shaft craze

Join me in the shaft craze,
jump off of the seat to feel the floor
left standing alone ones nerve will freeze, drop, wither, die
whether reason or wisdom stand with you to defend or not
left united, standing with all, ones nerve will surge and burn,
viscosity will give way to alchemy like iron to gold
whether reason or wisdom stand with you to defend or not
character zero lunges at me, undercutting the dualistic approach
to choice, actions, conflicts
have i spent a day indoors? distracted by the wind dancing with
the screen door, lunging at the random transient phenomena
undercutting environments and focus that allow me to distinguish
the dualistic approach to choice, actions, conflict
"the kingdom of god is at hand." this is explicit?
however, i reach out my hand, or i leave it at my side clutching
i interpret no change
this shouldn't make any sense anyway given that we are all subject
to such extreme and constant vicissitude, but everything still remains
eventually after thought and contemplation, constantly averted
by the slight opening and closing of the screen door
i find myself in the company of all, firmly seated with my feet on the floor
my nerve occasionally boiling to vapor, surging to frenzy, frozen or putrid,
struggling with whether wisdom or reason stand to defend or not
swallowing the shaft craze

thanks stephanie

A death prevailed, eased by the inabilities,
vast inabilities that became the only axiom,
lank and completely subjugated to gravity's slight yet tenacious tendencies
as this death slid down the cool blades of morning grass,
slanted and angled on the steep of a hill,
impaled on a starving hearts politics.

high and dry

How the enlighteners killed the imagination,
stole the varied perceptions that make the truth possible
and replaced it with a culture of nature in boxes with a cold,
sterile process of round and round and 2.5's and the praise
of progress and of sleep like beasts...

You want to be independent, or a lone?
And say that you were left right. Or was I?

Damn you...

sleep on soft cheeks

"Spit sir spit.."

"Oh this tastes awful!"

"This sir, is the reason that i implore you to spit.."

"but you must realize, if i spit the taste will be gone. Long long gone but something wrong wrong wrong, a hmph and a wretch could not touch but a vast memory fading from this mouth of mine. Buckled or inclusive, lacking in ravage or the grace of touch from Nike or Mother Mary herself the forceful and rejecting nature of the action and emisis brings just a cavity that you see sir, i am just deathly afraid.."

"But sir, the taste clearly brings you displeasure does it not?"

"I sit in the water and i feel the water lap lap lap against my skin. Perhaps you do not like the water drowning man. Perhaps it brings to you only pain, the absence of what we both behold and rejoice in, lap lap lapping against our skin. you will never drown dear friend if you do not put your feet in, no lap lap lapping against your skin.. But ey, a gift for you, a friendly fist to your skin skin skin. feel that same cavity fill and flow warm and then cold, bitter and real like the iron bars which never break or bend. Do you sense the taste good friend?"

"Blech, i must recoil! This terrible taste sir, i must spit sir spit!"

floor board

it seems that the more i step out and search and question the more i realize that the answers are not forthcoming from external sources. i think what generally occurs at best (which honestly is a wonderful gift) is a small structure of thoughts and ideas that get laid out in a fashion that can guide us. no answers but direction.

"father into your hands i commend my spirit."
"father into your hands why have you forsaken me?"

Luke or Mark, an old bald woman or an old bald man better suited it seems in a suit of leisure, but in his case without homicidal thoughts running like those from her scarlet robes.
what i desire is a teacher; a text or a process or something in which i can commend my spirit but everywhere i turn i am confronted with a human filter. this is the very juxtaposition that adds water to the concrete mixture of my own agony, that a human can ascend but only through its own folly and this is the ubiquitous nature whenever we ask or trust or speak and face all sources, other humans and of course our selves...

just a reed

My lord why was today so hard? And how is it that I would describe the day as being hard and at the same time a great day? I suppose this question sounds in earnest only for a lazy fellow, which I more than likely am a lazy fellow. But, in this case the difficulty of the day was in my human disposition to feel pain. I cycled through a few different emotions; anger, agitation, sadness and hopelessness and simply feeling lost in general to elation and union and pity to name a few. And I suppose I should point out that these examples would be more accurately described as states of mind than emotions, and that some of them carry a very wide variety of emotions rich with layers and colors and hues. Anyway, despite being at an extreme, regardless of which end, almost all day, I still feel like this was a good day.
Now, the mere statement that a day is good or bad, and that it’s designation as such relies on my emotional and mental states and how they are maintained gives me a certain sense of confusion about how my mind and the world works. This confusion emanates from the pipes and attaches itself to my thoughts as they race through the labyrinth of neural plumbing that in someway supports my consciousness. I found myself, like most days, waking up and watching my mind, waiting and jumping on what comes across it to label and identify myself with it, all while asking questions like, “Who am I?” What am I going to do with myself?”
I often times sensed a critical mass approaching but then just as I felt some force or energy reaching its peak an activity presented itself and just as easy as loosing track of yesterdays affirmations I forget about my current states and drifted off into a cruise mode while I busied myself with said activity. For some reason I was able to cool off at certain points this afternoon and even discover a pseudo reason for some of my emotions, but I couldn't escape any of my natural attitudes that bring them about in the first place. Actually, I haven’t the slightest notion of where, in my mind or in my actions these core reasons might appear where one could locate them.
The good parts of the day, and the good parts of everyday, are simply being able to experience it. Even if I am depressed or angry or sad, most days I am still able to appreciate the awe of it all, and today was no exception. And once again through certain actions like meditating I have something that I did to label as productive and even if I see or hear of someone who did something amazing that I would want to do, (which I did today) I can still fall back on my “accomplishments,” which I did today as well. now i think it is easy to see the confusion in this method and need for affirmation and its alarming how often i act out perfect examples of it.
And now back to the confusion. Good bad, my way your way, all these things that I do that I put before certain scrutiny and judgments seem like some crazy circus ride of wasted energy and lost moments. “I am not good enough, I am not intelligent enough, my intellect is feeble.” “This will satisfy requirements to be a good person.”
I suppose at some level I felt like so much of me can be equated to adding up the mental constructs. Now, I don’t think of myself as a computer in anyway, quite the contrary actually, but I still sense a complex and busy device, like a myriad of mirrors each of a specific size and shape built with precision from experience of my 28 years to reflect the best possible balance of energy and waves back to whatever or whoever it is that I might be dealing with so that I am what it is that I am supposed to be..
This feels cynical as I type it, but I suppose a certain amount of self cynicism prevailed today. So now it is bed time even though I don’t want to go to bed. And even though I am writing and being “productive” I still feel slightly agitated with myself because it’s past two a.m. and I know I wont want to wake up tomorrow. I can at least go to sleep feeling decent because I know I have my love next to me and even though my reflections throughout the day opened more questions than anything, I still have more time to think about it. I can think about it I can think about it.

get out of my jungle

animals on the march

Today i am quite agitated. There is a wave present. Under my skin all throughout my body lies a water that has been penetrated by a large object that was traveling at a very high velocity.
My skin is tight and it works to keep the waters' surface area small so the wave continues to move and travel and bounce and react with everything that it comes into contact with. each organ and wall is bombarded from every angle as the wave is now reflecting from all directions. I know that the energy of the wave will slowly entropy but i feel like this wont happen for a very long time and currently the wave is like a torrent.
I am afraid of another stone hitting the water before this current wave has indeed completed its cycle and released its energy.
As the wave makes contact with everything it passes i feel the flesh absorbing minuscule amounts or this energy and inside the flesh this absorbed energy builds up. My flesh becomes warm, it tingles. I feel the need to move or flex or twinge. I have no choice but to react.
The process is tiring. I am definitely agitated today.

ah servant

"Didn't I tell you to have the piano expanding amidst inferno so the hammers and chords flatten and burst as the man played into the crescendo? How does one of work and servitude such as yourself expect to achieve any of your happiest dreams?"

"Perhaps I do not fair well in such a quest. But tell me Sir, are your dreams ubiquitous with both colour and a sense of pain?"

"Well, no.."

"Then I do not trust your dreams. Instead I will leave you now on the shores among the lions of Africa or the uncompassionate bellies of the leopards in South America..."

"What is it that you dream about?"

"I have to try and be careful about dreaming Sir. I must instead try and consider the fundamentals."

"What then are your fundamentals?"

"The fisherman's hands bleed as the rope pulls and slides through their grasp. Like him, I can recognize and connect with the blood that flows from them, and although I am not my parts I can not seem to escape their sum. As I continue to will things to happen Sir I must poor some of the gasoline on my own skin.....
Look over here Sir, I am sorry. We have another piano in the foyer."

- a conversation as remembered by a slightly scalded piano player

tricksy

zzzzz

rest or atrophy?

wrapping paper brings an active role right?

nice tuesday

Said Jesus will come out of the cove with his hand held up high,

swallows me down amongst my brothers.

Our love to salt says the great divide.

A few weeks ago i thought i saw the spirit of America thriving in sea/tac airport in Seattle.

This American spirit had manifested itself into the form of a kiosk which was selling time, three dollars for half an hour. The nice little set up had a plethora of cell phone chargers reaching out like alien limbs or Ma Bells ear tentacles which you could hook your phone up to for the above mentioned minimal fee.

Today i saw the American spirit gathered in millions to watch the back that bled to give the spirit form pass to the embodyment of that form itself and i think i felt a little shamed at my cynical approach...

songbirds and vegetables

Peacocks, peacocks are far too colourful for this moment. I would just assume dive into a cold pool than address a song bird today...

"Brother, today i have broken my spade. Without my spade i cannot remove the weeds from the vegetable patch...
As I sit here and share space with the mud I struggle to grasp the idea of a spade -less farmer.
I lament the lives of those vegetables whose air and soil will be taken over, and as i cry i notice my tears mixing with the soil..
Brother how can I take care of anything when clearly, my own life can flow deep into the soil and shed its viscosity to join those darkened bodies? Brother, how can a vegetable farm the crop?"

-a conversation translated by a songbird, a boy to his brother

truely a warm tickle

feathery spector

"My souls mother said sometimes people go different directions. A fish can want to help a fox, but three minutes on the shore and the fish will just suffocate. And if he doesn't suffocate than the fox will just eat him..."

Two men walked down the road on their way to the park. The park was forgetfully nudged in between the caldisacking houses at the end of the road and the park was quite small and inclusive.
At night the sparse electric lights create infinite layers of activity and often times the sounds blend in with what ever the eye senses. The winds that softly blow become inseparable from the convection and the skins grand appearance is lost in the universes grand connection. This night was a night not unlike this and as they sat and settled down to have tea the one old man rambled out the above lines about the fox and the fish.
After hearing this the other man replied;

"Does the fish see all other creatures as fish like himself?"

wet dialogues

"Here i am boarding the bus, alone under torrents of rain."

"Excuse me sir but i find your sentiments odd, not because of the enivironment that you describe as it is raining outside, but because you are not alone."

"I am not?" "Are you a representation of my schism?"

"You and your tunnel vision and transient nomadic romanticism!"

"Excuse me sir but how do you know about my workings from overhearing just one thought?"

"What sir?" "Who are you talking to?" "You are standing there by yourself at the bus stop."

- a conversation as recorded between a man at the bus stop

in common but alone

"well perhaps what he most wants is a coffin?"
"Then i would be much obliged sir, to make it."

"Death be your business then?"
"Not at all." "Simply housing it." "Even death is a heavy burden for those who are not yet laid waste by it."

"Did you say even?""I simply stated my position." "Can you hand me that hammer?"

- conversation as recorded, the smith and the town concerner

cold leg

One day while browsing the internet a boy came across an add;
"Half digested meal seeks more accommodating digestive tract..."

The boy at first squinted down to meet the up curl of his lip because quite naturally, these are the dimensions and shapes of the human face that are required and demanded by confusion.
as the confusion took its toll on the boys mind and his relationship with time, a few unnoticed moments flickered by.
Flickers die away as quickly as they arrive, and in this way the boy’s awareness of what was going on returned.
At this point his eyes squinted down harder until almost completely shut leaving but a sliver immersed in tears and the watery world of bath tub dreams, all while the mouth continued its call to open up for a wretch from a southern muscles' spasms as the boy at this point began to throw up.
The boy threw up onto the kitchen table, and as the vomit dripped and ran down the wood grained chair and pre patterned corduroy, a flowing stream of emesis found itself merging with the cold linoleum.

At this point the emesis considered its position.. A chilly and hard horizon of wall and carpet towering over on all sides and no less, no longer a view of the boys computer monitor.
The emesis thought of it's miles of curls basking cozy in carbon heat and pressure induced form and lamented it's criticisms of the boys' g.i. shortcomings and thought to itself, simultaneously across each molecule of its now pooled formation, much like the nervous system of the great jelly;

"Is that salt on the floor?" "I cant see if someone responded to my add."