Saturday, December 26, 2009

Poem - all creation would know it

the book might be by the bed
you may read it from time to time
or it may have been discarded
it may be forgotten or simply shelved

i have no idea where my work goes
and what kinds of life it lives
i wish i could see one small part
of the stories sprung from my stories
alas i can't ever know

i wonder if this is how god feels
because after seeing a large part of the world
it is obvious to me god cannot see
everything that is happening
all things taking shape after
he started it all in motion

god must not be able to see everywhere
at all times like a santa clause
otherwise from my point of view
god would certainly cry & if god cried
all creation would know it

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Poem - st. francis pray for us

st. francis pray for us
we are all sinners i think to you
you're the only one to understand

we went to detroit hung out
with strippers talked at the bar
until the night was worn out

about philosophy and
faith god and
read them our poetry

they were amazed and asked
where we came from and we told
but they still wondered

i saw a statue of you
in white marble in a church
in chicago a day ago

you were hidden in an alcove
up a few sets of stairs
by the main doors

Poem - to conclusion and a kind of absolution

to Gary Timmons

with about an hour
before i meet with my attorneys
i go to st. peter's church
on west madison street

after more than 15 years
i sit in on a mass & watch
the ceremony and remember back
on all those sundays in the past
always going to church
and saying prayers but really waiting
to get out & play the whole day

now i have all my responsibilities
being a reluctant grown up
so i'm not praying with the idea soon
the service will be done
like i always did before
i don't want it to end when it does

as the service lasts i look
in the varied crowd of worshippers
i see the pretty lady secretaries and attorneys
a few quite close to me and i wonder
how seeming now
pious meek and devout so still
what would it be like to meet someone
who goes to mass on their lunch break
just before christmas

there is no judgment here but
these girls are as amazing and exotic to me
as if they came from another world
when the eucharist is consecrated
and the people go up i quietly leave

i confess i wanted to be this devout
not taken up by pretty things
i tried to be this way when i was younger
but it wouldn't last

the break the separation
it does not mean i do not love god
it does not confirm i have lack of faith

all my faith was like a guide
unto a whole wide world
conducting me out of braced morality
into the embrace of the almighty
beyond temporary earthy beings

some saints and believers understand
what i am talking about and i still
as the magic of the mass glides
to conclusion and a kind of absolution

Friday, December 18, 2009

My Personal "Coat of Arms"

dedicated to Evan

I have decided on what my personal "Coat of Arms" will be. This realization was unasked for, invested upon me spontaneously by the Fecundity of the Universe. Wow, thanks Universe!

On a shield, above, there is a starry sky. This signifies the endless possibilities available to all of us, if we want them. Combined with this and below it, is a lovely leafy tree, with a giant red cardinal bird in the center of the tree. The tree signifies both the Universal Tree of Wisdom that Gods hung from, and also signifying the Tree of Knowledge, or Death -- neither can be avoided. The cardinal bird is there because I like cardinal birds.

At the foot of the tree a blond virgin reclines -- with the Sun at her head, and the Moon at her feet. She cradles a skull in her lap. I'll tell you what the blond signifies and the Sun and Moon if yer too stupid to figure it out. Fairly steamy, productive, fun, hard work, etc.

There are a few sheets of paper, for writing, painting, and drawing by her side. Nearby, a few baubles and books as well, for the enjoyment of publishing and the gaining of knowledge.

Below this, my private motto -- EGO operor non exaggerate. Is est insolitus , quoniam is est verus. -- or -- "I do not lie. It is strange, because it is true."

Finally below all, the touch of an endless sea, just peeping with white froth. Because the adventure starts, and potentially never end, until the Sailor following the "Fixed Star" in the Heavens is satisfied & ready to be at Home.

George Washington, Revealed

Now, most people don't know George Washington, "The Father of Our Country", started out as a young time traveler -- frankly a bit of a scamp with loose ethics -- who thought it would be a Gas to set himself up for awhile in the late 1700s AD in Colonial America, Virginia. Should have been a cakewalk. But unfortunately, when George Washington got out of the machine, he put his goddamn knee straight through part of the mechanism that precisely aimed spatial telemetry on the front-end of the gravity surge, rendering his transport bust. Some would say "Pinner" to this. The breakage could have been avoided for about 5.22 USD, by G.W. installing a basic cage around the parts in question, but he was hasty and didn't think he needed something like that. For 5.22 USD, circa 1985. Oh, well.

Being stuck indefinitely like a freeking monkey in the zoo, and also being taller and obviously better bred & fed than all the weedy drunk insane podunks around him, it was unavoidable that he became entangled in the politics of the day. And due to his concealed superior knowledge of Modern Military Tactics, he found that he could deal with the British using the slender resources that would be provided by the stupid Continental Congress. But the Revolutionary War was a giant pain in the ass, and he was glad when the British gave up. Lafayette was nice at first, but later turned out to be a poncing pontificating Frenchman who never seemed to have mud or shit on him & never would shut up regarding opinions on things -- anything.

After some years had gone by, G.W. had to wrangle through being President all the goddamn time -- while George lost all his teeth. He did have a perfectly good set of modern dentures he manufactured, but preferred to not wear them out of "discomfort" of them being Wood. Not wearing dentures allowed him to become a formidable grumbler and mumbler, so he didn't have to figure out what to say to the ninnies and nincompoops that surrounded him with their ceaseless cajoling and need for sage advice when George Washington couldn't give a shit. Yes, being thought as a Great Hero and a Great Man certainly became quite tiring, especially if you had not been able to listen to the radio or 4D HHDD television for several decades.

Basically, it took George Washington, originally from Phoenix Arizona, circa 2022, about 30 years via the new United States of America to manufacture enough rarefied metals and minerals to fix the damage to his glazed reflecting/ recuperating hive-chambered multi-dimensional gun so he could get the Hell Outta There. I hear that he is recuperating in 2099 or 3122 AD, quite happily at Club Med Mars III.

If you bump into him, tell him I said "Hi". I don't know if he knows he ended up on the one dollar bill. Portrayed without his dentures. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know how bad he looks.

Sunday, December 13, 2009


There is Radar. I've been told about Gaydar. Daniel, 3 years old, has Toydar. When June thought Danny was distracted she tried hiding a Christmas Gift at the bottom of a box, with several things on top of it, hidden in a closet -- it took the kid about 10 minutes to find the toy. June has no idea how he could have found it out. Daniel has also found another possible Christmas Gift after June hid it behind the toybox in the living room, when Daniel was out of the room. It took Danny 5 minutes to find that one. And Dan's Toydar is just getting better and better, the more things are hidden from him. I'm imagining Danny Boy one day with x-rays shooing out of his eyes, effortlessly seeing though walls and packages -- on that day, to hide something from him, we'll have to shield it with lead. Viva la Toydar!

Poem - The Melt

at 32 degrees
it feels warm

no snow falling today
nor freezing cold

the whole world around me
changes as things melt

endless drip dripping
as ice disappears

showing black earth
peeping beneath it

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Poem - and all the things you've seen

realize, still it is possible
for every dog has his day

and all the things you've seen
amazing! terrifying! ridiculous!

Friday, December 11, 2009

Poem - like a school of fish if you could imagine/ what that would be like

for Richard Brautigan

i remember you talking angrily to yourself
(or to people somewhere else)
in other rooms of the house
then after awhile all rooms of the house
were filled with your words
then after a time words literally
pushed me out the back door of the kitchen

following me in dark empty streets
to a car or bar or hotel room your words
endlessly repeating themselves here there
occasionally i could forget but mostly
the words worked around the room

like a school of fish if you could imagine
what that would be like with angry words

Poem - is it a car carrying/ a lost suitcase?

i have a boot heel
that squeaks like
a mouse

i waited between
4 PM and 8 PM for
lost luggage

the beer in the fridge
it was deceptive
it was empty

i can hear children
playing downstairs
to xmas music

here comes a car
going down the road

is it a car carrying
a lost suitcase?

Poem - tell me you love me

tell me you love me
even if it isn't true

tell me you love me
even if you're not certain

say it even if you
don't mean it

give this sucker for love
one more smile

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Poem - that big holding me to it

she leaves her scent behind
like the pyramids of egypt
illogically i think but
that big holding me to it

Poem - they were invented for/ love

i think back about
how you are so beautiful
and you trust me

despite the fact
we met &
it ended with goodbye

we have jets and trains
bus and cars i think now
they were invented for


December 10, 2009

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

Poem - holding the book in/ my hands

old poets read
then the young kids get up
they read
i sit & watch
holding the book in
my hands

Poem - food or water or whatever is irreplaceable

he gets that light racy feeling
in his heart he might feel faint
when he looks at her/ but doesn't tell
how he feels
almost like a child who doesn't want to go
he wants to see her face every day
even if he just walks by and says "hello"

when they talked he tried not to stare
when they walked he managed to walk carefully
the time is passing/ their meeting
is ending
he is mindful of this and tries not to be mindful
their meeting is ending like running out of
food or water or whatever is irreplaceable

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Stairless Stair Misses Someone & Finds the Haunted Staircase

Getting ready for the reading. Now one person is keenly missed, who won't be there, but that is okay. And it is good, because Stairless Stair found a haunted staircase at the office he works at. Miners with bags of gold, whiskey, and guns clomped up it a hundred and twenty years ago. The haunted staircase was there all along, found by accident, still echoing the past.

Monday, December 07, 2009

I Still Love San Francisco, Stairless Stair

After a month of anticipation, I arrive in San Francisco, to see old freinds. And I also notice how fucking filthy the city is. Shit, glass, trash, smashed up furniture and things all over the place. There's a disassembled toaster oven scattered on the corner of Dubois and Church, my freinds say it has been there for about 6 months. I walk around. Wherever I go, in any neighborhood, I meet about 1 - 30 bums. All the bums I meet are crazy. "Oh where oh where! Is it here, or is it there? Have ya been to the STAIRLESS STAIR?" asks one of them. I have been there. I think I am the stairless stair. It starts to rain horizontally. But I still love San Francisco.

Thursday, December 03, 2009


(The reprise in italics, to J.P. Donleavy)


Like me, you didn't have much to do. You were sick of staying in a small, silent apartment on a Sunday afternoon. So like me, you got yourself together and started off down South Oak Park Avenue to go do something, like harmless window shopping, or visit the bookstore where I saw you again after the time I walked by you on Lake Street, pretending that I didn't notice you.

In the used bookstore, I was surprised to see you. As before, I secretly admired your poise and your smooth brown hair, how your hair spread out over the shoulders of your white jean jacket. I said nothing to you, because I didn't want you to think I saw you first on South Oak Park Avenue and followed you up Lake Street. I didn't want to appear to be completely ridiculous.

But here you are again. I can tell you are lonely, and like me, you read just about anything, and I suspect you have no close friends. It could be you are going through some tough changes -- getting divorced, like me. But what can be said? Nothing can be said, regrettably. I try to forget about you.

Later, outside the bookstore, I see you one block up with your back to me, coming out of the GAP. You've not bought anything. I comprehend I'm in a crazy groove of certainty, tuned with the universe: I know if I wanted to catch up with you, the next place I'd be sure to find you is in the fresh bread section of Whole Foods. I don't bother to go there because this would be weird; you'd know for sure I was following you:

We may be far away from Victorian times and conventions
But still, even today, meeting a strange man in the street
Without a proper introduction
Is no way to meet a man
For the first time, alone, amen


I go off to a bar & grill nearby for a hamburger; it is a nice place where I am sure you wouldn't visit this afternoon. As the pretty blonde waitress take my order, I see you will not be coming in here. I wonder if you ended up buying anything at Whole Foods, or when you dropped by the GAP for a second time.

Later, I clearly see you walk home along the same route you took from your apartment -- I can see you walking with the same poise and your fine brown hair spreading nicely over the shoulders of your white jean jacket, slowly, with no hurry at all in the world!

Poem - snowflakes do you make noise

falling snowflakes do you make noise
i wonder & stand close looking to the
dried grass


Dec 3
Oak Park

Monday, November 23, 2009

Me and Dorje Drollo -- Chicken Pot-Pie

Dorje Drollo comes in. Dorje Drollo!

He looks around the kitchen. He sees that the oven is on. He looks closely at what is in here, cooking, bubbling.

"Chicken pot-pie?" he asks loudly.

"Chicken pot-pie." I reply.

"Chicken POT-PIE!!?!" Dorje Drollo roars, laughing, knocking a pot down.

"CHICKEN POT-PIE!!!" I yell, half laughing.

"CHICKEN POT-PIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!" screams Dore Drollo, sparks flying off his eyebrows, the house shaking to the foundation.

"CHICKEN POT-PIE!!!!" I scream, holding onto the fridge for dear life.

"Sounds good." says Dorje Drollo, when the dust has settled.

Babies are crying downstairs. I think the cops are coming to the front door.

"Yeah, it is good." I reply. Because it is.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Poem - there's too much pain

-- Another shitty poem, but I like certain parts and I didin't want to fix it and break the good stuff

there's too much pain
(now i've copped it -- actually took
a position on this)

ok but the pain isn't that bad
i have a high tolerance for pain
through several doomed &
disastrous relationships
a broken wrist
lacerations rejection

going on looking optimistic because
it helps others feel better
and why rain on a parade
joy is rare don't fuck it


everyone makes it through
we all do make it through

you can say you didn't make it
but if you ain't dead
you're just fine

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Poem - what the hell is failure?

some jackass said
"failure is not an option"
but in times like this
what the hell is failure?

we're all collectively
making things right &
getting things done
despite everything

i don't see anyone giving up
nobody is quitting but
it hurts and we get along
we get along and it is done

Story of the Bum

I have this bum look going on. It isn't easy to get the bum look going, you have to work it. I still get everything done, dot every 'i' and cross every 't'. But when you see me, all you'll see is a bum.

Probably tomorrow I'll get a haircut and practice good posture, then you'll think I'm someone else -- a guy who is as clean, flashing and fresh as a newly minted quarter.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009


When the winter wind blows but there is no snow, just a lead colored sky -- I have a flashback of the summer gone, when I was alone in the backyard trying to get a nice tan on my legs.

Monday, November 16, 2009

A Short Story in November, Before it Started Snowing

This weekend, on Sunday, I cleaned someone's kitchen. I don't know why I did it. But the kitchen was clean when I was done.

The person I cleaned for didn't give a goddamn. They wanted the kitchen clean, but when I was done, they were mad and stood disapprovingly in a spick-and-span kitchen.

Now I know acutely why some religions believe in the Fall From Innocence, and blame it on Adam and Eve.

Poem - what you think

i dream i have a large house
old and a bit scary

here is wide staircase in blue light
and the house is actually me

it is built to test people

everyone i've ever met

but watch out what you think
we all have a large house

with a big staircase that is scary
blue with ghost lights

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Poem - This Will be Posted on the Free Notification Area at my Local Supermarket


Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Dad Calls

One day, my dad calls me up, at work. This rarely happens.

"Son, are you alright?" he asks, very seriously.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I reply, mystified on why he'd be asking me this question.

"Are you really alright?" my father asks.

"Absolutely fine." I reply truthfully.

"Are you sure you are okay?" my father says, obviously not convinced.

"Yes. I am perfectly fine. Why are you asking me this over and over again?"

"Christopher - is there anything you want to tell me about?" says Dad, trying another tack.

"Tell you about what?"

"Has anything happened that you want to tell me about?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

"Are you SURE there's nothing you need to tell us about?"

"No. I'm fine. I have no idea what you are talking about. What is going on?"

My father says that my grandma was called by me, and that I told her I was in Jail, in Mexico. She wired about $600.00 to a Western-Union in San Diego, to bail me out.

"Are you SURE you are not in trouble?" asks Dad.

"Dad, I'm not in trouble. I am not/ was not in Mexican jail. I have no idea who did this."

We conclude the conversation. I call my grandmother, who is very upset, but is also happy I was never in Mexican jail.

"I answered the phone, and I heard a faint voice. It said 'Grandma!' and the first thing I though was you were in trouble. So I said 'Christopher?', and the voice said, 'Yes!'"

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Poem - let him go at dawn

i get with this because bob isn't around
he'd be saying "what do you mean?"
i miss him

bob worked 30 years
and he hated his job
and he retired immediately

then his life started
it is an amazing concept
but he waited that long

while he waited for his life
he'd walk the streets of san carlos
in the middle of the night

the cops got used to him
the solitary wanderer with a beard
who wouldn't show an ID

bob wore them down
even when they'd arrest him
let him go at dawn

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Poem - to jack

i'll read your letters
and then i'll write to you new letters
that hopefully won't be
as old dead letters can become

i'll read your signals
and return to them new signals
because i can't write to your eyes
or your mind 30 years after the fact

pretending to write to a receptive past body
is what you enjoyed doing and this joke
within a joke is seriously taken as funny
and at the same time heartbreaking

at first mind tries confidently to circle it
weigh and codify the narration but you
sly devil you knew mind could not solve in the end
but at least a reader tried to do it

you knew all of this and it keeps going
now the jest has a life of it's own
born out of play gambling that the spark struck
might keep and catch in the darkness

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Poem - two

two fragments:

everything was new
and then things got old
and old was funny

all of my possessions
i covered in gold
for a 24k lifestyle

two observations:

i hear a truck in the alley
grind bang grind bang
whhiip! grrrruuunnnn

and the fan on the floor
continued all along narrating


Written in Oak Park at
11:11 AM

Sunday, October 18, 2009


He wants revenge on the meal he ate.

He wants revenge on the meal he ate, because he didn't like it.

He wants revenge on the meal he ate, because he didn't like it, and because he did not realize he was unsatisfied with his meal until the day after.

This was the day he was walking down the sidewalk, and he heard a lovely part of an opera, out a second story window. He was taken by the music, his heart lifted unexpectedly then he turned and saw someone eating in a restaurant window.

They were eating what HE WANTED -- what he really wanted LAST NIGHT. When he couldn't MAKE UP his own MIND.


He manages to keep this internal. Back to the cold water flat, 5 flights up. He has a suspicious landlord who acts like the rent is never paid. Under a bare bulb, he finds a few novels and collections of poetry by authors who died poorer and led more miserable lives than he. But this is cold comfort.

Minutes later he cuts his lip on a broken glass he didn't notice was chipped, and can't help but laughing.

Poem - never to be seen/ again

dreaming of people who are

some of them dead others just

we go through a garden then to a

all the same stuff like we are

funny and bizarre to see two

a man who i know has been dead
15 years

making out with one of my girlfriends from

when i awake both of them lost never to be seen

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Poem - upside down a miniature/ frog

jack you'd be proud
of me

amazement pain & bloody

while look up there on
the ceiling

upside down a miniature

rides a bicycle and we know

for sure what has gone in &

has gone out all of it accounted

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Poem - but i can't complain

i was born a long time ago it seems
i worked like i was working on the railroad
all the live long day while people came & departed
i built out to many places and now i've been
working for the railroad drilling this dark tunnel
through the heart of a mountain of solid granite
said would end by now but it goes
on and on and on

but i can't complain

Friday, October 09, 2009

Poem - (no title)

i leave a message saying
i'd like to have the chance to start new again

when i hang up there is no starting over

just by me doing this leaving a message
confirms my cowardice

but now i can live with it because i will
not give up one thing

Buying a Watch

I spent five minutes, thirty-seven seconds buying a watch.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Another Goddamn Poem

i wrote something back in
1984 about a coated-
plastic lullaby

but i didn't finish the poem
and i'm reading it now
i wish i understood

me then

Poem - i love her (said by every guy here 1,000 times)

inform the bricks on that wall
i am tired and should go home

tell that waitress who is attractive
i love her (said by every guy here 1,000 times)

A Story About Death

Death smokes double-menthols. No filter.

Poem - did i really have anything/ to learn

did i really have anything
to learn

or just some things
to lose


Wednesday, September 30, 2009

She Said to Me

At the bar, she said to me, drunkenly, "If you think this is easy, try being the Eiffel Tower....ALL THE TIME!!!!"

Poem - why do they do this

why do they do this
they don't think why

pick up the guns
their rifles are not rifles

more like branches in the hope
to keep from drowning

they kill everyone around them
not to drown

Monday, September 28, 2009

One Upon a Time

(A work in progress. I needed to start it -- then edit it.)

Once upon a time, not long ago, there was a lonely western town, without a name. It was out in Arizona, in the desert. It was on the edge of a vast wasteland of endless sand, salt, and rocks. The sun shown down, hard and bright, most every day.

One evening, when the sun was going down, in the color blue, rode into town Cowboy Blue. The people of the town saw him coming in the evening. His hat was blue. His clothes were blue. His boots were blue. And his guns were blue. When Cowboy Blue stayed at the hotel of his liking, on the edge of town, it appeared blue.

People of the town wondered what might happen. They had all heard of Cowboy Blue, who rode in Blue.

Then one day, not much later, Cowboy Green rode into the town, in the color of green. People of the town saw him coming in the late afternoon. His hat was green. His clothes were green. His boots were green. His guns were green. When Cowboy Green stayed at the boardinghouse of Miss. McNabb, on the edge of town, it appeared green.

People of the town wondered what might happen. They had all heard of Cowboy Green, who rode in Green.

Then came Cowboy Red. He arrived in the town, after the dawn, riding in red. Like the other cowboys, his hat was red, his clothes were of red, his boots were red, and his guns were red. When he stayed with Ms. Mae in the Rising Sun, the place became all of the color red.

And everyone of the town wondered who would come next, and what might happen.

Then on noon, of the next day, rode in Cowboy White. He rode in the color of blinding white. His hat was white. His clothes were of white. His boots were of white. His rifle was of pure white. It was told that Cowboy White was the fastest gunslinger in the west, save possibly one other. When Cowboy White stayed at the best hotel in town, it became as white.

On midmorning of the next day, the cowboys met in the square, under the oldest tree, a cottonwood.

“What brings you here, my brothers?” asked Cowboy White.
“Seeking.” Said Cowboy Blue.
“Tracking.” Said Cowboy Green.
“Looking.” Said Cowboy Red.
“For whom?”
“You know.” They replied.
“For Cowboy Black.”
“Yes.” They replied.
“Sometimes he comes through these places at this time of year, when autumn begins to fall.”
“Indeed.” They replied.
“Sometimes it is best to stay put and wait, and see.”
“Very well.” Was the response.

Poem - oh look another surprise gift

i think it is enough
i have today and tomorrow

in the middle i have dreams
surprising dreams

revelations about the past
the present the future

i didn't expect it
to be this way

oh look another
surprise gift

masquerading as the
happening moment now


N. Lombard Street
Oak Park

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

That Wishing Well...

What one, i' faith?

That I wish well. 'Tis pity—

What's pity?

That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And show what we alone must think, which never
Return us thanks.

fall is here

fall is here
leaves turn red and yellow

startle & start to fall
without a sound

scattered bits of color
over the whole village

slight now later
full and deep

Friday, September 11, 2009

Poem - sometimes

i cannot have you
you cannot possess me
that was our mistake

i cannot make sense to you
you cannot get through to me
no one ever does all the way

time rolls on things come & go
friends enter then depart
each in their own way


i cannot help but stand by the door
think here is where they stood
there is where they left


it is irresistible to try to scan distances
knowing it will never be seen or detected
but they are out there somewhere

Poem - and so/ innocent and perfectly fine

cat on the evening of the day
you were killed by a car

first we grieved over you
then gave you back to the earth

what was left was a smooth mound
a small one with some flowers

the blossoms of course signifying
eternal hope and joy

then on the night of the day
in dreams i saw you

and so
innocent and perfectly fine


for "Bubbles"
Toughest Cat there Ever Was

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

Poem - be free with me

be free with me
let's go

off over the oceans
silly little boat

there is the fixed star
navigate the way

most people stay
and rather pray

Monday, August 31, 2009


He smokes and has all kinds of smoking related accidents. He accidentally burned his jeep down -- I'm not joking. The fire department filled the jeep with a foot of water, and the good news was it was still drivable after the fire. Just a bit melted in some places. He burns his fingers on the tips of cigarettes, he lights them on the wrong end -- one time we were sharing a cigar and he took it and put the lit end in his mouth. He realized that mistake at the very last microsecond and spit the cigar and ashes violently into the air. The still lit cigar landed on my hand. So my pal says, "What can I do? I'm constantly burning things, my clothes, me, you." I said, "Quit smoking." He said, "I don't think I can." So I said, "Then smoke more for the practice." Last week I heard he decided to quit smoking after he accidentally lit his bed on fire. But then later I heard he changed his mind.

Thursday, August 27, 2009


"Fuck! Fuck!!!"

Ernest Hemingway

"These shoes are awful. I just can't relax."

Louis Armstrong

"What the Hell?!?! Now what am I supposed to do?"

Babe Ruth

"I'm sick of this wallpaper."

F. Scott Fitzgerald

"A Japanese party. There wasn't a damn stick of furniture to even sit on."

Pablo Picasso

"I did the whole damn ceiling. Leo was a prick."

Leonardo da Vinci


"Four score and seven years ago..."

A. Lincoln
Gettysburg Address


G. Washington
Washington's Farewell Address


Wm. Shakespeare
M. Anthony, in Julius Caesar

"My only regret..."

N. Hale
Last Words

"To be..."

Wm. Shakespeare
Hamlet, in Hamlet

Ibid - Gone

"Now, I am going to say something...there I have said something."

(An Abbreviated Quote from Chung Tzu)


00.8 Before waking up, he heard her voice, quite clearly from 1975.
01.0 He sees birds in everything, glittering machinebirds twittering.
02.0 The wireless router is not plugged in.
03.0 He is actually an Indian, in a computer simulation. The computer simulation aims to recreate what Manhattan Island would look and feel like in 1609.
04.0 He has about 35 cents of Earth, Wind, and Fire.
05.0 He has a blue pen. There is a jet over there.
06.1 The jet is over there, now.
07.7 Ibid.
07.9 Gone.


Oak Park
N. Lombard Street

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Poem - he laughs

he laughs
can't remember what he dreamed

while dreaming
can't remember this life, either

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Poem - you can't hurt me

i face your anger
you can't hurt me
i'm here hurting myself

Poem - like a soldier on patrol

briskly we rise each day
and seldom do you see yourself
rarely do you realize you go about
your day like a soldier on patrol

Or as an Exquisite Violin

I dreamed there are no real things. Looking at a thing, you realize it is actually not one whole thing, but a collection of smaller appearing things. A collection of aggregates. Looking at the smaller things, each one, you will see in every case, any smaller things is a collection of things. In investigating, you will never arrive at any one thing. You will only find more aggregates. Ego decides you have a foot, this wall is solid, and we had lunch together yesterday. But if you really try to find foot, wall, or lunch yesterday, they are not there. Your mind says they are locatable, and this is nonsense, but they still are not there.


I dreamed, I heard a voice, quite clearly. It said a few things.

"There are some questions that have no answers."

"There are some answers that have no questions."

The voice repeated these lines a few times, without the slightest bit of concern, nor irony, sounding a bit like clear running water, or as an exquisite violin.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

both will try to trick you

let us sum up:

they are coming for you, and you can't get away.

the universe gives us what we want. just ask, and you get whatever you want.

the schedule is fixed. this is your own recruitment. you chose your own version of the morality play.

abide, or be confused. be mad at the swing-set. be satisfied, or say you were born unlucky. you can sit, or go forth.

hear the voice of god, play with the devil. both will try to trick you.

Chung Tzu and Falling Branch

Chung Tzu goes out of the apartment, and later comes back.

"I'd like you to meet a friend of mine." says Chung Tzu. "Here he is -- meet Falling Branch."

"Hello, Falling Branch." I say, and we shake hands. I notice he has on a nice brown sports coat, probably from the GAP.

"Nice to meet you." says Falling Branch.

"I wanted to ask you a question, if I may."

"Go ahead and ask."

"If a branch falls in the forest, and nobody is around, does it make a sound?"

"Only if I'm having a good time." says Falling Branch.

Chung Tzu & a Perfect Day

Suddenly, Chung Tzu comes in.

"Hello brother!" he exclaims. "What a perfect day! You look like you're at your wits' end! You remind me of a wasp who thinks it can't sting!"

I do the dishes. I wash the floors. I clean the bathroom, take out the recycling, the trash, and other junk.

"Feeling better?" asks Chung Tzu, after I am done with my work.

"Not really." I admit.

"HAH!" laughs Chung Tzu. "Don't worry -- this is the way things work: something or another thing will come along and change your mind!"

Poem - be everywhere

me in everything
you in everything

there's no getting out
but why do you try?

the way to go
is to go

travel lightly
with a smile

see heaven and earth
above and below

be everywhere

Monday, August 10, 2009

Poem - happy/ by a tree in the yard

where are the people i love
where are my thunderstorms
where is the mail
where is my nerf machinegun
where are those dreams last night
where are my eyeglasses
where are my snacks

i can only see the open window
by a phone
near some stamps

& a little kid playing alone
happy with an empty
by a tree in the yard

Poem - living here at the same time

hot & humid
hard to think
but it is cooling down

june said
if we were on vacation
we'd think this heat
would be exotic

now i'm focusing
on being on vacation
living here at the same time

Friday, August 07, 2009

Poem - hello/ i miss you

i miss you

it might rain today

oak park

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Poem - i'll go to hell

-- Dear Reader: This is a shitty poem -- but for some reason I'm keeping it.


if i broke your heart
i was meant to*

if your heart was not touched
then it is a stone**

i'll go to hell for the pain
i've caused***

no illusions about this i know
i'm going to hell****


* Written without bravado.

** A famous French philosopher termed it, "In this life, if your heart does not break, then it certainly must be turned into lead."

*** Karma. Debate the point all you want, if you do, it is your karma.

**** Hell is now.

Poem - even try to imagine

could be a journey home
not just for the lack of sleep or hangover

driving driving the land rolls out
rivers towns silos railroads flash by
the land rises up into blue mountains
meanwhile i sit here on my ass
and presume to even try to imagine
what it is like

Monday, August 03, 2009

Poem - i imagine you quite clearly

specks of water
then rain rain rain


i imagine you quite clearly
as it rains

Poem - let's have pizza

let's have pizza
and then make out

i'll notice you
taste like pepperoni

what part do i taste like?

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Poem - Separation

father off to the hospital
will stay overnight for observation

son 2,000 miles away
absolutely terrified his father
might die

messages left
mother sounding exhausted
on the answering machine

the phone rings
son picks it up expecting news

pre-recorded line wants to sell him
a vacation to mexico & the
adventure of a lifetime

Tuesday, July 28, 2009


Today, what a day. Before waking up, I dream I'm going to miss an important flight. I had time, but I wasted it, and now there's no way I'll make the connection. I rush through the streets of an alternate San Francisco, getting more lost as I go on. The irony in this, is, I have been lost in this same alternate city many times before -- in previous dreams of being late for something. So all the time I am getting increasingly lost, I know I am getting increasingly lost. Look, I've been lost here before! Up ahead, I'll be even more lost! I recognize this neighborhood -- the one I was completely turned around in, before!


In the waking world, the phone rings at 8 AM. I get up, and talk to a collection agent. When I hang up, I notice I am naked, and the whole street can see me.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Poem - later something else

they say i shouldn't care
but i'll always be compassionate
i have no choice
it is the way i am

they say i should be cold
calculating and realistic
husband my strength
but love cannot be exhausted

we have no choice but to go on
this is the way it is
but i resolve to make it
as well as i can do it

we have no choice but to go on
the moon last night
blue sky today
later something else

Monday's Obscure Sumerian Proverb, no. 3

"...meadow grass is the milk of a lettuce."

Proverbs: from Nibru
Ni 4166 (Alster 1997 pp. 293-294)
Segment C

A Fortune from the Oak Park Parking Stucture @ Lake & Harlem

At 10 AM I received and indication today, even a fortune, from the automatic parking ticket kiosk at the Oak Park Parking structure, on Lake Street at Harlem Avenue.

As the kiosk vended the ticket, it said, on the digital display:


Friday, July 24, 2009

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Poem - i changed because

i changed because
i was bored
in the churches
of thought

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Poem - if he feels like it

if you call him
leave a message
he won't answer
because bill collectors
are after him

if he feels like it
he'll give you a ring back

if he does not
please don't call again
and again and again
and again and

Poem - a wide pleasant garden

in my dream i try to apologize
but other people keep getting in the way
they interrupt me when i try to speak
distract you with what they want
endlessly demanding

in the dream we are in a nice place
a wide pleasant garden where the sun shines
see there is plenty of room to move about
i let go and soon you & your retinue are gone
the view remains


Somewhere in Oak Park
in the Midwest
July 2009

Monday, July 20, 2009

Monday's Obscure Sumerian Proverb, no. 2

" Says the man lying on the roof, to the man living in the house: "It is too bright up here!" "

Proverbs: Collection 4
Segment B

Poem - all is silence/ in the end

singing to the
silence we

in words
thoughts &

when we observe
the silence it is

unformed and free
uncountable as the

blowing through
going through

all is silence
in the end

Friday, July 17, 2009

Okay for an Adult

I get along with kids, and I especially like the challenge of teenagers. Teenagers, when being informal, will not give you an ounce of pity, especially if they sense you are weak. And every teenager will test an adult to see if the adult is weak, indecisive, and above all -- fake.

I met Ellie, a niece of a friend of mine, while I was on vacation. After talking to her for a short time, she smiled, and looked at me.

"I'm smarter than you." she said.

"Really?" I replied. "You know this after only talking to me for a little while."


"That's interesting. But I have a question for you: How does someone measure intelligence? There are many ways to do this...can you tell me which way is the right way?"

Ellie thinks about this.

"I don't like your face." she says.

"Why don't you like it?"

"It's OLD. You have wrinkles, crow's feet by your eyes."

There is a mirror nearby. I go up to it, and I take a good look. Ellie is right. I have TONS of wrinkles, and crow's feet by my eyes.

"You're right." I say. "I have some wrinkles, but most of them are actually scars. The scars of life."

Ellie laughs at this. Because I am not offended by her, she decides I'm okay, being an adult.

That Night

I was thinking about us fighting in Paris. On that night it rained, at about 2 AM, when I was outside by the balcony watching the silent streets. Soft night rain, me smoking a cigarette -- the smoke curling away caught the light of a distant street lamp. Then I heard someone who sounded young and a bit drunk, splashing down the Rue de Rivoli...going home or back to their hotel I hope. She was American, and sang walking fast, "...but not I...I will long as I know how to love, I know I'll be alive..."

I smiled in the dark, because whenever I think I'm alone on the street, I sing songs like that also.

Poem - these birds/ sing

these birds

dog barking

a car down
the street

Oak Park
July 17

Poem - Far

we swam out
the boy and i

is this too far
he asked

no i said
we're fine

so we swam
farther out

this must be
very far

the boy said
to me

yes it is
but we can swim

out a little more
a little more

see how it is

the boy saw
he could swim far

but still be safe
and he was happy

Thursday, July 16, 2009


He was really upset about one thing, and this made his life miserable. He was losing everything he owned, anyways -- he just didn't expect to start to lose, literally, everything else that was important to him. But when he sat down, he realized, when he was successful and had money and things, he was fat, bored, and stalled. Status and things never made him happy, no matter how hard he worked for them. When he was successful, he had no friends. When things were on track, he never did anything for himself. When life was what it should be, he sacrificed his life for the mundane enjoyment of others.

Now that he his truly losing nearly everything he loves, he has an odd sense of freedom. His teacher told him that whenever anything breaks, or if anything spills, this is a sign of tremendous good fortune. He sees that his whole life is in the process of breaking, and so he might be the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the whole world. Imagine that.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Poem - but many things go away and/ never return

i saw the moon last night
it was not a half moon

it is obvious to me
that it was actually broken
in two

i've been told time heals
all wounds no matter how bad
they hurt

i'll take solace in this and wait
but many things go away and
never return


Poem - like a machine

so here it is
a new moment i

want to say beautiful
but i can't be

positive or optimistic
due to my own

faults which are so
obvious and

glaring i can't believe
i managed to get into

this moment but
the universe is like

a machine & keeps
grinding along no

i do not feel sorry for myself
i only tremble in

wonder and awe as
the next moment unfolds

Monday, July 06, 2009

Robert S. McNamara

Robert S. McNamara is gone, at 93. He died in his warm bed. By his decisions, he ended up killing 53,000 American solders. And 3 million Vietnamese civilians. He knew the Vietnam conflict was not winnable by about 1967, but let it go on. He knew, also, that ultimately, Vietnam did not matter, in terms of the containment of Communism around the globe. What a guy.

Monday's Obscure Sumerian Proverb, no. 1

"A goat can be made to go down into water; in beer it becomes stuck."

Proverbs: Collection 4
Segment A
4.12 -- 17

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

When was the last time you helped....

We are required to help others, like we are required to help ourselves. Why?

Buddha, when he reached enlightenment, could have decided to not help all sentient beings, lost in delusion, lost in samsara. But Buddha decided to get involved, and help others directly, like he helped himself. He didn't say, "Every moment is pure, therefore nothing needs to be changed." and then smiled at the brutality of the world as merely a varied manifestation of the innate purity. No, he gave the rest of his life wandering and teaching anyone who would listen, the way to realize the end of suffering. He was engaged, guided by this ultimate realization of the nature of mind.

We need to follow Buddha's example in being engaged with the world -- tangled in other people's lives, helping to alleviate suffering. The moment is perfect, yes. But hiding out on a cushion, at a retreat center for years and years, is not being compassionate towards yourself, or others. Buddha was spat on, physically attacked, threatened in all manner of ways, but he didn't quit. He had no permanent home. He gave it all up, so the message of compassion and love could be spread.

But I don't care what religion, or faith you follow! I appear to practice Buddhism, but that is a distortion and a exaggeration. When was the last time you helped out a complete stranger?

Monday, June 29, 2009


3 days, no smoking. Quit, cold turkey. I think this is the only way to quit smoking. Especially if you've kicked the habit before, but like an idiot, took it up again. Why did I start smoking again? I was visiting San Jose, on business, and I thought I could have one or two cigarettes. I had not smoked in about 2-3 years. When I had that first puff, it was like I had never quit.

But later, smoking isn't so fun. I was coughing so hard in the morning, sometimes I'd get dry heaves, as my body tried to get the gunk out of my lungs. And it became expensive, at $8.75 a pack. You consider your mortality, too. Do I want to be dead by about the age of 52? For me, that will be 10 years from now. Do you want to slowly, gradually, suffocate to death, have to lug an oxygen canister around? No, I want to be around for a long time. For my kids, for me, for everybody.

I started smoking because it was a lazy, harmless thing to do. I was surrounded by smokers, we were all young, it didn't mean much (at the time) to smoke, or not to smoke. Nobody was seriously addicted to anything, we were high on life. Later, we were not so enthralled with life, but we had our addictions. This conversion is more common, and widespread, than you think.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Michael Jackson is Dead.

Michael Jackson is dead. He was 50 years old. For some reason, I am shocked by the news. I assumed Michael Jackson would always be around -- live to be 100, his face looking odder and odder with the never ending surgery. Robbed of a childhood -- but always, in his heart -- a boy who never grew up...he was an explosive mix of talent, time, and place. Fame and fortune was a God to him, and a Devil. Myself, I was never a huge fan of his, but in the 1980s you couldn't get away from him, Michael Jackson was everywhere...everywhere. How do you get to be that famous, that affluent, and not begin to crack? Go anywhere, do anything, whatever you want, people all saying "Yes" and holding the door open for you. And when did the nightmare begin? Or was it a nightmare, for Michael, all along?


I go out to Maywood, two towns down the road, to pay a bill. While I'm driving, I have parts of Michael Jackson songs, like a musical collage, playing in my brain -- it is a bit irritating. The fabulous dancing he did in the 1980s looks a bit silly, now. They way he'd grab his crotch while doing short pelvic thrusts, wearing one white glove, the white socks, fedora, all of it.

I can't get Michael Jackson out of my head, because millions of people are thinking about him, right now. He took us on a long, strange trip. He was emulated, admired, idolized, mocked, ridiculed -- he reached his zenith, we watched him spiral down, now he's gone.


When I get home, I read about Michael Jackson. Article after article. The whole world has something to say. One writer postulated Michael Jackson died of a broken heart, because Michael wanted to be loved so much, that it was impossible to satisfy this need to be loved.

Everybody gets their heart broken. It is guaranteed, just like death, that your heart will get completely broken. A rabbi said, to know how to love, and really love -- your heart has to be broken, first. Totally shattered. Then we figure out how to go on, and not give up on love, and hopefully we've learned to give a bit more, when it comes to love.

It could be that Michael Jackson died, because he didn't know how to give -- he could "give" being up on the stage, but when that part of his life ended, he couldn't figure out how to really connect with people.

But I don't think we'll ever know the whole story. I do know it is easy to get lost, it is easy to lose yourself -- and once you've lost yourself, it is hard to rediscover what that "You", was. Fame, fortune, and admirers only complicate things.

Take care, Michael, wherever you are.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Air Conditioner

Yesterday was bloody hot, and humid, making it hard to think clearly. I get an air conditioning unit, and I find out a few things, all of which are not surprising: 1. The air conditioning unit is heavy, and awkward to move. 2. The instructions are vague on just how far you have to position the unit out the window, which is scary, because when it is properly positioned, it feels like it will simply fall out the window. 3. The unit will fall out the window if the lower window sash is moved out of position -- this didn't happen to me, but I can't believe they designed a product like this...inherently ready to fall out your window. 4. I'm going to need at least 2 more air conditioning units for the rest of the flat. 5. When I get the other units, I'm going to have to move the first air conditioner into the office. 6. That move will be awkward and unpleasant. 7. Cool air feels nice.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

I Cannot Help But Watch & Admire

"All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds." -- Richard Brautigan

Today, I cannot help but watch & admire the fluffy clouds/ Richard Brautigans as they glide through the sky. I see one Richard Brautigan is clearly drunk, heading the wrong way, with its pants sagging and big hat askew, dreamily going against the procession. The other Richard Brautigans flow on, flow on. I imagine rain/ iDEATH will be falling later in the day, by 3 o'clock, most likely.

I Listened to the Band

I listened to the band. They had a decent turnout, even though it was raining. The band played this interesting mixture of country, blues, rock, integrated with 1970s guitar ballads. The lead guitarist made funny faces when he did his solos, but he could play that guitar, yes he could. Every woman in the joint was with her boyfriend or husband -- and the mix was all about 20 years older than myself. They'd all sort hold onto each other, casually, contentedly -- reminiscing about the days of old, I suppose. This fusion country, blues, rock, 1970s guitar ballad band was a mirror, through the sound and action, the audience swayed contentedly along, and cheered at the end of each song with appropriate gusto.

Poem - all night long in your head

it is not so much that
the beautiful girl does not
arrive, but the concept of
her arriving or not arriving
persisting* -- almost like a
horrible country-western
song played over and over
all night long in your head


* This is reminiscent of Vedic thinking, or proto-Hindu philosophizing, going back to the 8th century, BCE, minus the country-western analogy

Chung Tzu says "Now you're talking, brother!"

"I have to wash the dishes. I have too many dirty dishes, in the sink." I say this on a Saturday morning.

"Yeah? What else could you be doing?" asks Chung Tzu, his feet resting on the table.

"I could take a crap."

"Well, that is something to do." says Chung Tzu. He picks up the newspaper, and starts reading the obituaries.

"I should go outside and get a nice tan on my legs. So my legs look good for any special moment that might arise."

Chung Tzu throws down the paper and jumps up. "Now you're talking, brother! That's it!"


Later, when we are outside, in the backyard, getting tan, Chung Tzu and I look up.

"Wow! Look at that cloud!" yells Chung Tzu.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Me and Chung Tzu

"Sometimes, when someone asks me a question, I go MOOO, like a cow. Because I figure if mooing is good enough for a cow, it should be good enough for me."

"I see." says Chung Tzu.

"Other times, when someone wants to ask me a question, I go HONK, like a goose. Because if honking is good enough for geese, it should be good enough for me."

"Indeed." says Chung Tzu, dryly.

"But lately, when someone asks me a question, I've been being silent."

"Why so?"

"Because I'm not a cow, a goose, or even a person. There's nothing here to make noise."

Chung Tzu and I pause. We listen to the wind blow.

"Well, that's great...but why did you have to ruin it, by talking?"

you're not going to change...this isn't going to make you happy

you're not going to change
(read that line again)

this isn't going to make you happy
(read that line again)

but if you're willing to look
with authenticity
at how you think and
how you behave
then there is the possibility
that you may choose
to think and act
in a completely different

that's all there is

to do it or not do it
be aware or not

clarity is within you
like it is within me
it can't be given
or taken away
you always had it

have the courage
and the persistence
to take a good look &
keep on looking
until there's nothing
really, to look


I'm listening

Chung Tzu says "HA!"

Whenever there are big changes in my life, it rains. Especially if I have to move, or do anything important. And when it rains, on these key occasions, it really rains. A full, hard, constant downpour -- with no letting up, or end in sight.

Today, is one of those days. Nothing can be done about it. I get ready to go out and conduct my business. It begins to rain even harder.

"I suppose if I imagine the raindrops falling through me, I won't get wet." I say.

"HA!!!" says Chung Tzu.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

(no title)

not seeing you
is real

a dark day of rain

typing this

why take a position
on it?

real is

that is all
it is

what more do
you expect?




you don't


Things I Found Out Today

-- Donkeys kill more people annually, than plane crashes.

-- Vincent Van Gogh sold 1 painting, in his lifetime.

-- Charlie Chaplin won third prize in a Charlie Chaplin look-a-like contest.

-- There is a 1 in 4 chance New York will have a white Christmas.

-- China has more English speakers, than the United States.

-- You share your birthday with at least 9 million people around the World.

-- Two-thirds of the World's eggplant, is grown in New Jersey.

Headline Asks

Headline asks,
"Who is Flying Your Plane?"

I think,
"A Pilot?"

Chicago Tribune
Wednesday, June 10, 2009


Zen Koans:

"Who is Flying Your Plane?"

"What is the Sound of One Hand Clapping?"

Monday, June 08, 2009


The oven is off. The chicken pot pies are cooling on the stove. Daniel is ready to go to sleep after a bath. He is full.

It is almost dark, the outward world is blue, and it starts to rain. Most of the windows are open, to let the sound and the breeze in.

Stray bird calls. A car goes up the street. Pause. I straighten my shoulders, it is a reflex.

horrible curse/ great blessing

this stands up
here falls down


horrible curse
great blessing

Sunday, June 07, 2009

The Rooster Song

Here is a stupid song we used to sing at Camp St. Michael, up in Mendocino County, California -- near Leggett. I was a counselor there for many years as a youth, for 6 weeks out of every summer, from my teens to my mid 20s.

The Rooster Song

We had some hens, no eggs would they lay,
We had some hens, no eggs would they lay.
My spouse said, "Honey, this isn't funny.
We're loosing money."

But one day a rooster came into our yard,
He caught those hens, right off of their guard.
They're laying eggs now, more than you can see,
Ever since that rooster came into our yard.

We had a cow, no milk would she give, [Repeat.]
My spouse said, "Honey, this isn't funny.
We're loosing money."

But one day that rooster came into our yard,
He caught the milk cow, right off of her guard.
She giving eggnog, more than you can see,
Ever since that rooster came into our yard.

We had a gum tree, that had no gum, [Repeat.]
My spouse said, "Honey, this isn't funny.
We're loosing money."

But one day that rooster came into our yard,
He caught that gum tree, right off of her guard.
She giving CHICLETS, more than you can see,
Ever since that rooster came into our yard!

our relationship/ in retrospect

our relationship
in retrospect

was sorta like
building a boat

sailing ourselves
to Hell Island

we almost
got there

but the ship
couldn't take it

today it is raining/ i have not seen you in a week

for daniel

the last time i was at the house
probably the final time
i watched you sleep in your crib
with those blankets that have trucks on them
you were laying on your side
one arm crossed over the other
the freer hand, you twitched your fingers
dreaming about racing cars and
scrolling the computer mouse
(i could tell what you were dreaming about
i know you that well)
you had a beautiful dream smile
it was sweet to see and it lasted
a long time

i left
you kept dreaming
i imagine there were more smiles

today it is raining
i have not seen you in a week

Thursday, June 04, 2009


love is a factory
i dwell on this point

love is a machine
if you're lucky it keeps on ticking

love doesn't mean anything

love isn't a bomb or a baby
or a moon or a sun

written with optimism
oak park, il

you can't get away from it

you are not you
i am not me

struggle or be
strive or rest

you can't get away
from it

isn't even there
never was

many people
try to escape

the invisible prison
of the mind

Tuesday, June 02, 2009


you are horrible to me
but you look absolutely fucking

which is the way it turns out

out all night dancing

out all night dancing
i come by to drop the kids off
by 2 pm the next day but baby, you're broken
sleeping until 5
while you dream i look in the
living room, the empty fireplace
scattered with dozens of half
smoked cigarettes
stereo in the background played
simon & garfunkel at about 4 am
after you staggered in

Thursday, May 28, 2009


cant write anything
cant be with you
just a moment of weakness
not supposing anything

cant sleep
long night
bad dreams
bad dreams

how pathetic

Friday, May 22, 2009

The Bar is in a Good Place

The bar is in a good place, on a quiet cobblestone street where there isn't much traffic and a funeral home across the street. There's also a hotel overhead, in the same building. You'd be surprised how many people attend a funeral, and then walk slowly to the bar to get drunk. The funeral home is definitely great for business, there's no shortage of stiffs out there, or people about to become a corpse. And the hotel also helps, of course, lots of traveling salespeople come down in their shirtsleeves and they trade business war stories and future plans. The business war stories and future plans all sound the same, all over the country, in every pub attached to a hotel next to a funeral home. Sometimes I almost interject, and tell the talkers this, but I hold back. Meanwhile, the mourners circulate between various tables where folks are dressed in somber colors, the tables loaded with baskets of popcorn, beers, and deep fried fish. They're laughing, or smiling, eventually, getting into high spirits all the while there's a body they know, a few hundred feet away, in a box.

Poor Phil's
Oak Park, IL

He Loves You So Much

He loves you so much, he orders another drink as the bar cheers the basketball game.

Another girl hangs on his every word, one seat over.

Am I running out of paper? Good! Most lines are deadly excuses.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

At the Bar

At the bar, I remember you from your glasses that remind me of how dissatisfied García López de Cárdenas was when he was bamboozled by Hopi Indian guides who tried to kill him and his expedition by taking them overland in search of the fabled Seven Cities of Gold, but instead they found the Grand Canyon.

~ or ~

At the bar, I remember, you, from your glasses, that remind me, of how dissatisfied García López de Cárdenas, was, when he was bamboozled, by, Hopi Indian guides, who tried, to kill him, and his expedition, by taking them, overland, in search, of, the fabled Seven Cities, of Gold, but instead, they found, the Grand Canyon.

Walking Around

Kicked out of the house, I walk around as if in a dream. I feel like a sleepwalker. Nothing seems real. Then, like a far away radio transmission, I can hear two voices talking.

"One raindrop is worth 50,000 chairs. Red chairs, to be exact."

"Really? I didn't know a raindrop was that valuable, red chairs or not. How do you know this?"

"Oh -- it's been tested. We don't need to go on about that."

The transmission fades out a bit, as I walk slowly past a upstanding looking two story house with wide tan shingles on it. The house has a faded American flag on a faded American flag pole, by the front door.

"How much would a drop of rain go for in Geese?"

"About 24 Geese to a raindrop."

"Wow. I had no idea that Geese were so expensive!"

"Well, you know, the Geese to raindrop ratio has skyrocketed on the exchange. It can't be helped."

I pass a park, and under the trees some kids are throwing a ball, but I can't figure out what the game is. It doesn't look like any kind of game - just repetitive throwing of the ball back and forth, with a considerable amount of laughter for no apparent reason. It reminds me the time I was living in the Mission District, and I watched this kid play with an old shoe by throwing the shoe straight up in the air, and watching it fall.

"How many battleships to a raindrop?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know."

"Why not?"

"You really don't trade battleships for raindrops. It simply isn't done!"

I wait for a long time to try and cross the street. I wait and I wait, I get sweaty just standing there in the sun, listening to the cars, seeing when it might be safe to cross. For awhile, it seems this time will never arrive -- I'll always be on the wrong side of the street, never ever be able to make it back to my apartment, a block and a half away, on the left.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Less Words

I think every serious writer gets to the point, where they start using fewer words. I mean, when you start writing, you try out all kinds of wonderful words, in all kinds of wonderful combinations, like a kid on a swing set. You play in the playground of words. Then if you write enough, you realize that you don't have to use so many words...I mean, you can, but what's the point? Sometimes, not describing is fortunate -- being overly precise is a bummer for the reader.

Writing itself is amazing! I create out of literally no substance, from these symbols, a thread that is followed, leading to who-knows-where? I may aim to create one thing, out of nothing, but it changes for the reader. Amazing! Why add more words, beyond getting the engine of imagination & possibility running?

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The Speakers Hum

The speakers hum, they have nothing to play, no music, so they hum quietly. You almost can't hear them. I read Richard Brautigan, work a bit, let the speakers hum. I wish I was enjoying reading more, the stories are good. But I'm kinda tired of all this shit.

The day is fine, all the trees and bushes are bursting with new green leaves. The sunshine is amazing, air so soft you want to cry. Even a car or two on the road, passing, sound like the music of the spheres. We've arrived at a point in time where nothing can be ugly, every trivial thing has the potential to be beguiling. And so everything is, but I'm bored.

I think the speakers humming symbolize a deep subconscious psychological truth. But as to what it is, I don't wanna know. I should unplug the fucking speakers, but I don't.

The Factory of Love

They have a Factory of Love there, the family that lives downstairs, and I suppose that is one effective way of doing it. Things run like clockwork, down to the minute. Cheeks kissed, meals made, naps taken -- outings into the yard, the park, the playground, the zoo. Once a week off to the Supermarket, then to the second hand store. Mom and Dad's happiness is a bit weary, but genuine, I never hear them quarrel. Running and jumping the length of the flat commences promptly at 6.30 AM, with some laughing, yelling, and crying. The kids beat each other up the right amount in their naive bright-eyed way. Engines in the mind turn -- things start up, settle down, and start up again like shifts coming and going...night comes, and the Factory of Love is glowing. It all winds down by about 7.30 PM when the kids are in bed and Mom and Dad watch a bit of TV in the living room with the shades drawn. Tomorrow is another day.

Monday, May 18, 2009

News - Opium 8 .print is Out!

Today is quite the day for news! I'm happy to report Opium 8 .print is out. I'm even happier to report it has some of my cartoons in it. Here are some reviews, over at Word Riot. Steven Heller mentions Opium 8 in his blog. More about Steven Heller, here. Everybody seems to be liking it, probably the most mind-blowing, enjoyable Opium so far -- and the earlier ones were damn fine. It just keeps getting better, and better. Go get a copy, today!

News - CM Evans Poems & Illustrations in Beatitude (1959 - 2009) Golden Anniversary issue

Latif Harris and Neeli Cherkovski have co-edited the Golden Anniversary Edition of Beatitude Magazine. This magazine has appeared on and off again in San Francisco since 1959, when Bob Kaufman, Allen Ginsberg, John Kelley, and William Margolis founded it, and the publication helped launch the careers of many aspiring poets.

The latest issue, running about 500 pages, includes poems from the Beat's and from newer sources -- even some of my poetry and a few of my drawings, I am told. Originally they wanted to go to press in January 2008, but there was some delays, so now it is supposed to go to press soon. It may be published through, or with the assistance, of City Lights Books.

I've got my fingers crossed that we get to have at least one run. I'd feel chipper to see my work with some of those towering Beat poets and writers -- you know, with my stuff smaller and off to the side. We'll see.

i clean up messes

i clean up messes
i can't help myself

if it is really fucking gross
i have to do something about it

even if it is moderately messy
i have to tuck the corners in

and ironically i am not a "neat freak"
my own apartment is a mess

but it is my mess while i
clean up for others

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Plumbing Menace

I'm the kind of person, when I have a plumbing problem, it usually is a serious one involving lots of water. My first disaster was when I was just out of college, at my parents house. One Saturday morning I get up, and take a shower. When I go to turn off the hot water, I notice when the valve is almost closed, it gives a bit -- the nob feels spongy. So to make extra sure the hot water is off, I twist it so it will be tight. When I do this, the hot water nob gives away and comes out of the wall. Suddenly a torrent of hot water is firing out, drenching the room. I yell and run naked out of the bathroom, down the hall, into the living room. "WATER!!" I scream, and my dad leaps out of the armchair where he was quietly reading, newspapers going in all directions. That is one image that will be with me the rest of my life, how he pelted from the chair as if the cushions were spring loaded. He runs over his sports page and out the front door to the water valve and shuts the water off. Turns out my mom and dad knew the hot water valve was "giving" a bit, but they didn't think it was a big deal. Then I came along.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

4 AM

I woke up at 4 AM , and I was trying to rectify Christianity (and other "major" wold religions) with Buddhism. I do this from time to time, it is my hobby. I was reading some far out mystical Christian thinking from the 2nd century B.C., when I realized that I do not need to qualify anything, against any system of spirituality. There is no contrasting -- all mystical, spiritual thought -- if authentic, is driving to the same place. To try and align them, relative to one another, is stupidity.

In fact, I think it deludes us, this discursive investigating...this faith VS this one. You have found your "vantage" point...but in actuality, you have marooned yourself on an island. From your isolation, you think -- how does this relate from other? How is A from P, different? How can these systems be seen as the same?

Systems don't need to mingle. They're all the same, in the deep core. They all ultimately reflect the endlessly giving, inexhaustible fecundity of the Universe. All authentic traditions speak to the intrinsic blissful limitlessness of externally appearing phenominon. You don't need to try and create a pie-chart or a waterfall diagram, in fact, this only makes things more confusing. Give up on labels, and wrestling with them.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Try Going For

Try going for _________ when you're done asking for help from the outside.

A. Taoism
B. Zen
C. Baseball
D. Buddhism
E. __________________
F. All of the Above
G. Not Insisting on Anything

Sewage Minutia

Rain, and a 6 foot long, 5 foot deep trench with 6 feet of new 6 inch sewer line. The 80 year old clay 6 inch pipes were crushed or inundated by roots -- almost completely obstructed. More rain. The Village of Oak Park says they'll inspect on Monday, so the trench has to stay open, with some plywood on top. For some reason, the excavator has to stay here too, on the lawn. On the other side of the lawn, a mound of earth 5 foot high, glistening in the rain. The neighbors next door had to replace their whole sewer line -- about 15 feet, going down, by the foundation of the house more than 10 feet -- I don't know, cost them $10,000.00, probably more. Getting this fixed for 3,800.00 is quite a nice deal -- the original clay pipes are good out of the house to about 15 feet. Routing the mess originally, the plumber found rags, wire, wood, roots, hair, sanitary napkins, mud, and all kinds of dense built-up filth. What about wire? The plumber laughed. Probably a string of fake pearls, lost a long time ago.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Here One Day, Gone the Next

There was a big tree -- it was to one side of the front of my house, growing in the grass median the Village of Oak Park owns. At about 1.15 PM a tree trimming truck and a chipped rolls up, and without ado, the crew cuts the tree down in about 25 minutes. Here one day, gone the next.

But What About You?

You want to insult me, so you say I'm from "white trash". I was sired from a family of "hillbillies". La! Couldn't be further from the truth. I'm from a white, middle-class, northern Californian city. I have a fairly liberal education, in the humanities. My mother's side of the family is German, Bavarians who immigrated to St. Louis. My father's side of the family are Welsh, coming from Wales, to Ireland, and then to Canada. With this in mind, you could say I'm a "no-good sheep shagger" -- that is the typical cliche insult to the Welsh ancestry. With the Bravarian -- you could call me a "Kraut" or even a "Papist".

Recent history, most of my mother's family worked for Anheuser Bush. So you could look down your nose at "blue collar workers". Most of my father's relatives were farmers, housepainters, and innkeepers. But it would be a stretch to call me a "hick" -- nobody on father's side of the family has farmed in about 100 years. My father's father actually got an engineering degree from Cornell University. I imagine you could say nasty things about being from people who lived in Pittsburgh, or Indiana. You could try to mock me as coming from people who lived in the Midwest.

But what about you? I think you're so close to being a bigot and a racist, an unapologetic bigot and racist -- it is exteremly ironic with your own family background, and the bigotry and racism they had to put up with. You should be ashamed of yourself. I've heard your comments on Mexicans, Poles, and Chinese people. I didn't take them seriously, how could someone like you actually be a bigot and a racist? The rest of your family never talks this way.

I guess if you're angry enough at someone, making racist statements and bigoted comments is acceptable -- for you.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

he "broadened" his mind

he "broadened" his mind
and ego lived there
like a southern planter
with many slaves

it rains

it rains

i see one
little bird
in the sky

going up
going down

reminds me of
surfing and it
looks fun

Oak Park

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Thinking About Alice in the Sun

You're home. It's amazing you're home. It's also amazing that you don't feel safe. It certainly is funny, that feeling of not being quite safe. You felt safer when everybody around you had rifles, pistols, grenades, and mounted .50 caliber machine guns. You felt safe, because everyone thought the same way, and could react quickly if there was an attack. And there were places to dive into if a round fell close. Things were so fucking absolutely fucking fucking crazy, it all started to make fucking sense. And then, one day, you were home. Sitting quietly on the edge of the bed. Hello, new ugly me.

When you go out, you feel better with that small pistol in your right hand pocket. It is a stupid little pistol, not much for defense, but it takes the edge off -- you don't feel absolutely naked. You have a handy dandy knife too, hidden, but ready to rock. But you're home, and nobody thinks to bother you much. You know you bother yourself. Your mother will never know you almost killed her the other morning, when she was doing the laundry, and accidentally bumped the door. It wasn't you mother then, it was the last roadside ambush you were in, but you caught yourself. You closed your eyes, ready for that first huge motherfucking "THUNK" when the roadside bomb was triggered. Rather than putting a knife into mommy, you silently butcher half of your mattress. Not that bad, the fucking thing is old & you flip it over and nobody knows about the big ragged holes you made.

You go see Alice, she still looks like a cheerleader for all those years back, when you were kids. Alice makes iced tea in the afternoon and talks about things and you listen, and for some reason her words are very soothing. Alice knows what to talk about, and what not to ask you about. She understands, she's traced the star shaped scars on your upper arm, chest, and neck. When Alice did that, you braced yourself, you wanted to cry, but you didn't turn away and you didn't stop her. You and Alice go down to the park, look at the water, see a kiddie flick with all the mommys and babies excited to be in the dark watching a big glowing screen full of sounds and colors. Alice lightly holds your hand, her fingers caressing the pads of your fingers. You find yourself feeling normal, thinking only about how Alice looks in the sun. Tall, blond, beautiful.

In the movie, despite everything, you realize it all might turn out okay in the end.

Monday, May 11, 2009

let's be brutally honest/ for once

let's be brutally honest
for once

you didn't try that hard
you never did

you relied on me
for the cutting

the pushing loading

all the heavy lifting
and pointless tasks

take this do that
go here go there

you got used to me
and soon you wanted more

more and more and more
and more and more

and more and more and
even that wasn't enough

more lifting more tasks
all of it never enough

ultimately unsatisfying
offensive to you

the things we do
the games we play

buried in self hatred
and denial

we lost you

we lost you
asked you to do things
we wouldn't do ourselves
killing people
blowing things up

we lost you
i see it in your face
still so young but used up
wrung out
expended for whatever

we lost you
we can't get you back
sent you far far away and forgot
what it takes
if you ever came home

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Thank You

"I'm getting into the habit of saying "Thank you" to everything that happens to me."

"Thank you!" says Chung Tzu.


Potshot Sez:

Lucky dog!
Old shoe!
Pile of shit!
Cold water!

The Family Below Me

It is strange to live alone, in a flat, over a relatively normal family. I can hear them. The kids start running around after 6.30 AM, every day. The boy, older, is the fastest -- his sister tries to keep up, but he's always faster. I hear them bumping up and down, up and down. Laughter, some crying. More laughter.

It might be that way all their lives, who knows? The mom and the dad laugh, someone strums a guitar in the living room on Saturday mornings. I've never heard dishes breaking, violent words screamed at the top of someone's lungs. Never felt the house shake when two bodies are locked in combat -- no pushing, shoving, threats.

I know things aren't perfect, the littlest one has a rough night every week. The boy walks around the yard smiling brightly, but his fists are tightly clenched if you touch any of his secondhand toys. The toys are his. His little sister mimics his territorial urge. But she can't do it convincingly, she's still too small, too young. It makes her confused.

Oh functioning, loving family. How will you change? What will happen next? Jobs lost, jobs got, promotions, school projects, some arguments, a sprinkle of girlfriends and later boyfriends that will shoot through, abide, then most will be gone. On to the next thing, then the next thing, college, leaving home. Starting your own relatively normal, loving families. In one or the other, there might be a guitar that is strummed on a Saturday morning, singing like you always did.

traveling alone/ west

the face
it smiled

the pen
it wrote

the food
was eaten




the pen
kept writing


the face
stopped smiling


hotel rooms

long nights





traveling alone

Friday, May 08, 2009

Try Being Angry

"What are you doing?" asks Chung Tzu.

"I'm being happy." I say, angry.

"Oh well. Try being angry, then."

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Welcome to Odd Day!

So what is the date today? 5/7/09. Whats so odd about that? Well, the interesting thing about 5/7/09, is that every number in today's date is an odd one. This combination of all odd numbers in a given date happens only 6 times, any century. Ron Gordon explains it all, in a funny way. He really likes these Odd Days.

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

The Good, the New....

"The good, the new, comes from exactly that quarter whence it is not looked for, and is always something different from what is expected. Everything new is received with contempt, for it begins in obscurity. It becomes a power unobserved."

-- Feuerbach

compiled by Maturin M. Ballou

Monday, May 04, 2009

Unknown Bear Story

One of the best bear stories I've ever heard was told by -- I think a co-worker? Gosh, this bothers me...who told it?

Anyways, when she was in her early 20s, she'd go camping from time to time, to get away from the routine, and have fun. On one trip, amongst her friends were two guys who were bothering her a bit, so when it came time to go to sleep, she took her sleeping bag away from the fire, a good ways, so they wouldn't bother her.

In the middle of the night, she woke up for some reason. And then she realized WHY SHE HAD BECOME AWAKE. There was a huge grizzly bear standing over her, in the almost pitch blackness.

"I would have run, I would have screamed," she said. "But for some reason, I was completely paralyzed. I was so scared, I couldn't even breath."

And what did the bear do?

He sniffed her, from her feet to her hair -- she could feel the bear's breath through the sleeping bag, because the bear was poking his snout into the fabric -- going SNUF SNUF SNUUUF SNUUUF SNUF SNUF!!! SNUF SNUF SNUUUF SNUUFFF!

Then the bear left.

The next morning, she never went camping again.


No! Now I remember -- it was a dear friend of mine from Pema Osel Ling. Here's to you, N.

Just to Have Someone Around, Other than Me

A large fly gets into the flat, black, buzzing. It goes all over the place, trying to get out.

I live with the fly for 24 hours, watching it wander around, banging into windows and drapes, landing on things. As it searches for a way out, I work, I type, I do laundry.

I'm interested in the fly, and annoyed that it is in the apartment. At about 11 PM, we're both tired, so I turn off the lights. The fly sleeps. I sleep.

Next day, the fly wakes up at about 6 AM and starts aimlessly trying to get out of the flat. After a few hours, it sits next to me. I pity the fly, I capture it and let it go.

Going back up the stairs, with a plastic cup in one hand, towel in the other, I think: I'm so lonely, I kept a fly in my place for an afternoon, night, and morning. Just to have someone around, other than me.

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Fatherly Advice

(all of this
pushing you away)

but what can i do
for fatherly advice

i go to my best friend's

i need you
but you won't show up

pushing pushing
who is pushing who away

i did this but
you encouraged me

(a non-valid excuse
i know

but screw you)

Friday, May 01, 2009

Prove to Me You Are CRAZY

Prove to me you are CRAZY. That is, actually start a debate with me, that torture is ever acceptable. And please, don't start with the threadbare "ticking time-bomb" cliche. And don't tell me about TV shows where torture works, like 24.

If you are pro-torture, then:

- It is OK to wrap a towel around someone's neck, and repeatedly slam them against a cement wall. Better to put up plywood, so you don't kill them.

- It is OK to strap a person to a board and near-drown someone, 6 times a day, for a month straight.

- It is certainly OK to say you will kill a person's whole family, or torture them, including small children, if you don't get the information you want.

And the sad thing is, the methods described above were used by countries like China and North Korea, to elicit FALSE confessions, for propaganda purposes. And for revenge.

Make no mistake about this! To torture, or not to torture -- here is a place where there is no moral or ethical ambiguity on the subject. You are either against it, or for it.

If you are for it, then I am sure you wait with great anticipation for torture to come to a police station, or prison, near you, very soon. And if pro, probably you fantasize that you will be one of the torturers.

Saving the world, one broken body after another! I pity you.

Chung Tzu - A Harmless Little Error!

Chung Tzu is here.

"How are you, brother?" he asks me.

"Angry. Scared. Frustrated."

"How so?"

"I don't know what will happen next. I'm afraid of losing everything, but I know I will, anyways."

"Well, that's not a bad thing." says Chung Tzu.

"How so?" I ask.

"There's no way of knowing what will happen next...and everything is already lost, because it was never to be found!"

"And the feeling of holding onto anything?"

Chung Tzu pats me gently on the shoulder. "Brother, it is not to be done. Not to be done. A harmless little error!"

Lao Tzu Says:

Now listen to me son!
Chung Tzu is giving you
some good advice!
With your feet on the ground
when the wind blows
you can bend, or go here,
or there, or anywhere!

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Swine Flu?

Ah. Swine Flu. Hmmmm.

In any year, in the United States, more than 100,000 people are hospitalized with flu. And so each year more than 20,000 people, in the USA, die from the flu, or complications related to it. And we are not freaked out about that. Simply a way of life --- each year 35 to 50 million Americans get the flu.

But then, about 500,000 Americans die each year, because they wouldn't quit smoking. But you don't see a total ban on cigarettes.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Road Trip to Detroit i.


We took a trip to Detroit. I'm surprised I have not written about it. Erik was in Chicago town, and his ancestors lived in north east Indiana, in corn country. The homestead was approximately halfway on the road between Chicago and Detroit. We left in the morning, on a day that turned out to be the first warm spring day of the season. The road was easy, the road was opening before us, we drove it.

After getting into Indiana, we hit the country lanes and finally found the little town where 5 generations of Cummins' had been raised. The house was right on the single main street, unmistakable, though our photograph of it had been taken 80 years ago. I looked around me, while Erik took a few pictures. The main street in the town was about three blocks long, and it was part of the road. A few dogs wandered around, on and off the street while two kids on bycycles zigzagged up and down with not much to do.

The kids and dogs dissapeared, and it was quiet. There was a couple down the street, talking to a man in a t-shirt without sleeves. They were looking at a beat up Toyota, looking to buy a reliable car. As I watched them & smoked a cigarette, Erik asked a white-haired lady where the old Lutheran burying ground might be. She was somehow befuddled, or extremely stupid. Sometimes the elderly think you only ask them questions, when you aim to rob them. She ended up giving us vague directions to a small modern cemetary that was outside of the farmtown. Uncharitably, we cursed the old woman for wasting our time.

The useless, modern cemetary, was at the end of a long gravel road, wonderfully isolated. You could sit there, it was on a little hill, and you could see over the stubble to a long strand of trees that would soon be bursting with green. The wind came up, fluttering a few momentos stuck by the graves, and then would die away. Here was a freshly covered person, you could tell by the dark flat square of earth where no grass had grown. We debated if we should really head for Detroit.

It was only about 160 miles away, and it was not quite 2 o'clock. Let's go!

Chung Tzu's Happy

"Hello, bother!" says Chung Tzu, as he comes in. "How are you today?"

"Sad and Happy, all at the same time." I reply.


"So what could someone do about that?"

"Well, I'd say let Sad and Happy mingle together."

"Tell me, why?"

"Usually in a bit, all that is left, is Happy. Happy is the only Real Thing!"

Saturday, April 25, 2009

i came in/ i was alone

i came in
i was alone
just like you

we can
be friends
'cause of this

the moon came up

the moon came up
oh heartbreak my life

i cried because i saw the moon
the moon kept going

if you're not angry/ you can go anywhere

if you're not angry
you can go anywhere

truly not angry
then everyone will
welcome you

they'll be wanting
to meet someone
like this

some poeple waiting
all their lives

Leaving Soon

More rain, Lao Tzu comes in. I was a bit distracted, but here he is, I wanted to see him so.

"I am leaving soon, will you miss me much?" I ask, with great respect.

"I am everywhere." says Lao Tzu.

He smiles so gently at me, I know -- I know! But still, my heart could almost break!


Chung Tzu says:

Oh, no kid!
Don't you worry!
You've made some
good freinds here,
there, everywhere!

Friday, April 24, 2009

The Storm

Thunder and lightening last night, about 2 AM.




I could see the flashes of lightening through my eyelids. I listened to the storm, half awake & dreaming, for about an hour.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Danny the Celt

Danny gets a blue marker and draws all over himself, ending up looking like a Celt from the 3rd century. He has fine, long blue lines all over his body. All we gotta do is put white ashes in his hair, like some kind of Mohawk, and he'll be perfect.

Poem - For Sabine

come on in kid
and stay awhile
we've been
waiting for you

everything is ready
we'll have a good time
you wanted to be here
& we wanted you

we'll make you feel
at home

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

New Band -- Braxton Hicks

I'm starting a new heavy metal band -- it will be called Braxton Hicks. The first album is already well planned out, it will be called "HEAVY LABOR". Included in the first album will be songs like, "Break the Water", "Time to Go", "Contractions", "Delivery Unit", "Effacement", "Bearing Down", "Scream if Ya Want To", and "Serious Drugs, Man". I think a certain demographic will identify with our thundering, ripping beats. The second album may be called "Awake All Night". Or, "I Can't Get No Sleep". In the second album, there will be songs like "Vampire Child", "Vomit" and "Beast Feeder". Again, certain demographics will positively know what I'm talking about. Rock on!

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Poem - after the rain

after the rain
birds know what to do
juicy worms!

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Poem - new me

new me
coming through
the door of
body and mind

very strong
can't be

this new
arrival how
can I

tell my
about you?

they'll like
you just as

as they

Poem - i had a dream it snowed again

i had a dream it snowed again
about 2 inches overnight

in the morning i was so surprised
to see a glittering carpet of white

i woke up and looked outside
there was no snow in sight

i realized through
here was perfect snow

unrequested in the mind
all in the mind

Thursday, April 16, 2009


the ego visits
but does not remain

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Chung Tzu Reads the Sport's Page

Chung Tzu is reading the sport's page.

"I'm a big fan of spontaneity." I say.

"Well, that isn't surprising." he replies.

Potshot Sez:

Shhhhhh! Be quite!
Listen to the wind.

Now go into the other room
and take off your left sock.

Put ice cubes in it
and watch how the water drips!