Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
from an old notebook... (2)
Haiku -- Summer 2003
Oklahoma skies --
Wide, free and open
Also, not afraid to cry
In June
Rain drop pops the poem's page
Printed with a dead man's words
Should I show them more respect?
Lone dandelion
The size of an orange--
Too beautiful to pick
Too perfect to scatter
Dry inside tent
During 4am thunderstom
Dreaming of big breasted redhead,
While brunette sleeps beside me
A fresh sun plants
Thoughts in my brain
Of baked beans
And cornbread
Lime pulp on mouth
Of mexican beer bottle --
Face cringes
3 crows form a triangle,
Expanding outward --
Search party for crumbs
Oklahoma skies --
Wide, free and open
Also, not afraid to cry
In June
Rain drop pops the poem's page
Printed with a dead man's words
Should I show them more respect?
Lone dandelion
The size of an orange--
Too beautiful to pick
Too perfect to scatter
Dry inside tent
During 4am thunderstom
Dreaming of big breasted redhead,
While brunette sleeps beside me
A fresh sun plants
Thoughts in my brain
Of baked beans
And cornbread
Lime pulp on mouth
Of mexican beer bottle --
Face cringes
3 crows form a triangle,
Expanding outward --
Search party for crumbs
from an old notebook...
March 10, 1999 -- 6:00 - 7:00am
Today a friend of mine conversed on the back porch with two men he had murdered in the past.
And although they both felt a bit out of tune, this young friend, named Toby, found it in his heart to suggest an alternate route through the tunnel vision doldrums. He climbed out into his neighbor's cornfield and skinned the hide from a live scarecrow, wearing its fur for the time being, until he picked his own costume he felt suitable with.
"It's too much psychic energy," he thought, "to argue with established powers that be. I'm just buying time."
Well, as you can imagine, if you've been listening, out from behind the tree comes the snapping turtle, a monstrous evolutionary thing. And he says:
"Look little human, this is serious, not games. Serious. I've been watching you for quite a while now. Yes, I've been watching you, and it seems you need to get away, perhaps to..."
"Outer Space?" Toby interjected.
"... By golly that is correct!" Exclaimed the shiny snapper. "In fact, I have a mission for you. I want you to climb aboard my dull colored shell and ride with me to a place you saw a few times in your dreams."
.....And so Toby left with his new found mentor /slash/ friend.....
They traveled to the other side of time, to the other end, away from the stars.
"How did it feel?" I asked my friend.
"It felt like I was dead, except I had no way of telling what death feels like. And on our way there I spotted three peasant women drinking from the well of life... in my mind it passed as a thought, saying 'these women have been sent by the highest power of the land to guide my spirit to the otherworld...'
Then through conditioned attitudes I realized the turtle's back was only composed of bone, but in truth it was a magic carpet. I saw an arab boy steering through two dozen decades before my people knew they were alive."
I suggested maybe the turtle's back was an illusion, a trap. He agreed it very well could have been, but to consciously realize this would have brought fear -- Fear brings panic and panic brings death.
"Yes," I told him, "that is so, but as you have already stated, you never know, didn't know if you were dead or not, as in -- Death, the ultimate illusion.
.....And with that my friend was gone. I walked outside, lit a cigarette and watched the sun set, my mind contemplating the void.
Part2
And there I was sitting on the back steps of an abandoned apartment complex watching two sets of twin brothers play in the grass. I was becoming bored, ready for the newest sunset due to arrive within twenty minutes. I then watched these four males turn to dogs before my eyes. They growled and panted, running around the grassy green perimeter of the fenced-in yard. I looked around for that magic turtle trickster, thinking maybe it was he who was performing this grand hallucination only my eyes could see. I saw him not, only a green coyote with a dead squirrel in his jaws running through the wooded area behind the fence. I decided to engage in pursuit...
Once inside the coyote's charms, I found myself transported. The treeline morphed into a small mountain community. By my side, holding onto my arm was a young Indian girl. She tightened her grip as the coyote laughed, turning into a bald, robust cigar smoking cigar owner. He ran one of the small trinket shops situated on the side of these snow covered hills. The girl and I went inside and the mister offered me a handful of beads. I took them -- They joined together, forming a necklace. My native lady tied the jewels around my neck.....
.....and there was a flash of light.
I awoke in a desert with the ability to fly. I swooped down between dunes of sand, the wind stirring storms of dust. It was dark, but the air was moist and sweet. My Indian girl was now an Egyptian queen, but she was not near me, I could only sense her cosmic connection. The native peoples were busy hauling mudbricks in ant-like fashion, erecting on the dry lands. I flew around them, through the rich, purple air. And I still carry a photograph of this scene in my mind, clearly in focus from a slightly tilted angle. And every time I return and blow through quick, like a jet, I see him -- my friend, the coyote, the snapping turtle, the shell, everything.....
"I killed you for good reason." I tell him
"And I am alive for equally good reason." he replies.
"Your problem," he says to me, "is you become affected too easily. Today we will watch a scenario unfold before our tiny eyes and tomorrow speak of it as if two different events occurred. And perhaps they did."
"Where's the event?" I asked.
"Look and see."
"And where are you?" asks two men sitting on the back porch of an abandoned apartment complex.
"They wish to attack me," I thought to myself, "perhaps I should murder them?"
(C) 1999 CDL
Today a friend of mine conversed on the back porch with two men he had murdered in the past.
And although they both felt a bit out of tune, this young friend, named Toby, found it in his heart to suggest an alternate route through the tunnel vision doldrums. He climbed out into his neighbor's cornfield and skinned the hide from a live scarecrow, wearing its fur for the time being, until he picked his own costume he felt suitable with.
"It's too much psychic energy," he thought, "to argue with established powers that be. I'm just buying time."
Well, as you can imagine, if you've been listening, out from behind the tree comes the snapping turtle, a monstrous evolutionary thing. And he says:
"Look little human, this is serious, not games. Serious. I've been watching you for quite a while now. Yes, I've been watching you, and it seems you need to get away, perhaps to..."
"Outer Space?" Toby interjected.
"... By golly that is correct!" Exclaimed the shiny snapper. "In fact, I have a mission for you. I want you to climb aboard my dull colored shell and ride with me to a place you saw a few times in your dreams."
.....And so Toby left with his new found mentor /slash/ friend.....
They traveled to the other side of time, to the other end, away from the stars.
"How did it feel?" I asked my friend.
"It felt like I was dead, except I had no way of telling what death feels like. And on our way there I spotted three peasant women drinking from the well of life... in my mind it passed as a thought, saying 'these women have been sent by the highest power of the land to guide my spirit to the otherworld...'
Then through conditioned attitudes I realized the turtle's back was only composed of bone, but in truth it was a magic carpet. I saw an arab boy steering through two dozen decades before my people knew they were alive."
I suggested maybe the turtle's back was an illusion, a trap. He agreed it very well could have been, but to consciously realize this would have brought fear -- Fear brings panic and panic brings death.
"Yes," I told him, "that is so, but as you have already stated, you never know, didn't know if you were dead or not, as in -- Death, the ultimate illusion.
.....And with that my friend was gone. I walked outside, lit a cigarette and watched the sun set, my mind contemplating the void.
Part2
And there I was sitting on the back steps of an abandoned apartment complex watching two sets of twin brothers play in the grass. I was becoming bored, ready for the newest sunset due to arrive within twenty minutes. I then watched these four males turn to dogs before my eyes. They growled and panted, running around the grassy green perimeter of the fenced-in yard. I looked around for that magic turtle trickster, thinking maybe it was he who was performing this grand hallucination only my eyes could see. I saw him not, only a green coyote with a dead squirrel in his jaws running through the wooded area behind the fence. I decided to engage in pursuit...
Once inside the coyote's charms, I found myself transported. The treeline morphed into a small mountain community. By my side, holding onto my arm was a young Indian girl. She tightened her grip as the coyote laughed, turning into a bald, robust cigar smoking cigar owner. He ran one of the small trinket shops situated on the side of these snow covered hills. The girl and I went inside and the mister offered me a handful of beads. I took them -- They joined together, forming a necklace. My native lady tied the jewels around my neck.....
.....and there was a flash of light.
I awoke in a desert with the ability to fly. I swooped down between dunes of sand, the wind stirring storms of dust. It was dark, but the air was moist and sweet. My Indian girl was now an Egyptian queen, but she was not near me, I could only sense her cosmic connection. The native peoples were busy hauling mudbricks in ant-like fashion, erecting on the dry lands. I flew around them, through the rich, purple air. And I still carry a photograph of this scene in my mind, clearly in focus from a slightly tilted angle. And every time I return and blow through quick, like a jet, I see him -- my friend, the coyote, the snapping turtle, the shell, everything.....
"I killed you for good reason." I tell him
"And I am alive for equally good reason." he replies.
"Your problem," he says to me, "is you become affected too easily. Today we will watch a scenario unfold before our tiny eyes and tomorrow speak of it as if two different events occurred. And perhaps they did."
"Where's the event?" I asked.
"Look and see."
"And where are you?" asks two men sitting on the back porch of an abandoned apartment complex.
"They wish to attack me," I thought to myself, "perhaps I should murder them?"
(C) 1999 CDL
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
If & Could (8)
On Monday I went to PRS:
The Philosophical Research Society, founded by Manly P. Hall in 1934.
He wrote a famous book, The Secret Teachings of All Ages.
The buildings were nice, an example of 'Mayan Revival' architecture.
The bookstore was the only thing open. I went in.
It was dingy and hot, with a loud inefficient window a/c unit.
The books were the same as you'd find in any new age section, though there were many more of Mr. Hall's own works.
But in general everything seemed faded in the sun.
And that's how it is. The shell of so much wisdom may have been effective at a time. But now it speaks to no one in a dead language.
Sects aren't the same as they once were. And I dare say most followers don't even know the tenets to their particular brand, probably started by some lone wolf with more charisma than intellect.
Life is in the blood, and the blood don't flow in certain places no more.
I learned that Manly Hall became 300pounds obese in his last years, and perhaps senile. He signed over his estate to what most claim was a con artist. And then died a week later under mysterious circumstances.
I also visited the Theosophy reading room in Altadena -- It's the same story. Blavatsky's the name there. Just as Holmes is the name with Science of Mind. And Eddy with Christian Science. And it all eventually gave birth to Norman Peale's 'power of positive thinking.'
There's some dots to connect...
I think there's a ribbon of Truth at all times changing. And on its sidelines are the fads, the copycats in the wake. They desperately want to codify it, to turn life into a giant sporting event with rules and referees and plenty of room for heated argument.
But I believe in the wisdom of the body, the beautiful folly of youth.
I believe the mind is the enemy, a computer we must harness like a horse.
i go into an organic 'health' food store.
the people here are so frail and weak. much too thin. why is that? and why don't health stores smell healthy?
I had some brown rice and bean soup. all the people in this place creeped me out. sorry.
Los Angeles is a beautiful city. And alot of it has to do with the Hispanic population. They are hard working citizens -- like Sancho's faithful voice of reason to whiteQuioxte's mad visions.
But they also perpetrate one of its worst things: graffiti.
They spray paint these horrid 'tags' over everything: ornate architecture, underpasses, highway signs, walls, electrical boxes, bus depots, streetlights, etc.
So banal and wasteful.
Things are different here. I love driving the seemingly endless roadways.
The weather is perfect.
My old friend Meece happens to call.
He expresses his fondlessness for Los Angeles.
I say I understand. But when taken for what it actually is, it's pleasant enough.
After understanding how things work a little better, I'm amazed at the insanity we endured 15 years ago.
In general, my coming back here is like calling up an old girlfriend and finding out she's married --
You miss an opportunity and return later to see if the pieces might still be in place...
wouldacouldashoulda
The Philosophical Research Society, founded by Manly P. Hall in 1934.
He wrote a famous book, The Secret Teachings of All Ages.
The buildings were nice, an example of 'Mayan Revival' architecture.
The bookstore was the only thing open. I went in.
It was dingy and hot, with a loud inefficient window a/c unit.
The books were the same as you'd find in any new age section, though there were many more of Mr. Hall's own works.
But in general everything seemed faded in the sun.
And that's how it is. The shell of so much wisdom may have been effective at a time. But now it speaks to no one in a dead language.
Sects aren't the same as they once were. And I dare say most followers don't even know the tenets to their particular brand, probably started by some lone wolf with more charisma than intellect.
Life is in the blood, and the blood don't flow in certain places no more.
I learned that Manly Hall became 300pounds obese in his last years, and perhaps senile. He signed over his estate to what most claim was a con artist. And then died a week later under mysterious circumstances.
I also visited the Theosophy reading room in Altadena -- It's the same story. Blavatsky's the name there. Just as Holmes is the name with Science of Mind. And Eddy with Christian Science. And it all eventually gave birth to Norman Peale's 'power of positive thinking.'
There's some dots to connect...
I think there's a ribbon of Truth at all times changing. And on its sidelines are the fads, the copycats in the wake. They desperately want to codify it, to turn life into a giant sporting event with rules and referees and plenty of room for heated argument.
But I believe in the wisdom of the body, the beautiful folly of youth.
I believe the mind is the enemy, a computer we must harness like a horse.
i go into an organic 'health' food store.
the people here are so frail and weak. much too thin. why is that? and why don't health stores smell healthy?
I had some brown rice and bean soup. all the people in this place creeped me out. sorry.
Los Angeles is a beautiful city. And alot of it has to do with the Hispanic population. They are hard working citizens -- like Sancho's faithful voice of reason to whiteQuioxte's mad visions.
But they also perpetrate one of its worst things: graffiti.
They spray paint these horrid 'tags' over everything: ornate architecture, underpasses, highway signs, walls, electrical boxes, bus depots, streetlights, etc.
So banal and wasteful.
Things are different here. I love driving the seemingly endless roadways.
The weather is perfect.
My old friend Meece happens to call.
He expresses his fondlessness for Los Angeles.
I say I understand. But when taken for what it actually is, it's pleasant enough.
After understanding how things work a little better, I'm amazed at the insanity we endured 15 years ago.
In general, my coming back here is like calling up an old girlfriend and finding out she's married --
You miss an opportunity and return later to see if the pieces might still be in place...
wouldacouldashoulda
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
establishments (7)
Tonight is open mic at the Pig & Whistle in Hollywood.
Driving here, east of Silverlake on Sunset, I saw a longhaired bearded man dressed as Jesus standing expressionless on the sidewalk...
At 7pm it's still very bright outside. And 7 performers sit hidden in the back room of a restaurant waiting to play.
The second guy walks up. He's got a shaved head and glasses.
And wears a short skirt -- One of those thick materialed ones with a silver belt that fat goth girls like.
He's got on leather motorcycle boots and plays some weird primitive homemade guitar.
His first song is "drive my car" by the Beatles. I almost leave.
But more folks come in so I stay and play. A few comedians perform.
One guy says "the jews wandered in the desert for 40 years. Then they installed an irrigation system and called it Hollywood."
That got lots of yuks & cheers.
One comedienne, Leslie, wears a yellow sundress.
After the show she comes out to the back patio where i am. She lights a cigarette.
'what's happenin?' I say.
She turns and looks at me.
One thing I like here is no matter where I am, it's less than 4miles to a Barnes & Noble.
And I've returned a few times to read more of David Icke's book.
People unfamiliar with his style of 'research' have no idea how bizarre the theories floating around.
But no 'theory' is more bizarre than the reality of life.
Sometimes I walk around and think, "all these people came into being through sex."
And sex spurs on most of our endeavors. And it creates children. And in regards to children, most either want them badly or consider them the ruining of life.
We eat the flesh of animals. We're made to defecate.
And we age, turn to incapacitated blobs robbed of memory.
What could be more insane than that?
I spend Thursday in Santa Monica. The traffic is bad everywhere and the stress tires me.
My friend's daughter wants me to have dinner with them. She's about to be four in 5days. I hang around the house, playing guitar while she dances. We watch some children's TV. I go to sleep early.
Friday night is open mic at a coffee house in Santa Monica. It has the best sound so far -- Warm with reverb. All the others have been harsh.
A cute girl works the counter. I'm hungry, order the vegetable soup.
I'd seen a flyer on the bulletin board for the Viper Room...
"have you ever been to the Viper Room?"
"no, i haven't" she says
"do you want to go?" I say
"yeah, some day"
"no, i mean tonight. with me"
And there's an animal moment. She looks in my eyes, a slight twitch of the eyebrow. She's caught off guard, wondering if i'm really this stone cold.
But i balk slightly -- I thought i saw a dental flaw. were her teeth ok?
Doesn't matter, the moment to tame her quickly had passed.
"is that place even still open?" she says
"i'll see" and pull out my phone and walk away.
The performers here are an eccentric bunch. A tall, lanky guy sits on the stage. His ears stick out, but he has an affable face. He sits there readying himself...
"Let's go, ears!" I yell out without thinking.
The crowd turns around. He squints in my direction.
I stand, smiling.
His first song is about Reese Witherspoon, an extended 'let's make a romantic comedy' metaphor.
It's cute.
I talk to a slightly spastic blonde guy named Dag. He's 42, spent 21 years in his native Sweden, 21 here. He wears sports shorts, flip flops and a muscle shirt. He tells me about an open mic on sundays at a wine bar in Glendale.
I sing 2 songs.
2 girls play after, Mena & Marie.
I talk to both, but slowly wean my attention away from one.
Mena says she liked my song.
I say, "what's happening tonight?"
She says "nothing."
She seems chipper, but there's some damage there.
We shake hands softly.
She tells me where she'll be on Sunday. I tell her where I'll be.
Saturday I spent near the beach. It was almost chilly. And very crowded.
Walking an alley between 4th and 3rd street I spy a blood red and black building:
"IMPROV TONIGHT!" the sign said.
I walked in and stood in back. I watched 20 or so comics.
Sunday morning I went to Christian Assembly in Eagle Rock. I'd been there before, read about it in "Velvet Elvis."
It's good music, nice people and an impactful sermon. We had communion.
The filipino girl who belted out the last song, "God Bless America" happened to sit next to me.
Afterward I go to the coffee shop.
That night I'm at Canter's, the 24hour jewish deli on fairfax.
I'm sitting alone in a round booth. Two ladies scoot in next to me. They're both from Israel. They ask if I'm Jewish, say I have the Jewish beauty.
One lady is around 50, but has a youth to her -- A long neck and clear eyes.
I could be attracted to her -- She reminds me of one side of my family.
They invite me to a Kabbalah study on tuesday night.
At 1am the weirdness starts. An aging feather haired hippie in glasses, leather pants and a sequined shirt readies his band to perform. They push the large bass player to the stage in a wheelchair -- His left leg was amputated below the knee. I stare at the nub in the dark silence while drinking beer. And it looks so odd, like i can feel the knee's scream, see the soft blue light of its phantom limb.
Two garish female backup singers in short tight skirts shake tambourines, one wearing a captain's hat. The guitar player is a light skinned black guy, at least 6foot6. He wears glasses with thin dreads to his knees. They rock out with high bizarre energy...
Driving here, east of Silverlake on Sunset, I saw a longhaired bearded man dressed as Jesus standing expressionless on the sidewalk...
At 7pm it's still very bright outside. And 7 performers sit hidden in the back room of a restaurant waiting to play.
The second guy walks up. He's got a shaved head and glasses.
And wears a short skirt -- One of those thick materialed ones with a silver belt that fat goth girls like.
He's got on leather motorcycle boots and plays some weird primitive homemade guitar.
His first song is "drive my car" by the Beatles. I almost leave.
But more folks come in so I stay and play. A few comedians perform.
One guy says "the jews wandered in the desert for 40 years. Then they installed an irrigation system and called it Hollywood."
That got lots of yuks & cheers.
One comedienne, Leslie, wears a yellow sundress.
After the show she comes out to the back patio where i am. She lights a cigarette.
'what's happenin?' I say.
She turns and looks at me.
One thing I like here is no matter where I am, it's less than 4miles to a Barnes & Noble.
And I've returned a few times to read more of David Icke's book.
People unfamiliar with his style of 'research' have no idea how bizarre the theories floating around.
But no 'theory' is more bizarre than the reality of life.
Sometimes I walk around and think, "all these people came into being through sex."
And sex spurs on most of our endeavors. And it creates children. And in regards to children, most either want them badly or consider them the ruining of life.
We eat the flesh of animals. We're made to defecate.
And we age, turn to incapacitated blobs robbed of memory.
What could be more insane than that?
I spend Thursday in Santa Monica. The traffic is bad everywhere and the stress tires me.
My friend's daughter wants me to have dinner with them. She's about to be four in 5days. I hang around the house, playing guitar while she dances. We watch some children's TV. I go to sleep early.
Friday night is open mic at a coffee house in Santa Monica. It has the best sound so far -- Warm with reverb. All the others have been harsh.
A cute girl works the counter. I'm hungry, order the vegetable soup.
I'd seen a flyer on the bulletin board for the Viper Room...
"have you ever been to the Viper Room?"
"no, i haven't" she says
"do you want to go?" I say
"yeah, some day"
"no, i mean tonight. with me"
And there's an animal moment. She looks in my eyes, a slight twitch of the eyebrow. She's caught off guard, wondering if i'm really this stone cold.
But i balk slightly -- I thought i saw a dental flaw. were her teeth ok?
Doesn't matter, the moment to tame her quickly had passed.
"is that place even still open?" she says
"i'll see" and pull out my phone and walk away.
The performers here are an eccentric bunch. A tall, lanky guy sits on the stage. His ears stick out, but he has an affable face. He sits there readying himself...
"Let's go, ears!" I yell out without thinking.
The crowd turns around. He squints in my direction.
I stand, smiling.
His first song is about Reese Witherspoon, an extended 'let's make a romantic comedy' metaphor.
It's cute.
I talk to a slightly spastic blonde guy named Dag. He's 42, spent 21 years in his native Sweden, 21 here. He wears sports shorts, flip flops and a muscle shirt. He tells me about an open mic on sundays at a wine bar in Glendale.
I sing 2 songs.
2 girls play after, Mena & Marie.
I talk to both, but slowly wean my attention away from one.
Mena says she liked my song.
I say, "what's happening tonight?"
She says "nothing."
She seems chipper, but there's some damage there.
We shake hands softly.
She tells me where she'll be on Sunday. I tell her where I'll be.
Saturday I spent near the beach. It was almost chilly. And very crowded.
Walking an alley between 4th and 3rd street I spy a blood red and black building:
"IMPROV TONIGHT!" the sign said.
I walked in and stood in back. I watched 20 or so comics.
Sunday morning I went to Christian Assembly in Eagle Rock. I'd been there before, read about it in "Velvet Elvis."
It's good music, nice people and an impactful sermon. We had communion.
The filipino girl who belted out the last song, "God Bless America" happened to sit next to me.
Afterward I go to the coffee shop.
That night I'm at Canter's, the 24hour jewish deli on fairfax.
I'm sitting alone in a round booth. Two ladies scoot in next to me. They're both from Israel. They ask if I'm Jewish, say I have the Jewish beauty.
One lady is around 50, but has a youth to her -- A long neck and clear eyes.
I could be attracted to her -- She reminds me of one side of my family.
They invite me to a Kabbalah study on tuesday night.
At 1am the weirdness starts. An aging feather haired hippie in glasses, leather pants and a sequined shirt readies his band to perform. They push the large bass player to the stage in a wheelchair -- His left leg was amputated below the knee. I stare at the nub in the dark silence while drinking beer. And it looks so odd, like i can feel the knee's scream, see the soft blue light of its phantom limb.
Two garish female backup singers in short tight skirts shake tambourines, one wearing a captain's hat. The guitar player is a light skinned black guy, at least 6foot6. He wears glasses with thin dreads to his knees. They rock out with high bizarre energy...