light. mosaic. pattern. neuron firing pattern. map. of thought.
repetitious nomenclature. semantics. hermeneutics. other words,
I have no idea of their meaning, except I worked in a bookstore . . .
neurons fire. and fire. sometimes the same path all day.
some find new trails. ideas. what have you. the point is. light.
chemical. electrical. synapse gap. spike potential. firing neuron.
signal moves on. down the line. then your arm moves. then you turn
your head. you see her. your chemicals change. destiny. fate. eternal
recurrence. blind chance. inevitable odds and/or biological imperative.
i don’t care.
i just meant the light. everywhere. the light from the stars. stars that blew up.
the particles circled around and found each other. got back together. again.
got dense. then denser. burst into flames. again. making more light.
those stars blew up too. that’s where the iron in our bodies comes from.
we are made of particles that got together. so they could ignite. into stars. giving light.
unimaginable heat. over millions of years. the sun. our sun. barely gets a chance
to know us. then we leave. flash in. flash out. flash bulb. neurons flashing.
guns blazing. ok. it’s amazing. amazing enough. we don’t have enough light.
to really read the situation. it’s dim. sometimes dark.
the sun says, hello. then we’re gone. and the sun says good-bye.
the sun says, come home. or. the sun says, well, little cherub,
what else you got up your sleeve?
little ears revolving––
lettuce lettuce lettuce––
let us pray.
bunny with white tail,
like a little cloud,
the loopy dream.
sassafrass . . .
brand new emerald
baby bunny feels so lucky
he has four rabbit’s feet,
even bunny feet
make him feel special.
down to the casino,
betting it all on red, number 27,
baby bunny toothache––
frozen dinner or split pea soup,
the complex matrix of
burns calories like
litmus paper in a bonfire . . .
it’s more than dinner . . .
it’s … illusion.
baby bunny jazzer
in a band downtown
goes in the back door from
the alley––doesn’t make
a sound until he gets on stage
and the blue light hits his ears.
then he blows his horn, man,
like a crazy-sad-sorrowful-blue,
and puts everyone back inside themselves
where they live.
baby bunny’s sister wanted to get her ears pierced.
mama bunny was against it,
it was a new thing in the bunny world . . .
all the young bunnies were doing it!
but the rabbits were not pleased,
––they make noise, said momma bunny,
all you need it to make it easier for wolf.
––momma, don’t be paranoid, said sister bunny,
I don’t want to live in fear all my life!
momma rabbit said, sister baby, you’re a bunny,
thre is a lot to be afraid of . . .
everywhere, every field, every shadow.
baby sister bunny laughed and laughed,
and then she got her ears pierced.
she hippity-hopped back home,
making quite a racket.
momma bunny sighed, and shook her head.
bunny in a strait-jacket.
bunny on thorazine.
bunny with complicated
things aren’t always
as they seem––little bunny
just follow your dreams––
“be the love you are looking for”.
the grass is so tall to the baby bunny,
like green skyscrapers.
baby bunny identity crises––
hearing how many rabbits there are and
how quickly they multiply,
it occurs to him––
if so many bunnies are being born . . .
why don’t you see them everywhere?
what does it mean?!
maybe this place really is dangerous!
baby bunny in a suitcase.
baby bunny running away to the circus.
running away from the green fields.
running away from momma bunny
and poppa bunny.
on an adventure.
a brave bunny, who must explore.
but what kind of place is the circus
for a little baby bunny?
the lions and tigers pace, restless––
thunder roars, hungry––
they look impatient. the elephants
are walking skyscrapers––or, really
more like whole city blocks––and
the horses are mercurial and lovely,
they are everywhere at once––
be careful baby bunny!!!
baby bunny wanted a tattoo,
he knew it would make his parents furious––
but, what was the big deal?
all the circus stars had them,
except the trapeze artists––
and some of them had tattoos too––
where you couldn’t see them so easy––
it was like a rite of passage.
appearing in the universe in three dimensions
after 14 billion years of appointments
and scheduled meetings and perparations
of every kind––materials all gathered
from supernova explosions etc. etc.––
not like you can go to the store––all the
various evolutions––and here he was finally––
baby bunny––for a limited time engagement.
bunny in a freak show
painted lime green with glow-in-the-dark ink
and food coloring––
it did keep the tigers from looking at him and
sniffing at him in that hungry way.
but it made him feel so dumb, especially
when the tent went dark and he was
the main attraction––a hopping green dot
in empty blackness. sometimes they played
the sound of Pac-Man during the show,
which seriously annoyed him to no end.
one night at the circus after bunny had finished
his hopping green dot in empty space routine––
(the kids went wild for it, and the parents
were always pleasantly amused)––
well, one night, as baby bunny
was leaving his dressing room with
just of few splotches of dayglo
green ink on his floppy ears,
he was met by a girl baby bunny
who had been waiting outside
to get his autograph.
baby bunny was amazed
to have a girl baby bunny fan––
she said she’d seen every show he’d done
while they were in her town––but they’d
only be there another day––so
she wanted to invite him over for dinner––
with her whole family, of course, and
baby bunny said, ––yes! yes yes yes!
baby bunny got on his baby Harley and
headed out with the rest of the circus,
leaving a red rose on the front porch
of the girl baby bunny who had been
his first fan––and his first date––
and his first love––and maybe,
when he came back through town
next year, he’d get to see her, and
their children, and their grandchildren,
and their great-grandchildren–– . . .
maybe baby bunny
wasn’t such a baby
not quite a rabbit––
but no longer a bunny.
did he want to stay with the circus forever?
the questions of life never stopped
expanding inside his mind.
the quote in #9 is a phrase I saw written in concrete
on the sidewalk, one block from my apartment,
I don’t know anything else about it . . .
the moon is a lighter… cool light on summer night
but enough heat to torch the tip of a cigarette
hanging off the lip and then
blowing smoke rings
spinning through the live oak branches.
the riff is everywhere and the flow is always.
the sound is so many radio stations sometimes
you can find one sometimes it is all static white noise.
sometimes you want to sit down inside the white noise and disappear,
(when I say you I am just talking to myself),
and sometimes you find a station with some notes that give birth
to the writhing of your spine in ecstasy and bliss and epiphany
that you know won’t last forever… but since it is timeless,
it does last forever… and you know for sure, that, at least,
you will never lose.
and the cigarette burns like a greedy locomotive always shooting
down the tracks heading west into nothingness and oblivion and
hopefully, the deep blue sea, where stars are born, disguised
as whales, leaping from the frothy deep, and
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.
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.