Poem - new me

new me
coming through
the door of
body and mind

very strong
can't be
qualified
here

this new
arrival how
can I

tell my
freinds
about you?

they'll like
you just as
much

as they
liked
me

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

Poem

the ego visits
but does not remain

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!

Poem - woke up at 3 am

woke up at 3 am
didn't feel like sleeping

watched tv
but wasn't interested

paid programming
paid programming

at 4 am thought
i should go to sleep

danny wakes me at 7
phoebe off to school

(i admire the sink
and how it is bolted to the wall

best 350 bucks
i ever spent

and a job
well done)

2 Year Old + Water * 5 Minutes = ???

Daniel goes downstairs. Later, I notice I hear water running. It has been running for a good time now, several minutes at least. 2 Year Old + Water * 5 Minutes = 10 gallons of warm water all over the basement floor. How?

Daniel gets onto the couch next to the bar/ island in the basement, the couch is pushed up against the bar for a tent Phoebe and I built. He gets his big plastic dump truck, puts it in the sink, and turns both taps on full. The dump body fills up and water gushes out of it, into the sink, and out of the sink in all directions! The happy tinkling of water going everywhere is delightful, I realize.

Well, I needed to clean the basement floor. It could have been worse. Only a few days ago I was down there cleaning another section of the basement when the WC toilet exploded raw sewage all over the floor and leaked through the basement ceiling, through a light fixture. That was pretty cool, too.

Just a Silly Toy! III

In my dream, I wandered through the World, going here and there, and some freinds I made on my travels would follow with me. We never stayed anywhere long, and some places did not welcome us. Word was getting around, and some communities actively sought us out to show them how to solve the cube. At times, my life was in danger, but somehow I made it through.

Then, after many years, I and some followers decided to get away, and go high up into the mountains. We hiked for a long time, over many days, until we came to a clearing on a beautiful alpine slope. The meadow there was full of tiny wildflowers, and grass -- to one side was a stream that had come all the way from the very top of the tallest mountain. It was a good place to stay, and so we set up camp, and relaxed in the late afternoon. I had something on my mind, about the Rubik's Cube, but I wasn't sure what it was.

That night, we made a campfire, and watched a slim crescent moon rise, stars wheeled over our heads. After talking and joking about small things, I took out my cube, and I looked at it. After all our wanderings, it looked a bit shabby, with scratches and scuffs. Here was a great dent in one of the blocks. I turned it this way and that, mixing it up a bit, and we all laughed at that. I turned it back so it was solved, and we laughed again. I looked at my poor, battered Rubik's Cube again, and I realized finally what I had to do.

"I solved the cube. It is just a toy."

"Yes." they replied.

"I realize, just now, that it is not enough to solve or unsolve the cube."

Many people there were shocked.

"It is just a toy. I have moved beyond needing this cube."

I broke my cube into pieces. It really took no effort to accomplish this.

"Now I am free, without it."

There were some there who simply could not accept this, and they left that night. Living without the cube! Insanity! Solve it, yes - get rid of it - no!

But my true companions got over the shock, and though it made my life more difficult, I was happier to be rid of it. Certain places would shun us, and would not buy or sell if you had no cube.

But in the end, I was so free without my cube. Think of it: my new understanding could not be stolen, sold, exchanged, or given away. The original point of fixation that took me far, was utterly abandoned, now it couldn't be broken, couldn't be lost, would not be mixed up, and not be located here, nor there, nor anywhere -- not not there.

My realization Was!

Just a Silly Toy! II

In my dream, after I solved the cube, and saw it was a toy, I tried telling people about what I had done. Most people didn't believe me, that it could be solved -- many others condemned me for being so presumptions and proud to undo what had been done. Others were profoundly disturbed, because they belonged to creeds where they would gather together and ritualistically turn the cubes into similar patterns, signifying their chosen cultural identity.

For the last group of people, I had created a concept that threatened, what they felt, was their very identities. If Rubik's Cubes could be made whole, how would they know who they were, compared to others? So many steadfastly ignored me, and my solution, I was even threatened with death as "a great nihilist". If I was not condemned as a non-believer, I was accused of playing with God's plan.

But there were a few people who saw what I had done, listened to what I had to say -- they solved their cubes, and they realized it was just a toy. Most of these people were happy, after they solved the puzzle, because they were free of it.

Just a Silly Toy!

I had the strangest dream last night -- I lived in a culture where when you were born, they gave you a Rubik's Cube, and it was completely solved. But over time, the cube would become hopelessly mixed up, and there wasn't anything you could do about it. It was unavoidable for the cube to become scrambled, and the more your personal cube was scrambly, the worse you'd feel about it. People worried about the mixed-up state of their Rubik's Cube, it was a source of sadness and heartbreak. Nobody knew how to solve it, it was just too hard to imagine you could fix it, though people would secretly try. Many people thought it was a great sin to try to solve the mixed up state of the cube. Other people tried, and failed, they made it worse in trying. In my dream, I decided to unscramble the cube, and after many years of secret effort, I succeeded! My Rubik's Cube was whole and solved, laying there before me...and then I realized, it was just a silly toy!

Poem - april 2

take the age test
says an internet ad
how old are you

i am deadly old
older than older
past is too gone
the future broken

ha ha ha
just kidding
on april 2

Poem- Ticket

i wish i could say that
god got a parking ticket
or jesus got a ticket
but they can't and
they didn't

but neither can
buddha get a ticket
nor lao tzu or chung tzu
nor brahma
or mohammad

oh goodness look
they are all ticketless
unticketable and
non-ticketed even
if we think they should

April 1

Every day, for Daniel, who is 2, is April Fool's Day. He plays tricks all day long, spring, summer, fall and winter.

Phoebe, 11 years old, wants to play April Fool Tricks. "We should call up grandma, and tell her the house burned down!"

"Do you think she'd think that was funny?" I ask.

"No, probably not." Phoebe thinks. "How about we call my cousin Jared and tell him I broke my leg?"

"That might be better." I agree.

Chung Tzu IN and OUT

"I wasn't accepted. I didn't get in." I say to Chung Tzu, after reading the letter. "I mean, I wasn't sure I'd get in, but I thought I'd get in."

"Oh, my brother!" laughs Chung Tzu, and he spins around. "Wonderful! You're so IN they couldn't let you IN!!!"

"Now what do I do?"

"Oh boy! Wheeeeee!" says a dancing Chung Tzu. "You know what to do! Keep getting OUT THERE!!!"

Potshot sez:

How excellent!
Dance!
Bang, bang, bang!
Boom, BOOM, BOOM!
All up in the air!
A real mess like it
always was!!!

Poem - my father lives in memories

my father lives in memories
quiet muffled place
lined and ordered with
phantom do's and don'ts

i was overly bright
even insulting
a constant challenge
pushing forwards
pushing back pushing
in all directions
i know how it is clearly now
because i have a son
but with my father and i

unfortunately
there came a point
where we settled up
concluded business
didn't bother to even
say goodbye
goodluck
and still kept on
living

he and i may have been
looking for someone else
all along but couldn't
see this

but who were we looking
for? who had to be different?

Poem - The idiocy of Zeitgeist

The idiocy of Zeitgeist
Keeping us down
But it makes things work


Just before April
Oak Park, IL

Poem - I Hear the Word

sons and daughters
daughters and sons

make no mistake in this
be gentle oh be gentle

it takes effort to be this way
possibly it will be excruciating

but this will take you far
people will be astounded

if you are gentle!

Poem - too

too hot
too cold
too new
too old
too hard
too far
too much
too too

just perfect

Peom - be a glob of mud

i.

be a glob of mud
some flecks of straw

be a weed
or a flake of wood

easy as sunshine
no care moonlight

stand up sit down
get back up

ii.

follow the leaves
randomly blowing

go where
the wind blows

zigzag the straight path
like you are intoxicated

admire trash
admire girls on the avenue

iii.

the fence is broken
how lovely

the foundation is leaky
how lovely

the lot is cindery
how lovely

living dying changing
how excellent!

One Day Here and Stove Parts Came By

One day Here and Stove Parts came by.

"Have you seen Chung Tzu?" asked Stove Parts.

"He was here, but now he is not." I replied.

"He is not here, for certain, for I am Here." said Here.

"Certainly, that could be correct." said Stove Parts.

We were startled when Chung Tzu came into the kitchen with a swirl of wind, and a bang on the door.

Before we can recover, Chung Tzu laughs uproariously, like a pirate.

"AH HA HA HA HA!! Well, hello Here!! Where have ya been!?!"

Poem - searching for tao/ is tao searching for tao

searching for tao
is tao searching for tao

it may snow tomorrow
it may snow today

vase by the window
with dried flowers in it

Phoebe Tells Us About the Happy Wagon

At lunch, with Evan, Phoebe told us about this idea she came up with, she calls it "The Happy Wagon".

Phoebe explained: We all have a Happy Wagon, and we tow it with us as we journey through life. When something bad happens, or when someone is mean to you, it is like having a stone, or stones, put in your Happy Wagon. The good thing about the Happy Wagon is, you can either sprint right by when someone wants to put a stone in your Happy Wagon, or after a stone is put in your Happy Wagon, you can take the stone out and not keep carrying it, if you want to.

I said, Phoebe, that is interesting. Do you think you could carry other things on the Happy Wagon? I think good thoughts and other positive feelings could be on the Happy Wagon as well -- they'd probably make the Happy Wagon lighter.

Phoebe agreed. And some things on the Happy Wagon are not there forever, they fade away on their own, even if you don't use them, or give them to others, or throw them away.

Evan asked Phoebe, but what if someone wants to give you something heavy, for your Happy Wagon, and you don't want it, but you feel like you should take it?

Phoebe said, that's okay -- I'd take the stone (or whatever), and carry it for awhile, and then when the person who gave it to me was gone, I'd put it on the side of the road, because you never know -- someone else might want it!

1 - 2 - 3

one.

I tried once to write something I was thinking, but the pen was broken, so nothing needed to be written.

two.

Before dawn today, I picked some snot and put it next to me on the wooden bench. When rising sun lit on it, I saw Mt. Meru, and all the creatures that dwell there. Then I was the snot, and Mt. Meru was sitting next to me, writing. Later, a bird ate up a blob of snot.

three.

Are you almost there? You're already there. There was nowhere to go. There is not there. The journey was in your mind. But purely, here is no mind. Therefore, there was no journey.

You played with doubt as innocently as a child with a toy.

Daniel Zen

Daniel is 2. He plays in the yard with an old dirty sock.

"I like your old sock." I say.

"No." says Daniel. But he means yes, he appreciates the sock, too.

Later, we are in the kitchen.

"Would you like something to eat, Daniel?"

"No." says Daniel. But by saying no, he means yes, he would like something to eat.

At about 2 o'clock, Daniel looks tired.

"Daniel, would you like to take a nap?"

"No!" yells Daniel. And this time, he really, absolutely, means NO.

Poem - The Prayers of Cracked Pot

this is a story about
cracked pot and you
should not read it because
cracked pot was a maniac
like a wild animal

(his eyes bulged
and his beard and eyebrows
curled)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
he meditated on the misery
of the whole world
saw the intractable nature
of ignorance and grasping
& prayed to the Buddhas

give me thy blessings
for me to build a whorehouse
and with sacred prostitutes
i will bring the swiftest kind
of enlightenment to the reviled

later cracked pot prayed

Buddhas in all directions
innumerable and full of blessings
make me the Buddha
That People Steal From
so in their unforgivable
blasphemous action
they will suddenly realize
the nature of their own mind

and the Buddhas laughed
they said

cracked pot
there are enough whorehouses
and enough stealing and avarice
in this universe and no more
is required nor wanted
we admire your zeal
we admire your passion

but choose a gentler way!

Poem - illusion of being separate

illusion of being separate
what a cunning construct
in this realm of desire
so we keep our whistles
wet

Poem - every day

every day
a perfect sky
and a perfect earth

everything simple
and in a certain place
good or bad

A Great White Crane

"I was surprised! A great white crane flew in today, and landed in my pond. Then he flew out to the West."

"This is a nice little place to visit." says Chung Tzu. "Who knows what can be found here?"

"Bugs, nibbly little roots and plants. Reeds over there, swaying in the wind. A wide blue sky."

"Ahhhhhhh."

"I wonder if I will have more unexpected visitors from far away."

"One never knows. But don't spoil it with more thought, or too many words."

Restless

I asked Chung Tzu about that.

"I feel restless", I said.

"That's great!" said Chung Tzu.

"Why great?"

"Because you have to experience restlessness first, before you can be restful!"

"Restlessness -- that is quite a word."

"It is, ain't it!"

Lao Tzu? Chung Tzu? Who? Who?

I'm sitting there, and I jump up, as if stung by a bee, and I say, "Lao Tzu? Chung Tzu? Who? Who?"

Lao Tzu smiles, Chung Tzu laughs.

------

Who?

Lao Tzu (6th century, B.C.E.) is one of the founding philosophers of Taoism. He is reviered as "The Master", and his words and concepts have profoundly influenced Taoism and Taoistic thinking to the very present day. He is the author of the Tao Te Ching, his magna opus, expressing the Tao, and all aspects of it. He cultivated the concepts of Wu Wei -- the doing through non-action, and the ideal of P'u -- the "Uncarved Block" where you can appear to be simple, and act simply, but get everything done.

Serene, insightful, quiet, and naturally profound in all things without doing or not doing, no effort required, nor non effort. Lao Tzu, here's to you.


Who?

Chung Tzu (369 - 268 B.C.E.) was a leading thinker of Taoist philosophy, often using satire and irrelevance to illustrate the Tao, or "Way". He is noted for humor, and earthy language to make his points clear to the listener. He routinely lampooned worldly religion, famous public figures, and superstition.

In literal translation, he is called Zhuangz. Many call him Master Chuang, Chuang Tzu, Zhuang Tze, or even Chouang Tse. For me, is his more like the Elvis of True Seeing. Or the John Coletrain of Breaking Through.

----------

CM Evans:

Why do I write these stories?
I do not know why I write them, they just are.
They come to me when I recognize them.
Like a goose honk heard in the sky.

But who am I to write these stories?

Who is a goose to honk in the air?

Old Rancid Pine Nuts!

"People might not like what I do." I say to Chung Tzu.

"Well, I don't know about people -- but the squirrels are certainly angry with you." he replies.

"Really? How do you know that?"

"Goodness gracious! You gave them old rancid pine nuts!"

What is the Answer? What is the Question?

It is July 26th, at the Neuilly-sur-Seine, and Gertrude Stein was about to die. Many of her freinds are nearby, along with her partner & the french windows by her bed are wide open to let in the afternoon light.

“What is the answer?” she asks.

When no answer came she laughed and said, “Then, what is the question?”

Gertrude Stein lets out her last breath. But she is still interested in this line of questioning, even though she has died.

Her spirit floats near the ceiling, she's feeling better than she's ever felt in a long time. Gertrude is mildly amused for the fact that after dying, being dead and looking at your body does not elicit any strong emotional feelings of attachment. But now, what about the inquiry?

Just then, the bell rings, with supernatural sight Gertrude can see it is a semi-idiotic knife sharpener, itinerant peddler, and sporadic flasher Gilles de Staal -- she does not know him, but now she knows all kinds of things at a glance that she never imagined comprehending.

Someone has a pretty maid, who answers the door. When the maid tells Gilles that there is no need for anything to be sharpened, he exposes himself in a comically lewd way. The maid screams hysterically, slamming the door.

Ah! There! Question and answer all in one, for Gertrude Stein. Gratefully she dissolves into a perfect light.

St. Francisco in the Park

I'm in Scofield Park, past the war monument. Looking for Lao Tzu, I see, of all persons, St. Francis of Assisi.

"Hello Francisco."

St. Francis smiles, and motions me to sit on the bench. He is so sweet, so childlike, insisting on holding my hand as the wind blows autumn's leftover leaves higher and higher, towards the green line.

Soon, many birds are all around us, then they are sitting on us, chirping and nibbling on St. Francisco's robe. People are curious, but we are so peaceful, they don't interrupt.

We see Lao Tzu walking up the street, into the park, and up the hill where we sit. St. Francis gets up, saying goodbye to me with his eyes. He and Lao Tzu depart like the two dear freinds they have always been.

Taking a Ride with Chung Tzu

i.

I find Chung Tzu in the livingroom.

"Come here, my darling, and sit with me on the couch, I have a teaching to give you."

I sit with Chung Tzu. He seems to be gathering his thoughts. Then, instead of speaking to me, he plays "Low Rider" on the stereo at ear-splitting volume.

"What was that?" I ask, when the song is done.

"Ah." says Chung Tzu, "Perchance we should have the teaching again. Don't give up."

Chung Tzu plays "Low Rider" again, this time a bit more louder.

"What?" Is all I can say.

"You'll get there. One last time." Chung Tzu plays the song. This time, he sings along to emphasize the lyrics.

"Okay. I got it." I lie.

Chung Tzu seems to be artificially pleased. "Mmmmmm! I admire how receptive you are!"

ii.

After Chung Tzu has left, I find the song & lyrics are stuck in my head all day, endlessly repeating. And eventually, after considering it more, I see Chung Tzu's point clearer and clearer.

I call Chung Tzu, but he's out, so I leave a message on his voicemail, "I got it."

When I check my messages later, I have a message from Chung Tzu, "I know!"

Lao Tzu and Chicken

"I have some winter fat on me." I say to Lao Tzu, who pets the cat.

"Mmmmm." says Lao Tzu, quietly, "I bet you'd taste just like a chicken."

Sharing - or - Playing the Harmonica for a Bunch of Drunken Cowboys

I call Chung Tzu on the phone.

"Hey Chung Tzu!"

"Yaaaassss?" says Chung Tzu like a Dean Moriarty.

"Should I share my writings with other Taoists?"

"Hmmm...let me think about that. I don't play the harmonica that often. Should I go and play for a bunch of drunken cowboys?"

"I know quite a few drunken cowboys. They might like it."

"Is that so?"

"Yaaaaassss....by the way, are you saying Taoists are equivalent to drunken cowboys?"

"That really is quite funny!" Chung Tzu laughs for quite some time.

Chung Tzu and Stove Parts

Chung Tzu comes over with his friend, Stove Parts. They both look at the glistening, put together stove that I cleaned.

"What do you think?" asks Chung Tzu.

"Oh, I think he did a good job." says Stove Parts.

"Was he nice when he did it?"

"Nice enough, I think. But he could work on being nicer."

"Well, okay, kid." says Chung Tzu. "You shouldn't argue with an expert. You passed."

"Thanks so much" I say.

"But don't forget I'm watching you!" says Chung Tzu as he and Stove Parts leave.

Chung Tzu Says Do Something Nice - or - How So

"Do something nice, for a change." says Chung Tzu.

I clean the stove. I put the burner grates in the dishwasher, and set the washer on "Pot Scrub".

"Nice try." says Chung Tzu.

"How so?" I shoot back.

"How so, indeed!" yells Chung Tzu.

At This Point

The wind moves around the house. My two-year-old son won't take a nap. I resolve to leave him in his crib until at least 3.30 PM, he only went down at 2.00 PM. Traffic goes up and down the goddamn road. It never bothered me before, the traffic. Now cars bother me, excessively. This annoyed feeling began last night at 3.00 AM. I have a phone meeting. For some reason, when the meeting starts, I am in a better mood. We tell lame jokes. Most of the team is getting over a cold.

Poem - it just happens

how are you i ask
i'm getting old and i don't like it

i laugh at that

don't laugh it isn't funny getting old
can you still get it up?
i have not tried lately

i laugh again

jesus christ you're so goddamn happy
i'm sorry
no you are still young
so what really is the problem?
that is the problem there is no problem here it just happens

i don't laugh at that

Universal Tree

There are a few things a the museum that are so exciting, I wish to steal them. But, unfortunately, these things I like weigh thousands of pounds. One is a copy of a sarcophagus, the original buried deep in a Mayan temple. On the lid, is a rendering of the cosmic tree of life, the leaves spilling abundantly down the milk of the Universe onto a blessed king who was buried in the stone shell. Taken from one perspective, the carvings look very sci-fi, the king a spaceman lifting off the launch pad, ready for the stars.

Something to Say

What did I want to say? Something clear that came to me, distilled through the purity of dreams. Now in the daylight, lost. But this is okay, because the mechanical music box with the Christmas diorama plays on and on, with the mechanical people in it trimming the tree and celebrating, forever.

I Slept

I was tired of snoring. I was tired of sleeping, but I know you can't avoid sleeping. When I slept, if I wasn't snoring, I was sweating. Thin or thick blankets produced sweat, hot or cold, it didn't make a difference. I would wake up from time to time, and I was scared I would see a ghostly figure in the door. I saw a ghostly figure by the closet, but this was a robe. Sleeping again, I didn't know where I was, in the house or the flat. I'd look for a window, and it was a wall, I'd look at for a chest of drawers with a painting on it, and see a television and a mirror. A voice told me quietly, never write with red ink, it is unlucky to do so. I agreed. I slept.

Young Groucho Marx

I dream Groucho Marx is young, not wearing his trademark greasepaint eyebrows & mustache. He's sitting in a expensive hotel room, drunk as a skunk. I think he wants the phone to ring. Harpo comes in, looking very debonair in a expensive suit, smoking a cigar. Groucho and Harpo start to talk, but this exchange evolves suddenly into an explosive, profanity-laden argument. A lamp is broken, a small table is upended, spilling silverware and china in a tinkling miniature avalanche. Harpo leaves with Groucho violently gesticulating, jumping up and down on the bed. Alone, Groucho collapses on the floor, but after holding still, and looking at the silverware from eye-level, he crawls to the window, where a bottle of booze is. While Groucho is taking a sip, Chico kicks the door open, and yells at Groucho for a few minutes. He leaves, and Groucho stays sitting on the floor with an open window right above his head. I can see a distant streetlight, as the drapes blow gently in and out. He crosses his legs, holding the bottle of whiskey wedged between his thighs. It is quiet for about 10 minutes, Groucho barely moving. Then the phone rings, thank God, the phone is ringing! It rings and rings, but he does not answer.

Hope

I go to the reading. I think I am too excited. Everyone is jaded. They think I am a rube. We eat dinner. I am too engaged. People get offended. I have no freinds. I have no "circle". I only mean well. They dismiss me. Oh, well. I am used to being alone. It could be a good thing. I'll never stop. What is the point of it all? To go on. And have hope.

Poem - tell me

tell me i am your santa to a christmas tree
or the atomic bomb in your heart

tell me i am better than peanut butter
with sliced bread

tell that without me soda has no fizz
and hell hath no fury

tell this attraction is illogical
beyond concepts or trivial words

give up please give up
and we can watch the moon

i'll sleep holding onto your arm
and you will know we are together

Do You Know How Much I Love You?

i.

I dream lucidly about books, about being a book, on how we are all books.

ii.

I take June to school, at the Loop. The Loop is quietly exciting, quietly impressive, quietly quiet. Oh blue sky, which I have described (didactically) too many times, as fine. But it is true. You are a fine blue sky.

iii.

I race back to Oak Park, for no apparent reason.

iv.

Is it iv or vi? No, it is iv.

V.

Sweet 5.

vi.

Is it vi, or iv -- terrible is the uncertainty. I could look it up on the "Internets".

vii.

I don't.

viii.

Do you know how much I love you?

ix.

Do not delay.

I Am an Idiot

I don't understand lots of stuff, but I know my capacity to be an idiot, is limitless. I am an educated polite buffoon, and you should never think I am more than that. For me, being a buffoon is enough. The education happened because I thought it would improve my buffoonery. Being polite keeps me out of jail.

Webpage - F*** My Life

I found this website today -- F*** My Life -- through the excellent pointers blog Look At This. People join and submit short anecdotes about terrible things that have happened to them. Many of the entries are quite hilarious, and tragic, in equal parts. I loved the one where a kid came back from college, and found out his family took a family trip to Thailand, without him. He thought the picture on the mantelpiece was photoshopped, of everyone but him, with a jungle and an elephant, but no, it was real.

About a year ago I made a horrendous faux pas, in front of all my new neighbors. We were having a Father's Day block party and I turned to the older gentleman sitting next to me and wished him a Happy Father's Day. I don't know what compelled me to do it, because I didn't know him. Everyone sitting at the table got quiet. The man asked me why I thought he was a father, but he had been a father. It turns out his grown up son had died very recently, and the family was coping with it difficultly.

Calling People

He calls people at random, and leaves short messages.

"Marmut's Revenge."

"Rubber dog poo."

"Glass Doornob."

"Forbidden Idol."

He calls the flower shop down the way, and pretends the flower shop and he are two Russian submariners, each sailor trapped in compartments on opposite ends of the boat. The girl who works at the shop knows who he is, and is secretly in love with him, though she thinks he is embarrassingly strange.

Many people who he phones at random, who have caller-ID, call back. He responds to their insults, or inquiries, while talking through a comb, wrapped in a piece of wax paper, over his lips.

The flower shop girl is 25, she has long blond hair. The kind of hair you want to touch. She is annoyed, and appreciative of this, all at once.

I'll Be Back Soon

i.

He does not ride the bus right. He is dancing, singing, roughhousing playfully with old ladies (some of whom, laugh at this) and he tries to look out of as many windows of the bus, as possible, in the shortest span of time. This can't last too long, but it lasts longer than it could. Back on the sidewalk, after he imitated a helicopter, he sees a big leftover lump of dirty snow and he picks it up. He finds a cop and shoves it down the back of the bullet-proof vest. He runs towards Grant Park, the peace officer waving a pistol in the air.

ii.

After hiding in the bushes for several hours, near the Bean, he decides to go to a bar. He has no money. He pays for four drinks with a feather, bartender takes the feather. There is a cute girl who seems to like him. He reminds her of a friend of hers. She buys him a drink and they go back to her small apartment that is directly across from the El where they make love. Between lovemaking sessions, they talk about Cuba, Egyptian pyramid building techniques, ancient Chinese discoveries, and maps. They both get a bit frisky, drinking some wine from a small jug on the floor.

iii.

He wakes up in the late morning and finds that the girl is gone, she has handcuffed his left wrist to the bed. The trains rumbling by shake the whole apartment in an exciting way. A lovely note says, "I'll be back soon." There are cookies and big glass of water within reach.

Appreciation

The white cat noses around, suspiciously -- he's the cat that likes to chew on wires, and in the process, has ruined several very expensive pieces of electronic equipment. We're talking about that $500.00 Bang and Olufsen telephone, and a very high tech headset, two cell-phone chargers, a fax machine, and an all-in-one printer. All the cats are acting like they are starving, as white cat walks behind my laptop and thinks about nibbling on the edge of the screen. For me, a two-year-old is methodically disassembling the house as I sit through 6 hour phone meetings all week long. Important things need to get done, in a certain order, if I could only remember all of them and prioritize them, but I have little help in doing this from the very people it would benefit. I am tempted to write longer, more convoluted sentences, but I stop myself. On days like these, I almost become convinced that appreciation is something that decreases over time, the longer you know someone.

Poem - Hey Fritz

it snows and i really miss you
a damn cat

i'd give anything to have you back
and see how your stripes looked

i pine for you because you belonged here
quite perfectly

a southern californian cat
just ashes now

Tuesday

i.

One kid is awake at 6 AM. I ignore him until about a quarter to seven. He can't get out of his crib, but that might change by next week. Then I'll hear a giggle and a yell & have a hotwheel rammed into my face. I get up and we kick ourselves outta the flat. Breakfast at the house. Phoebe to school. Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants, Spongebob Squarepants. Meetings.

ii.

How I'd like to have a doughnut.

Poem - 13

burning my days down
as if they were free

& they are not
the cost is high

i am good
but i don't act good

bored in the churches
of reason

Proud Daniel

I want to go to the bathroom alone, privately, but for Daniel, who is 2, this would be like missing the Superbowl. So I'm going to the bathroom in the smallest bathroom of the house, a water closet, and Daniel is right there with me. Almost on top of me, really. Rolling his toy car over my toes, as I try to go. And I'm trying to read a story I like. But I can't concentrate, so I give up.

Outside, it is raining. When I'm done, I get up, and Daniel points at the water in the toilet, and he yells, "Poooooo!" "You're right!" I reply. Together, we flush the toilet. "Bye Bye!" yells Daniel as the toilet empties. "Thanks for the help, Daniel." I say. Daniel is very proud, and later, he squeezes the cat extra hard.

Flushing Toilets

I did it. I had every toilet in the bathroom flushing, all at once. The sound was glorious, a magnificent symphony of porcelain and vibrating plumbing. Once I got the timing right, I was able to get the stalls to fire off repeatedly, several times in a row -- filling the shining white restroom with a uninterrupted wall of sound. People came in and left, but I could see they absolutely approved of my activity, as any five-year-old assumes.

Too soon, it was over. My mother managed to get a nice, big man to go into the bathroom, and he escorted me out. When I was reunited with her, I realized I was so excited, that I forgot to go pee. I managed to hold it all the long way home.

Ants and Other Things

I dream I am trying to sleep, when an ant gets in my mouth....in the dream about trying to sleep. In the dream, I wake up, and I'm trying to figure out why I'm getting stray ants in my mouth, because it is disconcerting. I turn the covers over, and see there are 40 or 50 ants between the sheets. I shake out the bedding and wonder why my bed, or the sheets are attracting so many ants. The ants seem lethargic, and there is no food to attract them. It is a real mystery. I can't figure it out. I don't know what they want, or why the ants are there. All I want to do is to sleep in my dream, without being worried about ants getting in my mouth. And in worrying about this, I wake up for real, and I see a softly glowing series of numbers. It is the clock, showing 2.33 AM. I check the sheets, and there are no ants. After turning off the light, I lay back down, and I watch the ceiling. It isn't doing much. Just there, a white surface.

---

As I fall asleep, I believe I hear someone out on the sidewalk shoveling snow. Who shovels snow in the middle of the night?

The Bleebs

He had the "Bleebs". He thought it was a funny word, until the doctor explained what it was.

'Where did it come from, doc?" he said, his mouth suddenly quite dry.

"India, at first, we think." said the doctor, quietly, seriously.

"And the prognosis?"

"I'm sorry to say, but...the Bleebs..."

"Give it to me straight, doc."

"The Bleebs are fatal."

"How much time do I have?"

"Seconds -- hours, weeks, even years. There is no way of telling. But you have it. The Bleebs."

In the hallway, he could distinctly hear some kind of medical equipment, probably in another room, beeping softly, constantly, maddeningly...until it was shut off.

WOW!

As we get the king-sized mattress into the truck, the jet, it passes over low and loud. Miramar is gearing up for Aviation Week, so the Phantoms and other jets are practicing their routines. Phoebe does this kind of herky-jerky dance of terror -- I've seen small children do it before when they are unexpectedly filled with terror. It's funny and heartbreaking at the same time, and I scoop her up, and we both say, "WOW!".

Poem - i'm sorry/ he said

i'm sorry
he said

here are poems
deep in me

the very best
ones

and i could not
bring them

it is my fault
my lack of skill

there is one now
gliding away

slippery
i cannot touch it

Chung Tzu Says I'm a LUCKY DOG

"If I have accomplished anything, it was largely due to the unrequested kindness of others." I say to Chung Tzu.

"You LUCKY DOG!" Chung Tzu exclaims.

-----

Frederick Larrabee: She's a delight Bannister, a delight and you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I...
Frederick Larrabee: Admit it! Admit you're a lucky dog.
Howard: I'm a lucky dog.

Lao Tzu and 10,000 Years

"If you do something for yourself, in authenticity, you could be doing it, also, for others."

Lao Tzu nods gently, and says almost imperceptibly, "Meditate on that for a time as long as 10,000 years, and you could go far."

Should I Move to Iceland?

With windchill, it is -25 degrees, or even -35 degrees, otherwise, the thermometer is steady at -1. The day is brilliantly sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The snow is like sand, blowing off the rooftops in a crystalline spray, no birds out today. To cold for even the little birds, I wonder where they are. The car has trouble starting, I make sure the garage is sealed up tight when I get back, to conserve warmth. Now you can feel every nook or cranny in the house that leaks cold air, but the good news is the few leaky windows or doors are now sealed with blankets or towels. All in all, we're snug and content, watching TV reruns in bed and eating ice-cream, of all things. Tonight, -14, to -18 as a low, not counting the wind. I love it. Should I move to Iceland?

A Sleepy Discussion with Chung Tzu

After a period of lucid dreaming, I am having a hard time waking up. I feel half immersed in dreams, even when I am brushing my teeth.

I go outside, and see that it is pleasantly snowing. When I get to the house, Chung Tzu is in the kitchen.

"I had lucid dreams before I woke up, and now I'm trying to be awake." I say to him.

"No, you're still asleep." Chung Tzu says.

"How can I wake up?"

"Well, the best you've done, is to be semi-awake."

"When was that?"

"Oh, I guess about 7 months ago, for about 15 minutes."

"I guess that's better than nothing."

"Sure. I think, possibly, you'll be semi-awake again in about 6 weeks."

"If I go on retreat?"

"Yeah. You tend to be very sleepy around here."

We are quiet. He blows on his tea. Meanwhile, I see it has been gently, softly snowing, all along.

"Going on a retreat would be nice."

"Snow"

I come in after shoveling snow. Lao Tzu is sitting in the kitchen.

"Snow!" I say.

"What is 'Snow'?" he asks, almost to himself.

--

Later, Chung Tzu is here.

"What do you think about 'Snow'?" I ask him, innocently as possible.

"I think it is a very good 'Idea'" says Chung Tzu.

Molested

1.

It was on the Church Street line, in a crowded train, absolutely packed, at rush hour, when I got molested. Doesn't every straight guy in San Francisco have some variation of this story? I'm in the middle of the train, in the crush, when more commuters get on, and suddenly I'm aware of the short guy wearing a business suit and a expensive tan overcoat. I notice him, because he's behind me, facing me, with the coat open, and he's pressing his whole body up against my side. And he has an erection. He's staring at me, with no expression, really, his face has a fine sheen of sweat on it. He's about 45, I can smell his aftershave, he has 5 o'clock shadow on his chin -- no expression, leaning hard against me. I have five stops to go, but I blush like a girl, I'm probably red head to foot. I don't know if that satisfies him, but as the train lurches forward, and we all sway, he decides to try it on someone else. This time he tries it on an older gay man. I get off the train at the next stop, and walk the rest of the way home.

2.

My wife told me a story one time, about her first trip to Europe. When she was in Italy, she saw the older Italian man following a cute blonde in a short skirt up an escalator. Apparently, the girl wasn't aware that the Italian was two steps below her on the escalator, with his neat salt and pepper hair, his nose about 1 inch from the back of her ass. He rode that way all the way up, she never turned around and saw him. Or maybe she knew right away, and she blushed & froze, just like I did.

1.45 AM, in Oak Park

We decide to go out and have a smoke. It's about 1.45 AM, in Oak Park. Not too cold, but quiet. As we're out there, a funny little guy comes out of nowhere, he wants to be a part of our conversation. He's about 5'8", 145 pounds, neatly dressed in a sweater and jeans, with fine gold spectacles. Neat as a pin, preppy, well groomed. Friendly. What the hell does he want behind that constant smiling? He tells us that he moved a year ago to Wicker Park, him and his lovely girlfriend. They just decided to pick up and go with a few bucks in their pockets to Chicago, and try it out here. And my pal and I were discussing age, and how we are pushing 40, and he says we're fine looking, handsome guys -- you wouldn't know we were that old. Weird little screwball. We are polite, and we disengage from the chat session, and go back in the bar. I'm going back in too! The kid says, and after we sit down, he passes us and heads for the restroom at the back. Both me and my pal, at the same time, say, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? Where did that weird little guy come from? What the hell is someone from Wicker Park doing out here, at 2 AM in the morning. You can't get a cab, and the trains are done running. I look down to the back of the bar, and I swear, the little guy never comes out of the restroom. Bizarre. Where did he go? Where's his girlfriend? We decide to go outside one more time, to see if he'll pop up again. Nope, he's gone, back into thin air. Trolled by a rent-boy.

Poem - are you from out of town

are you from out of town
you talk loudly in the bar
like you are on vacation
you laugh a big fake laugh
horribly mirthful

if you talked that loudly
every day where you live
people would grow to hate you
but who knows
they might already

your other freinds arrive
each time i can tell
because you get louder
absolutely thrilled
out of your mind

not to be an asshole but
if i was as thrilled as you sound
i'd have a massive heart attack
and they'd have to take me away
in a rubber body bag

finally it is time to go
i hear you all the way out
and now i can relax
as you shriek with delight
in the street

He Lied to Children

After we graduated High School, my friend Jake rented a room in a house with two hyperactive boys, whose mother didn't pay enough attention to them, while she dated bikers. Naturally the kids cleaved onto Jake as a surrogate older brother, who wasn't adverse to roughhousing and generally entertaining them the way their absent father would. But I never met their father, and as far as I know, he was never around. I think the boys will always remember Jake as being an amazing diversion from that.

Jake would whirl them in the air, toss them again and again into the overstuffed couch...but the favorite game was called "Hide and Seek Baseball". This would involve the boys hiding in the living room, and Jake putting on a gorilla mask. He'd then get a sleeping bag with three pillows stuffed into it, and he'd chase them all around and hit them with the sleeping bag until the whole house shook. If anybody cried, they'd stop and watch cartoons and have a snack. The boys were never bored when Jake was around.

With this routine set, whenever Jake came home, if the kids were around, they'd run to his room. If his door was shut, they'd pound on it, and ask him what he was doing in his room. The irritating thing, especially in the summer, was if the door was closed & locked, it was because Jake wanted to make love to his girlfriend. So something had to be done.

One day, when his girlfriend wasn't around, Jake sat down with the boys, and had a chat with them. He explained that he had just found out that his girlfriend had been diagnosed with a rare heart condition, and if the boys were too loud around her, or startled her by banging on the door, she could have a heart attack, and die. This was a terrible problem to live with, but hopefully the doctors would find a cure, but until then, the kids would have to be extra careful when his girlfriend was around.

And the lie mostly worked. They certainly never banged on the door and asked Jake what he was doing when he had his door shut. Those damn kids would just about believe anything. Many years later, after Jake and his girlfriend were married, she found out why the two boys suddenly became so scared of her -- and Jake told her the story, thinking it hilariously funny. She did not find the story amusing.

I decided if I outlive Jake, this will be his epitaph:

HERE IS BURIED
JACOB HOWCROFF BENNINGS

1968 - 20--

HE LIED TO CHILDREN

Chung Tzu Would Like to Kick Cupid's Ass

"Sometimes a "bird in the hand" gives you nothing but sorrow." I remark to Chung Tzu.

"Cupid!" exclaims Chung Tzu. "I don't get mad easily -- but when I hear shit like that, I want to KICK HIS ASS!"

We look outside. Lao Tzu is in the backyard, reading it like a illustration in a fairy-tale.

THE DEATH OF LOVE

A Journey in Eight Poems

On The Road

deep into
treacherous godforsaken
waste
eternal optimism
just ran out of
fucking gas
about 50 miles
back and now
i'm on foot

cupid rides
donuts around me
on a motorcycle
and then is
gone in a cloud
of dust

refrain:

i shall
not see thee
in the morning
because thou
split

-------

The Day Before My Trip

cupid comes
to me
in a dream
and he seems
quite freindly

"go to death valey
and bring me
something back"

so i reply
"borax? you
want some borax?"

but cupid
is gone

(refrain)

---------

Anything To Escape

i left my heart
in the middle of
the death valley
where the
sun and the
wind
mercilessly
devoured it

(refrain)

---------

Comment

cupid
encourages some
women to
make cute little
bunny noises
either when
they have
sex or sneeze
or both

in this way
a potential
erection
is considerably
modified

---------

Shit Out Of A Sweater

cupid
punches me in
the stomach

while in pain
i rest my cheek
on the cool
cement of the
sidewalk

"you can't
knit
shit
into a
sweater"
cupid says

-----------

Sexual Harassment

cupid can
break any man
women or
animal that
walks this earth
in half

cupid hangs
out at a
pizza pallor
eating onions
and drinking beer

harassing
he young beautiful
waitress
till she cries

------------

Death of Love I

i told my lover
about you
in the restaurant
in north beach
and then i cried
and she said
she'd go to seattle
and kick your ass
for me
and i laughed

-------------

Death of Love II

i'm in
line in the
supermarket -- so
i write on a receipt:

cupid is a
drunk old fuck
who doesn't
give a shit
about me

i write love
poetry and
he just laughs
like he's out
of his mind
& does
nothing

i would
love all women

if i were
less discerning

or more
loving

i would prefer
to me more
loving
for
love is good for life
and life is good for love

-------------

At the end of this story, Cupid reads what I wrote, some of it from a long time back. He has his boots up on the corner of the table, I notice for the first time his eyes are blue. "I like it." says Cupid. "If you like it, then let's settle up." I reply. Cupid smiles. "There is no settling up. Just like I can't stop being Cupid." "Is there an easier way?" I ask. "Sure" he says. "Never deviate from the Truth."

diligo dat nos valde gaudium quod moestitia

Poem - the record has a skip in it/ a storm is coming

the record has a skip in it
a storm is coming
tornado possible

what is that bumping
postman most likely
bringing the mail

it is like they say
no news is good news
except for a storm

Poem - The Day After Christmas

coming home i almost slipped on ice
now i am wrestling tigers
while typing this one handed as
i called and said it will definitely
be a baby girl due in april

Poem - on christmas morning

on christmas morning
i see exactly
why cats
were invented

they are designed
to watch
mineral water
bubbles rise

with their eyes
and their ears
very very close
to the sides
of the bottle

-- Oak Park, 2008

Poem - freezing fog/ down the side of the house

freezing fog
down the side of the house
out onto the road
where cars move slowly

in the backyard
play equipment covered
wagon filled with snow
holding still

Statements

Facts:
- You cannot make the proverbial "Deal with the Devil" and remain pure. The "Deal" puts you of the Road to Hell. Any method of "The End Justifies the Means" is instantly and ultimately corrupting. It is a path of weakness.
- If you wish to represent, or uphold the Rule of Civilization, you cannot resemble your enemies.

Ultimately, and quite simply, on the Ethical Level, our "Virtue" is only valuable in contrast:
- If your enemies torture, then you must not torture.
- If your enemies disregard the Geneva Conventions, you must uphold the Geneva Conventions.
- If there are atrocities, you must perform no atrocities.

Truths:
- It is better not to kill.
- It is better not to bomb.
- It is better not to starve people.
- It is better not to mistreat prisoners.
- It is better not to indiscriminately incarcerate.
- Your enemies will do all of the above.

If:
- You debase, you are debased.

There is no escape from acting Badly. Those who have acted in this way, in time, will not deny this fact. Even if they acted Badly under the command of others, they have scoured their soul.

And:
Tremble if you do Ill, and aimed to do It. Tremble if you do Ill, by circumstances, or by pure accident.

So:
There is no "hook", there is only what we do. You cannot escape your actions. It is insane to mistreat anyone.

Look!

I like it when it snows. When I see those fat flakes twirling down, a curtain of swarming bewildering white, instantly I'm in a good mood. Probably I like snow, because it radically changes context. You can't tell where the yard touches the sidewalk, or where the sidewalk links with the street. You have no fixed reference point where your yard ends and the neighbor's house dominion begins. Fences become a joke, they can't hold anything in or out, the snow goes everywhere it can't be regulated. Trees become white fairy worlds, moving gently in the wind. It begins to snow heavier, quieter, faster. More limitations overcome, more boundaries erased. Look! Snow snow snow.

Poem - you can always start again

jack
you died when you were 40

famous
as could be with that huge ranch

wolf
house burned to the ground

i'm
41 years old with little prospects

and
everything i have is on fire

the
good news for me is i'm alive

so
i can always start over again

Whiskey Flight

As a young man, on his second business trip, he decided the night before the flight home to learn about whiskey. There was a fine whiskey bar at the hotel, and it was -15 outside, so he made a deal with the bartender to help him be educated in the ways of Fine Whiskeys. The bartender, being a whiskey affectionado, living for whiskey, stocking 80 varieties, was only happy to oblige.

He spent several enjoyable hours and many shots of whiskey, being explained how this whiskey contrasted the taste of that whiskey, how whiskey could be smoky, sweet, a fine sipping whiskey, a before dinner whiskey, and after dinner whiskey, etc. Later, the young man needed to go back to his hotel room to rest. He had been brutalized by his education into whiskey, and an older business lady made a pass at him in the elevator that he was not capable of responding to.

Early in the morning, after two or three hours sleep, he was awakened quite terribly by the wake-up call he had ordered. Each time the phone rang, it just about ripped a hole right through his skull, so it was hard to get the phone to stop ringing. His limbs were not very cooperative, he couldn't stand up without feeling like he was on the edge of a cliff, or on a ship pitching in high seas. He managed to pack his bags and barely made the flight in time.

Just after the plane took off, he sensed that he was soon to become violently ill. Without waiting for the seat belt sign to be turned off, he bolted for the nearest bathroom and spent the next five hours locked in the lavatory, helplessly and continuously vomiting his guts out. Once and awhile a passenger would knock on the door, but he could not respond. When not gagging in the toilet, he lay on the floor, curled in the fetal position. Shortly before the plane landed, he managed to make it back to his seat, wearing a rime of dried vomit around his mouth. He only noticed the vomit when he was in the airport bathroom, after puking in the farthest stall from the door.

The young man was very tired when he got back to his apartment, and put his luggage down. His midsection felt as if he had done hundreds of situps. To alleviate the residual pain, he decided to go down the street, and have a drink, a nice cool glass of beer.

Peom - if i don't have something positive

if i don't have something positive
to write it is better not to write
anything at all

good advice today from me to myself
you don't want to reinforce negative
thinking because it can build

but the one kid's snowsuit is two sizes too
small and he takes off his gloves and
his hands are turning red

the wind blows though not a serious
cold wind but a wind nonetheless
ripping leaves through the yard

i watch the two children play i sit and
i am idle trapped in watching and the
waiting for you to go

Waiting

He hears her up there, doing something, getting ready, so he sits by the stove and wants to cry, but he can't cry like that, in front of the stove. Other people are around, in rooms. He looks outside, the power pole he stares at has not moved. It is immovable. He's tired of looking at the power pole. The transformer hangs at the top of the pole at an odd angle, and has a toxic stain running halfway down one side. Wires loop from it, loop here, loop there, some slack, some tight. He looks at each house or building, where the wires go in. He does not want to think about how the wires are attached to the buildings, by grimy small round insulated sprockets. Suddenly she is ready. She looks fresh, and young, and smells faintly of hairspray.

I'm a College Student

I'm a college student, who didn't know his father well enough.

Coincidentally, I don't know it, but I'm doing a number of things my father did.

Like hanging out in dives, going with girls who turn a trick if money gets tight, or if they feel like doing for some cash, or a drink, or drinks. Is there such a thing as a semi-professional hooker?

In high school I almost went to jail for fighting other kids. I'd fight practically anyone who wanted to fight. I don't fight much, anymore.

I'm generally clean cut, the kind of young man girls like to show off to their parents, it shows her good judgment. I'm the kind of kid the girl's mother likes.

When I first started college, I dated many pert, neat girls, with pert, neat families. My girlfriend's dad is always a freindly overachieving alcoholic, and her mother invariably turns out to be a borderline pill popper, frustrated sexually, and has to make at least one pass at me.

After the first few times, the relationships were boring, but I was always polite and considerate. If I ever run into an ex, often she says her parents say hi, and want to know what I've been doing.

On certain occasions, I have been called a "Heartless Bastard". I think they are partially right, and partially wrong about this.

I'm the kind of guy, who, if you passed me in the street, and I felt a certain way, you wouldn't even remember seeing me. Sometimes I shake bums down, you'd be surprised what you can get off a bum.

My illicit habits have no pattern. I'm not a sociopath, but I act sociopathic if I feel like it. I'm careful with this sociopathic tendency.

Not knowing my father, like him, I also aspire to be something of a writer, and I have some talent for writing. This aspiration has been reflected through a process of the capability in the ordinary recalling of things.

Or stated simply, I do, then I write about what I do, and things become clearer, and I think my writing improves.

This talent hasn't been crushed yet, as it was crushed in my father, before he left when I was 3.

I fell in love with a girl named Eve. She said she was a lesbian, but she sure liked my cock.

She loved it in her vag, in her mouth, in her...well, you know. She was crazy about my cock.

This made her girlfriends very upset. They'd think they had this wonderful lezbo monogamous relationship, and then Eve would fuck a Japanese businessman, or have sex with me for a few days and they wouldn't know where she was.

I thought that fact was funny. Even hilarious. This wasn't in a mean way, this feeling. But it was hilarious.

I saw a string of lovely, devastated young lesbian girls, with angry tears in their eyes, not knowing what to do.

I had a drink with a few of them, and they'd pour their woes out.

Eve was fun. We had some good times together. She liked me because I wasn't possessive about spending time together, and cracked up pert relationship shit like that.

Then Eve got this real bitch of a girlfriend, I can't remember her name, but she was a hardass bitch of a lesbian.

Eve and her new girlfriend took off for Tampa, even though there was nothing for either of them in Tampa.

I hated that last girlfriend, she was a real bitch. I still hate her.

Later I heard Eve was in jail, for getting caught breaking and entering, something like that.

Like you ever get caught breaking and entering, I heard that Eve took the rap for the bitch girlfriend.

I don't know if that is true.

I hear Eve gets out in a few months, I don't know if she'll be staying in Tampa, of if she's coming back here.

Meanwhile, I'm on the Dean's Honor Roll.

My instructors like what I write.

I write fiction.

I wonder what my creative writing instructor would say if I submitted this.

Positive

i.

I'll stay positive, and not complain. I say, the snow is beautiful, 2 inches deep, crunchy, smelling of crunchy snow. Walk in it, it is a cool, head clearing scent that you cannot contest against. You smell it, and the cold gets a grip on you as you walk, so pull the scarf up a bit higher, stuff your fingers a bit deeper into your gloves. Whisps of snow fly off the rooftops, small birds are still here getting what they can get.

ii.

Coming back, see the tree in the backyard still has leaves on it, though they are turning brown and ready to fall. Toughest tree in Oak Park! The stone fox contemplates snow, being half buried in it. A Christmas tree is required, and soon. Colorful chains made out of construction paper should be strung over the hearth, 10 - 15 feet long, doubled over and over again. Multi-colored paper snowflakes taped to the french windows. Santa is coming, have you been good this year?

Lao Tzu is not Roy Lic - or - What I Said to Chung Tzu Later That Night

It is getting darker, the evening is blue, there is snow on the ground. When I look outside, I am shocked to think I see a person in the backyard, standing by the evergeen tree. Who is that intruder in the corner of the yard? Could it be Roy Lic? I go to the window and cup my hands to block out the light. Incredibly, nobody is in the backyard.

What is that -- in the alley, a shape? I move quickly to the dark livingroom, and somehow, there is no one in the alley, under the streelamp.

I turn on the lamp in the livingroom, almost fall over when I see that Lao Tzu has been sitting there in the dark on the couch. Who sits quietly in a room like that?

"Are you Roy Lic?" I ask him.

Lao Tzu smiles fantly, and waggles a finger at me. No.

---

Later, at about midnight, Chung Tzu comes by.

"Tonight I thought I saw Roy Lic!' I say.

"Why, bless us all!" exclaims Chung Tzu.

"You don't believe me."

"Of course!" says Chung Tzu.



Potshot Sez:

Ha ha ha. This is so true, and so not true
Because the AUTHOR, in fact, knows
Exactly WHO Roy Lic IS

W. Jason Nelson

I'm still recovering from W. Jason Nelson.

Drudgery

My palms are sweaty, and I'm drinking instant coffee, so things are shitty. I hate instant coffee and I hate when my palms are sweaty. I have real coffee, but I broke my french press back at the old apartment when the toilet exploded, and I needed to catch water with something, and I cracked it when I was bringing it up to pour water into the sink. Then I moved again, so there was no time to replace the cracked french press. And this morning I noticed my palms were sweaty, while I was drinking instant coffee. And not to complain more, but I will -- all the email I sent out last week about work or cartoons must have ended up in spam folders everywhere I sent them, because nobody has written back. What drudgery.

News - All Time Favorites at CM Evans Cartoons

I've decided to run some of the "All Time Favorites" over at my cartoon website CM Evans Cartoons. With over 1,000 original work posted there, over a span of more than 6 years, some of the funniest, most popular gags can get lost. You can go to the website blog H.P. Lovecraft is My Paperboy for commentary. If you've been with me the entire ride of CM Evans Cartoons, thank you so much for your attention. If you're new, welcome to the show. For everybody else who has stopped by over the years, I'll be gearing up for many many more. There is no end to the work!*


* Plus I have about 5,000 drawn cartoons laying around, and I need to do something with them, other than construct huge paper mache bunnies.

Chung Tzu and I Discuss Fish and People Wrangling

"I'd like to be a Fish Wrangler when I grow up." I say to Chung Tzu

"Ah. I don't think the fish will want you to grow up that way." Chung Tzu says back. "Unless there are some fish out there that want to become People Wranglers."

Chung Tzu Asks Me What I Have Against Knives

"Hello, brother!" says Chung Tzu, as he comes into the kitchen with a swirl of snow. "Now what is this, that I hear you're against knives?"

"Hello!" I say.

"Don't you know knives are good for things, like "cutting through", or even "severing all attachments to the preferences of what-is, or what-is-not?"

"You make an excellent point!"

"Yes I do!"


Potshot Sez:

Ha! Looks like Negative Nancy
got a comeuppance!

Poem - there's a lot of poetry in the backyard

there's a lot of poetry in the backyard
or is it

i have not seen enough falling leaves
this lifetime

Dedicated to Richard Brautigan

Poem - November

wind ripples the hammock
twists it like it was alive
brushing the edges against
snow dusted ivy

Peom - gilbert they said/ tell us about love

gilbert they said
tell us about love

are you ready to know
about love asked gilbert

i will tell you about love
if you are ready

we are ready to hear
they replied

gilbert said love is profound
strongest of things

but if you are going to love
you have to love everything

in the past it has been said
you must love beyond constraint

and beyond all causes
and conditions

if you are going to love
there can be no end to it

you must absolutely love
everyone and everything

then you will find that everyone
and everything loves you

do not make the typical errors
when doing this

do not love one person or thing
contrasted to another person or thing

do not love based on time
nor feel love on occasions

do not love through discerning
do no arrive at love by deciding

loving all is like opening a door
that was always open and was never a door

loving all is complete without
effort of completion

love is here and will always be here
unrequested and requested

no going to it no going away
from love or the loved

uneducated untaught not done
nor not not done

clear through and straight
for you and for me if we do it

Poem - danny is two and nonstop

danny is two and nonstop
he moans he cries
he laughs & plays
even he does things he shouldn't
do
all the while knowing
doing certain things is bad
and certainly very naughty

he's in a stream of action
all day long and if
i get exasperated
i know that he and i are precisely alike
the
only difference is i have covered
most of the rough pleasures and
selfless begging in thinking

self-reflection

and manners

Poem - there is no "A" for effort in Hell

there is no "A" for effort in Hell
and doing your duty comes at a high price

but Hell is the best factory in all the universe
you wouldn't want to be anywhere else

slowly being burned all the way through
going beyond ash going beyond unrestrained carbon

your limbs torso and head even eyes vaporized
heart turns into a diamond which rests there in the deep

until a jet of flame squirts it up to earth then
it may be found and cut into a fabulous treasure

mounted on the royal sceptere of a monarch
who makes the world tremble

or on a sober thin gold band
worn on a woman's finger

Advice

1. Take some time off and reflect on what happened. Absorb the past few months and try to get some perspective. You'll need this kind of introspection if you wish to aspire for the higher office, a position you clearly believe you deserve now.

2. Focus on the work you should be doing. Be the best at exercising what power you have now. Rebuild a feeling of cooperation, transparency, and accessibility -- even to the people who hate you, or disagree with you.

3. Demonstrate the kind of discipline when a microphone is stuck in your face, or camera, that you will decline to speak. Realize that many interviewers are on the outside friendly, but most of these interviewers want to record not who you are, or what you want to be -- what they really want are your gaffes, they want to record a display of presumptiveness towards power.

4. Realize the more you seek national exposure, at this time, the more you fritter away what small amount of political capital you have gained. This is because you are speaking too much, too soon after the election. As in point #3, it brands you as a blatant opportunist, a power monger, and a fool.

5. Educate yourself in the following areas, at least to the point where you can name some names, have a general appreciation for, or show you know the big picture, or basics concepts of:

- World Geography
- International Relations
- National Affairs
- Economics
- The Civil Rights Era in America
- American History
- History in general
- Linguistics
- Psychology
- General Science
- General Political studies
- Basic Philosophy & the history of Philosophy
- Comparative Religious Studies

Also read "The Prince" by Niccolò Machiavelli, read "Democracy in America" by Alexis de Tocqueville, read "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich" by William R. Shirer, read "The Spanish Inquisition: A History" by Joseph Perez & Janet Lloyd, read the Constitution of the United States, the United States Bill of Rights, the Amendments, be familiar with the significance of the Magna Carta, the Mayflower Compact, understand the valuable concept of Habeas Corpus, be familiar with the history of the Supreme Court and famous cases -- you may wish to take some introductory classes, or do undergraduate work at a law school.

The good news is, realistically, you have at least 8 years to "bone up" and get educated the rest of the way. I don't think the first 4 colleges you attended were very good schools, or you didn't apply yourself. So get your head down, start some night classes at the local J.C., and see where it takes you.

Poem - You and Me

the first time we broke up
was at a harbor

when we got married
it was on the top of a cliff
and we held onto each other
as tightly as we could

now ten years later
divorce proceedings
negotiations about money
day in day out of a tug of war
.now
...raking
.....leaves
........while i wait
..........to take you to the
...................................train

(knowing all along it is rather
pointless to rake because
who cares if they pile up
and a million more are ready
to fall and erase this work)

i suppose they call all
this suffering and punishment
acquiring wisdom through
direct experience but i don't
know what kind of wisdom
i am acquiring

i wish i did understand
why it must
be so painful in the process

but who am i to criticize the
flow of this relationship and how
it brought me more direct
wisdom

oak park
november 2008

Poem - fall

11:06 am

fall is an ocean of leaves
overdue library books
making sure the drains are clear
ready for rain

Poem - boys rake leaves into huge piles/ on the side of the road

boys rake leaves into huge piles
on the side of the road

listening to a tinny AM radio
playing a pop ballad about love

like the possibility of romance
there is no end to the leaves

until they all have fallen

Monday, November 3rd, 2008

Monday, November 3rd, 2008. The day before the biggest election of my life. Weather in Oak Park is surrealy nice -- 75 degrees. All the trees are changing into their striking fall colors with no fall chill, not a hint of winter in the air. It's been this way for about 3 days, and we'll keep having mild sunny days for the next few days. Who would have thought the Midwest could have finer weather than California? A thunderstorm that will break the spell is set for Thursday, or Friday. After obsessively watching the polls and the predictions, I've been reading old Horizon art books, right now I've gone over a interview of Hemingway by George Plimpton in Havana, in 1959. Hemingway, of course, is brilliant in the discussion and a bit quarrelsome with some of the questioning, as if he was hung over, or wanted to get drunk again, or both. He also said some things that are new to me, and I can think about what he said that day, back in 1959, in Havana, for a long long time. Making sure I spelled George Plimpton's name correctly, I discover he died in 2003. I didn't know Plimpton was dead. Hemingway, he blew his brains out with a shotgun in 1961, aged 61. Plimpton died of natural causes in his apartment in New York City, aged 76. Can you imagine the way you'll end up? The time, place, and circumstances? With such events happening around me, intertwined with the past, and the fine weather at the present, it seems inconceivable that I, or anyone living now in this moment, should die.

Adios!

i.

I've been thinking about Lao Tzu, nothing specific, as I pack the last few boxes. I clean the apartment for the last time, put the boxes in the car 1 by 1, in no hurry at all. When I know I'm done, the place is cleaner than when I moved into it, empty, serene, ready for someone new to move in and fill it with all their hopes, dreams, talk and worries. I take one last trip into the building when there is nothing left to do. I let myself in, as if I still live there, as if I would be staying there more. Here is where I pause, I look, I listen. I see the floors are almost dry, I peer in all the rooms, I say nothing. Cars move up and down the steet, the sky looks like it might rain later this afternoon. All is done. On my way out, I bow to the apartment of the second floor. Adios! I say. Then the door is locked, a few minutes later the key is in an envelope in the building manager's mail slot.

ii.

Driving away, with the last of my stuff, I almost feel blue -- but there on the side of the road is Lao Tzu. Under the falling leaves, he might be reading a Pennysaver, but I'm not sure. I pull over and he gets in. We drive through town to the flat, and have tea in the kitchen sitting on boxes stuffed with packing paper.