Was a miserable year.
Worst year in recent memories.
From begining to end a
constant, hounding, misery.
Tragedy after tragedy,
illness and failure,
bad-luck and wrecked dreams,
poverty and hunger,
confussion and fear,
lonliness and pain,
Doctors and Social Workers.
Constant and endless,
relentless in it's black pursuit.
Five cities,
two shelters,
Eight hospitals,
fifteen Doctors,
twenty-three medications,
ten social workers,
one death,
one heartbreak,
nine months homeless,
three articles published,
and two wonderful women.
I'm glad it's all over.
As 2009 dawns I find myself
in the exact position
I was trying not to be in
this time last year.
The return to the begining;
A Failure.
In comparrison,
the previous five years
were wonderful.
Fuckin' 2008.
I'm glad that you're leaving.
You were not a good year for me.
And I will never have to
go through you again.
The only good memories
that come to mind
are of the two
amazing women
who spent some time
with me.
Lightening the burden of my life,
for a little while at least.
Two beautiful Oasis'
in the midst of a murderous dessert.
My time with you
was not long enough.
But I'm thankful
for what I got.
At 29 I have not changed so much.
The love of a woman
still gives my life meaning.
In this great empty Universe of Pain,
Love truly is
as Perrenial as the grass.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Poem: Another Morning #27
More tears and nightmares.
Evil dreams have never been so
brightly-colored before.
A problem with my Anti-depressants?
Possible.
More likely just the average pain
of the end of a month
with no money in sight.
+ the Hollidays
+ my Birthday
- gifts and friends
= me right now.
Teary-eyed
and trying to hide,
from reality.
Evil dreams have never been so
brightly-colored before.
A problem with my Anti-depressants?
Possible.
More likely just the average pain
of the end of a month
with no money in sight.
+ the Hollidays
+ my Birthday
- gifts and friends
= me right now.
Teary-eyed
and trying to hide,
from reality.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Poem: 9 Months Too Late
She writes the words,
I've been waiting to hear,
nine months too late.
Bad words have been shared
between us now.
Not knowing if I can
trust her word
anymore.
Not knowing if I can
take the pain again
of hearing her say
"I don't love you."
Fair to say she did not
treat me gently.
I would say she did not
treat me kind.
In the end, that is,
always in the end.
Of course I would love to see her.
I can feel it in my bones.
With a sneeze she could destroy me.
In my broken, hungry, lonliness.
I'd love her to insist on seeing me,
to visit me lavishly;
Buying me ciggarrettes and apologising
for all the mean things she wrote to me.
Telling me after all this time,
that I was right
and she was wrong;
She does love me!
And she's realized she can't fight it
anymore.
Somehow life
does not seem to work out that way.
She probably wants to
"be my friend."
Maybe that's all she's ever wanted from me.
Just waiting for me to "wake-up"
and stop my "infatuation" with her.
If that's the case,
she really doesn't know me
that well after all.
And her e-mails wern't that "Friendly."
I've been waiting to hear,
nine months too late.
Bad words have been shared
between us now.
Not knowing if I can
trust her word
anymore.
Not knowing if I can
take the pain again
of hearing her say
"I don't love you."
Fair to say she did not
treat me gently.
I would say she did not
treat me kind.
In the end, that is,
always in the end.
Of course I would love to see her.
I can feel it in my bones.
With a sneeze she could destroy me.
In my broken, hungry, lonliness.
I'd love her to insist on seeing me,
to visit me lavishly;
Buying me ciggarrettes and apologising
for all the mean things she wrote to me.
Telling me after all this time,
that I was right
and she was wrong;
She does love me!
And she's realized she can't fight it
anymore.
Somehow life
does not seem to work out that way.
She probably wants to
"be my friend."
Maybe that's all she's ever wanted from me.
Just waiting for me to "wake-up"
and stop my "infatuation" with her.
If that's the case,
she really doesn't know me
that well after all.
And her e-mails wern't that "Friendly."
Poem: Another Morning #26
More nightmares.
My eyes are now open.
The fear remains
in my beating heart.
Realization
that I have been whimpering
out-loud
for some time.
Crying and moaning
from my bed.
Embarrassment
as I look at those around
who heard me.
The men say nothing.
We all cry in our sleep sometimes.
I wasn't asleep, though.
Just scared
and tired.
Out of options.
Nothing left to do.
Cry.
My eyes are now open.
The fear remains
in my beating heart.
Realization
that I have been whimpering
out-loud
for some time.
Crying and moaning
from my bed.
Embarrassment
as I look at those around
who heard me.
The men say nothing.
We all cry in our sleep sometimes.
I wasn't asleep, though.
Just scared
and tired.
Out of options.
Nothing left to do.
Cry.
Poem: Sky-Father
Blue skys open on
the clear cold
Christmas day.
Waking from
bright-colored nightmares
about family and friends.
Trying to shake off
the bad dreams
I get some coffee
at the corner store
with my last FoodStamps.
The sky fades to dark,
near black in seconds,
rain like bullets
attacking everything in sheets.
Lightning Flash!
Defeaning Thunder!
How did this happen so fast?!
A cry of joy
escapes from my throat unbidden.
Primal lightning
joy and fear.
Cowering for cover under an awning
and drinking my coffee.
The wind is thrashing the trees,
as I remember my Father,
the Storm God.
Mighty Shango, the King-Magician,
essence of lightning and power.
Is he just dropping by,
to show me his love,
on this Christmas,
when I am alone?
"Hello Father!
Thank you!
I Love you Too!"
I say this to the sky,
standing as the storm passes.
A six minute lightning storm.
just for me.
It may sound silly
to think the sky would
open just for me.
And perhaps some of my
Brothers and Sisters
were nearby to see him too.
But then,
I know my Father Shango,
and He's just funny
in the way
He shows that
He Loves me.
the clear cold
Christmas day.
Waking from
bright-colored nightmares
about family and friends.
Trying to shake off
the bad dreams
I get some coffee
at the corner store
with my last FoodStamps.
The sky fades to dark,
near black in seconds,
rain like bullets
attacking everything in sheets.
Lightning Flash!
Defeaning Thunder!
How did this happen so fast?!
A cry of joy
escapes from my throat unbidden.
Primal lightning
joy and fear.
Cowering for cover under an awning
and drinking my coffee.
The wind is thrashing the trees,
as I remember my Father,
the Storm God.
Mighty Shango, the King-Magician,
essence of lightning and power.
Is he just dropping by,
to show me his love,
on this Christmas,
when I am alone?
"Hello Father!
Thank you!
I Love you Too!"
I say this to the sky,
standing as the storm passes.
A six minute lightning storm.
just for me.
It may sound silly
to think the sky would
open just for me.
And perhaps some of my
Brothers and Sisters
were nearby to see him too.
But then,
I know my Father Shango,
and He's just funny
in the way
He shows that
He Loves me.
Poem: Candy
With your too-ready smile;
I wonder if you mean it.
A strong and handsome woman
stronger than I remembered.
Beautiful still,
more refined,
graceful and reserved.
But now I remember you then
and it's too late.
I wonder if I should have held you...
You're too strong
for me to be able to tell.
Maybe you don't even know yourself.
I wish I had held you,
if it would have helped.
Or just held your hand.
Puke if you must,
as long as it makes you feel better.
I wonder if you mean it.
A strong and handsome woman
stronger than I remembered.
Beautiful still,
more refined,
graceful and reserved.
But now I remember you then
and it's too late.
I wonder if I should have held you...
You're too strong
for me to be able to tell.
Maybe you don't even know yourself.
I wish I had held you,
if it would have helped.
Or just held your hand.
Puke if you must,
as long as it makes you feel better.
Thoughts: Her Perspective Imagined
I never really loved him.
Though I did care about him much more deeply than most.
He was never really honest with me about how deeply he felt towards me.
This was good because I probably couldn't have handled it.
Though I'd see the longing in his eyes and feel how he held me extra close.
Though he never told me, I think I knew the whole time.
When he slept with the other girl I was a little relieved.
Glad that he was not so obsessed with me.
Because I had Giovanni and Frank could never really have me.
He knew about Giovanni the whole time.
And then he just decided to leave.
Like that.
He got real drunk for several days and just left me at the train station.
Now he says he loves me.
Now, when it couldn't possibly matter in the least.
Oh, Frank, why do you have to go and ruin it?
You want too much.
Why can't we just be friends?
I haven't seen him in a year.
Barely heard from him...
I do want to see him,
though I don't know why.
Maybe I do love him too.
Though I did care about him much more deeply than most.
He was never really honest with me about how deeply he felt towards me.
This was good because I probably couldn't have handled it.
Though I'd see the longing in his eyes and feel how he held me extra close.
Though he never told me, I think I knew the whole time.
When he slept with the other girl I was a little relieved.
Glad that he was not so obsessed with me.
Because I had Giovanni and Frank could never really have me.
He knew about Giovanni the whole time.
And then he just decided to leave.
Like that.
He got real drunk for several days and just left me at the train station.
Now he says he loves me.
Now, when it couldn't possibly matter in the least.
Oh, Frank, why do you have to go and ruin it?
You want too much.
Why can't we just be friends?
I haven't seen him in a year.
Barely heard from him...
I do want to see him,
though I don't know why.
Maybe I do love him too.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Poem: BlueBalls for You
Blueballs is a sign of Love,
though painful and demeaning.
Taking hours of luxurious foreplay,
causing man's testes to ache.
What's to be done,
for our man on a date,
with a throbbing deep ache
in his balls?
Truthtelling his lover
"I do need to sperm,
would you mind bending over that wall?"
That's usually out,
especially if new,
but the ache is persistant
and stronger.
By sneaking to restroom
and rubbing the bishop,
the date
could perhaps
go on longer...
But jacking-off too
speaks not of romance,
especially when coupled
with cum on ones pants.
Rape is out too,
as he could not get hard.
Even by trying
his balls he'd retard.
Assurred our man is,
to get her in bed,
if only would slip,
his pained balls
from his head!
The only path left,
for him to see,
is cutting short,
the love to be.
To bid goodnight,
and hurry home.
To where his porn
and tissues roam.
That lucky girl will never know,
the blueballs he had,
so she wont feel a Ho.
though painful and demeaning.
Taking hours of luxurious foreplay,
causing man's testes to ache.
What's to be done,
for our man on a date,
with a throbbing deep ache
in his balls?
Truthtelling his lover
"I do need to sperm,
would you mind bending over that wall?"
That's usually out,
especially if new,
but the ache is persistant
and stronger.
By sneaking to restroom
and rubbing the bishop,
the date
could perhaps
go on longer...
But jacking-off too
speaks not of romance,
especially when coupled
with cum on ones pants.
Rape is out too,
as he could not get hard.
Even by trying
his balls he'd retard.
Assurred our man is,
to get her in bed,
if only would slip,
his pained balls
from his head!
The only path left,
for him to see,
is cutting short,
the love to be.
To bid goodnight,
and hurry home.
To where his porn
and tissues roam.
That lucky girl will never know,
the blueballs he had,
so she wont feel a Ho.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Poem: Your Real Boy (Love Door)
My feelings and thoughts
just do not agree
about what's to be done
between you and me.
The heart is convinced
that you're all that matters.
The brain it reminds me
I tend to get scattered.
The heart screams out "Love"
saying nothing can stop it.
The brain says I'm homelss
and no Love can top it.
No way to forget you
if that's what I wished.
No number of kisses,
would make me remiss-
whatever you give me
I only want more.
There's no way to close
our open Love Door.
I'll just have to breathe
amd live every day.
Hoping my heart
wont make me betray;
Saying the words
I feel in my Soul,
often sound crazy
and out of control.
Promising things
I'm not sure I can keep,
but these are the things
I feel in the deep.
Forgive me Sweet Angel,
I'm losing control,
of my mind and my thoughts,
of my body and Soul.
Like a great Roller-Coaster
I'm in for the ride
and I pray you'll be with me
riding besdie.
I can't really promise
that no one will hurt
(as I feel the first paings
of your month off my turf).
The onlt True Promise
I can make here today
is to you I'll be honest
in every way.
Even when saying
love-long patter of joy;
I mean every word.
I am your real boy.
just do not agree
about what's to be done
between you and me.
The heart is convinced
that you're all that matters.
The brain it reminds me
I tend to get scattered.
The heart screams out "Love"
saying nothing can stop it.
The brain says I'm homelss
and no Love can top it.
No way to forget you
if that's what I wished.
No number of kisses,
would make me remiss-
whatever you give me
I only want more.
There's no way to close
our open Love Door.
I'll just have to breathe
amd live every day.
Hoping my heart
wont make me betray;
Saying the words
I feel in my Soul,
often sound crazy
and out of control.
Promising things
I'm not sure I can keep,
but these are the things
I feel in the deep.
Forgive me Sweet Angel,
I'm losing control,
of my mind and my thoughts,
of my body and Soul.
Like a great Roller-Coaster
I'm in for the ride
and I pray you'll be with me
riding besdie.
I can't really promise
that no one will hurt
(as I feel the first paings
of your month off my turf).
The onlt True Promise
I can make here today
is to you I'll be honest
in every way.
Even when saying
love-long patter of joy;
I mean every word.
I am your real boy.
Poem: Changings of Size
My heart is too big
this world is too small
when I think of our lives
together.
Our two is too much
for this dark crummy world
but yet for your touch
I'd pay everything!
Seasons all pass
as all flowers die
so all of my prayers hope
that We stay alive.
I can't be the first
through these Aeons of Man
to miss so a lover
I must see again.
The world is so flat
and you make it round
my ears have gone deaf
but you create sound.
My world is changing
from lead into gold
if only you'll stay
until I get old.
this world is too small
when I think of our lives
together.
Our two is too much
for this dark crummy world
but yet for your touch
I'd pay everything!
Seasons all pass
as all flowers die
so all of my prayers hope
that We stay alive.
I can't be the first
through these Aeons of Man
to miss so a lover
I must see again.
The world is so flat
and you make it round
my ears have gone deaf
but you create sound.
My world is changing
from lead into gold
if only you'll stay
until I get old.
Poem: I Miss You Already
I miss you already
and how could that be?
It's been not five hours,
since you've been with me!
Is this the beginning,
of Love's painful side?
That this feeling of 'missing'
will just grow inside?
We've not even seen,
each one bare in the flesh.
And yet our two hearts,
are deeply enmeshed.
The smell of your hair,
still fresh on my skin.
All thoughts of our memories,
making me grin.
Wishing so bad,
to just hold you in bed.
But knowing as well,
there are still years till I'm dead.
And for all of those years,
I now have this one wish:
More time with you spent,
less time with you missed.
and how could that be?
It's been not five hours,
since you've been with me!
Is this the beginning,
of Love's painful side?
That this feeling of 'missing'
will just grow inside?
We've not even seen,
each one bare in the flesh.
And yet our two hearts,
are deeply enmeshed.
The smell of your hair,
still fresh on my skin.
All thoughts of our memories,
making me grin.
Wishing so bad,
to just hold you in bed.
But knowing as well,
there are still years till I'm dead.
And for all of those years,
I now have this one wish:
More time with you spent,
less time with you missed.
Poem: Love Debates
I get so confused
being with you.
I usually just give up.
Open my self-self
to the newfound spirit within.
Beleiving in things I never beleived in like:
Hope, Love, Freedom, Joy, Life.
How could this be bad?
My cynic points out
that all Love ends bad.
Indivisable: Love and Pain.
My heart tells him to
shut up and appreciate
the flower of love which had
suddenly sprung anew in my
barren old garden of self.
To smell the flower
and become drunk on the perfume,
marvelling with adoration
at the beautification.
"Shut up, old cynic,
and take a rest in the garden."
The fears are temporarily gone
as I marvel at the flower.
Only peace remains,
and her smile,
her skin,
her smell.
The profound feeling
in my deep stomach;
that she cares for me,
that I care for her,
and that that
is enough.
To sit and enjoy
is the nature of Love,
nothing else is required.
The fears and the worries
are merely the ants,
flys, and knats,
at the feet,
of the Goddess.
being with you.
I usually just give up.
Open my self-self
to the newfound spirit within.
Beleiving in things I never beleived in like:
Hope, Love, Freedom, Joy, Life.
How could this be bad?
My cynic points out
that all Love ends bad.
Indivisable: Love and Pain.
My heart tells him to
shut up and appreciate
the flower of love which had
suddenly sprung anew in my
barren old garden of self.
To smell the flower
and become drunk on the perfume,
marvelling with adoration
at the beautification.
"Shut up, old cynic,
and take a rest in the garden."
The fears are temporarily gone
as I marvel at the flower.
Only peace remains,
and her smile,
her skin,
her smell.
The profound feeling
in my deep stomach;
that she cares for me,
that I care for her,
and that that
is enough.
To sit and enjoy
is the nature of Love,
nothing else is required.
The fears and the worries
are merely the ants,
flys, and knats,
at the feet,
of the Goddess.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Poem: Muse Passion
Forgive me oh Muse!
Forgive me my way,
of using your beauty for Art!
For though you're unique
you're also a part
of the grand 'ol Mystique
of the World.
A Gateway to Goddess!
A being Supreme!
Your body a vessel for more!
That the very same Force
which gave birth to the world,
looks at me
through your eyes
at the door.
To see the divine
when I look at your face
is no poet's perk
or mere rhetoric.
No stiffening cock,
telling bar-stool fancies.
No mere gigalo,
out for the fun-of-it.
The light of yuor eyes
when they're shining for me
has powers beyond
all men's eye history.
Ignighting my heart
and whispers my ear:
"it's OK to love her,
there's nothing to fear!"
For you, My Great Muse,
are beyond mortal men,
and no matter what happens,
I'll still be your friend.
For one who inspires
deserves great respect,
the power of Gods
can cause many to wreck.
In respect for your mother
the Goddess of High,
I'll treat you my best,
and that is no lie.
Forgive me my way,
of using your beauty for Art!
For though you're unique
you're also a part
of the grand 'ol Mystique
of the World.
A Gateway to Goddess!
A being Supreme!
Your body a vessel for more!
That the very same Force
which gave birth to the world,
looks at me
through your eyes
at the door.
To see the divine
when I look at your face
is no poet's perk
or mere rhetoric.
No stiffening cock,
telling bar-stool fancies.
No mere gigalo,
out for the fun-of-it.
The light of yuor eyes
when they're shining for me
has powers beyond
all men's eye history.
Ignighting my heart
and whispers my ear:
"it's OK to love her,
there's nothing to fear!"
For you, My Great Muse,
are beyond mortal men,
and no matter what happens,
I'll still be your friend.
For one who inspires
deserves great respect,
the power of Gods
can cause many to wreck.
In respect for your mother
the Goddess of High,
I'll treat you my best,
and that is no lie.
Poem: My Passions
Do not fear me young Goddess,
though my passion seems so deep.
This heart of mine,
wrought of the deepest gems,
my tongue tasting life to the fullest.
For a breath of fresh air is better than cable
and I'd give my left kidney to a friend.
So know that my words have a way when they will
of describing you greatly with grace;
It's only this poet
a boy with a heart
who writes whenever it stirs.
I am not a stalker or suicide love,
no husband or sleazy old creep.
I don't want your money
and have not a job,
just my heart
which like yours
is so great.
I beleive in your freedom,
I'd never decide
your dates or your mates or your friends.
And even though I'd be allowed
to sleep around with others,
I'd have no want, you'd be enough,
(I hope that doesn't smother).
A private lover,
just for you,
with no strings attatched.
Tell the world,
keep it secret,
but I think we match.
This is all I have to offer,
though one day, who knows?
I hope you like this gift I give you,
as our story grows.
though my passion seems so deep.
This heart of mine,
wrought of the deepest gems,
my tongue tasting life to the fullest.
For a breath of fresh air is better than cable
and I'd give my left kidney to a friend.
So know that my words have a way when they will
of describing you greatly with grace;
It's only this poet
a boy with a heart
who writes whenever it stirs.
I am not a stalker or suicide love,
no husband or sleazy old creep.
I don't want your money
and have not a job,
just my heart
which like yours
is so great.
I beleive in your freedom,
I'd never decide
your dates or your mates or your friends.
And even though I'd be allowed
to sleep around with others,
I'd have no want, you'd be enough,
(I hope that doesn't smother).
A private lover,
just for you,
with no strings attatched.
Tell the world,
keep it secret,
but I think we match.
This is all I have to offer,
though one day, who knows?
I hope you like this gift I give you,
as our story grows.
Poem: Offer to the River
A lovely surprise
the river says "Hello, my love."
I made offering to her
and an hour later:
There you are.
Shiny, light, wonderful.
A faint sorrow behind your eyes
I did not imagine it.
You don't want to speak about it
I respect you.
All I wanted is for
you to feel good
to hear you laugh
to see you smile.
Bringing out the Nurturer in me
holding you
stroking your hair
telling you "it's going to be okay."
No matter what it is
it will be okay
I promise.
We all need to be held sometimes
to be reminded.
And I want to lie with you
warm in bed
drinking tea
as naked
you cry into my chest-hair.
Safe with me
I would kiss each tear away
kiss your eyelids
eyelashes
rub your heart
in front and back
warm your body with my caring hands
chests together.
To free you from all earthly worries
with the tongue of my inner fie
faster and hotter
only to stop and collapse together
in love, in freedom, in peace,
together.
And yet maybe what you really need
is just a warm male friend.
Devoid of the tantric energies of sexual union
founded on talk and solid hugs.
This too,I would do, for you.
For you to shine, to prosper, to be happy.
Use me as you would Goddess!
I am at your disposal!
Take of me the seed of power
to nurture the Universe
of the Eternal Mother you are;
you can't hurt me.
A grown man many times over
whatever pain I have
I own
and none of it is your fault.
Sweet dreams, young angel,
may you feel in your heart
that I'm here.
the river says "Hello, my love."
I made offering to her
and an hour later:
There you are.
Shiny, light, wonderful.
A faint sorrow behind your eyes
I did not imagine it.
You don't want to speak about it
I respect you.
All I wanted is for
you to feel good
to hear you laugh
to see you smile.
Bringing out the Nurturer in me
holding you
stroking your hair
telling you "it's going to be okay."
No matter what it is
it will be okay
I promise.
We all need to be held sometimes
to be reminded.
And I want to lie with you
warm in bed
drinking tea
as naked
you cry into my chest-hair.
Safe with me
I would kiss each tear away
kiss your eyelids
eyelashes
rub your heart
in front and back
warm your body with my caring hands
chests together.
To free you from all earthly worries
with the tongue of my inner fie
faster and hotter
only to stop and collapse together
in love, in freedom, in peace,
together.
And yet maybe what you really need
is just a warm male friend.
Devoid of the tantric energies of sexual union
founded on talk and solid hugs.
This too,I would do, for you.
For you to shine, to prosper, to be happy.
Use me as you would Goddess!
I am at your disposal!
Take of me the seed of power
to nurture the Universe
of the Eternal Mother you are;
you can't hurt me.
A grown man many times over
whatever pain I have
I own
and none of it is your fault.
Sweet dreams, young angel,
may you feel in your heart
that I'm here.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Poem: Perfect
I have learned that
Order Eater Shoe Insoles
are a good thing for me.
Too much sun brings out
open sores of Shingles
on the right side of my face.
My breath
while sleeping
comes out as
a soft rattling wheeze.
In warmth
sheets of sweat
pour from my skin.
The common fungus
on my chest and neck
looks like
red splashes of acid.
The pain in my
spine and legs
is being controlled by
powerful narcotics
which leave me
dizzy.
A piece of tooth
recently broke off
from my
constant
stressful
Grinding.
My new black pillowcase
tells me that
my dandruff
is getting worse.
The yellow phlegm
from my
smoker's cough
is as steady
as ever.
It's possible
the new
anti-depressant
I'm on
is working.
My heroin habit
has slowed
to a crawl.
And to my surprise
I come to find
I'm Perfect.
Order Eater Shoe Insoles
are a good thing for me.
Too much sun brings out
open sores of Shingles
on the right side of my face.
My breath
while sleeping
comes out as
a soft rattling wheeze.
In warmth
sheets of sweat
pour from my skin.
The common fungus
on my chest and neck
looks like
red splashes of acid.
The pain in my
spine and legs
is being controlled by
powerful narcotics
which leave me
dizzy.
A piece of tooth
recently broke off
from my
constant
stressful
Grinding.
My new black pillowcase
tells me that
my dandruff
is getting worse.
The yellow phlegm
from my
smoker's cough
is as steady
as ever.
It's possible
the new
anti-depressant
I'm on
is working.
My heroin habit
has slowed
to a crawl.
And to my surprise
I come to find
I'm Perfect.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Poem: My Family
They hold nothing for me
but animosity.
I pity them.
They have the power to make me
the Angriest Person on Earth;
Simply by speaking.
I hate that.
The yearning for their love
has never stopped.
No matter how malicious
their actions.
My admiration is trumped
by fear and disgust.
They hold it all against me.
I try hard not to blame.
Someone says I chose them,
but I can't see why.
but animosity.
I pity them.
They have the power to make me
the Angriest Person on Earth;
Simply by speaking.
I hate that.
The yearning for their love
has never stopped.
No matter how malicious
their actions.
My admiration is trumped
by fear and disgust.
They hold it all against me.
I try hard not to blame.
Someone says I chose them,
but I can't see why.
Poem: Mom #18
"You've never done anything right,
you have broken my heart.
You have chosen the way you live,
it's all your fault.
Everything is your fault.
Why can't you be like a normal person?"
My mother hadn't changed
in the year
since we had last spoken.
At first I think
it's the same woman
I have always known.
Then she says:
"We've even been talking about
what's wrong with you
recently."
She hasn't seen me in two years,
havn't spoken in one.
She knows nothing about me."
"We've been talking..."
What could she possibly
be saying about me
when she has no data
no truth.
And then it hits me;
I am obsolete.
The final humiliation.
Out-moded.
Useless.
First my stepfather
keeps me away from her.
Deletes my e-mails,
throws out my letters,
erases phone messages.
In my absence
he recreates me
in his own evil vision.
Now she longer needs to know
the truth about me.
She alrady knows.
And no matter what
actually happens to me,
no matter how much
I change;
It doesn't matter.
Because she is already
convinced
and will make up her own stories
about me.
Forever.
I am a 2-D image
a character on T.V.
How very sad
that the image
of me
she owns
is so very
ugly.
While I am so
beautiful
and she will never know.
Never be proud of me.
Never accept me.
And mostly
never forgive me.
For all she imagines
I do wrong.
you have broken my heart.
You have chosen the way you live,
it's all your fault.
Everything is your fault.
Why can't you be like a normal person?"
My mother hadn't changed
in the year
since we had last spoken.
At first I think
it's the same woman
I have always known.
Then she says:
"We've even been talking about
what's wrong with you
recently."
She hasn't seen me in two years,
havn't spoken in one.
She knows nothing about me."
"We've been talking..."
What could she possibly
be saying about me
when she has no data
no truth.
And then it hits me;
I am obsolete.
The final humiliation.
Out-moded.
Useless.
First my stepfather
keeps me away from her.
Deletes my e-mails,
throws out my letters,
erases phone messages.
In my absence
he recreates me
in his own evil vision.
Now she longer needs to know
the truth about me.
She alrady knows.
And no matter what
actually happens to me,
no matter how much
I change;
It doesn't matter.
Because she is already
convinced
and will make up her own stories
about me.
Forever.
I am a 2-D image
a character on T.V.
How very sad
that the image
of me
she owns
is so very
ugly.
While I am so
beautiful
and she will never know.
Never be proud of me.
Never accept me.
And mostly
never forgive me.
For all she imagines
I do wrong.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thoughts: The Study of Magick
I do not recommend the study of Magick to anyone. Forget about it. Find some nice young normal man to Marry, have children, honor the moon and the seasons, and forget about the rest.
Just as my first teachers tried to get me _Not_ to study it. It is neither easy, nor friendly, nor all that rewarding (in my opinion). Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, but we often don't know what those are (hence divination), and the results can be pretty fucked up. In addition I have yet to meet the Witch, Sorceror, etc, who is able to truly use the divine power without letting their Ego get in the way (including me of course). This makes the magickal community a dangerous place to play. Why couldn't I have chosen accounting?
As Saint Peter points out, Prayer only works when you completely beleive it will work. Keeping that beleif in times of adversity is difficult and sometimes impossible. I see it as very unfair that the Universe only takes care of people who already beleive as it seems to me that the pained unbeleivers need the Love a lot more.
Just as my first teachers tried to get me _Not_ to study it. It is neither easy, nor friendly, nor all that rewarding (in my opinion). Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, but we often don't know what those are (hence divination), and the results can be pretty fucked up. In addition I have yet to meet the Witch, Sorceror, etc, who is able to truly use the divine power without letting their Ego get in the way (including me of course). This makes the magickal community a dangerous place to play. Why couldn't I have chosen accounting?
As Saint Peter points out, Prayer only works when you completely beleive it will work. Keeping that beleif in times of adversity is difficult and sometimes impossible. I see it as very unfair that the Universe only takes care of people who already beleive as it seems to me that the pained unbeleivers need the Love a lot more.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Poem: Initiation
The mark of Initiation is upon me.
It canot be undone.
An Orisha Priest
threw his Holy Pots
into a Lake; Gave Up.
When years had passed
he returned to his Tribe
asking again
for Initiation.
The High-Priests conferred
They all agreed:
Initiation cannot be undone.
Once done,
you are changed.
That is real.
That is permenant.
I am initiated.
Whether I choose to acknowledge it
or not.
This fact is confusing
I don't know what it means.
But I feel the spirits of Earth.
They know me
as I am.
Things are never
what they appear.
It canot be undone.
An Orisha Priest
threw his Holy Pots
into a Lake; Gave Up.
When years had passed
he returned to his Tribe
asking again
for Initiation.
The High-Priests conferred
They all agreed:
Initiation cannot be undone.
Once done,
you are changed.
That is real.
That is permenant.
I am initiated.
Whether I choose to acknowledge it
or not.
This fact is confusing
I don't know what it means.
But I feel the spirits of Earth.
They know me
as I am.
Things are never
what they appear.
Poem: Dizzy
The fainting spells
are getting worse.
I stand, then fall,
it's like a curse.
The stary skies,
I see at first,
change places with the ground-
reverse
and after
falling's wounds I nurse.
To stand again,
still dizzy.
are getting worse.
I stand, then fall,
it's like a curse.
The stary skies,
I see at first,
change places with the ground-
reverse
and after
falling's wounds I nurse.
To stand again,
still dizzy.
Poem: City of Lead
When there are no more options
and everything must be done
alone
by me
I am tired
and I wait
for something to happen
to me
but it doesn't
I must push
for it to work
Push and Pull
Nothing happens when nothing happens.
So nothing happens.
Like a very small toy man
trying to move around
city-sized structures
of lead
alone
outmatched,
overwhelmed,
and powerless.
Time to push a button
and hope.
Time to pull a lever
and dream.
Time to press a key
and wish.
Doing what little I can
it is not enough
it is all I can do
inefectual
impotent
broken
powerless
weak
small
alone
I do what I can
When the City of Lead remains.
and everything must be done
alone
by me
I am tired
and I wait
for something to happen
to me
but it doesn't
I must push
for it to work
Push and Pull
Nothing happens when nothing happens.
So nothing happens.
Like a very small toy man
trying to move around
city-sized structures
of lead
alone
outmatched,
overwhelmed,
and powerless.
Time to push a button
and hope.
Time to pull a lever
and dream.
Time to press a key
and wish.
Doing what little I can
it is not enough
it is all I can do
inefectual
impotent
broken
powerless
weak
small
alone
I do what I can
When the City of Lead remains.
Poem: A Mountain of We
Cut the rot off at the root
mental fungus
planting hook-roots,
mines and traps.
Johnny Apple-Trauma
birthing set-up
after set-up
when every thought hurts
and the typing
just keeps on typing.
It's time for the end
Nothing can justify
this tree
of pain
sour milk, mildew, and grout.
It, too, once was beautiful.
Before distance
and changes
miscomunications
a snag and a tear
in the fabric of "We"
A mountain of molehills
until it is summoned.
Called by our anguish
our confusion
our agony
it takes over our puppet-selves
and our acts are as old
as a thouand years.
Now just two "Me's"
fighting
for nothing
while the Love of Union
lays unremembered
a broken clay cup
on a dusty desert road
behind months of irritation
frustration,
even Fury.
mental fungus
planting hook-roots,
mines and traps.
Johnny Apple-Trauma
birthing set-up
after set-up
when every thought hurts
and the typing
just keeps on typing.
It's time for the end
Nothing can justify
this tree
of pain
sour milk, mildew, and grout.
It, too, once was beautiful.
Before distance
and changes
miscomunications
a snag and a tear
in the fabric of "We"
A mountain of molehills
until it is summoned.
Called by our anguish
our confusion
our agony
it takes over our puppet-selves
and our acts are as old
as a thouand years.
Now just two "Me's"
fighting
for nothing
while the Love of Union
lays unremembered
a broken clay cup
on a dusty desert road
behind months of irritation
frustration,
even Fury.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Poem: It
It's never there;
When you look for It.
Comes without being called.
Trying to force It
makes It flee.
It appears to come from:
Sex, Drugs, Music, Friends, Food, and More.
Look close
It cannot be found.
As soon as one
finds the Cause
It's no longer there.
The bait is patience.
Though It flees from
Reason or Blame.
I want It with me
through all of my days.
Though that want
may just drive It away.
When you look for It.
Comes without being called.
Trying to force It
makes It flee.
It appears to come from:
Sex, Drugs, Music, Friends, Food, and More.
Look close
It cannot be found.
As soon as one
finds the Cause
It's no longer there.
The bait is patience.
Though It flees from
Reason or Blame.
I want It with me
through all of my days.
Though that want
may just drive It away.
Poem: And You Want
You want a cigarrette
so bad
and when you finally get one
and you are smoking
but you don't really enjoy it
because you want some water
and you get the water
and while you are drinking it
you arn't really there
and you wish you were listening
to a really good song
in the park
so you walk to the park
wanting to get there
so bad
and you sit in the park
and you search on the radio
for the perfect song
and the park is nice
but you want another cigarette
so you smoke one there
and you
finally
find the right song
on the radio
in the park
and it is so perfect
you can't believe it
but then is passes
because while the song is playing
you are too busy
thinking about what you Want.
so bad
and when you finally get one
and you are smoking
but you don't really enjoy it
because you want some water
and you get the water
and while you are drinking it
you arn't really there
and you wish you were listening
to a really good song
in the park
so you walk to the park
wanting to get there
so bad
and you sit in the park
and you search on the radio
for the perfect song
and the park is nice
but you want another cigarette
so you smoke one there
and you
finally
find the right song
on the radio
in the park
and it is so perfect
you can't believe it
but then is passes
because while the song is playing
you are too busy
thinking about what you Want.
Poem: Love Spell
Love come to me!
Fill up my heart,
with memories dear.
Make me to know
I'm good to be near.
Come and redeem me
form all of my fear!
Love come within me!
Love, you've been good to me.
Love, you've been fine.
Love, you remind me
of all of our times.
Love, never leave me.
Love, stay by my side.
To be happy forever
no need
to ask
"Why?"
Fill up my heart,
with memories dear.
Make me to know
I'm good to be near.
Come and redeem me
form all of my fear!
Love come within me!
Love, you've been good to me.
Love, you've been fine.
Love, you remind me
of all of our times.
Love, never leave me.
Love, stay by my side.
To be happy forever
no need
to ask
"Why?"
Poem: Painful Letters
Why'd you have to send that letter?
To make me think of you.
I was doing just fine
not thinking about you.
Me;
with my fantasies
of your love.
You;
with your
repeated, vehemous, and
startleingly painful denial
of any feelings for me
at all.
But you wrote to me.
You were still thinking about me.
Your words speak meanness,
but your actions give you away...
She wrote to remind me
how much she doesn't care
about me.
That doesn't make sense.
I hope she'll forgive me
for loving her.
To make me think of you.
I was doing just fine
not thinking about you.
Me;
with my fantasies
of your love.
You;
with your
repeated, vehemous, and
startleingly painful denial
of any feelings for me
at all.
But you wrote to me.
You were still thinking about me.
Your words speak meanness,
but your actions give you away...
She wrote to remind me
how much she doesn't care
about me.
That doesn't make sense.
I hope she'll forgive me
for loving her.
Poem: A Well Balanced Life
How?
Too much is too much.
Not enough is not enough.
What is right for one
is wrong for another.
How do I know
what's right for me?
Everyone wasnt to tell me
their way
is the right way.
I just do not know.
I could use good advice.
Before I would have divined,
thrown some tarot cards,
flipped a coin,
asked a ghost.
Now I don't trust anyone
or anything
to give me
the Guidance
I need.
Too much is too much.
Not enough is not enough.
What is right for one
is wrong for another.
How do I know
what's right for me?
Everyone wasnt to tell me
their way
is the right way.
I just do not know.
I could use good advice.
Before I would have divined,
thrown some tarot cards,
flipped a coin,
asked a ghost.
Now I don't trust anyone
or anything
to give me
the Guidance
I need.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Poem: People Write to Me
People write to me,
to tell me they care,
then, having written,
feel better.
For that is the amount,
of effort,
I'm worth,
a letter,
to tell me they care.
These letters,
they seem,
to help,
for a moment.
Then later,
they leave me,
for worse.
For all of the people,
who tell me,
they care,
not one,
will move off,
of their butt.
I am alone,
amidst all these fakers,
though surely,
they believe,
their own lies.
Though I'd like,
to scream,
at their faces,
"More actions, less words!"
I will not.
Their attempts,
though so feeble,
are all,
that I have,
and to lose them,
would leave me,
with naught.
So the next time I get,
a letter from one,
whose pretending,
their best,
to care.
I pray,
to my maker,
I find then the strength,
to leave it,
unanswered,
that's fair.
to tell me they care,
then, having written,
feel better.
For that is the amount,
of effort,
I'm worth,
a letter,
to tell me they care.
These letters,
they seem,
to help,
for a moment.
Then later,
they leave me,
for worse.
For all of the people,
who tell me,
they care,
not one,
will move off,
of their butt.
I am alone,
amidst all these fakers,
though surely,
they believe,
their own lies.
Though I'd like,
to scream,
at their faces,
"More actions, less words!"
I will not.
Their attempts,
though so feeble,
are all,
that I have,
and to lose them,
would leave me,
with naught.
So the next time I get,
a letter from one,
whose pretending,
their best,
to care.
I pray,
to my maker,
I find then the strength,
to leave it,
unanswered,
that's fair.
Thoughts: Talk about Suicide
Tell people you wish that you were dead and watch their reactions.
Some people get very angry, like it's a personnal insult to them, that you don't see the goodness in life. As if they baked you your life from scratch since dawn and they're angry that you do not care for it. These are people who also with they were dead, but spend their lives denying it to themselves, repeating like a mantra "Life is good, life is good" because if they for one moment truly realized how they felt they'd crumble at the meaninglessness of their existance.
Some people say, "Then kill yourself," with anger, but not quite as angry as the first sort. They're mad that they're working so hard to surivive and they thin you should work hard too.
Some people go "Aww, I'm sorry to hear that," and try in their way to comfort.
But my favorite, by far, are those who nod slowley and say, "yes, I know what you mean."
Some people get very angry, like it's a personnal insult to them, that you don't see the goodness in life. As if they baked you your life from scratch since dawn and they're angry that you do not care for it. These are people who also with they were dead, but spend their lives denying it to themselves, repeating like a mantra "Life is good, life is good" because if they for one moment truly realized how they felt they'd crumble at the meaninglessness of their existance.
Some people say, "Then kill yourself," with anger, but not quite as angry as the first sort. They're mad that they're working so hard to surivive and they thin you should work hard too.
Some people go "Aww, I'm sorry to hear that," and try in their way to comfort.
But my favorite, by far, are those who nod slowley and say, "yes, I know what you mean."
Poem: Feelings
I woke up and I was Scared.
I wanted someone to be there for me,
but there was no one.
Then I was Lonely.
I began to remember people
who used to love me
and I became Sad.
I did not want to be sad again,
so I became Angry.
I had nowhere to direct my anger
except at myself
and I was Hurt.
Now I am
Scared
Lonely
Sad
Angry
and Hurt.
Near tears,
I have nothing.
Oh Gods,
why is this
my life?
I wanted someone to be there for me,
but there was no one.
Then I was Lonely.
I began to remember people
who used to love me
and I became Sad.
I did not want to be sad again,
so I became Angry.
I had nowhere to direct my anger
except at myself
and I was Hurt.
Now I am
Scared
Lonely
Sad
Angry
and Hurt.
Near tears,
I have nothing.
Oh Gods,
why is this
my life?
Poem: Moment of Bull
Money is not important
nor lovers from days far gone
nor lack of success
whatever that means
or people
of you
you're fond.
The days of this life are passing,
so smile before they are gone.
The measure of life
is the warmth of your heart
not your clothing
your car
or your spawn.
nor lovers from days far gone
nor lack of success
whatever that means
or people
of you
you're fond.
The days of this life are passing,
so smile before they are gone.
The measure of life
is the warmth of your heart
not your clothing
your car
or your spawn.
Poem: And on Life Goes
Another month of poverty unfolds before me,
extending it's gut-tightening saddness into the far future.
While relatives and friends live lives of joyful comfort
and even other bums
appear richer than I.
Sucking cock for money has never seemed such a viable option,
the only way to get money
before my looks are gone
and I'm old and ugly,
infirmed, and broke as today.
While people applaud my brilliance and good looks,
telling me "This will pass" and "all will be better soon."
They have no idea.
They say these things to make themselves
and me
feel better.
It does not work.
It has been a year since things began to get worse.
Before that I had two years
of relative peace.
Before that... well... a long time in pain.
Then a year of peace...
then four years of pain...
then a year of peace, then thirteen in pain, then birth.
The Record is not good.
extending it's gut-tightening saddness into the far future.
While relatives and friends live lives of joyful comfort
and even other bums
appear richer than I.
Sucking cock for money has never seemed such a viable option,
the only way to get money
before my looks are gone
and I'm old and ugly,
infirmed, and broke as today.
While people applaud my brilliance and good looks,
telling me "This will pass" and "all will be better soon."
They have no idea.
They say these things to make themselves
and me
feel better.
It does not work.
It has been a year since things began to get worse.
Before that I had two years
of relative peace.
Before that... well... a long time in pain.
Then a year of peace...
then four years of pain...
then a year of peace, then thirteen in pain, then birth.
The Record is not good.
Poem: The Lost Cause
The lost cause who wakes before dawn
ignored by even the fallen.
Haunting late blocks of convinience,
drifting like a wor nand broken robot
from point-a to point-a to point-a.
Remembering with bitter self-loathing
the person he used to be
when he liked himself.
Lovers who used to show him affection, for a moment.
"There's no way out," he thinks,
like the day before
and the day before
and the day before.
Wondering when the Universe stopped loving him
and what he ever did to deserve
to be forgotten.
Nobody knows what's wrong with him,
most importantly himself.
ignored by even the fallen.
Haunting late blocks of convinience,
drifting like a wor nand broken robot
from point-a to point-a to point-a.
Remembering with bitter self-loathing
the person he used to be
when he liked himself.
Lovers who used to show him affection, for a moment.
"There's no way out," he thinks,
like the day before
and the day before
and the day before.
Wondering when the Universe stopped loving him
and what he ever did to deserve
to be forgotten.
Nobody knows what's wrong with him,
most importantly himself.
Poem: Leave Me Alone
Leave me alone, in my life of shame, I don't want to see you again.
You with your life of lightness and joy,
where there is no room for this poor outcaste boy.
Your life that is filled with things that you love,
while mine is impailed with hail from above.
Spending my days doing things which don't matter,
while yours are spent climbing life's sweet golden ladder.
And though I still like you, there's nothing will heal
the pain that consumes each turn of my wheel.
I see not the way my life will get better,
while you plan vacations with grand birthday platters.
Our paths have diverged in a most saddening way,
so "Leave me alone" is all I can say.
You with your life of lightness and joy,
where there is no room for this poor outcaste boy.
Your life that is filled with things that you love,
while mine is impailed with hail from above.
Spending my days doing things which don't matter,
while yours are spent climbing life's sweet golden ladder.
And though I still like you, there's nothing will heal
the pain that consumes each turn of my wheel.
I see not the way my life will get better,
while you plan vacations with grand birthday platters.
Our paths have diverged in a most saddening way,
so "Leave me alone" is all I can say.
Poem: One of the Readers
I'm one of the mindless massess
of quiet sitting readers
all of us on our bunks of metal
passing our time away.
The will to move is lacking
as nothing feels as real
as living in lands of dreaming
and reading not to feel.
The haunting pat floats through me
it works to make me weep
while the present gives no options
of loves that I can keep.
Pretending someone's out there
who loves me all the time
one who'll never leave me
no matter what my crimes.
It's just a game to make me sad
and wish my life to fleeting
it keeps me lieing in my bed
to waste my life with reading.
Maybe all these boks I eat
will change my life somehow
perhaps the words will make me glad
I'm living in the now.
But all these things are stranded dreams
which keep me on my bunk
to waste my youth with other's words
I pray it brings me luck.
of quiet sitting readers
all of us on our bunks of metal
passing our time away.
The will to move is lacking
as nothing feels as real
as living in lands of dreaming
and reading not to feel.
The haunting pat floats through me
it works to make me weep
while the present gives no options
of loves that I can keep.
Pretending someone's out there
who loves me all the time
one who'll never leave me
no matter what my crimes.
It's just a game to make me sad
and wish my life to fleeting
it keeps me lieing in my bed
to waste my life with reading.
Maybe all these boks I eat
will change my life somehow
perhaps the words will make me glad
I'm living in the now.
But all these things are stranded dreams
which keep me on my bunk
to waste my youth with other's words
I pray it brings me luck.
Poem: Dear Heroin
Like God made you just for me,
a gift from heaven to relieve,
if only for a moment,
the pain and trauma
forced upon me
by this rapist
called "life."
You pick me up
like a loving father;
holding me close and firm
in your all-encompassing arms of caring support.
Giving me just enough freedom
to wriggle around with joy,
testing the boundaries of our fun.
And just when I'm afraid
I'm going to slip and fall
you catch me
reminding me
of the love and safety
of your arms.
You are the most wonderful
thing
I have ever known...
And you are bad for me.
I do not know
whose fault
this is.
a gift from heaven to relieve,
if only for a moment,
the pain and trauma
forced upon me
by this rapist
called "life."
You pick me up
like a loving father;
holding me close and firm
in your all-encompassing arms of caring support.
Giving me just enough freedom
to wriggle around with joy,
testing the boundaries of our fun.
And just when I'm afraid
I'm going to slip and fall
you catch me
reminding me
of the love and safety
of your arms.
You are the most wonderful
thing
I have ever known...
And you are bad for me.
I do not know
whose fault
this is.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Poem: My Skull (Love)
When I die
I would like you to have
my dry cracked skull of chalky white
resting on your bedstand.
That every time you see
that bone
you think of the corpse
that loved you.
The empty sockets
which were my eyes
gazed into yours with pleasure.
The hollow skull
once filled with fire
of love for you
now dead.
The frozen grimace
once held lips
which burned
to kiss
your flesh.
And empty nose
which may still hold
mere atoms of your scent.
And though my head
in all it's life
did never get the chance,
to be with yours
through every night
it was it's only wish.
So take my skull
now dry and dead
and place it on your bedstand.
For you are who it lived to love
in death
let it remain there.
I would like you to have
my dry cracked skull of chalky white
resting on your bedstand.
That every time you see
that bone
you think of the corpse
that loved you.
The empty sockets
which were my eyes
gazed into yours with pleasure.
The hollow skull
once filled with fire
of love for you
now dead.
The frozen grimace
once held lips
which burned
to kiss
your flesh.
And empty nose
which may still hold
mere atoms of your scent.
And though my head
in all it's life
did never get the chance,
to be with yours
through every night
it was it's only wish.
So take my skull
now dry and dead
and place it on your bedstand.
For you are who it lived to love
in death
let it remain there.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Thoughts: Times of Happiness
Ages 0-13: Characterized mainly by terror, misery, anger, frustration, and impotent victimization.
Age 14: First taste of freedom. Happiness, exploration, excitement, love, art, freedom, meditation, magic, friends, life.
Ages 15-16: homelessness, poverty, imprisonment, inforced sepparation from friends and lovers, some experimentation, brief moments of happiness surrounded by uncertainty.
Ages 17-18: Frantic fun, hidden excitement, new friends, exprimentation, magic, lovers, studies, music, gloom, eventual isolation.
Ages 18-25: Deep depression, misery, isolation, running, victimization, poverty, homelessness, substance abuse, scattered crappy jobs, few friends, occational brief lovers, constant fear, repeated loss of freedom, Court.
Ages 25-26: Quiet sadness, vague hopes, studies, new friends, small hidden pleasures, music, constant emotial abuse, proud publications, academic sucess, renewed spiritual persuits, incremental acheivements.
Age 27: Beautiful home, happy studdies, wonderful new friends, occasional lovers, a steady and serious romance, private fears and depression, continued accademic success, increase of spiritual activities, music, writing, new publications, a decent part time job, serious medical complications.
Age 28: Homeless, running, loss of all spirituality, alone and friendless, medically infirmed and highly medicated, poverty, serious depression, substance abuse, no lovers, constant reading, crying, no hope in sight.
Total years alive = 28
Total years happy = 5
Total years sad = 23
Final Result = Life is Pain
Age 14: First taste of freedom. Happiness, exploration, excitement, love, art, freedom, meditation, magic, friends, life.
Ages 15-16: homelessness, poverty, imprisonment, inforced sepparation from friends and lovers, some experimentation, brief moments of happiness surrounded by uncertainty.
Ages 17-18: Frantic fun, hidden excitement, new friends, exprimentation, magic, lovers, studies, music, gloom, eventual isolation.
Ages 18-25: Deep depression, misery, isolation, running, victimization, poverty, homelessness, substance abuse, scattered crappy jobs, few friends, occational brief lovers, constant fear, repeated loss of freedom, Court.
Ages 25-26: Quiet sadness, vague hopes, studies, new friends, small hidden pleasures, music, constant emotial abuse, proud publications, academic sucess, renewed spiritual persuits, incremental acheivements.
Age 27: Beautiful home, happy studdies, wonderful new friends, occasional lovers, a steady and serious romance, private fears and depression, continued accademic success, increase of spiritual activities, music, writing, new publications, a decent part time job, serious medical complications.
Age 28: Homeless, running, loss of all spirituality, alone and friendless, medically infirmed and highly medicated, poverty, serious depression, substance abuse, no lovers, constant reading, crying, no hope in sight.
Total years alive = 28
Total years happy = 5
Total years sad = 23
Final Result = Life is Pain
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Poem: Jelousy
Jelousy. Sour and thick.
Coursing through the head and penis.
All those with so much
and I with so little.
I dream and ache for the improbable, the long shot;
A lost wallet filled with cash,
a laptop,
a cell phone,
a bag of money even.
I imagine these things constantly,
see them perfectly in my minds eye,
know they will come to me...
Until there are tears in my eyes
and my heart crumples
under the weight of my dreams.
"Nothing," the wind says to me,
"Nothing is coming to you,
you will never have any of it,
you will always be poor."
It makes all that I have
seem like trash.
All the megre things
I have fought so hard to get
become lowley and worthless
surrounded by my dreams of more.
Surrounded by wealthy one's
shopping in malls,
eating out in restraunts,
wearing nice clothes,
and smoking rich cigarrettes.
While I am doomed to suffer alone.
A beggar in the land of plenty.
"CRIME!" My body screams at me.
"CRIME IS YOUR ONLY CHANCE
TO GET A PIECE!"
And I can think of no other way.
This is when the next wave of sadness hits.
Because I am no good at crime either.
So I am back praying
for a miracle.
Coursing through the head and penis.
All those with so much
and I with so little.
I dream and ache for the improbable, the long shot;
A lost wallet filled with cash,
a laptop,
a cell phone,
a bag of money even.
I imagine these things constantly,
see them perfectly in my minds eye,
know they will come to me...
Until there are tears in my eyes
and my heart crumples
under the weight of my dreams.
"Nothing," the wind says to me,
"Nothing is coming to you,
you will never have any of it,
you will always be poor."
It makes all that I have
seem like trash.
All the megre things
I have fought so hard to get
become lowley and worthless
surrounded by my dreams of more.
Surrounded by wealthy one's
shopping in malls,
eating out in restraunts,
wearing nice clothes,
and smoking rich cigarrettes.
While I am doomed to suffer alone.
A beggar in the land of plenty.
"CRIME!" My body screams at me.
"CRIME IS YOUR ONLY CHANCE
TO GET A PIECE!"
And I can think of no other way.
This is when the next wave of sadness hits.
Because I am no good at crime either.
So I am back praying
for a miracle.
Poem: I Do Get Tired
I do get tired of praying
and being full of hope;
picturing what good's to come
and staying off of dope.
I do get tired of being unique
while others look the same.
Happy in their worlds of love,
but there's no one to blame.
I do get tired of being alone
with famalies all around;
People's laughter, out with friends.
For me there is no sound.
I do get tired of being tired
and thinking all the day;
Filled with longing for my death
is all I have to say.
and being full of hope;
picturing what good's to come
and staying off of dope.
I do get tired of being unique
while others look the same.
Happy in their worlds of love,
but there's no one to blame.
I do get tired of being alone
with famalies all around;
People's laughter, out with friends.
For me there is no sound.
I do get tired of being tired
and thinking all the day;
Filled with longing for my death
is all I have to say.
Poem: I Am All Alone
My back gets steadily worse.
I am all alone.
The pills will not keep working for ever.
I am terrified.
I am alone.
I could loose my ability to walk,
my back gets steadily worse.
What will the surgeon say?
I'm scared.
I'm alone.
Surgery may help,
surgery may cripple me.
I don't know what to do.
There is nothing I can do.
My back gets steadily worse.
I am all alone.
I will either get surgery
or I wont.
I'll either get SSI
or I wont.
I'll either become crippled
or I wont.
Like a disease;
my fate is uncertain.
All I can do is live with it.
All I can go is wait.
Until I see the surgeon.
Until I get more tests.
Until I get the mail.
Until I get the check.
Just wait.
And try to enjoy my time on legs
while I have it.
My back gets steadily worse.
I am all alone.
I am all alone.
The pills will not keep working for ever.
I am terrified.
I am alone.
I could loose my ability to walk,
my back gets steadily worse.
What will the surgeon say?
I'm scared.
I'm alone.
Surgery may help,
surgery may cripple me.
I don't know what to do.
There is nothing I can do.
My back gets steadily worse.
I am all alone.
I will either get surgery
or I wont.
I'll either get SSI
or I wont.
I'll either become crippled
or I wont.
Like a disease;
my fate is uncertain.
All I can do is live with it.
All I can go is wait.
Until I see the surgeon.
Until I get more tests.
Until I get the mail.
Until I get the check.
Just wait.
And try to enjoy my time on legs
while I have it.
My back gets steadily worse.
I am all alone.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Poem: Bills Revelation
I sawa a side I had not seen before.
No person is perfect. We place them on pedestals.
To revere, to look up to, until the hairline fracture, we didn't see,
cracks, brings the whole building down.
This has happened before and may happen again,
each time I look up to them less.
I look towards the day we all will be equal
that day I will be at my best.
No person is perfect. We place them on pedestals.
To revere, to look up to, until the hairline fracture, we didn't see,
cracks, brings the whole building down.
This has happened before and may happen again,
each time I look up to them less.
I look towards the day we all will be equal
that day I will be at my best.
Poem: He's Green
He's small and green and wears a kite.
I'm tall and mean; a scourge of light.
The time's so fast it wakes at night.
When once my eyes were blind.
We lived amoung the people
in a grey and ugly cell.
The lies we created
brought money
from hell.
Where once they found trees
were now piles of leaves,
we laughed at their sad-hearted plight.
Oh, my children,
if only you knew the
chaos and succor
of wine!
You'd drench all your fears
with gallons of tears
and dieing
lay crying
for time.
I'm tall and mean; a scourge of light.
The time's so fast it wakes at night.
When once my eyes were blind.
We lived amoung the people
in a grey and ugly cell.
The lies we created
brought money
from hell.
Where once they found trees
were now piles of leaves,
we laughed at their sad-hearted plight.
Oh, my children,
if only you knew the
chaos and succor
of wine!
You'd drench all your fears
with gallons of tears
and dieing
lay crying
for time.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Poem: Beware
Beware of lonely people,
they are that way for a reason.
Beware of those who offer you large gifts,
when first you meet.
They lack something vital
and try to compensate
with worldly illusions.
Beware of them who say,
"I want nothing from you."
They are being dishonest.
Whether to themselves or to you,
it makes no difference.
The bad masquerades as good,
and the good are sometimes felled
beneath this slim mockery of wealth.
they are that way for a reason.
Beware of those who offer you large gifts,
when first you meet.
They lack something vital
and try to compensate
with worldly illusions.
Beware of them who say,
"I want nothing from you."
They are being dishonest.
Whether to themselves or to you,
it makes no difference.
The bad masquerades as good,
and the good are sometimes felled
beneath this slim mockery of wealth.
Poem: Old Emails
Emotions expressed in days far gone,
documented by emails
long since forgot.
Strikes terror in the stomach;
a cramping suck of shame.
Feelings bent and mangled
poured out through prisms
of whiskey and weed.
Out through my fingers
to keyboard
to wires
to your eyes.
Birthed as stunted
mutant
children.
Withered and sick
dead before fruition
cold and misunderstood
by all.
It was the only way known.
A frustrated
angry
robot.
Ejecting components
which did not fit
inside.
I was doing my best at the time.
documented by emails
long since forgot.
Strikes terror in the stomach;
a cramping suck of shame.
Feelings bent and mangled
poured out through prisms
of whiskey and weed.
Out through my fingers
to keyboard
to wires
to your eyes.
Birthed as stunted
mutant
children.
Withered and sick
dead before fruition
cold and misunderstood
by all.
It was the only way known.
A frustrated
angry
robot.
Ejecting components
which did not fit
inside.
I was doing my best at the time.
Poem: After the fall
I laughed at the wind,
falling down to scrape both knees.
Not my lowest,
but pain knows
no comparison.
I watched the swan people gather;
ugly as roast lamb.
Oh how I aimed to be one.
When the sun finally rose
I was amazed to see
it's balance.
How simple peace is
when all it takes
is nothing.
falling down to scrape both knees.
Not my lowest,
but pain knows
no comparison.
I watched the swan people gather;
ugly as roast lamb.
Oh how I aimed to be one.
When the sun finally rose
I was amazed to see
it's balance.
How simple peace is
when all it takes
is nothing.
Poem: Nothing to All
From nothing to all,
the change happens fast.
There are those who
I "owe" time to.
There are those who
I wish to spend time with.
The change happens fast.
Prioritize according to my heart
and not what my mind says.
Breathing in new air
I exhale that which is old.
It once was new too.
Pushing ever forward,
lost in the swirling river,
so many hands reach out for me,
to pick and choose is wise.
the change happens fast.
There are those who
I "owe" time to.
There are those who
I wish to spend time with.
The change happens fast.
Prioritize according to my heart
and not what my mind says.
Breathing in new air
I exhale that which is old.
It once was new too.
Pushing ever forward,
lost in the swirling river,
so many hands reach out for me,
to pick and choose is wise.
Poem: Stop It
Is that her?
Stop it.
I know she's nearby,
I can feel her.
Stop it,
You're doing it again.
Why am I still thinking about her?
How long has it been
since I've seen her?
Why do I do this
to myself?
I have no idea
what she is like
anymore.
Time must have changed her,
as much as it has changed me.
I'm in love with a memory,
an illusion,
it's not real.
I want to see her.
Stop it!
This must be my destructive impulse;
searching madly for a way to destroy me.
That's how it works,
you know,
the evil inside
will use any tool
to make me miserable.
Does she still think of me?
Stop it.
I haven't really loved again,
she was my last.
I've had lovers, yes.
Some of them quite deep
and wonderful.
But never like her.
Never with every fiber
of my being
and to Hell with the world.
Never again perhaps.
Stop it...
Please?
Stop it.
I know she's nearby,
I can feel her.
Stop it,
You're doing it again.
Why am I still thinking about her?
How long has it been
since I've seen her?
Why do I do this
to myself?
I have no idea
what she is like
anymore.
Time must have changed her,
as much as it has changed me.
I'm in love with a memory,
an illusion,
it's not real.
I want to see her.
Stop it!
This must be my destructive impulse;
searching madly for a way to destroy me.
That's how it works,
you know,
the evil inside
will use any tool
to make me miserable.
Does she still think of me?
Stop it.
I haven't really loved again,
she was my last.
I've had lovers, yes.
Some of them quite deep
and wonderful.
But never like her.
Never with every fiber
of my being
and to Hell with the world.
Never again perhaps.
Stop it...
Please?
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Poem: Love Dwells
I seem to like to dwell on Love,
or some image I make thereof.
On creatures from my distant past,
although most popular's the last-
"I wonder will she write to me"
and
"Happy with him, that just can't be!"
I'll feel all sad and play the blues,
pondering what I did to lose.
Write long letters to she-who's-gone,
sing about her in a song.
This the game my heart repeats,
until a new love does compete.
Though I do still think of old one's,
my firing pins decend on cold guns.
Why I must repeat this game,
is a quest which wracks my brain.
For nothing that I do or say,
will bring to me old loves today.
Maybe I just like to hurt,
crying over some old skirt.
Maybe I am fooling me,
about the way things really be.
But no matter, here I sit,
wishing I were past this shit.
or some image I make thereof.
On creatures from my distant past,
although most popular's the last-
"I wonder will she write to me"
and
"Happy with him, that just can't be!"
I'll feel all sad and play the blues,
pondering what I did to lose.
Write long letters to she-who's-gone,
sing about her in a song.
This the game my heart repeats,
until a new love does compete.
Though I do still think of old one's,
my firing pins decend on cold guns.
Why I must repeat this game,
is a quest which wracks my brain.
For nothing that I do or say,
will bring to me old loves today.
Maybe I just like to hurt,
crying over some old skirt.
Maybe I am fooling me,
about the way things really be.
But no matter, here I sit,
wishing I were past this shit.
Poem: Maturity
There was a time
when all I'd need
was a shot
of bar whiskey.
I'd take one shot
and all'd be fine
erasing all the
bad from my mind.
Then a little
time would pass
and one more
would be a gas.
Later too
I'd have another
and buy one
for my bar brother
For some time
this worked out fine
drinking down
all woes of mine
Eventually the times
did change
then no amount
could rearange
the pain and worry
of my life
the problems grew
and soon were rife
but no matter
how I tried
the only one
I could confide
the painful worries
of my think
was the glass
from which
I'd drink
And so I turned
to friends more hardy
drugs the kind
not found at parties
and they worked
but not forever
thus I found
I was not clever
Naked, freezing
cold in jail
with no friend
to make my bail
And while my schoolmates learned to be
I was learning how to flee
so now that I am finally sober
it's mine to learn to live all over
All the skills I learned
from the glass
from the needles
and smoking grass
these are tools
I now worthless
and I'm finding
mostly mirthless
though forever I'll persist
until my sadness will desist
Until I learn to love quite freely
until I find myself appealing
For I've learned it's all inside
and there is no place to hide
for every moment I repress
will one day demand redress
and though I used to put it off
I know the truth now; Nothing's Lost
To deal with everything I am
is the job of this one man
and though the many may drink to live
I find my purpose is to give
to the people who like me
feel compeled to only flee
and if I help just one other
I will have earned
the title
of "Brother."
when all I'd need
was a shot
of bar whiskey.
I'd take one shot
and all'd be fine
erasing all the
bad from my mind.
Then a little
time would pass
and one more
would be a gas.
Later too
I'd have another
and buy one
for my bar brother
For some time
this worked out fine
drinking down
all woes of mine
Eventually the times
did change
then no amount
could rearange
the pain and worry
of my life
the problems grew
and soon were rife
but no matter
how I tried
the only one
I could confide
the painful worries
of my think
was the glass
from which
I'd drink
And so I turned
to friends more hardy
drugs the kind
not found at parties
and they worked
but not forever
thus I found
I was not clever
Naked, freezing
cold in jail
with no friend
to make my bail
And while my schoolmates learned to be
I was learning how to flee
so now that I am finally sober
it's mine to learn to live all over
All the skills I learned
from the glass
from the needles
and smoking grass
these are tools
I now worthless
and I'm finding
mostly mirthless
though forever I'll persist
until my sadness will desist
Until I learn to love quite freely
until I find myself appealing
For I've learned it's all inside
and there is no place to hide
for every moment I repress
will one day demand redress
and though I used to put it off
I know the truth now; Nothing's Lost
To deal with everything I am
is the job of this one man
and though the many may drink to live
I find my purpose is to give
to the people who like me
feel compeled to only flee
and if I help just one other
I will have earned
the title
of "Brother."
Poem: Reversal
Ah!
I see now, the truth, my dear;
It is you, does not want, to be friends.
For reasons unknown
you have tried your very best
to push
that decision
on me.
But to find
that I'll take you,
any which way,
is the last note you sang
to me.
And now that I know
you wish not be near me,
I find
that I still
wish you here.
I admit I don't know
what it means to be friends
ask any
who've known me
for long.
To you
friends with me
would be wrong
so you flew to your friends
Birthday Party
when I'd opened
my soul
to you.
I told you I had nothing
just only my heart
now your silence
is leaving
me blue.
I see now, the truth, my dear;
It is you, does not want, to be friends.
For reasons unknown
you have tried your very best
to push
that decision
on me.
But to find
that I'll take you,
any which way,
is the last note you sang
to me.
And now that I know
you wish not be near me,
I find
that I still
wish you here.
I admit I don't know
what it means to be friends
ask any
who've known me
for long.
To you
friends with me
would be wrong
so you flew to your friends
Birthday Party
when I'd opened
my soul
to you.
I told you I had nothing
just only my heart
now your silence
is leaving
me blue.
Poem/Rant: Stupid Helpers
The incompentance of those
who are supposed to take care
of the incompetant
is staggering in it's majesty.
Palpably passing the
proverbial puck
back and forth like
hockey players
gunning for a cup,
but this puck is a person
who pricks when he bleeds
and in passing
some die
never making it to the next
hop-skip or jump.
Not that those
who are supposed to take care
of the competant
do much better
but the competant have options
not available
to the lesser class of Animals.
Lowly lieing Liers!
Sending us to and fro
like so many
stupid beast of the field
with lashings and brandings in tow.
"No one cares about you, my son,
though we all pretend in out way.
You're better off marching yourself to death,
than beleiving a word that we say."
who are supposed to take care
of the incompetant
is staggering in it's majesty.
Palpably passing the
proverbial puck
back and forth like
hockey players
gunning for a cup,
but this puck is a person
who pricks when he bleeds
and in passing
some die
never making it to the next
hop-skip or jump.
Not that those
who are supposed to take care
of the competant
do much better
but the competant have options
not available
to the lesser class of Animals.
Lowly lieing Liers!
Sending us to and fro
like so many
stupid beast of the field
with lashings and brandings in tow.
"No one cares about you, my son,
though we all pretend in out way.
You're better off marching yourself to death,
than beleiving a word that we say."
Friday, June 13, 2008
Poem: She's Gone
She responded to my question.
her answer was
"Yes, you and I are not lovers anymore.
I have returned to my former abuser."
Pain clenches my heart
as tears rise to my eyes.
But it is not as bad
as I thought it would be.
Partly sad for me,
partly sad for her,
sadness for her the greater part.
I think.
Like watching friends overdose
or sink into alcoholism;
I hate to see the ones I love
hurt themselves.
The sad and weighty fact
is that
I have no control
over the actions
of others,
no matter how much
I love them.
If she had chosen someone
besides her
former abuser
it would have been
easier for me,
but again
I have no power here.
"It may have been different
if you had stayed,"
she writes.
But I was headed for Hell
and staying was not an option.
I could fight for her,
but I wont.
The sad fact
is that
she was probably drawn to me
by the Abuser within me;
The dark, drooling,
Monster,
I constantly hide and fight
to keep at bay.
And my Monster hates it
when another monster
steals it's pray.
She says
"I hope we can still
be friends."
Which is what they always say.
her answer was
"Yes, you and I are not lovers anymore.
I have returned to my former abuser."
Pain clenches my heart
as tears rise to my eyes.
But it is not as bad
as I thought it would be.
Partly sad for me,
partly sad for her,
sadness for her the greater part.
I think.
Like watching friends overdose
or sink into alcoholism;
I hate to see the ones I love
hurt themselves.
The sad and weighty fact
is that
I have no control
over the actions
of others,
no matter how much
I love them.
If she had chosen someone
besides her
former abuser
it would have been
easier for me,
but again
I have no power here.
"It may have been different
if you had stayed,"
she writes.
But I was headed for Hell
and staying was not an option.
I could fight for her,
but I wont.
The sad fact
is that
she was probably drawn to me
by the Abuser within me;
The dark, drooling,
Monster,
I constantly hide and fight
to keep at bay.
And my Monster hates it
when another monster
steals it's pray.
She says
"I hope we can still
be friends."
Which is what they always say.
Haiku: Cycles
I have lived before
Breathing deeply is not easy
All story-tellers repeat their stories.
Breathing deeply is not easy
All story-tellers repeat their stories.
Poem: Morning Pain
You don't want to wake up,
but there is a burning
aching
pain
in your spine.
It's the same pain
you wake up with
every morning,
but this day
it happens to be worse
than usual.
You really want
to keep sleeping
and you ignore it
for as long as you can,
but eventually it just
too much
and you agrilly get out of bed
and take some pills.
Two pekesettes
four cups of coffee
three cigarrettes
and twenty minutes later
you are finally feeling like
you suppose
a normal person
usually feels like
and you are ready
to start your day.
You want to take another pill,
"to make up for lost time"
but you don't,
waiting instead
for the pain to return again.
And of course it does,
it always does.
And these days
it seems to be getting worse.
Then hours pass
and you wait with anxiety
for the next spike
of pain...
but it doesn't come on time.
You have no idea why
or what makes it better or worse,
but that is not worth thinking about.
There is still laundry to do.
but there is a burning
aching
pain
in your spine.
It's the same pain
you wake up with
every morning,
but this day
it happens to be worse
than usual.
You really want
to keep sleeping
and you ignore it
for as long as you can,
but eventually it just
too much
and you agrilly get out of bed
and take some pills.
Two pekesettes
four cups of coffee
three cigarrettes
and twenty minutes later
you are finally feeling like
you suppose
a normal person
usually feels like
and you are ready
to start your day.
You want to take another pill,
"to make up for lost time"
but you don't,
waiting instead
for the pain to return again.
And of course it does,
it always does.
And these days
it seems to be getting worse.
Then hours pass
and you wait with anxiety
for the next spike
of pain...
but it doesn't come on time.
You have no idea why
or what makes it better or worse,
but that is not worth thinking about.
There is still laundry to do.
Poem: Rehab Again
"Oh you're in rehab again..."
They say with sadness is their eyes.
Pitying my inability to live
a life like theirs,
wishing with good hearts
that I could be "average."
Although I feel a vague sort of
painful shame
at the fact,
I'm also not sure
that I have anything
to be ashamed of.
How does one quantify
the worth of a life?
Would I have been happier,
or even able,
to have lived a planned life,
with college and marriage and kids?
I think not.
It seems I am meant for this life,
for reasons yet unclear to me.
Who could count the good that I do
simply by hanging around?
A smile, a wink, a kind word;
These are of infinite value.
There is no profit
in wishing for impossibility.
Better love my life as it is
and leave the comparrison
to others.
They say with sadness is their eyes.
Pitying my inability to live
a life like theirs,
wishing with good hearts
that I could be "average."
Although I feel a vague sort of
painful shame
at the fact,
I'm also not sure
that I have anything
to be ashamed of.
How does one quantify
the worth of a life?
Would I have been happier,
or even able,
to have lived a planned life,
with college and marriage and kids?
I think not.
It seems I am meant for this life,
for reasons yet unclear to me.
Who could count the good that I do
simply by hanging around?
A smile, a wink, a kind word;
These are of infinite value.
There is no profit
in wishing for impossibility.
Better love my life as it is
and leave the comparrison
to others.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Poem: The Value of Friendship
What friends are friends?
I cannot know.
Those that you make in prison
are not
on the outside.
Those you make while drunk
are not
while sober.
Those you make while rich
are not
while poor.
I'm scared the sad fact is that
when it comes down to it;
All friends are a convenience
of the moment.
Scared I say
because I have always prayed
thought
and felt
that it was otherwise.
I remember finding my father's coin jar
as a child
in his closet
with my best friend at my side.
I split the coins with him
fifty-fifty
it seemed only fair.
My father was very upset.
I couldn't understand why.
We were rich
and my best friend was poor;
to me the money meant nothing
our friendship everything.
Years later he stole from me.
For him the money was important.
As I age my
unbridled love
and naivete
has burned me
more than once.
My dearest wish is that
everyone loved
as deep and true as I.
But they don't.
They wont.
They can't.
The only one's who have come close
are the destitute
and the homosexual.
Perhaps because they know
what it is like
to be truly alone.
This may be the reason
for coupling,
a lover,
a marriage even.
We all want to trust someone
totally,
sharing everything we have.
But friends cannot be trusted
without the bonding power of sex
to keep them in love.
There are good people, yes.
There is compassion,
charity,
selflessness,
and help.
But all of it is fleeting
and then it's
just me,
and God,
again.
I cannot know.
Those that you make in prison
are not
on the outside.
Those you make while drunk
are not
while sober.
Those you make while rich
are not
while poor.
I'm scared the sad fact is that
when it comes down to it;
All friends are a convenience
of the moment.
Scared I say
because I have always prayed
thought
and felt
that it was otherwise.
I remember finding my father's coin jar
as a child
in his closet
with my best friend at my side.
I split the coins with him
fifty-fifty
it seemed only fair.
My father was very upset.
I couldn't understand why.
We were rich
and my best friend was poor;
to me the money meant nothing
our friendship everything.
Years later he stole from me.
For him the money was important.
As I age my
unbridled love
and naivete
has burned me
more than once.
My dearest wish is that
everyone loved
as deep and true as I.
But they don't.
They wont.
They can't.
The only one's who have come close
are the destitute
and the homosexual.
Perhaps because they know
what it is like
to be truly alone.
This may be the reason
for coupling,
a lover,
a marriage even.
We all want to trust someone
totally,
sharing everything we have.
But friends cannot be trusted
without the bonding power of sex
to keep them in love.
There are good people, yes.
There is compassion,
charity,
selflessness,
and help.
But all of it is fleeting
and then it's
just me,
and God,
again.
Poem: Younger
I meet you and you're wonderful.
I could say more, but wont.
Impressive and smart,
pretty and young:
Many things
which I hold dear.
You shine in my mind
for hours after.
"Unhealthy," I wonder?
But put it aside.
Because
I can use
the distraction.
Before too long
I begin to imagine
a kiss, a walk, with you.
Catching myself, I stop
and I wonder;
"Why not just be friends?"
Is there something
depraved
in my active libido?
Does it stop me
or you
from excelling?
I cannot know,
but at least I'm on guard,
and I'll take it all
moment to moment.
I could say more, but wont.
Impressive and smart,
pretty and young:
Many things
which I hold dear.
You shine in my mind
for hours after.
"Unhealthy," I wonder?
But put it aside.
Because
I can use
the distraction.
Before too long
I begin to imagine
a kiss, a walk, with you.
Catching myself, I stop
and I wonder;
"Why not just be friends?"
Is there something
depraved
in my active libido?
Does it stop me
or you
from excelling?
I cannot know,
but at least I'm on guard,
and I'll take it all
moment to moment.
Poem: Questions
Where are you now, my dear?
Do you still feel for me?
Your absence makes me ache.
It always did.
But then I was far away.
Did you let me go forever
when I left?
I wouldn't blame you.
Are you afraid of risking the pain of departure
again?
Is this all in my mind?
Am I imagining you now
as someone you never were?
Maybe I am just being selfish,
thinking only of myself?
I do not want to harm you again.
Do you think of me,
as deeply,
as often,
as I do you?
For your sake
I hope not.
Do you still feel for me?
Your absence makes me ache.
It always did.
But then I was far away.
Did you let me go forever
when I left?
I wouldn't blame you.
Are you afraid of risking the pain of departure
again?
Is this all in my mind?
Am I imagining you now
as someone you never were?
Maybe I am just being selfish,
thinking only of myself?
I do not want to harm you again.
Do you think of me,
as deeply,
as often,
as I do you?
For your sake
I hope not.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Poem, I Have Tried
I have tried my best to smile
at those who only frown.
I have tried to soar the heavens
from deep within the ground.
I have tried to turn my life of lead
into the grace of gold.
I have spent the last of my young hopes
and now I'm not
But old.
at those who only frown.
I have tried to soar the heavens
from deep within the ground.
I have tried to turn my life of lead
into the grace of gold.
I have spent the last of my young hopes
and now I'm not
But old.
Poem, Better Find Some Joy
I'll have to find some joy
in something
better find it soon.
To keep on living
in this vein
will turn me to a loon.
Anger, pain, and sweet remorse
fill me day to day.
The only goodness that I know
is writing down my say.
And though noone may ever read this,
still it helps me some.
For with my pen
I feel much stronger,
better than a gun.
in something
better find it soon.
To keep on living
in this vein
will turn me to a loon.
Anger, pain, and sweet remorse
fill me day to day.
The only goodness that I know
is writing down my say.
And though noone may ever read this,
still it helps me some.
For with my pen
I feel much stronger,
better than a gun.
Poem, Stuck
Sex isn't sexy any more,
I've lost my taste for booze.
Pot no longer appeals to me,
What else can I loose.
My back is getting worse
these days
I smoke two packs a day
Leavings not an option
and so
I'm forced
to stay.
The student loans will be owed soon
I'm living in a shelter
It seems to me
my whole damn life
is always
Helter skelter.
At least I can read,
at least I can write,
and sometimes
carry a tune.
And no matter
what the wait
at least
I'll be
dead soon.
I see now why
the old don't smile
with death and pain
ingrained.
I don't know how
the other's live
with killing
their own brain.
I've lost my taste for booze.
Pot no longer appeals to me,
What else can I loose.
My back is getting worse
these days
I smoke two packs a day
Leavings not an option
and so
I'm forced
to stay.
The student loans will be owed soon
I'm living in a shelter
It seems to me
my whole damn life
is always
Helter skelter.
At least I can read,
at least I can write,
and sometimes
carry a tune.
And no matter
what the wait
at least
I'll be
dead soon.
I see now why
the old don't smile
with death and pain
ingrained.
I don't know how
the other's live
with killing
their own brain.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Poem: An Island
After a decade of thought
and experience
I am forced to admit
that we need community.
It is the reason
that inmates are afraid
of solitary confinement.
Why there are AA meetings
and hacker clubs.
"No man is an island"-
I never really believed that
until today.
Alone, I am sad.
No phone, no computer,
a stranger in a strange place,
I sit next to an old, black, man
with a guitar.
He offers to share a cigarrette
with me
which I accept greedily.
Not because I am out of tobacco,
but because my need to share
with another human being
is so strong,
so tangible,
that I am ready to burst into tears.
My burden seems so heavy.
I see now why I have been
spending so much time
on the computer lately.
So much time reading
and writing;
Blotting out the lonliness.
All this on the verge
of my departure to a foreign land.
Where I will be farther from those
I know and love
and where perhaps
I'll have even less in common
than with those around me.
Of course I am scared.
Terrified, even.
Only a fool would not be.
But I feel this inner urging,
from I know not where,
telling me;
This is the only way to go.
in common
and experience
I am forced to admit
that we need community.
It is the reason
that inmates are afraid
of solitary confinement.
Why there are AA meetings
and hacker clubs.
"No man is an island"-
I never really believed that
until today.
Alone, I am sad.
No phone, no computer,
a stranger in a strange place,
I sit next to an old, black, man
with a guitar.
He offers to share a cigarrette
with me
which I accept greedily.
Not because I am out of tobacco,
but because my need to share
with another human being
is so strong,
so tangible,
that I am ready to burst into tears.
My burden seems so heavy.
I see now why I have been
spending so much time
on the computer lately.
So much time reading
and writing;
Blotting out the lonliness.
All this on the verge
of my departure to a foreign land.
Where I will be farther from those
I know and love
and where perhaps
I'll have even less in common
than with those around me.
Of course I am scared.
Terrified, even.
Only a fool would not be.
But I feel this inner urging,
from I know not where,
telling me;
This is the only way to go.
in common
Poem: What I'd Like
Hello, I'd like a small coffee please.
"What kind of roast do you want?"
I don't care.
"Hot or Cold?"
Hot.
"For here or to go?"
I don't care.
"Do you want milk or cream?"
If I want some,
I'll put it in myself.
"Do you want room for cream?"
If I want room,
I'll pour some coffee out.
"Is this cash or credit?"
If you'd have told me the price,
you would have found out.
"Ar you having a nice day?"
None of your business.
Hello I'd like a
small
hot
coffee
to go
I'm paying cash
hold the questions.
"What kind of roast do you want?"
I don't care.
"Hot or Cold?"
Hot.
"For here or to go?"
I don't care.
"Do you want milk or cream?"
If I want some,
I'll put it in myself.
"Do you want room for cream?"
If I want room,
I'll pour some coffee out.
"Is this cash or credit?"
If you'd have told me the price,
you would have found out.
"Ar you having a nice day?"
None of your business.
Hello I'd like a
small
hot
coffee
to go
I'm paying cash
hold the questions.
Poem: Me
Ah, Me!
I laugh at myself!
Sitting in peace
with a full stomach
under a tree
with money in the bank
and me:
Dwelling on my pain.
The pain which I am
not currently feeling.
The pain which has always been
my greatest foe.
How silly I am
to dwell on that
ugly stick!
When it comes
I will deal with it.
But for now
I must laugh
at myself.
Overdramatic,
morose,
grasping at any straw
that gives me an
excuse
for self-pity.
How good now is
when compared to others.
Other people
and other moments.
I'd better start
appreciating it soon
because before I know it
the pain will be back
and then I will have
no choice
but to laugh.
I laugh at myself!
Sitting in peace
with a full stomach
under a tree
with money in the bank
and me:
Dwelling on my pain.
The pain which I am
not currently feeling.
The pain which has always been
my greatest foe.
How silly I am
to dwell on that
ugly stick!
When it comes
I will deal with it.
But for now
I must laugh
at myself.
Overdramatic,
morose,
grasping at any straw
that gives me an
excuse
for self-pity.
How good now is
when compared to others.
Other people
and other moments.
I'd better start
appreciating it soon
because before I know it
the pain will be back
and then I will have
no choice
but to laugh.
Poem: Pain #3
Pain is cunning
it cannot be seen
like electricity
you can only tell it's there
by it's action;
grimaces, cries,
groans and moans.
There is no way to prove
how much you hurt
invisible
it exists
only for you
Your body can hurt
your feelings can hurt
your pride can hurt you too.
Like a unifying principle
of nature
ever-present
in every living being.
Surely pain
is a part of God?
it cannot be seen
like electricity
you can only tell it's there
by it's action;
grimaces, cries,
groans and moans.
There is no way to prove
how much you hurt
invisible
it exists
only for you
Your body can hurt
your feelings can hurt
your pride can hurt you too.
Like a unifying principle
of nature
ever-present
in every living being.
Surely pain
is a part of God?
Poem: Pain #2
I'll choose some pain
rather than numb
in hopes
to feel more truly.
Take deep breaths
and little rests
and make sure
thoughts are holy
For every day
is not the same
though the mind
may say so
And move through life
a humble being
for Love
is my God's say-so.
rather than numb
in hopes
to feel more truly.
Take deep breaths
and little rests
and make sure
thoughts are holy
For every day
is not the same
though the mind
may say so
And move through life
a humble being
for Love
is my God's say-so.
Poem: The Ordo Templi Orientis (OTO)
As a child
I spent time
with the OTO;
A "Great Magickal Society
of Occultists."
Oh, how I must have rankled them.
In being the youngest
adjunct by far
a light was cast
on their own immaturity.
I thought them so wise
then
with lofty aims and goals.
But now that I am grown
I see them
in a different light.
Their petty nefariousness
shines to me now
I even see malice
disguised as good tidings
and possibly
Evil
which word I use
not lightly.
Maturity can be a noose
made of light and love.
Every aware
of traps and snares
and schemes
from up above.
I spent time
with the OTO;
A "Great Magickal Society
of Occultists."
Oh, how I must have rankled them.
In being the youngest
adjunct by far
a light was cast
on their own immaturity.
I thought them so wise
then
with lofty aims and goals.
But now that I am grown
I see them
in a different light.
Their petty nefariousness
shines to me now
I even see malice
disguised as good tidings
and possibly
Evil
which word I use
not lightly.
Maturity can be a noose
made of light and love.
Every aware
of traps and snares
and schemes
from up above.
Poem: Cunning Pain
Pain is hard to see,
in the beautiful.
Would I rather be ugly
and pain free?
It's hard to say.
Working with others
in worse state than me
I forget about my pain
for a moment.
Cunning how that works.
in the beautiful.
Would I rather be ugly
and pain free?
It's hard to say.
Working with others
in worse state than me
I forget about my pain
for a moment.
Cunning how that works.
Poem: Poenix, Arizona
Another day in hell.
Arizona is a third world country.
Complete with crowded buses
screaming babies
crime
and death from the heat.
I've never seen
an uglier part of America.
I don't know if it's the times
or if it has always been this way.
But it doesn't really matter.
I can't now imagine
a worse place.
Mexico can be bad.
It's a better bad, though,
because there is no pretense
of being good.
I smile to know
I am leaving.
And no matter what happens
in my next port
it will seem
like heaven
when I remember the city
of Phoenix.
Arizona is a third world country.
Complete with crowded buses
screaming babies
crime
and death from the heat.
I've never seen
an uglier part of America.
I don't know if it's the times
or if it has always been this way.
But it doesn't really matter.
I can't now imagine
a worse place.
Mexico can be bad.
It's a better bad, though,
because there is no pretense
of being good.
I smile to know
I am leaving.
And no matter what happens
in my next port
it will seem
like heaven
when I remember the city
of Phoenix.
Poem: Freedom
Flying into the
wide open future
little plans
or means.
Exciting, hopeful
fearful, good
better than
the same old thing.
What will happen?
Time will tell
this I know;
That Chance
is swell.
So raise the flag
and soar the sails
let loose the Anchor
and never let go
of Freedom!
wide open future
little plans
or means.
Exciting, hopeful
fearful, good
better than
the same old thing.
What will happen?
Time will tell
this I know;
That Chance
is swell.
So raise the flag
and soar the sails
let loose the Anchor
and never let go
of Freedom!
Poem: Medical Issues
I have
Medical Issues
which keep me from being free
chained to
pills, doctors
and Pain.
my life feels
not my own.
When will I be
free in the world?
To travel unhindered
my dearest wish.
I remember the days
of my health.
I wandered far, yes
but not far enough
I fear.
Why, dear Lord,
and I hindered?
Medical Issues
which keep me from being free
chained to
pills, doctors
and Pain.
my life feels
not my own.
When will I be
free in the world?
To travel unhindered
my dearest wish.
I remember the days
of my health.
I wandered far, yes
but not far enough
I fear.
Why, dear Lord,
and I hindered?
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Poem: To Be Loved
I do not need to
"have them."
To look is
lovely
enough.
What difference
between
squeezing a breast
and having one
pressed against you
in affection?
"Ownership" is a
Curse
of our world
illusion
where things
"must be our own."
To be loved
and to love
for me
this is
enough.
"have them."
To look is
lovely
enough.
What difference
between
squeezing a breast
and having one
pressed against you
in affection?
"Ownership" is a
Curse
of our world
illusion
where things
"must be our own."
To be loved
and to love
for me
this is
enough.
Poem: Ghost Feelings
This feeling comes over
like a ghost
in a graveyard
Sadness
at the freyed ends
of a rope
the battle is over
no use
in trying to change
the past strategy
The moment is now
and it is all
that should concern me
God is with me
in the now
all I need
is here
Though sometimes there is
Sadness
it passes like the night
and the sun
rises
again.
like a ghost
in a graveyard
Sadness
at the freyed ends
of a rope
the battle is over
no use
in trying to change
the past strategy
The moment is now
and it is all
that should concern me
God is with me
in the now
all I need
is here
Though sometimes there is
Sadness
it passes like the night
and the sun
rises
again.
Poem: Crazy Home Over
As soon as you stop
taking the abuse
they have no use for you.
Locking me out
she is a prisoner
in her own home.
I should have seen it coming,
but perhaps I have learned now.
She took everything she wanted
and threw the rest
out the door.
Where will I go from here?
On to my future,
with God as my guide.
I will not stoop
to this level
of hers.
No anger, resentment, or hate.
There are just a few things
she's stolen
which I still want.
But if I cannot get them,
life will go on.
Doe she think
that by keeping my things
I may one day come back?
No one knows
the Mind of Insanity.
taking the abuse
they have no use for you.
Locking me out
she is a prisoner
in her own home.
I should have seen it coming,
but perhaps I have learned now.
She took everything she wanted
and threw the rest
out the door.
Where will I go from here?
On to my future,
with God as my guide.
I will not stoop
to this level
of hers.
No anger, resentment, or hate.
There are just a few things
she's stolen
which I still want.
But if I cannot get them,
life will go on.
Doe she think
that by keeping my things
I may one day come back?
No one knows
the Mind of Insanity.
Poem: She
And she was all of the
abusive people
I have ever known;
Screaming and ranting
like a baby.
She said
every dirty thing
she could
finally ending with
"I'll bet you think you're hot shit,
don't you"
as I walked out the door.
She had said it all before,
yet somehow it didn't hurt me
this time.
I just felt sorry fopr her.
If I wasn't there
she screamed at the local shildren.
If they weren't there
her cats got the brundt.
Suddenly I wasn't hurt
or angry.
I didn't feel sorry for myself;
"that I had been abused so."
I just felt sorry for her;
that poor, ill woman,
filled with rage,
only for herself,
perpetually venting,
at the world.
Anger wants to beget
anger.
To make the fire grow.
Hers had found
no fuel in me.
Leaving her to bare
her burden
alone.
abusive people
I have ever known;
Screaming and ranting
like a baby.
She said
every dirty thing
she could
finally ending with
"I'll bet you think you're hot shit,
don't you"
as I walked out the door.
She had said it all before,
yet somehow it didn't hurt me
this time.
I just felt sorry fopr her.
If I wasn't there
she screamed at the local shildren.
If they weren't there
her cats got the brundt.
Suddenly I wasn't hurt
or angry.
I didn't feel sorry for myself;
"that I had been abused so."
I just felt sorry for her;
that poor, ill woman,
filled with rage,
only for herself,
perpetually venting,
at the world.
Anger wants to beget
anger.
To make the fire grow.
Hers had found
no fuel in me.
Leaving her to bare
her burden
alone.
Poem: Girlie Games
Girlie games
and squirley games
dareing you now
admit your shame
left and right
and back again
this games key
you just can't win
So laugh it off
and take a breath
admit they're cute
and pass their test
and squirley games
dareing you now
admit your shame
left and right
and back again
this games key
you just can't win
So laugh it off
and take a breath
admit they're cute
and pass their test
Poem: Not My Problem
So she's a flake;
it's not my problem.
So things get put off;
it's not my problem.
The flaws of others,
in relation to me,
are not my problem.
My problem is living
and enjoying,
every moment,
of every day,
to the fullest extent possible.
Not spinning my
wheels
in useless frustration.
Taking their burdens
into my heart
and festering in pain
over things
I can do nothing
about.
My problem is myself.
And the Answer
is
to
Breathe.
it's not my problem.
So things get put off;
it's not my problem.
The flaws of others,
in relation to me,
are not my problem.
My problem is living
and enjoying,
every moment,
of every day,
to the fullest extent possible.
Not spinning my
wheels
in useless frustration.
Taking their burdens
into my heart
and festering in pain
over things
I can do nothing
about.
My problem is myself.
And the Answer
is
to
Breathe.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Poem: Content
Affection
without sex
is like
an ice cream sundae
sprinkled with rose petals
warmth and intimacy
glee and caring
with no fear
of repercussion
or complication.
Two children
rolling and giggling
in the grass
content to breath
content to play
content
to Love.
without sex
is like
an ice cream sundae
sprinkled with rose petals
warmth and intimacy
glee and caring
with no fear
of repercussion
or complication.
Two children
rolling and giggling
in the grass
content to breath
content to play
content
to Love.
Poem: Cuddly Me
I think I'll stop
having sex
for a while
and start up
with the cuddling.
Put away the penis
start using my hands
in innocent acts
of comfort.
I'll hung one and all
give massages too
with bodies on bodies
I'll never be blue.
To love with my heart
no longer my groin
to be like a kitten
will make my life fine.
having sex
for a while
and start up
with the cuddling.
Put away the penis
start using my hands
in innocent acts
of comfort.
I'll hung one and all
give massages too
with bodies on bodies
I'll never be blue.
To love with my heart
no longer my groin
to be like a kitten
will make my life fine.
Poem: Where?
I have no part
in this sick person's rage.
So why does it hurt
when directed at me?
Where is my fortress
of Self and God
to protect me from
the flaws of others?
in this sick person's rage.
So why does it hurt
when directed at me?
Where is my fortress
of Self and God
to protect me from
the flaws of others?
Poem: Mirrors
Pouting and pounding
and full of self-loathing.
It's everyone's fault
but her own.
If you try to get close,
she'll hate you for it.
For we are mirrors
of each other
and she can't bare
to see
herself.
and full of self-loathing.
It's everyone's fault
but her own.
If you try to get close,
she'll hate you for it.
For we are mirrors
of each other
and she can't bare
to see
herself.
Poem: Hate Him
She's just like the man
she claims to hate
though she doesn't see it.
Pointing her finger
at all that is her
and cursing
her very own flaws.
Why do we hate
those parts of ourselves
which we see
in others?
Is there nothing
I can do
to help this
hate-filled person
treat me kindly?
she claims to hate
though she doesn't see it.
Pointing her finger
at all that is her
and cursing
her very own flaws.
Why do we hate
those parts of ourselves
which we see
in others?
Is there nothing
I can do
to help this
hate-filled person
treat me kindly?
Poem: What Purpose?
The angry, sad
person
who shares my space
directing her
dis-ease at me
gives me cause to
run away
I know not
what else to do.
Talking does not help,
if they do not want to talk.
Action does not help,
if they only ask for more.
Silence does not help,
if they scream anyways.
Oh God,
What is my purpose here?
person
who shares my space
directing her
dis-ease at me
gives me cause to
run away
I know not
what else to do.
Talking does not help,
if they do not want to talk.
Action does not help,
if they only ask for more.
Silence does not help,
if they scream anyways.
Oh God,
What is my purpose here?
Poem: The Ordeals
The Ordeals are not written
you'll be lucky if you
know what they are
when they come
if you do not pass one
it will come again
in another form
and again
until you have mastered it
then will come the next
and so on
and so on
yea, even unto perfection
yea, even unto
perfection.
you'll be lucky if you
know what they are
when they come
if you do not pass one
it will come again
in another form
and again
until you have mastered it
then will come the next
and so on
and so on
yea, even unto perfection
yea, even unto
perfection.
Poem: Port-O-Pottie
Four walls
and a seat
a moment alone
with no one
to yell
or stare
I wish I could
stay forever
despite the smell
always walking
except when resting
always people
often yelling
so much anger
directed at me
what did I do
but try to be free
and a seat
a moment alone
with no one
to yell
or stare
I wish I could
stay forever
despite the smell
always walking
except when resting
always people
often yelling
so much anger
directed at me
what did I do
but try to be free
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Poem: God's Army
The Devil will try
every trick that it can
my son
to throw you off My Path.
The walk of faith
does not start east
but as your faith grows
so does My Strength
in your life-
let Me in.
Yet with every growth
in faith
so much harder
does the Devil try
for he does not want
My Army of light
to grow stronger.
So let all your problems
fall from your shoulders
and know that
I am with you always
Comforting
and Protecting you
with all the Love
of Existence.
every trick that it can
my son
to throw you off My Path.
The walk of faith
does not start east
but as your faith grows
so does My Strength
in your life-
let Me in.
Yet with every growth
in faith
so much harder
does the Devil try
for he does not want
My Army of light
to grow stronger.
So let all your problems
fall from your shoulders
and know that
I am with you always
Comforting
and Protecting you
with all the Love
of Existence.
Poem: Cops
Fucking Cops!
Little plastic Men
Fake superior
Better-than-Us
Men
Stupid, probing
tricky Men
hate you
Fucking Cop
sauntering in your
Cowboy
Tool-belt
smile and
shit-eating
acting like a friend
until
BAM!
I'm down
and fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
for your cooperation
you Fucking Cops
know nothing
tiny-dicked
sadistic
Nazi
Fucks!
Go play with yourselves
imagine
you are a
Big Bad Wolf
and all us little
Citizens
are sheep
Fuck your
false
painted-on
superiority.
I am myself.
And I don't need
your fucking
"Protection."
Little plastic Men
Fake superior
Better-than-Us
Men
Stupid, probing
tricky Men
hate you
Fucking Cop
sauntering in your
Cowboy
Tool-belt
smile and
shit-eating
acting like a friend
until
BAM!
I'm down
and fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
for your cooperation
you Fucking Cops
know nothing
tiny-dicked
sadistic
Nazi
Fucks!
Go play with yourselves
imagine
you are a
Big Bad Wolf
and all us little
Citizens
are sheep
Fuck your
false
painted-on
superiority.
I am myself.
And I don't need
your fucking
"Protection."
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Poem: Thinking 'bout Sober
If I could just
stop the drink
then I'd have more time
to think
more money to spend
on things that matter
and faster climb
the spiritual ladder
Reasons to drink
they are so many
while reasons to quit
are not so plenty
The strongest one
it seems to be
the fact that it's
so hard for me
to overcome
this one base urge
but for drinking
life's absurd
There was a time
I can remember
when I did not
crave a bender
loving life
and all it was
found no reason
for a buzz
What has changed
to make me so?
Dragging my past
and troubles
in tow?
Though still young
I must be jaded
bitter and bruised
demanding sedation
a billion concerns
encircle my mind
and getting them out
it takes too much time
Why give me this taste
for drink that's distilled
if not to use it
to lesson my ills?
Is life a battle
that's meant to be won?
Or are we allowed
to have us some fun?
For all of these questions
I do not know why,
But I think of Bukowski
whose grave says
"Don't Try."
stop the drink
then I'd have more time
to think
more money to spend
on things that matter
and faster climb
the spiritual ladder
Reasons to drink
they are so many
while reasons to quit
are not so plenty
The strongest one
it seems to be
the fact that it's
so hard for me
to overcome
this one base urge
but for drinking
life's absurd
There was a time
I can remember
when I did not
crave a bender
loving life
and all it was
found no reason
for a buzz
What has changed
to make me so?
Dragging my past
and troubles
in tow?
Though still young
I must be jaded
bitter and bruised
demanding sedation
a billion concerns
encircle my mind
and getting them out
it takes too much time
Why give me this taste
for drink that's distilled
if not to use it
to lesson my ills?
Is life a battle
that's meant to be won?
Or are we allowed
to have us some fun?
For all of these questions
I do not know why,
But I think of Bukowski
whose grave says
"Don't Try."
Poem: My Mexican Friends
Hecho Mexico!
We are so happy to be here!
Thank you!
Thank you!
We Mexicans love
your crappy country!
Your back-breaking
no benefits
illegal
slave labor
give us enough
money
to send to our families.
Gracias slave masters
Mucha Gracias!
By begging for change
we earn enough to live.
Thanks you pinche pendehos
you Nazis
who rule the world
Gracias Mucho!
We are so happy to be here!
Thank you!
Thank you!
We Mexicans love
your crappy country!
Your back-breaking
no benefits
illegal
slave labor
give us enough
money
to send to our families.
Gracias slave masters
Mucha Gracias!
By begging for change
we earn enough to live.
Thanks you pinche pendehos
you Nazis
who rule the world
Gracias Mucho!
Poem: Crazy People
A crazy person tells no lies;
projecting what they feel inside.
A crazy person can't be blamed;
for those they curse, or hurt, or maim.
A crazy person can't be told;
if they're a child or grown old.
A crazy person makes us see;
that crazy person,
might be me.
projecting what they feel inside.
A crazy person can't be blamed;
for those they curse, or hurt, or maim.
A crazy person can't be told;
if they're a child or grown old.
A crazy person makes us see;
that crazy person,
might be me.
Poem: A Rest
The empty lots
which are my peace
amidst the cities
of Bride and Beast
places where trash
and lost souls linger
find me pointing
with my finger
toward the world
of money and greed
thankful that
I have no need
to run around
in circles small
instead I sit
with back to wall
to sit a moment
to rest and drink
to have a smoke
and then a pee
breath a breath
and sing a song
praying that
life wont
last long
which are my peace
amidst the cities
of Bride and Beast
places where trash
and lost souls linger
find me pointing
with my finger
toward the world
of money and greed
thankful that
I have no need
to run around
in circles small
instead I sit
with back to wall
to sit a moment
to rest and drink
to have a smoke
and then a pee
breath a breath
and sing a song
praying that
life wont
last long
Poem: Devil's Toy
Every loss
is a freedom gained
I know this old feeling
it doesn't seem strange
A life that is stable
I never have known
and the way things are going
I'm destined alone
So pray all I want
for peace, love and joy
I can't help but feel
I'm some Devil's toy
is a freedom gained
I know this old feeling
it doesn't seem strange
A life that is stable
I never have known
and the way things are going
I'm destined alone
So pray all I want
for peace, love and joy
I can't help but feel
I'm some Devil's toy
Poem: Sad Truth
Sunburnt face
cuts on my hands
cahpped lips
and no close friends
lacking a home
and loosing my car
dieing one night
and brought back for more
at least its exciting
even though painful
at least I'm not bored
though guilty and shameful
my choices seem few
though it makes things more simple
I hope all this pain
leaves me one dimple
cuts on my hands
cahpped lips
and no close friends
lacking a home
and loosing my car
dieing one night
and brought back for more
at least its exciting
even though painful
at least I'm not bored
though guilty and shameful
my choices seem few
though it makes things more simple
I hope all this pain
leaves me one dimple
Poem: Thanks
In the ER
I guess I
crashed my car
tough luck
"can it get any worse"
I asked yesterday
the answer now is
"yep."
They wont let me go...
should I escape?
It's tempting
they probably wont care
but I wouldn't want
to be restrained
they tell me I was
dead
and that they brought
me back to life
"thanks for nothing"
I guess I
crashed my car
tough luck
"can it get any worse"
I asked yesterday
the answer now is
"yep."
They wont let me go...
should I escape?
It's tempting
they probably wont care
but I wouldn't want
to be restrained
they tell me I was
dead
and that they brought
me back to life
"thanks for nothing"
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Poem: Illusion
Everything you need
is right in front
of your face
the problem is simply
seeing it
lost in a myriad of
confusing images and distractions
we fail to see
the few
that we need
confused
but never beyond repair
eventually we find
just what we need
is right in front
of your face
the problem is simply
seeing it
lost in a myriad of
confusing images and distractions
we fail to see
the few
that we need
confused
but never beyond repair
eventually we find
just what we need
Poem: Kill Yourself
"It comes with strings attatched ya know,"
she advizes
not realizing
that everything does
"I know," I say
and begin to think
about the strings she holds
or tries to hold
over me
knowledge through suffering
it's one way to go
and apparently
my way
The pain is harsh
but usually short and the wisdom gained
is usually permenant
sometimes the fastest way
to the top
is to kill yourself.
she advizes
not realizing
that everything does
"I know," I say
and begin to think
about the strings she holds
or tries to hold
over me
knowledge through suffering
it's one way to go
and apparently
my way
The pain is harsh
but usually short and the wisdom gained
is usually permenant
sometimes the fastest way
to the top
is to kill yourself.
Poem: Only the Water
I can't remember
what y our body looks like
or the specifics of
how we had sex
you come to me in
All-too-brief
flashes of moments;
A ukalayle and a lake
A hug in a pet cemetary
Your head on my shoulder
at the beach
Like a ghost
or my imagination
it's hard to believe
that you really existed
that We really existed
and that we felt so good
Maybe this is for the best
to keep me free of tears
and maybe my brain is
just burned out from use
But for all my lack of
mental connections
my heart refuses to forget
and every email or phone call
is a surprise
like waking up from a dream
to find out it really happened
Why would this being
like me still?
Why did she like me then?
How could I be so lucky
in some areas of life
and so cursed
in others?
How can I still love
from a thousand miles away
with a blank mind
and all the troubles
in the world on my back?
Only the water knows.
what y our body looks like
or the specifics of
how we had sex
you come to me in
All-too-brief
flashes of moments;
A ukalayle and a lake
A hug in a pet cemetary
Your head on my shoulder
at the beach
Like a ghost
or my imagination
it's hard to believe
that you really existed
that We really existed
and that we felt so good
Maybe this is for the best
to keep me free of tears
and maybe my brain is
just burned out from use
But for all my lack of
mental connections
my heart refuses to forget
and every email or phone call
is a surprise
like waking up from a dream
to find out it really happened
Why would this being
like me still?
Why did she like me then?
How could I be so lucky
in some areas of life
and so cursed
in others?
How can I still love
from a thousand miles away
with a blank mind
and all the troubles
in the world on my back?
Only the water knows.
Poem: Waiting for the Rain
Watching, waiting,
willful, willing,
wanting, wailing,
Wan.
Waining, staining
Hydroplaning
wishing that
I had
a plan.
Hoping, Joking,
barely floating,
eating, meeting,
pain.
Loosing, Boozing,
rarely choosing ,
waiting for
the rain.
willful, willing,
wanting, wailing,
Wan.
Waining, staining
Hydroplaning
wishing that
I had
a plan.
Hoping, Joking,
barely floating,
eating, meeting,
pain.
Loosing, Boozing,
rarely choosing ,
waiting for
the rain.
Poem: Walking
There is nowhere
here
I really want to go
every house
a discomfort
no parks
no benches
not even a church
I walk for peace
it's the best I can do
There are things I wan to to do
Chores, really
but without peace
and clarity
they are harder
than usual
Perhaps now is not the time
but I hope it comes soon
Because walking
makes me tired
and there's no money in it
here
I really want to go
every house
a discomfort
no parks
no benches
not even a church
I walk for peace
it's the best I can do
There are things I wan to to do
Chores, really
but without peace
and clarity
they are harder
than usual
Perhaps now is not the time
but I hope it comes soon
Because walking
makes me tired
and there's no money in it
Poem: Even
even in Concord
you were beautiful
even while tired
you were interesting
even while angry
I still liked you
even while gone
I still miss you
you were beautiful
even while tired
you were interesting
even while angry
I still liked you
even while gone
I still miss you
Poem: Only Human
The pain of learning
the one who you love and respect
is human
after all
And worse-
that everyone is human
especially yourself
The great Archtypes
of the Universe
are flawed
like we are
but then forgive each other
every time
it is what makes them great
to forgive your wrongdoer
truly forgive
and love
is difficult
but once perfected-
Totally Fllfilling.
the one who you love and respect
is human
after all
And worse-
that everyone is human
especially yourself
The great Archtypes
of the Universe
are flawed
like we are
but then forgive each other
every time
it is what makes them great
to forgive your wrongdoer
truly forgive
and love
is difficult
but once perfected-
Totally Fllfilling.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Poem: Myself
The lights are going out
around me
I have not slept well
in as long as I can remember
which is not very long
have not felt well either
bouncing, erratic
from magick
to pleasure
to misery
to pain
I have not been this
hopeless and poor
for quite a while
Hostile environment
all in my mind
the park is closed off
street lights and signs
are disapearing
In the end
I have to do it
myself
myself
myself
around me
I have not slept well
in as long as I can remember
which is not very long
have not felt well either
bouncing, erratic
from magick
to pleasure
to misery
to pain
I have not been this
hopeless and poor
for quite a while
Hostile environment
all in my mind
the park is closed off
street lights and signs
are disapearing
In the end
I have to do it
myself
myself
myself
Poem: Beat Up Prayer
Beat the fuck up
I don't deserve it
but I guess I earned it
wish my brain worked today
and my body didn't hurt
God bring me the energy
to enjoy my life
and start making money
I don't deserve it
but I guess I earned it
wish my brain worked today
and my body didn't hurt
God bring me the energy
to enjoy my life
and start making money
Poem: Others
The pain is real
and I guess some shame
the voices tell which tell me
I could have done better
are probably not real
echoes of parents and those
who knew no better
I'm certain I did
the best that I could
with what I had.
Why do the others
live so well?
and I guess some shame
the voices tell which tell me
I could have done better
are probably not real
echoes of parents and those
who knew no better
I'm certain I did
the best that I could
with what I had.
Why do the others
live so well?
Poem: Growth
Another day has passed
again
and I feel a new man,
the man I used to be.
My father drinks
and that's not me.
Baba abuses opiates
and that's not me.
Ebony needed Cannabis
and that's not me.
With the help of my ancestors
I remember myself
and grow into my truth.
again
and I feel a new man,
the man I used to be.
My father drinks
and that's not me.
Baba abuses opiates
and that's not me.
Ebony needed Cannabis
and that's not me.
With the help of my ancestors
I remember myself
and grow into my truth.
Poem: Never Enough
I think I'm going to die soon.
And this time I'm for real.
I'll get the supplies tommorrow
and hopefully that will be the end of it.
Awo Onifade has failed me.
My parents have failed me.
My lovers and friends
have kept me alive this long.
But saddly, their love is not enough.
I tried most of my life to serve God
in this evil world.
But somehow, it was never enough.
And this time I'm for real.
I'll get the supplies tommorrow
and hopefully that will be the end of it.
Awo Onifade has failed me.
My parents have failed me.
My lovers and friends
have kept me alive this long.
But saddly, their love is not enough.
I tried most of my life to serve God
in this evil world.
But somehow, it was never enough.
Poem: The Sun Rises Again
I need to learn to think
about something else.
While I am in pain,
time goes on.
While I am in pain,
the world turns.
While I am in pain,
I am getting older.
There must be a way,
to go on
and live with it.
It will take courage, yes.
It will take discipline, yes.
It will take humility, yes.
A release of all
self pity
all
impure motives,
a focus on the now.
On every moment that is spent.
A honing of the soul.
Complete seperation
of mind and body.
To acknowledge that the
body
is in pain
but that I am more than
the body.
I am I.
Eternal
other than physical
for all physical
"problems"
are temporary.
No matter how they seem
in the moment.
Even if I spend the rest of this life
in pain
it is only one.
And it will pass.
Just as surely as the winter comes
and the sun rises again.
about something else.
While I am in pain,
time goes on.
While I am in pain,
the world turns.
While I am in pain,
I am getting older.
There must be a way,
to go on
and live with it.
It will take courage, yes.
It will take discipline, yes.
It will take humility, yes.
A release of all
self pity
all
impure motives,
a focus on the now.
On every moment that is spent.
A honing of the soul.
Complete seperation
of mind and body.
To acknowledge that the
body
is in pain
but that I am more than
the body.
I am I.
Eternal
other than physical
for all physical
"problems"
are temporary.
No matter how they seem
in the moment.
Even if I spend the rest of this life
in pain
it is only one.
And it will pass.
Just as surely as the winter comes
and the sun rises again.
Poem: A Circle
After all my battles
it comes to this;
Felled by my own
spine
Growing up with pain
inflicted from the outside
Now that I am free
I have pain on the inside
Crying does no good,
except to relieve the heart.
Complaining does no good,
except to make me feel worse.
Envying others does no good,
for there are many worse off than I.
In jail I learned the game
"don't look at the clock,"
It doesn't help and
makes time
go slower
Now I'm trying to play
"don't think about the pain"
But that's harder than
not looking at a clock.
The pain is always
sneaking up at me
making me aware of it's presence
thinking about the pain
is a circle.
it comes to this;
Felled by my own
spine
Growing up with pain
inflicted from the outside
Now that I am free
I have pain on the inside
Crying does no good,
except to relieve the heart.
Complaining does no good,
except to make me feel worse.
Envying others does no good,
for there are many worse off than I.
In jail I learned the game
"don't look at the clock,"
It doesn't help and
makes time
go slower
Now I'm trying to play
"don't think about the pain"
But that's harder than
not looking at a clock.
The pain is always
sneaking up at me
making me aware of it's presence
thinking about the pain
is a circle.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Poem: Imaginary Courage
I'm gonna beat this!
Nothing can get me down!
This is just another small obsticle,
a trial for me to learn from
and one day
it will be over.
I've still got my looks
and my mind;
Everything I need!
Worst case scenario,
I get free money, a cool cane,
an d a blue sticker
for the best parking spots.
I will learn to live with this
just as I have so many other things.
I will not dwell on it.
Just take it one step at a time.
Nothing can get me down!
This is just another small obsticle,
a trial for me to learn from
and one day
it will be over.
I've still got my looks
and my mind;
Everything I need!
Worst case scenario,
I get free money, a cool cane,
an d a blue sticker
for the best parking spots.
I will learn to live with this
just as I have so many other things.
I will not dwell on it.
Just take it one step at a time.
Poem: These Days
I spend my days
worried
frightened
unhappy
and in pain
always waiting for
the pain to end
meds to kick in
but it never does
and they never do
I don't know how this will end
but the options don't look good
very few roads seem open
all day long
I feel the pain
and think about the future
it's not working
it seems one of my few options left
like a broken car
that still has to get you
where you are going.
I want to cry
and I want to scream
sometimes it gets so bad
that tears come
to the corners of my eyes
no matter how hard I fight
I even find myself
praying
deeply and sincerely
to the highest power
for help.
And I wait.
worried
frightened
unhappy
and in pain
always waiting for
the pain to end
meds to kick in
but it never does
and they never do
I don't know how this will end
but the options don't look good
very few roads seem open
all day long
I feel the pain
and think about the future
it's not working
it seems one of my few options left
like a broken car
that still has to get you
where you are going.
I want to cry
and I want to scream
sometimes it gets so bad
that tears come
to the corners of my eyes
no matter how hard I fight
I even find myself
praying
deeply and sincerely
to the highest power
for help.
And I wait.
Poem: I Wonder
I know what it is like
to love you
But I do not know what it is like
for you to love me.
I try to imagine
what it is like
to be you
loving me
I feel the deepest pain
of longing
and sepparation
You love me so much
it hurts
It makes me want to do
something crazy
like fly out to see you
or fly you out to see me.
It's then that I remember
who i am
and
why I am
and
where I am
You deserve the best
dearest one
and only the best
I am not there yet
but I'm not the right track
So all I can do
is continue to work
on myself
in the hopes that
one day
I will be the person
I know you deserve
In my imagination
you argue with me
telling me that
you already like me
just the way I am
And I know this is true
But for me
that is not enough
Love,
Us.
to love you
But I do not know what it is like
for you to love me.
I try to imagine
what it is like
to be you
loving me
I feel the deepest pain
of longing
and sepparation
You love me so much
it hurts
It makes me want to do
something crazy
like fly out to see you
or fly you out to see me.
It's then that I remember
who i am
and
why I am
and
where I am
You deserve the best
dearest one
and only the best
I am not there yet
but I'm not the right track
So all I can do
is continue to work
on myself
in the hopes that
one day
I will be the person
I know you deserve
In my imagination
you argue with me
telling me that
you already like me
just the way I am
And I know this is true
But for me
that is not enough
Love,
Us.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Poem: Forgetful Baba
Broken promises.
Does not take responsibility
for his actions.
Says one thing one day
and another the next.
Yet always expects me
to obey.
He was not always like this.
Used to be loving, open, considerate,
listened to my concerns
and honored my opinion.
Now he seems to have
ceased to listen.
Makes decisions,
without consulting me,
then the next day,
makes different ones.
What will I do Oludomare,
with tis capricious Mentor?
Is it my job to merely submit
to his every will and whim?
Just nodding dumbly?
Once he told me that
Truth was the most
important
thing.
But now
when I tell him the Truth,
which he does not remember,
he turns it around,
and blames me.
Is this a good role model?
One who cannot admit his own faults?
One who acts one way,
to get me to come to him,
and changes
the moment he has me?
I do not think so.
Does not take responsibility
for his actions.
Says one thing one day
and another the next.
Yet always expects me
to obey.
He was not always like this.
Used to be loving, open, considerate,
listened to my concerns
and honored my opinion.
Now he seems to have
ceased to listen.
Makes decisions,
without consulting me,
then the next day,
makes different ones.
What will I do Oludomare,
with tis capricious Mentor?
Is it my job to merely submit
to his every will and whim?
Just nodding dumbly?
Once he told me that
Truth was the most
important
thing.
But now
when I tell him the Truth,
which he does not remember,
he turns it around,
and blames me.
Is this a good role model?
One who cannot admit his own faults?
One who acts one way,
to get me to come to him,
and changes
the moment he has me?
I do not think so.
Poem: For My Mother
He came and met you
for the first time
the day after
your mother died
He claimed to be
" a friend of your brother's"
but Uncle Tom says
he never liked him.
That is how he first
sleazed into your life.
A few years later
you were living in
Los Angeles
just as you'd always
dreamed of
He was in Sacramento
where you always hated
and swore never to return
You used to show me e-mails
from him, in LA
they told you
that you were a failure
that you'd never make it
in LA
and you should move back to Sacramento
Can't you see what he was doing?
Why can't you see?
He also wrote about me
frequently
how bad, or evil, or whatever
I was
He's a small time Con
Mom
Not even a good one
But he fooled you
He was too much of a
Coward
to move to LA
to be with you
so he broke you down
emotionally
one email
at a time
It took almost a year
but when you were
just about to crack
he put the cherry
on the cake
You told him no dogs
were allowed
at your LA home
With intentional disregard
on purpose
and with Malice
he brought his dog
and you were kicked out
of your apartment
The first time I met him
was for a Thanksgiving dinner
with Uncle Tom
at a Chinese food restraunt
in Sacramento
I was working at Providian
making lots of money
(more than him)
and wanted to pay for everything
for my mother
for a change
He would not have it
I was 2 months from 21
and he threw a fit
at dinner
about me drinking a beer
he was the only one who cared
I left to smoke
and avoid a scene
he followed me into the
parking lot
pushed me in the chest
and tried to physically fight me
Like an ape.
Somehow you thought
nothing of it
you always forgave him
and scolded me
just like dad.
for the first time
the day after
your mother died
He claimed to be
" a friend of your brother's"
but Uncle Tom says
he never liked him.
That is how he first
sleazed into your life.
A few years later
you were living in
Los Angeles
just as you'd always
dreamed of
He was in Sacramento
where you always hated
and swore never to return
You used to show me e-mails
from him, in LA
they told you
that you were a failure
that you'd never make it
in LA
and you should move back to Sacramento
Can't you see what he was doing?
Why can't you see?
He also wrote about me
frequently
how bad, or evil, or whatever
I was
He's a small time Con
Mom
Not even a good one
But he fooled you
He was too much of a
Coward
to move to LA
to be with you
so he broke you down
emotionally
one email
at a time
It took almost a year
but when you were
just about to crack
he put the cherry
on the cake
You told him no dogs
were allowed
at your LA home
With intentional disregard
on purpose
and with Malice
he brought his dog
and you were kicked out
of your apartment
The first time I met him
was for a Thanksgiving dinner
with Uncle Tom
at a Chinese food restraunt
in Sacramento
I was working at Providian
making lots of money
(more than him)
and wanted to pay for everything
for my mother
for a change
He would not have it
I was 2 months from 21
and he threw a fit
at dinner
about me drinking a beer
he was the only one who cared
I left to smoke
and avoid a scene
he followed me into the
parking lot
pushed me in the chest
and tried to physically fight me
Like an ape.
Somehow you thought
nothing of it
you always forgave him
and scolded me
just like dad.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Theory: Aleister Crowley and African Magic
Aleister Crowley is known for many things. In his Liber 777 he has a comprehensive series of tables of correspondence, where he finds the same supernatural archtypes from many different religious cultures and corresponds them with each other. Crowley made a lifetime study of different forms of magick; European witchcraft, German Ceremonial Magick, Indian Tantric practices, England Freemasonry, Buddhism, Taoism, Shintuism, the list goes on and on.
The one group that is notably left out of all of his work is that of West African, and African Diasporic traditions. He spent time in Egpyt and the Sahara, but still I can find very little actual reference to the systems of the Africans. This could simply be because he was racist, as this was the early 1900's and he is known for his character flaws.
There are two references in his work that point directly to African Magic, and I am forced to wonder if he ever understood what they meant. These are both from Liber Al Vel Legis, or The Book of the Law, which is to this day the holiest book of Thelema. Crowley claims that this was a text which was spoken to him by a higher intelligence that he then transcribed letter for letter:
Liber Al I,37:" Also the mantras and the spells; the obeah and the wanga; the work of the wand and the work of the sword; these he shall learn and teach."
Crowley indeed spent much of his life "learning and teaching" the "work of the wand and the work of the sword." What what is this obeah and wanga? Obeah specifically refers to an African healing charm (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obeah) but that was not very widely known in Crowley's time. Wanga has a similarly obscure meaniing (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mojo). When reflecting on this Crowley in his Confessions says.
"The obeah is the magick of the Secret Light with special reference to acts; the wanga is the verbal or mental correspondence of the same. [...] The "obeah" being the acts, and the "wanga" the words, proper to Magick, the two cover the whole world of external expression."
This is a pretty weak explanation and typical of his ass-covering. But this is only one of a few other key correspondences between Thelema and West African religion, particularly Ifa.
In the introduction to Liber Al Vel Legis Crowley writes:
"This book explains the Universe. The elements are Nuit-Space-that is, the total of possibilities of every kind-and Hadit, any point which has experience of possibilities. Every event is a uniting of some one monad with one of the experiences possible to it."
He later elaborates more to explain that Hadit is light, while Nuit is dark, Hadit is the circle without circumference and hadit is the center, etc.
Awo Fa'Lokun Fatunmbi writes in Ifa and the Theology of Ifa divination:
"Most systems of metaphysics are based on the belief that the primal polarity that sustains the physical universe is the tension between expansion and contraction. In Ifa this polarity is usually described as the relationship between darkness and light."
There is a lot more to this, but I am feeling lazy so I will just give these few examples.
Now besides Liber Al vel Legis, Crowley's theory of initiation centered around the initiate gaining "Knowledge of and conversation with thier Holy Guardian Angel." The Holy Guardian Angel is envisioned as some sort of higher self who, once you can talk to them, can give you magic information and powers and neat stuff like that. The method Crowley used to gain his level of initiation was taken directly from The Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage and requires the participant to stay secluded for 9 month and do a series of rituals, baths, and prayers every day and such.
Today in modern day African Diasporic Religons, and for thousands of years in Africa in one form or another; the first goal of each participant is to discover which "Orisha" or archtypal diety is the particular guardian of their head. Once that is discovered they go on to be "Crowned with their Orisha," which means elaborate rituals and up to a year seclution, while the participant learns to hear and communicate with their diety.
Chapter 3 of Liber Al mentions blood sacrifice. I have yet to meet a Thelamite who made a blood sacrifice except menses, personal, or semen(which is sometimes called white blood), although the Africans have been for a long time. Yes the connections between African magic and Thelema are thick and this is just the begining. But why shouldn't they? Crowley was incredibly inspired by Egypt.
The second holiest document in the Thelemic tradition is the "Stele of Revealing," which Crowley Saw in Egypt after writing the book of the law. The archeologists had numbered the Stele 666, which was the final proof to Crowley that it was about him and his recently written Book of the Law. A copy and translation of the Stele is found in every copy of Liber Al. The Stele has two sides. The first with a story about a priest - Ankh-af-na-Khonsu and a picture of a priest in a leopard skin pelt making an offering to the Egyptian God Ra-Hoor-Khuit. Leopard skin pelt was a sign of the priestly class during that Dynasty of Egypt. It also persists to this day in the African Diasporic Traditions as denoting a Priest of Shango or Orunmila. Shango is called the Orisha who was in love with witchcraft (pointing back to Liber Al).
While writing this I hillariously stumbled over this article on wikipedia, trying to explain what Crowley meant by his Obeah and Wanga: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obeah_and_Wanga
it's bizarre that this topic even got a page! And soooo misinformed. Sad, sad Wikipedia. But also there does seem to be a strong Thelemic faction lording over Crowley-related information on the Internet and they are rabidly against anything that they percieve as threatening their religion. Crowley is rolling in his grave... and it probably serves him right.
The one group that is notably left out of all of his work is that of West African, and African Diasporic traditions. He spent time in Egpyt and the Sahara, but still I can find very little actual reference to the systems of the Africans. This could simply be because he was racist, as this was the early 1900's and he is known for his character flaws.
There are two references in his work that point directly to African Magic, and I am forced to wonder if he ever understood what they meant. These are both from Liber Al Vel Legis, or The Book of the Law, which is to this day the holiest book of Thelema. Crowley claims that this was a text which was spoken to him by a higher intelligence that he then transcribed letter for letter:
Liber Al I,37:" Also the mantras and the spells; the obeah and the wanga; the work of the wand and the work of the sword; these he shall learn and teach."
Crowley indeed spent much of his life "learning and teaching" the "work of the wand and the work of the sword." What what is this obeah and wanga? Obeah specifically refers to an African healing charm (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obeah) but that was not very widely known in Crowley's time. Wanga has a similarly obscure meaniing (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mojo). When reflecting on this Crowley in his Confessions says.
"The obeah is the magick of the Secret Light with special reference to acts; the wanga is the verbal or mental correspondence of the same. [...] The "obeah" being the acts, and the "wanga" the words, proper to Magick, the two cover the whole world of external expression."
This is a pretty weak explanation and typical of his ass-covering. But this is only one of a few other key correspondences between Thelema and West African religion, particularly Ifa.
In the introduction to Liber Al Vel Legis Crowley writes:
"This book explains the Universe. The elements are Nuit-Space-that is, the total of possibilities of every kind-and Hadit, any point which has experience of possibilities. Every event is a uniting of some one monad with one of the experiences possible to it."
He later elaborates more to explain that Hadit is light, while Nuit is dark, Hadit is the circle without circumference and hadit is the center, etc.
Awo Fa'Lokun Fatunmbi writes in Ifa and the Theology of Ifa divination:
"Most systems of metaphysics are based on the belief that the primal polarity that sustains the physical universe is the tension between expansion and contraction. In Ifa this polarity is usually described as the relationship between darkness and light."
There is a lot more to this, but I am feeling lazy so I will just give these few examples.
Now besides Liber Al vel Legis, Crowley's theory of initiation centered around the initiate gaining "Knowledge of and conversation with thier Holy Guardian Angel." The Holy Guardian Angel is envisioned as some sort of higher self who, once you can talk to them, can give you magic information and powers and neat stuff like that. The method Crowley used to gain his level of initiation was taken directly from The Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage and requires the participant to stay secluded for 9 month and do a series of rituals, baths, and prayers every day and such.
Today in modern day African Diasporic Religons, and for thousands of years in Africa in one form or another; the first goal of each participant is to discover which "Orisha" or archtypal diety is the particular guardian of their head. Once that is discovered they go on to be "Crowned with their Orisha," which means elaborate rituals and up to a year seclution, while the participant learns to hear and communicate with their diety.
Chapter 3 of Liber Al mentions blood sacrifice. I have yet to meet a Thelamite who made a blood sacrifice except menses, personal, or semen(which is sometimes called white blood), although the Africans have been for a long time. Yes the connections between African magic and Thelema are thick and this is just the begining. But why shouldn't they? Crowley was incredibly inspired by Egypt.
The second holiest document in the Thelemic tradition is the "Stele of Revealing," which Crowley Saw in Egypt after writing the book of the law. The archeologists had numbered the Stele 666, which was the final proof to Crowley that it was about him and his recently written Book of the Law. A copy and translation of the Stele is found in every copy of Liber Al. The Stele has two sides. The first with a story about a priest - Ankh-af-na-Khonsu and a picture of a priest in a leopard skin pelt making an offering to the Egyptian God Ra-Hoor-Khuit. Leopard skin pelt was a sign of the priestly class during that Dynasty of Egypt. It also persists to this day in the African Diasporic Traditions as denoting a Priest of Shango or Orunmila. Shango is called the Orisha who was in love with witchcraft (pointing back to Liber Al).
While writing this I hillariously stumbled over this article on wikipedia, trying to explain what Crowley meant by his Obeah and Wanga: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obeah_and_Wanga
it's bizarre that this topic even got a page! And soooo misinformed. Sad, sad Wikipedia. But also there does seem to be a strong Thelemic faction lording over Crowley-related information on the Internet and they are rabidly against anything that they percieve as threatening their religion. Crowley is rolling in his grave... and it probably serves him right.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thoughts: Children of my Own
I was recently asked by a spiritual leader whom I respect to meditate on "what children meant to me." This person noticed that any time the topic of my having children came up I had a fervently negative reaction... And so I meditate on it....
I get along very well with children, they all seem to like me and me them. But the idea of _my_ child is disturbing to me, genetically. I don't have anything against adopting and I like to imagine that if there was a time in my life that I felt ready to be responsible for another human life I would adopt... but my specific child is very scary. First of all, I am not pleased with the way my parents raised me. Similarly they are not pleased with the way their parents raised them adn I imagine it goes on ad infinitum like this. So I know, from personal experience, that I hold some genes for a miserable family life. Although I obviously hold other genes as well, for spirituality and academic ability, etc... my life has been very painful, despite the joys, and I would not wish it, nor anything like it onto another human being. Also the shoddy job that I perceive in my parents was due to existing character flaws that they had when I was born. I am well aware that everyone has character flaws and I am working on mine all the time. The thought of imposing my flaws onto the innocent young life of my child is not encouraging.
I have had very dear friends have children. I love these new mothers and fathers. I respect their bravery, courage, and passion. And I have also seen how they interact with their offspring. The evidence is not encouraging. Maybe my standards are just too high. We are all human in the end. But parenting is an incredible mantle of responsibility, which I cannot really imagine assuming. It enough just to brush my teeth every night.
All of my pets died when I was growing up. Most of the deaths were not my fault. 3 dogs, 2 cats, 2 lovebirds, a tarantula, a lizard, 23 goldfish, 1 beta fish, 2 ant farms, etc... I got used to death. I am often told I should get a cat or pet, that it would be good for me. But i cannot be that selfish. I will not take responsibility for another life, whether it is a child or a cat, until I can be sure that I will take care of the duty I owe to such a life.
As it stands now, the majority of my energy is spent in learning how to take care of myself in the best way possible. If I ever figure that out, then will come the time to choose whether I would like to pass that on to another. Whether pet, student, or child.
These are my thoughts about children and me. My mother says I can't know how much love a person can feel until they have a child. And I say back to her, , "and at this rate, I never will." But I see that love in the eyes and actions of friends dear to me who have spawned. It is obviously a joy and a blessing to have a child. A being of pure love, passing on your wisdom, watching them form into their own person. Many African tribes rate your success in the world by how much you have spawned.
These are my thoughts for the night.
I get along very well with children, they all seem to like me and me them. But the idea of _my_ child is disturbing to me, genetically. I don't have anything against adopting and I like to imagine that if there was a time in my life that I felt ready to be responsible for another human life I would adopt... but my specific child is very scary. First of all, I am not pleased with the way my parents raised me. Similarly they are not pleased with the way their parents raised them adn I imagine it goes on ad infinitum like this. So I know, from personal experience, that I hold some genes for a miserable family life. Although I obviously hold other genes as well, for spirituality and academic ability, etc... my life has been very painful, despite the joys, and I would not wish it, nor anything like it onto another human being. Also the shoddy job that I perceive in my parents was due to existing character flaws that they had when I was born. I am well aware that everyone has character flaws and I am working on mine all the time. The thought of imposing my flaws onto the innocent young life of my child is not encouraging.
I have had very dear friends have children. I love these new mothers and fathers. I respect their bravery, courage, and passion. And I have also seen how they interact with their offspring. The evidence is not encouraging. Maybe my standards are just too high. We are all human in the end. But parenting is an incredible mantle of responsibility, which I cannot really imagine assuming. It enough just to brush my teeth every night.
All of my pets died when I was growing up. Most of the deaths were not my fault. 3 dogs, 2 cats, 2 lovebirds, a tarantula, a lizard, 23 goldfish, 1 beta fish, 2 ant farms, etc... I got used to death. I am often told I should get a cat or pet, that it would be good for me. But i cannot be that selfish. I will not take responsibility for another life, whether it is a child or a cat, until I can be sure that I will take care of the duty I owe to such a life.
As it stands now, the majority of my energy is spent in learning how to take care of myself in the best way possible. If I ever figure that out, then will come the time to choose whether I would like to pass that on to another. Whether pet, student, or child.
These are my thoughts about children and me. My mother says I can't know how much love a person can feel until they have a child. And I say back to her, , "and at this rate, I never will." But I see that love in the eyes and actions of friends dear to me who have spawned. It is obviously a joy and a blessing to have a child. A being of pure love, passing on your wisdom, watching them form into their own person. Many African tribes rate your success in the world by how much you have spawned.
These are my thoughts for the night.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Poem: The Prison of Culture
I would not wish my life on anyone.
Though equally
I would not wish to have
anyone else's life.
Starting another semester
at another school
I just turned 28
and I can't imagine
what I would be doing
if I wasn't
a professional student
Surrounded by
beautiful young women
and people of all kinds
looking to better themselves
or their lives
The energy at college
always vibrant and alive
fresh with hope
and belief that
their lives will be better
Yet I know
from experience
that most of those here
will not go on
to follow their dreams
there is only so much room
in this world
for
Sociologists, Artists, Scientists,
Writers, Psychologists,
and what-have-you.
The lie that they tell you is
that you can be whatever you want
Meanwhile
the bills start piling up
maybe you fall in love
have to take care of a family emergency
or decide to have a baby
No matter what it is
something usually happens
and I have come to believe
that the
eye in the triangle
is counting on this
So today I am grateful for my life
and the choices I have made
Grateful that I am in school
accruing somethings they call
"debt" and "credit" -
Though I am not quite sure
what either of those are
Looking at pretty girls
and studying my areas of interest
are my passion
Meanwhile my friends and peers
are locked into systems
of work and marriage
of addiction and soul searching
spending their free time
feverishly
making up for the time they waste
in Wage-Slavery
creating Art wherever possible
to balance the soul-less-ness
of modern western society
Yes
I am truly grateful today
for all my ills and troubles
the fact that I am still
not a wage slave
seems to balance it all out
I do not think the ghost of
"debt"
will ever catch up to me
Humans have yet to create a system
without loopholes and flaws
it's part of our nature
and finding them
is part of mine
If the "debt" does catch me
one day
far in the future
I will still be proud
For spending my youth
in the best possible way
and refusing to succumb
to the prison
of culture
Though equally
I would not wish to have
anyone else's life.
Starting another semester
at another school
I just turned 28
and I can't imagine
what I would be doing
if I wasn't
a professional student
Surrounded by
beautiful young women
and people of all kinds
looking to better themselves
or their lives
The energy at college
always vibrant and alive
fresh with hope
and belief that
their lives will be better
Yet I know
from experience
that most of those here
will not go on
to follow their dreams
there is only so much room
in this world
for
Sociologists, Artists, Scientists,
Writers, Psychologists,
and what-have-you.
The lie that they tell you is
that you can be whatever you want
Meanwhile
the bills start piling up
maybe you fall in love
have to take care of a family emergency
or decide to have a baby
No matter what it is
something usually happens
and I have come to believe
that the
eye in the triangle
is counting on this
So today I am grateful for my life
and the choices I have made
Grateful that I am in school
accruing somethings they call
"debt" and "credit" -
Though I am not quite sure
what either of those are
Looking at pretty girls
and studying my areas of interest
are my passion
Meanwhile my friends and peers
are locked into systems
of work and marriage
of addiction and soul searching
spending their free time
feverishly
making up for the time they waste
in Wage-Slavery
creating Art wherever possible
to balance the soul-less-ness
of modern western society
Yes
I am truly grateful today
for all my ills and troubles
the fact that I am still
not a wage slave
seems to balance it all out
I do not think the ghost of
"debt"
will ever catch up to me
Humans have yet to create a system
without loopholes and flaws
it's part of our nature
and finding them
is part of mine
If the "debt" does catch me
one day
far in the future
I will still be proud
For spending my youth
in the best possible way
and refusing to succumb
to the prison
of culture
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Poem: The Walls
I am afraid of walls
I'm not sure when it started
I was a prisoner in my home
as a child
I had no choice then
I ran away
many times
and though it was hard
I never missed the walls
Later I would turn 18
and go to jail a week later
I ran away many times
but often went to jail
the new walls
After jail
at the age of a man
I was a prisoner in my world
of states, schools, money, and culture
I tried to run
many times
And I still am.
I'm not sure when it started
I was a prisoner in my home
as a child
I had no choice then
I ran away
many times
and though it was hard
I never missed the walls
Later I would turn 18
and go to jail a week later
I ran away many times
but often went to jail
the new walls
After jail
at the age of a man
I was a prisoner in my world
of states, schools, money, and culture
I tried to run
many times
And I still am.
Poem: Porn
Porn is deviously deceptive
illusory Maya reality
at it's best
A beautiful young teen
Fucking
an Ugly Old Man
gives all men hope
false hope
that one day, they too
when they are old and ugly
can fuck young teens
But they only see the picture
they do not see the months
that the old pervert stalks
and plans
they do not see
the payment he gives her
or the shame she bares
for the rest of her life
Just a picture
one good-looking moment
out of millions of
pathetic
sad
hurtful
embarassing
shallow
and depraved
moments
I used to think
it was all fun and games
"porn is good!" I'd proclaim proudly
Now that I know
that our nervous system
cannot tell the difference
between
Imagination and Reality
I am forced to wonder...
Our predecessors
who came before us
so that we could have life
did not have the internet porn
that we have today
Reality is created
by our experiences
both real
and imagined
illusory Maya reality
at it's best
A beautiful young teen
Fucking
an Ugly Old Man
gives all men hope
false hope
that one day, they too
when they are old and ugly
can fuck young teens
But they only see the picture
they do not see the months
that the old pervert stalks
and plans
they do not see
the payment he gives her
or the shame she bares
for the rest of her life
Just a picture
one good-looking moment
out of millions of
pathetic
sad
hurtful
embarassing
shallow
and depraved
moments
I used to think
it was all fun and games
"porn is good!" I'd proclaim proudly
Now that I know
that our nervous system
cannot tell the difference
between
Imagination and Reality
I am forced to wonder...
Our predecessors
who came before us
so that we could have life
did not have the internet porn
that we have today
Reality is created
by our experiences
both real
and imagined
Poem: Soldier Town
Max would fit in well here
shallow, soldier-boy Max.
In rooms of culture
I find myself appreciated.
In ruins of culture
an oddity.
I would not wish for mediocrity
as simple as it seems.
And Mexican music
sounds better
when surrounded by the
white upper class.
shallow, soldier-boy Max.
In rooms of culture
I find myself appreciated.
In ruins of culture
an oddity.
I would not wish for mediocrity
as simple as it seems.
And Mexican music
sounds better
when surrounded by the
white upper class.
Poem: Lacking
I miss her terribly
though try as I might
calling seems selfish
as I am not there
I am the older
and may know better
how distance love burns
I am like an alien here
fitting in nowhere
and most people my age
busy busy busy
with work
just trying to survive
It is said that
only the boring
are bored
forced by boredom
and empty desert poverty
to face myself completely
I find that i am lacking
though try as I might
calling seems selfish
as I am not there
I am the older
and may know better
how distance love burns
I am like an alien here
fitting in nowhere
and most people my age
busy busy busy
with work
just trying to survive
It is said that
only the boring
are bored
forced by boredom
and empty desert poverty
to face myself completely
I find that i am lacking
Poem: Soul Teachings
Do you believe
that your body
can teach you?
Like an
antenna
my body teaches me
the mind is not
all-controller
it is but one
of many
they all try
try so hard
and soft
to teach my
Soul
something
many things
that's why I'm here,
no?
that your body
can teach you?
Like an
antenna
my body teaches me
the mind is not
all-controller
it is but one
of many
they all try
try so hard
and soft
to teach my
Soul
something
many things
that's why I'm here,
no?
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