New Swine in Aspen

How convenient it is that the Swine flu outbreak should arrive just in time for the Aspen mayoral election. The sickness is here, rearing its ugly head like a savage birthing duckling. Our Mayor, Mick Ireland may not be perfect, but the calls for change from every direction are deceptive. The swineherds are licking their lips on the sidelines, and they have a new representative. Her taste for the grease of Fat City is fresh and desperate. Do not listen to the spin. There is a tourist running for mayor, and her name is Marylin Marks. She’s just passing through, unless we allow her and her porky ilk to successfully finalize their take over of our little mountain town. Slowly but surely Aspen has become less and less affordable for the people who actually live here. When we elected Mick Ireland, we didn’t elect a politician, or someone who wanted to be mayor so he could get a few years of fame. We elected an educated working guy who walks the walk, and rides his bike to work every day, who has tried to defend Aspen’s right to be vaguely livable for people who can only afford one home. Then Marilyn Marks came, she saw, and she started to complain. She dropped her little Red Ant right into our pants, and started moaning about the way we do things from the day she arrived. She thinks Mick Ireland is failing us by being slightly less friendly to second, third, fourth, 5th, 6th, and 7th home owners, with a few time share holders in the back field. These are her constituents. And she is out there to make them feel good about their investments. She told us she had no interest in running for office. Now she says she is willing to work for free. Clearly she wants the celebrity of being the mayor of Aspen, even at the expense of those who would suffer the charity mayor. Aspen can afford to pay its mayor, but thank you anyway. Mick Ireland is not perfect, but he understands the soft heart of our beautiful town. This whole crew of candidates, running on the platform of change, are trying to get rid of Mick, possibly because Mick is not a greedy little land grubber sucking at the fat of the land, and the new Aspen Plan is an insidious play for greed and madness, dressed as usual, in the cloak of change. What are these candidates for change, really going to change? For one thing, they are going to encourage the Aspen Police to do undercover drug operations “under necessary circumstances.” This is not a good policy, and Mick Ireland understands the Aspen Brand enough to not mess with an ethos that we have held dear since the 1970’s. He is the only candidate who said he would continue our policy of no undercover activities by police. These operations are dishonest and wrong. Aspen is not supposed to be uptight, and this has only helped our success, even as a high end resort. Undercover drug busts are bad for business. Marks, Kole, and Erspamer don’t get it. You can’t do wrong in the name of doing right. Telling a drug dealer that you want to buy drugs and then arresting them for giving you what you asked for is just plain wrong. We want locals and tourists alike to feel safe and secure in our town. We just don’t want the tourists to forget to go home at the end of their stay. Marks represents the type of newcomer Aspen elite who have made Aspen a check mark for people who just want another exclusive resort home to add to their list. She is a retired business executive, a savage whiner, a woman after my own heart. She may be giving Aspen the full play now, but it will begin to bore her. Before long she’ll be just like the rest. They spend a few days in their home around new years, then they host lots of lavish parties during Food and Wine and Ideas festival, they feel important, and that’s nice. But while they may employ a caretaker and a maid while they are gone, they are not frequenting restaurants, shopping in our shops, and most importantly they are inflating real estate prices and creating huge swaths of empty livable space where people who actually want to live in Aspen, can’t live. We don’t need a mayor who is going to be more friendly to these people. Mick is nice enough. A representative government doesn’t just represent people who only spend two months a year in their outrageously huge energy sucking houses which sit vacant most of the year when they could be housing 4 families of working locals if the space was utilized by something other than a conspicuously consumptive waste of livable square footage. We need to keep our hotels full, and so we need to encourage these high end clients to come and visit, but we need to create disincentives against them buying or building homes that will sit vacant most of the year. The Marks platform is the opposite of what Aspen needs. If we want to fix the entrance to Aspen issue, all we have to do is eliminate the line of cars that comes all the way into our town every day all the way from Rifle, and out the same way. That means making living in Aspen affordable enough for people who work in Aspen. When I was a kid, the West End wasn’t a ghost town most of the year like it is today. There were children running around the streets and lights on in the homes. Making Aspen more friendly to its workers can only help us as a high end tourist destination. True 5 star service only comes from employees who are comfortable in their situation, who aren’t worried about their hour long commute at the end of the day, or the second or third job they are going to be heading to when they finish serving your fettuccini. Great service is difficult when businesses are dependent on transient workers like many of our hotels and Skico are presently. We don’t need to become a budget destination. We should leave the lift lines in Vail, and continue to welcome the pits of the Ritz, but we need to foster a community of working people who feel they can afford to fall in love, have kids, buy a home that can appreciate at free market value, and not just work and drink themselves into oblivion before they move somewhere they can afford to have more than a ski bum life. The Ferrari driving geriatrics will still of course be welcomed, but if they own a home, our government could do something like encourage them to provide at least 1000 square feet of housing for the working population for every 7000 square feet of living space that they own and do not live in at least 10 months a year. Just an idea. As for Marilyn Marks, Andrew Kole, and LJ Erspamer, put the fat in the fire and vote for Mick. He’ll keep Aspen peddling in the right direction. As for paying too much for the BMC land parcel, it’s just a right of passage. Anyone who has ever bought land in Aspen has paid too much. Shouldn’t’ the city of Aspen pay too much as well?

Pliant Earth

Same old dreams
The sanity sings its empty song
Lizards crawl frantically through the stream beds
and the strawberries
The wild Indians are dancing,
The vegetables ripe in the icebox
Gelatin in the sink
Nothing left under the microscope
Another reason to drink

The Hooker-Beating ShamWow Guy Is a Renegade Ex-Scientologist

Another French Horizon, and the Jews said a prayer for the Sun.

It’s quiet here in Aspen and everything is the color of mud. The time shrimp are disappearing and the endless whispers of the moon are beginning to appear. This mud is going to melt all the snow early, and maybe cause flooding. Later, there may be drought. All because of mud. Mud can be a terrible thing. But it can also be fun to play in. I haven’t seen anyone playing in this mud lately; but it has been cold. That’s about all there is to say these days, what with all the shrimp heads and the hand grenades. I figure it’s about time to take a break. Things are getting weird around here. I don’t think Marilyn Marx was wearing a one piece out there on Highlands closing day. Aspen may be getting ants in its pants, and the laundry is in the oven. Maybe it’s time to get a little more education, then let’s make a comeback and run for mayor. We could make this A-town again, where you don’t have to spend half your wages for a room in a three- bedroom house. We’ve got to make sure we don’t let them turn the beloved Popcorn Wagon into something out of Monster Garage. OK, they already did that, but there are other things to be done, or undone. I hope somebody gets on it. Goose Wrangler is off to the city. Over and out. I hear you loud and clear boss. Come in Honolulu. Do you read me? Over.

Love

Words the mixed confection
Of crisp slow dilapidation
In the midst of now

Woman calls 911 over lack of shrimp in fried rice

Life is Strange

Moves of the heart are a mystery
Twisted grooves of symmetry
Senseless dreams of whispered fate
The hearts wings fly their way
Clouds beating against the breast
The soft horizon
Pulls

Guest Check

Plop
The French lisp drops
Down the horizon
And the icy crisp
Loosens its loins
And falls gently to the ground
Waiting for the morning
Eighteen french polyps
Give their smile to the day
But they all make a wish
And send their wishes
To the future

Disturbing.

I really don't have a clue, or even an opinion, when it comes to the middle east, the disturbances between Muslims and Jews, or any dispute between any religions. Does the fact that this report is from Al Jazeera mean it's biased? I don't know. But it's all a major bummer. Why human beings have such a hard time treating each other as if we were all human beings, I don't know. If someone is a Jew, we are all Jews, if someone is a Muslim, we are all Muslims, we are all Christians, we are all Buddhists, we are all Hindus, we are all nothing. We are all Everything. What is God? Can I buy a vowel please?

Three Cheers for the Kid who gets it

Same old lines
I've been scribbling
All this time
Hocus
Interconnected
Pocus
Under water
Sleeping
Running through dreams
Empty spaceships
Waiting for the sleeping pills to kick in
One foot off the wagon
Practicing early Metamucil
Hiding from despair

I got nothin (I mean I'm posting the twelve steps of Kabbalah, clearly things are becoming desperate). Groovy videos for a change.

The 12 steps of Kabbalah--- short and sweet

Flossing monkeys 'proof' animals teach tool use

every day more evidence that we are not the only smart monkey.

Study: Belligerent chimp proves animals make plans

hungry jack

The dilapidated sand castles melt cautiously into themselves becoming sand again. The whole wide emptiness of things orbit each other, dreaming. Out here in the deep infinity of faces, of moons, of halos, stars, and planets, here we are, looking out at each other through our starry planet orbs of eyes. Planets of atoms and nuclei pop and jive and dance in our giant molecules of body. Life, that sweet dream, and only interrupted by consciousness, when we are ripped away from pure being. Suddenly there is yesterday and tomorrow and me and you and them and us. Madness begins to envelope the perfect moment, the now, the interconnectivity field, where it all just is. That’s a bummer. It just blows the whole trip that’s just always already there waiting for us to commune. It’s like it’s saying comm-on-in. In an Om Mani Padme Hum sort of way, if you know what I mean. Or like liposurgury as my whole body tingles cause it’s falling asleep.

There is no Difference

There is nothing going on here. I disappear. I am silence. There is so much action out there. It’s endless. Should I go bowling? What’s the difference? There is conversation and there is interaction. But it’s out there. It’s always out there. What does it mean to sit alone in pure nothing, without drugs, without alcohol, with nothing but the bewildered self? Is it the same as being out there? I’m here. I’m in here. Am I missing something? Or am I missing something when I’m out there? Am I trying to hide from myself when I converse and interact and consume? Yum yum yum, can I please have another one? Let me tell you what I think, or what I think I think, or what I want you to think I think. Let me demonstrate the me I think I want you to see. Who is the me who is trying to be? It’s empty, time passes, and there is only nothing alone, and that’s all there is. Nothing. Until we depart again and interact, return to the bouncing, spinning, magical illusion of particle collision. Here I am. Nothing becomes something in the eyes of the other. Two nothings create each other. But here I am, alone, interacting with a keyboard, pretending myself in solitude.

Update on Modernity

I scratched my new goggles cleaning them with seemingly safe goggle cleaning material. What’s wrong with a cotton shirt or even the soft glasses case that came built in with my new high-tech jacket? I mean seriously, old sunglasses or goggles didn’t just scratch up at the slightest touch. Modern technology sucks; except for jet-packs, heat seeking hand-grenades, and Ipods when they’re working. Some poor woman in aspen was just arrested for dealing Xanax, which is clearly because she did not have the prized letters, d and r, before her name. No, there is no shortage of new news in our wonderful world of dumb. Man still seems to be looking for love in all the wrong places. Two satellites collide in space in a burst of passionate debris, which will orbit, twinkling stars of trash, for eons. Or the nuclear submarines the other day, whose metal tips kissed dangerously in the depths, giving a whole new meaning to British-French relations. How exactly does having these giant underwater dildos carrying nuclear WMDs, many times more dangerous than your average STDs, patrolling the waters of the earth, make us any safer? Or how about the woman in Connecticut with the pet chimp? They slept and bathed together, she dressed him in cute little outfits, allowed him to sit at the dinner table, and he even used silver wear and brushed his teeth, which is more than can be said of many husbands out there. It actually sounds like a pretty healthy relationship. Straight people should be able to marry, gay people should be allowed to marry, and both straight and gay people should be allowed to marry a chimp. Let’s get the Aspen City Council on this right away. We can even put this item in front of that proposed main street median they wisely backed away from. At least the chimp didn’t abuse his own woman, just her jive talking friend. Who wouldn’t have just ripped her face off? I mean she was trying to get him to move and he was enjoying a good Xanax buzz (no connection to the alleged Aspen dealer as far as I know). Now that we’ve gotten the chimpanzees out of the way, let’s get onto Eric Holder, our new attorney general who isn’t satisfied with how the races are mixing on weekends. I was also convinced that our country was still pretty damned racist beneath our salad bowl facade, but then we elected a black president, which made me blink, maybe Holder didn’t notice the color of the man he’s working for, who was raised mostly by a white woman, who I imagine he spent many of his weekends with. Furthermore, there are many tan white people who are blacker than Eric Holder and his little Inspector Clouseau mustache. Not that we aren’t cowards, though, he may be right about that, but I think he needs to ease up on the race thing because it shouldn’t matter what color we are since we are all the human race. If we are all the human race then those of us who have taken an introductory anthropology course know that we are all African Americans around here, even the Native Americans. Our ancestors are all from Africa, where they started walking on two feet and got handy with tools, millions of years ago. Let’s not forget the discoveries at Olduvai Gorge, and one of them they named Lucy, not Shaniqua, contrary to popular opinion. OK, so now that we’ve established that we’re all Africans, it really shouldn’t matter what color Africans, black, white, green, yellow, or red, we are dining with on weekends, or whether we are eating watermelon, fried chicken, burritos, Pad Thai, or caviar with Fiji water. Which brings us back to our cowardice, our inferiority complexes, our rocket propelled grenades, and our giant nuclear dildos sliding quietly beneath the seas as we launch giant flaming phalluses into the sky.

Signs

Tired old coot with a silk trombone
Tired and alone
Just bought my last pack of cigarettes again
Threw it away
Was the best 6 dollars I ever spent
Pulled into the grocery store
Used to be open till midnight
Before that it was open 24/7
Must be the recession
11:45 pm it was closed
Sign said new hours
Seven to eleven
Damn
99 Luftballoons on the radio
Jumped back into the car
99 red balloons go by
Valentines day 2009
No cigarettes for me at city market
Wasn’t gonna smoke
There’s the gas station
Need more toothpaste
Pull in with car running
It’s open
Only toothpaste is travel size with mini toothbrush included
And a pack of American Spirits in the yellow box please
Unwrap them
Back in the car
Window’s frozen again as I’m pulling out a smoke for the drive home
Take a left onto main street and immediately run a red light
At which point I take note of the song that is playing on the radio
Sign Sign
Everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery
Breaking my mind
Do this don’t do that
Can’t you read the sign!?
Window won’t roll down
Pack of cigarettes in my hand

Threw them in the trash when I got home
Can’t barely walk tonight
Cause I worked all day
When I say I worked all day, I mean I worked all day
8 AM till 11:40 PM
That’s a 16 and a half hour day
Longest damn day I ever worked
And my feet hurt
I was born with the silver spoons
But I spent a good part of today just cleaning them
Hand wash em up real nice
Then polish them with the gloves on
Somebody else’s Silver
Somebody else’s stuff
Got to be that fly on the wall
Serving wine and listening
Our China’s all disappearing
Bunch of idiots in the family done lost it all
I’m just another one
Sign Sign everywhere a sign
Bunch a fucking drunks out stupid all the time
These billionaire Jews don’t drink like us
They have a damn good inventory of all their expensive shit
They have responsible help
Hold them accountable
I’m an undercover butler
Shining somebody else’s silver
I’ve watched the waves roll in
Watched the water pull back
Sucking off the shine and leaving sand
Drying in the sun

The Circles

In my right hand
This is freedom
Over here
In my left
This is addiction
Freedom is not always fun
But addiction sure can be
We don’t keep hitting the button
Unless the pleasure membrane
Gets its kick
Feeding the ego bubbles
Until the I behind the I
Completely disappears
Writhing in the mire
Of the delusion of separation
As we descend
And another circle
Runs its course
To here
Underground
At the roots of freedom

A little Ford Taurus creeps down the road
With a mystery driver
Satellites collide in orbit over Siberia
The middle of February and cold
Washing dishes and polishing silver in a mansion
Owned by bottled water magnates
Simple life in the butlers pantry next to a large kitchen
With laughing chefs
Picking up coffee beans
Wasting votive candles
Criticizing china
Nuevo richer versus nuevo poorer
Laughing at the absurdity of existence
Drinking water shipped from a distant island
The Jamaican dog trapped alone in an empty room
Good night

Farewell to the Chief

2/16/03

Sinking
Sadness in the ocean
A bank of empty hand-grenades
Trampolines and spaceships
The selective earth salon
Tears
Aphrodite washed downstream
Empty households lash out over seas
Spaceships and trampolines
The red-neck war troubadors
Flotation
Humanity submerged
Society: constructed emptiness
Spaceships and trampolines

2/18/03

What is this i'm doing here?
This incoherent mumbling,
this self-centered mumbo-jumbo
this silliness
This is unregulated, unthoughtful
I write from the hip
sudden, blastful thing

Let's clear the air
here
I like writing better when I write so fast I can barely read the words
this fastness
This thought protrusion
this is some type of poetry? this is free flowing blastocystic creation
This is zygotic, some profoundly, yea, somewhat prokaryotic creation
like a volcanic explosion
Some wrecklessness that appears in the organization of this foolish life
Not how it should or should not be, but what is real
Real is this sudden creation of the prokaryotic cell
and yet here we are
and we ask "what was God thinking?"
And the answer that seems most logical is that God
The creationist
The being that created the possibility of the eukaryote
The unsupposed inevitability of the meeting between the sex cells that results in the zygote
The logical answer is that there was no thought of this
The prokaryote was created, fine, but in that creation was the possibility for evolution
That possibility lies in the fact of imperfection
The fact that change could occur in the reproduction of the cell
And here we are
mutated to such an extent that we are a trillion cells working together to allow some moving mess of universal matter to lie in a dead room and reflect on the unthoughtfullness of form, of creation
We are a result of possibility
If the creator had meant to make us exactly as we are, then this creationist would have made us exactly as we are, or were made to be
But instead we are a result of change and continue to change
there is no constant being
If we were created in an image
we would all look the same
we are a creation of possibility
a result of change
We're just a huge complex erector set project
and furthermore we're just a blip on the timeline of change
we may even take our evolution into our own hands
take the reigns of possibility and press the pause button
or orchestrate some control of this evolution of which we have been powerless under
We are already doing this
We are results of possibility of the creation of something more simple than one of our one trillion cells
and yet we are trying to harness the power of possibility
the movement of change
Our existence is the result of random mutation, variation, change, and yet we are hell bent on controlling that which we are most afraid of,
that which created us,
God

More felch from one of the old journals

The God of Abraham and Isaac is a fallacy of separation, all human beings are offspring of one father who is not a father, one mother who is not a mother, we are children of possibility, a taproot without sex. We are born of infinite possibility, in which exists an acting mind that performs miracles of love.

an old poem I think I wrote in Greece

Chickens in the kitchen cleaning dishes
Sombreros hang as heads from the ceiling
Slaves built the temples of the ancient Greeks
Plaid armchair is a cross eyed monster
A curved road weaves through right angled houses
Behind a clay pot in a charcoal picture

Some Shunryu Suzuki

"Zuikan was as Zen master who always used to address himself. "Zuikan?" he would call. And then he would answer. "Yes!" "Zuikan?" "Yes!" Of course he was living all alone in his small zendo, and of course he knew who he was, but sometimes he lost himself. And whenever he lost himself, he would address himself, "Zuikan?" "Yes!"

The Melting

round and around and around she goes
tacos and burritos and purple pantyhose
My nose is unbroken
My hair unkempt
It's a toss pot circus
and it's not my first attempt
The lights are bright stupid
A fairy tale grove
Ain't nothing new in it since we hired Karl Rove
The filth has built up
We'll use it real nice
We can run the whole world on recycled vice
Shall we build another bomb?
I need to shut my trap
I don't have any answers man,
I lose it when I do.
I'm just another weak fella
Who likes to eat, sleep, and screw
I had the realization and I shouted all day
I have the answer man!
But they locked me away
I'd been drugging myself
They just drugged me more
I slept a lot and drifted out to shore
Let's go have a cocktail

15th Step

Go back to step 1, do not collect 200 dollars

14th step

Relapse

She Walked up the Hill in Sandals

Sometimes the dream is too powerful for the illusions of life
We don't know whether it's the heart talking
Or the mind
Maybe sometimes they speak with the same voice
Maybe sometimes it's best not to ignore the voices from the heart
When the dream makes you smile
While she dances in the wind
Her smile makes your heart bounce
Call it insanity
Beautiful
Sanity is boring anyway
And love floats everlasting through the universe

The Poha Song

Blowrag dish towel
Beef chow main
Tickle my balls
In the pouring rain

Nights out singing
Drunk on life
Blow out the candles
On Chinese delight

More dripping shrimp heads
Fall along the way
Praying for poha berries
Have a nice day

Wrote about a clawrag
On a crazy ass trip
Tapped into mind head
Ate a french dip

Woke up before Christmas
Hungover too
Diddling a stewardess
Out of life made stew

So we clawed out gently
As the night turned gray
Turning pages on acid
Children yesterday

sense

This brain is insane
Wet desires floating past
In a soft parade

Quietly shifting
Sanity Insanity
Nothing left to feel

Biscuits drift in wine
Flabbergasted decisions
Waft and dissapear

Ah for a sweet drink
Comfort in the illusion
Rejoice and relief

But it's not to be
Not today another day
Or when the snow melts

responding to Joe

There is no summit hermano
only the sky
Besides
up is down and down up, no?
And then we die

Another Hawbag

Pain, what is pain?
If I am you and you are me,
the same eyes looking out of different faces,
taking ourselves too seriously?
Is Hell just another face of a mixed up Confucius?
Nothing everything, everything nothing
As time quivers around the base of the mountain

The dope committee sat in outer space
with the soul of Joe behind bars
Angry that he'd abused their sacred power

Medicating life
Darkening what was pure light
Needed no medication

The lines on the asphalt faded
What we had created
Faded
Everything
Faded
Nothing

The spiritual aspect of life?
What part of the basketball isn't round,
asked the legendary Joan
as she ranted about synthetic dog biscuits

Listen to this genius... Joe the Plumber gives us the straight scoop about media bias and our Israeli soldiers. This guy's not helping their cause.

What a loser!

So I have nothing exiting to report, and I used to have a plan to write a movie review website, it was going to be called drewsreviews.com, but somebody else did it, and I never thought of another name, so never followed through on the movie review idea, which is fine since there are any number of movie review websites out there, and this run on sentence is really getting spectacular, so I’m going to continue it by saying that as I am entering a really boring period of my life, in which I am attempting to cut out the many medications which for the past 4 years I have utilized to find peace and serenity in this very sane world of ours, I find it appropriate here to suggest three movies that I have seen recently which finely entertained me and offered brief distraction from my craving for wine. The first of these films was The Wrestler, starring a very buff, puffy faced, 56 year old Mickey Rourke as a washed up wrestler (as you may have guessed) who, like the insane alcoholic who keeps going back the seed of his destruction, cannot seem to break out of his pattern of behavior even when the redemptive power of love is staring him in the face. Sometimes we just can’t seem to say no to those fireman boots! The second film on my distraction list is Slumdog Millionaire, which I think has gotten enough attention to make any sort of summation pointless, but is worth mentioning anyway because it’s a beautiful, very well made movie, even though Danny Boyle’s nod-to-Bollywood dance scene finale was a bit retarded, and added nothing to the potent themes of the film. The number three film on my list, which may have been the most intense of them all, I just saw this evening after one of those secret basement get-togethers for jaywalkers, and was Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino. I saw the advertisement for this movie and it made me laugh. Watching an old man Eastwood with his most potent angry smirk and gruff, grumpy, glare, was enough to make me want to see the movie, yet it still took me three nights of making plans to go see it, to finally get there, and it would be an understatement to say that it did not disappoint. I got plenty of laughs throughout because Clint’s character was so outrageously blunt in his racism, yet the further into the film we got, the more was revealed about the American melting pot being more of a salad bowl with all the different colors retaining their own flavor, potency, and idiocy. If ever a bad motherfucker could play deep chords on our heart strings it was Walt Kowalski, Eastwood’s hard-edged, hard-assed character who is wrenchingly revealed as a poster of humanity and virtue next door to beautiful and loving Hmong hill tribe neighbors, and a bunch of assholes of every color. This movie has a lot to say about the misshapen values of today (which is not to say that what we should be going for is to be found somewhere in the past). So go see those movies ya’ll. I’m a boring ass fella, just for today, up here on my wagon, no trees melting, no drunken sex in the kitchen snorting powders off fake granite, no watching myself disintegrate in the bathroom mirror doing yoga poses, no hangover tomorrow. Aloha.

a life

I watched the trees breathe
Drank from the pure nothingness
The seasons walked past

ripples

and then winter came
left before the dish towel
wiggling gently

Let it go

Let the claw win
Give up the illusion of control
and then you will not be defeated
"But how?" said the Woodjay
as he bounced along amidst the yams and cherry blossoms and cocaine
Aha, these wicked lips he licked
and walked into the circle smelling his fingers
Ooh the little stools he saw
and wondered at loneliness without medication
But he pointed his rifle quietly
and shot the Woodjay through the chest
in a burst of flaming feathers that scattered to the floor
and then he looked and saw an empty barstool
and calmly walked away.

Invading Gaza

Pow.
Bash.
KaBang!

Let's all go insane!

Machine gun fire

Let the sun come up,
the bombs make the sky line look like sunrise.

Quietly the jagged competition between Muslims and Jews

This land is my land,
This land is my land,

This land is my land go Fuck Off

This land was made for you and I

Bang
Pow
Kaboom

once again

As to the question of whether the glass is half full or half empty, I would like to remind us, there is no glass.

Bombs in the Bubble!

It may or may not have been because Paris Hilton was in town..., but one of our old locals decided to finally drop the bomb on us. Thankfully we didn't blow up, and who knows, as my good friend Danny recently pointed out, there could still be simmering explosives somewhere in our fine little mountain village. Anyways, pity that Gucci and all the other fine luxury stores of ours made it through unscathed. Well at least nobody was hurt. Jim Blanning, the perpetrator of this crime, poor man, couldn't seem to accept the greedhead takeover of his little hometown. It seems to have driven him insane. Guess he never got that acceptance thing. I'm working on it myself. No point being pissed off. It is what it is. Decided to jump off the train that goes around in circles, along the base of the great mountain. Time to get on the stair-master, the escalator, time to start climbing again. Let's trudge. Aloha.

Merry Christmas

These hearts that we breath with
This infinite solitude of perfect symmetry and connectedness
The source of truth
The field of nothing
From where existence grew
The manifested form
Particles
Pebbles falling into the sea
and the battle with Maya can only be won by admitting complete defeat
With medicine too powerful
Curing a disease which does not exist
The cures the causes of the maladies they fix
What is there to fix if there is nothing wrong?
Like water flowing down stream
There is no resistance
The water has nowhere to go

Here we are
The winterberries
Falling
We have nowhere to go

Where am I?
Here
What time is it?
Now

Good morning winterberries
Hello to the dingbats
Children of the earth
Children of the universe
Children of the lie
As the petals fall
Inifinite potential

There was the void
But the void was whole
and so were we
Crushed by the insanity
Of the illusions of our creations
When there was nothing to do
Do was all we did
and we did what we had to do

God bless the winterberries
As we fall

HOLIDAY CHEER!!!

Searching around in cirles, looking for cigarrettes. The girl is sleeping, but I am wide awake. Almost like old times of natural sleeplessness, yet this one involves outside issues. Sometimes it’s nice to have a cold beer on ice at 6:30 in the morning when it’s cold and snowy outside, and you know that in two hours it’s wake-up time, because despite your best aspirations, and dreams, you are not Hunter S. Thompson, and it has gotten weird enough for you, and you want to go skiing in the morning like a spoiled unemployed person does. But it’s Saturday, so who really cares? I’m just out there with everybody. Isn’t that how it is? All us folks, cruising around in weirdo land. We’re just a bunch of lunatics. Get a bunch of lunatics together in an agreeable bunch and you get a bunch of lunatics spouting off the same limited perspective. Which is great. People relate and there is happiness, joy, unity, and anger at “them,” the dirtbag breed, whether in Land Rovers or in dilapidated Datsuns. There is something different about them. They think they are normal. We know they are not. And so it goes, with the bullshit collecting on main street, and all the little animals squirreling along for their next nugget of consume. How am I not myself? Another consumer? You betchA. There should be a whole worldwide support group for everybody, a new AA. It’s called Assholes Anonymous. Cause we are all just a bunch of assholes. But I mean that in the most wonderful Way. WE ARE ASSHOLES BUT WE ARE ALSO GOD. WE ARE THE INFINITE POTENTIALITY OF THE UNIVERSE. BUT WE DON’T PAY ATTENTION. WE DON’T TAKE THE HELP. WE ALLOW OUR ADDICTIONS TO KEEP US CIRCLING THE REDUNDENT LOOP AROUND THE BOTTOM OF THE MOUNTAIN OF ENLIGHTENMENT. WE JUST KEEP GOING ROUND AND ROUND. AND IT AIN’T ALL BAD. SHOW ME A MAN WHO IS NOT ADDICTED TO SOMETHING. TRY TAKING MEDITATION AWAY FROM A BUDDHIST MONK AND SEE THAT HE’S JUST AS ADDICTED TO IT AS ARE YOU WITH YOUR WHATEVER IT IS. THE DIFFERENCE IS THAT HIS ADDICTION MOVES HIM UP THE MOUNTAIN. MEDITATION OR MEDICATION… THAT IS THE QUESTION.

ICE COLD BEER

I love this guy!

Bush shakes hands with himself then does a little dance. How he loves to make us laugh!

Dogshit...

What I wrote before, forget it. Kingston already decided to take a dump in the office! How the hell did that happen? Also I climbed inside a giant industrial trash compactor to dig out a girls purse tonight. Just doing my part.

Don't write at 2:20 in the morning.

You don’t train the dog, the dog trains you; at least that’s what they say. Tonight my dog is making me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. He just spent almost 30 days in doggie treatment. In terms of Mr. Kingston, doggie treatment is the Cottonwood Kennels and Ranch, where he received training, in addition to day and evening care. I had to leave and I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? Kingston came home a man. I think it was hard for him, and I’m not sure what tricks Ted the trainer used, but Kingston got to hang out with other dogs and chase pheasants, elk, and deer on a beautiful ranch about 11 miles outside of Paonia, Colorado. He came home a new man. He’s chewing his bone, and I feel like trying to flim the rhyme zone. So I waft anew. The apple pie blossom in bloom. Our little black dog, just another man, chilling in the room.

That is absolutely terrible writing. It is neither good poetry, nor prose. It’s smells stinky in my nose.

I’m going to stop now, but I think I’ll just post this anyway, as a demonstration of a potential for humility, and an ability to laugh at the corndog felch that I am capable of.

the crushingness

Aloha
The salty pure whispers take their time
Purifying the little tear drops
Down the line
Nothing was ever there
Nothing to hold onto
Nothing in the mirror
The purity of the obsolete
Slicing onions and forgetting yesterday
Another saturday night
Always climbing down these scary stairs
In dreams

Ramana Maharshi said what?

Why should you trouble yourself about the future? You do not even properly know about the present. Take care of the present, the future will take care of itself.

You couldn't even wait till Christmas?!!!

What is the deal these days, give me a break, I mean, how many times do we need to watch the universe melt? When do we say enough with all these illusions? Whatever it is in here, that we’ve been putting in this glass, to give our little lips the dry perfume of infinity, at some point we really just have to realize that it’s all the same. It’s just this pure line. It’s nothing. It’s everything. Fine. Great. Big deal. Stop getting drunk all the time.

Croissant Rouge

Another crackly flip top rolls along the edges
As the jelly begins to bounce
And the field mice scatter
Their home of rotten plywood
Where they lived harmoniously with centipedes
Is violently ripped away
And the little camouflage warriors
And tuxedo clad maestros
Attack each other with empty perceptions
The realities of their existence dug up
Obliterated by sutras

In a smudged glass display case
A number of pastries sit patiently
Waiting for their sweetness to be tasted
Or simply waste away
And Lama Zopa Rinpoche
Expounds on the emptiness of all the forms
And all their aggregates
As the perceiver looks into the pastry case
Watching the girl behind the counter
Place croissants in paper coffins
Offering her prayers to the sentient beings
And cleaning the glass shelves
With a wet green rag

navigating emptiness-the beginning

A stairway is not such a difficult thing to navigate, at least on the way up. There may be many steps to take, but if one is young, healthy, and vigorous, he has a good chance of climbing to the highest precipices. The stairway of life begins with birth; but from here, there is an infinite prismatic galaxy of different stairways leading in the multitude of directions, this labyrinth, with trap doors and passageways, diseases, addictions, abuses, madness, loves, family, dissolution, and certain death. Which way do we go? Our parents are generally quite important in this passage. One poor family keeps their offspring in their native land, in the face of adversity and struggle, and one gives up their child in adoption to a rich couple up north, who can’t conceive. These stairways lead in different directions, but what with all the unknown factors, there is no telling with any certainty that the child adopted into wealth will fair better than the one who is raised in physical poverty.
We climb these steps blind, as a rule, which is seldom rewarding, though every once in awhile we trip into an upward spiral by the turns of Fortuna’s wheel. We beat the game many times as we expand and disintegrate. We climb these stairs in the dark, in passion, in drunkenness, or we see just before us, but the stairs begin to curve, and we can’t see around the corner. Up and up we go, before we turn and look behind us, at what we have left in our wake. What passageways have we followed, and which have we passed by? Have we reached a cliff, with nowhere left behind us to go back to, must we step into the abyss, with all its mysteries?
How does one find the emptiness in this world of illusion, which begins the journey toward self-discovery, the emptiness which is preceded by the dissolution of the aggregate I’s we are to disintegrate in order to find our center in the wholeness of the universe, when we are aware of the hallucinations of our reality, created in our perceiving minds, and find One? Heavy question, loud walkman. Got my ear-pierced when I was 12, wore a gold playboy bunny in there, and felt pretty damn good about it, with my crystal pendant necklace and a burgeoning taste for smoking grass.
Before that, I threw grandmas cigarettes away, trying to get her to quit, then I just started stealing them and enjoying the mint fresh smokiness of the long black Moore’s in the green soft pack. Early lesson: if you can’t beat them, join them. We take lessons all the time, yet few of them, it seems, are setting us up for deep serenity, a peaceful mind, and a compassionate love of our fellow man. So we follow the steps laid before us by our circumstances and our decisions, conscious or unconscious. Even for the Atheist, this is a step of faith, but it’s alternative is often suicide, so it is a faith many take blindly.

TBC
ACS

waking the beast.

Watch out for that first step. It's a doozie.

so much depends

October 22, 2008

Shattered broken species
Shivering on the edge of the great abyss
Afraid, Aware, confused
Senseless in the stream
Of Barbarian advertisements
Bombarded by the unshakable force of what it is
Reality
Utopia of mass consumption
Corporate mania
Under the carpet
The destruction of life

Get a JOB MAN
You lazy slob
What are you doing?

Find a wife
Have some kids

The bull shit lies there quietly in the grass
Staring up
The uncaring bastard

Son!
Be a success.
Get paid to afford to get old

Believe in the resurrection
Eternal life awaits as the rainforest burns

Walk to the bar sonny boy
Swallow another claw and go back to sleep

I watched my Grandfather riding a tricycle around in circles in the bright sun
In Khaki shorts with pale, fragile legs.

He had a phone number once
But that's all over now
As he smiles and rides along
Laughing in the humor of the cosmic tide

I was in my spaceship, all safe and encapsulated in a sea of beautiful illusion. I was asleep inside, busy chasing demons without and trying to control the Great Is. I sucked tolerance from chemicals and enjoyed unconsciousness and the temporary blessings of blind wisdom, an ego fed righteousness thrashing around the ether. I buried myself. I bury myself. You put your right foot in and you shake it all about. Shake it all about. Shake it all about. Shake it all about.

Drugs

That mindstem
Ripped off and broken in the midst of some
Disappearing line
Falling all the way down into the repetition of fake bliss
Figuring it out
Over and over and over
Again
IT'S PERFECT!!!
Then gone,
As the illusions wear off and the little addictions start poking us again
Offering their small giddy smiles
While the asphalt carves holes in our souls and rips us sideways
Throwing us back on the train
Going round and round in circles
As it makes its rounds
Hugging the edges
At the base of the great mountain.

OK Fuck it. It could be time to just write and let it be. All the stupidity. Why not just play this game of unedited drivel. Another post on the web, unseen impulsiveness, trickling into obscurity. Infinite work just passed passed on down the line. No crowns for perfection. Just blather and the frisk hot welts of filterlessness, and a right to destroy your lungs with cigarettes for just one day more. Oh foolishness. I don't remember what i was getting at.

Another step on the journey to nowhere.

Well, i'm finally tearing the store down, so now we'll have to catch the website up with the closing store, as opposed to clothing store. I have given everything to charity. The Basalt Thrift store is happy, and they will be putting all the proceeds from their venture into building permaculture and greenhouse capabilities for the valley. It was always supposed to be for something good. So yellow, in the end, did turn out to be green. How exactly getting out of the lease is going to work, I am not yet sure, but they say the cut-your-losses decision is the most difficult to make in business, so at least i've gotten that out of the way. Our little store is closed. Aloha, ciao, adios.

Soft Landing for Democracy

It’s a big night for the USA. America is on the verge of curing a deep cynicism which has coated me like an oily secretion since George W. Bush won a majority of our vote in 2004. At this moment, watching an old wooden television, I’m looking at an American flag with only 42 stars on it. It was my grandfathers. Maybe his grandfather gave it to him; and maybe I should buy a flat-screen TV because living with vintage memorabilia everywhere is starting to freak me out, and I’m starting to wonder whether modernity is really not so bad. I hear a voice, like a deep comforting voice, like a combination of the voices of James Earl Jones and Anderson Cooper. I hear a voice. “Barack Obama.” I hear more voices, drowning out the sarcasm and disbelief of Bill O’Reilly. “Barack Obama, Barack Obama.” I hear thousands voices, of people waiting to celebrate his election in Grant Park Chicago, “OBAMA. OBAMA. OBAMA.” I hear the victorious, passionate premonition of Reverend Jeremiah Wright when he roared: “Barack Hussein Obama!!” Have we had the premonition for years that we were moving in the wrong direction, that America was a force for pain and suffering around the world, with our culture of consumption, resource wasting extravagance, and aggressive exportation of a mindless, presumptive way of life. I have not been a proud American. But here we are, preparing to celebrate a new Age, preparing to view our fellow Americans in a new way, to feel a new connection to our Country. Tomorrow we will meet the citizens of the rest of the world with fresh eyes, without the defensive posture of the past, instantly ready to make them understand that we do not support the crimes of our government, the horrors on which our Nation were built: the slavery, the genocide, the patriarchy, and violence. Obama does represent change. Everything changes. Thomas Jefferson, one of the geniuses of American history, and of the world, is sitting up in Heaven (yes he was forgiven for being a slave owning liberal Christian who had to keep his copy of the Koran under his bed) looking down on us, and it has just suddenly dawned on him that we were not totally hopeless after all. He is looking down and imagining that our remarkable Constitution, which he did so much to create, may finally be bringing good tidings, and its gifts may be ready for long overdue delivery, as we, Americans, have taken the moment in our hands and elected the future. Barack Hussein Obama will be our President. I’m going to celebrate this moment with some fellow human beings, with a bunch of happy, future looking Americans. What a wonderful moment to be standing in a crowd of our countrymen, in Times Square, on Hollywood Boulevard, or on the sidewalk in Main Street USA. What a moment to be standing anywhere, even in the grass alone, in the midst of the great wide open. This is a moment when a man’s confidence in his species can be restored, a moment when we can say goodbye to the past, to the blame, the repetitive mistakes, the selfishness, the mindlessness, the destruction and presumption. Let’s take a moment to collectively wave at what is behind us as we look in the rearview mirror and say goodbye. Ooh, I see a little George Bush in the rearview mirror. Bye George.

An article by this Fella Jonathan....

My wife made me canvass for Obama; here's what I learned


By Jonathan Curley Jonathan Curley – Mon Nov 3, 3:00 am ET
More from Christian Science Monitor:


Charlotte, N.C. – There has been a lot of speculation that Barack Obama might win the election due to his better "ground game" and superior campaign organization.

I had the chance to view that organization up close this month when I canvassed for him. I'm not sure I learned much about his chances, but I learned a lot about myself and about this election.

Let me make it clear: I'm pretty conservative. I grew up in the suburbs. I voted for George H.W. Bush twice, and his son once. I was disappointed when Bill Clinton won, and disappointed he couldn't run again.

I encouraged my son to join the military. I was proud of him in Afghanistan, and happy when he came home, and angry when he was recalled because of the invasion of Iraq. I'm white, 55, I live in the South and I'm definitely going to get a bigger tax bill if Obama wins.

I am the dreaded swing voter.

So you can imagine my surprise when my wife suggested we spend a Saturday morning canvassing for Obama. I have never canvassed for any candidate. But I did, of course, what most middle-aged married men do: what I was told.

At the Obama headquarters, we stood in a group to receive our instructions. I wasn't the oldest, but close, and the youngest was maybe in high school. I watched a campaign organizer match up a young black man who looked to be college age with a white guy about my age to canvas together. It should not have been a big thing, but the beauty of the image did not escape me.

Instead of walking the tree-lined streets near our home, my wife and I were instructed to canvass a housing project. A middle-aged white couple with clipboards could not look more out of place in this predominantly black neighborhood.

We knocked on doors and voices from behind carefully locked doors shouted, "Who is it?"

"We're from the Obama campaign," we'd answer. And just like that doors opened and folks with wide smiles came out on the porch to talk.

Grandmothers kept one hand on their grandchildren and made sure they had all the information they needed for their son or daughter to vote for the first time.

Young people came to the door rubbing sleep from their eyes to find out where they could vote early, to make sure their vote got counted.

We knocked on every door we could find and checked off every name on our list. We did our job, but Obama may not have been the one who got the most out of the day's work.

I learned in just those three hours that this election is not about what we think of as the "big things."

It's not about taxes. I'm pretty sure mine are going to go up no matter who is elected.

It's not about foreign policy. I think we'll figure out a way to get out of Iraq and Afghanistan no matter which party controls the White House, mostly because the people who live there don't want us there anymore.

I don't see either of the candidates as having all the answers.

I've learned that this election is about the heart of America. It's about the young people who are losing hope and the old people who have been forgotten. It's about those who have worked all their lives and never fully realized the promise of America, but see that promise for their grandchildren in Barack Obama. The poor see a chance, when they often have few. I saw hope in the eyes and faces in those doorways.

My wife and I went out last weekend to knock on more doors. But this time, not because it was her idea. I don't know what it's going to do for the Obama campaign, but it's doing a lot for me.

10/29/08

There is no going back.
No reverse to the right decision
When the devil within has worked his sabotage
We cannot rewind the savage machine
How can one mind move in so many directions?
How can it be so cruel to the vulnerable self?
When the reckoning comes
Only one stands trial
His own judge and jury,
and the cruelest punisher of his own mistakes
In the blink of consciousness
When he slept
And his devil took the helm
Readying the whip of delusion
Preparing a bed of vipers
To greet consciousness when he wakes
And all the flowers of delusion wilt and fall away
Leaving a cracked stem shaking in the cold

train

There is a train in the brain that goes around in circles and never gets anywhere. It has ideas with meaning, but they don´t make sense, like heroin addiction, or an obsession for something that isn´t there. Reality is what makes the most sense in a world of consciousness which doesn´t make sense. Different people build different looking sand castles, and clay is soft and hard, cracking in dry emptiness as it walks into the dark and says goodbye to dreams.

The Cazador

Oh Cazador, the Cazador
Running around mountain pastures chasing little wild pigs
You fool, decrepidating mass of flesh
Distracted by the flashing screens
Inhabiting the hinterlands
Ever on the outside looking in
You rode through the town of Vasilikos in your clattering machine
Chasing a white horse made of clay
Covering yourself with muck and clawing around as if it meant something
Making promises you wanted to believe
Then came the emptiness you had rejoiced
Then was your way blocked by waving steel bars as the flys descended upon you
The Cazador
Who was outside looking in
Flailing and ranting fool
Who fell roughly from your perch, to crawl in the filth of your blindness
Suddenly your sadness turns to anger
Your anger to madness
Cazador, they disapear
Covered in muck, oh Cazador
Dribbling all over yourself
Too sane for life, and too many dreams to cure the sadness
Just turn the anger inward, with a blast to your forehead and clear it all out
A clean slate
Cazador?
So sad you want to die?
Too many of us oh Cazador
One must be the first to go
The anger raging out is the cruelty of what you've done within
The madness began with love
As everything
Will be destroyed by love
Cazador

a few quotes from the Teaching of Buddha which I am reading, and remain most certainly unenlightened...

An unenlightened life rises from a mind that is bewildered by its own world of delusion. If we learn that there is no world of delusion outside the mind, the bewildered mind becomes clear; and because we cease to create impure surroundings, we attain enlightenment. [Bewildered for sure]

All things are primarily controlled and ruled by the mind and are created up by the mind. As the wheels follow the ox that draws the cart, so does suffering follow the person who speaks and acts with an impure mind.

things are like illusions, they can be said neither to be existent, or non-existent.

A wise man, recognizing that the world is but an illusion, does not act as if it were real, so he escapes the suffering. [I´m totally fucked on this one, and there is a band marching by outside this little cafe in Tarifa, Spain, the closest you can get to Africa while still in Europe]

Two extremes to avoid, first is extreme indulgence in the desires of the body, second is the opposite extreme of ascetic discipline, torturing one´s body and mind unreasonably. [who´s with me on the second being less of a problem than the first?]

Things neither exist nor do not exist.

Namu Amida Butsu [in case you don´t say this often anyway, according to this Japanese understanding of Buddhism, make sure to say this before you die, as it could end up being the difference between you being born repeatedly in the sufferings of your mistakes, or being reborn in the pure beautiful land of the Buddha. I´m assuming we´d rather the latter]

what is the meaning of this madness?

The masked avenger sits idly in Andalucia, waiting for a bus to Tarrifa after only a fitful hour of sleep on the plane, after a reunion with the Belgian in the Barcelona night, which ended with a taxi to the airport at 6 in the morning. An hour and a half to wait for the bus departure. Too many questions left unanswered, the end of an age. The pleasure of luxury problems, watching the markets tumble and regretting not pulling it all out 2 months ago. It´s like the difference between a pregnant girl and a light bulb. You can unscrew the lightbulb. Se la vie.

blah blah blah

Al Gore, Hillary Clinton, John Kerry, blah blah blah. Barack Obama, George W Bush, John McCain, blah blah blah. Sarah Palin, blah. Economic crisis, blah blah blah. Markets tumbling, blah blah blah. Bailout plan not working, blah, the American consumers aren't going to be spending like they're supposed to if they can't spend the funny money with their little plastic cards, blah. They aren't going to buy houses and cars without those low interest loans which were thrown at their feet like plush red carpets, saying "come on down!" Blah blah blah. People really are losing jobs, banks really are going under, these are real problems. Trillions of dollars are evaporating out of the stock market, likely to pay off loans on yachts, private planes, and houses in Aspen. Blah blah blah. A new generation of minds, engulfed in flames of madness. Oprah Winfrey, blah blah blah. Important presidential election, and an economic crisis that is helping Obama's numbers in the polls; if he's in a real race with anything in this one, it's racism itself, not that stiff war mongering automaton and his I Love Lucy sidekick, blah blah blah. William Carlos dear, what's interesting about this picture here, is that the wheelbarrow is a green one, with bright white trim, sitting beside a nuclear bomb, with an old gray hen pecking at the seeds around it.

malaka

I wish the Greeks would stop saying masturbator all the time. They say it all the time. Malaka, malaka, malaka. It's disgusting. I mean it's everywhere, they say it like americans say dude. We say asshole in the states, but that's pretty serious verbage. Jesus Christ. Quit with the malakas already.

a few thoughts

To be brief, my lust for life has returned, and with it my lust for writing. After a depressing summer, where I even pursued psychiatric treatment for my mental state, and was prescribed at least one azapam and one trigene, and neither worked to lift my spirits. Well I figured out exactly what prescription I needed, it´s an antidepressant called Barcelonazac. I needed an escape from the belly of the beast. Now, don´t get me wrong I love our Aspen, but we must acknowledge that it´s pretty close to buried in mountains right in the heart of the United States of America. Which brings us to politics; and I feel terrible about not being out there campaigning for Obama at this crucial time, when the neo-capitalistazis are coming on with a fury; and while they are not trying to kill a bunch of people off like the nazis of old, they are moving in an opposite, and also loco direction, trying to take over the rights of the body, and making sure that no potential cog in the capitalist machine is threatened. That´s right, it´s all about babies. The expansion of the market is really quite dependant on the so called right to life for these egg sperm combinations. Now, you may notice here, that I am not what they call "pro-life," but I really am pro life. I think life is great. But it´s not going to get any better with the population of the earth growing at the rate it is. It´s going to get a whole lot worse. I suppose I qualify as what they call "pro-choice," I believe in a womans right to choose. But let me go further and say, I´m pro abortion. If you don´t want it, are not ready for it, can´t afford it, aren´t going to be a good parent to it, then don´t have it for God´s sake! And don´t let anyone make you feel guilty for the decision you made, you´ll go through enough of that on your own. Because, after all, most of us really want one of those beautiful, cute creaturs, which light up our life, and make us remember what it´s all about: big curious eyes staring out at a brand new world of love, beauty, and innocence. But back to Skeletor, a product of five years of torture at the hands of people he was trying to bomb, who is 70 odd years old, and chose for his running mate a beautiful hockey mom who is as close to God and his "plan" (and of course it´s an oddly American plan) as she is to the giant bloody Caribou carcas she is smiling next to after slaughtering it with a high powered rifle. Great! Obama does seem like a great option in comparison. But I must admit for a moment, that I really don´t feel so guilty for not campaigning for him. I mean, I was all there, I was on board, but he´s really starting to grind on my nerves. The preacher talk, for example, is getting old. Dude, you´re a law professor and a senator, you are not Martin Luther King, but your wife is so darn cute, I imagine that you are far more faithful than the King. But what King have you ever heard of who was faithful? Come on. Anyways, my big problem with Barack is that terrible words, that Sean Hannity loves to use, are coming out of our Obamas mouth. "Now America is the Greatest Country in the World," or was it "I believe America is the greatest country in the world." Is that what I keep hearing him say. The two sides are bickering back and forth about distortions here, distortions there, but come on, Barack Obama taught Constitutional Law. For him to say that America is the greatest country on earth is like saying that the moon is made of cheese. Come on people, seriously, America is not the greatest Country on earth. There is no greatest country on earth, they all suck one way or the other. Was Rome, at the peak of its insane empire, the greatest country on earth? No. I thought Obama was the guy who was going to make the rest of the world like us again. You know what the rest of the world really hates about us? They hate that so many Americans think that we are the greatest country in the world. And some of these countries really hate when our government acts like it is the greatest country on earth. They hate it so much that they plot and scheme to blow us up for our actions. Anyhow, Mr. Obama, please, if you are going to make our country safer, please stop saying that idiotic thing. It´s the biggest lie I´ve heard in this whole campaign. You still have my vote though. And hey, all you people who are pissed off about me saying that America is not the greatest country on earth, you guys vote for Obama as well. Okay? Great, then we all agree. Aloha from planet not-America. It´s good out here.

Instead of praying, I ate cheesesteak
and drank red wine,
sat and watched the lizards talk,
and pretended that I was in control
forgetting for a long moment that I was only a passenger on this spaceship
Floating amidst powers beyond comprehension
Then a backpack clad spaniard leaned over me,
gently grabbed my pen, and drew a peace sign on the page
and I wanted to cry from the sheer beauty of a moment standing in the light of the immensity of existence
and a tearful rememberance of my significant insignificance,
and the maze of desires, wishes, wants, and dreams,
that built a wall up blocking gratitude,
the thank-you to life which is all there really is to wish for,
because it offers the only pure happiness in this illusion of the flesh,
and the inevitable loneliness of being alive,
as the world rushes by
and dilapidates the fulfillments of our selfish wants,
leaving us alone and empty,
ready to feel the gratitude of pure being,
a happiness which makes us cry,
and folds us in half with apologies for our forgetfullness to the universe
as we thank the great void for existence as a silly lizard
who every so often remembers to say thank you,
and then, most probably, proceeds to get drunk,
trying not to forget the beauty in everything
amidst crashing stock markets, the smell of stale cigarettes,
and hearts bursting with love,
a great big human family
spinning around on this big round spaceship
in the midst of unknowable infinity

9/17/08

An angel crawls up from hell,
searching for a new life,
yet the road is hidden,
time limited,
as the sand falls through the hourglass and is forgotten.
The streets are littered with shrimp heads,
rotting flesh,
and dreams.
Another plane lands,
and the passengers live another day,
rushing away from each other into their little worlds,
alone.
We were close to the ocean,
but we had no idea,
just the miracle of life

9/17/08

What are we doing in outer space?
Why do we always pursue the beyond?
I suppose it´s human nature,
but when does progress become a basic waste of time?
Modern science,
the age of oil,
Love in the time of Fossil fuel.
Waiting for things to change,
waiting for the gifts of life,
happiness, love,
an upward swing from where we have grown down.
There is a loneliness that comes with living without a community,
the life of a lone nomad,
at home nowhere, and everywhere,
and the fellows of his heart are constantly lost,
but never forgotten
on the long strange ride around the planet.
He disapears,
constantly searching for a place,
never fully content,
always searching,
seeking a home and love,
and some purpose,
in a modern world of dilapidated meaning.

Off to Barcelona 9/16/08

Hot red wax accumulates around the edges of this hole,
The personality,
the one original thing in the universe,
be it planet, plant, animal, or man.
The thick liquid accumulates all over my mind,
hampering the truth,
rushing over my soul with the treacherous breath of societies demands on the battered self

Sept. 2 2008

Time is strange lately
the hooves are mouthing hot on the french horizon
Green drips of terror eat a the fragile ageing mind
Iceicles forming around the edges
Pencil scribbles darkness lines
the edge of something beautiful
the edge of despair
Dreams and requests from the almighty,
the infinite universe,
the unknown,
The burial

8/21/08

Whatever it is in here, as these molecules crawl through us like a prysmatic blossoming, suddenly the words like red blue and green flags waving and laughing now.
So the two monkeys sit and crack while the giants exlplode the universe,
while nothing is happening.
It´s quiet, and the ladies are gone and the morning has left his damp imprint on the soft coves,
and the hearts beating perfect as he looks at the scenery.

The Fool

They say that the fool who knows he is a fool is wise for this, while a fool who thinks he is wise is called a fool indeed. Well I've been a fool who thought he was wise, but life has a way of reminding one of his own silliness. Love and pain are so intertwined , it's like living under water. There is no sense. The fool thinks of his greatness, and the fool thinks of his misfortune. The fool is lost, and cannot find the middle way. I'm off to Europe today. I don't have a clue, and I'm running late to get ready and take off for the airport. Strange days from a strange year.

Greatest Country on Earth

Well tomorrow I take off for Barcelona, leaving this little hamlet of wealth and beauty called Aspen. Except for my extreme laziness of late, which resists movement of any sort, I'm exited. I'm sad that I will be missing the presidential debates, but also grateful to escape the insanity of this strange and awful campaign season. Two candidates are now running on a platform of change. Change Change Change. Well Bullshit. What exactly is going to change? Barack, the other night, and I've heard him say it a few times, said: "America is the greatest Country on earth." Sounds a lot like Sean Hannity to me. How exactly is America the greatest Country on earth? Is it our huge collection of nuclear weapons? Is it our wide variety of reality TV shows? Is it our great population of obese, and coastal enclaves of anorexia and bulimia? Barack, why would you say that we are the greatest country on earth? That is a stupid thing to say. I thought you were the guy to restore our reputation around the world. You know what those other countries are tired of? They are tired of Americans thinking that they are better than everyone else. We are not. There is no greatest country. And we are not high up on the list of greatest countries. We have most dictatorships beat. Countries all over the place have their own little and big problems. And we have more than our share. Greatest country on earth my ass. Mr. Obama, you are not helping restore my hope, and while you don't scare me as much as McCain, you are losing my faith. I'm off to Europe, where the wine tastes like wine, and people are a slight more mellow than in this haven of capitalist consumption and endless want for more. But i'll be back. I'll try and keep you informed.

Montezuma Adventure

Well before I go trying to put myself to sleep, I have to just for a moment stop and swirl the laughing face! And then ask myself, now wait a minute, was the world not completely insane enough, without having to add molecules to the nuclei? LSD. Flush that perfect union synchronicity out into the everything back into the moment, as the trees breathed as we breathed, and the present suddenly appeared, undeterred. But then here we were, again, humans, in the middle of this universal perfection all breathing together and flowing out into infinity. And we were confused. This was all so connected and the lines bent to allow us to see the corners of the mystery like tracers clawing round our paws. And there it was. The moment. The present. Perfection in all it's breathing majesty. From the ground through our tissues, we are the fiber of the all. The molecule. It makes up everything. But that's just the drugs talking, or that's just the truth talking, and maybe normal reality is what's known amongst the druish thinkers as that same old swine rag flemgoribbish as we've heard before. We have no idea what is going down here. We want to find and mate and reproduce. How complicated we've made everything with our mighty and grandiose minds. We still eat sleep and fuck, but there is love in everything. The source. The source of the wind. The breath of the trees we see enveloping each other when we sit and watch them breath. All the dimensions exist at the same time, and they wrap us in secret caves, separate from each other, but all breathing as one. The main organism. The big Secret. And tomorrow, we wake up, and go to work, and let the train leave the station yet again, from just another pair of warn lenses looking back down the line, and asking why. The dance is circular, like life. "It's all circles" one molecule said to his friend, in the midst of all this meaninglessness. Look at the sunset. Look at the Mountains. The rock beneath our feet, and the creek of reflections flowing through the meadow. The stars in the sky, and we all breath together. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in, Breath out.

Campus Priest Accused of Dealing Coke

Alright. Three cheers for a priest who offers his flock the powdered lord! For a price, his believers can buy a ride on the white horse, with an increased heart rate, and flap mouthed ecstasy. At least he wasn't molesting kids, just doing God's work and selling dope. Sweet. Reminds me of a guy in Hawaii who started The THC Ministry. You can go in there and be blessed with the cannabis sacrament, and get a neat little card that says weed is part of your religion. Maybe the Catholic priest should have covered his ass a little better and started the Church of the Lords Blow. I'm sure his church would be filled with jittery believers, jonesing for a little bit of God in their nasal canals.

Thoughts for Obama

I was talking about balls in my previous post, and Barack Obama needs to get a new pair. While NBC and FOX attack each other for being biased, the Fox after NBC for being Obama cheerleaders, and NBC after FOX for licking Mccain’s hoohaa in their fair and balanced way, Barack is getting pit-bulled left right and center. Come on, Mr. Obama please wake up, out of your monotone, slow and deliberate, overly thought out commentary, and push back a little bit. Please Barack, before it’s too late. You are losing the election as we speak. The lipstick on pigs comment was a really dumb thing to say by the way. Did you not listen to Sarah Palin’s speech? Come in Honolulu. She told a joke about the difference between hockey mom’s and pit-bulls. Lipstick was the difference. Now, let’s be clear, I understand that McCain has used the lipstick on a pig comment, as have a number of other politicians over the years. I know you weren’t calling Sarah Palin a pig. Your timing was bad. That old overused line about lipstick on a pig, not a great time to use it. You have likely put that line away for the foreseeable future. Thanks to you, we probably won’t have to hear it again for quite some time. Sarah Palin looks more like a rat anyways. But with lipstick on she’s a damn fine rat!

Listen Mr. Obama, please. In case you didn’t get the memo, politics in America is a fast game. You lost your upper hand. Your slow, mellow, thoughtful, painfully emotionless speech is not working anymore. In case you missed it during the last two elections, the Republicans have a winning strategy. Make the other guy look like a pussy. That’s what they do, and they are doing it to you! You are doing it to yourself. Americans don’t want a sissy for their president, and the Republicans have been working this angle effectively for a few years now. They did it to Al Gore, and they did it to John Kerry. They made them look like girly men. Barack, being mellow and thoughtful worked with Hillary, she outmanned you for sure, but she’s actually a woman, and what do you know, you beat her in the primary, but barely! Get some nuts man! Like I said, it’s all about balls. If Hillary had some pictures of her with guns, and sitting next to large dead animals, she may have had you. You are not standing up very well against your vice presidential opponent, maybe that’s why Mccain picked her, because he is too old to look tuff, despite his history as a military man. And let’s not forget he was in the Navy, the sissy arm of the armed forces.

You didn’t stand up to Bill O’Reilly when he interviewed you. You just sort of stumbled thoughtfully along, while he rolled all over you. Stop thinking so much! Americans don’t have a long attention span, so while you may have all the answers, people don’t pay attention long enough to hear it. They just see you waffling, or silent, and think you may have lost your voice, or your balls! I know you don’t want to seem like an angry black man, but you are running against an angry white man who shakes his withered fist with glee. Try talking a bit faster. Stand up for God’s sake, and stop your halting speech. They want to drill, drill, drill, and bomb, bomb, bomb, you have to say no, no, no, and say it with some heart. You may not notice, what with all the cheering crowds, but you are being dressed in drag darling. You are getting sissified, and you are not helping your case. Come on Obama. McCain and Palin are worse than four more years of Bush. They are the doomsday team. Start talking about it. Tell us you will bring us peace, while they will bring us war, but say it like a man, not like an embarrassed sex ed teacher, timidly talking about things you are not comfortable with. Say something loud, and stop talking like Martin Luther King. America does not want a preacher for a president, but it does want someone who can stand up to Admiral Skeletor and a red headed pit-bull wearing lipstick.

We've Got Balls!

What goes up must come down. The coming down is the hardest part. But it’s all circles in this strange universe of universes, and so what goes down, must come up. We don’t need the Large Hadron Collider to tell us that this whole strange mess is made up of little tiny balls. It used to be the atom was the smallest that we knew. Then the balls got smaller, and then we had quarks, gum balls, and nuclei. The elusive Higgs bosons could be the next discovery if the Collider doesn’t create a black hole which will swallow us all. We’re made of little molecules, just a bunch of balls. All of us. Man, dog, frog, swallow, slug, and crab, we’re a bunch of little balls all wrapped up together in a variety of different shells. What about the Anti-Christ? What about the empty space? Planets are going around and around, a bunch of balls rotating just so. And the universe, what does it mean? What about Anti-matter? The tree of knowledge is getting barren, we’re eating all the fruit off, and the world is not the better for it. But we were warned, weren’t we? But we had too many balls in our brains, and we just couldn’t seem to help ourselves. We’ve made quite a mess out of this garden of Eden. Our balls are out of control! Sarah Palin and her overactive ovaries, balls creating balls, and John Mccain who got his balls busted at the Hanoi Hilton. Exactly how does enduring a bunch of torture at the hands of people you were trying to bomb make one a hero? Well, I guess it took balls to endure what he endured. And balls make heroes, as sure as they make devils. Well, praise the balls of God, here we are, and still here, despite our quarks, and quirks, and atom bombs. God bless our balls, spinning around, going up and down, and around and around. There is no answer to the question we weren’t supposed to ask. The more we learn, the farther we seem to move from the truth. But we keep asking questions, which just goes to show you, we‘ve got balls.

Seems pretty innocent. Yet they say the experiment could cause us to be swallowed by a black hole. Down down down. Little balls everywhere.

I'm tired of being angry about things, so i'll just let this guy do it for me

Wow

John Mccain is the Anti-Christ. I had no idea until the end of his speech. Oh Shit! We may be in trouble.

Update

Bill Clinton gave an amazing speech tonight. I'm sorta just not that into writing on this blog lately. To the few readers out there, I apologize. Anyhoo. My dog is from Jamaica.

we meet again

Come in Honolulu. Can anyone read me out there? Come in. It's not the first day anymore, and the flitty little twits of our dreams have haunted us far too long, and have begun to wear on our patience. Memories litter the brain, jittery connections synapsing about in that little confined space of electricity and habitual behavior. The only thing we are sure of is that this too will change. The present moment can be grand, but not when the experience of it is being bombarded with the relived longings for what was. What will be is a mystery, but the future does not appreciate the negative influence of a brain that keeps floating old material which serves no purpose but misery.

The dread pirate spat "hoorah!" to the wind, and it flew back in his face. The chickens danced around the yard, the gorillas sat on their asses, and ate bananas. Another computer, and cheap sunglasses. We ate ravioli.

Soon the sun will go behind the clouds again. There will be a rainbow this afternoon. A car accident. A plane crashed in Spain. The sound of a helicopter in the distance. Love evaporating into the ether. The giants of the universe inhale it. We are breathed in, and exhaled out. Space. Empty time while the sand falls gently through the cracks, and into the void.

Don't Fuck with America

It’s been pretty interesting to watch the Russian Georgian conflict through the American eye. It is depressing to watch our government squirm in its own powerlessness. Russia’s invasion of two of Georgia’s northern territories has Russia boldly taunting the western democracies, their fingers pointing their noses up like a group of angry French waiters. America is doing some posturing and making scolding statements against Russia’s actions, but what is amazing is watching everyone in our government say as quietly and unnoticeably as possible that military action is really not on the table. It might almost make someone believe that we are finally coming to terms here, in America the Great, with our actual size on the world stage. We don’t seem to be standing up so big as we have been acting. We certainly aren’t going to go pick a fight with Russia. We thought we were pretty safe taking on enemies in Iraq, but we can’t even win there. We aren’t gaining much ground in Afghanistan, and we have amassed maybe the biggest debt in all of history, and who is the loan shark with the baseball bat to crack in our kneecaps if we can’t pay up? That’s just China. We don’t want to make them mad. We are suddenly bare assed, and despite the Viagra we’ve been consuming, we are just not the superpower we thought we were.
John Heroman McCain is busy trying to take advantage of these events, posturing as if he is the tuff guy, beside the fact that he looks like Skeletor. We got no tuff left in our bank. America is just not the powerhouse it thought it was. Our soaring eagle is paper thin. Many Americans are living life in a vacuum of debt, which is enriching the upper echelons. Instead of trickle down economics we are experiencing vacuum up economics. The super rich are packing their accounts with wealth as the debt of the nation and so many of its people just multiplies.
I’m hungry, let’s get a taco. Come to paradise, up here in the mountains of $1000 dollar a plate, McCain fundraisers, where a trailer costs a million dollars. The air is clean, if you can afford it.

Spinach, grass, sea cucumbers. Shrimp. Just disappearing into the two forces combating in this vessel. No movement. Movement. Get up!! No, I think i'll just lay here. Who is lying here? Who is not getting up? One of us wants to get up. The other just wants to lay here. Let's go running. No let's just lay here. Come on, let's go! No, I don't think so. Drowning in the slush of I don't think so, the battle wages on. Which wolf will we feed? Dilapidation or growth? Spin monkey. Spin you little son of a bitch!

Out into Nature

When a man just types senselessly into the dark, the keyboard becomes a journal. Oops, the man sometimes thinks, I've been posting my most personal thoughts and feelings out into the void for anyone to read. Not that people are that interested. I need to go back to politics and just the old basic storyline of crazy humanity in the modern world. But, I just can't think of anything new to say. Yesterday, my friend and I walked over some mountains and found our way to Crested Butte, Colorado. I'll work on writing something about that. I'm really bored with yellowjumpsuits. A decision must be made.

Feb-17-06

How does the water taste?
As the bubbles float to the surface?
It looks like hand blown glass
Alive. Infinite.

3/9/06

Slept the great sleep
Soft pillows of nothing
Falling into darkness

Am I that I am?

I’m not a big fan of clichés, but in this new millennium they seem hard to avoid. Everything written, in one form or another, has been written before. You can tell a story differently, but it’s probably happened somewhere, sometime, in the past. Someone has likely articulated it. We have comedy and drama, the laughing face and the sad one. As the Dancing Outlaw said, “there’s love in it, there’s happiness in it, there’s also sorrow, hatred and madness in it.” I was watching CNN this evening, as I’m prone to do in my weakest moments, and I heard some great advice on Larry King. One of the quantum physicists who spoke in the movie “What the Bleep do we Know” said “let’s say you are sitting on the couch depressed and feeling lousy, ask yourself WHO is depressed?” This is a great little exercise I found. It makes you realize that it’s not you. It’s a voice. Like the voice of sorrow, who articulates the sadness of the world, the desperation and desolation of life, it is only a voice, another habit in the void. We could also ask the question in times of ecstasy or happiness, who is happy? Then we come back to the I AM consciousness. I am that I am. This thing is neither empty nor full, half-empty or half-full, it just is, and existence as experienced by man is a matter of mind. We are prey to our mind, or we are benefited by it. Existence is many different colors, and one is no better than another, they are all necessary for the comedy or drama which ever exist in this world of life and death, love and loss, growth and dilapidation. I am that I am, and I fall victim to the chemical attachments in my brain. Who is addicted to these attachments? Who is prey to ecstasy or sadness depending on circumstances? The definition of the observer is what is malleable in this odd new world of post relativistic modernity, where everything means nothing, and nothing means everything. Truth has been crushed under the wheels of expanding thought and information. The information superhighway is littered with the writhing bodies of the limited beliefs of our past, yet we are still hardwired for our delusions and addictions, even though we know them to be destructive and not inevitable. We can only sail on in this odd new world of science, and choose to accept life in all its scientific deconstruction. It’s a strange day indeed when man has broken himself down into molecules. Who is the puppet master of this carbon based, oxygen breathing machine? Is it even possible for the life force to be depressed? What is the observer observing, and can it really separate itself from its own being? Maybe Larry King knows. Time only passes for those who are on the clock.

welp

So I've written some depressing shit the last few months. What do you know, I've been depressed. Before that was pure madness, which is a lot more fun for the madman, and maybe less fun for those in his path. During parties, special events, times of boredom, the madman was welcomed with his off-kilter message of a new dawn of civilization, destruction of human separation vis-a-vis the stupidity of organized religion and our system of color coding called race, which has been scientifically debunked by the reality that, oh shit, we are all just a bunch of humans. Oh. The human race you say? What about beliefs? Well, turns out those are pretty unrealistic as well, since we seem to learn something new everyday, which contradicts that which we believed yesterday. This is a dilemma, since we have habitually believed ourselves into separation for the past few thousand years, coming into contact with people "different" than ourselves, as we sometimes did, and still sometimes do. So it turns out it was all an oops, since we are all inbred to the max. That's right, Muslims were Jews, Christians were Jews, Jews were savages, and savages were holy in disbelief. Buddhists were warriors and Hindus. Yellow, White, Brown, Red, all of us peoples were black. Who cares right? I'll just turn on CNN, flip over to Fox News, and hear about Americas worries. A dwindling economy, nuclear proliferation, and more politics, luxury problems one might say. I'm tired of prophesies. 2012? What were you high? We'll see. I've had the vision, under the enlightenment of madness, and what did it get me? Another trip to the psych ward. When the world is insane, don't confront it with its insanity. Modern religion has never made so little sense. Hey people! You aren't going to win. The war against Islamic fascism? What a joke. East vs. West? Hah! The planet is round and is orbiting the sun, there is no east and west. We've done the work. We've gone out there far enough. It's time to come home. It's just one planet here. We are just one race. Why are we still killing each other? Why are we still fighting? Maybe it's because we are overpopulating the earth, and damaging the future for our descendants. What is the solution? Nuclear holocaust to avoid a population apocalypse? Who goes first? Eenie Meenie Minie Moe. Which of our brethren will be first to go? Or we could just ramp up our production of condoms, pay people to give up their sexual reproductivity, and give up the fallacy of our sovereignty as nations. Or work to convince everyone to drink the cool-aid so they can catch the next ride on Hale Bop.