Sunday, August 7, 2011

Hollowed With Knives/Together They Come

"Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find that it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. 
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, 'Joy is greater than sorrow,' and others say, 'Nay, sorrow is the greater.' 
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits with you at your board, remember the other is asleep upon your bed."

Kahlil Gibran

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

For The Stupid And The Crazy

For you.

"This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and the crazy, devote your labor and income to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body."

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Far Removed

"The old monk sat in his armchair. Without taking his gaze from the void into which his thoughts seemed dreamily to sink, he said softly, 

" 'You want to learn from me. That is good! But you demand explanations, descriptions, specifications - that is not good! For what use is it to make many words?

" 'What represents normal these days - and only because the masses have established it as that - is also moving, within its limits - within the boundaries of the ordinary. Within the boundaries of that of which the masses feel capable - and every small mind that determines this era.

" 'But that which you seek, and with you ever more people, is far removed from this.' "


Saturday, July 23, 2011

Too Tired To Rest


with men as with caterpillars
nothing was chanced
the penniless world was hemmed in
by mountains on three sides
with gibbons and cranes to seem endless

gradually three or four flowers
tiny divots of earth
by the tens of thousands
and a skein of fine white sewing silk
appeared on my coat and hat

but to allow for the ouroboros
that lives in my living room
perched on the caldera's rim
and over my shoulder
like the white bird you can't see

the spyglass drew a cocoon
beating a drum in the doorway
of my own raising
so many misshapen wishes
too tired to rest or return home

-Dave Brinks

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Watch With Serenity

Hooray for I'm-not-dead-I-just-have-a-life-outside-my-Jurassic-computer posts. 

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; and you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. Much of your pain is self-chosen."

-Kahlil Gibran

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Frenzied And Insane

"I'm drunk and you're insane; who's going to lead us home?
How many times did they say,
'Drink just a little, only two or three at most.'?
In this city no one I see is conscious;
One is worse off than the next, frenzied and insane.
Dear one, come to the tavern of ruin
And experience the pleasures of the soul.
What happiness can there be apart
From this intimate conversation
With the Beloved, with the Soul of souls?
In every corner there are drunkards, arm in arm, 
While the Server pours the wine
From a royal decanter to every particle of being.
You belong to the tavern: your income is wine, 
And wine is all you ever buy.
Don't give even a second away
To the concerns of the merely sober.
O lute player, are you more drunk, or am I?
In the presence of one as drunk as you, 
My magic is a myth.
When I went outside the house, 
Some drunk approached me, 
And in his eyes I saw 
Hundreds of hidden gardens and sanctuaries.
Like a ship without an anchor, 
He rocked this way and that.
Hundreds of intellectuals and wise men
Could die from a taste of his yearning.
I asked, 'Where are you from?'
He laughed and said, 'O soul,
Half of me is from Turkestan and half from Farghana.
Half of me is water and mud, half heart and soul.
Half of me is the ocean's shore, half is all pearl.'
'Be my friend', I pleaded. 'I'm one of your family.'
'I know the difference between family and outsiders.'
I've neither a heart nor a turban,
And here in this house of hangovers
My breast is filled with unspoken words.
Shall I try to explain or not?
Have I lived among the lame for so long
That I've begun to limp myself?
And yet no slap of pain could disturb
A drunkenness like this. 
Listen, can you hear a wail
Arising from the pillar of grief?
Shams al-Haqq of Tabriz, where are you now, 
After all the mischief you've stirred in our hearts?"


Friday, June 10, 2011

Sea Monsters And/Or For T.

Keeping a journal often feels incredibly time-consuming, whether I'm in the act of writing down the right-now, or reading entries from years ago. But going back and reading those old entries always reminds me how worthwhile - priceless, even - the practice is. I also find it interesting how with the passage of time many, if not all, of my entries eventually become something I want to share. Not sure what that means.

I posted the following on MySpace about a trillion years ago, back when MySpace wasn't a fossil. I post it here because...well, read it. It's fairly lucid and timeless. Why do aquariums make me think like this? The water, maybe? 

"Aquarium today. First time since I was fifteen. And of course I can't stop the discourse in my head as I stand beneath hundreds of suspended mobile-fish - silver pink-lit sparkle flooding down. Who was I? How was I? 

"Last time I stood beneath this simple hypnosis, I was silly and under the impression that my whole life spread ahead of me. I wore my hair cropped boy-short, I shunned makeup, dressed in plain sweatshirts and jeans, teenage fool, seriously high on life.

"Ten years later, I stand alone amidst the crowd of sullen parents, screaming children, and weary staff. I stand alone, back-lit in shimmer-pink flash: body hidden in a black hoodie and floor-length kilt, heavy boots under the hem, my annoying-today dreads pulled back under a bandana. The details tell a story, though some would argue otherwise.

"I feel a weird kinship with the little chestnut-and-tan-splotched sharks in the shallow touch tank: swimming round and round the same old loop, most of the aquarium din muffled (I guess) through the water, suffering endless pokes from thousands of fingers a day. It feels rude of me to dip my tattooed wrist in the cold! water, yet I feel like maybe my touch could convey my love to them through their skin, soft one direction and like a cat's tongue the other. So I do. Gently. 

"The Jules Verne gallery, well, I could hide in that red dark forever. Old-timey map-style sea monsters rampage on the walls; sad music fills softly. Jellyfish spiral endlessly in their glowing cylindrical tank that rises above my head into darkness, a glowing pillar of pre-complicated life. Over-sized portholes let you watch the glow shift over king crabs and a giant Pacific octopus. A really over-sized one offers the first view of the sharks gliding in their sweet machine silence. A bench in the corner with some pilings behind it, netted in the waving criss-cross light from the water, makes me want to not go a step more. Go to Long Boat Key and never come back.

"Life makes me sad. That doesn't mean I don't absolutely love it. Understand? Some parts of life are the best thing that you'll never have again. You want it forever, but forever would extinguish what it is. These brief shots live brightest in the loss of them. Some parts of life, that parts that make all of it possible, you underrate. You always forget your heart is beating. You whine and bitch and complain grandiose, but still your heart beats. 

"And life, the heart mixed with the burns mixed with the illusions mixed with the agony mixed with the agonizing joy mixed with the boredom mixed with the disappointment mixed with the storyline mixed with characters mixed with all the stupidity mixed with all the wisdom, is all one. One glowing spiral going nowhere. A universal heart."

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Not Strictly Rational

I spent some time with a brilliant, formidable, and spirited woman yesterday. My love to everyone who helped that to happen, and to the weirdness of the universe. Again and again.

 Jai Ma. Om Namah Shivaya.

(Photo courtesy WEA)

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Waiting For The Moon

"And when the sun has begun to sink behind the rim of the hills, I sit quietly in the evening waiting for the moon so that I may have a shadow for company, or light a lamp and discuss right and wrong with my silhouette.
"But when all has been said, I am not really the kind who is so completely enamored of solitude that he must hide every trace of himself away in the mountains and wilds. It's just that, troubled by frequent illness and weary with dealing with people, I've come to dislike society. Again and again I think of the mistakes I've made in my clumsiness over the course of the years. There was a time when I envied those who had government offices or impressive domains, and on another occasion I considered entering the precincts of the Buddha and the teaching room of the patriarchs. Instead, I've worn out my body in journeys that are as aimless as the winds and clouds and expended my feelings on birds and flowers. But somehow I've been able to make a living this way, and so in the end, unskilled and talentless as I am, I give myself wholly to this one concern, poetry. Po Chu-i worked so hard at it that he almost ruined his five vital organs, and Tu Fu grew lean and emaciated because of it. As far as the intelligence or quality of our writing goes, I can never compare to such men. And yet we all in the end live, do we not, in a phantom dwelling? But enough of that - I'm off to bed." 

from "The Hut of the Phantom Dwelling" by Matsuo Basho

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Staying Up With You

"I've been a lot of places since, but nothing else compares to easy times and easy eyes, to meet you in a stare."

Monday, May 23, 2011

Strand By Strand

My head clears with the rain. The train recedes.

"Locked away in a cage, 
My rage has got the best of me.
Time finds a way each day
Of leaving less of me behind.
I find this fight must be won
Inside the mind:
So uptight and confined,
Often blinded by the light
Taking its toll on my system,
Like some played out existence.
Time ticks away these last few moments;
Is there anything we've left unsaid?
I'm on a quest for atonement;
I've got to find peace of mind
And a place to rest,
Biding my time
Until I'm strong enough to fight back.
I hope against hope
For some resistance;
Been taking it out on my system.
There's a calm before the storm
And the western front is quiet;
I've got Rembrandt as my right hand, 
And Solo as my pilot."

- from "Solitaire Unraveling" by Mushroomhead

Thursday, May 19, 2011

My Tongue Is Cold

"Uncover our heads and reveal our souls - we were hungry before we were born."

Friday, May 13, 2011

Hovering Around A Corpse

"Where there is carrion lying, meat-eating birds circle and descend. Life and death are two. The living attack the dead, to their own profit. The dead lose nothing by it. They gain too, by being disposed of. Or they seem to, if you must think in terms of gain and loss. Do you then approach the study of Zen with the idea that there is something to be gained by it? This question is not intended as an implicit accusation. But it is, nevertheless, a serious question. Where there is a lot of fuss about "spirituality", "enlightenment", or just "turning on", it is often because there are buzzards hovering around a corpse. This hovering, this circling, this descending, this celebration of victory, are not what is meant by the study of Zen - even though they may be a highly useful exercise in other contexts. And they enrich the birds of appetite.

"Zen enriches no one. There is no body to be found. The birds may come and circle for a while in the place where it is thought to be. But they soon go elsewhere. When they are gone, the "nothing", the "no-body" that was there, suddenly appears. That is Zen. It was there all the time but the scavengers missed it, because it was not their kind of prey." 

-Thomas Merton

"When I saw that clumsy crow
Flap from a wasted tree,
A shape in the mind rose up:
Over the gulfs of dream
Flew a tremendous bird
Further and further away
Into a moonless black
Deep in the brain, far back."

-Theodore Roethke

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Blessed Unrest

Yes, I'm aware it was Martha Graham's 117th birthday. That's less than half of the reason for my posting this. I always forget her advice. And I shouldn't. So here it is, for all my fellow "I'm not cool/smart/generally awesome enough to put my voice out there" friends.

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. 

"It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.

"No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others." 

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Day Too

Metallic salt and 
"Greed", like war paint.
Style before comfort.
Ritual everywhere,
Even here.
Emptiness mine.
What's that say?...
Nothing, maybe.
I ride on.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Cripple Our Reason

"Pain and deprivation. The Buddhist monks sit on roofs, fasting and sleepless until they reach enlightenment. Isolated and exposed to the wind and sun. Compare them to Saint Simeon, who rotted on his pillar. Or the centuries of standing yogis. Or Native Americans who wandered on vision quests. Or the starving girls in nineteenth-century America who fasted to death out of piety. Or Saint Veronica, whose only food was five orange seeds, chewed in memory of the five wounds of Christ. Or Lord Byron, who fasted and purged and made his heroic swim of the Hellespont. A romantic anorexic. Moses and Elijah, who fasted to receive visions of the Old Testament. English witches of the seventeenth century who fasted to cast their spells. Or whirling dervishes, exhausting themselves for enlightenment. 

"All these mystics, throughout history, all over the world, they all found their way to enlightenment by physical suffering. 

"The left half of your brain deals with logic, language, calculation, and reason, he says. This is the half people perceive as their personal identity. This is the conscious, rational, everyday basis of our reality.

"The right side of your brain, the doctor tells her, is the center of your intuition, emotion, insight, and pattern recognition skills. Your subconscious. 

"He says people live their lives out of the left half of their brain. It's only when someone is in extreme pain, or upset or sick, that their subconscious can slip into their conscious. When someone's injured or sick or mourning or depressed, the right brain can take over for a flash, just an instant, and give them access to divine inspiration.

"According to the German philosopher Carl Jung, this lets us connect to a universal body of knowledge. The wisdom of all people over all time.

"Frida Kahlo and her bleeding sores. All great artists are invalids.

"According to Plato, we don't learn anything. Our soul has lived so many lives that we know everything. Teachers and education can only remind us of what we already know.

"Our misery. This suppression of our rational mind is the source of inspiration. The muse. Our guardian angel. Suffering takes us out of our rational self-control and lets the divine channel through us. 

" 'Enough of any stress', the doctor says, 'good or bad, love or pain, can cripple our reason and bring us ideas and talents we can achieve in no other way.' "

Monday, May 2, 2011

Solar Return

Twenty-seventh solar return:
Comes and goes.
Like everything, lately.
No words.
Vertigo pins me in bed.
Broken viscera pins me
In lethargy and loathing,
Lack of try
Every day increasing. 
"What is it that causes you the most pain?
What do you feel you need most, right now?"
Can't answer her in less than a novel,
So don't answer, 
At all.
But her face tells me she heard me anyway.
On my knees
Like her;
Hands in hot bleach water
Like her:
Baseboards grout steel tile
While the sun shines,
While the world rolls on,
While debt - 
Monetary and chronological - 
Piles up
And achievement leaks away
In direct proportion. 
And I don't care,
Sort of. 
Because I do it,
Choose it,
It is. I am. 
I don't know.
It will end,
Because, tired and old and spent,
Because everything self-made,
I'll unmake. 
Crack my head on walls to know
They're there.
There, there.
Seeing them is not enough. 
I shrug and walk the other way.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Neuro-Endocrinal Radiance

Rediscovered the little article I ripped the following paragraphs from in drawer today. 

Re-emerging. Returning.

"Kundalini/pranic awakening and its cross-tradition similars - the spontaneous spinal rockings known in Judaism as davening and in Sufism as zikr; the 'taken over' gyrations of gospel 'holy ghost' shaking and dancing and charismatic/pentacostal "mani-festations"; the Dionysian 'revel'; Quakerism's and Shakerism's autonomic quaking and shaking; Tai Chi guided by chi itself; the shamanic trance-dance; Buddhism's and raja yoga's effortless 'straight back' (uju-kaya) meditation; the yogically derived ecstatic belly dance and flamenco; and even the full-bodied, spontaneous Reichian 'reflex' - literally embody the spiritual path. 

"The 'path' is the cerebrospinal tract, and its neuro-endocrinal radiance outward to every cell of the body. To 'move' forward on this path in the most maturing way, the most 'dharmic' way, is to move the body from the energetic dimension that I hope is conveyed by the above-listed spiritual phenomena. In such moving, the volitional will and the mind remain meditatively spellbound. The intelligence of kundalini/prana - or could we say DNA? - moves the body, or something even more subtle within DNA: the Mother Herself.

"In this yogic ritual we encounter the unity of the emotionally ecstatic and physically expressive with the serenely meditative. Instead of postural forms (static asana, immobile seated positions) taking preeminence in the bodily worship, it is the individual animating spirit that takes preeminence - as in the above-mentioned cross-tradition examples. Meditative oneness is easy. It is the spontaneous result of having 'danced before God with all of one's might.'

"Think of energetically guided yoga as a slipping into the tawny currents of 'the wild' - as in 'wild' flowers, or sahaja, innately arising, but not as 'anything goes' chaos. This natural wildness is what adult worldliness domesticates, if not represses. Thus, kundalini has always been an idealistically revolutionary force, just as the vitality of adolescence is idealistically revolutionary.

"Ecstatic tremors and quiverings moved by deep joy and longings for Goddess/God could become the basis for a new - but very old - type of yoga class, one that no doubt predates the Pashupatis by many thousands of years. The mystery of the stilled mind in the organically moving body must be rediscovered: asana as the original, nonchoreographed, ecstatic Dance of Shiva."

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Worn Out Patterns

Where have I been? Involuntarily unplugged.

The nervous system, however, is still down.

"In astrology, the Saturn return is a phenomenon which is described as influencing a person's life development at 27 to 29 or 30-year intervals. These intervals or "returns" coincide with the approximate time it takes the planet Saturn to make one orbit around the sun, i.e. 28½ years. It is believed by astrologers that, as Saturn "returns" to the degree in its orbit occupied at the time of birth, a person crosses over a major threshold and enters the next stage of life. With the first Saturn return, a person leaves youth behind and enters adulthood. With the second return, maturity. And with the third and usually final return, a person enters wise old age. These periods are estimated to occur at roughly the ages of 27-30, 58-60, 86-88 and so on.

"The first Saturn return is most significant because it represents the first test of character and the structures a person has built his life upon. According to traditions, should these structures be unsound, or if a person is living out of touch with his true values, the Saturn return will be a time of upheaval and limitations as Saturn forces him to jettison old concepts and worn out patterns of living. It is not uncommon for relationships and jobs to end during this time of life restructuring and revaluation.

"The planet Saturn represents many archetypes, such as Father Time, the Grim Reaper and his scythe, Chronos, and the Lord of Karma and teacher. It is the ruler of limitations, fears, seriousness, responsibilities, burdens, and lessons."

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Writing In That Kitchen

I was shanghaied into reading A Midsummer Night's Dream last night, despite my snarling that it couldn't possibly be as good as a tragedy. Turns out that, despite not being the same as a tragedy, it is still quite good. Hmm. 

Anyway. I seem to be on a bloggy roll, so enjoy (or don't) another fractured poem. Encoded journal entry. Twilight prose. Whatever. 


Writing in that kitchen,
Like an already long gone
In the dark, now sterile room - 
Waves steal in quietly
And wash back.
And back.
This room,
That cold basement -
Teenaged weekends.
Life turned a corner.


Friday, March 11, 2011

Awake But Half Asleep

Nostalgic and weird tonight.

"Jan lays down and wrestles in her sleep;
Moonlight spills on comic books
And superstars in magazines.
An old friend calls and tells us where to meet:
Her plane takes off from Baltimore,
And touches down on Bourbon Street.

We sit outside and argue all night long
About a god we've never seen
But never fails to side with me.
Sunday comes, and all the papers say
Ma Teresa's joined the mob
And happy with her full time job.

Am I alive, or thoughts that drift away?
Does summer come for everyone?
Can humans do what prophets say?
If I die before I learn to speak,
Can money pay for all the days I lived awake
But half asleep?

A life is time, they teach you growing up...
The seconds ticking killed us all
A million years before the fall.
You ride the waves, and don't ask where they go...
You swim like lions through the crest,
And bathe yourself in zebra flesh.

I've been downhearted, baby,
Ever since the day we met."

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Young And Naive Still

"Do not let the fact that things are not made for you, that conditions are not as they should be, stop you. Go on anyway. Everything depends on those who go on anyway." - Robert Henri

If only I could remember that. 

Thursday, March 3, 2011

You're Ridiculous and I'm Going To Bed

A just-about-midnight rant:

Yoga, as it is sensationalized in America, is an industry. Period. Get over it. If you're shocked by that, you're buying into said industry. If you care - one way or the other! - about a practitioner's reality TV show, you've bitten the fucking hook. If you think wearing makeup somehow derails you - or, in the reverse, if you believe not wearing makeup and hiding your body are your one-way fast track to enlightenment -  you never caught the damn train in the first place.

Legs on a snake, baby. Legs on a snake. 

Again. Yoga, as it is sensationalized, bought, and sold in America, is an industry. Indeed we all start on the mat - staying boxed in there is the problem. Shut up, listen to your heart, follow your soul, stay out of the loop and on your path.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

An Indirect Anguish

"I'm gonna lean up against you; you just lean right back against me. This way, we don't have to sleep with our heads in the mud."

Ars Poetica

Between shadow and space, between trimmings and damsels, 
endowed with a singular heart and sorrowful dreams,
precipitously pallid, withered in the brow
and with a furious widower's mourning for each day of life,
ah, for each invisible water that I drink somnolently
and from every sound that I welcome trembling,
I have the same absent thirst and the same cold fever,
a nascent ear, an indirect anguish, 
as if thieves or ghosts were coming,
and in a shell of fixed and profound expanse, 
like a humiliated waiter, like a slightly raucous bell,
like an old mirror, like the smell of a solitary house
where the guests come in at night wildly drunk,
and there is a smell of clothes thrown on the floor, and an absence of flowers - 
possibly in another even less melancholy way - 
but the truth is that suddenly the wind that lashes my chest,
the nights of infinite substance fallen in my bedroom, 
the noise of a day that burns with sacrifice, 
ask me mournfully what prophecy there is in me, 
and there is a swarm of objects that call without being answered,
and a ceaseless movement, and a bewildered man.

- Pablo Neruda 

Friday, February 18, 2011


Did I post pieces of this article before? Too bad.

"...A true woman's power is magnetic, attractive, and visionary. A woman's body receives, nurtures, gives, produces, holds, bears, bends, grows, shrinks, and sometimes even breaks, only to rebuild. Rather than an exposed sexual organ, in the heart of every female form rests a womb that is a great, silent, and dark potential for life. This darkness that draws its archetype from the lunar cycle pulls energy, tides, change, life force, and fertility to it...

"If women deny the reality of the female body, including its cycles and birth potential, then the feminine soul is still held in highly contentious chains...

"I do not seek to replicate the male form, but instead allow the flow of my female life to course through my veins, muscles, body, mind, and soul. 

"Women are the great gatekeepers of the world. Our 'yes' permits entry to the inner space of our bodies, while our 'no' draws lines of approval and disapproval. In our ability to choose, to gather and draw, we find our true empowerment: not in emulating the boisterous strength of men, but instead shining like the full moon on a clear night, we are graceful, iconic, powerful, beautiful, mesmerizing, enchanting, and captivating...

"...For it is a quiet strength that lies within every woman's body." - Kino MacGregor

Friday, February 11, 2011


Alone in a scummy mist, a long dull drive - 

Garish kitchen.
He's slow. They're burnt. 
Wander up and don't return. 
Tired pins my eyes open.
Hungry with nothing to eat.
Itchy. Dirty.
Suddenly frustrated.
Suddenly lonely.
Let the stiffness of angry
Wear me to sleep
Where I sit. 
It gets better.
Swimming with sharks and 
Walking the windy-icy shoreline - 
The sun doesn't set, only freezes away,
Shrinking to frigid steel and blue
And pink that simply becomes dark.
And the thing I call loneliness in my limited language
Creeps back in.
But again
It drifts away.
Deposit me in a haunted room - 
Hot tears on the pillow
A clot in my chest.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

What The Universe Is Doing

"Yes, we are going around in circles. But you see, going around in circles - as you may have observed by looking at the sky - is what the universe is doing!" - Alan Watts

"Of course it is not easy to go one's road. Because of our education we continually get off our track, but the fight is a good one and there is joy in it if there is any success at all. After all, the goal is not making art. It is living a life. Those who live their lives will leave the stuff that is really art. Art is a result. It is the trace of those who have led their lives...

"Our education has led away from the realization that the mystery of nature is in each man. When we are wiser we will not assume to mold ourselves, but will make our ignorance stand aside - hands off - and we will watch our own development. We will learn from ourselves. This habit of conducting nature is a bad one." - Robert Henri

Monday, February 7, 2011

Come Tomorrow, I'll Be Gone

Thanks, boys, for hooking me up. You know who you are. 

So, dear few readers, I'm pulling a sixty hour week and living out of my car when I'm not stopping to sleep for three hours in the apartment I never see. And mostly, it's all good. I intend to continue to backhandedly shadow-blather my perspective on life as it happens in its extra ordinary way. Stick around; things are only just getting interesting.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Natural Language

Still don't have normal access to a computer (it's impossible to do much more than these "I'm not dead" posts with a pouty teenager sulking nearby...), and I've been consumed of late by a couple collaborative projects that take up most of the time I usually spend musing. I am most definitely not complaining about the latter - it's refreshing as hell - I'm simply stating a fact. More on that stuff in the semi-near future.

'Til next time, precious few readers...

"The dancer of the future will be one whose body and soul have grown so harmoniously together that the natural language of that soul will have become the movement of the human body. The dancer will not belong to any nation, but to all humanity." - Isadora Duncan

Sunday, January 23, 2011

This Means You

I am tired of all the useless movement that is not action, all the denial and narcissism, all the adults who still keep up the nonsense of "No [insert the gender, personality, lifestyle, mannerisms, etc. of your choice] Allowed", reusable "disposables" and everything you can free-associate with that, and everybody's fair-weather bullshit. Among other things.  

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

In The Wake Of Clear

A lot of long-winded, complicated theories - one involving my annoyance with people who anthropomorphize and one that I can't categorize yet - are slowly mutating into readable form. But they're not there yet, sorry. I'm, as usual, pulled in a zillion directions right now with something new starting in just about every area of my life, and happy to be so.

Here's my only original wisdom for you today, brought to you with a lot of help from my friends, and by what happens when sharp brains don't get adequate play time:

The Nineties specialized in taking things already in existence, making them clear, and tricking most of us into thinking something new happened. The Eighties did it with neon or florescent. The Nineties did it with clear. For instance: Crystal Pepsi. Clear game system controllers. No real upgrade in any way whatsoever. Just...clear.

Okay. Back to your normal lives now.

"In general, one spends the first part of life searching, and the rest, dying spiritually. The fatal moment when everything is reversed is the moment we fossilize our knowledge into belief. It's all the more pernicious because it's precisely the moment we begin our descent that we have the reassuring impression of taking a big step towards consciousness."

"As soon as devotion for one's master makes us ignore the master in ourselves, we no longer take part in spirituality. As soon as we lose contact with reality in order to follow the Absolute, we lose contact with the Absolute. The entire Absolute is contained in reality. There's not a trace of it elsewhere...

"Don't seek the divine by constructing a cage around it." - Tantric Quest

P.S. Hilarious. I <3 Coilhouse.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Endless Halls

Under a cold pink glow - 
Winter dusk. 
The dark and deserted perimeter:
Sharp wind up the infamous stairs,
Still fountain full of snow. 
Indoors - 
Something like cinnamon-raisin.
My dreams are fitful. 
Those endless halls
Until I'm weak with what I don't recognize
As hunger. 
But they just pull - 
Other lifetimes, broken columns - 
And all the weight of time
Early afternoon
To dark evening.
Exhaust me.
Why is it 
Colder underground
Than outside?
I can't read the labels.
A year in hours
Won't be captured here.

Saturday, January 8, 2011


"There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken. There is a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable. There is a sorrow beyond all grief which leads to joy, and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being." - Rashani

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Love, Don't Cry

Yeah, I'm still around. Yeah, my computer's still busted. Yeah, it's hard to blog when you don't have spontaneous access to your blog.

What am I thinking right now? "As a certain wise fugitive once told me: 'Sometimes, it's not important which way you jump, just that you jump.' "