Something Different.

We are the evolution of consciousness. Which is to say that we, human beings, are the embodiment of something beyond physical reproduction, beyond matter. We are thought creators. Our bodies have evolved for millions of years to be the vessels of thought; of ideas of possibility, of creation. We are the evolution of consciousness. Where do we take this ship? Where do we guide these vessels? Do we embrace our power? Or do we continue to fall victim to outmoded thought, the creations of minds with the limited understanding of the past, that which no longer exists? We were working in different paradigms then, yet now we are still collectively living in outmoded experience, constructions of reality from our former minds. Now is the moment for the expansion of our own creative understanding, moving forward with an enlightened perspective on the present, not as simply the culmination of the past, but as something truly new, with potentialities for a different future.

Check out the New Updated Church of the Open Mind Welcome message and a few changes! (click here to visit)

Happy Groundhog Day My Friends

Well, it's Groundhog day, again; and that must mean we are all headed down to Gobblers Nob, but what with all this news about oral sex causing throat and mouth cancer, we should all just take a breath and think twice. Well, on second thought, maybe not. The weather is fine out here in Berkeley California, and the Goose Wrangler is terribly sorry about not writing you for so long. It's been strange times in the mad life of my favorite lunatic. So, please forgive us, the Lord and I, for not being more proactive about posting our drivel. We'll try to do better from now on, and we'll expect the same from you. You and the Lord that is. I'd like to hear more about your idea of It anyway. I've stopped trying to figure it out. Is it the Magic Chicken, or the Queen of Soup, the Emptiness at the bottom of the beginning, at the center of the center of the center of the Atom, the nothing at the basis of the Higgs Boson? I certainly can't be sure, so I'd appreciate your input. We are back on the wagon train after rigorous prayers and madness in my lungs, gullet, and nasal passages. We came in for landing on 01/11/11, as promised, and the landing was actually rather soft,and for our blogs name, apropos, to be sure. So here we are again, sober, writing to you dear reader, whoever you are, wherever you are, whenever you are. We love you. I love you. I thank you for my life, dear Mother, dear Father, Great Creator, the Is ever after. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Aloha. Good night.

"I AM THE DUST," said ITZIK
ISRAEL IS NOT A PLACE
IT'S A STORY
THE NAME THAT CANNOT BE NAMED
IS THE ONLY NAME













the rest is just our head

INVENTED REALITY
NOT REAL

or it's real what we make it

The Lunar Module

The Deletante is in the kitchen
reading fruit loops in the rain
There are side drops in the living room
but the sandwich makers sit lazily on parade floats
in buildings where there are lithe people dancing in barrooms
while lullaby's are sung by the Vegan Boys
in the best parade
in this galaxy of spaceships

Thanksgiving morning 2010

Sitting on Alcatraz
watching the sunrise
as the fire burns
and the singers sing
and the dancers dance
like Indians
Dancing to pray
praying for the indigenous people
praying for us all
to wake up
and stop digging each other up
digging up our ancestors and putting them in museums.

Craw Horses

Felt pens and big heaping piles of dilapidated hot dog carts
These soft cry-babies in a dream about 80 year old Charles Rangel
getting censured for ethics violations
The mental shrimp police under the table sleeping
Watching the time machine show on the weather channel
trying to figure out the news
Sucking hose juice through a Slurpee straw on Fridays
waiting for the days to change
Traveling through the universe on a disappearing wheel
Isn't this so much fun
going around and around
mentally praying for a miracle to interrupt this cranium trap?
"Gveld, gvold," Glenn Beck said gently on his show
listening to himself
and playing a special little game for oyster eaters.

11/3/10-Blackberries

It's all in the past
these mixed up universes
the slowly beating heart
under influence of barbiturates
the soft pliant emptiness whispering dreams

There are blackberries on this thorny bush
at the top of a hill in Lagunitas, California
No more paved road beyond this point
just big trees, damp earth, and hippies

There are blackberry bushes in my mind
growing along a fence
in the southern countryside of England
in 1986
next to my mothers house
with cigarette smoke and thatched roof
and it's all inside my brain in 2010
right here in the verdant California green
next to a blackberry bush
at the brightest hour of dusk
in the silence

Around the end of October 2010...

All the madness rolled in on us again from over there in the clouds near the southern rainbows where silent mornings dreamt of star bursts eating nuclear joy parades. Those are other places--now--we can't go there again. It's over. Give up. 10:00 pm, Oct 27th, 2010, stoned again. This ever engrossing dream, yet we have to let go. We must let go. There is a greater power in this universe. That One is _Od. And I turn it over to that-to that power-while that Who song plays and says "you are forgiven." An agreement? hmm. Well Scotty pants...? I don't know about that. There is a very kind joint outside that has yet to be finished--the addiction said. The higher [the higher higher self that doesn't need to get high] self has to take over, the observer has to take charge, otherwise it's more shadow, more fake mystery, burying ourselves in these substances and fun, fake union with the divine. Doing nothing all the time, experiencing ultimate connection, and yet perpetuating the lie.

Striped polo shirts and 300 thread count brown cotton sheets
Tennis shoes and a flat screen television
A washing machine, a dish rack, a kitchen table
and futuristic couch
more cars than a very small village might have,
scattered across the globe
little dancing fairy girls
and nothing talking over and over again
about the very thing it knows something about

An Introduction to What Comes Before It After it in the Backwards Book

It was so up and down, inside out and right side in, under water and under glass, and looking at myself through a dream of some future that never was. So I lost the game and shut down the computer and said nothing out of some care for what you thought. You. Audience, the ones who don't read, who leave me lonesome before the page, the illuminated screen, the past placement of the dream. So it was lost and it was found, and under California maple leaves with a squirrel taunting Kingston from the tree, I bid you hello again. That's now, and now I'll open the pages of the notebooks and try and find some semblance of scribbles and transcribe them to this machine and we'll celebrate this nothingness, in the midst of nothing, as everything unfolds from the midst of this earth orbiting this sun, while we zoom out with telescopes, through our little orbs called eyes, into the past, and make up stories about meaning and shoot each other with inventions, talk politics, eat snakes, and take seriously the myths we call religion. Up slick mind head dreadful bears. Beware.

California

OK, this is really getting tedious. The post modern apocalypse is well under way and I'm just not sure how much more I can stand. We are so uncool that we have made being uncool the cool thing to do. Being hip nowadays basically just means dressing up like an idiot taking a number of different things that were hip and "new" at some time in the last century or so, pretty much before there was the internet, and then throwing it down on yourself and hitting the town. So go for it. Mustache, tight pants, a scarf, a number of tattoos, converse shoes, some plaid, some checkers, a fedora, a bouffant, which was already regurgitated under reputation of hip in the 80's, so you are pretty much double reusing it. Cool. It's just that everybody (generalizations are cool) out here in California, and I'm really speaking especially for the bay area here, as I'm not spending too much time anywhere else at the moment, is just so totally uncool trying to be cool that I just don't even know what's happening anymore. I've completely gone insane, and I'm going to Brooks Brothers immediately, but wait, it's all so fucking hip, that I'll even be hip if I try to not be hip by dressing like a preppy unhip person who shops at Brooks Brothers, because some other hipster trying to uphip the other hipsters has already gone full on Brooks Brothers because it's so unhip that it's now hip. It's just ridiculous. Hip. You are loud, obnoxious, smiling incessantly like you're posing for a facebook profile picture, spouting off in your little group of collectively stylized individuals each individually stylized and collectively hip, so much so that you seem to forget that you are living in La La land and you think you are cool. You think this is all so cool. With your little Matthew Dear and the Band show. Matthew Dear with his little Bouffant, with his trumpet player with his little Bouffant, with his drummer with his little Bouffant. Matthew Dear with your tambourine and your tight fitting vest. Dude, please stop. I want off this merry-go-round, and I want off now. The Talking Heads were awesome. They were cool. They were hip. You doing them is not cool. I'm not cool. I'm not trying to be cool. Or am I? The problem is that not trying to be cool is the cool thing to do now. So to be really cool maybe you have to try to be cool, because that's just gotta be the hip thing to do if everybody else is trying to be uncool to make sure everybody knows they aren't trying to be cool. Are you getting the picture Matthew Dearest? Is there any other option than suicide? Suicide is cool because it's proof that you aren't trying to be cool, because like to kill yourself you have to be really depressed, and that's not something you can fake like you can fake hipness by shopping at Brooks Brothers, growing a mustache and showing off your tattooed arms in a short sleeve collared shirt buttoned to the top and finished with a bow tie and a sweater vest, along with a gold tooth and a gangster accent, remnants of times past when you thought that was cool. I miss New York City and I miss Aspen Colorado, I miss Barcelona, Spain, places where assholes are really assholes, and not just pretending to be assholes because they think its cool. I've traveled all over this world and never been to a place like California, so full of people who think they are cool and willing to be totally uncool to prove how cool they are because they think being uncool is cool. California. What a bunch of hype. There may be real people out here somewhere. But they are lost in translation, lost in a sea of sweater vests and tattoos and people too hip to be cool. I'm an asshole. Sure. I'm a critical prick in the midst of post modern apocalypse. It's over. We're post history. Information overload is waiting for you to turn on your computer and put your mouth around the fire hose called the internet. I'm drowning in it. I don't know about you. We're watching reality TV on the History Channel. Where is the reset button?

Captain

don't listen to that brain, it does not know what it's thinking.

OK Crew

Cawbirds. Let's just admit the game, and get this going. From now on we are in training. Let's get to it. We have work to do. Let's get to it. LGTI.

The Time Harpoon Salutes Mrs. Westinghouse

Well, well, well. Here we go old caw birds.
Ho Down Brown Town just came into town with his girlfriend Wes.
Oh Home
Smokie smokie hot cake taco.
and Hidei-son on the jumbo-tron popping prick on Downtown and Wes,
Oh Home parade, by criticizing their sushi eating as fake Japanese,
unlike his oh so precious traditional food.
No avocado in your shrimp tempura roll,
in your mind head on this day in 1975 with his ocean head with its mind medicine
Inside your own head cheese medicine man,
I'll eat my shrimp tacos my way with my head cheese and peanut sauce on the side please
and fuck you with your pivotal face swine herd
Your uncle Buck ate the taco truck
I'll peanut threaten your lamp shade fluid, Dweeb!
and go ahead and watch me as I eat my cabbage
Go ahead.
Eat it.

The top of the car stuck down
Tragic head cheese and the prince got robbed
Snatched the bills straight from the hand of the dealer-man into the hands of the french madam
and you know where she went, don't you?
Out of the house and into the kitchen,
the dining office of the flying dog ranch,
who ate the flying squirrel and bit off his nuts
like a true harpoon of the 90's
Oh yes
that was the truth of the matter, was it not?
hmm?
Franklin, did you not slide the harpoon handle down the avenue through the robotic arm?
I thought so.
The denus is in school
a compulsive procrastinator,
a hound of forever more,
a small vine of handies in the mind head house.
Didn't you think so mrs. Westinghouse?
I thought you did.
I knew you did.
Oh how dare you boy, have you really lost your mind?
Oh, I certainly did Ma. Can't you tell?
His alien space ship as the man reported
out here on the space hat
with the neighboring beings watching us on their monitors,
watching all the movies at the same time,
while we live them and make our own.
Just as long as we believe something, or ask ourselves what we mean.
What do our stories mean?
What do they say, these stories of ours, as they go,
as they lay themselves down the line,
one mark at a time,
rotating through their pages on the merry go round
inside our heads
as we invent reality and go to concerts and pack our brains with slime
Theology, history?
The blathering time harpoons,
Fogging up the place.

Baseballs

The Yankees are making a comeback against the Rangers,
with Georgie Boy W. in the stands watching his old team
and its making me want to root for the Yankees;
and time is getting eaten with the shapes on the Persian rug dancing on the floor;
and a whole lot of marijuana out here in California that I'm not smoking,
yet my brain is moving slower than it ever has before
and I'm totally sober in my red shirt and plaid shorts
with baseball music playing in the background,
the seventh inning stretch
instead of anonymous meeting attendance.
A ball and two strikes
and the whole universe unfolding.
7 billion Messiahs dancing and fucking all over the planet
And another Texas Ranger just got struck out by those damn Yankees
while George Bush looks on
and the baby in the E-trade commercial trades on a smart phone on TBS
and the Yankees take it,
winning the first game of the ALCS playoffs, October 15th, in the year of our Zord, 2010.

4/21/09

As the plane plummeted from the sky,
the calm pilot said:
"well ladies and gentlemen,
it's time to say your prayers."
He felt a tinge of joy as he saw the ground rushing up from beneath.
"We'll meet again in the next dimension."
Then he smiled as the world of illusion exploded
and he flew into the emptiness
to begin another dream

Late April 2009

The dirty little imp
with his hairy green spine
crawled back into existence
his nose covered with floss
his fingers numb

addiction

I'm addicted to facebook. I'm admitting it. It's sucking my life away. I keep going back to check it. Scrolling down, down, down. Thinking of things to say... who said what, who is where, ooh, pictures... what, hmm. Let me just comment on that. I have this to say and that to say, and lets debate the semantics of the meaning of existence, and I just can't shut up, and I have papers to write, and things to do, and wait, wait, wait, let me just check to see if anyone commented on any of this idiotic drivel I have written, or let's see if someone commented on my comments on their comment always trying to intellectually one up someone. This is a problem. Brain damage. Brain damage. DUH DUH DUH. Facebook. Wee. My brain is floating into the ether-net. DUH-m. DUH-m. DUH-m. I'll just post some incriminating pictures of myself to disqualify myself from credibility amongst the judgmental element of Facebookers... or business community, or who cares. My life is an open book. A FACEBOOK! No pay, nothing, just free advertising for the corporate interests who pay to get exposure amongst the loons like me who are so lonely that they just post their lives away, like, "hey, hey, hey, it's me. I exist! I exist! seriously, like I actually exist." Or do I? Is there nothing more than this glowing screen of pixelated information in front of me? Scroll down, down, down. What's going on down there? Is my brain stem down there somewhere?

just saying

you may never meet a man more proud of the fact that he worked as a butler.

Another Sunday in the Lodge. Good One.

Well howdy pardners and pardnerettes. Howdeedoodee? Felt like I should haw feld the old lench volt, so here we go. There was a mighty good sweat tonight out in the dome. The french clipped swelderhouse came back home. With his ear bags dragging and his hair fine cool, the dog faced singer now was high on his mule. And so many folks now so exited about medicine. This meeting, that meeting, peyote in their headicine. Now we all know we all know not, but some do know they like smoking pot. Many of these, like red road wayans, are up on the wagon, running, like I, from those boozy smoke dragons. So then we begin to see the green doctor in their eyes. They've been shown the light, but then it gets a little foggy so they wanna see it right. Back to the doctor, more medicine to be explored, but we are the medicine, we are the door. The button in the dirt that makes colors in our eyes, is just another molecule that can really warpitize. It's all true, my dears. The year doesn't even exist. 2012 and the new age twist. What is 2012? Now. What do we know? 2012 is now, 2012 is 10,000 years ago. A year is a social invention, full of good intentions. Time is more than flexible. It's empty. See look, there's plenty. See what the doctor says. He'll tell you what's in your head. What's in your head will tell you what the world means. What the world means will tell you what's in your head. Which is me just saying what I just said. The flower blossoms. The tree grows. The life eats life eats life eats life. The molecule eats itself; is what it is. IS.