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One Theory of Thought

Apple. You might think of
the Apple apple, on the laptop,
the logo you probably see more
these days than a real, whole
apple. Or you might actually
think of a real, whole apple, but
isn’t it artificial? The image
you create inside your head of
an apple on a tree isn’t
really an apple on a tree; or
maybe the image actually creates
the seed of the apple tree in the ground; maybe
your imagining of all the apples
in the wide valley, in the orchard,
in the grocery stores, in your house,
is the creating of the apples
from head to hard matter. Maybe
you planted and produced all the apples
just with the thought of apple.

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“Men”

You open the door
with the white stick man
on the blue background
above the white word “Men.”

You open the door,
now the stall door.
You unbuckle your belt
and zip open your pants;
you hold the unwieldy thing and
aim at the middle of the toilet.

You finish your business and
leave that pool of yellowed thoughts
but in the reverse order, not
stopping to wash your hands.

I open the door
with the white stick man
on the blue background
above the white word “Men.”

I open the door,
the stall door.
I unbuckle my belt
and drop my pants;
I hold it and aim downward
(I’m looking through my legs)
as I sit on the seat–

Hold it right there–

Who left the seat down?
And pissed on it??
And didn’t wipe it off!?!

We need to talk.

The Harp In Rain Sticks

You’re standing in the middle
of the two-way street
on the yellow line
somewhere close to midnight
after a soft but sudden urge
to give way, yield,
surrender to
your heart’s chords
that, dampened, worn, tampered with
had to come out of the case
that hampered your harp.

Maybe it was the onset of rain
or the thoughts that came with it:
within, a sage gently chants
and drums on fire how sage
brushes a beat that burns the bush of your bosom:
rage un-sacred on this ground:
only nakedness and hands awakened.

You let your chest
open to the heavens
and breathe out–
the clearing of a vocal knot–

and you find all the harmonies,
plucking your harp
like you’re speaking its fire.
You let the fall of the rain
wash off the depressed notes
from the stings once strained.
The street drain sings away the shhh.

You’re in the middle
in the yellow
crack of lightning streaks,
spinning,
rain overflowing your dimples,
and you close your eyes
to soak in the subtleties of music.

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Allow Yourself To Be Effortless

I certainly have a difficult time knowing what I should be doing at any given moment, when there is so much demanded of me (by myself and others) and when there is so much that I need, that my inner being needs. Allow yourself to listen, just listen. Go to a clear and serene space in yourself, your environment. Listen to what you need, your inner being behind everything racing around. Breathe in Love and Joy, exhale hate and shame.

Don’t try anything. Just let yourself be, and your inner being will bring everything to light. Allow your higher consciousness to align with your mind and body so you are not so heavy in your head; let your focus spread out across and throughout your body, the external world–there is no separation. When you let go and are relaxed, you become the most creative and and in-tune with your inner rhythms and frequencies.

Take a day for complete (positive) selfishness. Don’t do anything you have to do, or anything you planned to do that day. Set yourself up for pleasure and peace and relaxation. Set up a sort of playful sacred space for you to bask in. Meditate, drink tea, write, read, do yoga, play music. massage yourself, enjoy being completely you and in this moment. Soak in the light of the sun. Spring is coming.

Connection With Your Inner Being

Lyrical Lyrics Instead of Bread

Sometimes I write when something important seems to be levitating over my head. I don’t always quite know what will come out, but the flow from the stream of thoughts steadily slows out on paper. 

This is a short piece of my life that I wrote after I had been feeling the ‘dicho’ of I and my surroundings…

 

I’m tired of miles, and standing in single files

And running in circles, the fucking universe and its versus

And coming a back a to the start, figuring ‘did I miss a part?’

Seeing that I’m farther apart isn’t a mystery to art

 

I’m like a color contrasting to every color descending 

Not             and                                                 stark

        mixing      blending, the color remains so

Gobbled and choked up, I’m heaving, I bring the dark, seething

 

Life is teeming, I’m beaming, but it no seemsing

 

I be strip a teasing the women, and self a feeding

Flesh to the bone, I eat more than I moan

I’m self -defeating and -beating, ‘n I just want a kneading

Of my soul to your bowl, oh hands so sweety

 

Can I kick off my socks and lay us under the docks?

On the sand soft in some sweaters we’ll sail on the rocks

 

Cradle me close to thee and help me self release to free

The demons inside, been troubling. Days subside

Come to a quiet a pause, a silence, a nod

What We Need To Know

As I was with a group of friends last night philosophizing over the hookah and a nicely rolled blunt, we struggled to stay warm in the cold air. We sat on the second-floor platform of a building next to an ever-blowing vent, warm air exhaling from its mouth as if it was saying, “relax, my child; breathe and be free.” We reached the subject I had previously written on–how words are only a small fraction of our communication, and that in silence one can sometimes express and discover more, and in pure quality, not allowing words to dissemble the beauty of an idea, image, thought or feeling experienced within the person–and discussed deeper. My seat-sharer stated, “I think art does that” as we talked of deeper forms of communication, as in silence, like how thoughts are exchanged between a well-known friend, how emotions are felt through eyes and auras, and on. Art can express some of these messages that can rarely be understood through words. Take for example, is my description to you of a painting going to create the exact image in your mind, or elicit the exact emotion felt at the onset of seeing it? Ah…but if I could describe that painting to you without words but solely with thoughts and emotions, would it then give you a crystal clear picture, being able to comprehend my exact thought and feeling without them being disfigured in translation? Well, that is for all of us to discover. No good teacher tells a student what the student will or has to learn. No good student presses the teacher for an answer; it is for the student to come upon by one’s own accord.

Then as that conversation closed into a conscious silence activated by our topic of discussion, an unexpected tirade from a rather shy, yet outspoken young lady alerted my mind’s eye. “…evolution”, my seat buddy mentioned. “Evolution is a funny concept”, the young lady boasted, laughing with a tint of scorn. She continued for some time, picking her words carefully like a child searches for a cookie jar. She complained about how Evolution (and any theory of our origin) is looking back into the past, that there is nothing there but conflict, confusion, and losing oneself in the process. “What we need to know”, she punched out steadily, “is now.” As she went on, she unveiled ‘past’ as something to be wary of–searching through the past makes you look backwards.

—-My mind wandered into a corn field. I am moving in one direction. I stop at a thought; I turn around and look back. Now retreating, pushing away corn plants in my way I search for where I though I went wrong. Then, turning around again I head ‘forwards’, and try to refigure my path…but am lost. I get confused, I find conflict in past memories, and cannot remember in which direction I headed before I thought I must fix something. —-

And with repetition and fervor, this young lady practiced her confidence at what she believes to be truth, “it is now that we need to know, and nothing else.” I came upon this with immense interest. I have heard it before. But now it seems so relevant to my life. As the farmer drives the tractor to reap the wheat, the farmer must look forward only lest he or she desires to go a-swerving and make difficult the path ahead to regain intention. I have been looking back to my past much lately. I would not say the past is wrong, immoral, or always dangerous to look upon; it can actually offer much insight into the present, recalling past obstacles and overcoming those difficulties, and joy of happiness and pleasure experienced. But, as being so “stuck in the mud” as I would describe lately–in terms of my stagnant mood, non-seeking of deep satisfaction, low to no interest in activities, rare contentedness–I think that looking back to the past should be limited, if not erased from my everyday approach in life. Moving forward is key. No matter what failures or difficulties befall me, I feel that I must move forward and prevail. I do not mean to portray the idea that we should deny our memories, deny our past actions, be ignorant to how our lives used to be. No. We must accept our thoughts, our feelings, our actions, our dealings. We must take responsibility for the effects we have on other people and our surroundings, for how we treat ourselves, and must accept the reverse–the impact of everyone and everything on us. We must take responsibility, really own up to our shit–and we must also be able to forgive. Others and ourselves.

I seek to be open, accept and take responsibility in all of my life, yet move forwards and ever onwards with my failures and regrets on my sleeve and with my mind on my heart.