Monday, October 26, 2015


Suffering is God’s love.
Joy is our natural state of being.
When God loves He opens a conduit
shares a small part of what He feels.
That’s why those God dearly loves
suffer most.

Final Days
Basking in His glory
All Earthly chores and woes
ended like the planet we
never wanted to be our home.

Aim for a space between hope and fear.

Be comfortable each moment.

Through autumn branches
Hunter Moon


Rhythm as motivation and trance --
a perfect drug.
Pleasure that overrides mere pain.
Quiet rushing ecstasy,
purely aware in embodied
here.  Motile biology.
Cooped into cubicles for (whose?)
convenience.  Lined off from Earth’s
magnificence lest we should fall,
prey to instinctual magnetic call.

Who knows what Future may bring,
or if there be future at all?
Prognosticators so often fail
both hopes and dark negative hopes
for terrors we fear we deserve.
So much easier to observe stochastic
patterns, believing in divinity as
sarcastic jester, sadistic confessor.
We salve our sins with brand iron
blisters to ever remember lest one
true moment’s peace
would wrench our conscience,
dispel god’s great constraint.
Free will or fate?
Not the relevant question.


deep, wide thoughts expressed poetically
I do my best to make art
Sometimes I get it just right
Mostly I wander


Mirror Mind Exercise

Do Her will
as desire informs.
Respire into rhythm.
Respond respectfully.
Inhale Her essence,
perfumed incense entheogen
from within.

When we say “hard work”
what are we saying?
What makes it hard?
What makes it work?
What is less about easy play
if it gets you where you want to be?


And One More Thing

In the good future
we all get to be
our best expressions.

Knowledge can constrict, encumber,
unlike ignorant free play,
free from shame.
Desire to inflict pain clearly inhibited,
forbidden from within.
Scholars, seekers of wisdom,
You may learn to care too much
for conscience to bear.
Self-reliance shifts into awareness of
shared consequence.


Learn, and go out to
do what you were meant to do
from your beginning



You are not a woman in a man’s body/ a man
in a woman’s body.
You are you in your body
your interests and desires are not what you’ve
been taught
to want.
What do you want?
In tense deep night conversations
with inheld voicing,
what do you say?
Do you believe
“I was born wrong.”?
try to deceive with comforting scenarios
of how life might be
free of cumbersome realities?
“Touch me.” you implore of bare air.
“Teach me not to care, or to disappear.”
This world has become so small.
Barely room to breathe soul exhaust.
Survival’s not worth the cost of your
one true life.
Double bind.
Once there were heroes, transcending self
interest to live one true moment (however long).
Transcend myths; claim your interests and desires
if only for a moment,
feel alive,
strong with desire
without feeling wrong (unless what you want is
What do you want?
How do you feel alive?


Tuesday, October 6, 2015

9/9 to 10/4

After the treasure has been stripped, here we stand.  Disintegration of what remains here in the deep sea which is more alive than we ever were.
Quiet, too deeply fallen for sound and fury to penetrate, matter.  Unlike the fallen tree in the mystery of forest, we feed none, have no future beyond wasting away.  Yet, look, we have a story, too, to be told.?


Who among us is worthy, has that elevation
to see and judge?
Our power of judgement, of discrimination
to know Truth or Consequence as if from above, beyond
the fallacies of everyday immersion
begin and end within self-talk.
If we love, rejoice, embark upon trails sought for peace,
balance, not evaluation but embrace of this eponymous
best friend, extend that blissful grace, what need have we
to question worthiness?

Share art,
unite into vibrance
with each unique partner

make Peace The issue


mastering literature with inspired old friends
a happy semester to contemplate
the occult of art

magical sparkle – directed intention

We can’t be loving everybody – attraction, attachment,
attunement --
takes too much attention.
We wouldn’t have time for anything else.
And we have so very much to do.
Ever urgent problems to solve – Mountains
to imagine as molehills.  What does a molehill
look like?  Is it a small hill in the shape of a mole,
mostly underground?
Problems.  A simile for equations.
Equality, a quality we have learned to admire.
If I am equal to the task asked of me, how much
of my time is required
before I can safely retire
without constant fear of penury?
Is this a problem I share?
And yet kindred I share with don’t care about
my agony, my misery, my serious disease.
Why would they?  They are busy expecting
to succeed, with no notion what that might mean.
I’m not complaining (well, I am, but that’s a far
different tale; long, complicated, without redeeming
social value).  I have no credible explanation.
Just jotting notes on arms that grab my mind like

Quietly comfortable while at all times adaptable.
Too many variable to be specifically prepared.
Ready to act, or disappear – as clarity commands.

Unclaimed expositions, not abandoned; held in
abeyance for compelling cries.

Curled on waves
a romantic notion
not cold, wet destruction.
Details we’ve never known.
Talking because a mic’s turned on;
because a deadline for yet another dead-end
job demands display for advertisements to
pop and smirk.
Work as obligation to perform to specification.
Riding wild waves because to fall ends hope of landing.
Storm spit, dazed and bruised on hot, cutting sand.
Where to walk, after that energy spill, valiant effort
to stand.

I note people who take fantasy flights with which
they expect me (as they may explain, based on something
they have heard or read me say) to act/think/behave in
loyalty to some side in their perceived war.  Since it
doesn’t seem to occur to them to simply ask me,
let me try to make this clear.
The ideal urgent to my mind, behind my speech
is Peace.


I have too endured sure frustration attempting
to engage in conversation with people proudly
fixed in ideologies rather than bother with acquiring
actual knowledge.
People throwing words they’ve vaguely heard like
schoolyard curses.
What do they talk about among their cohorts
that makes adamant ignorance a desirable norm?
Is it a feedback loop of entertainment choices?
Are popular artists’ voices pitched to entrain a drone
sensibility, skewed rationality, busy brutality;
emotions firmly enclosed build savage cultural fire,
fuel the engines of self-destruction?
To what benefit?  I blithe idiot ask.  Too world
weary for your cynical blather.  I wonder off some
wastrel edge beyond response.