Chung Tzu and Falling Branch

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

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

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

"Nice to meet you." says Falling Branch.

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

"Go ahead and ask."

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

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

Chung Tzu & a Perfect Day

Suddenly, Chung Tzu comes in.

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

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

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

"Not really." I admit.

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

Poem - be everywhere

me in everything
you in everything

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

the way to go
is to go

travel lightly
with a smile

see heaven and earth
above and below

be everywhere

Poem - happy/ by a tree in the yard

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

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

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

Poem - living here at the same time

hot & humid
hard to think
but it is cooling down

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

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

Poem - hello/ i miss you

hello
i miss you

it might rain today

oak park
august

Poem - i'll go to hell

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

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

if i broke your heart
i was meant to*

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

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

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

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

* Written without bravado.

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

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

**** Hell is now.

Poem - even try to imagine

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


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

Poem - i imagine you quite clearly

specks of water
then rain rain rain

love

i imagine you quite clearly
as it rains

Poem - let's have pizza

let's have pizza
and then make out

i'll notice you
taste like pepperoni

mmmmmmm
what part do i taste like?

Poem - Separation

father off to the hospital
will stay overnight for observation

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

messages left
mother sounding exhausted
on the answering machine

the phone rings
son picks it up expecting news

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

Today

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

.....

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

Poem - later something else

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

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

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

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

Monday's Obscure Sumerian Proverb, no. 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DOOR IS OPEN

Inks - From the Plaza NYC - Birds

Poem - i changed because

i changed because
i was bored
in the churches
of thought

Poem - if he feels like it

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

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

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

Poem - a wide pleasant garden

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

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

-----

Somewhere in Oak Park
in the Midwest
July 2009

Monday's Obscure Sumerian Proverb, no. 2

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

Proverbs: Collection 4
Segment B
4.56
30-31

Poem - all is silence/ in the end

singing to the
silence we
sing

in words
thoughts &
deeds

when we observe
the silence it is
beautiful

unformed and free
uncountable as the
wind

blowing through
going through

all is silence
in the end

Okay for an Adult

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

Ellie thinks about this.

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

"Why don't you like it?"

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

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

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

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

That Night

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

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

Poem - these birds/ sing

these birds
sing

dog barking

a car down
the street


Oak Park
July 17

Poem - Far

we swam out
the boy and i

is this too far
he asked

no i said
we're fine

so we swam
farther out

this must be
very far

the boy said
to me

yes it is
but we can swim

out a little more
a little more

see how it is
okay

the boy saw
he could swim far

but still be safe
and he was happy

Luckiest

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

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

Poem - but many things go away and/ never return

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

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

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

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

7/15/2009

Poem - like a machine

so here it is
a new moment i

want to say beautiful
but i can't be

positive or optimistic
due to my own

faults which are so
obvious and

glaring i can't believe
i managed to get into

this moment but
the universe is like

a machine & keeps
grinding along no

i do not feel sorry for myself
i only tremble in

wonder and awe as
the next moment unfolds

Robert S. McNamara

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

Monday's Obscure Sumerian Proverb, no. 1

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

Proverbs: Collection 4
Segment A
4.12 -- 17

Inks - From the Plaza NYC - Easy

Inks - From the Plaza NYC - Bikes

When was the last time you helped....

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

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

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

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

Conversion

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

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

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

Michael Jackson is Dead.

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

::::::

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

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

<<<<

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

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

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

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

Take care, Michael, wherever you are.

Air Conditioner

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

I Cannot Help But Watch & Admire

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


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

I Listened to the Band

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

Poem - all night long in your head

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

-----

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

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

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

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

"I could take a crap."

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

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

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


+++++


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

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

Me and Chung Tzu

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

"I see." says Chung Tzu.

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

"Indeed." says Chung Tzu, dryly.

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

"Why so?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that's all there is

to do it or not do it
be aware or not

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

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

--------

Dogo Barry Graham,
I'm listening

Chung Tzu says "HA!"

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

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

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

"HA!!!" says Chung Tzu.

(no title)

not seeing you
is real

a dark day of rain
real

typing this
real

why take a position
on it?

real is
real

that is all
it is

what more do
you expect?

be
here

you're
here

even
if

you don't
think

you
are

Things I Found Out Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Headline Asks

Headline asks,
"Who is Flying Your Plane?"

I think,
"A Pilot?"

Chicago Tribune
Wednesday, June 10, 2009

***

Zen Koans:

"Who is Flying Your Plane?"

"What is the Sound of One Hand Clapping?"

Now

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

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

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

horrible curse/ great blessing

this stands up
here falls down

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

horrible curse
great blessing

The Rooster Song

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

The Rooster Song

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

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

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

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

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

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

our relationship/ in retrospect

our relationship
in retrospect

was sorta like
building a boat

sailing ourselves
to Hell Island

we almost
got there

but the ship
couldn't take it

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

for daniel

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

i left
you kept dreaming
i imagine there were more smiles

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

love

love is a factory
i dwell on this point

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

love doesn't mean anything
meaningful

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


written with optimism
spring
oak park, il

you can't get away from it

you are not you
i am not me

struggle or be
strive or rest

you can't get away
from it

isn't even there
never was

many people
try to escape

the invisible prison
of the mind

because

you are horrible to me
but you look absolutely fucking
great

which is the way it turns out
because

out all night dancing

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

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!