Thursday, August 31, 2017

man, fuck that sick fuck trump, ha ha, dude's a moron, ha ha ha. what an asshole, brrurp. 'scuse me for livin', ha ha.
the flowering of the question.
thought and time are the two factors of fear.
you cant do anything about it.
don't ask, how am i to stop thinking?
it's too silly a question. 
because you have to think,
to get from here to your house,
to speak a language.
but time may not be necessary at all-
psychologically, inwardly.
so we are saying fear exists
because of the two major factors of time and thought,
in which is involved reward and punishment. 
now, i have heard this statement made by you.
and i have listened to it so immensely
because it is a tremendous problem
which man has not solved at all
and which, therefore, is creating havoc in the world.
i have listened to you, listened to the statement. 
and you have also told me: don't do anything about it, 
just put the question and live with it,
as a woman bears the seed in her womb.
so you have put the question.
let that question flower.
in the flowering of that question
there is also the withering away of that question.
it is not the flowering and the ending-
the very flowering is the ending. 

j. krishnamurti,
that benediction is where you are.

*i saw the yogatrump today, and my heart leapt back,
and he smiled, and i was afraid, and as i pedalled by him
i half-smiled, and shook my head slowly, no, no,
i know him now, and that smile is evil. that smile 
is ending. 

holy cats! jasper just leapt on the table nearly knocking r.'s puter off. sumbitch scared the proverbial pants off of me and his white furry self. boy looked like he crashed into a ghost, ran like hell. now he's eaten and calmed, checking my backpack and maria callas poster and heading for a snooze.
4:30 and all's well, sigh.
i think i lost my respect for chris hedges when he condemned the anti-fascists and said we should ignore the fascists. at first i thought maybe that was right and that violence would just inflame the haters more and incite the force of law and power to more violence. but i've learned to confront bullies is the only way. i've seen how ignoring them actually excites their hatred. and fascists are no more than bullies who started on the playground and made it a career. career failures who now rule the airwaves and the government. how can we possibly ignore them when they are coming for us. they will not stop with our ignorance or respect for the social order. the social order is hate and war, and the war is not just over there where we can easily ignore it and quietly put signs on the lawn and pay our war taxes. the war is on all of nature, on all of us, it's home. it's on us. maybe i got hedges wrong. maybe he was just hedging. maybe he just wants peace. i want that too, but when evil knocks you can't just hide under the bed, especially when you are not in bed, when you are on the street, and evil knocks on your head.
how many times have you heard, don't worry, please don't cry, i worry bout you, you gonna make me cry. it'll make you cry, specially if you got a worried mind.
mister's getting laser treatment right now. i hope the lasers are angels. i hope he's not afraid. i hope he dances home.
and maybe an angel did lift me up, and my little sister too.
          i remember when i was a little kid, i probably said, lift me up, like my little sister said to me.

hard times in the country.
hard times in the country.
in america we support our troops even if they only serve pushing buttons in trailers in nevada, and we support terrorism and business, and people are expendable and redundant and we support the zero game of zero choice and the absolute rule of the rich.
i can't help feeling sad for anybody dying on the sidewalk.
the timeghost today is strange. the strangest normalcy. a country and a culture that was made over millennia can be destroyed overnight, without knowing or even visiting the civilization. this is the timeghost today. 

this is seuss not zeus. perhaps the spirit of the times is seuss and zeus. lorax and hammer of the gods.

mister has a cat roommate because someone far away in another country on the other side of the planet has cancer of the brain. the cat came to me this morning and i fed her on the counter while preparing mister's breakfast. mister came and the cat arced and made a strange guttural sound. i said it's ok, and the cat went back to eating while mister ate, the cat looking at mister, mister looking at me. 

later we met luna, the dutch shepherd i used to stay with, and mister held back as i greeted her, then he approached hesitantly. they put their heads near, then luna's eyes went cold, and she became fierce, but i wondered if it would have been peaceable had her mother not been fearful. there is a moment when calm may inform and open an interaction, a moment when we may influence an encounter, when it is subjective, when it may turn violent or peaceful. often peace is the natural way, but there are the neutral times, when, depending on us, it can go either way.
mister moved slowly today. mister is getting laser treatment today. my hopes lie in wait with mister's fate.
now in the caesura before iraq part two, i read rumi's secret, the life of the sufi poet of love. think of five thousand years of art and culture before the americans came. think of how a country becomes a war, when america comes, how a country becomes an occupation, how a civilization disappears in empire, how terror drives love underground.
living in america by fate not being american i think about fate, how fate is american yet is not mine yet inescapably, is. fate is created for us. empire is god for us, god is not for us. we must become fatalists, we must become in prison free. for we are not in control of american fate, we must make our peace with the fated empire.
last night i watched iraq:year zero, part one. 247 minutes leading up to the american invasion. see them waiting, watching the sky, digging wells, lighting candles in the power outs, talking about the last time americans came with bombs, see them waiting, smiling, rueful, resigned to their fate, knowing their fate before, of oil and war, knowing their fate is american, war. 
they go to the museum to see, the time before, their occupations, their smiles,their markets in a gone world, before the oil and the american war.
part two, in fate, always follows part one. in fate there is always conclusion in fate always aftermath, always occupation. fate is american. life is what remains to live.
kids, if you hafta like nafta go ta scool, jus play hooky in yer mind.
for r., on her first day of school. i play hooky for you, babe.

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

zora's touch.
when the state of the head is insane we must follow the heart and play.
the wall falls and i for now it is allowed. i like the old wall and i sometimes worry when there is no wall left about the new future wall.
the most ordinary things we observe are mystical.
her language is flowing, by association, she says something, hmm, i say, escape? she says, yes, escape. i say skindeep? yes, skindeep. i say dream, she says, dream.
memory is the sanctuary of sleep. sleep is the sanctuary. memory goes to sleep. sleeps in the cells. silent sleep. dreams archetypal may not be recalled. only in sleep. what dreams without memory. memory sleeps.
the conjurer zora.

trail of shells. i picture the emerging magicicadas hopping over the backs of their old fellow travellers' carapaces and ascending the tree to convene in chorus of rebirth in the upper branches.
it's funny to think about your brain
the color of the sun
floating in a tidepool.
are we the only animals
that think about our brains?
i doubt it. 

i was making a note 
about stroking mister in the water
and how soft and radiant his fur
almost like amber, a soft electricity
flowing in my hand

mm said you are a workaholic
i laughed
it doesn't seem like work
it's continuous
it seems like play
serious play 

then i recalled i forgot to note
a young girl on a yoga mat
on the platform vacated
by the yogatrump
and she may have been
a little apprehensive  
as mister had moved to the other
side of the sea wall
and generally i think 
he makes me less ominous
and i understand how a man
could be ominous
to a girl alone and not a hater
practicing yoga 
so i smiled and thought
about it later
and now can say 
i'm glad you are here,
yogagirl, and you seem
so much nicer than the yogatrump
and i can have an inward laugh 
at the image of trump 
all twisted up into a gorgon knot 
from which he can't for all his power
free himself.

you never know where the day
the soul working day
is gonna go.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

i was smiley and alive, and dare i say, happy, this morning. i thought, i would be a happy person, i would be naturally happy, given a little help and a little grace and a goodly amount of love. i would be open to the natural world. but for the government and business, but for these hateful and destructive enterprises, but for the criminal nature of human power. i would be happy if my heart and soul were not daily devastated by human evil. and this is the strength i find, that i could actually be happy in such an artificial, venal paradigm. 


i have the help and the grace and the goodly amount of love. i became like a hard soil that needs to come back to life, to absorb the good things, and to feed them as well. i need to become porous to love and relax my withdrawal and my fear of abandonment. to grow love like good soil. in the book the hidden life of trees he says roots are the brains of the tree, and they are tended by beneficial fungus, and in turn the fungus is fed. it's like that, my brain. but i have to move my roots around and gather my fungal resources as i may. 
trudy the world is eroding. comfort, safety, taste- everything familiar, every memory, falling away. we need help getting out of this sad world, we need help in self deliverance.

Monday, August 28, 2017

i found this bird artifact in among the concrete balls sculpture in bixler park and liberated it. i don't know if that was the intention of the artist, but it was too cute to resist. i think it goes with my agate liberated from pebble beach. the agate is for balancing yin and yang energy, courage, protection, healing, and calming. the bird is for setting oneself free, liberation. i thank the anonymous ones who leave art in the parks for us to find.
for gus.
angel from underground, angel of memory.
k. sent some agates from the pacific and today i found one by the lake in the new pebble lode being pushed up around the platforms we once dove from, now underwater. soon we may have to colonize yogatrump's platform. that's where the gems are gathering and it's still mainly above sea level. i found a radiant white crystal geode cracked open like a cosmic dinosaur egg. and this fish, ancient creature, slowly moved around me like a curious messenger from another fathomless place and time. best warms, fish. come again.
i was wading around the concrete platforms remarking how the pebbles have shifted and filled in and the water rise and this fish came up to me asking to be on this blog.
i hardly slept last night, the end of summer gathering, late buzzing seasonal affect, then ill-advised coffee and indigestion, but it must be grim me underneath it all. i may not be good now for any body. 
i feel when agitation comes to the beach, breaking rocks, making precarious towers by the footpath, i see small things being crushed everywhere, even leisurely. 
i place the concrete heart atop the wobbly construction, then remove it, and topple the tower. we swim and i feel a little better. but i will be tired today. there will be no revival today.
what if there were only haters in this country? what if they had a hate rally and only haters showed up? would they just give up and go home, their guns between their legs? or would it turn into a love fest? if they love to hate and there are only haters to hate would they further disintegrate into total chaos and start killing each other, or would they start to fall in love?

are there ever any love rallies in this country? there was a summer of love, but i was only seven and i was stuck in the godforsaken midwest and i couldn't make the scene. and that was maybe just a moment in golden gate park in the midst of another american-made war.
was it real or a slogan, we bring good things to life, things go better with coke, make love not war. was it just a summer of drugs? but we always make war. and where is the love? could there ever be a summer of love in this sad country? isn't hate the american way? i can understand how hate inspires hate, but where is the love? what would inspire love here, in this bottomless country, this bottomless foundation of hate, where is the love in the american way of hate.

then i look down and he looks up and says here and i say oh, there is the love, it's mister love, trotting along by my side.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

fall be kind.
it was a pretty damn good day. fall is in the air but summer is in our hearts. we swam way out and mister was peppy and let me throw the yellow life preserver six or seven throws. i think he got it the seventh. the insects are feeling rather poignant and autumnal too. do the cicadas go so soon back to earth? i just returned from an end of summer gather, where kevin and i said our summer will last til november. we shall swim more. there is the mellowness about late season work, about slowing down and gathering up, about remembering the sweet fruits idly savored, ah hell, wordsworth said it all didn't he. 
strange. i come from inside of me. i come out of me. have i said this before? do i know you?
do you know me?

i too. i have seen someone very like you. with the same eyes. the same curiosity. 

now i am forgetting the long earth, the dark sleep. i want to unfold my wings.
i feel the strange notion i want to be free, yet i don't know quite what it means.

i've been underground too, for long years, in this place. now we meet, feel the earth in sky, the slow opening wings, weaned on the root juice, we share the deepborn cicada vision.
hermit with dog.  
thought i 
might be.
that kind. 
you know
what i mean?