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

cant

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

cant sleep
long night
bad dreams
bad dreams

how pathetic
stupid

The Bar is in a Good Place

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

Poor Phil's
Oak Park, IL

He Loves You So Much

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

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

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

At the Bar

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

~ or ~

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

Walking Around

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

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

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

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

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

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

"About 24 Geese to a raindrop."

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

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

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

"How many battleships to a raindrop?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know."

"Why not?"

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

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

Less Words

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

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

The Speakers Hum

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

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

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

The Factory of Love

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

News - Opium 8 .print is Out!

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

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

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

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

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

i clean up messes

i clean up messes
i can't help myself

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

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

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

but it is my mess while i
clean up for others

Plumbing Menace

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

4 AM

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

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

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

Try Going For

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

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

Sewage Minutia

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

Here One Day, Gone the Next

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

But What About You?

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

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

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

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

he "broadened" his mind

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

it rains

it rains

i see one
little bird
in the sky

going up
going down

reminds me of
surfing and it
looks fun


May,
Oak Park

Thinking About Alice in the Sun

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

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

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

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

let's be brutally honest/ for once

let's be brutally honest
for once

you didn't try that hard
you never did

you relied on me
for the cutting

the pushing loading
portering

all the heavy lifting
and pointless tasks

take this do that
go here go there

you got used to me
and soon you wanted more

more and more and more
and more and more

and more and more and
even that wasn't enough

more lifting more tasks
all of it never enough

ultimately unsatisfying
offensive to you

the things we do
the games we play

buried in self hatred
and denial

we lost you

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

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

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

Thank You

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

"Thank you!" says Chung Tzu.

---------

Potshot Sez:

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

The Family Below Me

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

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

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

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

traveling alone/ west

the face
it smiled

the pen
it wrote

the food
was eaten

babies
gotten

wine
drunk

yards
trimmed

the pen
kept writing

kids
grew

the face
stopped smiling

arguments
had

hotel rooms
occupied

long nights
passed

pen
writing

suitcases
packed

screams
screamed

fights
terminated

traveling alone
west

Try Being Angry

"What are you doing?" asks Chung Tzu.

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

"Oh well. Try being angry, then."

Welcome to Odd Day!

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

The Good, the New....

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

-- Feuerbach

From TREASURY of THOUGHT
compiled by Maturin M. Ballou

Unknown Bear Story

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

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

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

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

And what did the bear do?

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

Then the bear left.

The next morning, she never went camping again.

-----

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

Just to Have Someone Around, Other than Me

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

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

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

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

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

Fatherly Advice

(all of this
pushing you away)

but what can i do
for fatherly advice

i go to my best friend's
father

i need you
but you won't show up

pushing pushing
who is pushing who away

i did this but
you encouraged me

(a non-valid excuse
i know

but screw you)

Prove to Me You Are CRAZY

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

If you are pro-torture, then:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chung Tzu - A Harmless Little Error!

Chung Tzu is here.

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

"Angry. Scared. Frustrated."

"How so?"

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

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

"How so?" I ask.

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

"And the feeling of holding onto anything?"

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


Lao Tzu Says:

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

Swine Flu?

Ah. Swine Flu. Hmmmm.

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

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

Road Trip to Detroit i.

i.

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

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

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

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

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

Chung Tzu's Happy

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

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

"Indeed!"

"So what could someone do about that?"

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

"Tell me, why?"

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

i came in/ i was alone

i came in
i was alone
just like you

we can
be friends
'cause of this

the moon came up

the moon came up
oh heartbreak my life

i cried because i saw the moon
the moon kept going

if you're not angry/ you can go anywhere

if you're not angry
you can go anywhere

truly not angry
then everyone will
welcome you

they'll be wanting
to meet someone
like this

some poeple waiting
all their lives

Leaving Soon

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

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

"I am everywhere." says Lao Tzu.

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

------

Chung Tzu says:

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

The Storm

Thunder and lightening last night, about 2 AM.

POW!

BANG!

BOOM!

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

Danny the Celt

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

Poem - For Sabine

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

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

we'll make you feel
at home

New Band -- Braxton Hicks

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

Poem - after the rain

after the rain
birds know what to do
juicy worms!

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.