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

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.

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.

Confession

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

i.

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


ii.

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
swaying
dried grass

------

Dec 3
Oak Park

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.

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

and

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

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.

Flashback

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.

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

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

home
car
store
(poem)
cart
aisles
food
checkout
bags
(poem)
car
bags
home

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!'"

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

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

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
whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

----------

Written in Oak Park at
11:11 AM

Revenge

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.

REVENGE!! REVENGE!!! REVENGE!!!

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
gone

some of them dead others just
missing

we go through a garden then to a
bar

all the same stuff like we are
awake

funny and bizarre to see two
people

a man who i know has been dead
15 years

making out with one of my girlfriends from
college

when i awake both of them lost never to be seen
again

Poem - upside down a miniature/ frog

jack you'd be proud
of me

amazement pain & bloody
hemorrhoids

while look up there on
the ceiling

upside down a miniature
frog

rides a bicycle and we know
then

for sure what has gone in &
what

has gone out all of it accounted
for

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

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
again

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.

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

-----------

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

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

That Wishing Well...

PAROLLES
What one, i' faith?

HELENA
That I wish well. 'Tis pity—

PAROLLES
What's pity?

HELENA
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

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

sometimes

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

sometimes

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
09/10/09

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

Accidents

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.

QUOTATIONS FROM FAMOUS PEOPLE THROUGHOUT HISTORY COMPLAINING ABOUT THINGS FROM TIME TO TIME

"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

SOME RANDOM FAMOUS QUOTES SHORTENED TO MAKE THEM MORE RECOVERABLE FOR THAT SPECIAL OCCASION

"Four score and seven years ago..."

A. Lincoln
Gettysburg Address

"Friends..."

G. Washington
Washington's Farewell Address

"Friends..."

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

Poem - he laughs

he laughs
can't remember what he dreamed

while dreaming
can't remember this life, either

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.

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

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
cigarettes
paper
pens

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

& a little kid playing alone
happy with an empty
box
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

Poem - hello/ i miss you

hello
i miss you

it might rain today

oak park
august

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

Poem - i imagine you quite clearly

specks of water
then rain rain rain

love

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

mmmmmmm
what part do i taste like?

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

Today

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.

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

http://www-etcsl.orient.ox.ac.uk/proverbs/t.6.2.1.html

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:

THE DOOR IS OPEN

Inks - From the Plaza NYC - Birds

Poem - i changed because

i changed because
i was bored
in the churches
of thought

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
again

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'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
4.56
30-31

Poem - all is silence/ in the end

singing to the
silence we
sing

in words
thoughts &
deeds

when we observe
the silence it is
beautiful

unformed and free
uncountable as the
wind

blowing through
going through

all is silence
in the end

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."

"Yes."

"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 survive...as 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
sing

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
okay

the boy saw
he could swim far

but still be safe
and he was happy

Luckiest

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.

Poem - but many things go away and/ never return

i saw the moon last night
it was not a half moon
no

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

7/15/2009

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

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

Inks - From the Plaza NYC - Easy

Inks - From the Plaza NYC - Bikes

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?

Conversion

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.

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.

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.

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.

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
way

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

--------

Dogo Barry Graham,
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.

(no title)

not seeing you
is real

a dark day of rain
real

typing this
real

why take a position
on it?

real is
real

that is all
it is

what more do
you expect?

be
here

you're
here

even
if

you don't
think

you
are

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?"

Now

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

<-----built
broken---->

horrible curse
great blessing

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

love

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
meaningful

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


written with optimism
spring
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

because

you are horrible to me
but you look absolutely fucking
great

which is the way it turns out
because

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