how can we see,
that we don’t see,
what we don’t know
words. photos. images. whatnot.
Crow stopped at nothing
it seemed as good a place as any and a better place than most
nothing had a certain quality
a kind of texture
compared to most things
it was somewhat consistent
not a lot happened there
that was the point
and it was easy
to find a place to park
some people said
nothing comes from nothing
in his usual fashion
found this to be true
and also not true
nothing good comes from nothing they say
but nothing bad comes from nothing too
and nothing bad is something good indeed
the opposite of pain…
is it pleasure
or is it absence of pain
because the opposite of love
is not hate
it is indifference
is so far beyond indifference
that it looks
are continuations really, but in a new direction . . .
some people think the uninverse began with a big bang
(maybe it did)…. and if that is true, everything, everything that happens
is a continuation and expansion of that original gesture…
but maybe it started some other way…
maybe it had no beginning.
we ponder when such and such began, when it might end.
when did world war 2 begin, when did it end?
probably seemed like it would last forever,
and now, where is it? gone.
i want to make a new beginning.
i want to end something.
i want to turn left . or i want to turn right . or
i think this is new. brand new. a brand new start.
stumbling. mumbling. i began this. and i’m coming to the end.
language is useful, even if it isn’t accurate, even if it isn’t close,
it is a general idea…. it is a sort of highway everyone can walk on.
the word, beginning, if you take it all apart, is meaningless,
but to assert or claim it is meaningless is just a lot of noise and hot air.
it’s both. it doesn’t really matter. if i tell you i am beginning something,
you know what i mean. even if i don’t have a clue.
Ghost is always hiding and then I feel a chill.
Ghost is always riding a horse through the center of my brain.
So many hungry ghosts,
with a longing for what they cannot have.
There is something about letting go they don’t hear,
like so many of us, they might be afraid
to move on.
if i try to tell you i have given up, it only proves i haven’t.
if i had really given up i wouldn’t be writing you, i wouldn’t
say anything, i would be gone.
if i tell you i am leaving it is only proof i haven’t left.
it is obviously an attempt to get a response, an attempt to
get you to tell me you want me to stay. but i hear nothing,
and i still don’t leave, and that is when i begin to feel frightened,
vulnerable, no longer in control of my own thoughts or
feelings or actions, and that is when i begin to unravel
like a cloud on a sunny day.
paint is a vibration . colors are like music . only silent.
form and rhythm in texture and color. solitary. mostly.
music. and theater. and dance. people who play with other people.
writing. painting. some kinds of photo. people who travel the inner caverns
alone . through shadow deserts and forests of emerald and ruby light.
all art is disarming. all art sends the creator and experiencer somewhere else…
to experince art is in itself an act of creativity. of recognition. or inquiry.
let me dance in the night around the fire with the tribe and go into frenzy.
red as a bordello and send me out with whiskey and opium to find crooked dreams.
and see if you can keep it.
and then go live on it and invite all your friends
and start a new humanity of utopian dreams of love and forgiveness
like we all feel we are really
the art. the wall. the canvas. the house.
the energy has to flow. the images will shine. there is no mistake.
color. brush. paper. time.
after ten hours
you will be facing a total mystery of yourself.
paint a golden frenzy like the dawn of time
paint a low vibration of diving into the salty brine
singing with the fishes diving down so far so deep
then leaping-up-out-of-it to the furthest starry reach.
in frozen unreachable mountains
on the other side of the sea you think you will never reach
and then suddenly you are there.
the winds are full of voices
but the only one you can listen to is way deep down inside you ––it is yelling,
but by the time it finds your conscious mind
it is barely a whisper.
the gratitude angels are the only ones who can fly in these hurricanes
and–– float through the air graceful and calm
like winged ships sailing on a gentle sea.
Terrible crow of outrageous beauty.
Solitary crow in the snow like the definition of black
And grey sky.
Crow of sonic song that scratches the soul.
Crow with electric red eyes, blazing
through the moonless night.
––What are you mumbling about? … asked Mr Bones
––Just thinking out loud… said Crow.
retro response nomenclature sunrise
(surmising what have you)
like an octopus tatsting martinis….
down the street a fire engine goes all sonic and light show…
just because it can
and why not…
except, don’t make a habit of it––
grab the stethoscope and march 2 miles in a circle,
return to where you left from,
it’s called “exercise”. . .