Like there’s something wrong with being a clown, so let’s start with me…
Don’t try and see ‘The Loser’, when you look at me. Or in any one/everyone else you see.
Try and take it easy on yourself, maybe change perspective, let that change the philosophy. Change the possibility, that might make it easier to take, and take it all in, when you see yourself in me.
And then speaking of wasted, there’s this moment:
Keep the switch set on wonder. Stop insisting to know the why and when and how, to know it now, when all that shows is the lack.
Definitives create an obsession with the understanding of death. Have created a culture…
Flexibility and acceptance are trail-markers on the path towards life’s understanding; real-time real-life lived in the moment.
Explore, hope, and react instead of only planning and hoarding and old ideas leading to a repetition of sadness.
Predictability can only lead to fear. I know, that sucks, but it’s who we are. The knowledge of a single, predictable outcome is all that really separates us, after all.
Set out to create, here, now! Something unique, or else what have you created? Preserved corpses don’t count.
Endeavor to follow only your own calling. Easier said than done, because no one who can’t do it wants it done.
All of human existence, all of our evolution can be reduced to one critical path: finding ever-better ways of burning things.
You know me, I don’t wanna be negative, so let’s focus on a positive idea for a minute. Okay, you don’t know me at all, but let’s imagine that everything is perfect, just like it is. Even the bad stuff, let’s make it a point to decide that it is all happening for a reason, even if it does seem to affect us negatively at this moment in time.
So that sets us free. Now we can concentrate on the fun of numbing ourselves. Now we don’t have to worry about solutions, ‘cause they’re going to work themselves out. Everything is perfect, remember?
Wow, what a relief! Now we don’t have to march, because as the now decrepit ‘children’ of the sixties taught us, it ain’t gonna matter by the time we’ve purchased our vacation homes. It ain’t gonna matter because everything is going to work itself out for our generation too, because everything is perfect, just the way it is.
Back to my favorite part, me.
I finally became convinced that I’d completely lost it; was lost, a lost cause. I finally became convinced, once I realized that to me, the ‘it’ that I’d lost no longer seemed worth holding on to.
In this world we’ve become dangerous fruits and vegetables. Pernicious produce that instead of promoting our life and health, actually threaten it. We’ve become tortured chickens and fish with more metal in them than the cars we kill ourselves with; random acts of unplanned, mass-suicide.
Now (long pause) I’m not going to say that this is all a part of some plan, ‘cause you know me, and that ain’t what I’m about. Oh wait, you don’t know me at all, and that is exactly what I’m about.
Anyway, this has all been ‘made possible’, shall we say, by the fact that we’ve been gradually trained not to believe in anything. Monkey see, monkey do, so it took some time, but now we don’t really believe in things like our faith. Come on, admit it, that’s the opposite of belief, right? That’s actually an overwhelmingly popular form of denial we’ve all learned from our parents and teachers/clergy so that we don’t have to do all that shit we don’t want to have to do, right? Well, you can’t believe that either, can you?
So my conclusion’s pretty simple, but you know, I don’t wanna be negative: We don’t believe the old saying that we are what we eat. More accurately, we can’t believe it, ‘cause we are no longer capable of believing anything. That would mean we’d have to care, right? Fuck that shit!
The problem is then that it turns out that the old adage is true. In this world, we’ve become either too much or not enough of something that can only be described as a whole as poisoned garbage.
But its okay, don’t get negative, this isn’t all bad news, its just like everything else; good and bad together, inseparable, indistinguishable really, a matter of perspective. Let’s just live out our lives, let things run their course. There’s no need to get upset, no need to get involved, no need to do anything really, which is a good thing, right? After all, in this world, we’ve gone to great lengths to be able to not have to do things, so just sit back and revel in the knowledge that by doing nothing, everything’s gonna be taken care of for us, because everything is perfect.
We lingered while dawn grew longer, lighter, louder, brighter,
But still so uncertain, still a doubtful, disingenuous feel,
Joined by forgotten questions.
Then at once truth broke through,
Advanced against foreground,
Perception surrounding the changing within those rays
Purples, blues to grays,
Burned off in white-gold misted haze…
Erased, but not simple.
Lengthened now, and rising to enlighten,
Let go of me, I , let go.
Approach it from the sky,
For the last time,
Even if none of us is real,
Tell time and space and sky and separation and I good-bye.
Then there’s only balance to behold.
Once the great you has silenced,
Equations abandoned, ceased, obsolete.
Missed in the moment to witness,
One instant of a solitary, single source of all of this.
Missed opportunity enlightening folly,
Competitions with the sun…
Just one morning,
Fleeting contrasts gifting all the small things clarity.
The other side is subtle while we’re weary,
So now’s the time,
Even though we know,
There is no time;
A time for us to see.
But weariness is stopping the all of us.
I’d given up, but morning magic flowed into that darkness,
No wave or particle idea could hold,
The weak charge that I imposed,
The part I don’t control has risen from the ashes,
From the molten core.
The balance made so clear,
For dim creatures whose selfish minds weaken
The eyes of the all
Made soft and painful within a dead-end spirit, yet
We’re forced to look at it,
Squinting and squirming,
Escaping to the internet,
And we fantasize that there is an end.
Such simplicity explained in the display
Of how the night is replaced by the day.
It seems simple…
Such intensity in the first reach of the sun,
Work, change, energy, light…balance.
Flowers don’t resist the restoration, but open to it.
So must we return our devotion
To its rightful place.
Reading you into me, into poetry, the poem within my dream.
And when I read it to you, you’re not really there, and neither is he.
Dreams separated by sleep.
Even though you’re both here, both sleeping next to me,
Instead of reading y’all my poem, I am reading the idea,
Trying, and failing at the ideal.
Regardless of my reading, our writing, his whining, you’re neither of you there,
And that’s why every one loves you, but only you and him love me.
After all, you’re still here, and thank god, so is he.
Reading to a child, dreaming now, restless and wild.
And all the while I struggle for the sense to rise, to write, to put it all down.
But you’re not there. You’re no where to be found,
But you are here, have always been, more here than me.
That’s why every one loves you, or else, they’re supposed to…
And just when I thought I’d broken sleep,
Where I’ll tell past lives ‘goodnight’ and loose the bonds of memories deep…
Returned to me now, you and him and me,
We remember how, restore, you snore, together returned to our we.
Gather ‘round the circle childrens. It’s time to talk about god again-I know (slightly raised voice over collective groan), we talked about that last time…
Now, it’s okay if you want to ignore what you see and hear and think, or to avoid thinking about things that hurt you’re head. But some of us want to know more things, even everything we can, so the rest of you, gather up your specially-decorated, magic phones and magic games and go sit quietly over there (forever), this circle is for the readers. This circle is for the thinkers so a lot of you (all of you?) can just stop reading (thinking) now.
So, as is true for most things childrens, it turns out it’s not about what you do, or how you do something as much as it is about when you do it. This ends up meaning whether or not you do things in this, your own life-time, once you understand (accept) that there really is no beginning or end (to/of ‘you’). This is why most of us don’t get around to having this little chat with ourselves until death renders the point moot with its own, new font. This is why outside of this circle, god and death are inextricable.
But we’re going to try and keep this short childrens. I know, recess is on your minds with the long weekend where we blow things up to celebrate blowing things up (people/childrens) coming up. Long spans devoted to your devices, interrupted only by mostly innocuous explosions. Bliss. So here’s the good news; there is a god, and yes, it surrounds us all the time. Now the bad news; god has no more to do with you than it does with the wet farts that we avoid, but unlike those flatulences, we most likely would not/will not recognize god when It/He/She/However you choose to capitalize this idea is squishing around in our pants.
Again, it’s fine to choose/pretend to believe what makes us feel better. Sometimes what we see is so scary that some of us need to run away. If that’s what you want to do, go ahead. Go sit over there. Don’t forget your smart-phone…
Right, so for the rest of us twisted few, we are left to face the slings and arrows of ignorance-avoidance and it tends to make pyschos out of us. If we see too much, without the power of ignorance that is so widely valued and cultivated in our school, we loose touch and beyond a certain point of pretending, beyond one’s ability to play along with your play-group (society), you get put on the short bus. Labelled, set apart, you’re no longer eligible for field trips to go and see the white picket fences of the houses of the normal.
Pay attention now childrens, there are only two things left to talk about. Put that down…
FIrst, we have to face it, god is leading us to destroy ourselves because that is what god does. Now wait a minute children (shouting, crying, tantrums), what if we say ‘balance’ instead of god, does that make it better? Okay then, balance leads us to destroy ourselves, just as it always has led all of creation towards destruction, though, not necessarily by their own hand. That is a special gift bestowed upon us, His chosen. Like all the chosen people, we’re special! We get to become ourselves free of innocence! That is all we really know. I know, but you looked didn’t you? You’ve peeked. You wanted to know, so you kept reading. Deep down we all know, we all see it coming, always have, but there’s no app for that so it’s easy to avoid, easy to forget (forget how to think).
Last, you need to know that you can know. You just have to want to. Your teacher won’t teach you this. He’s the last person who wants to know. He has a vested interest in your continuing not to know. He will always choose not to know, and he’ll choose (teach) the same for you. When I asked him, he told me that if we could see the future, if there were magic cards that we could use to tell us of our fate, every detail, he would choose not to know. He wouldn’t want to know, he said. “Would you?” he asked me. Now I’m asking you. You’ve read this far, so maybe…
It’s scary to know, but not like you’re thinking. It’s not because of what you might see. You’re going to see it anyway, so like I said, it’s not about what or how, but when. It’s scary to know because it means that we might have to actually do something. We may even have to start doing something different. We might have to change, and there’s nothing scarier than that. Again, we all know this from somewhere deep in our ancestral memory, but who hears/believes that kind of new-age, back-door-spirituality? We all know it though, some of it anyway, and no matter what we choose to call it, we always have. Whether we choose to know anything or not.
When he asked me if I wanted to know, like the fool that I am, I answered truthfully; ‘Yes’, I said. Because not only do I want to know what’s coming, what is going to happen to me, I have spent my life trying to learn how to know. When I was a child I could see it, but I turned away in fear. The blazing, crystal-clear visions and the void frightened me. The lessons within my dreams and nightmares were so vivid and accessible that I knew I knew, in spite of a complete lack of experience within the first five or six years of my current cycle. So it was then that awareness gave way to experience, to be buried by it for forty years more and only now do they reunite. And now I see two things; that as I near the end of the cycle, experience, or the clear perception of it and legitimate reference for it, will fade away again to be replaced by vision once again, awareness returned. But this time I don’t fear the vastness, why should I? Experience has led to a critically-refined, more cynical sort of awareness that the only constant is change, so why fear it? And that is how I have come to see that it is possible to see everything, so I want to. So I will try to. So I will continue to try to see it all, all that being myself allows. Why not, what else have I got to do? Play video games? consume? But that’s a story for another time, another teacher.
And when I told the teacher that not only did I want to see it all, but like an idiot, told him, like I am telling you, of what I had seen already, he, like you, sent me to sit in a corner, where I sit now. Where I belong.
The money-man and the giver of laws conspire to homogenize, to sterilize the arts and crafts derived from spiritual remnants of remaining human beings. They seek to standardize, to compartmentalize, so that they may fully appreciate and understand works of beauty and devotion. This they have always done.
But don’t be fooled, children, not again. Avoid becoming starry-eyed, semi-innocent infants, because that’s how they win. All they do is win, and they’re winning again. Why do they always seem to win? Most of the time, when we’re not too thin, we let them win. In between blood-letting, all they do is win until one day, all there is is them.
That’s why they invented hippies-yuppies-hipsters, yeah, I see you there (pronounced ‘they-a’). They see us all to our boxes. But do you still have eyes to see the walls? Our eyes weaken in there, especially the one in the middle, in the middle of those increasingly well-made, ingenious traps.
The eaters of the spirit left over from the human-animal seek only means to an end, ends and means derived from the hopes and dreams of all the rest of us. Here’s the purpose of their pursuit; Their appreciation comes with a side of manipulation. The goal of understanding met with a supply of exploitation’s demanding. A price tag attached to inevitably posthumous work. Lucrative death’s duplicity increasing liquidity within a renaissance of unenlightened complicity.
So I will say it again, write it otherwise for myopic eyes, just in case you were listening; The enlightenment they seek, the understanding and appreciation is limited to the ends of highly effective ways and means of marketing, and once again, as it is, so has it always been. It works so well on tiny-minded, sub-human, not-beings. Just tryin’ to eat, not to be…
The price of everything and the value of nothing. Spirit, exchanged for profit, with death as the by-product. For now, it’s best just to try and keep our carcasses out of their way. See how long they won’t notice us…Isn’t that what we’re doing?
Warm-bodied, blood-buried rhythm,
Co-mingled, low-sloped and shingled…
Wolf-men on low roofs
Willing their minds
Again and again
To the inside planes
Of window’s closed panes.
You lie there in dreams
And try in vain to win your name
That will come to you
No matter what you do.
Fuzzy, damned existence
Humans, for instance.
All that’s said, circular cleverness
Including this (hopeful hopelessness)
Awaiting your judgement,
The one mind and all of our kind.
A mass depression in this fabric unworthy
Microscopic light feeding a meal in the night
Black whole’s poles blasting a jet
Which our kin have seen and known and met.
Fifteen degrees from what we could have become, there’s Helium…
But empty-headed emptiness instead begets
An alien both blind and dumb.
Doom making actors of us all
Playing a role long ago foretold
A screenplay the great mystery wrote
The light of denial, creation, the cycle,
What can and cannot be swallowed,
And so slowly we come to know…
Everything as it’s supposed to be
No choices, no chance
Perfection in the folly
Disinterested design revealed in our destiny
What and how we choose to see
Amounts to eight billion divided by infinity
And within the nebular dust that became of us
A perfect memory of tranquility
Within a spirit of balanced inevitability
We derive the fleeting moment of contentment
The equation of our legacy
Dogs in the distance.
Family singing together,
Singing their praises.
Better that way,
To not be near you
Then, I hear you.
I can hear you.
You’re out there..
You’ve sheltered, somewhere,
In that barn or elsewheres.
I heard you back in June
Last quarter, waning moon.
Singing songs of devotion.
And then you ran away,
And all I could think was when
Can I see you again
Woman inside felt it comin from a long way
Something simple to satisfy,
Is what I wanna say.
Let it all hang out,
Make a choice,
Find a gifted voice,
The times when nothing’s wrong.
Sunset, mountain, water-babble, birdsong.
We’ve heard them calling all along.
From all directions I’ve heard my nameless grandma’s voice telling me,
From everywhere inside of the great mystery,
Always all around me, she told me;
‘There is so much to
What it is we do.
Don’t let any one else try and guide you
To become what you’re supposed to
No one else can find your path for you
And being on that red road is a sacred journey travelled by a precious few.’
It sounds so ridiculous,
Not unlike the Jesus-myth,
But now my heart has lived for long enough to find out that her voice is true.
Searching there for the name she won,
And now the music’s memory is done.
Memorizing every single silly song,
While blamelessly I sang along,
Often even to me,
I’ve searched there for so long.
And they all cried to see in childhood eyes
How daily the spirit dies
And long ago they told their indians good-bye.
That was the day I heard that love was a lie.
And now they’re gone,
But in the song,
The names that none of them
Could ever hope to win
They’ll join the solar wind
The names of stronger men
Will pass us by again
It feels like time to them
Awaiting moments when,
A spirit returns to living-lives and soars and grows inside of men.
So here we go again;
The missing women and men,
These lost and hopeless beings,
That ritually sacrifice everything’s mornings,
In deluded, dull and devout pursuit of things.
Return to find spilled water,
And those are the names we’ll win;
Real-lives erased in endless planning,
That will be our family,
Until the I gives way to we,
And we are forced to see,
Repetitively, tediously, remedially,
How stardust and mollusks relate to me.
I’ll return to face the folly of my legacy.
I’ll ask myself to please stop saying; ‘Cherokee’…