El dia de los muertos

 is my favorite celebration of the year. Halloween is cool too because I like to be in costume and in that regard it is very much like dia de los muertos. For Day of the dead however there is an emphasis on honoring, mourning, celebrating those who have passed on and I should add, on celebrating life and the living. In Tucson it is the first sunday of november. Its not fashioned after the traditional dia de los muertos but is a mixture of the traditional with a definite Tucson flare. My first awareness of its celebration and existence was my first attendance 5 years ago. I dressed up as a raven during that one too and I had more fun than I ever expected. I had even more fun this time because I was with some friends (the pics) We for the most part got separated during the parade but found each other at the end and hung out for a bit being silly. Thanks to all who hung with me. I would not have enjoyed the evening as much with out you. Tim, Laura, Maraline, Chris, and Travis.

Dia de

Maraline, Me, Tim, Laura, Travis, Chris.

Cute

This is a smaller, older piece. It was really jsut for pratice. I really love creating these mushrooms. New ones will be coming soon.

My favorite

Here is a piece of my work. I have been having great fun creating these mushrooms. Im not sure what got me started on them but the first time I made them people loved them. They still do. The Tucson clay co-op finnaly got a space eon 4th ave so I have sarted producing again. This one I made a year ago and I have given it to Homer.

Thanks giving

It makes me feel so much better when I write.
Thanksgiving sucked. Why? Because I went to my moms house. I do love my mom but for what ever reason she has chosen to be very unhappy. Ok... maybe she is not aware that she has it in her power to be happy. LOL. Yes, now I'm fucking laughing out loud because I like to think that I have become aware but still find myself in a funk. Lately it's been a constant rollercoaster ride. I watched the movie "Party Monster" not to long ago and and heard a line that says it all. "I'm rapid changing bi-polar"
Ok... enough of that. So yeah, mom is depressed. Well I would be too if I lived with Al. That is her husband and I don't give a shit about technicalities HE IS NOT MY FUCKING FATHER. Words do have actual meaning. Look father up in the dictionary. I'm sure you wont find the meaning that fits my situation.
Sorry... hit another tangent. When I'm in a good mood it just flies out. See what I mean. I wrote "This is not a poem" when I got home form painting at Lynn and Millers town home. Why did I write it??? Because that is exactly how I felt. Well... I'm in a good mood now.
Look it up. It's called "Rapid changing bi-polar disorder" I heard about it in a movie. :-)
I was talking about Al. He is a most miserable man. It disturbs me that I really don't like him but I cant seem to find it in me to see the child in him. He sits in his den all day except to play cards with mom, sleep, fix himself a drink, and take a shit. What does he do in this room? Watch westerns, drink the drinks he has made for himself and the cheap beer my mom has bought for him, fill the house with toxic tobacco smoke, and cough up flem. Why do I not like him so much? Besides the above which would not be a problem if he were not such an ignorant, self centred, can't wait till that generation is gone, prejudiced fuck. He treats my mom like shit. Fucking shit. Oh but you should hear how sweet he talks to the cats. Anyway... Yeah, thanksgiving sucked. My mom was not thankful at all.
But I had some wonderful Dumpster Delight with Michael on sunday. I was very happy to see him and that I was thankful for. The meal was actually awesome. A rice dish with nuts and grapes and some other yummy things. Michael nuked this with some homemade mashed potatoes. The things people throw away. I was also thankful that Travis had a wonderful rock climbing trip to Joshua Tree. He had left quite angry and I think I was a bit disturbed by it all because "I CARE FOR YOU" I mean him. I am also thankful for a most wonderful landlord and friend. My homie Homer the homo home owner. I told him today that I have been feeling lost (my bladder was right next to my eye) and he told me that I don't have to always no where I am. Well... something like that. I am also thankful for Laura, and Chris, and Aeon for his inspiration, and Erik because I love him dearly for being him. He has no idea how he has helped me along these last few years. Oh! I should tell him. Ok... there is much more that I am thankful for but I will wait till next year.
Oh!!! and I can't wait for christmas because I really hate that day. Travis... lets collaborate on a christnmas poem together.

This is not a poem

Hello.
Ive been feeling very...
lost.
Little boy
lost
the last few days.
Tired
and empty twice.
Once-
an earthen vessel
waiting to be filled
with something I can't touch
a hauntung
some kind of goodness
some kind of sunshine
some kind of I can't comprehend.
Stars!
Twice-
just empty
void
and lost again.

Ayen is inspiration
and I have no reason
to be standing in this place.
Erik is
and I should have been lifted.
Travis...
a mirror
those broken pieces of glass
revealing my madness
and the place with no reason
where I stand
letting go
trying
tired of trying
to be.

It's grey which wraps me in warmth.

I can't live up
to sunshine smiles
this striving for laughter.
It's an opressive condition
but Im letting go
still
still letting go.

Convuluted confusion.

Im...
I think it is a beautiful world,
broken.
Sitting seperate.
Self sequesterd.
In solitude.
Silent.
I don't want to be here.
Standing here
convaluted
waiting
tired
trying
empty
lost.

Look!
Shatterd stars
I've cut myself again.
...It's me bleeding.

Eyes

The birds pissed me off this morning.
Me.
In a fuck of a funk.
But I woke on the side I always do.
The side by myself.
Only today
rose with no reason
and in looking out my window realised...
Whatever.
My head hurts.
Being full of odd juxtapositions.
Confused contradictions.
Bombs in Iraq
and angles in heaven
and god is an asshole
because that is exactly where I am.
Temples tense
angry.
Eyes wishing to weep.
I refuse and am nowhere.

Fantasy is easy
and I would not know the truth if it were a splinter in my ass.
So I sit and wait
while the wind speaks of change
while my garden goes about its bussiness
calling me out of my head
somewhere toward peace.
Anyway...
All I really know-
I want nothing more than to kiss you.

Tucson garden

My garden in Tucson

"Be" was written probably in 2000 or 2001 while I was living in Cascabel. It is actually, I think, the first poem I wrote when I decided to start writing. I was thinking of conversations my friends had about philosophy and theology and my own thoughts on those subjects. The sunset was particularly beautiful ( Arizona has no shortage of beautiful sunsets) and I couldn't help but relate it to spirituality. Spirituality in the earthbound sense.

Be

Another journey up the mountain

toward one days end.

Contemplate...

Theology,

philosophy.

Timeless academic debate

summed up

in a golden strand of moments.

One awesome thread of a life.

And so what

if it is only vapor and light.

Prismatic refraction refracted again.

And so what

if it is only what it is and no gift from a god.

Is it not beautiful?

Does it not inspire?

Are these not reasons enough to be thankful?

And so what

if the clouds

the sun

the vapor and light

the god who isn't

the omnipresent golden glow of molten light can't hear you.

Be thankful.

Be inspired.

Be beautiful.

Be!

Dreams

Who was speaking of dreams? I have been dreaming allot the last several months. Very extensive realer than life dreams. I have taken to writing them down and have found that this helps me to remember them. So I had this thought recently about turning them into poems. The following poem is the first such endeavor and it is of a dream that I had on the morning of november 17th '07.
My dreams have always been incredibly visual with little or no dialogue. However, they are wrought with feeling and I realized as I turned this dream into poem that it works very well for translating. I made great effort to be true to the dream and found more meaning in it as I wrote it out.

New things

We fly through black starless space
in a pewter-grey ship
as a fish with no fins.
Stead fast forward
through the relentless barrage of an unseen foe.
Hull pitting particles.
No fire.
No light.
How odd that the open mouth,
vulnerable to the void,
would not allow destruction.
Survival is ours.

Now I dream with eyes aware
on a desolate beach of destruction
watching over ocean,
the setting of sun,
as all things die in the dim of dusk.
Warm browns and cool greys.
A beautiful scene,
surreal and serene.
I lie naked in this space and time.
Bright flesh
alive in contrast to current context.

As the sun setting is rising,
in the dim of dawn and this quiet desolation
I wake from my watching to see the waking.
Others as myself
lying naked.
In all ways separate from where we stir.

Now off with a friend for anticipated festivity.
Don't mind that the marchers have commenced.
Step in time to their memorial line
and my momentary disappointment at the melancholy procession.
Who is there here to fear?
No one
Find the now in this pensive parade.
The forward movement of partnership.

A sudden shift of hue.

Green fields and warm blues

expansive space.

Crowds expand the celebration and the festival begins.

My spirit leaps as feet seek motion

only to find refrain as the pageant proceeds.

Gentle androgynous giants leading the dance.

Bare bodies alive

connected in the shear fabric of one free union.
Stretching

twisting
reaching in fluid beauty toward life

and the celebration of being.

Painting

The poem of painting illusion was written on november 11th while I was out in Cascabel. The confusion of the last several months seems to have ebbed. This is reflected in the fact that I was able to really enjoy my time in Cascabel and be content in the moment. The poem is part of what had been going on in those last several months. I wont go into details concerning the specific impetus for its words at this time but I can say that even while going through it I knew that it was about much more than what was apparent on the surface to any observer. I originally moved to Cascabel in the spring of '98. It had been an El Nino winter and I arrived to a most beautiful welcome of spring wildflowers. A rare treat in the desert. My time living in Cascabel turned out to be a shedding of the shit, as I like to say. A time when I began to loose what I had allowed society to place upon me and what the Catholic church had burdened me with. There are belief systems that say we create or own lives. For the most part I believe this to be true, especially when we become aware of our thoughts and emotions and the effects of external influence, but at the same time I know that when we are young and unaware we are easily influenced. This was true for me. Even to this day the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred. I have always lived mostly in my head and only now am I learning to navigate the two worlds. To walk the dream.
I am no longer religious at all but I know that even to this moment there remains some deep influence on my psyche not just from that church but also by my innocent exposure to TV and music and the way I confused it with reality. The catholic church touts itself as the bearer of light and truth and as a child being raised by its influence I believed what I had learned. Fortunately I have had a life of exposure to many peoples, religions and, ways of being. Slowly, due to this thing I don't yet fully understand, I began to open up and accept new thoughts. However, the real shedding began when I moved to Cascabel.
I had been living in Laveen, a place that is part of the Phoenix monstrosity, with Tim and Erik. We had recently bought property together in Cascabel. I had what was the best job of my life (as far as success is concerned) but ended up hating it. Also at this time my father was dying and things were not going well with me, Tim, and Erik. My fault I'm sure but I wont go into details here. Basically I was very unhappy. Cascabel was calling me so after quiting my job and living in Tularosa NM for a few months with my dad I moved to Cascabel.
My life there was very spartan and that is no exaggeration. I learned what was really important to living and how to live with less. Much less. And more importantly, the bonds of religious constriction, one of the worst forms of spiritual opression, began to fall away. Through my experience there and with various events in Tucson I began to learn who I was and what was important to me. I began to be true and aware. I began to know the meaning of I am.
So... after this and that I ended up in Tucson ready to share myself with the world. Somehow I began to slip till I found myself in confusion. I am a creator and two of the most important things to me are that which I do not fully understand and people. The two go hand in hand. Anyway... the last several months (the last year really) has opened my eyes to my lack and to the fact that I got off track. My lack as far as not being true and off track as far as not living that truth.
But, here I am.

Painting with a friend

I began to paint illusion
at the recognition of arrogance.
Tender words spoke toward me,
in suspicious tones,
crept forward without eyes
while unsure truths
colored the canvas with pretty possibilities.
Which face was warn on those warm days
when conscious conclusion
began to dictate direction?
But the shoes were unsure
when both feet jumped in
stepping toward timidity
concealed in confidence,
toward winter
veiled in warmth,
toward what could have been
drowning in never.

Everything is only what could be
until it is said
"It is"
and becomes.
As to be
is to say
I am.
But one I am did not know that he is
and the other
stumbled forward.

So what was
-a fractured past stenching forward to fuck the now,
prowling the present,
sought to devour what could have been
-A healing land
where weeds are known as beloved
by the keeper of beautiful things.

So ruptured reality relented to the mystic
while Lucifer spoke in pedophile rhyme.
But I am not your father
I am no Madonna.
I am possessed in elastic illusion
stretched tight over my face
suffocating dreams
while I try to spit up confusion.
Lucidity slips as icy waters rise.
As compassion muted amplifies fears.
Sit silent in separate spaces
till the right words are spoken.
Kind goodbyes with no rain for weary lands.
Realign to proper positions.
The purpose of the tribulation was bigger than the both
as monumental mountains crack with light
to shatter lonely places with a whisper.
As Wind in rage carry's the deluge to dilute the darkness,
laying waste to rancid religious relics
as angles and demons dance into oblivion.

Shhh...
Stand in the new place
revel in the revealed and speak
I am.

Tulsa

Tulsa Oklahoma is where I was living when I wrote Comfort Food sometime in the first half of 2005 . I was sitting on the sofa debating weather or not to go get some ice cream. I have noted that I often want to eat ice cream when I am feeling a bit melancholy and just want to be at home alone and comfortable. This was not one of those nights but at the end of my debate I did say "fuck it, I want ice cream" and then went to the market for some.
My father drank allot when I was young and he had this habit of sitting me on his lap and telling me to hit him as hard as I could. It didn't work for I felt absolutely no desire to do so. Of course it was very uncomfortable for me and I remember feeling a bit intimidated. I also remember once when my mom interrupted his ignorance and took me for a walk into the evening. I'm not sure how old I was but we lived in the house on Fairmount Avenue where this took place from the time I was in the 2nd grade to the 6th grade. I was probably in the second or third grade and I don't recall it happening after that time. For what ever reason I was always a bit intimidated by my father when I was young. I do recall another similar event regarding my father. I'm not sure of my age but it was before we lived in the house where the above mentioned event took place. i always had this memory of me and my older brother crying and the police had my dad on the floor and were handcuffing him. i asked my mother about this a few years ago and she said that she had called the police because he had hit me.
Back in '97, '98 I was working in Tempe Az. We had a little contest where the employees would bring in an old photo from when they were young. I found one of me when I was 3 or 4 I think. I was sitting on the arm of a chair with the biggest smile and brightest face one could imagine. It struck me because the photos of myself from elementary school all have a sad look about them. Of course it could just be that I didn't wan my picture taken. But no... it wasn't that kind of look.
Anyway...

Comfort Food

Fuck it!
I want ice cream.
Sweet fat tickling my tongue
tempting out my child.
You know,
the playful excited one
sent to cross the street for something sweet.

Hit me hard he'd say
stupid with booze.

So...
away with mom.
Away from Dad Drunk.
Into a kind an california evening
onto the peace of a San Diego sidewalk.

Here's a dollar,
fetch a cone.
Cross the street and I'll have two scoops please.
Chocolate!

Now I run to reach her

My mother as she fades.

Plenty

I wrote the previous while at Epic Cafe, a coffee house in Tucson that I like to hangout at. After finishing, I left Epic and went to the food co-op. They usually play music from the 60's there, music I grew up with. I have always loved music and started listening while I was in early elementary school. The first 45's I remember listening to are Suspicious Minds by Elvis, and Rebel Rouser, and Dueling Banjos by whom I know not.
So I often hear music there that I remember from my childhood. What strikes me lately about this music are the lyrics. They are absolutely silly or worse. Songs about not being able to live without someone, or dying for lack of love, or "and where he goes I'll follow. Ouch! Even the more pleasant songs of love and romance are a bit twisted. Not very realistic. I listened to this stuff when I was young and impressionable and I can't help but wonder if the influence of music on me is similar to the influence of religion on me but in a different realm of my life. Being the space creature that I am I have a feeling it is true. I could say these happy, joyful love songs in a sense are "light" and most religions claim to be "the light". Just some personal introspection. Religion is in a league all by itself.
I'm beginning to wake up but it is a challenge for me. Perhaps as in all things it is a balance because I do love the dream world. Well... we'll see.

I have plenty

 ...of days when all my words of self encouragement have absolutly no meaning. I think I feel one of those days coming on and I think I know why but I'm not going to speak it. I'm not going to speak it because I'm sick of that circle and its got to the point where it sounds like a bunch of whining. Ive started a few journals in the past and when I find them in some forgotten place and read them I definitely see the trend. So I'm not going to speak it. I'm going to let it go.
I like to think that actually being aware of my thoughts and realizing how incredibly ridiculous they are is a key. The thoughts: some of which are positive but of a totally fantastic nature (You know... fairytale shit) and some which seem to come from nowhere and are more than just negative. They are like, where the fuck did this soap-opera bullshit come from? I did not watch soaps when I was young and I don't watch them now. I killed my TV a long time ago although the house I rent comes with one which I use to watch movies.
So yeah... the thoughts. The negative ones are worse for they create real feelings of anger and distress. Don't get me wrong. I have become aware of them and can stop them but I'm like "where does this shit come from". The situations in my head involve real people but the personal interactions are off the wall and totally made up. This is living in the head at its worst. Its like I'm projecting into the future, events that will never happen, and getting angry about it. Of course the good ones are the same. Usually projections of hope for some romantic interest and I'm not just talking date fantasy's. These might not seem so bad at first and it may even seem that I should allow them but I am constantly in need of a reality check. Hey... I'm working on it. I really need to get out of my head and see whats in front of me.
Somewhere in me I have this thought, its more of a feeling really that seems so real that it makes me sad to think that I don't have it so much in my life. I really believe it is real and possible but perhaps this is something I need to let go of as well. No, I wont speak it for the definition is undefined and the vernacular is overused, vague, and absolutely meaningless. It just needs to be allowed.
Anyway... I do this thing that I am getting better at lately. Its all about getting out of my head and stopping the senseless chatter. I close my eyes and totally relax my face. There is a connection, obviously, between thought and facial expression. Its funny I remember when I was a teenager and would get stoned, sometimes I would look in the mirror and be able to go through all these facial expressions and actually feel them; happy, sad, mad, whatever. It was quite amusing. Well now I'm realizing that if I think to smile and do it the action leads to a genuine laugh or mild amusement. It works for all the emotions. Anyway... Ive lost track. I think that most of the time I have a very severe expression on my face and I think that a lot of people misread my character because of it. It is so easy for us to misread people on account of their outer appearance and I am talking about a much more subtle prejudice than race or religion. Anyway... this practice causes my mind to rest and I go to a peaceful place in my head.
I often feel I am on the verge of something wonderful and it makes me sad because I can feel it but I can't touch it.
Is the light trying to kill me?

The poem

Personal Influence was written in 2004 while I was living in Cascabel Arizona. It was written at the culmination of a particularly reflective time in my life. Its funny but I do seem to be always reflecting. So many times I have wanted to shake my head so hard that I would fall out. I did do this once but it really didn't work. Anyway... as I post this poem I realize how easy it is to go back to old ways of thinking. Perhaps I should say old ways of thinking to much. Somewhere between then and now I lost the hand, or at least thought I did, but have found that he (my child which could be a girl but it really doesn't matter) is faithful. I find myself coming out of another particularly reflective time and found that the child was still there. In truth I live way to much in my head and I have known this for some time. I am now working on that and it is through friendship; deliberate, thoughtful friendship that I will find my way out. Really for me it is about letting go of everything. Let go of it all and trust that I do possess, as I believe we all possess, all that I need to be. I cant stress how important it is for us all to realize this but I know we must come to it on our own. So... I have friends and I am loved.
I guess my timidity comes from a lack of self-esteem which I believe I may have inherited form my mother. Of course my father did nothing to instill confidence and may have in fact been somewhat responsible for my lack of will. More on that later. I will say that we are indeed the sum of everyone we ever were along our journey and everyone who ever influenced us in any significant way. Be it negatively or positively. With love -and I'm not talking fucking Hollywood, I'm going to Disneyland love- we can shake the past. Realize it, own it, whatever and move on.

Personal Influence

Ive been stuck walking circles.
Possessed by a desperate fact.
I cant find my way out of this labyrinth.
This elaborate maze of tricks I fool me with.
My own creation I'm sure.
Analyze the situation.
Think it through to know conclusion.
To no conclusion.
My mind is blind to the wisdom of the heart.
Drags it through cold sterile rooms
of sterile steel instruments
cut for sterile investigations.
Slice through the questions to find more questions.
This scalpel pains my child
but he is a fortress.
His vision stands clear as he whispers
"Be still and know that I am"
But the spinning compromises my senses.
My vision blurred.
My hearing slurred.

Yeah,
Ive been stuck.

"Forever forward"
My chosen mantra.
Words so easy from the tongue.
But I move forward in my influence going nowhere.
My declaration:
With no trepidation
I will reach back and grasp the hand of the child.
An open palm possessing all I ever need
to live.
To learn.
To love.
In the wisdom of his innocence
he will lead me forward forever
to a table set
where we who sit shall not feast alone.

Now I laugh.
I love you
my constant companion on a holy path.
I cant help but smile
and even if I spin I shall not stumble
for I focus on that which always is,
which will never be again.
A very moment in my hand.
A point somewhere between fantasy
-our hopes and dreams haunting us toward the truer light-
and reality.
Truths
which at their worst
-dark and unable to comprehend that light-
in vicious fear
consume life and love.
Truths
which at their best,
are the light,
illumine the sacred,
and reveal the god we all are.

This is where we play;
With our feet in a fertile earth,
and eyes of wonder turned
toward the starry infinite.
Come!
Take our hand.
Yes we go to feast but...
Oh!
The journey.