Cozy grey

BEGIN

2011-12-31T17:46:00.003-07:00

I woke from a dream to find that nothing was as it should be.
I stepped through the door and could not find the way.
For a light was cast upon it, hiding the truth in its brightness.

If I told you plain you would say
"show me"
with evidence trashed and scattered all about your feet.
Not unlike so many words void of any meaning.
The truth fits into no one's story so lies come easy.
And who then would purposely seek madness--journey into the dark?
Especially with so much illusion blinding us with its glorious light.

I am a feather in the wind.
Not unlike a drop of rain--the eternal drop of rain.
I am not afraid.

What would you do,
if you woke to find a dark chasm between everything that is and everything that should be?
One that can not be crossed.
Can not be climbed.

Stand up!
Do not let them destroy you.

CATHARSIS

2011-08-23T16:45:00.104-07:00

Im writing about this event not because Im proud (though I am neither ashamed) but because of what it meant to my being: A purge, an unspoken realization, the final fuck-you.
I had heard the word catharsis before, even looked it up to get an idea of its meaning. Now I know exactly what it means.

It was two or three months back and a particularly nice spring day when I found myself downtown. Where I was going, I do not remember but I had also found myself in a not, so particularly good mood. Certainly not one to be in crowds, and definitely not one to be dealing with oppressive ignorance.

I was approaching Pioneer Square at 6th and Morrison when I heard a man on the corner of the square, in a loud and certain voice, informing the air that no one is saved. I sarcastically and light heartedly commented to him as I neared - he being on my left - that I guessed we were all going to hell then. He took advantage of my words to proclaim that, No! those who accept Jesus will be saved... on and on, and at that very moment, as I was passing, a man on the right whom I had not noticed before, began to speak in the same tones. I was taken by surprise. Great! Stupid in stereo!
That's when it happened, sudden and pure. As my feet took me forever forward, my hands went up towards heaven. And with the universal symbol displayed in both of them I shouted, in my own confident and clear voice, "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!"

Wow, what had happened? I don't know for sure but by the time I got to the other side of the square and had ascended the steps, a smile so true crossed my face and I began to laugh.
I laughed.

I had not felt that sweet in a very long time.

THERE to HERE

2011-08-23T15:14:00.002-07:00

   Missing things in Tucson?
   What was, what could've been?
   Then there was that wall.

   Anyway.

   Within, Without.

   The Indigos are here--always have been.

   But one day, in an ancestral beginning of days, the webs of deceit - an all encompassing lie - were wove into the light of the soul and the truth became as a devil.
   And the light outside the darkness? Who is it that has bound the spirit in chains of gold and glory--a heavy burden of selfishness?

   So much light and still so hard to see.

   A light is hiding in the darkness where dreams speak of truths. Where the webs are only players and must everyone play true. We all go there. It's part of us. But daylight and consciousness break and our journey there becomes like that breeze on that day when the sun shone gentle on your face--but that was a long, long time ago like a tattered black and white photo you found in a dusty book of faded stories, a photo of people you don't know but should. Or like, nothing at all--less than forgotten.

   Anyway.

   We are all mirrors.

   I live in Portland now.

AND SO MUCH MORE

2011-08-23T12:40:00.000-07:00

I am the moon and stars on a bright and infinite evening
And the earth breathing beneath our feet.
I am the verdant branch
Reaching for the essence of all things created--
The sun giving and taking.
I am the wind
Speaking in the voice of our ancestors
And the rain
Washing us of our transgression.
I am the truth we hide in dark places
And the truth which can't be seen for all its brightness.

When the grubs devour my illusion
And my flesh feeds life,
I will rise to find my constellation
And rest with eternity.

I am.

THEY SHALL FIND US

2011-08-22T22:21:00.006-07:00

Me:

Happy in my space,

Creating.

My hands your hands.

I wished to share the work of those hands,

Say, Hey!

I found my way.

Joy

And your eyes bright with love.

Your eyes my eyes.

Im sure we could have been friends,

Before we got in the way,

Before your ghosts came back to haunt you--

Desperate and Despair of your fathers.

Poison for your pain?

Yeah, we could have been friends

Once we found our own separate ways which were always one.

I remember the day I left your battlefield bed,

The tormented station where you waited for a moment.

- You bore the sins of your fathers and your children are redeemed -

Walking away, I am hesitation in motion.

I knew I would never see you again.

A few days later:

Your youngest wayward stands in the field of your moment

And with a whisper you are released from the fight.

"Now I can" you said

And promptly left your battered form

Leaving the living alone together--

Each one their own separate story.

I remember my evening of the day you left:

Standing with peace on my starry knoll,

Speaking with the wind,

I knew, knowing nothing, that you watched from your infinite place--

Eternity before you.

We smiled.

I remember.

A week later:

A cordial gathering of tensioned strangeness,

A hollow church,

A sermon of sympathy,

Spoken by those who never knew you to those who never knew you--

Sons and daughters without a father.

He had no father before him.

Two more days:

Again we wonder our own paths
Bittered with your debris--

Ignorance and innocence

Passed from father to father to father.

We stumble with frowns and angry fingers.

But you did not kill the elders,

Shadow the way with me, me, me.

Us can not comprehend it.

But still,

As the illumined numbers forever turn,

Watching over sleepless nights,

We shall walk in our own right way

And comfort in the wisdom of our ancestors.

MISTER

2011-08-12T18:18:00.003-07:00

Fucking raw!

Just amusing myself...

But yeah,

Raw.

Blood and muscle and bone.

And passion.

And your hands so close to my breath.

And love?

Why not.

Raw love... I have no images to conjure.

But I see a face.

And eyes.

Mischievous---With a sly smile.

Intense, with something like fear.

Or death.

And a very particular blue.

Raw blue.

LOVE AND STONES

2011-07-07T06:42:00.007-07:00

Summer's here. Plenty of blue sky and heat, and today, a perfect breeze, as I cross the Steel and ride south along the west bank of the Willamette. Lots of smiles. Everyone seems happy--no matter the degree of their troubles. And we all got troubles. But Im looking at these homeless folk. Cultural vagabonds, gathered under warm blue in a perfect breeze, sharing conversation.

Or what not.

So it's summer in this springtime of my life and I am with myself never to be alone. Still, to have a lover--A friend as such. And when life is as full of beauty and heat as it is today it seems a good time to be in love. Of course, to have one as such during the long gray of winter... Sweet!

Well, such is the desire of many.

I recently had a sweet tease of such a relationship. But it was lopsided and too much like a dream. Well, I do love to dream. Those dreams that are sweeter than life - such as it was. But it was still a dream.

Im awake now.

For a while recently, I was feeling like Huckleberry - or as I imagined he would feel - when I sat at this particular spot along the river. But I know it was the river and her trees - the simple continuum we complicate with our selfishness - that I was being one with.

She sets me straight.

I often go to that spot along her banks to sit--to be. Ive found many heartrocks there. It's particularly odd 'cause it's such a small spot covered with rocks of similar character. You know. River rocks. All tan and gray with too small a variation in color to be perceptible.

Unless one is seeing.

Light gray, dark gray, beige. Smooth, pocked, veined. Heartrocks. One rather perfect one I found there I later tied with red string and attached to thoughts that fell from my eyes the first time I woke up. I bundled them with stars and tied them to a tree along the shore. Then there's the red one. The deep red one. The color of mystery--of life.

Well, that makes sense.

Yeah, it's summertime. Huckleberry lives and he has this beautiful red stone he found along the river one day while he was being.

KINDRED SPIRIT

2011-05-02T07:30:00.019-07:00

Where were we...

I don't know but we were sitting together,

you and me,

up high on some jagged outcropping of rock with the sky surrounding us.

You were being so incredibly warm and affectionate and of course,

typically talkatively articulate.

I was wearing my 'SEX NOT WAR' tee and you asked me how I cut it.

My mind fumbled for an answer.

Were those blue converses you were wearing?

You said we should get matching.

Then we were kissing.

It was a bit awkward at first so we shifted.

Perfect.

My face above yours and our mouths together.

Soft and warm.

Deep and passionate.

(James didn't kiss like that)

Anyway.

You liked it.

I liked it.

We were a warm bundle of sweet passion

-just getting started -

when I woke up.

Wow! with wood and still sensing the warmth of your presence.

But...

I didn't even think of it.

I mean--

How could I not know I was dreaming?

And...

I lay still in the dim of reality as the awareness of what occurred walked up, ever so slowly,

like a never-known familiar friend approaching from the fog.

Its warmth filled me--enveloped my being in a profound and mellow sadness that mingled with the joy of all the possibility.

But, it was just a dream and...

Ayen

you have already passed through the veil.

YOSIHNO

2011-04-29T22:24:00.011-07:00

Joy is fleeting

Like the blossoms of those cherry trees we walked under.

I'd walked under them tens of times but...

Anyway.

We were both so in love--

with them.

Funny that you didn't even remember.

Yeah, joy is fleeting.

Like the light shinning crisp and clear on this tree that I watch from my window.

Its massive trunk rises,

from an uncertain earth,

tortured and gnarled.

Silent.

Strong.

Then the limbs--

spreading.

The branches--

rising.

And all those fingers--

reaching.

The light strikes it hard, revealing its shadows and illuminating the life within.

Then it's gone.

THINKING?

2011-02-20T18:26:00.011-07:00

I often wonder at the idea of wisdom--How is one aware of its presence?

How is it defined?

It's not the same as knowledge--as knowing something.

I suppose it's like love and god--all around and undefinable.

Very available if only...

Don't dare box it or it will die.

GOOSE NOISE

2011-02-07T17:35:00.007-07:00

Ah... the sun feels so good on my being. And the wind is at my back. Im at the place between with a bunch of geese, and though spring's full glory is still a couple months away, there are already signs of it everywhere, to include this sun. I've noticed while out and about that hellebores and witch hazel are blooming, and some trees and shrubs are showing signs of life in their wood. I even spotted a couple cherry trees the other day while on a walk with my friend Patrick that were blooming. In February?

That noise! It sounds like there is some chastising going on amongst the geese behind me. Nothing violent, just a lot of squawking. The geese in front of me are quite content walking about with their heads down munching on a green carpet of fresh new growth--grass and various herbs. There are three right near me which are not the least bit bothered by my presence. They are quite used to people. Some even think them a nuisance.

Perhaps that's why the bozo with the little dog made a deliberate detour from the paved path to this trail where I sit so his dog could get a thrill chasing big birds. Of course the geese were riled and flew off with a lot of commotion.

Nothing serious, though the incident makes me think that there will always be callous and ignorant people, just as there will always be vile and violent men who are quick to murder masses for material gain and power to control--presidents and puppets. But, will there? Always? Not if we can make a leap in consciousness--wake up. Is the 'leap' as simple as that--to wake up--to become conscious? The thought of it builds but the resistance is immense. There is too much noise and the dominant culture seems contrary to real consciousness. It itself has been built with distraction and deceit on a foundation of blood and bones. Still, I add my intent to the awakening.

How is it that in this age of information there is still so much ignorance? That there are too many too easily misled? The bonds of faulty traditions come to mind. We've let our personal sovereignty and responsibility slip. We've become to dependent in to many ways - mind, body, and soul - while maintaining an illusion of freedom.

Oh, for now I'll just contemplate spring--its signs of being are everywhere.

As it is on this earthly plane so it is on others. The seen and the unseen.

to WRITE

2011-02-04T23:13:00.010-07:00

Have I got stories to tell.

I will always remember this one teacher of a writing class I took back when I was in my late 20s. More accurately said: I will always remember said teacher, and a particular lesson she taught--It was simple and obvious really: The best stories are those written with a base in personal experience. Write about what you know.

Well I've got some experience now (:

My last entry to this blog was June 27th of 2009. I was living at Everett's on Blandina in N. Portland. Im not going into details of how I ended up living there in this writing, but in time I will--assuming I will still be alive to write in some unknown future where I may decide to do so.

Everett was quite the character: A short, robust man in his late 60's with a balding head and long, white, locks of hair on the sides. He wore thinly rimmed glasses and often had a big as life smile. He also was pretty smart and loved to argue. Of course he couldn't do it with me 'cause the content usually bored me and I have not quite yet got the idea of arguing. I guess that's because Im a loner (was a loner) and usually dwell on what people say to me after the fact to see if it makes enough sense to apply to my life. I do like to listen though and he could definitely talk. I found him to be interesting - his behavior - and kind (so it seemed) and generous. Unfortunately I was not in the position to reciprocate that generosity.

Everett was (still is Im sure) a pack-rat and that to no small degree. I learned over my extended time there that, indeed, the whole household of male identified middle-aged men had its issues. I was living in a house of mirrors, and there were lessons to be learned.

Oh the stories to tell. And I will tell them but right now I am brainstorming on where to put them and how to organize them. No more agonizing and procrastinating, but contemplating and doing. And right now Im thinking that this blog will be a daily with an emphasis on lessons learned and questions unanswered and whatnot in relation myself and the greater community outside myself. From those with whom I seek shelter to those who reside on the other side of this hunk of star stuff spinning in the spinning.

DePave

2009-06-27T21:09:00.004-07:00

Today I had what may be my most best day yet in Portland. Im not sure why I say that as Ive had some great days here involving people I have met. Today I went to volunteer with a group called DePave. It's their mission to get the pavement out of town and replace it with food based gardens and or native plantings. They were so welcoming and real and everyone enjoyed themselves. And of course, they are doing something I believe in. Now, I am helping them.

Afterwards, we met at a members house for beer provided by Widmer, a local brewery. So many new and genuine faces and I did not feel uncomfortable at all. Wow, have I finally grown up? Matured? (:

Here's A Picture For You

2009-06-25T00:15:00.007-07:00

After a beautiful string of eternal moments at the rose garden, I rode to another favorite spot. The spot where I first saw Levi. I love that name but not in the textile kind of way.

Never mind.

The spot where the column is at what one could almost consider to be the top of the park. But it's the top of the bottom of the park.

Never mind.

I rode up to the spot where they should have put Sacagawea and noted a women from some place in history enjoying a gentle swing. Well, perhaps it was not so gentle for her, but there she was, dressed in a calf-length brown skirt with a matching jacket. I had to imediately ditch the bike and go swing next to her.

"How old is she?'

She's from the old-country. Any old-country that is full of warm memories. That's how old she is. A light blue scarf, truer blue than the sky, framed a face warmed by the wisdom of centuries. With excitement I sat on the swing next to her and began to swing gently.

"Hello" I said. Her face smiled true. I was being true too.

I said something else that, like a dream, I can't remember. But like a dream, those ones truer than life, I felt everything,

More smiles.

"Do they have swings in Iran?'

Im swinging high now, my feet reaching for a brilliant sun while my head gets wrapped up in the earth. Believe me, this is not my normal condition. But Im still being true.

What if everything you heard was a lie?

Musing In The Garden

2009-06-24T18:49:00.012-07:00

Life, it seems, is a constant pulling oneself up. At a certain point one is either strong or dead. Of course, there is plenty of in between. There is always a place between this and that, whatever those may be. Some may have it easy till one day trouble comes along and they have no idea how to manage. But I couldn't know for sure, being that I am only me. Some never figure out that they poses the strength to lift themselves. Yes, I know, there are broken minds but many may be looking for a reason.

The path of least resistance would be to give up.

Or perhaps it's the weight. Yes, the excess wait of cultural and religious bonds. Heavy steel chains wrought by... who? A Saguaro can stand for a time, months, years even, before anyone knows it's dead.

"Yeah, it's been dead for a time. Just now decided to fall over."

Sometimes I think our culture is dead, or at least dying. So much of everything is an abstraction. A culture full of dead things that make a lot of noise. So much so that it's easy to know they are alive. Someday we will be like machines but we wont know it.

"It all happened quite naturally really."

A kind of contrived evolution. So be it. I ride through the sun, find some shelter under a tree where the wind whispers, breath in the decay of leaves so I know I am real. That I am... indeed alive.

"How strange, these people who can smell death and know it means life. They eat bizarre things from the earth, roots and tubers. They walk with their feet." "Oh, I've heard but never seen. I hear they have no place between."

The emptiness between distractions.

Why have I chosen this path? Seeking to simplify the convoluted. Lying around smelling dead leaves. Listening for signs of life in the roar of dead things. The wind shakes the leaves and fills my eyes with light.

What if everything you heard was a lie?

Well, you'd have to pull yourself up. Be strong. Go ahead and try.

Look past... everything,

breath slow and deep,

let it in,

let it go.

Now, stand like and ancient tree beside a polluted river. Listen to the light in the leaves. The river waits for the prophecies to fulfill themselves. She has plenty of time.

Appreciation

2009-05-12T20:22:00.006-07:00

Oh my. I got paid today and treated myself to a big burger and some beer. And what a treat it was. The 5th Quadrant is where I ate. They represent a local brewery and use local, organic beef between their buns. The burger was beyond good and for the first time I had gouda cheese with it. Yum, perfect compliment. I also had two Sockeye Cream Stouts via nitro. Too good. For those who do not know, nitro is sometimes used instead of Co2 to get the beer out of the keg. It makes for a smoother creamer taste. Much preferred by myself. I had never heard of it till moving here. Anyway, I enjoyed my treat and that has as much to do with the fact that I just got paid for some work I am doing. I have not had any significant work in months so have not been able to go out and get a burger and beer in some time. There is nothing like lack to make one appreciate some seemingly simple things. Of course I have been enjoying myself without money as there is still plenty of living to be had for free. It's my goal now to be even more self-sufficient. What does that mean? Is anyone truly free or SELF-sufficient? It's a matter of degree but just having to rely on others for income is not self-sufficient. But there is a great deal one can do for themselves, even in the city, to minimize dependency. So yeah, land of the free, home of the brave. I think not. At least no more than many other "Lands". But why would we compare ourselves to say... Palestine. Apple to apple we are pretty ordinary and much more dependent than we ever think about. And brave? Have you sucked up your dose of fear today?

ANYWAY......... So while I was sitting there eating I noticed this tiny, bright-green bug walking across the beer menu. Little bug lost. An aphid out of place, and I thought, like with the buzzing fly, to squash it. No reason for that, but one might think maybe it would be better for the bug. Put it out of its misery. What misery? One would not do that to a person. Let's lend a hand. Of course I did not bother with the bug anymore than I usually bother with the person on the street asking for some change. Im sure the guys on the street need much more than some change and it's not anything I can really help with. But the bug... The irony of it is that being a gardener, if I had found it with a bunch of other aphids in excess on some plant I probably would have suffocated them all with soap and water. Hey... there's no shortage of aphids. Hum... one could say that about us humans too but I don't believe it. I think there is enough for all but we let fear and greed rule us from the highest realms of humanity. We are humans not aphids. We should live accordingly. What separates humans from aphids? Yeah, yeah ,yeah, we've got big brains and can create things we are not mature enough to use. Always reaching for more of nothing and not realizing that we've got it all going. Fa ree and brave.

Great burger. I think Im going to go get me some ice cream. Or better yet the same thing only different made with coconut milk. Got to love coconut though.

Stories

2009-05-10T19:28:00.005-07:00

I believe everyone has a story to tell that would be of relevance and interest to others. A story that instructs or encourages or just makes one laugh at living. My friend Laura has been in Mexico City now for several weeks. She's a performance artist and is walking Aveneda de los Insurgentes, through the heart of the city, inviting anyone to walk with her a bit and tell a story. Any story. She then posts them at Walking Stories: Mexico City. The stories can be bizarre but are mostly everyday though insightful and warm. A bridge to understanding.

Today I was sitting our front of Backspace reading a local rag and sipping some coffee. It was a quiet, overcast afternoon, yet bright and warm. A couple guys sat next to me talking and at one point engaged me. One spoke of a man he met from China and of his idea to get a story out of him and post it to a blog. He spoke of building this bridge to understanding. Laura's blog is like that. She was there when the piggy flew and was reporting straight from the streets of Mexico City. Her actual observations tempered the ridiculous hype coming form the joke we call news. Of course there is nothing funny about some of that which is spewed form the mouths of various talking heads on the television. It is important that we live with open minds and hearts so that we are ready to see the truth when it confronts us. And I am not talking about some contrived dogma parading as truth, "only" or otherwise. Think about it. There is no shortage of religions claiming to be the path. No shortage of chains binding spirit.

Anyway... The guys went into Backspace and came out later with a girlfriend of theirs. They were on their way to get a free meal being offered at Obryant Park and invited me to join them. Sure, I said and off we went. I didn't need the meal but was grateful for the friendship offered and yes, the meal too, which turned out to be quite generous and tasteful. There was a variety of fresh prepared dishes and deserts. There was even a queue for clothing for anyone who might need something.

When I leave my house to be part of the day these are the kinds of experiences I hope to have. All three of these travelers had stories to tell and today we were all part of each others story. I say go ahead and tell your story even if it's only to yourself and not in words to be read. It's like a journey of discovery at the least, and if you listen to the stories of others you'll know that you are not alone. And like life, you never know. You never know what will come of the telling, the writing, the listening, but it will come to something. Take charge of your story. Laugh, cry, get angry and let it all go. The wind is listening.

Perspective

2009-05-06T19:42:00.008-07:00

What do you see when you look at this picture? It makes me think of something very specific: The place between.

Perspective shapes everything we see but I think too many of us are unaware of that. I know I was when I was younger. But I learned that many of my thoughts were not really mine, but echos of others for better or worse and, unfortunately, too often worse. Thoughts formed with words and deeds and obvious contradiction or apparent reward. Thoughts formed by the mouths and actions of others--others acting out others thoughts. What is true freedom?

Perspective: The place from where we watch the world and all that is on it, in it, over it, surrounding it; whether real or the grandest of illusions--be they nightmare or dream. The place from where we walk in the world. This place is variable and often unknown. What we see is a reflection of ourselves.

But who's looking in the mirror?

In general, it's a pretty simple picture. But I see with everything I think.

Sleepy

2009-05-05T16:44:00.005-07:00

It's 5 pm. I feel like I need to wake up. My life lately feels like this: Im looking out the window at the fresh growth of spring, how the red of maple leaves catches the light. The new green of a rose bush. The pale purple of bluebells complimented by the lacy leaves and deep pink of geranium. The sky is a stormy blue and gray, and its wind whips the leaves into a frantic dance. It looks cold but for the light which adds warmth and life to this vision through the pane and plastic. But it's all silent, like a strange dream, and I feel nothing. No cold. No warmth. Motion with no force. Light with no life. But still... isn't it pretty?

Am I bound or just in a mood? Dreaming and not touching. At least my dreams have promise, though I can never stay there long enough and I can never go back.

Oh hell! Maybe I just need a cup of coffee.

Well

2009-05-04T13:20:00.006-07:00

...so much for god and the universe and hope and good feelings. I didn't get the job.

May 6th

I wrote the two preceding sentences in the morning of the 4th after I got the call from the Chinese Garden saying "We hired someone else."

I had an interview today for a job that will in actuality be better for me. Not that Im going to get it. It just makes me think, because the day I got the call and set the interview for the Chinese Garden I had received a call prior. It too was for a job but Everett, not knowing it was concerning work, did not take a message and told him to call back in a few minutes. I was upset 'cause Im having a hard time finding work. He never called back or returned my call but when I got home later that day I had a message from the Chinese garden. So now Im thinking how it's good that I missed that call cause it might have interfered with the interview for this job that I really wanted.

MADNESS. Why! I ask, do I have a brain? So now Im like, yeah, this that and that.

Well of course it doesn't make sense.

May Day

2009-05-01T20:27:00.005-07:00

Here's more buried American history. May 1st should have more significance in our tradition being that it represents the fight for the 8 hour work day. Most of us Americans do not realize that our country had horrid and inhumane work conditions in our past to include sweat shops and child labour. And Im not talking about little Jimmy helping dad out in the orchard. Im talking third world. In fact, May 1st is International Workers Day and is celebrated across the globe in many countries but you wont find it celebrated here or even mentioned. This could be because it is associated with Communism, Socialism, and the Anarchist movement. But also because it is associated with the Haymarket Massacre, or the euphemistic Hayward Affair, and other heinous injustices perpetrated by officials, high and low, on those demonstrating and arguing for workers rights. On May 1st, 1986, 170 armed police marched into the area where a crowd was listening to prominent speakers and ordered them to disperse. Fielden, who was speaking, objected and stepped down from the platform. Suddenly a bomb was thrown into the police ranks and one was killed. The police fired and panic ensued. In the end 7 police officers and an unknown number of civilians were killed. What happened in the following months was a witch hunt. Several prominent leaders of the movement were arrested and charge even though many of them were not even present at the tragic event. With no evidence (it was never proven who threw the bomb) and much prejudice, Spies, Parsons, Schwab, Fielden, Fischer, Engle, and Lingg were sentenced to be hanged. There's a lot of American history here. Check it out.

I first read of this while reading Emma Goldman's autobiography "Living My Life" It is a very interesting read due to the actual history of it. I found out about her while reading Howard Zinn's "A Peoples History of the United States" Howard Zinn is a very level headed intelligent man who is prominent in scholarly circles but much maligned buy those in our society who wish to keep evil deeds in the dark and paint a rosy and inaccurate picture of history. Only when all nations confess their sins against humanity will peace be possible. Lies beget lies and wars beget wars and ignorance begets ignorance. Truth is light and when it is suppressed you are left with darkness.

I woke

2009-05-01T06:29:00.004-07:00

...feeling comfortably refreshed and I woke early. 5:30 am. Since moving to Portland I have been sleeping till at least 8:30 and usually longer so it seems just a bit strange to get up this early even tough it was pretty normal while I was living in Tucson. Ive been wanting to get back to this schedule and I think it has happened now because I am preparing myself for employment, hopefully at the Chinese Garden. I felt good about the interview I had there on wednesday, and after being interviewed by Jane and Sam I felt I wanted to work there even more. It truly seems like it would be a great place to work. We'll see.

So today is the first of May. Yay (: The first of May and I feel fresh and gay. It does seem like a special day in some way. It's also my official one year anniversary of being in Portland. What an interesting year it has been. I came here with incredibly high hopes and things did indeed start off quite sunny. I got here at 9:40 pm on the last day of April. On the 1st of May I answered and add for a room in Sellwood. On the 2nd I met Sandy, the owner of the house. On the 3rd I moved in. It was, and still is Im sure, a great place to live which was full of peace and light. Maybe just a bit to quiet but not really. I had a quiet upstairs room with a sunny, south facing window. Oddly enough this is exactly what I had wanted. A room exactly as such in a house near the Springwater Corridor which is an extensive bike path part of which passes along the Willamette. Shortly after moving in I bought myself a new bike and timed my trip from the house to downtown. Yeah, I was pretty excited and hopeful.

The first shadow that was cast was in relation to relationships. The idea that there would be a lot of fresh faces to date, and that there would be a lot of guys with similar values as myself to meet and get to know, added to my excitement and while it was true it soon became apparent that it was more of the same old. I'll save the details for another day but I still had plenty to learn and realize. The big setback though, was when I fell and broke my wrist while skating. It was a pretty heinous break too and of course on my right arm. It was on monday and I had just started working for Marcia that friday. Needless to say I could not continue work so the cash which I had been spending rather carelessly was not being replaced and I had to find another living situation to make it go farther. I found that situation just in time and after some prep work I moved in to this room in a drab, cluttered house in the middle of sunny september. Unfortunately a rash that I got from exposure to Stinging Nettle moved in with me and grew quite bad before subsiding. It is still with me a bit today, 7 months later.

I have to say that I was pretty naive about coming here and how things would unfold. I did think I would find satisfying work right away and that I would even have a boyfriend. You know, I pretty much thought I was all of a sudden going to have this wonderful new life. Everything that has happened to me though, has helped me to see what is really important to me, and has helped me to be more sure and strong in myself. It kind of reined me in and gave me a reality check. Kind of. Reality... Ha!

So today, the first day of May, I feel refreshed and new. It's literally going to be a sunny day and Im going to get myself out side and see what I can find.

Cheers!

My Mother's Eyes

2009-04-29T16:19:00.012-07:00

The following words were actually my first post to this site and were posted on November 30th 2007. The only change was of the word Tucson, to Portland. Oh sure, there may be some other minor corrections.

I was born on the morning of September 9th, 1959, in San Diego California at Mercy Hospital. Yes... Mercy! And that was the beginning of my imagined troubles. I must have had a scowl on my face for Im sure the doctor slapped my ass as is the custom treatment for newborns, as if to say "This is what you get for being born". What a sorry welcome. I'll have to ask my mom how much I smiled when I was a new human. Mercy. So I grew up in San Diego and its environs but, no, I did not surf, my parents were not actors, and we did not live in a mansion on a hill. I did get to smell a lot of smoke though and get thrilled by more than one shaking. Fun it was.

My dad did mostly janitorial work as I remember. Such was the case at his death. He worked for the city library in Alamogordo New Mexico. My mom raised 6 trouble makers. Well... perhaps we are not all trouble makers. I remember my mom telling me that she worked at some Walgreens type store and that she used to swim a lot. I don't remember her being unhappy when I was a child but she is that way a lot now. There is a connection here to my mother, Mercy hospital, and the deadly light.

So yeah, I grew up in that part of the world, when things were so much different. As they always are in the past. When I was in the 6th grade my parents bought a house in east county. We moved out there and my dad left us soon after. "If you can't stay here with me then leave". My mothers angry, hurt, words that I remember so vividly. I was glad he left and no sadness fell from my eyes. No... that would come much later but my mothers sadness, unrealized to me at the time, was already present.

Oh, I forgot, this is supposed to be about me.

Growing up in east county (Lakeside to be exact) was very different than doing the same in San Diego but I was still timid me. Im still timid me but in a fucked up, angry, confused, sad for no reason but "Im working on that", got you fooled kind of way. Hopefully if we ever meet I will be in a very good mood. Not that Im ever not kind to strangers.

Lakeside California. The only thing that saved me were the hills behind the tract of homes in which our home - strike that - our house was located. I went up there quite frequently with friends or my brothers or myself. I used to wank-off up there a lot. Of course that phrase was not used by me at that time being that I had not yet been to England where I picked it up. Yeah, England. The lost, timid boy did something he thought he never would. Joined the military. More specifically the US Air Force. And while I was indeed twenty and not a boy one would think otherwise if they saw a photo of me from basic training.

I joined the military after returning from Heavener Oklahoma, after trying out Bakersfield, after quitting my job at Smilies Industries, after considering the physical condition of a fellow employee who had been working there for far to many years. My experience in the Air Force was a good one especially since there were no wars or rumors of war. It's called opportunity or "how to get the fuck outa here" cause I fucked up in high school. Military service is an option taken up by many a naive young man.

Anyway... Im in Portland now and there are wars and rumors of war, and there is a connection here to the deadly light.

the Place BEtween

2009-04-28T16:34:00.008-07:00

There is this favorite spot along the Willamette where I like to sit and think or search for lost and insignificant things. Or maybe just have a snack (: It's not a specific spot at all but it is always the same: On one side; the groan of the city and all it stirs in the mind and spirit--concerns and cares and reasons why. And on the other side; the wild. The glorious and wise wild. Perhaps not so wild at this point but wild enough to know that the earth still lives. There is a kind of balance here, with the madness of the city calmed by the wind and the water and the light in the leaves.

I sat on the rivers rocky edge one evening and questioned the moon; What would you give the sea if you were lovers? "Stars of course", was the reply.

And then I noticed

they are lovers! -- and the sea is full of stars.

What is it that draws me to the city, and this city in particular? Humanity of course, and nature. Have I told you about the trees? I shall, and I will tell you of this dream. I was flying effortlessly over the forested green hills, over the ridge I went and down into the magical woods for a closer look. I beheld a most massive tree which was not like the others but for one. It's massive trunk supported many branches all the size of tree trunks. Solid, strong, comforting and calm and reaching out and up to the sky. I stopped to feel its presence and was taken by its being. I wished to climb its trusses and sleep in its arms but I could not stay. So I took to the sky once more and flew through and from this forrest.

But the trees are always with me. That's just how they make me feel. Strong and calm and sure.

Wow!

2009-04-28T16:21:00.004-07:00

Well, I arrived in Portland a year ago on the 29th of april around 9:40pm. I can't believe it has been one year. So much has happened it seems but I am still unsettled. Ive decide to revive this blog as it is fine for now and I want to write and pretend it is to someone (: If an old man dies on the farm and no one knows, did he live? Hey... tomorrow I have an interview at the Classical Chinese Garden downtown. I am very jazzed about this interview and potential employment for many reasons. We'll see.

Anyway... Welcome back Vinny.

Thanks!

Babble on

2008-01-28T12:42:00.003-07:00

There is something looming. Most of us can feel it but we can not end the mundane distractions to wake wihtin ourselves to the truth. Yeah... we all just want to live and "have fun" but... it is time to become sober, to seek truth, to let all things go so that we can hear. End the distractions. The self-imbued importance. The me. The beast feeds on the Me. Revels in distraction. Wake me up!

Me

2008-01-18T13:43:00.001-07:00

Old Man

2008-01-18T13:04:00.001-07:00

2009 update. Phallic I know... you like? I have always liked this one and I actually have it with me here in Portland. I hope to have a garden in which to plant it soon. This pic of it is in the Tucson garden which I do miss. As i write it's april 30th and my one year anniversary of being in Portland. Spring is here and the air smells ever more hopeful and fresh. Peace...

This poem

2007-12-06T19:09:00.002-07:00

The Wall, surprised me when I was finished with it. It actually did not take me long at all to write and it is the longest poem of mine to date. My friend Travis referred to it as a mini epic. It was written near the end of 2005 after I had moved back to Tucson form Tulsa to where I am living now at Homers. I had moved to Tulsa for 6 months to give a relationship a go. That would be William. I, like so many others, was very angry after the war started and I think this poem was about letting go of it and some other things form our historical past as well as my familial past. Yes... I was quite angry and disturbed after the war began.
I have nothing to say that hasn't been said already so I will refrain. Now here we area all these years later after bush declared it over and my sister declared "I think it had a good outcome". I'll say nothing more.
I thought to burn my car in a busy intersection. Fortunately I had no gas can and no flag to burn with it and quite frankly would not have done it anyway. LOL But I did loose my car in a storm. I was living in Cascabel where I park in an alluvial area that washes infrequently. It had flooded before in an awesome storm. Well... I sat on the knoll as another monster storm came up from the south. I stayed out till it became impossible to do so. I didn't bother with the car. Later I mentioned to a friend how I thought it odd that I didn't move the car considering I knew it would wash. She simply said that she thought that I wanted it to happen. I think that is true. Only when I was young did I fancy cars and it was in my 20s when the loathing began. For many reasons but mostly for our complete disregard for the true cost of the auto industry and oil. I really wont say more because we all know even if we deny it. Its not that I don't think we should have cars its just our lack of responsibility concerning the whole issue and the unending ignorance.

The Wall

2007-12-06T17:30:00.002-07:00

Daud and Farrah
Faggot friends
Arabian lovers from a book I read
-Beautiful in their innocence-
Two dark skinned boys on a white imperial adventure
Now stuffed tigers watching over my wall
The wall of me.
Some of what I was.
Some of who I am.
Some of what I may
some day be.
Vincent Van Gogh
Sleeping under a harvest blue
A gentle sun.

God bless the freaks
And me
And my father
And my grandfather
-Vincent Van Me-
Sitting in a faded photo
A far far forgotten day on a beach
A moment that was never mine.
And god bless the lost nation
The murdered ones who knew the life
The harvest blue
The imperial wrath.
"Nits make lice" I once read.
Genocide.
But the spirit lives
And the earth remembers.
All things are connected
Like this my wall
All creation and my creation to me
To you
To us
To them.
One thought to another
One action to the next
Forward to the harvest bitter.

Hate to break your train
But I reveal my madness
Tread with trepidation for you'll find it's yours.

So I thought I was who I was looking at
But my eyes were shattered sad
So many pieces of light
Revealing my salvation
The light which set me free.
I hold forgiveness in my hand
And give to you an old Irish blessing
And a piece of my creation
Perfect in it's decay
And may you find beauty where you never think to look.
...and until we meet again
may god hold you in the palm of his hand.

( Oh how I love my mother so )

But not the god with a violent hand
Who plants a violent seed
Who slew the children of the earth
And those who knew the Wind.
The earth remembers
And the wind knows.

But the god of circles
Who speaks on the Wind
And sows light in dark places.

Anyway...
It's october
The bitter harvest nears.
But I resign
Refrain
Retreat.
I take the hand of my child
To a different table set for us
And my dad
And the lost nation
And the children of the earth
And those who hear the Wind.

Yes
It's october
And on the backside
A painting
The sinewy shirtless form of men working
Scraping a floor on a sultry day in 1875.
Did they comfort each other at days end?
When night fell so sweetly.
That's right
I'm a faggot too
Queer
Or just take comfort in the company of men
But I don't believe in the hateful,
Violent
Bitter harvest
Imperial god with a hand for genocide.

Resign
Refrain
Retreat.
My child brings me sweet red roses
His innocence is true love
My truest desire.
He makes me think of a man I know
What do I see when I hold his eyes?
A brother?
A lover?
My father?
Me?

Soon it will be november
With dates and engagements
Bills to pay
Things to be
Places to see.
Tacked reminders on a rich and varied
Tapestry of green.
Green threads
Imperial threads
Red threads
Blood on my hands
Blood on my face
Pink threads
To many blue threads
religious threads
Woven to tight
Binding spirit.
I cut those
Now they're just frayed ends hanging about.

Then there's William on the wall
Another piece of art
Black velvet
Purple
Porcelain.
The jack of hearts.
He gave me a christmas star
But I hate christmas
So it's a gift from a starry night
Where all my love songs sing
Where the Wind begins
Where all things are possible
Where she lives
Where my poetry begins
"Someone else's son"
From which my dog-tags dangle
And I will not refrain

Green
Vincent
W
552047325
AB negative
Christian

Cram these between the dead dogs teeth so they'll know who to tell a lie to.
Died for freedom and justice
Honor and glory
God and country.
It's the FUCKING OIL FUCKER
It's the green god in americas pocket
It's excess and greed
Ignorance and fear
Threads in the linen
Set the table the harvest nears.
Lucifer in the sons house
Wearing a golden face
Preaching from the pulpit
To gather the blind
Those weavers of threads
Who wont hear the Wind.
Jesus has the scissors
But their hearts are full of spikes
And a bloody hammer ready
Pride a shallow mask
To hide their third world hearts.

I
Retreat
I'm smelling sweet red roses.

Its painted white
The wall.
I'm going to add some color
Circles
Squares
Some illusion
An orange and open door
My freedom bike with its
Oil-black tires
A blue yoga matt
The morning sun
Two red crates of music
But only if you hear
Like my wall
Only if you see.

Did they get your eye?
You can have mine
The dogs will still bark
The birds sing.
I will still know the pain
Sense the joy
Take comfort in days end
Touch the stars.
And I will always feel the moon.

All things are connected
And she is lonely.

El dia de los muertos

2007-11-29T12:49:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-28T17:59:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

2007-11-28T17:56:00.000-07:00

Cute

2007-11-27T15:28:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-27T15:06:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-26T21:19:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-26T16:47:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-25T19:19:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-21T15:26:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-21T15:17:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-19T13:11:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-19T12:12:00.000-07:00

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

2007-11-18T11:05:00.002-07:00

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

2007-11-16T16:03:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-16T15:31:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-08T19:39:00.003-07:00

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

2007-11-06T19:50:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-06T14:02:00.002-07:00

...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

2007-11-05T23:02:00.001-07:00

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

2007-11-05T21:46:00.002-07:00

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.

I wrote

2007-10-31T15:35:00.002-07:00

Separate Circles several years back after meeting a guy who taught at the UofA. He showed me some of his poems and they inspired me to try and write something that sounded good but didn't really make any sense. I think I failed. Anyway, allot of poetry is like that. I think poetry is prized for sounding good but being vague. Its about creating a feeling that can be open to interpretation. Of course my poetry is somewhere in between. When I wrote this poem I was not thinking of anyone or any personal experience and this is the only poem of mine, up to this point, as such. Poetry for me is about expressing myself, usually out frustration or anger. As an artist I'm not for defining creation. I guess I see the importance of people trying to do so though. It makes for conversation. I say just create and call it what you will. Blah, blah, blah.

Separate Circles

2007-10-31T15:22:00.008-07:00

Yeah, that's me,
an insensitive trog smashing pretty ideas.
But you love my base element.
In your heat you release yourself to me
and I ravish you.
For moments we are complete,
a swelling of intense energy
pulsing toward detonation.
A sweet explosion
blasting us out over the universe,
making us one with it.
Then you stare at me from that distance
unable to know me.
The stars in my milky way blind you
and for my part,
I cant see the truth for all my dreaming.
Now your heat is agitation.
It angers you
forcing me to hide
till we are close enough to see each other.
To touch each other.
So we do.