My month in New York blew by, like the hurricane that's making heads turn now, what do I have to do to make heads turn too? I guess if I powdered Midtown in layers of October snow, or if I drowned Battery Park in harbor water, or if I made lower Manhattan shiver without power days before Halloween, maybe that would do. But hey, I can't do any of those things while I'm here in sunny Flagstaff Arizona sitting on a bench waiting for the greyhound and its busloads of nobodies moving around in wifebeaters and love you mom tattoos. Ex-cons stare at nothing. Neither do I.
I'm reminded of a man named Church who came up to me in Union Square, 60something with stage II liver cancer, wanting to talk to someone about the importance of love. Religion, he said, was made by people who are afraid of hell. Spirituality was made for people who have been there. His eyes confirmed it. I can't say I've been there but I've been close, tho I'm not sure how close.
Heads turn for hurricanes, I turn for the Way.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
A practical scheme, says Oscar Wilde, is either
one already in exist-
ence, or a scheme that could be carried
out under existing conditions; but
it is exactly the existing conditions one objects to--
any scheme that could accept these
conditions is wrong and foolish.
The true criterion of practical, therefore,
is not whether the latter can keep intact
with the wrong or foolish;
rather it is whether the scheme has enough
vitality to leave the stagnant waters
of the old, and build and sustain new life.
In the light of this idea, Anarchism is indeed
practical. More than any other idea, it is helping
to do away with the wrong and the foolish; more
than any idea, it is building
and sustaining new life.
Or it hopes to.
From Comrade Goldman.
one already in exist-
ence, or a scheme that could be carried
out under existing conditions; but
it is exactly the existing conditions one objects to--
any scheme that could accept these
conditions is wrong and foolish.
The true criterion of practical, therefore,
is not whether the latter can keep intact
with the wrong or foolish;
rather it is whether the scheme has enough
vitality to leave the stagnant waters
of the old, and build and sustain new life.
In the light of this idea, Anarchism is indeed
practical. More than any other idea, it is helping
to do away with the wrong and the foolish; more
than any idea, it is building
and sustaining new life.
Or it hopes to.
From Comrade Goldman.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Thus sprach Zarathustra
Camel and her friend Lion were the best of buds growing up. They raced each other to the watering hole, snuck off to an elephant graveyard on more than one occasion, and had a great time lounging in the African grass cloud-watching. They grew older, grew apart. Camel believed everything she was told, and because Camel believed, Lion believed also. But darkness grew over the land when Lion smelled his friend Camel's blood for the first time, when she cut herself on a Savannah stone. Lion tore at her, the race this time final. Camel ran as fast as she could, but was outmatched by Lion's muscles. Lion ate his best friend, but not without regret.
Lion ran away from home. He shaved off his growing mane and proceeded to wander, starving himself to death. Then along came a village. The lion knew the villagers would kill him if they got the chance, so he hunkered down along the banks of a nearby river, haunting visions of his best friend, and he realized that everything he was told was a lie. That it wasn't in his nature to eat his fellow animal. Or if it was in his nature, it wasn't in his heart.
The villagers were well aware of the lion's presence near their drinking water. The problem needed to be fixed, so the villagers rounded up their warrior clan to kill the lion. A little boy, son of a warrior, wanted to watch, and when he was told to stay behind, he picked up a spear and tagged along without anyone's knowledge. When they cornered the lion on the banks, the lion about to pounce on its attackers, the little boy flung his spear into the air, nabbed the lion on the shoulder, and the lion's body fell.
The villagers ate well. Many years later, this little boy became king of this land, and in his coronation speech, he spoke of a new era, a new time, new ideas.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
Lion ran away from home. He shaved off his growing mane and proceeded to wander, starving himself to death. Then along came a village. The lion knew the villagers would kill him if they got the chance, so he hunkered down along the banks of a nearby river, haunting visions of his best friend, and he realized that everything he was told was a lie. That it wasn't in his nature to eat his fellow animal. Or if it was in his nature, it wasn't in his heart.
The villagers were well aware of the lion's presence near their drinking water. The problem needed to be fixed, so the villagers rounded up their warrior clan to kill the lion. A little boy, son of a warrior, wanted to watch, and when he was told to stay behind, he picked up a spear and tagged along without anyone's knowledge. When they cornered the lion on the banks, the lion about to pounce on its attackers, the little boy flung his spear into the air, nabbed the lion on the shoulder, and the lion's body fell.
The villagers ate well. Many years later, this little boy became king of this land, and in his coronation speech, he spoke of a new era, a new time, new ideas.
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
God-morning!
Tears in my eyes, girl,
tears in my eyes, girl,
while I'm waiting, while
I'm waiting for my turn,
as we part in the rain in
late October, Brooklyn
behind us Manhattan in
front the train leads us
across the river, across
the hunger of figuring
out what is isn't. Not
like we all wanted it to be.
And so the sun rises
yesterday
to the west, where home
lies. Like every Zeppelin
song ever.
And regrets ride high like
miscommunication, intolerant
near 8th street. Easygoing,
above all that's how I make
this life, not how others make
it out for me, not how the city
or the village or the household
tried to make this life, no.
Holy Mount Zion lies where
people aren't.
tears in my eyes, girl,
while I'm waiting, while
I'm waiting for my turn,
as we part in the rain in
late October, Brooklyn
behind us Manhattan in
front the train leads us
across the river, across
the hunger of figuring
out what is isn't. Not
like we all wanted it to be.
And so the sun rises
yesterday
to the west, where home
lies. Like every Zeppelin
song ever.
And regrets ride high like
miscommunication, intolerant
near 8th street. Easygoing,
above all that's how I make
this life, not how others make
it out for me, not how the city
or the village or the household
tried to make this life, no.
Holy Mount Zion lies where
people aren't.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
10 19 2012
Bleary on Broadway and Bowery,
southside revival in my heart as
I pass the days out in the city, the
willing unwilling and the ill-willed
even more willing to talk about the hell
that is addiction, loaded with super-
stition, now living for the scripture
on the streets sifting, sure, free?
Maybe.
southside revival in my heart as
I pass the days out in the city, the
willing unwilling and the ill-willed
even more willing to talk about the hell
that is addiction, loaded with super-
stition, now living for the scripture
on the streets sifting, sure, free?
Maybe.
Exist in Astorics
Astronomy in Astoria, ya
ain't real ; til ya write it
down ; watching time pass
its BAR exam and continue
to threaten me with its gnarled
hands, they're reaching
for my throat and in these last moments,
I question its authority,
its hold on us the majority,
but I realize I ain't no parrot
when I tell ya to wear it--
these colors ya be flying,
telling me ya don't partake, ya lying ;
fucking Winston Churchill once
said "ya can't be neutral on a moving
train," I'll say it again,
these things that I've said,
I ain't no parrot nor am I trying to be one,
not that there's ever anything new under the sun,
when the sun here is shrouded by clouds,
you and me fucking around downtown,
it don't mean nothing, nothing does,
Nothing means anything 'cept the clock with its
big man-hands on our throats, us the cancer
Earth wants rewrote ; ya
can either wear it on ya sleeve or face
the grief within, Jesus done savin' all
his men, where will ya run then? ; the circus ;
the circuits in ya brain rewiring,
didja know Wal-Mart's hiring?
aches in your brain leaving ya pragmatic,
dogmatic up in ya radical whack attic,
track-marked addict fanatic on sabbatical,
eating a bowl of cereal, shit's so surreal, but
God ain't in no attic, ya fanatic ; she's in ya kitchen,
radical whack addict, sneaking liquor from the cabinet,
while on sabbatical, grammatical errors be phonetical,
rhetorical, I ain't no parrot, muthafuckas. Don't
you ever forget, making all ya girls scream with ya panties wet,
ya radical whack addict playing Madden on your hidef set,
what kinda life do I needa have, what life do I live, these mountains I trek
I might as well scream in my underwear like a faggot off his meds
might as well melt instead, become a red, death that I dread,
hey muthafuckas, where's mah bread? I'll tell ya one
more time, better listen closely, profusely--
ya ain't real til ya write it down.
ya ain't real. period.
ain't real ; til ya write it
down ; watching time pass
its BAR exam and continue
to threaten me with its gnarled
hands, they're reaching
for my throat and in these last moments,
I question its authority,
its hold on us the majority,
but I realize I ain't no parrot
when I tell ya to wear it--
these colors ya be flying,
telling me ya don't partake, ya lying ;
fucking Winston Churchill once
said "ya can't be neutral on a moving
train," I'll say it again,
these things that I've said,
I ain't no parrot nor am I trying to be one,
not that there's ever anything new under the sun,
when the sun here is shrouded by clouds,
you and me fucking around downtown,
it don't mean nothing, nothing does,
Nothing means anything 'cept the clock with its
big man-hands on our throats, us the cancer
Earth wants rewrote ; ya
can either wear it on ya sleeve or face
the grief within, Jesus done savin' all
his men, where will ya run then? ; the circus ;
the circuits in ya brain rewiring,
didja know Wal-Mart's hiring?
aches in your brain leaving ya pragmatic,
dogmatic up in ya radical whack attic,
track-marked addict fanatic on sabbatical,
eating a bowl of cereal, shit's so surreal, but
God ain't in no attic, ya fanatic ; she's in ya kitchen,
radical whack addict, sneaking liquor from the cabinet,
while on sabbatical, grammatical errors be phonetical,
rhetorical, I ain't no parrot, muthafuckas. Don't
you ever forget, making all ya girls scream with ya panties wet,
ya radical whack addict playing Madden on your hidef set,
what kinda life do I needa have, what life do I live, these mountains I trek
I might as well scream in my underwear like a faggot off his meds
might as well melt instead, become a red, death that I dread,
hey muthafuckas, where's mah bread? I'll tell ya one
more time, better listen closely, profusely--
ya ain't real til ya write it down.
ya ain't real. period.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
A shrine in my heart
and head lies in Central Park,
where the paths lead to man-
built reminders of god, of pray-
er, of leisure, of peace.
I pray to the spirit of myself
to this temple, on a medium-
sized ledge pink gorgeous vines
ripple down it toward the pond
at the bottom, and my mother earth
who gives me strength while
I face time out of spirit and into
the world. But this world can't
help me.
It's a gazebo, white with a trape-
zoid roof on a ledge with a pond
beneath it. Cry out for peace because
all this world is is struggle. Let us
be fish in this pond.
and head lies in Central Park,
where the paths lead to man-
built reminders of god, of pray-
er, of leisure, of peace.
I pray to the spirit of myself
to this temple, on a medium-
sized ledge pink gorgeous vines
ripple down it toward the pond
at the bottom, and my mother earth
who gives me strength while
I face time out of spirit and into
the world. But this world can't
help me.
It's a gazebo, white with a trape-
zoid roof on a ledge with a pond
beneath it. Cry out for peace because
all this world is is struggle. Let us
be fish in this pond.
Coke Dealers Kill Each Other
Churchman checks our skiing inventory
while my girl named Laurie
presses her finger on the trigger,
stoic emotional rigor
it takes to shoot that gun,
Churchman goes down in the Filipino sun.
We grab our supplies and hit the turf,
skiers left and right come out of the surf.
Laurie 'n me make so much money off this wave,
but Churchman comes back to get some from his watery grave,
so Laurie takes the levers while me in my slippers
takes a semi-automatic and turns Churchman's shoulders to ribbons,
one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight,
it most certainly should have been a twist of fate
'cos Churchman remained unaffected
while Laurie looked dejected,
hands on her belly.
My bullets went through her like jelly.
And so, like any good man who knows his wife's about to die,
I pick the semi-auto up and tell her goodbye.
Carry on, Mr. Churchman, I grimaced to say,
"Was that a hot job," he asked, "was that a hot lay?"
while my girl named Laurie
presses her finger on the trigger,
stoic emotional rigor
it takes to shoot that gun,
Churchman goes down in the Filipino sun.
We grab our supplies and hit the turf,
skiers left and right come out of the surf.
Laurie 'n me make so much money off this wave,
but Churchman comes back to get some from his watery grave,
so Laurie takes the levers while me in my slippers
takes a semi-automatic and turns Churchman's shoulders to ribbons,
one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight,
it most certainly should have been a twist of fate
'cos Churchman remained unaffected
while Laurie looked dejected,
hands on her belly.
My bullets went through her like jelly.
And so, like any good man who knows his wife's about to die,
I pick the semi-auto up and tell her goodbye.
Carry on, Mr. Churchman, I grimaced to say,
"Was that a hot job," he asked, "was that a hot lay?"
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Require assist to conserve our own just house instruction Planet instruction perform your own little bit right now!
Just house green Earth love my ordinary jerry-rigged megaphone crackling out fingerlicking Ferdinands tanning furs with Green Day's turds,
Jerry rigs megaphone just our house, little bits of Green Day's turds perform fingerlicking Ferdinands tanning furs, just our brown love blue love green earth now!
Green is the color of the day and the earth, time and place both in one.
Green is the color money ganje trees and frogs, love and hearts bees and,
consequently, Irish wives who like to flog
their children or husband for getting out of hand,
hand, MANOS, hands, hands, the hands of fate, the hands that
bleed green envy Ferdinands!
Let's hope I don't ever actually talk like this in real life. One more time!
Just house green Earth love my ordinary jerry-rigged Irish wife fingerlicking
flogging fate, hands that tan furs go green, stung by bees, performing little bits of
Planet Ferdinand Manos, Ferdinand! I am Planet Ferdinand Manos, and
I am here to avenge my father's death. You are here to die.
Just house green Earth love my ordinary jerry-rigged megaphone crackling out fingerlicking Ferdinands tanning furs with Green Day's turds,
Jerry rigs megaphone just our house, little bits of Green Day's turds perform fingerlicking Ferdinands tanning furs, just our brown love blue love green earth now!
Green is the color of the day and the earth, time and place both in one.
Green is the color money ganje trees and frogs, love and hearts bees and,
consequently, Irish wives who like to flog
their children or husband for getting out of hand,
hand, MANOS, hands, hands, the hands of fate, the hands that
bleed green envy Ferdinands!
Let's hope I don't ever actually talk like this in real life. One more time!
Just house green Earth love my ordinary jerry-rigged Irish wife fingerlicking
flogging fate, hands that tan furs go green, stung by bees, performing little bits of
Planet Ferdinand Manos, Ferdinand! I am Planet Ferdinand Manos, and
I am here to avenge my father's death. You are here to die.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Jokes Aside
My time here in this particular
village has an end-- I'm glad for
it, I want safety now like I thought
I wanted freedom before.
The lady behind the counter in
her coffee shop uniform smiles
but what keeps me up at night in
my dreams is thinking of her, my
wonder-eyed thunder-minded girl,
rain to fire her rain my fire.
Let's pause for a sec while I grab
my heart and hold it to my brain.
village has an end-- I'm glad for
it, I want safety now like I thought
I wanted freedom before.
The lady behind the counter in
her coffee shop uniform smiles
but what keeps me up at night in
my dreams is thinking of her, my
wonder-eyed thunder-minded girl,
rain to fire her rain my fire.
Let's pause for a sec while I grab
my heart and hold it to my brain.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
It's 2am here and I'm fucking tabled
down in a supermarket bathroom inside of
pomegranate seeds when they explode in
my mouth and on the wall and I'm watching
this girl dance on the faucet here in this
bathroom, trance-dancing trance inducing
gaze, throwing down while karma
inserts inserts itself into coma,
Jamaica and Roma,
walking through the suburbs,
they're not exactly lovers, duplicate and then
you wait for the next Kuwait, pomegranate seeds
exploding Sufi swirling scifi throats to the ground
of divine truth, the supermarket categorization
dis-proven by the law that everything
is god.
down in a supermarket bathroom inside of
pomegranate seeds when they explode in
my mouth and on the wall and I'm watching
this girl dance on the faucet here in this
bathroom, trance-dancing trance inducing
gaze, throwing down while karma
inserts inserts itself into coma,
Jamaica and Roma,
walking through the suburbs,
they're not exactly lovers, duplicate and then
you wait for the next Kuwait, pomegranate seeds
exploding Sufi swirling scifi throats to the ground
of divine truth, the supermarket categorization
dis-proven by the law that everything
is god.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
To all the nude beaches we're too poor to visit,
to all the African children dying today I'll never see,
to the trees that will eventually sprout from this city
avenue, to the fire in your heart that never fully extinguishes
until you're dead yourself, to all the Victorian castles
we will never actually live in, to the loaded words
help and poverty and save, to donors and exacerbations,
to pot and beer and heavy intoxication,
I wish the world never knew about our disgusting habits
of survival.
to all the African children dying today I'll never see,
to the trees that will eventually sprout from this city
avenue, to the fire in your heart that never fully extinguishes
until you're dead yourself, to all the Victorian castles
we will never actually live in, to the loaded words
help and poverty and save, to donors and exacerbations,
to pot and beer and heavy intoxication,
I wish the world never knew about our disgusting habits
of survival.
Liver liters pitch tents in Patagonia--
it's where I buy my patio furn-
iture. These liver liters also deliver
legal talismans like UCC Section
1-308, and if you give us a dollar
a day, comes to 30 a month Patagonia
don't wait. Patagonia don't wait,
neither do the children, the children
that inherit the future that we're fighting
for, the concrete blocks I be walking
toward Patagonia, the sistas and brothas
who be struggling for themselves and family,
the lovers and the fighters living in peace temporarily
before picking up again to meet the frequency
of life in these busy freakin' streets--
Help us reach our Patagonia tonight,
Patagonia's the goal and we're helping
some children, put plainly, money's
the key and goal to survive.
Now now now, 77 million children are not receiving
some form of education, they're
cut out of circulation, education--
some call it regurgitation--
means more money made in their lifetime,
means less children in their lifetime,
means children they do have will be twice as
likely to gain an education too.
Here's what you can do to help!
it's where I buy my patio furn-
iture. These liver liters also deliver
legal talismans like UCC Section
1-308, and if you give us a dollar
a day, comes to 30 a month Patagonia
don't wait. Patagonia don't wait,
neither do the children, the children
that inherit the future that we're fighting
for, the concrete blocks I be walking
toward Patagonia, the sistas and brothas
who be struggling for themselves and family,
the lovers and the fighters living in peace temporarily
before picking up again to meet the frequency
of life in these busy freakin' streets--
Help us reach our Patagonia tonight,
Patagonia's the goal and we're helping
some children, put plainly, money's
the key and goal to survive.
Now now now, 77 million children are not receiving
some form of education, they're
cut out of circulation, education--
some call it regurgitation--
means more money made in their lifetime,
means less children in their lifetime,
means children they do have will be twice as
likely to gain an education too.
Here's what you can do to help!
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Everybody loves Bob Marley,
everywhere I go it's the same old story,
people of all nation, they love the rasta-
man vibration--today is saturday and the sponge
looks out his street-view in Brooklyn, but
the sea is large and vast like the city may or may
not be, nineteen and dreamin' real goals be
fluctuating but keeping my head in the
face of sour patch kids, they
say we're dreamers but we're not the only ones,
feel the spirit alive in the town and the city,
mood is only delivered by chemists
and alchemists who push Pb
into Au, dopa-mine into receptors,
blood into body.
And yet the past still feels like the present
even here, I can't run from it. Lainee
lives homeward but here I lay
wayward and the current's sweeping me up
if I let it.
everywhere I go it's the same old story,
people of all nation, they love the rasta-
man vibration--today is saturday and the sponge
looks out his street-view in Brooklyn, but
the sea is large and vast like the city may or may
not be, nineteen and dreamin' real goals be
fluctuating but keeping my head in the
face of sour patch kids, they
say we're dreamers but we're not the only ones,
feel the spirit alive in the town and the city,
mood is only delivered by chemists
and alchemists who push Pb
into Au, dopa-mine into receptors,
blood into body.
And yet the past still feels like the present
even here, I can't run from it. Lainee
lives homeward but here I lay
wayward and the current's sweeping me up
if I let it.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Fire Inside of Skyscrapers
There's a new evolutionary
paradigm shift!
It's not something you hear
about on Television!
No!
It's real! Real like your mother's
mashed potatoes, this new paradigm
shift is predicted to take effect in our
lifetime, in our world, with the tools
we have for our use today, this new
paradigm shift I might take the liberty
of calling Homo Eros, equal love for
man and womankind!
It's not something you'd hear about in the New
York Times! That's because we
are Homo Eros! And we're here to
build love inside of competition, empathy
inside of greed, fire inside of sky-
skyscrapers, morality inside of
kapital, and most importantly, us
inside of struggle.
paradigm shift!
It's not something you hear
about on Television!
No!
It's real! Real like your mother's
mashed potatoes, this new paradigm
shift is predicted to take effect in our
lifetime, in our world, with the tools
we have for our use today, this new
paradigm shift I might take the liberty
of calling Homo Eros, equal love for
man and womankind!
It's not something you'd hear about in the New
York Times! That's because we
are Homo Eros! And we're here to
build love inside of competition, empathy
inside of greed, fire inside of sky-
skyscrapers, morality inside of
kapital, and most importantly, us
inside of struggle.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Poverty in Eastchester
The train rattles on by as I sit
in the green New York suburb
of Eastchester, Westchester
county. There's a golf club behind
me, trees, miles of grass interspersed
with homes and a neighborhood full
of old money, upper middle class type
old money, money made in the city
doin' the dirty, sparkling Audis hover
in the driveway.
Let me speak for a minute about
poverty. Poverty's different
for everyone, but almost everyone
feels it.
Let's talk ramen noodle poor. Let's talk
tap water poor; no television no internet no
gas no telephone don't even know what
day it is poor.
It's beautiful here in Eastchester, West-
chester county, crickets noising up
the woods to the tracks on my right,
to the south, while I lie here thinking
about how I'm here using old money
to combat itself. Haha! I'm an
evil genius.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)