes at this present moment.
Haiti.
Chile.

And I, being human,
Know that one day these Haiti’s and Chile’s
Will catch up to me.
One day nature will finally grab me by the collar,
And spew out an atrocity from which
My stuck feet can’t outrun.

But go ahead.

I refuse to run.
Shake the foundations and supposed infrastructures of
This planet and mainstream society.
I stand my damned green ground.

Not one of Nature’s stopped up releases
Can throw me from my straw nest.

I’m at home.
In a home where I have always been,
And have never left.
A high nest where no ecological whiffs of energy
Or furry can touch.

A nest and home
Sitting high up in the tall tall trees of AM.
Where no Haiti of Chile can reach.

New Poem...

2010-03-17T05:19:00.001-07:00

THE THING THAT HAPPENS EVERY FEW HOURS

The night.
What to make of it?

Cautiously calling.
Causing you to drop out through your skin,
Down into a void,
Into an openness.
One that can be likened to a blank sheet of white paper,
Taunting the pen you clutch
To try and make its first mark.
Sheer cutting potentiality,
That stifles you paralyzed and inept.

The night.
What to make of it?

Powerfully perplexing.
The metallic moon takes its last drag of sunlight,
And then purposefully exhales its nicotine smoke
Into the tiny wire holes of your window screen.
Smoke swirling in and about the four cornered
Off-white walls of your bedroom.
Like a drunken Mardi Grass parade.
Filling up quickly this aquarium,
Reaching to your stretched out neck.
Drowning you in hazy invitations.

The night.
The night after night.
The four in the morning night.
What to make of it?

Subtly sobering.
Careful pale fingers that lightly sweep
Dark linens over your electrified yellow body.
Starting at the tip of your callused toes ascending upward,
And slowly falling onto your knees, stomach, mouth, and eyes.
Parachuting its comfort over you,
Trying everything it can to seep into you.
Deceiving whispers of forgetfulness,
Trying to hypnotize you into sleeping off
Your dark night,
That’s reeking rank of regrets.

New Poem...

2010-03-13T05:30:00.000-08:00

TANGO

Nature,
It’s this powerful, magical, and mysterious
Force,
Or movement,
Or entity,
Or thing.

So complex,
And always sliding around.

Out in the open field with a storm
Brewing and churning above my head.
Wind running thru the forest,
Gushing out onto the vast space of dead Winter grass.

Nature shadily up to something.
Sneaking around in its stealth-like way,
Thinking deeply about something,
Pondering its next move.
Coiled and ready to strike at any moment.

And I there in this vastness of soiled ground,
Bracing myself with knees bent,
Ready as if I was staring down an opponent,
Preparing to swiftly react to her next move.

Then a single blackbird flies by hastily,
Squawking with a warning to its kin that
Nature is about to shift its weight again,
About to jolt to the left or the right again,
About to stand up from its place again.
About to move.

Excited and awful electricity spasms
Through my body.
Dark clouds swirl in their whirlpool of sky,
And I stand there stuck to the earth.
Waiting,
Watching,
Wanting.

New Poem...

2010-03-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

NO VACANCY MY DEAR

Forgive me my dear,
My flower blossom that suffered
The early frost of my heart this spring.

You leap beyond beauty,
Both within and without
Your translucent epidermis,
Glowing with the rays of sunflower petals.

I meticulously mapped out the atlas of your being,
With observations, poems, and letters.

I thought you were the One.

Everything fit so squarely
In the cattycorner of my open chest.

Perfect.
You are so perfect,
And perfect for me.

But I failed to take the bulldozer to my inner room,
And clear out a space for you.
Or should I say my inner hotel?

The hotel that is so compartmentalized,
With fears living in rooms 300 through 400,
And memories are in the 500’s,
And the futures are on the top floor,
With the great view of the sunlit sea.

Oh yes, and the honeymoon sweet is occupied as well,
With all the potential girls
If things didn’t patch together with us.
With of course the Queen of Summer
Spread out bare and ready on the king size bed.
Which is Her throne and my alter of sacrifice.

So forgive me dear.
As cliché as it is:
It wasn’t you, it was certainly me.

I failed to clear out enough space for
You to come and dwell in.
For you to sprout out from the red soil
Laid with the fibers and wires of
My red rivered heart.
To blossom petals stained with my lifeblood,
Which turn into spots that endure the rain of your tears.

Forgive me dear.
You are better off without this hotel manager.

New Poem...

2010-03-06T05:23:00.001-08:00

THE LOCAL LIBRARY OF LIFE

What is life but a borrowing of time and space?
Rented out dimensions,
With a due date on the back flap,
That is enforced by penalty of fines.

Along with rented tuxedos of chalked bones,
Altered by the local Vietnamese tailor.

Borrowed breath pressing your swollen red lips
Upon the blue cigarette of sky,
And always having to inhale.
Being the addicted chain smoker that you are.

Language leased out to you for its proper use,
And encouraged to thumb through
The instructional manual located in the frontal lobe compartment.

And love?
Of course this is borrowed too.

There is nothing your borrowed clinched hands
Can clutch onto as its own.
Nothing is yours.
You’re simply leasing out All that Is.

Your even leasing yourself,
Which arrives at the dank and surreal conclusion that…
There is no self to begin with.

Simply Nothing.

One day all must pick them‘selves’ up,
And pull ‘their’ zipped up coat of hot flesh
Back to the brown brick layered library.
Best to be on time,
Or that bitch of a librarian will let you have it.

New Poem...

2010-03-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

“CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN”

I cant take my body off of Winter,
Much less my mind.
Something tells me that icicles are forming in my windy veins,
Stopping the flow of the seven seas.

Did someone mess with the clocks and calendars
Stretching out the waist band of Winter this year?
Seems like its cold breath has stalked us and
Stayed around much longer this time around.

The poor trees want their clothes back ,
After shivering them off at Winter’s first arrival.
And the singing birds are being slowly
Kicked out of their refugee camps,
Being ordered to return back to their land.

If this goes on much longer
The cute new bugs will be born fat and overdue.
The princesses’ of the soiled ground
Are getting impatient wanting to bloom,
And show off what colors are in style this season.

But all must wait.
All must wait for this annual dictatorship and regime
To be overthrown by its delightful new heir;
The Spring.

New Poem...

2010-02-28T16:03:00.000-08:00

THE BLOSSOMING

Tiny spider on glass,
At the border of the window.
I slip on eye glasses
To zoom in.

The spider is a microscopic image
Before my dark pupils.
Zoom in again,
Closer and closer.

Doing my best not to disturb
This phenomena of peace leaping past peace.
Squinting eyes for one
Final glance at this subject.

Straining,
Straining.
Got it.

Walk past its creaky swinging door,
And find myself in an epicenter of love,
Launching out with crippling force straight towards me.

New Poem...

2010-02-24T09:00:00.000-08:00

GO, FETCH IT

Drunk Drunk Drunk.
Swimming inebriated with arms flopping
In something prior to you,
But too shy to come out of
Anything but you.

Woman, lady, girl, bitch.
Do you salivate joyfully with the dogs in
Milledgeville summers
Watching me suffer in your ecstasy and bliss?
Do you get off
To me getting off as I sink deeper into
The bottomless puddle of bloody non-commitment?
Of teases that turn me into a dog
Playing fetch with my lovably vile master?
I sit at your pink nail polished feet panting with
Foam dripping from my jaws,
Smelling of alcohol that you induced me with
When you made me lap up yourself from the metal bowl.
Anxiously waiting for you to chuck the
Stick of your body,
That I may chase it down and pounce on it
Over and over again.
Then I trot back through the pine-straw to place
Your body back at your pretty feet.

And this is all we ever do
Darkness after darkness,
And night after night.
We play fetch out in the
Humid green scorched grass of college summers.
But you only have me fetch your body
And never yourself.

New Poem...

2010-02-22T09:08:00.001-08:00

STORM AT MONASTERY GATES

4:33 AM.
Heavy rain storm.

With the rain spilling over its blue bowl
Down down down to the green porcelain plate,
And as Lightning and Thunder play their game of speed tag,
I lie with warm lamp on filling my room to
The brim with formless yellow butter,
In my simple simple white lil nook,
Nestled on the top floor of this four-storey brick nest,
Directly underneath the slanted ceiling,
With only one plain wall
Thinner than my own fleshed up body,
Between me and the outside mania of blessed Nature,
Writing these words within the
Walls visible and invisible,
Of the safest place on this planet;

Home.

New Poem...

2010-02-15T09:03:00.001-08:00

MARIO BEFORE A CRUCIFIX

Human kneeling before a symbol.
A symbol that is below its atoms and molecules that
Collect into plastic and wood.
White robed with hood on just above the
Horizon of his sight,
Enclosing his bobble-head.

The hood creates a tunnel for his beady eyes
To launch out like skeet
Flying over the murky pond of space,
And through the turbulent clouds of thought and attention,
That so easily cause nosedives into black holes of
Worthless bull’s shit reeking of wasted energy and time.
Wasted sight.

But if this man is successful in his over water journey
And lands his plane safely,
He will drop into the trap door that is below not only
The wood and plastic,
But below the symbol as well.

New Poem...

2010-02-07T06:10:00.001-08:00

POETRY.

Pulse bouncing up and down on its trampoline
As I stare at my wrist fleshed with splotches of hair
A blue bracelet lines the perimeter
With a modesty that is enough to
Thoroughly enjoy its expression
Its being-right-there-right-now
Hand sits patiently waiting for the brain
To send its thunderstorm
Lightning strikes and hand moves as one
Skating pen across the rink of frozen paper

New Poem...

2010-02-05T09:08:00.000-08:00

CHAIR AT THE HERMITAGE

Leather Chair always present and postured towards the other.
Worn down from butts pounding its insides.
Big Booty Judy’s pressing in
Throwing their weight around like Atlanta humidity.

The Chair’s arms flung wide open,
Like a grandpa seeing his grandchildren
Run up the creaky wooden porch to visit.
Grandpa chair ready and willing to receive any ass,
Or maybe better said,
Young teenage boy ready to receive any ass.
Either way,
The leather chair is caught in loving attention
Towards the other.

Rusted legs that have seen many
Different seasons of temperature through the visitors.
Luckily no nerves to nerve the chair of this.
Waited willingness is its color,
And ample awareness is its model.

There,
Right there
The chair sits
Waiting.
Snuggled in the pillow and blankets of its dimensions.
Resting its head and feet on time and space.
Right there.
Right now.

New Poem...

2010-01-31T08:51:00.000-08:00

ROAD TRIP MUST BE CONTINUED

Bitter breath of Winter hovers my chapped skin,
And it seems that Winter has
Dragged its feet in the sand this year.
As if it were a stubborn child
At the mall when it’s time to leave
And the mother grabs the little person by the wrist
To lead them onward and out
While child’s whole body goes immediately limp
Staging its protest as the wearied skin mother
Drags her kid along like a corpse to the exit.

But it is always good to ask oneself
In a bold claim such as this:

Is it the Winter of the Earth
Or the Winter of the Human
That I am weary of?

Either way one or the other,
And possibly both,
Have overstayed their host’s welcome.
Time for bowls of fake kisses and awkward hugs
To be served walking Winter to the car.
Anxiously hoping it does not play that annoying game
Where it slowly backs out of the crooked gray driveway
With window down, foot easing on brake in reverse,
And mouth swinging opened and closed.

Goodbye Winter,
And safe travels accompany you on your road trip.

New Poem...

2010-01-30T08:38:00.000-08:00

THOUGHT-LIFE

Negative Nancies prance through my tunnels every breath,
With neon frilly skirts blossoming,
As if they were carrying on a parade.
Then an endless rope pulling its way from ear to ear,
With billboards of negativity
Spiced just right with enough insecurity.

When in the normal insanity of modern life,
There are so many different soils of distraction
To soak up these voices.
But here
There is no soil of existence.
No black soil thirsting for its drops of stimuli.

It is not that these serrated thoughts are louder here.
No it’s that now they have eaten the forbidden fruit,
And are naked without leaves to cover them.

Like air, these negative thoughts are ever present streaming past.
Only absent from this rank air
When you refuse to suck in its drink,
And pay the price of Death by suffocation.
Pity.

O’ but how I long for this
Rancid
Dark
Death.

I muster up the strength to refuse the temptation of inhales,
So Death can suck on my neck like girls past.
And with one bounding leap of ecstatic joy
I fall effortlessly into the abysmal heart of Death.
Yes,
Death that doesn’t spit you back up in resurrection.

New Poem...

2010-01-27T10:50:00.000-08:00

MONASTERY STAIRCASE

Foot poses to be other foot,
In an impersonation that is tough to tell them apart.
Chasing after one another in a brotherly competition,
And as this age old charade plays out
The rest of my body is pulled along for the
Ride down the light chocolate brown stairs.
Sliding down the dry bricks,
I am caught in a web of attention.

Something is different here on the staircase.
Not necessarily out of place,
Out of my ego-centric lens,
But simply different.

It’s the air.

Not something in the air,
But the air itself is peculiar.
A certain fat stillness
That is thick like buttered fog,
But also thin and inviting.
A certain stubborn pure promiscuity
That yells at the top of its oxygen to come and dine
As it wraps around you like a peacoat.

Yes I have never walked through air like this.
Almost as if it has something to tell you,
Some ancient secret from molecules and atoms past.
Like it was there at the big bang or something,
And it wants to tell you grandpa stories all about its fireworks.
An ancient air.
Filled with stories, as if the entirety of the cosmos
Could be explained with one inhale of its essence.

But who am I kidding?
It’s just air.

New Poem...

2010-01-26T08:53:00.000-08:00

PILLOWS AND SHEETS

Have you ever had a dream that never ended?

Yes.
It started when I was eight and it plays day and night.

You can’t find the stop button?

No.
I’m always in it no matter if I’m in my bed or not.

Why can’t you wake up?

Hmm.
I didn’t know I was supposed to.

New Poem...

2010-01-24T10:44:00.000-08:00

INTO THE DESERT TO FIGHT THE DEMONS

The Battle rams its tusks into the creaky wooden door of my heart.
Calling and taunting this fugitive draftee,
But Canada is not an option,
And neither is Mexico.
The borders like fat bellied me
Shove me back in.

I can’t run this time.
My days of impersonating the wind are over.
I must now be Human.

Faint sense of gladness in this situation with no back door.
Flickering, damp; but there.

Too long I have suffered from the tempting white flag of surrender,
But now there is no surrender.
This must once and for all be battered to the dusty ground
And exterminated into the thin nothingness from which it came.

Burn the bridges behind my past,
And halt the construction of new safer roads in my future.
I must embrace the Now.
And I must fight.

There is now no other option,
Because I cant go on living in that other option.

FYI

2010-01-20T13:45:00.000-08:00

hey everyone. just wanted to give you a quick update concerning my current situation. since yesterday i have been living in a monastery with 50 or so monks. i will be living here for at least a few months. very interested to see what poems blossom out of this experience while i am here. i will do my best to post the poems as often as possible. enjoy...

New Poem...

2009-12-10T07:51:00.000-08:00

SOCIETY OF GHOSTS

The sounds of ghosts outside filter through the holes in the window screen.
Cold wind exhales into my bedroom bringing such noise.
Another day and society is laboring outside my window,
With horns honking, metal clanking, and machines buzzing.

Ghosts at work serving society.
Dare not call them human,
Dare not call them a people.
Casper's parading through the asphalt streets,
And all with clinched fists that try to grasp and posses anything they see,
But clinched fists are always empty fists that never hold what they're after.
All then slips through their naked fingers like smoke,
And this is why we are a society of ghosts.

We tried to grasp the irrgraspable: ourselves.

Not human gone ghosts,
But ghosts who aren't yet human.
Ghosts who haven’t received their flesh yet.
And love is only what makes the flesh grow.
Love is what makes us human.

New Poem...

2009-12-02T11:30:00.000-08:00

I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT JESUS HERE

Forgive me.
Forgive yourself.
Forgive each other.
Forgive me again.

Tempered and tamed to delusional grids and maps of life and its spinning.
We're all so damn lost in the lakes of lust
Where you find fire and the gnashing of teeth.

Guilty.
All are guilty of this.

Such a universal crime that maybe we should just start to call it Human.
But hope thankfully yanks me back from such a bold and believable claim.
There must be at least one who loves.
At least one who is authentically Human.
At least one who has broke through the dense fog climbing to peaks
Where clean air is oxygenated with truth.
Where lust has no bearing and existence.

Drop whatever task is in your clinched fingers to run and find this one.
This one is prized above all.
The one to whom we must apologize.
The only one that can forgive us.
The only one that is Human.

New Poem...

2009-12-02T11:16:00.000-08:00

IS.

Our blind eyes vehemently brush the dirt of the grave on all things.
Buried and hidden in death- the lack of PeRcEpTiOn.
Impose our absence of breath on the other,
But just because we have foolishly strangled and suffocated
The inhales and exhales of the eye
Does not justify an Outward Reality that has also
Perished and died.

We have refused intercourse with the greatest miracle:
that something IS.

New Poem...

2009-12-02T11:04:00.000-08:00

NO-THING

The Silence combs through the nappy scruff on my heart,
And Its Sister- the wind- walks through me,
But this time doesn't blow up dust filled with memories.

NOTHING.
Just Silence and Sissy.
NOTHING.
Yet a NOTHING that is so incredibly rich and so incredibly generous with no things.
NOTHING.

New Poem...

2009-11-25T05:27:00.000-08:00

AUTUMN'S ANNUAL DANCE

The leaves crisped golden brown in beauty by Death's dance
Leap out into the transparent ocean of space from all that they have ever known
And waltz down gliding and spinning showing dress with its notorious partner
Falling down down down to its allotted grave
In a dance where even Death in all its rancid atrocity
Puts on face and looks
quite gorgeous,
quite stunning.

Death,
For a moment,
Is a miracle.

New Poem...

2009-10-23T08:19:00.000-07:00

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COLOR GREEN?

Pavement, Pavement, Pavement.
It pops up pattering of feet moving rambunctiously to project and object.
Plastic pours over,
Molding the New Earth.
The Elite burn holes in the peasant’s pockets
With the fire from all the trees they stole.

Give them back you bastards!
And stop hiding out in your green-spaces and petty parks.
Take back your pavement and bricks,
And let our Mother you took hostage go free.

You thought we were the ones with the strings attached,
Moving to and fro with every commercial and sales pitch.
But you are the puppet and bitch impoverished of true power,
Getting it all from the meek hand of the peasant.

Fuck you and your New Earth!
And give me back my trees!
Your consumerism was never a part of me.

Ha your plan failed.
Human natures cannot be molded like plastic into bottomless pits
Screaming for a material fix of your product bullshit.

United Oligarchy of America?
Sure on the surface this is true,
But when looked at more deeply the Elite are owned by YOU!
Realize who you are, your true nature,
And the tyranny ends with revolutions not of protest or war,
But simple realizations of true-self that isn’t ruled by what’s on the store shelf.

No banner need be made, no protest speech need be given,
Just conscious awareness of what is and humble living.
Then and only then will we get our trees back.

New Poem...

2009-10-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

SPEED READER

People petal the ground around me
With blooms that publish the greatest of novels.

Intrigued.

Surprisingly, I’m intrigued.

Cant judge a book by its cover.
Cant judge a person by their cover.
But can ride down the lines that lane the truest lots of their land.
Heart and mind.

With one present glance I find myself embalmed in the black ink
Of the novel that is them.

Tranced.

In one instant I know all there is to know about this pinned up flesh before me.
No names exchanged, and no words need be tousled through the waves of sound.

I know you.

I know you better than your mother.

I AM YOU.

New Poem...

2009-10-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

WORSHIP SERVICE

Cramped voices
No worse stench than a forced anthem
Obligated submission strangles
Piety laced with opium suffocates
Shackled vocal chords rattle off rusty notes.

Boxed in with no lighted exit
No options
Only black and white signs raising their hands
One Way
Void of any dotted lines.

No unmarked cars
Smells like bacon
Pigs love to parade around.

Lightly shuteyes slice sharper than open ones
Faces forward
You don’t exist.

Only if that was true
It’s my existence, it’s my being there, it’s my substance that leads to their substance abuse
Forgive us.

New Poem...

2009-09-29T08:46:00.000-07:00

I FOUND MY PERSONAL SAVIOR TODAY AND IT WAS A BIG GREEEN TREE

Scenes set up in my mind,
And consciousness swivels from clip to clip.
Why cant I just accept what is?
Phony director trying to direct the daily dots of perception,
Setting up plays with pixels that participate in my pride.

I’m not the director of the play,
Rather I’m in the play.
Lao Tzu would laugh and lament over my illusioned leverage,
And I would flick him off with silent tears.

Repent for the Kingdom of the Heavenly Dimension is at hand!

Tip tap down gray stairs without stairs of script and cue.
Consciousness ceases to swivel with one big squat,
And I stop connecting the dots.

“I never knew that tree was there!
How have I always missed that?”

Salvation suddenly swings down and saves me the sinner that very second.

Hallelujah.

SORRY...

2009-09-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

hey, my laptop is acting weird and wont let me post new poems on the blog. but this should be fixed soon. just a lil fyi for those who read them. shalom.

New Poem...

2009-08-19T18:46:00.000-07:00

I PREFER YOU NAKED AND READY

The sky bent over this morning showing her luscious lumps.
Her burnt green dress fell from her showing cleavage and all the rest.
Subtle kiss on my greasy forehead
With enough sweet saliva to wake me from compulsive thought.

Good Morning Earth.

I know you’re not wearing a cloak of disguise Mother,
But I do feel that we now play an infantile game of hide and seek
That I despise and don’t wish to keep.
Did you scamper away or did we cage you off with cold hot bars
That violently screams of suppression and loss of dreams?

No longer do you parade and dance taking everyone
From the muddy materialist to the rank romantic down in trance.
Can’t find you anymore standing there naked, uncovered, unfurnished, nude, bare, open, unclad, stripped, exposed, plain, mere, simple, barren, unprotected, bald, defenseless, unclothed anxious to
Be fucked in all purity by the eye of the human.

I just want to look at you.
That’s all.

We did cage you, we did, we did, we did!
We did commit this carnage of a crime.
We did, we did.
Bastartds.

We shrank you down to little bits of product.
Hide and seek now pulls me to store shelves just to catch a glimpse.
I lust for you naked and ready and free.
But now you have been pimped out to manufactured products in order to see.

But I can do this dear.
Don’t worry and fret.
I can make this work.
Please don’t get upset.

I can locate your luster in this Ipod.
Yeah yeah, see there you are in the rubber dial
That spins through the song aisle.
Yeah yeah, there you are sweety in the metal switch
That turns on and off with a little twitch.
Yeah yeah, we can do this darling.

I can still fight to see you even if we did make you put your clothes back on.
I’ll take what I can get babe.
No need for naive impulse and fits of rage.
Just be with me even if it’s behind this damned cage.

New Poem...

2009-07-20T06:43:00.000-07:00

MY GENERATION QUESTION-MARK? MYSELF QUESTION-MARK?

I refuse to become institutionalized;
Another model, make, and year on the American Assembly Line
That was built off false ontological assumptions assuming
Astronomically asinine things about who and what we are as humans.
No, not me.

Count me out as you give me stares of disapproval
That no longer sting because I’m numb to your fucking shortcomings as an
Intellectual wonder who sold out to the cheap and comfortable road of the
Illiterate Scriptures.
I refuse to be rescued by readings that don’t rethink their own reality.
No, not me.

You wont find me zapped and zombied-out by cheap entertainment, technology, and overloads of useless information
Desperately screaming for a fix of free flowing free lancing
That forms into fabulous Art.
No, not me.

If no one else wants to wake up from the American Nightmare then so be it,
But I know what I’m going to do and where I am going to be when
Hands are being inspected for blood after the Earth suffers
Extinction by enormous errors of egoic illusion.
No, not me.

There will be no blood on my hands,
Only pen marks, paint, and calluses from freedom being expressed.
Who’s with me?

New Poem...

2009-07-15T17:43:00.000-07:00

ODE TO LENNON AND GINSBERG, I HAD NO CLUE 7/15/09

Alone, Isolated, Distant, Unaccepted, Scared.

This is how I feel and I never knew it!
This is how I felt and I never know it!

Shocked.

Apparently I have felt like this most of my breaths.
I disguised my own disguise.

Now naked like Adam.
But no leaves,
Only tears to clothe me.
Only wet drops to remind me of my shivering heart.

This shit is so real, and I had no clue.
I feel like a little boy,
An orphan scared and shaking lost in the big city.
Curled up in a ball frightened by foreign sights and sounds.
I’m so scared.

Weary of song and dance,
Just want to be accepted.
Burn the script and forget the whole damn play.
Burdened by stares, calculations, judgments, and measuring sticks.
Ode to Lennon and Ginsberg for showing me the light.

Love.
I know it’s out there.
Behind the veil of the mind, and at the ground of it all.
Come to me.
Please.
Please.

Something inside my flesh sighs a simple phrase,
“Accept yourself.”
I know.
I know.

New Poem...

2009-07-12T16:34:00.000-07:00

THE FRONT PORCH IS MY TEACHER 6/12/09

A pair of new funky black shades sit awkwardly between my ears,
And shadow my wandering gaze and silent tears that never fell with a sob story to tell.

Just me and new colors I didn’t know could be.
Crazy greens and blues that must have always been in hiding,
And they left me wondering whose lying.

Do I prefer glasses or no glasses, silent tears or screaming tears, shadowed gaze or open gaze?
Do I prefer what is or what isn’t?

Not sure.
All I know right now is the gas that is strangling my intestines
After the warm pasta I just ate sitting here resting.

Heat hovers and once again I catch myself thinking of girls.
They can be such good covers and I such a shitty lover.
Used as points of reference to orient my imaginary existence.

Damn me for the wisdom and lives I have been given
While lacking the courage to cut all the bullshit away with meditation and knives.
Forgive me for the suffering and disguise I have caused while now knowing the laws that make it all spin.
It won’t happen again, just give me another chance
And I wont create so much suffering and illusion.

No more fake conversations and made up stories in my head.
Only what’s real, naked, and in front of my nose.
The rest will be laid to bed.
To the soil grave all the pride and control goes to die,
And here I am to rise to nothing greater than the simplicity of this moment,
Only this moment.
No hopes, salvations, or distant dreams.
Now only what can be right here touched and seen.
I die only so I can feel the hot heat hovering, hear the pesky bug buzzing, taste the tobacco tumbling, and the One who is always rumbling.
All here and all Now, nothing more and certainly nothing less.

New Poem...

2009-07-03T21:03:00.000-07:00

COFFEE SHOP REVOLUTION 6/6/09

The smudged mug slides across my salivated lips,
And I attempt to become mindful.

Lightly lit lights turn the dial down on the contrast
And soften the cheeks of color in the shop.
I got work to do,
But already envy the mouth of the puffed cigarette taking a break.
You can feel the tension of multiple open windows on laptop screens surveying the fellow customers.
Facebook or work?
Apparently that is the question of my generation, and your answer could cost you much.

Well if no one else will be courageous I’ll start the revolution tonight.

I choose work.

Will non-conformity swiftly sweep me into damned isolation with every glance up from laptop screens?
Or will contagiousness contaminate my fellow rebels and renegades to join the movement?

Not sure.
I guess time will tell,
And history will tell of our lack of depth as a generation as the sea floor begins to slowly rise.
Ridiculous that this could be considered a revolution.
But one it certainly is.

May the history books have mercy on us.
And may this coffee stay hot as I sip slowly in between thoughts.

New Poem...

2009-07-03T20:56:00.000-07:00

AIRPLANE RIDE 5/26/09

Never seen people so orderly, packed in, controlled.
Startled by how willingly everyone has handed over their individual dominion to people they aren’t even acquainted with.
For some a straightjacket, others a quick pause,
For me an opportunity.
Pretend pilots, true passengers, and poets.

The newspaper rustles in front of me between the faded navy blue reclined seats,
As the constant AC hovers my skin.
Dings and lighted images above serve as wake-up calls from thought.
The male stewardess delights me with his motherly sound.
His loving kindness massages the knots out of the nervous.

Different tongues whiz past my ears,
But it’s all one language.
Human.
The phallus shaped object, for some a coffin, others a living room, for me an open canvas slices through the clouds at a Ridiculous speed,
And I notice.
I simply take notice.

New Poem...

2009-06-18T17:57:00.000-07:00

I ONLY GET OUT OF BED

Pop out of bed and stager over to my closet
Dress myself with labels, categories, definitions, and contrasts

Take deep sips of black coffee while looking over my script
I have to remember my lines and so do they
Razor moves slowly across face and I reconstruct the play in my mind

Pellets of hot water pound down my back
But I don’t notice their power
Awake yet?
Still being tossed around by the unconscious
Camped out in the ‘Theater of My Mind’, and I plan not to leave
No, not today.

New Poem...

2009-06-17T14:14:00.000-07:00

CONGODSCIOUSNESS

Minds locked
Raped by relentless patterns
Dormant, yet too controlling
A tool to use, not get used by

‘I think therefore I AM’

Bullshit
That’s the whole problem
My name is not Mind Raymond
It’s John Raymond
I AM not my mind
I AM

New Poem...

2009-06-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

YOU

Everyone is trying to be something
Trying to be something else
Trying to be someone else
Always comparing and weighing

Everyone’s face then is a mirror.

What’s wrong with just you?
Not what’s wrong with being you
Whatever you do don’t try to be you
Don’t try to be anything
It’s the same rut as before

You’re too close to yourself to see yourself.
So just be, and forget you.

New Poem...

2009-06-07T17:39:00.000-07:00

FALSE-SELF

Get out of my way
I don’t have time for you anymore
You are not my friend
Grow up
You’re always in the way blocking my view
There is no room for you anymore!

Just leave me alone
Just get the hell out of here
Just go!

Wait
What’s going on?
Who am I talking to?

There is no one here.
There never was anyone here.
Only my imagination.
Hmm. Okay.

New Poem...

2009-06-07T17:33:00.000-07:00

THE WOMB

These hands never touch the Earth
The ground, the soil, the dirt
To the men and women of old this claim would seem absurd and even impossible
And this hasn’t struck me as odd until now.

I feel foolish for my slow realization of disconnectedness.

The Mother whose womb is always fruitful has lost her boy
The richness and goodness of the Earth has slipped my mind and my hands
All comes from this deep bountiful Womb
I come from this Womb, I am this Womb.

Forgive me for my failed attempts at trying to be an orphan.

A bastard in a bubble of virtual unreality
An incubator of false desires, promises, and answers
Everything is fake here and a replica of something else
All is one big video game now that were commanded to all have to play
Damn the models and representations
I want the real
The nakedness of the Womb will suit me fine.

Yeah, the Earth and the fruit of its labor is enough for me.

WHEN THE SMOKE CLEARS

2009-05-04T13:17:00.000-07:00

There is nothing for me to do

Shopers shop
Consumers consume
Lusters lust

They must must
They will will

But the trees, they just are

And it’s precisely because there is nothing for me to do that I can do all things

GROUNDLESS, LIMITLESS

2009-05-04T12:57:00.000-07:00

No Stumbling, No staggering

No loosing your footing

Stop trying to stand up, to stand out, to exist

Fall into the trap door

The land vacant of time

The abyss of irrelevancy

The silence that is loud

The emptiness that is full

The blue sea with no floor

The nowhere that is everywhere

I KNOW THIS ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW MYSELF

2009-03-01T12:17:00.000-08:00

We’re no different in the Church from the “sinner” and unbeliever in the world who is a pill addict; only our pill is GOD. We simply make our pill spiritual, but it’s all the same. But maybe even worse because the pill addict in the world at least knows the he’s got an addiction problem, but we just think we are really spiritual people who are doing our duty by crying out to GOD as the only thing that can satisfy. We’re all utilitarian, hedonistic, self-aggrandizing bastards that are so stuck in illusion. When we realize this horrifying truth and pray, “GOD free me from this, free me from seeing you as a pill instead of simply GOD”, may we have the ears to hear GOD scream back at us in absolute love, “Free Yourself By Realizing The Freedom You Already Posses And Accept The Responsibility That Comes With It!”

THE STARE

2009-01-25T13:42:00.001-08:00

PREFACE: One day while in a state of deep meditation and prayer I had a rich experience with GOD that has deeply impacted me, and this is what was penned down in my journal immediately afterwards.

“It’s only in being known by the Other that you realize yourself. It is only when you’re staring at the Other and you see the Other staring back at you that you realize yourself. You’re too close to yourself to see yourself. You were meant to look out and stare at the Other. It’s only when you catch a glimpse of the Other staring back at you that you realize there is a “you”. Before this you are truly unaware of yourself (your true-self at least). It’s when you realize the Other staring back at you that you realize there is a “you”, a “you” to be stared at. With this you realize there is a “you” to be loved by the Other. Love is being unaware of yourself while being fully aware of the Other, and you can only realize that you are loved while doing this because only in this state can you catch a glimpse of the Other being fully unaware of Itself while being fully aware of “you”.”

Later thoughts concerning this experience:
You’re too close to yourself to see yourself (not talking about individual personality, but speaking about the self on a deeper level). There is a self insomuch that you don’t go looking for that self. If you claim to see yourself then you are seeing something that you created in your mind (i.e. false self). In the fullest reality it is impossible to be selfish because there is no self that you can see to be selfish over. Truly the only option is love; there is nothing else that can happen in reality (ofcourse you can live in a state of illusion and live out a false selfishness, but even then its not really ‘real’). And it’s only in loving that you realize you are loved.

It’s only in the act of love that you can realize yourself, and realize that you’re loved. You cannot try and realize that you are loved without reaching out to the other in love because you will only be trying to attach the love of the other onto this self that you can’t see.

We must realize that GOD loves us, and we can only truly do this by trying not to realize that GOD loves us. This can only be realized when we reach out in love towards GOD, and in turn truly realize ourselves by catching a glimpse of Him staring back at us, and then accidentally stumble upon an authentic experience of GOD’S love for us in that present moment.

THE DANCE

2009-01-02T11:23:00.000-08:00

Boredom comes from a lack of attention, a lack of being present. If I were to be attentive and present to the totality of what is simply before me in the moment I would not grow bored. If we became aware in the moment to the simple reality of love, which is inherent to us in the very act of being created by a good and loving GOD, we would find ourselves swept up by the ever-present goodness of life. A goodness that is far beyond the actual concept of goodness that we hold in our mind. This pervading love that we happen to find in life is the literal ground of existence we walk upon. We came into being because of love, and we continue to live eternally and not cease to be because of love; it is what allows life to be. When this is realized in the simple day-to-day activities of life (thinking, eating, talking, etc.) we then begin to become more and more awake and alive. We begin to live (in the fullest sense of the word). May we all find ourselves caught up in this dance with the Father and each other; this dance that we happen to call life, and this this dance floor which happens to be love.

OKAY

2008-11-27T18:46:00.000-08:00

It's not your relentless thought upon reality which makes it come true.
Reality is ignorant towards you.
Reality simply is without your thought,belief, or approval.
So don't fall to the illusion that your wishful thoughts concerning reality is what creates and sustains it.
You don't always have to be worrying and thinking upon reality for it to maintain.

You are not GOD, and don't have to play the role of GOD.

Reality is held together by His love.
It is not your steady consciousness of reality that keeps it standing.
Just be.
Just be the Beloved and don't always think upon reality, but rather enjoy it.

New Poem...

2008-08-23T20:28:00.000-07:00

PREFACE: Love knows no fear. Its gaze will not flinch or be caused to look around; especially at itself.

LOVE'S IGNORANCE

Excuse me, hello.
Pardon me, may i have a moment of your time?

Hey, over here.
Sir, can you hear me?

Listen here, I need to speak with you.
Now.

Now I need to speak with you.
I know you can here me.

Stop trying to ignore me.
Damnit! Look at me you bastard!

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrr............

Not a twitch of muscle came from the ashy concrete.
The holes carved out of its gray mass did not flinch.

CONTROL and FAITH

2008-06-20T20:12:00.000-07:00

Are we afraid of reality? Reality equals finality. Once you come to the wall of reality there is no turning back. It is like when you come to the answer of a question and there is no longer any more searching required and you are no longer able to debate over the question because you have now come to the answer and/or reality. Whether your question is as simple as a math equation or if that guy likes you to as complex as the question of if God is real and actually there. One of the main things that keeps us from reality in different situations or simply reality in general (ultimate reality) is fear that it won’t be good. This fear will paralyze you from searching and accepting reality because whatever it is, it’s final and you can no longer convince yourself of some other reality without being dishonest to yourself. You hit the wall of reality. Most philosophers and most people claim that they love the search and arrival of coming to reality and truth, but I am beginning to question that. Most of the philosophers and professors I know say that they grow very suspicious of anyone that claims to have actually discovered ultimate reality like God or the meaning of life. I understand being a healthy skeptic but this firm mindset allows no room for true discovery and concrete answers. They spend their entire life in pursuit of reality, but do they really even want to find it? It seems that they might enjoy the pursuit more than they enjoy the arrival. They believe to travel hopefully is better than to actually arrive at their destination of answers and reality. You ask questions in order to simply receive answers. There is no other reason to ask questions, and if we are not looking for answers then we actually aren’t asking any questions in the first place. I believe the number one roadblock that keeps all of us from reality is control. Our desire to control is what keeps us from the wall of reality. The person who is searching for answers and/or the perceiver is in control of what and how they perceive these things they are asking about. But the second they arrive at the wall of reality or answers, all control is ripped from them. There is no longer any room for debate or more thought into the question because you have come to the answer. The perceivers control is ripped away. Therefore people would either rather not ask questions and not peer into reality, or convince themselves that they are searching for these things but in truth they are not because they would rather stay in control of their universe they wish to perceive. Typically the reason for desiring to be in control is because of fear, and this is many times what keeps me from reality and the true search of it. But we have to develop courage that will thrust us into really seeing beyond the veil into reality no matter whether or nor it is good or what we wished it to be. But I happen to be convinced that what is ultimately beyond the veil is actually very good and worth coming in contact with. Now lets discuss faith. What exactly is it? Faith is the acceptance of divine revelation. Faith is the acceptance of reality. Revelation is the vehicle upon which you peer beyond the veil and see into invisible transcendent reality, and I believe that when you do this and peer in you will find there an infinite God. So faith is the acceptance of this ultimate reality. It is accepting the reality that God is real and is there before us. This is the toughest reality to truly search for because when you come to the answer it also answers so many other questions and rips away a great deal of control. Faith is about accepting and submitting to this reality. Once you truly see God you can no longer ignore Him actually being there. There is no turning back after this revelation. Faith is accepting the reality of God. So many people are afraid of coming to this place because they fear that God is not good. Also the idea that once you arrive at the conclusion of God that then all searching and thought must cease. But this is not true. Really coming to God is not so much a wall of reality but more like a gate of reality that opens up when you knock and allows you a passport with free access to search out the infinite depths of this complex and amazing God. The vastness of this God’s being is infinite therefore in order to search and discover Him, eternity is required (Stallsmith). Let us enjoy Reality.

CROSSROADS?

2008-05-06T08:21:00.000-07:00

Most, if not all people would agree that one cannot prove that God does in fact exist while at the same time another cannot prove that God does not exist. Therefore a person cannot say with rational certainty “God does exist” or “God does not exist”. Due to the believer and the atheist being on neutral ground they must both take a ‘leap of faith’ in either direction. The believer must say, “I have faith that God does exist”, and the atheist as well must say, “I have faith that God does not exist”. Both parties must come to their conclusions on the basis of faith. It might be radical for most people to see the atheist as a man of faith just as the believer is as well. What is interesting concerning all of this is that the academic community is not doing their work in reality of this truth. They are either disregarding it, or are being ignorant towards it. Therefore there is a double standard taking place right now in the academic world. When anyone is engaged in any type of thought they always work off the foundation of their current worldview. People typically fall under three categories within their worldview: a God (or gods) does exist, no God (or gods) exists, one cannot figure it out either way. Most fall under the first two. But in our current time the belief in there being no God is the dominant faith among the academic world. Therefore the majority of work being done on the universities is off this basis, and is seen as valid and credible. But if anyone is to do any academic work off the basis of there being a God in the universe there work is seen an invalid and not credible. If God cannot be proved or disproved and both stances require a ‘leap of faith’, then a double standard is currently taking place. A personal example of this is when earlier this semester I was writing a paper concerning ethics in my philosophy class and I was working off the basis that a God does exist. I met with my professor to discuss the paper and he informed me that it would be rather difficult and near impossible to write a paper like this without taking the first few paragraphs to give plausible arguments for the existence of God and after this was done I could actually jump into the true purpose and content of the paper. I was quite distraught when I left this meeting, and I began to ponder this issue. I realized that another student in the class could write the same paper off the basis that no God exists and not have to write one sentence giving a plausible argument towards this stance. In fact most, if not all of the academic community is publishing work off this basis and don’t have to engage in any explanation of their worldview. I came to the conclusion that this was an intellectual injustice. But I believe that this injustice is beginning to be exposed. I think we are living in very unique times where mankind is at a type of crossroads. We have swung to both sides of the pendulum and are hopefully beginning to balance out. In our history we have been on the extreme of religious control and dogma mainly through the Church, and recently we have been on the extreme of scientific control and dogma. Typically what happens when you are at one extreme side of the pendulum you radically swing to the other extreme. This has taken place in our history. At one time you were persecuted for questioning the existence of God and now you are persecuted for questioning if God does in fact exist. Hopefully we can now all find common ground. I am not pushing for the Church to take back its control by any means. I desire a day where there is true intellectual freedom to have faith in either side and not be seen as a noncredible source for intellectual thought. Where both sides can grab the mic equally and share their ideas. If this does not happen and we continue to shun away the people who do their academic work off the basis of God existing then we are suppressing the progression of new ideas, and this cannot happen at all costs. We must freely be able to search for truth. I do believe that a balancing act is beginning to take place with the emergence of things like quantum physics, Einstein’s relativity theory, new discoveries in the origin of the universe like the big bang theory, possible holes being investigated in Darwin’s evolution theory, and documentaries like Expelled with Ben Stein. I saw this film the other night and thought it did a good job at exposing these things being discussed. I don’t necessarily agree with the approach they take, but do agree with most of their conclusions. Therefore I would recommend the film to anyone. My hope is that there will be a shift in the intellectual landscape of our world for the better, and that justice will prevail so that we can all be free to think and share our discoveries.

New Poem...

2008-03-25T13:14:00.000-07:00

PREFACE: God didn’t have to create us, and more importantly He didn’t have to create the earth for us to inhabit. He didn’t have make this physical realm where we have physical bodies accompanied with five physical senses. He could have easily created us with a nonphysical immaterial existence where we would just be floating around in Him, or space, or something that I obviously cannot even conceive. But He voluntarily chose to give us a physical existence and a physical world to inhabit with five physical senses in order to be able to engage in any type of true experience. He gave us a playground. A playground where we could touch, taste, see, hear, and smell. A place where we could simply ‘experience’. A place where we could have the fullest experience through all of our senses of His love. The intangible emotion of God being made tangible. The earth, or physical reality as a whole, is the ‘expression’ of God.
Expression = nonphysical things like emotions or thoughts taking on a physical reality; Example- someone has the emotion and thought of love for another and that person then tells the other “I love you”, or gives them a hug and kiss, or draws a painting, etc…

THE ARTIST

When you stare into a beautiful landscape from a window
Glorious mountains in the mystical foggy distance
Rich forests with many secrets to tell from the watching tall trees
Bright beaches that serve as an art museum for beautiful canvas sunsets
Stop for a moment and be still with the earth
And listen to the song nature plays

Is it a song of heavenly worship to its Maker
A hymn of praise
A chorus of exaltation
A ballard of reverent cry
Or is it a sonnet of silence

Any expression be it a song or not would be a total excess
Too much for the senses to receive and comprehend
The earth in itself is the fullest expression
The expression of God
What was the bubbling emotion that was in His mind and heart that wanted to come out and be made manifest?

Love

New Poem...

2008-02-15T15:15:00.000-08:00

REALM OF THE SPIRIT

Concealed, yet not
A long thick veil that is torn
Not too revealing to be falsely asserted as promiscuous
A certain modesty, with a certain accessibility
Open for guests
Mysteriously different, while somewhat familiar
Tension in its atmosphere is immediately recognized
New laws of nature puzzle the novice
A tour guide is absolutely needed
Certain heights are open for travel if allowed
Permission to travel is the greatest joy
Magnificent sounds are faintly heard in the upward distance
Passports to the city are valued above all treasure
To have one, is to have everything