From what I've read about the development of children who have been terribly abused or molested, it is very common for those same victims to go on to become the perpetrators of the same form of torture which they, themselves, endured.
I wonder if it is possible that the course of populations of people would fallow a similar trajectory. If we take Chaos Mathematical theory about the weather, for instance. The MIT mapping computers tell us that the weather is governed by a very complicated mathematical equation based on recursion. This is called the "Lorenz Attractor," and can be acuratly depicted as a fractel. If we accept that nature is based on this constant recursion of elements, (a fair Middle-Level bridging theory in Anthroplogy, based on the low-level evidence of Chaos Theory): Then why wouldn't human populations be based on a similar form of repetetive recursion, biologically and historically. In other words the seeming chaos of the rise and falls of human societies could similarly be governed by mathematical factors. This is hard to conceive of, with free will and all, but never-the-less it is scientifically sound ( combined with Quantum Physics one still has free-will, without any mathematical paradox).
I started thinking about all this in relation to Israel. One the one hand they were a terribly abuse people. On that same hand, they are now (speaking of the policies of the government) a terribly abusive people. Taken in consideration with the information about child psychology, it should be evident what has ocured. This also brings me to Carl Jung's theory of the Collective Unconscious, possibly being the creation of this . And besides Israel, we can look at the same recursion on a Larger Historical PErspective. Seeing the USA as a further loop in what was once ancient rome, etc...
Friday, February 16, 2007
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Poem: Tomorrow will be better
Tomorrow will be better
by Me
Tomorrow will be a better day
at least that's what they tell me.
The morning new, chance again,
Afternoon fade, going down,
Nightfall – sad again.
Tomorrow will be a better day
If you keep saying it, it may come true.
Tomorrow will be a better day,
But tomorrow,
I still wont have you.
by Me
Tomorrow will be a better day
at least that's what they tell me.
The morning new, chance again,
Afternoon fade, going down,
Nightfall – sad again.
Tomorrow will be a better day
If you keep saying it, it may come true.
Tomorrow will be a better day,
But tomorrow,
I still wont have you.
Poem: The rain wont stay the same
The Rain Wont Stay the Same
by Me
After all I've seen and all I've done
the rain wont stay the same
No matter what I've tried, no matter who I've done
the rain wont stay the same
Left alone or in a group
doing yoga or dying of croup
I keep hearing the message
and feeling the pain
Of my truth for this life
that's burned into my brain:
The rain wont stay the same.
The rain wont stay the same.
by Me
After all I've seen and all I've done
the rain wont stay the same
No matter what I've tried, no matter who I've done
the rain wont stay the same
Left alone or in a group
doing yoga or dying of croup
I keep hearing the message
and feeling the pain
Of my truth for this life
that's burned into my brain:
The rain wont stay the same.
The rain wont stay the same.
Poem: Sleeping Dragons
Sleeping Dragons
by Me
I feel the Demon Hunger
Deep inner soul lust craving
Awake in my core
demanding more
It will never be slaked
can never stop eating
Until, Death.
The darkest goal of my thirst.
I used to see it as mine
of me.
In some ways it is.
But I have fed it for years
the finest fair desire could wish.
So it grew.
Now it is expert
strong
developed.
I fear I am no longer playing
a fun little game with myself.
For both of us have grown.
So, too, have the stakes.
One of Us must rule.
One should be careful
to let Sleeping Dragons lie.
by Me
I feel the Demon Hunger
Deep inner soul lust craving
Awake in my core
demanding more
It will never be slaked
can never stop eating
Until, Death.
The darkest goal of my thirst.
I used to see it as mine
of me.
In some ways it is.
But I have fed it for years
the finest fair desire could wish.
So it grew.
Now it is expert
strong
developed.
I fear I am no longer playing
a fun little game with myself.
For both of us have grown.
So, too, have the stakes.
One of Us must rule.
One should be careful
to let Sleeping Dragons lie.
Poem: Reincarnation
Reincarnation
by Me
Pen, my friend, I'm lost again
in cycles most human.
I wonder still
crying a the thought of Redemption
that all this pain and loss
could one day be made right.
Having problems with “live in the now”
My truest inner urge
that the universe owes me more than this.
Yes, I said it.
The universe owes me.
Life seems to recoil at just the thought,
like egotism isolates.
In our naivitae we are libel
to make many fooloish bargains
Like: “Of your own free will.”
Imagine a newborn soul
on it's first incarnation
falling madly in love
and screaming to the world
“i will give an eternity,
if only I get to know
this woman!”
And the Salty-Bastard voice of
the Oldest Conniver replies
“Oh yeah?
You've got yourself a deal, kid.”
Then life after life of sludge
for the rest of eternity.
Thanks a lot, gramps.
by Me
Pen, my friend, I'm lost again
in cycles most human.
I wonder still
crying a the thought of Redemption
that all this pain and loss
could one day be made right.
Having problems with “live in the now”
My truest inner urge
that the universe owes me more than this.
Yes, I said it.
The universe owes me.
Life seems to recoil at just the thought,
like egotism isolates.
In our naivitae we are libel
to make many fooloish bargains
Like: “Of your own free will.”
Imagine a newborn soul
on it's first incarnation
falling madly in love
and screaming to the world
“i will give an eternity,
if only I get to know
this woman!”
And the Salty-Bastard voice of
the Oldest Conniver replies
“Oh yeah?
You've got yourself a deal, kid.”
Then life after life of sludge
for the rest of eternity.
Thanks a lot, gramps.
Poem: Patience
Patience
by Me
To wait awhile,
a time,
with peace,
Reduces me,
to frothing beast.
To simply,
idly,
sit and be,
Contrives a task from Hell for me.
Some,
the Wise,
have sagely said
“To simply live, be simply not dead.”
And though i know,
and hear,
and see,
I do not find the patience in me.
by Me
To wait awhile,
a time,
with peace,
Reduces me,
to frothing beast.
To simply,
idly,
sit and be,
Contrives a task from Hell for me.
Some,
the Wise,
have sagely said
“To simply live, be simply not dead.”
And though i know,
and hear,
and see,
I do not find the patience in me.
Poem: Passion Skill
Passion Skill
by Me
To see a girl's to see a snatch,
a base reaction, hard to catch.
No sooner that I see her eyes,
does my mind stagger, 'tween her thighs.
With hearty blood fast to my member,
closing off what thoughts to render.
All civility stands still,
In awe of woman's passion skill.
by Me
To see a girl's to see a snatch,
a base reaction, hard to catch.
No sooner that I see her eyes,
does my mind stagger, 'tween her thighs.
With hearty blood fast to my member,
closing off what thoughts to render.
All civility stands still,
In awe of woman's passion skill.
Poem: I will not be with you
I will not be with you
by Me
Love was simpler when I was young,
I wanted it for one.
Another is that:
I did not know
these things can damage
so completely, so totally.
So now I am alone
and a little afraid.
Of what another can do to me.
I do not trust them
or myself
To keep things well
and above the board.
Am I missing it?
Or am I right?
I will not be with you tonight.
by Me
Love was simpler when I was young,
I wanted it for one.
Another is that:
I did not know
these things can damage
so completely, so totally.
So now I am alone
and a little afraid.
Of what another can do to me.
I do not trust them
or myself
To keep things well
and above the board.
Am I missing it?
Or am I right?
I will not be with you tonight.
Poem: Perspectives
Perspectives
by Me
There is a sound of the slipping away.
A sound like
doing a sinkful of rotting dishes
with a queezy hungover stomach
all cottage cheese, tea-bag, and eggs
the potent smell of which
seems to infect and violate
your ears.
I can be deafening, I Know.
or sometimes, the smell of
time-gone-by
will flood the room, while you try to sleep
The odor of which is so pungeant
like the worlds most miserable woman,
as well as the wealthiest.
Alone on the floor in her tower of gold
banging her head on marble floors
because
She.Just.Isn't.Happy.
No matter how much she has.
And the Guilt of the World yawns.
by Me
There is a sound of the slipping away.
A sound like
doing a sinkful of rotting dishes
with a queezy hungover stomach
all cottage cheese, tea-bag, and eggs
the potent smell of which
seems to infect and violate
your ears.
I can be deafening, I Know.
or sometimes, the smell of
time-gone-by
will flood the room, while you try to sleep
The odor of which is so pungeant
like the worlds most miserable woman,
as well as the wealthiest.
Alone on the floor in her tower of gold
banging her head on marble floors
because
She.Just.Isn't.Happy.
No matter how much she has.
And the Guilt of the World yawns.
Poem: Snow Falls
Snow Falls
by Me
Lonely, stranded, and blind
serving my term
for some unknown crime
I know there is fath
but fath goes unseen
beleiveing that life is
my not-lucid dream.
"I want some" and "gimme"
my only two tools
loving their boddies
but thinking their fools
working at jobs
or going to schools
Snow falls
and I know it wont last
by Me
Lonely, stranded, and blind
serving my term
for some unknown crime
I know there is fath
but fath goes unseen
beleiveing that life is
my not-lucid dream.
"I want some" and "gimme"
my only two tools
loving their boddies
but thinking their fools
working at jobs
or going to schools
Snow falls
and I know it wont last
Poem: Ode to Perfection
Ode to Perfection
by Me
Ode to perfection
the sanitary room
the hottest shower
the cleanest towel
the sharpest razer
and brand new shoes.
Meditating
yoga
always on time
clean fingernails
freshly laundered clothes
and a brand new car.
No secrets, no shame, no guilt and no harm
no fear, no vices, no dirt, good taste
everything used and nothing's a waste.
The highest of peaks, this vision I see.
The truth is, I know,
that Perfection's
not me.
by Me
Ode to perfection
the sanitary room
the hottest shower
the cleanest towel
the sharpest razer
and brand new shoes.
Meditating
yoga
always on time
clean fingernails
freshly laundered clothes
and a brand new car.
No secrets, no shame, no guilt and no harm
no fear, no vices, no dirt, good taste
everything used and nothing's a waste.
The highest of peaks, this vision I see.
The truth is, I know,
that Perfection's
not me.
Poem: Beauty-Blindness
Beauty-Blindness
by Me
The sun is nice
and so's the sea
The trees are smiling
down on me
And it's a shame
I cannot see
This beauty that's
surrounding me.
by Me
The sun is nice
and so's the sea
The trees are smiling
down on me
And it's a shame
I cannot see
This beauty that's
surrounding me.
Poem: Insomnia #8
Insomnia #8
by Me
The lonliest part of the night
when every peek at the clock
is another year added to your sentence.
There is nothing for you to do
no medicine to soothe
the empty hours
so it falls to father time
the illusor, the trick
and the sun will rise
and moments will be good again soon.
As father Ra
fights through the darkness
of the serpent.
by Me
The lonliest part of the night
when every peek at the clock
is another year added to your sentence.
There is nothing for you to do
no medicine to soothe
the empty hours
so it falls to father time
the illusor, the trick
and the sun will rise
and moments will be good again soon.
As father Ra
fights through the darkness
of the serpent.
Poem: Experience
Experience
by Me
The problem with having
interesting life experiences
is that
if you mean to be honest
about yourself
and your past
you will have to re-tell
your experiences
in story form
over
and over
and over
It gets so the
very-unique-and-ever-so-interesting
story
becomes the blandest of tastes
and you may cry out
one day
"please do not ask me
anyhing about myself.
I am sick of
my infinite talking."
And she will say to you
"But I want to get to know you...." [Dedicated to Adrian R. Lamo <3]
by Me
The problem with having
interesting life experiences
is that
if you mean to be honest
about yourself
and your past
you will have to re-tell
your experiences
in story form
over
and over
and over
It gets so the
very-unique-and-ever-so-interesting
story
becomes the blandest of tastes
and you may cry out
one day
"please do not ask me
anyhing about myself.
I am sick of
my infinite talking."
And she will say to you
"But I want to get to know you...." [Dedicated to Adrian R. Lamo <3]
Poem: The Date
The Date
by Me
I started getting ready two days in advance.
I walked to the lavender bush and picked the most fragrant flowers.
I put them in a jar and poked holes in the top
So that you could smell the sweetness.
I spent 3 hours, shaving my beard,
cutting my nose-hair, scenting myself with oils.
And you didn't notice.
I walked for two hours to see you.
We sat in the park.
You told me "I just can't do this."
I said "Okay."
It was our first date.
And now I am rejected.
And I tried so hard.
I remember all the other women
I have been with.
And I do not remember trying so hard with them.
Maybe that is my problem.
I must stop trying.
So hard.
by Me
I started getting ready two days in advance.
I walked to the lavender bush and picked the most fragrant flowers.
I put them in a jar and poked holes in the top
So that you could smell the sweetness.
I spent 3 hours, shaving my beard,
cutting my nose-hair, scenting myself with oils.
And you didn't notice.
I walked for two hours to see you.
We sat in the park.
You told me "I just can't do this."
I said "Okay."
It was our first date.
And now I am rejected.
And I tried so hard.
I remember all the other women
I have been with.
And I do not remember trying so hard with them.
Maybe that is my problem.
I must stop trying.
So hard.
Poem: I will not let it get to me
I Will Not Let it get to Me
by Me
The feeling creeps;
I should feel bad.
I will not let it get to me.
That slithering tongue,
which whispers to me:
"you will always be alone
there is no one for thee."
I will not let it get to me.
For all I've known and all I've done,
for all the pain and all the fun,
Too great a man to be mundane,
this life of glory I have made,
should make me proud and never vain,
to stand on rooftops, free of shame
and shout my truth into the rain:
"I will not let it get to me!"
I will not let it get to me.
by Me
The feeling creeps;
I should feel bad.
I will not let it get to me.
That slithering tongue,
which whispers to me:
"you will always be alone
there is no one for thee."
I will not let it get to me.
For all I've known and all I've done,
for all the pain and all the fun,
Too great a man to be mundane,
this life of glory I have made,
should make me proud and never vain,
to stand on rooftops, free of shame
and shout my truth into the rain:
"I will not let it get to me!"
I will not let it get to me.
Poem: Halloween
Halloween
by Me
Halloween is here again.
I see the masquarade posters.
There is a new word for fucking, now:
"Bone Down."
I like it, even though
I'm not participating.
Half of my poetry is about being alone
and alienated.
I asked my friend:
"What's happened to me?"
He said that I stopped liking groups.
I hate it when he's right.
Why do I pine for 'normalcy,'
when my younger goal was the opposite?
Oh how I dream of being in love
knowing that I would not be able to stand it.
Happy alone, but miserable too.
All that I do is
howl
at the moon
by Me
Halloween is here again.
I see the masquarade posters.
There is a new word for fucking, now:
"Bone Down."
I like it, even though
I'm not participating.
Half of my poetry is about being alone
and alienated.
I asked my friend:
"What's happened to me?"
He said that I stopped liking groups.
I hate it when he's right.
Why do I pine for 'normalcy,'
when my younger goal was the opposite?
Oh how I dream of being in love
knowing that I would not be able to stand it.
Happy alone, but miserable too.
All that I do is
howl
at the moon
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Poem: Special Place
Special Place
by Me
A special, little, sleepy place
deep within my mind.
Comfort, calmness, lovely warmth
bending deep inside.
A magick wand, a tuning fork,
an ugly wedding bride.
by Me
A special, little, sleepy place
deep within my mind.
Comfort, calmness, lovely warmth
bending deep inside.
A magick wand, a tuning fork,
an ugly wedding bride.
Poem: Golden Desire
Golden Desire
by Me
The Goddess bites me again
and laughs
her flirtatious glee
As my blood flows
Oh how she taunts
for me to only have eyes
again and again
I fall for the desire
And come away alone
as always
Fooled again.
What is this lonely spite
that I feel?
Why not content to be
simply I?
Because they seem
to enjoy
Because they seem
to love
Because they seem
happy to be.
But they arn't.
No more so than I am.
So why do I feel this way?
Because it is so.
There is one for me,
but I will not find it...
until i desire it no longer.
Oh my Goddess
you bring out
the full depth
of my longing...
by Me
The Goddess bites me again
and laughs
her flirtatious glee
As my blood flows
Oh how she taunts
for me to only have eyes
again and again
I fall for the desire
And come away alone
as always
Fooled again.
What is this lonely spite
that I feel?
Why not content to be
simply I?
Because they seem
to enjoy
Because they seem
to love
Because they seem
happy to be.
But they arn't.
No more so than I am.
So why do I feel this way?
Because it is so.
There is one for me,
but I will not find it...
until i desire it no longer.
Oh my Goddess
you bring out
the full depth
of my longing...
Song: King Kong Song
King Kong Song (sung to traditional Chinese single string violin)
by Me
I see King Kong, he sing song
King Kong sing song all day long.
See Kong sing song, sing all day long,
See King Kong sing song.
King Kong see me see, Kong song
I see King Kong sing Kong song
See Kong sing song, sing all day long,
See King Kong sing song.
No sing song, do, King Kong
King Kong no more sing Kong Song
Please sing song, please please King Kong,
Please King Kong sing song.
No long sing song, do, King Kong
King Kong no long sing Kong song.
Kong need King Bong, then sing Kong song
King Kong need bong for song.
Me bring King bong to, King Kong
Please Kong smoke bong, so sing song,
King Kong smoke bong, but no sing song.
Please sing song King Kong.
I say King Kong be, Big Dong.
Ki ng Kong have bong to sing song
please sing long song, for me King Kong,
please sing long Kong song.
Me and King Kong, we, sing song
King Kong and me sing long song
We sing Kong song, sing all night long,
We long sing Kong Song.
by Me
I see King Kong, he sing song
King Kong sing song all day long.
See Kong sing song, sing all day long,
See King Kong sing song.
King Kong see me see, Kong song
I see King Kong sing Kong song
See Kong sing song, sing all day long,
See King Kong sing song.
No sing song, do, King Kong
King Kong no more sing Kong Song
Please sing song, please please King Kong,
Please King Kong sing song.
No long sing song, do, King Kong
King Kong no long sing Kong song.
Kong need King Bong, then sing Kong song
King Kong need bong for song.
Me bring King bong to, King Kong
Please Kong smoke bong, so sing song,
King Kong smoke bong, but no sing song.
Please sing song King Kong.
I say King Kong be, Big Dong.
Ki ng Kong have bong to sing song
please sing long song, for me King Kong,
please sing long Kong song.
Me and King Kong, we, sing song
King Kong and me sing long song
We sing Kong song, sing all night long,
We long sing Kong Song.
Poem: Waltz On
Waltz On
by Me
There are other people
worse off than I
I know cause I've been there
praying to die.
But now that I'm better,
I feel much the same
always unhappy
and brimming with rage
Feeling quite wrong
for feeling quite bad
thinking about all the pain
that I've had
I scream to the sky
“why lord why”
as the marriage party
waltzes on.
Without me.
by Me
There are other people
worse off than I
I know cause I've been there
praying to die.
But now that I'm better,
I feel much the same
always unhappy
and brimming with rage
Feeling quite wrong
for feeling quite bad
thinking about all the pain
that I've had
I scream to the sky
“why lord why”
as the marriage party
waltzes on.
Without me.
Poem: To All the Women
To All The Women I have Loved
by Me
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
So many lights of heaven
in the midst of so much darkness.
As I look back upon my life
The times without you seem dull
dark, and shadowy.
But the Angels with the Light
were often there there for me.
You, my angelic beauties,
my saving graces,
Of Pleasure and Goodness,
I am still in love with you all,
And I always will be.
My tragedy is that you will never be mine
like that
again.
All I have is the precious memory
and feelings.
And your still glowing presence.
Reminding me that
that life truly is good
after all.
I am
and always will be
The Luckiest Man.
Thanks to you.
by Me
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
So many lights of heaven
in the midst of so much darkness.
As I look back upon my life
The times without you seem dull
dark, and shadowy.
But the Angels with the Light
were often there there for me.
You, my angelic beauties,
my saving graces,
Of Pleasure and Goodness,
I am still in love with you all,
And I always will be.
My tragedy is that you will never be mine
like that
again.
All I have is the precious memory
and feelings.
And your still glowing presence.
Reminding me that
that life truly is good
after all.
I am
and always will be
The Luckiest Man.
Thanks to you.
Poem/Story: The Venerable Elder
The Venerable Elder
A loveless night surrounded by gore
makes me like
an old forgotten Elder sitting on a porch
that isn't hers, but she doesn't know.
With her deeply wrinkled, yellow, greasy, parchment flesh
- old all over
And limbs so thin and feather frail
Eyes milky with Jaundice and cataracts
What small circus goes on in Her ancient head?
A mind made infinite by depth of time
But the world has forgotten her
She has no one to care
Does she even think about all the lives she had touched?
All the people she has known, men she has changed?
No, she barely knows.
Young children come up the street in stripped shirts,
on cherry red tricycles.
They pelt the woman with sharp rocks and thorned things
And laugh.
She looks straight ahead
at a markless horizon and
hums a little - under her breath
The boys stop as a particularly sharp rock
glances off her forehead
tilting her neck
as her ancient blood runs black down her forehead.
They tense their bodies - prepared to run.
But she keeps on humming to herself.
Blood on her face and dripping onto her dress.
One of the boys dismounts his cherry tryc and approaches the porch.
She's sitting in a rusted wheelchair
Iron so corrugated it probably doesn't move
thick black nylons with burrs, rips, and dust.
The left one rolled down to her ankle
showing scars and scabs on her pale legs.
He unzips his jeans and pees in her lap
with a child’s evil smirk.
She continues to hum as the other children laughed
and threw a few more rocks for good measure
As they rode away in glee.
The Ancient Venerable Elder sat where she was.
Still.
As the sun was setting, and the stars came out.
A loveless night surrounded by gore
makes me like
an old forgotten Elder sitting on a porch
that isn't hers, but she doesn't know.
With her deeply wrinkled, yellow, greasy, parchment flesh
- old all over
And limbs so thin and feather frail
Eyes milky with Jaundice and cataracts
What small circus goes on in Her ancient head?
A mind made infinite by depth of time
But the world has forgotten her
She has no one to care
Does she even think about all the lives she had touched?
All the people she has known, men she has changed?
No, she barely knows.
Young children come up the street in stripped shirts,
on cherry red tricycles.
They pelt the woman with sharp rocks and thorned things
And laugh.
She looks straight ahead
at a markless horizon and
hums a little - under her breath
The boys stop as a particularly sharp rock
glances off her forehead
tilting her neck
as her ancient blood runs black down her forehead.
They tense their bodies - prepared to run.
But she keeps on humming to herself.
Blood on her face and dripping onto her dress.
One of the boys dismounts his cherry tryc and approaches the porch.
She's sitting in a rusted wheelchair
Iron so corrugated it probably doesn't move
thick black nylons with burrs, rips, and dust.
The left one rolled down to her ankle
showing scars and scabs on her pale legs.
He unzips his jeans and pees in her lap
with a child’s evil smirk.
She continues to hum as the other children laughed
and threw a few more rocks for good measure
As they rode away in glee.
The Ancient Venerable Elder sat where she was.
Still.
As the sun was setting, and the stars came out.
Poem: The Things Denied to those who want so little
The Things Denied to Those Who Want So Little
by Me
Candoris tales
of moon-men and mice-monsters
wandering empty streets of withdrawal
faster than a hummingbirds heart
we chance to meet others
who are sick like us
it's too bad they can't help us
in our collective sigh of run away
so many children madly dashing
stealing, beating, killing even
all for innocence
and peace
The Things Denied to Those Who Want so Little
why is greed rewarded
in an alligator's mouth
and a spider's tooth
Those who died I miss
but also envy
we simpletons who simply want good
know ourselves
While evil mega-corporate-personality-complexes
complex like nuclear DNA blueprints
Don't
But still the complex kills the simple
Hates the Simple
Attacks us constantly
never understanding their own
Ignorance
by Me
Candoris tales
of moon-men and mice-monsters
wandering empty streets of withdrawal
faster than a hummingbirds heart
we chance to meet others
who are sick like us
it's too bad they can't help us
in our collective sigh of run away
so many children madly dashing
stealing, beating, killing even
all for innocence
and peace
The Things Denied to Those Who Want so Little
why is greed rewarded
in an alligator's mouth
and a spider's tooth
Those who died I miss
but also envy
we simpletons who simply want good
know ourselves
While evil mega-corporate-personality-complexes
complex like nuclear DNA blueprints
Don't
But still the complex kills the simple
Hates the Simple
Attacks us constantly
never understanding their own
Ignorance
Poem: The Street We Once Walked Upon
The Street We Once Walked Upon
by Me
I thought I saw you once
But didn’t see you there
I thought I felt you once
But missed your raven hair
You came again to see me
But all the love was gone
I sat upon the street
That we once walked upon
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Poem: The Shepard
The Shepard
by Me
The Shepard was a wanderer,
he moved to soothe his soul.
The Shepard was a ponderer,
to fill his cup and bowl.
He had no flock,
'cept in his head,
but no one ever knew.
He walked the stars
and slept the earth,
The Shepard that was you.
Poem: The Party
The Party
by Me
Ah the party was wonderful again!
Everyone fun and at ease.
I was well liked - admired by all,
Looking great
I sure made the scene.
And I cannot stand it.
I want to die.
Always after, always after
Always after the party
I want to die.
I hate them for having fun
I hate myself for not being able to join.
And i hate the world,
For creating me
apart, different.
me.
Poem/Story: The Jester-King Secret
The Jester-King Secret
by Me
A laughing, funning, thrilling rogue,
The slaphand Jester-King.
Demoralized beyond repair
While dancing with the Queen.
Once offered up a ghastly lark,
Which spewed the royal wine.
He sang it out with twangy voice,
But kept the verse in time.
“Of wanderings I’ve seen a few,
of women many more.
A monk, begging for holy bread,
Has shown up at my door.
I worked the trench of labor,
And washed a child’s clothes.
But nothing yet has meant so much,
As picking my own nose.”
The Queen’s retort, with glittering eye, was
“Shall I show you, then?
I must, I shall, for you’re to learn,
What means to be a man.”
And saying so she bared her chest,
For all the room to see,
Put jesters head between her breasts,
And told him that’s the key.
Comed up for air with flushing face,
The laugher, grinning, said
“I much prefer to pick your nose,
than laying you in bed.”
Poem: The Great Ego of the Earth
The Great Ego of the Earth
by Me
by Me
I sing the song
of me
to myself.
Alone as I feel
alone as I am
as we all are.
I have no friends
near
I have bare freinds
far
and I remain alone.
Those I know
have no integrity
not knowing what it means
and I am alone again
with myself
Wonderinng..
will I settle?
Will I make
'my imperfect circle of
warmth and comfort?
propbobly not.
The falsity appals me.
But what is the truth?
All the vain glorious humans
so consummed by self
they cannot see the others.
And I am not so different.
Only that I look farther
farther than they
but my looking does not assist me
except in my greiving
it gives me no one to hold close
to care for.
I think of my childhood friends
but they are gone now
And I am alone again
as I was
as I am
as I always will be
Alone, yet surrounded
The great ego of the earth.
Poem: The Good Life
The Good Life
by Me
Sad, mad, bad and worse
Living under a mummy’s curse.
A dieing spider, an empty well
wishing and praying
but going to hell.
A little lost child with nowhere go,
no one to hold, and nothing to know.
Spiraling downward in endless decline
Constantly saying “I’m doing just fine.”
Diamonds to ashes
and gold into rust
life’s only promise:
that dieings a must.
Shivering wet
and alone
in a storm
Silently weeping
while living the norm
Sleeping in filth
and washing in spit
Lying and crying and begging for it.
An innocent man,
frying in vain
Babies are beaten
and crying with shame.
How can one stop?
The killers a cop.
Always on bottom,
and never on top.
Having fun yet?
They wont let you quit.
Don’t you want more?
Life’s just starting it.
Poem: The Eternal Judge
The Eternal Judge
by Me
The feeling comes over me
That I am the eternal judge.
It happens most
when I encounter great human
pain and misery.
I know inside that one day
any day
I will be called up to heaven.
And the great god will say to me:
"Well, judge? What say you?
Should they live or should they die?
Is life good? Or shall I try again?"
And mostly I want him to wipe us out,
a great flood or burning fire,
cleanse us all and start again.
I try to think about all the good in this world.
I see flowers and love and music,
all the people I love.
Not trying to think about the bad
I have no choice.
I hope for your sake that I am not
The eternal judge.
Poem: The Daunting
The Daunting
by Me
A number of times I’ve been daunted
but never was just quite so bad
as the time I talked to my Ruby
and she wouldn’t admit she was sad
Or the one where I’d call up my mother
and she wouldn’t say nothing at all
If only the women would speak to me
how easy
how greater
the fall.
I’d crash through the earth like a comet
I’d smash all the atoms to paste
Nothing remaining but vomit
and pain with a most human face
I’d level the plains to nothing
I’d grind all the mountains to dust
Alone in my prime isolation
I’d know that I’ve earned my own trust.
But that is the path of the Boring
the Dull, the Simple, the Plain
Better to suffer in silence
Than show the whole world you’re in pain.