it seems fitting

it seems fitting to only write once, to say everything that needs said and be done with it. what is needed more, words or action? both inflict a cruelty of design upon the world that has nothing but that. is more better? are we less than that or just unwilling? I leave it up to the dear reader to decide for themselves what they pick and choose. I've done my own choosing and live with the results. a quick check of the life meter shows 64%, or is it 64 years either way its more than half. I have sent up my flare and am awaiting rescue, but this island of insanity seems fine from this beach of unending depths and deepening sensations. I await but have no sense of reckoning, just an inkling of despair mixed with wonder and curiosity. what game ends first and when does the beginning start, the facts are shaky and the days run out with the tide. I have always lived in the ocean on the shore  upon a craft afloat or sinking. the rudder and paddles  mysteriously missing. I suppose we are supposed to make our own way each of us through the unknowable and make sense of what can't be understood. I cant use my mind for the things that seem to make the most difference, so I use my senseless letting go as a useful partner. when I feel the direction to not, I let it go. let the whole damn thing float without me and come back for a refresher later or not. its a whale of a tale that makes no sense and has no characters or plot, just movement and sounds, lots of underlying possibilities but what  cannot be discerned is what it is. I don't leave anymore than I don't worry, its just the handle that I carry to attach to things.

the first rule

the first rule of fight club, the last thing you see before you die, the secret of a brief but authentic existence, all lie within reach, all escape our velocity to embrace what is and let go of what isn't. by the time I get started someone else has done and gone, the trails are made before you get there. to find the truth you cannot follow, you cannot rely or compare because truth doesn't work like that. its all you, up to you depending on your fortitude, to stick with the feeling, the undeniable nature of the heart to love and seek love and to not stop because love fails. it isn't love that gives up, its the weakness of resolve, the million and one other things that attract and repulse the senses. you are not the reaction, just the single point of being that cannot be a part of anything but is the thing it seeks itself. for the wholeness that is sought is always within, to be complete is not to be made up of things but to be free of anything that isn't truly natural to be. you are your natural self. when the light touches the eyes, you see, you don't have any sight in the darkness, that is where the true vision occurs, without external light. because it is not the senses that brings the truth into your heart, its the non-senses, the internal awareness of the unknowable insights. one truly exists apart from all the external noise and intrusion. only the self at peace has any chance of knowing what that is. to rely on the senses is to be caught upon the reflections of light and the reflections of the mind as it parses and interprets the recording of the senses. its past and reexamined by the time your awareness touches the recording. here now without pause or reflection is the truth. that's all there is, everything else is a projected reflected conflicted rehash of the mind. be truthful and there is no pause. what is exists regardless, persists beyond the denial or embrace. you have no other to compare or share or inform or describe. what is, has no name, is everywhere, never decays or changes. acceptance and surrender ease the struggle, but you are the point of convergence.

dawn like a sleeping portrait

dawn like a sleeping portrait of my own face in repose lies across a night so still and fragrant with living decay that even the windows filled with the slow liquid of fire hardened sand become doorways for the glimmering second coming of the living gods of earth. day has no surface and the emptiness of time has no grasp on the awakened heart. I whisper and listen to the replies of the insects and night feeding mammals, all in a kind of wounded dance to the darkness for a protection that never comes. once the light reveals itself all pretense fails and what has forced its way into the consciousness of man becomes the hardened truth and nothing until sleep once more overtakes can slay that rueful dragon of baleful existence. my knees like  hammer blows quake and slide with the tightening of the ligaments and the belly full of poisons dances up and down with the actions of the brain. reality is the king of new clothes and underneath the desire of the killing machine unwinds and flows like a spigot of wine to the bacchanalian frenzy of mindless hope that can never be filled. I have no time but the instant of perception that carries no pattern but the light falling in a deluge upon the emptiness and from the waters of that seething sea of light comes the impatience of existence struggling to create its own creator and thus end its own need to exist and become the toy of children bent on self improvement. what play of erector sets and fun straws filled with sugar eat away at the beast and his mindless rage at living. cast no shadow upon the world of pain for everyday is endless destruction and every night a cool retreat from death. alive in the unconsciousness the dreams of the dying cast a spell upon those yet to come. one moment in the womb and all else is left behind to become one where none before existed. even as the sac bursts its way into the hard oxygen of the lungs there is uncertainty and then the fear freezing everything into pain but one moment of the heartfelt touch of love and the ice melts in a gladdening river of desire. take what you want and die another time to the life that is given to each and every dreamer that is born. desire flows like the blood in the mothers body that once was the same blood in yours but now is the blood of demons and angels fighting to control a world of changelings and deception, where every object reflects the reflection of your own fear and desire and has no inner nature but the touch of its hardened case and its imposition on the thoughts and senses of what you are. and that impossibility crushes the past and future into some recycled garbage that ends up in a landfill for the sake of convenience and lays dormant waiting for another century to leach into a field so filled with poisoned dreams that even night cannot protect you.

weeks pass

weeks pass and the body still pales with the reconstitution that perhaps will not take place completely as in the past. it seems the strength of good will alone is not sufficient to create a passage from sickness back to the robustness of the body before. the dazed sleepiness and exhaustion of the late afternoons, the weak stomach for appetite or spices. it is as if the body has decided its taken a step down from being alive and is descending into that tunnel that inevitably leads to the eternal slumber of times reward. to sleep perchance to dream, aye there is the rub. for in the end all is the dream of existence and life itself is an opera of indeterminate origin and species. and whether the audience is in the cheap seats or all part of the play there is only the recognition that one tires of the endless caterwauling and cacophony and longs for the simple whisper of the air in motion from the movement of the inexplicable wind driven spirits that live in the motion of trees. I do not wait for sunrise but begin my own day with the waking of the senses and allow some small victory to come from the ritual of breathing rubbing my eyes and breaking my caffeine fast so that I might feel if only briefly alive and in the grasp of faculties still working and actually performing small though dexterous tasks of the living persona creating a web of self deceit in the first few moments before the light of day dispels the illusion of inner and outer synchronicity. for the body its the elimination of yesterdays spent fuel and the intake of more and for the mind its some kind of alertness to the functioning of a higher order of consciousness than just the lower lizard brain awareness of the coolness of the rocks before the big light in the sky comes up. I lack any strength except to sit and work my digits in a slow frenzy of hope that something evolves every day that is not lost but awakens within like the planets continue their spinning around the big light in the sky. I gather before the stones of last nights offering and gaze upon the ashes and remnants of todays predilections and possible outcomes scattering the small bones and charred remains into unrecognizable patterns that free the day and let go the empty minded recognition of natural decay and destruction. let the coming dawn loose itself of the movement that creates its illusion of rising and falling and traveling lengthwise across a world that sees only itself as the fixed point and all others as the attracted followers of eternal beauty never ending always motionless and surrounded by the adoring and undying gods of time.

the bubble of life

the bubble of life expands continuously, pushing against the ambient pressure of the outside atmosphere. of course this begs the question, what is outside? inside we know is a self generating desire seeking more and as the bubble expands, it feels to the inner desirer that it is growing and amassing more in its circumference. Is the outside lessened from the growth of this bubble, is there less outside because of this. not discernably, perhaps with billions of bubbles there might be a slight undetectable change in the volume of what lies beyond the edges of the existing universe, but unlikely. and what is the makeup of the internal bubble atmosphere, a self generating machine creating electricity and waste products giving off gasses and liquids, but also a self generating feedback loop of sensations that create the expectation of an external environment that it then conforms to. is there an actual outside to the bubble, beyond the senses and the experiences and the dreams and the uncataloged encounters of the insensate being within? what remains to be expanded into, to create more of what is where there is nothing. a discernible ridge of existence that beyond lies the void, the emptiness the unpartitioned. the bubble grows until it can no longer hold its own weight against the backpressure, and surely a lot of that pressure is from the billions of other bubbles competing for the same space, the likelihood of scarcity driving the unregulated desire machines all around. then the bubbles fade and implode, otherwise they expand until the desire of the generator becomes so powerful, it pushes past the tenuous membrane of the bubble and it leaks itself into the gap and collapses. the external void fills the empty bubbles and there remains nothing and the universe shrinks in accordance, leaving only a vacuum where before a bubbly substance once existed. I live not in the hard cornered streets and furniture of the world but in the formless energy that allows structure to manifest. what is comes not from an outside force imposing itself upon us, but from the sense of ownership and entitlement that partitions off the unalloyed being into parts and pieces. where is the end of the bridge to nowhere? or is there just a gap and a prayer and a collapse that never ends.

I have an old electric toothbrush

I have an old electric toothbrush, one of those fancy ones, sonicare, that's been sitting in a box in the garage for more than a year and probably hadn't been used for more than a year before that. I think I bought it at Costco about 6 years ago as a free replacement for the one I had for 12 years before that. it looks funky and I hooked it up to the charger just for an experiment, to see if I could coax this thing back to the real world. well for two days it sat like a dead brick, then a small green light started to flash and for 3 days the light expanded to more and more bars until finally today, after 5 days of charging, it has a solid row of green bars and it works. I would have never expected this in the past and just thrown the thing out, but because I have no expectations, I just left it go at its own pace not regulating what the outcome might be, and it found its own way to recharge. I know this is a stretch but it illustrates how we create the world around us through our expectations, everything becomes an extension of our thoughts and actions, everything is connected to everything we experience. there are no six degrees of separation, there's not even one degree, we are the interface to the universe, the user interface, the real question is, who is the user? who is interfacing with the universe? as in the operating system for the computer, there's an interface to the bios as well as an interface to the application that is its own interface to a area of interest. the web browser is the interface to the internet, which is an interface to a billion possible sites and subjects. likewise the human body, mind, spirit is the device that connects to the internal parts as well as all external parts, and there are trillions of possibilities as well as orders of magnitude of organization of the parts. the body,mind,spirit decodes the layers and planes of organization and collection and allows the experience directly of the totalities of the collections rather than just looking at the individual components, much like the computer allows the viewing of text and pictures sound and videos, etc, rather than just the lines of code and assembly instructions that make up the functioning parts of the application. so with the human body, made up of billions of bits of component structures that individually make sense but give no hint of the working of the total structure that when decoded through the user interface is experienced as living. where does the sense of ownership and connection reside in this structure, who is the experiencer of the life that is totally regulated by the application layer of the user. life 1.0 is pretty basic , life 9.0 has a lot more ability to reach out into the various layers of the possibilities of the universe, but the upgrade requires many changes to the operating system in order to run the code. if even one portion of the operating system is not in sync with the upgraded code then the whole thing fails and the experience becomes unstable and possibly dangerous to the system. evolution is the standard upgrade path, slow ponderous and basically a trial and error using the beta testers as guinea pigs. there are self programming systems, ones that have gone into the inner workings and started applying patches and upgrades using references and textbooks of past attempts and the results, and have become a cult of the interface engineers. however its done the possibilities seem endless as the system evolves one way or another and the experiences grow. eventually the organization of the components all around, begins to change as the system is upgraded and sees the new layers of interrelated patterns in everything..

some teachers teach

some teachers teach there is nothing to teach and everything to unteach, others layer the mind with so much that it implodes from the inside as the hierarchies finally collapse under their own weight. there is nothing, that is the order of the lessons, there is nothing, everything you experience is made up and you live in a mental time loop that exists a few microseconds in the past so much so that you cannot experience now.so stopping that dependency on the past is the first order, to let go the mind, unstopper the sink and let the thoughts flow out before they can be contained. don't examine the contents, turn on the universal garbage disposal and turn everything into mush, undifferentiated sludge and relax, open that drain and go down with it. there is nothing to save or be saved. Jed McKenna would say that's it, that's the end right there, the perfect teaching, the only page needed to start the spiritual autolysis, then its just a matter of running the disposal until there's nothing left but the spinning , then turn that off and you're done. Richard Rose would encourage the examination and critical necessity of the process, use that doubt and disbelief as the rotors of the disposal. but both would agree that what's left after everything is insinkerated is the truth, and if you can just be that then you're finished with life at this level and ready for whatever comes next, having disorganized the consciousness from this level of compaction and opened up the receptors to whatever comes after without any expectation. here is where the Buddhists encourage compassion, for everyone else is in the mad delusion of human life and cannot stop the madness.in you is a deluded nature that is a memory that creates a nostalgia for the feelings that used to overwhelm you as one of the inmates of the asylum, and you miss that sense of being wrapped up in the outcomes of life and its empty delights and unfulfilling successes and defeats. instead, nothing holds the vital, it remains unmoved as the play unfolds around you, without you, and you get written out of the scenarios one by one until, its just the solitary being in the act of existing. in the world everyday, but not grasping it to act as the purpose for existing, but rather as the scenarios that create more layers of inbred delusion in the inmates of the theater of the absurd. all is self created by the self for the self and has no weight in the world that evolves beyond the self.

the awakening soul flourishes

the awakening soul flourishes in the bed of unconsciousness, where the mind has no control. here the first light of the day is unlimited by the rotation of spheres and the Newtonian aspects of celestial mechanics, rather the uncertainty principle is the natural course of direction and location. what choice is there when there is no choice, when everything is predetermined, and on one level everything is. the simple state of being implies that there is a place and a time to exist, but what is the determining action, is it the doing, the foot forward, the eyes opening, the hand outstretched to shade the brilliant light? or is it the locus of consciousness itself that determines the entire state of the physical universe that is about to be experienced? as the self clicks into being, what is left behind, what field of non being uncentered, unknown, is covered over with a single sensation, to be. for here is where all human history begins, somewhere in the I am, or the to being, to no longer be a single celled amoeba but rather a particular multicellular construct working in a organized and synchronized fashion that is completely absent from the experience of being, which is mostly located in the forebrain. the conscious mind entrains the experience of living as a series of loosely connected sensations that are predetermined by the expected range of electrical impulses sent from the sensors of the physical body. likewise there are  the unregistered fluctuations of nonsequential input that is generated from some unconscious side of the system that is reacting to the impulses of other energy systems interacting with the multiple layers of energetic life forces interlocking into a single cohesive ball we call the aura of the physical body, but is better described as the locus of the multi arrayed living organism that acts as the self awareness of the universal force that is both creating the energy to power the continuation of all things and experiencing the existence and non existence of every form that is created. in the midst of this controlled chaos, the consciousness that has evolved to become this universal creation is located both singly as the entire universe as a being of supreme cohesion and disruption existing at a level of tremendous unification and merger of all things as the highest order of organization that is beyond comprehension to the human mind, and at the same time, uniquely conscious as each component of the self aware being at all orders of organization and multi layered comprehension that comes with the evolving consciousness that inhabits each layer.  and in the mix of the knowable at the order of cohesion that is the human experience, we choose this life of the mud daubing insect rooted to the surface of a small ball of decayed matter and stony star ejecta where what we create is various forms of self replication through the external matter available. as the consciousness evolves slowly very slowly, it sees the patterns of the universe easily traced both in the micro sphere and the macro sphere of organization surrounding it, both in the star fields at night and in the patterns of the light shining through leaves on the trees, even within the shape of the patterns of thought in the mind are the unknown secrets of levels of organization of consciousness existing in orders of magnitude that the conscious mind cannot contain. letting go the limitations of the mind is the doorway to the universal principles and the flow and freedom of the merger of the conscious self with the unknowable  selves of increasingly higher orders of comprehension that are yet unavailable to the human experience.

the pattern of truth

the pattern of truth is the arrangement of untruth in our consciousness. what we seek becomes the outlines of where truth fades and something else obscures the vision. it is the exact thing we seek that is the not truth of ourselves. darkness is everywhere the light cannot penetrate, but what is light? not the absence of darkness, light is the addition of a transitory force on the darkness, darkness has no other reference point but itself and so becomes the truth of experience, the absence of experience becomes the baseline of existence. when you wash a dish, you do not seek to add something to the dish but rather to remove, and in the process the dish becomes useable once more and lacking in the accumulation of outside influences upon it. so with our consciousness we cleanse that which is added to it, leaving it clean of outside influences, pure consciousness, the manifesting force but not the manifested object. what is the source is in everything, but everything is not in it. every manifested object seeks its source, but is not that. rather it is the light upon the darkness, the form upon the formless. the thought upon the unconsciousness. what exists overlays the original nonexistent truth of being that has no source. and what we are is the consciousness of the manifested creation, seeing and experiencing only the manifestation, and wondering always what, who, how am I. once the thought of the object is dropped, then the formless source can become unconsciously, and as the consciousness returns from the supreme darkness, refreshed, it knows without knowing, without seeking without experiencing, what its origin is. this is the hidden truth that is before you always and in everything and behind everything. there is nothing that is not it, but the consciousness that you wield has no way of holding its unmanifest nature. become what is not and you answer every question and  experience every truth yet know nothing.

the elements of being

the elements of being are not the magic of desire and forces beyond understanding that direct the movements of the spiral galaxies and solar winds. what is, is beyond the rock and fire of existence and resides in the open unoccupied planes where the descent is first conceived. before context and concept, before combination or creation, there is being, unadorned and indescribable, where the liquid is yet vapor uncoalesced. light has not yet broken down and time has yet to move, what need of space where there is no other. what is has no relation to change or composition. the oneness undisturbed before silence could be imagined. is it an emptiness? for there is not a thing there yet what can a not thing be? but make no mistake, this is what is life, the immovable, impenetrable, essential nature of truth, all possibility and corruption contained yet unrealized, from which the exact center of consciousness dwells and permeates all that is yet to be. and here the holding hand of being is connected without movement to everything that descends. each electron connected to each electron and in perfect random synchronicity across all space evolves as one organism that contains unending possibilities. yet nothing is apart or separate from the undefined purity of the being, undifferentiated within the essence of every created element of existence. we are pure and undefiled truth, without measure or nature, all are the end and beginning of everything we worship and despise. yet nothing touches that which is without the spark of life or death within. it is not to trust or have faith in but to unbecome what has been our defining attribute in each and every step of the undoing. there is nothing but the undone moment of this life and all life imaginable, for the being within the layers has no hold or feature to know or to become. what is the last knowing? everything has no meaning and I am not a who or a what but a was. that which answers the last letting go is the timeless trajectory of endless being that comes from nothing before light originates. the universe is emptiness abbreviated, shortened to a time and space of existence between its empty bookends. light travels from one to the other and back again, and in that movement all is the stage of consciousness, the awakening of the dreamer to the dream, to the possibility of becoming what the light illuminates, the field of awareness holds the light patterns and consciousness gives them meaning, definitions, arrangements where none before existed. for there is now a here and a when to everything, that there and this then. and what was once undifferentiated becomes the play of the creating force, the decider of the rules and regulations of the game, the length and breadth of the field, that before it was seen, did not exist. we like the original consciousness create the universe and make the rules and likewise we sit in the seat of the untouchable truth. there is no tomorrow or yesterday and this is the first and last moment of existence and when the game ends there is only the timeless, spaceless undoing that has no name.

waking is sleeping interrupted

waking is sleeping interrupted. I emerge a yellowed copy of myself, Xeroxed once or a million times too many. the lines on my face are the cracks in my self identity, there is no here but the opening of the fissures of the mind into depths I cant fathom or recall but constantly am slipping down the slopes into. I don't advocate the slippage or even rationalize its source, but I accept its effects and final resolution with a kind of inward peace that everything is inevitable. I wont survive, there will not be a tomathon to save me or an outpouring of denial from my well wishers and fans. the life I am living is just a copy of a copy of a copy that has been handed down over and over and in every iteration, I am the protagonist and the antagonist, I defeat myself over and over and over, but with more flair and subtlety I hope, each time. yet the chase is no chase at all but a submission to the stark fact that there is no field or separation between my selves and I exist simultaneously as each and everyone in my delusion. the thought that there is a not me or a me that is different somehow in the source of its function has all but disappeared. everyone I meet has the dull look of apprehension or the bright glance of prevarication as the mendacity of language is engaged to elicit a response. though what difference anything said could make is pure fantasy. the truth is all I am is lost in a field of activity and reaction, and as these quiesce  the locus of interpolation becomes broader not more defined. the center becomes the whole enchilada and cannot hold because there are no edges and the fingers disappear into the expanding ball of being that spreads like unstoppable goo through everything. I become the goo and the goo goes everywhere, suddenly in everything and dissolving all boundaries into one mass of proto creation, where the creation becomes the undoing of everything even as the chair I inhabit flows through my body and the floor wraps up the walls and meets in the center of my head like a balloon blown bigger than the room can hold. the walls become the skin and then the air beyond the inside that has no stopping point but just fills the horizon and empties every shape into its expanding donut of uncooked dough burbling vastly and forever through everything. what awaits the watcher, at the end of watching. the last record shows, the viewer becomes the viewed and the feedback swallows the sucking sound until only the vibration remains.

everyone exists somewhere

everyone exists somewhere, but no one exists anywhere. you are the emptiness of your desires and pleasures and suffering. don't fear the loss of love but rather the lack of truth. one time is everything, the rendition of repetition is living in space revolving around the same point endlessly, thinking this will get me where I want to go. sometimes its necessary to realize you are laying on your back in the middle of the ocean, there is nothing above but empty sky, you are breathing, this is consciousness, alive aware awake, you know you are a point in space experiencing you are a point in  space, breathe. arms outstretched, buoyed by the surface tension you do not move but rather let the tidal and wave action move you. pointless, you might disappear completely. when you close your eyes, you could be anywhere, nowhere, lost in space. there is no agreement here on where this is, no one to agree with, and even if someone else was floating out here, what more could they know. a bunch of you could hold hands and band together, eventually creating a living raft that floats in the middle of the ocean. you could share your experiences, psychically tune in to the moment and see the intersections of each consciousness at the same pointless point in the middle of nowhere. eventually the life raft would become a layer of floating bodies and the living could crawl on top, and layer after layer, the island of selfs would evolve, until there is a community with reasons and rules, built on the layers of the dead and soon to be dead. the more dead the better, more stability and area. until everyone forgets the source of being and believes they are somewhere doing something and all life is about this growing the island, but its not even an island anymore, its a citadel of untruth and its sinking slowly into an indescribable sea of emptiness that has no other reference or existence. all we are is the residue of past lives exchanging each other for a new series of the same actions played from a different role, now I am the father, now I am the sister, now the rich man, now the thief. what has changed, only the point of view, the part the actor plays, all else is the same graveyard and certainty of return to its embrace and to return from that also as a new character, a new life, but not a new consciousness, for everything has been seen and done and now repeats endlessly for the sake of rendition round this single point in the endlessness of space.

the concept of self elimination

the concept of self elimination through perfect resolution is the force of the universe creating, then experiencing and finally in the same complete motion eliminating itself. in my last blog I discussed the concept of the empty tube, the billions of points of manifesting force flowing into the universe and from the same tubes, the experience of that manifestation being returned to the source to be used as the blueprint for the recycling of the force to again be sent through to manifest. likewise the universe is not dependent on these tubes for the creation and maintenance of the universe, but each tube has the power to create and destroy its own focus, its own experience and then  as one of the billions of reporters embedded in this creation, it sends its experiences home, and these become integrated into the next wave of consciousness that flows through the universe, affecting everything and individually validating the experiences of every point of manifestation. in the perfect universe, one without billions of tiny warpages and distorters affecting the flow, the universe is one complete wave of perfect light sound size and shape, it flows to its ultimate peak then returns in its perfect reflection, nulling out each wave as sign and cosign collide and become nothing. thus is the universe in  one motion resolving perfectly and then de-resolving itself perfectly, but in the process there is no sense of possibility or unknown quantity, a factor of free will or uncommon sense is needed to allow the diffraction of the light from its perfect state to its component multiplicities, thus is introduced the prism of the experiencer, the self aware component of existence, the self, aware of itself, discovering what that means as the self unravels and becomes the unknowable self that is imperfectly perfecting the process of manifestation and causal feedback and redefinition of  being, even as the perfect flow is unimpeded yet its reflection becomes a mass of unperfected points unresolved in the process of returning and de-resolving itself, so the waters muddied and in a tempest of confusion, breaks down further and further the perfected universal waves into unending diffractions and re-diffractions of unresolvable equations. thus life continues unabated and every redirected sensation of the individual self returned to the universal self, becomes more and more the expansion of the universal manifestation during the state between resolution and de-resolution. likewise then individual point can clear its own experience of distortions and allow the same flow out that is returned to the source and in that perfect scenario, eliminate the sense of separate self and become one with the flow itself. thus is the sense of perfect resolution the path to self elimination and becoming one with the flow.

the empty tube

the empty tube, once full, now blissfully depleted, from where to where? what remains is the openness, the availability, the end of wanting anything to interrupt the flow, of what? the source, that is always the movement, from the source, to the manifestation of the source, it becomes the universe in all its creative splendor and movement. and the source revealed is experiencing the manifestation and that is returned through the tube of the self, the unattached consciousness of being, grounded in one part to the plane of manifestation, and in the other to the source of all consciousness and being without limits and in that transference is the dynamic of existence. the source manifesting through all planes of consciousness into pure archetypes of form and regions of experiential consciousness then returning the manifested consciousness to the source from which all is undifferentiated. and the connection, the carrier of this force from the source to the planes being manifested is the tube, the torus the contextual container of existence in all its possibilities and choices becoming the foundation of the existential plane that is what becomes the experience of itself, and the knowledge of that one truth, all things are the manifestation of the one become all, through the mechanism that is the truth in each consciousness contained in each body, embedded in every spirit, soul, animus, atman, the being within that is no more than the extension through the tube of consciousness the force of itself creating itself as form and re-experiencing that as validation and like the printout of a 3D printer, the artifact itself, life and creation and the manifestation of all its possibilities, becomes the feedback that pushes more force through the connection to enliven the movement of the unending flow. there is only the underlying archetype of existence and upon that is laid the unending manifestation flowing through every tube, and whether that is the flow unimpeded of the pure divine or the immediate grasping and desire of the tubular vortex responding to its own deformations and excitations caused by the endless waves and feedback and flow patterns it creates by trying to hold or change what is flowing endlessly from its unwavering nature, manifestation is unending, and each point of the manifesting force is either in harmony with the force flowing through it, or it creates its own resistance patterns in the wave and thus creates patterns that affect the manifesting points all around it, and everything becomes a mass of corrupted flow and movement that endlessly seeks its completion. and it is in this corruption that the experience of the manifestation is returned to the source and creates the universal patterns of change and density that become the flow that is recycled and reconfigured responding to that regeneration from the point of manifestation back to the source. we thus are the creators of the universes both here and being born forever and ever, always incomplete and changing to the desires of the billions of distortions laid upon the source and none are denied. so it can never end until the endless selves let go and let flow the pure wave of being that created and in one stroke disassembled everything in one wave. until then all is eternally changing.

everything is priceless

everything is priceless, the sunrise, the full moon, the cool air in the morning, the heat of the day, each living thing and every dream we share. there is only the divine love that flows through every life and through all of time and space. its not a mystery why we are here its a fact of life that we came to love and to be loved beyond the measure of any philosopher or poet, each creation is unique and brings the divine into this world of art and science and make believe that cannot exist anywhere else. and we all wait in the wings in a line that would wrap around the sun a million times praying for a chance at the lottery of birth. to be born to a living mother, to be fed with love and hugged with joy just once would be reason enough but even greater is to feel the earth all around and the flow of the divine through the tiniest to the greatest of the wonders and mysteries of life, to be able to give thanks for this opportunity to give love and devotion for the family friends strangers and unexpected surprises that each interaction brings. we are the sacred souls and have no other purpose but to gratefully thank the universe and all the gods of this existence for this loving place called home.

whats the point of pretending

what's the point of pretending what i think matters anymore
i haven't had a thought that makes any sense for the last ten years or more
there's a world outside my mind i'd like to know what its for
cause every thought just separates me from knowing what's outside my doors
that's the doors of my perceptions, the ones that seem to be closed
the way it feels i'm locked inside by the thing that thinks it knows
i just keep feeling there's no truth to the experience of my mind
that's inventing every single thing i think I feel but actually is lying
i know there's an orange on the table,
but it can only be the reflected light that comes into my eyes,
not what's being absorbed by the fruit and the fruity flies
i hold it in my fingers and feel the bumpy peel
but all the living sensations inside just aren't coming through as real
i finally figured out the senses are the tip of my iceberg of being
the inner self is the magic kingdom that is connected to everything
each frequency and intensity of light is this universe we know
the being feels what the senses cant,
the universal truth,
light that comes from emptiness
and creates everything through the distortion of consciousness
let the senses go and feel from the heart of the divine soul within,
the psychic sense of being that permeates everything.
as you see into the field of existence,
everything is in motion, unstoppable creation that cannot pause
even for a nanosecond else every imaginary connection would end,
yet as man peeks under the covers with his electron microscope,
he quickly discovers that what he sees is his own expectation
of what the static picture of what he's looking at should be,
so the electrons hop to their expected orbits and the neutrons suddenly exist,
the mesons and the quarks  come to join and try to fit,
but there's no truth to pictures of what has come and gone,
cause the lightning strikes and the wave excites
and there's suddenly a form of transference and energy
emitting endless light in all directions
and nothing appears solid or even transparent,
its all the mirror on a mirror in a smoky place,
there's just the endless sense of something but it has no depth or shape,
its just a fragmentary image that you wanted there to be.
you move your hand in the mirror
but you cant touch the reflection you think you see,
its all an illusion of the bending of light and space.
your mind creates the picture that you think is your face
but behind the mirror of your mind is pure electricity,
there's no things or people living outside, you see
its just your imagination that wants to make you see what you're looking for.
its all a magic mirror trick, the hands are quicker than the I,
what you see is what you get, but only till you die.
then the electricity stops,
the movie ends
as the universe keeps going
and you're suddenly a flow of endless fields of improbability
becoming unexpectedly free

I blame the quadruple

I blame the quadruple blood moon and the astrology of  april, or maybe im just an ordinary guy who feels his life has finally run down and the air is out of his tires. theres nothing wrong its just the right thing now, maybe later the change will come and life as we know it will have changed so completely it wont be recognizable. that's been the story of my last 18 years, a series of deep core transformations, and I know what your thinking, that's a once in a life time thing, its not a bunch but for me its like a bunch of past lives all packed into this one and like past lives, you lose the thread in between, the person that had that life isn't the one having this one, so the decode downloader is missing, the codex from before is no longer available, so theres some things that can be felt from those other lands and roads taken, but without the map theres no telling when or where it all was. its like a life on a beta max and now everything is digital. the vhs and 8 tracks and tape decks aren't a part of this life, even if I could find the old tapes. so the stuff is there but not the decoder, and now im just living on the electron stream, hoping the power keeps the infinite drive alive, I guess its kind of a dumbing down from the complexities I used to think it all was. im just a simple soul at heart, one with a few feelings and a few thoughts that I end up using as my paints and brushes, I cant actually draw even a stick man but I can probably describe him well enough that you might imagine his pointy little arms and legs and the matchstick head hes got. well that's me, just an outline of a personality tacked onto the engine of consciousness that drives the creation expression experience and dissolution of all things great and small. I don't know how it works or where the controls are so I just hang on for the ride and hope I don't fall off. sometimes though, when the speed is unimaginable and the movement of time and space falls behind the sense of being part of everything, I see a different light and form that ive never seen before. it has no shape or color but I can feel its purpose and meaning as the collector of lives and the decider of fates, its face a mask of indifference but the fury of its driving energy distorts even the earth and sky I think im standing on. there is no way past or turning around, into the opening of its infinite gaze and burning demand each soul must travel and what is still afraid is burned away. beyond that there is no place or time, no thing or memories, what remains becomes again and again the next creation that has no end. I live on edge of the vast sundering flame and frozen emptiness removing every atom from its brothers, until only the infinite plasma of the divine flows like burning time moving so fast that nothing can exist before it is already destroyed.

When its time for loving

say hello to the newborn sunrise
greet the birds and dew and flowers
i love spending the early morning
enjoying the extra hours

cup of coffee in my hand,
your smiling face with me
sometimes i just cant understand
what a good life the lord's given me

you are my passion flower
and i'm your hungry bee
looking for the magic of
the honey in the tree

how many times have we both cried
with tears so full of joy
playing in the backyard
with our little boy




he came with such a blessing
when our trailer was so small
but somehow things worked out
now we've got three bedrooms down the hall

one for little michael
one for his sister coming soon
and one at the end just for us
for making sweet love with you.

we got a special life together
I feel everythings so  complete
theres no need to ever worry about
money or how to make ends meet

somehow love will change the world
and we wont have to change
let the blessings keep on coming
and we'll keep on the same

i just love you very much
more than time can fill
I feel your love deep in my soul
its all we need and ever will

one more day is all i ask
of this perfect life we have
if the good lord decides to take it away
at least we've made it last

we have a perfect life together,
not much in the bank or from the store
but when the sheets are folded down,
we close the bedroom door

we got a little heaven here
and i'm working every day,
when its time for loving
nothing gets in our way.

Destiny's Door

one more day with an empty window,
light and shadow on the wall
i cant sleep with an empty bed,
when i got no one to call
its been six weeks since you left,
crossed the line and i took the fall
i got no one to blame
got no one to understand me at all




if you had a million dollars
i wouldnt want a penny for my thoughts
no one to share my fears or
the battles that i fought
id rather take a railroad ride
just some place round the bend
but instead i'll keep on going
to the last stop at the very end

the conductor punched my ticket
with his eyes looking straight at mine
i didnt want to go to my destination,
i just want to go down the line
he said theres no stops after this one,
theres nothing more to say
i'll let you stay on board,
but theres no coming back this way

the tracks are gone the cars are empty
the destination is nevermore,
if you keep on going down this track .
you'll be knocking on destiny's door

theres a place i call virginia,
cause thats where i want to be
where i first fell in love and
she fell in love with me
i havent seen those green green hills
and rivers rolling past the shore
i feel like im a million years past
from where i was before

how did i get so lost in heaven,
and end up in this place
where an angry word is a loaded gun
and it blew up in my face
i took the bullet i had meant for her.
it was all my stupid fault
now shes gone and im alone
my heart feels like its stopped

the tracks are gone the cars are empty
the destination is nevermore,
if you keep on going down this track .
you'll be knocking on destiny's door

got a ticket for the last ride
down past the end of my rope
its not a place for cowards
its not a place for hope
i put my mouth right on the line,
all in, i bet my load
and it ended up taking me down
to this lonesome road

i got no ticket for happiness
no ride to the promised land
theres not a thing i can do
that anyone could understand
i'm walking to a station
where i can catch a train
where theres lots of empty box cars
i can fill with my world of  pain

i'm jumping the tracks
and i wont be back
from the end of the line again.
i'm telling the conductor
not to stop the train
its time to ride until the end

the tracks are gone the cars are empty
the destination is nevermore,
if you keep on going down this track .
you'll be knocking on destiny's door
 

Arithmetic Blues

i havent got a nickel
i havent got a dime
if i had a quarter
you know we'd have a hell of a time

one and one is two babe
one and two is three
when i see you with another man
i want to subtract you from me

whats the matter with keeping
the numbers we had before
one and one is all we need
why you looking at numbers for?

i'll get me a job with the numbers
sell em all over town
we'll add it up every night
and stop this running round

i'll buy you a nice new dress girl
some diamonds for your neck
lets go shopping every night
and stop doing arithmetic

one and one is plenty
one and two or more
thats too much for me to add
when im down on the arithmetic floor

i never went to school girl
never learned no geometry
but it dont take no book smarts
to figure out the angle your playin on me

i'll  get me a loaded pistol
with bullets enough for all
its just a simple arithmetic
for the fella you like to call

i want to spend a nickel
i want to drop a dime
i'm almost positive now
that doing math is not a crime

one from one is nothing babe
i think i got that right
by the time i finish my home work
there wont be another fight

when i'm on the street babe
looking for that dime
i'll think of when you made the math
turn me to a life of crime

its not the square or rectangle
its not the hypotenuse
its the one straight line
from my gun to your new bottle of juice

one from none is still one
theres no two anymore
if you dont stop this adding up
you'll be down on the arithmetic floor

chalk around your body
his'll be there too
it wont be very pretty
when one and one aint two

when im stuck in prison
cause the judge cant do the math
i'll put your picture on the wall
and add up all the past

one and one was plenty
what you need to add anyway
i gave your everything i had
but you made me take it all away

playing with the numbers
i should get a degree
for figuring out how to subtract
my life from my history

i havent got a formula
for what it was i done
but i figured out the answer
was a brand new smith and wesson gun

i wish you were still with me
cause i cant figure out no more
how to make the numbers
like they were before

one and one dont got nothing
when i passed through the jailhouse door
the only one i can remember
was laying on the arithmetic floor

i finally graduated
they handed me a brand new degree
for doing 30 years in prison
theres no arithmetic left in me

here in India

here in India I live in a large fine house with a maid and a gardener. I have as many friends as I have rupees and unlike America they stay true to the coin and do not quit you until you leave the country. even as I prepare to leave the handouts are of prodigious proportions, exceeding even my beggarly income.as the number of westerners is reduced so too is the begging per westerner increased, causing the weight of the lives of hundreds nay thousands of secretly wealthy beggars to be placed directly onto my scales of injustice and tugs upon the string of the razor of dispassion that hangs above me. for in direct negative proportion does my charity grow with the positive growth of the number of beggars approaching.  I am not a miserly man for I support many fine charities in the form of my friends and employees among the residents of tiruvanamalai, and on the occasion of being out in the streets there are certain widows and disfigured amputees and lepers that I am sure to sprinkle the local currency upon. I have also been know to support the alcohol habits of a few aged babas just for the vicarious enjoyment of their inebriation. however I am opposed to women bringing children to the streets and using them as the target of my altruism, especially when I know their real families children are in school in their perfect little uniforms and braided hair with flowers trailing. but like the guru business so to is there the beggar business, you rarely see an indian person giving any rupees to the professionals, but I have seen them give to the ones that are truly sick and /or diseased.  as near as I can tell every indian mans wife daughter mother sister and all their children are in the hospital at least every couple of days and often for very long and serious maladies. it must be true because my visit to one of the local hospitals was highlighted by thousands of Indians lined up inside and out at every nurse station and in front of every door of every doctor for all specialties. so though it may seem unlikely that some ones entire family spends every night at the hospital undergoing amputations operations and continuous injections, its more likely to be the case than not. so for this reason I have funded at least six major operations and dozens of very serious injections to fight off very virulent infections and dislocations as well as fractures. life in india somehow goes on and luckily, medical care is much cheaper than in America.

Magic in this world

 

i'm not the one that's suffering
i'm not the happiness inside
i'm not the emptiness or gandeur
that waits on the other side

theres a magic in this world
that never seems to end
if you belive in fairy tales
then you've got it all my friend

one day the sun is shining
one day is cold and wet
one day no one wants to get up
go to work and all the rest

ive got no particular purpose,
no calling or sermon to share
i just live my life one second at a time
and haven't got a care

some say im pollyanna
some the devil and his crew
others like the clothes i wear
well you know i do too

this particular day i'm here
tomorrow i might be gone
theres no rhyme or reason
its just the living song

i play my part right to the end
and try to tell truth from lies
sometimes i just have to give that up
and let that train go by

love's not always the answer
sometimes its a place to be
but everyone is a son of a gun
and you have to look out for your knees

one mans bible is another mans fiction
one mans love is another mans friction
nobody is where they want to be
unless of course they happen to be me

i got no rights or possessions
i'm a little bit funny that way
if someone needs
i'm glad to give
but dont lie to me today

i see into the darkness
i see through bright lights
i lost an eye
but i gained another
in the middle of  my mind

if you have a struggle
and you ask without your story
there could be some words i know
that end the pain and trouble
you're going through today

keep on the side of truth
and follow your own light
when you are all alone
its best not to start a fight

surrender all that pride and fear
let the good lord have his way
what is meant to happen
is sure to happen anyway

tomorrow is a your plaything
but right now is your life
get off the bench, get out there now
and never look back again

what you're supposed to do
is what you're doing right now,
start to give yourself some credit
for what you know how

the work starts here
and never ends
you're always doing better
if you make amends

take as much responsibility
for what happens in your life
understand its magic
and you create it every night

my one desire

my one desire and my angel fire
light of my life and love of my soul
everyday i want you with me
and never have you go

aspiration dedication
devotion service and love
everything you lived for
came from some source above

I knew the minute I saw you
collapsing on the floor
that heavens gate
was staying open late
to let you through my door

passing letters through the night
empty words that just seem right
trying with all my might
to keep your light in me


i havent got a chance
i know that this is not a dance
but a movement of my life
away from stress and strife

needing you has made it seem
like theres always a place to go
something to do
some love note to you
there's a need to always do more

your the only truth i live for
theres no other way i see
from the moment that i met you
everything else was history

you're my now and tomorrow
for a million years or more
i dont wake up
if im dreaming its you
knocking at my door

but its always next time now
the way you give your love
seeking some resolution
with the spirit from above

the search for truth
has many paths
not all are so clean
i wonder if what i was doing
was all part of someone elses dream

theres no room for other lovers
theres no room on the temple floor
its just a place
for the whole human race
to worship at your door

its right and its wrong
its quick and its long
I haven't figured out
the end to this song
except I love you

one week left

one week left before returning to the far side of the world, where they drive on the wrong side of the road and everything is massively orderly and controlled. no free burn trash everyday, no cows in the streets and flocks of goats covering the roads, no little funky copper pot chai shops every 50 meters, no tiffen , iddli and dosa and talli masala samba chutney chapatti and puri. what a backward country America is, still stuck in the rigor of religious persecution and bent on creating new markets for industry using war as a negotiating tool. the anxiety of its people, even in the recently decriminalized zones where pot is finally permitted, sort of, they still persecute the smokers in every way but taking their money. you may have noticed a slight change in my blog lately, I for some reason began writing lyrics and channeling Robert Johnson and johhny cash and roy orbison a bit. don't worry I cant keep that up for long, but it was fun and I enjoyed every minute of the creative process, not eating or sleeping the whole time I was working out the lyrics. what is inspiration versus channeling? inspiration is the flow of the open and silent mind to the moment, channeling is taking on the personality of an energy force that is living in the collective. these forces become stronger after they drop the physical body. I gues I was doing a bit of both. I don't resist these impulses no matter how out of character they may seem, because there are no rules or requirements to be me. I just have to show up, the rest is all arranged. I imagine there was a bit more interest than usual for this material as it relates more directly to how most people se their world in the west. growing up in the east bay I got to see an especially gritty side to life, knife fights and gangs ala west side story, black ghettos and drug dealing, race riots at the bus stops and playing in the no mans land of Nichol Park just north of the tracks. but you know theres no better way to get up every day than to know anything could happen so get on your mojo and walk the long walk to the halls of education and play the games the players play and you your just an observer, until you get too close and the whole scene drops on your head like a bad movie. you learn to turn and face the wind, capture the beauty in the streets and empty lots, the kids on every kind of pedal and push machines racing to some new adventure. life was rough but good rough, just rough enough that you couldn't grow up blind. and the wind in the air from the bay and the cold rain that seemed to come and stay for weeks at a time, and my life long love affair with the fog. the northern hemisphere will always be in my DNA but the bay area is definitely a part of me. I left my heart, somewhere around Milpitas.

Rodeo Clown

Rodeo Clown

welcome to the rodeo
we call married life
i feel like a trussed up calf
but i'm the clown that risks his life

theres a wild bull you're riding
but i'm not sure if thats me
i think the one your riding
is not a member of our family


hang on there sweetheart,
your fathers at the door again
asking if you're still mad at me and 
do you even know if this will ever end

my mothers on the telephone
watching the twins each day till four
while your working at being independent
at the kragen car parts store

i wouldn't have it any other way
cept if we could be alone
but your brothers still living on the couch
and making himself at home
.
one more whiskey bottle,
one more fast food meal,
one more piece of humble pie
and i think its a pretty raw deal

i married you for better or worse
and you sure married me
we had four kids in a hurry
and i gave up being free

when i was full time at the factory
we had a life when the kids went down
but when the pink slip came in the mail
i ended up as the rodeo clown

i trusted you to give me some time
but you weren't ready for that
I lost my mind but not my life
and then you picked up my mess

i let this bad thing happen
i understand your pain
i thought we could work this out
but i guess i better think again

momma didn't raise no redneck children,
went to sunday school and mass,
spent more time in the principals office
then studying in class

i know i wasn't the smart one,
but my heart's made of gold,
i knew someday when i first met you
we be married and getting old

i still want to be in your life,
when you come home late at night
i dream we could put the past behind
and bring back what we had right

the boys are fine playing ball till supper
then homework till i turn out the lights.
i keep the girls all safe and happy
while you're in school at night

i keep hoping for the chance
that our love is still alive and true
to prove that i'm as good a dad
as the husband i can be for you.

rounding up the broken cowboys
waving off the angry bulls
one more week of shoveling pens
and then another weekend with you.

I'm used to getting knocked around
then get up and make a happy dance
you like to keep knocking me down
but please give me just one more chance.

Hidden Mends

hidden mends

i come for your blessings
you say i take away your joy
we can't seem to understand
is it the girl or the boys
you want my strength of will
i want your secret soul
together we  make the same mistakes
and just let it take its toll

hidden mends we made inside
the damage already done
open up the pain inside
open up the sun




one lays down the other
one holds on too tight
one wakes up screaming
running for the light
we havent found the secret
it seems too hard to try
i'd settle for your shoulder
i need to bleed or cry
whats the use of waiting
been too long a way we've come
seems now theres a part of me
i used to feel thats gone

hidden mends we made inside
the damage already done
open up the pain inside
open up the sun

one more choice for loving
thats what im running from
one more chance for giving
then this emptiness be gone
one more heart to touch me
and i know my life'd be done
one more road to ramble down
to the house we share called home

hidden mends we made inside
the damage already done
open up the pain inside
open up the sun

Dust off Blues

Dust off Blues

i started feeling like some traveling
so i got my new shoes out last night
dusted off the cobwebs
and tried em on to feel if its right

i got the dust off blues
want to dust off these dirty shoes
i got the dustin blues mama
seems i gota pay some travelin dues

leaving for frisco
from the oakland side
traveling down to salinas town
across the 101 to hiway 395



got me a driving license
got a passport and visa too
just a hankering to hit the road
and see what i can do

no end to the road in front of me
no end to the road behind
its the dustin off that unsettles me
when i know its travelin time

how did i get so
tied up in the blues
theres just no escaping
when you get those dusty shoes

hit death valley in the springtime
its like a coffin in the ground
flowers popping up everywhere
with just the wind to sing a song

the dust is flying all around
the blues got no hold on me
long as i keep my new shoes on
theres no dust on me

speedometer say half past 5
the radio got no songs
the static sounds like a voice in my head
and the wheels keeps movin on

everyday is the dustin man blues
aint no dust on my new shoes
long as i keep my new shoes on
theres no dust on me

i stop to call my sweetheart
but she dont seem to be answering the phone
i got the dust on me now mama
and i cant be heading home

stop along the roadside
look up and down the road
theres no difference between
where i been and where im goin

one ways as good as another
one town the same like the rest
its just the feel of miles going by
that gets the dustin off my chest

gotta keep doing the dustin boogie
theres no cure for the dustin blues
theres no way to stop the dust from fallin
cept to hit the road and cruise

dust me when the cobwebs gather
dust me when its travelin time
dust me when she's got me tired of waiting
dust me till the car starts flying

the dustin blues are here to stay
and i wont be back no more
the dustin boogie's playing my song
and the road's outside my door

Making my move blues

Making my move blues
i was born on the streets of the city
and i know which way to run
when the cops start heading for me
im public enemy number one

the last time i got busted
it was the big one and the back of the hand
next time i see them coming
i'll take it on the lam

these feets are mighty engines
they know just where to go
when my stomach gets the message
you know i'll have to blow


this town aint got no hold on me
its just a crib and a place to crash
when the time comes to leave it all
i'll grab my wallet and my stash

its been a long time in stir
and i aint going back again
they dont give you no choice
when your out on the street my friend

its selling and stealing
theres no middle way
no job no friends no second chance
its just how much can you put away

im building up the distance
i can afford to fly
by this time tomorrow
i'll be so long gone and
getting mighty high

its been a lifetime of excuses and
a whole lot of mistakes
but next time come
you know i'll be gone
and there wont be any trace

you wont know who i was
or what it is i've done
there'll just be the echo
of the last part of this song

my feets are mighty engines
my heart an open door
i'll fly right through to freedom
and never come back no more

 

them homeless blues

one hill for the wicked and one hill for the saved
everyone is naked inside and everyone's a slave
when you climbed on top of this anthill
no one stopped to proclaim your crown
there aint no heros, there aint no saints
theres just us poor folks here around

you got no business rattling your chains like that
you think you're the only one to know
everybody's homeless on the streets
and the shelters they're all full

why you sittin in skid row charley's joint
drinking your last beer
acting like you got something
cause you aint been thrown out of here.

we all gotta be somewhere
and this is as good as any other hole
we all need someplace to stay
when you got no place to go

we're all one beer from the street here
from a paper blanket in a hole
when the cops roll up at 2am
you better have some place to go

its a dragged down way of living
on the streets across the bay
its a hell of a way to treat someone
who hasnt got the bucks to pay

one buck from the sidewalk
one buck from the door
one buck from the loneliest
cell block number four

its a crime to be broke in the city
its felony number one
they beat your head and leave you for dead
cause they hold all the guns

rich people they give up living
so they can go shopping instead
rich people got no reason
cept theys rather see you dead

there aint no dirt down on fourth street ,
no wino's pimps or whores
they all live here on death row
where the skid marks show at dawn

they dont want you in their city
they dont want you on their street
but everybody gots to be somewhere
when there no where else to be

one more empty alley
one more overpass
the sodium lights that shine all night
and the cars go speeding past

nobodys sleepin on down street
no one can stay in the park
no one has any money babe
so you better find a place before dark

its last call at skid row charley's
the light s are all turned on,
looks like hell but its better than
the place i havent got

no food no bed no telephone call
no family friends or dogs
im just another guy
who ended up alone
lookin for a job

you know there aint no justice
i sure aint expecting none
i made my mistakes
im paying my dues
but throw a dog a bone

i need a spot that i can lay in
where the bushes arent already full
I  need a cardboard coffin to crawl in
and just please be left alone

tomorrows a long time waiting
cause the soup kitchen dont open till noon
one piece of meat for a hundred bowls
and morning cant come too soon

one hill for the wicked and one hill for the saved
everyone is naked inside and everyone's a slave
when you climbed on top of this anthill
no one stopped to proclaim your crown
there aint no heros, there aint no saints
theres just us poor folks here around

 

I come to grant my own freedom

I come to grant my own freedom, to complete the process of becoming that which no one can oversee that ultimate being of pure intention, creating the context of living, where only being was. to be alive. not just being but knowing that you are the experience of what is. the human being is gods fantasy, to take the entire moment of all creation from its inception to foreordained end and break it into unending consciousnesses, each independently reporting its stream of consciousness back to its creator. each like a point of light separate and distinct, yet all together flowing like a mighty supernova across the ink black emptiness, each point having incredible swings of brilliance and dimness or experienced en masse as the frequencies of the points flowing. creating subtle and powerful ranges of collective force and hydrogen fusion exploding in waves of sheet lightning destroying galaxies. the wild rides of every conscious life transported through the process of consciousness to be experienced like a symphony where every instrument can be isolated, each section defined and given its own level of mixing and movement, or all taken at once as the incredible white noise of being, to flow down and up the arc of each level of conscious being, and so creation becomes not just a work of art by the loneliest being but also the life of that existence where creation is the experience at every level of comprehension and awareness, everything participates and contributes, receives and gives back, its unique perspective on lifes unfolding, from the points of view limited by their own sacrifice of the big picture the whole enchilada, but instead takes on the mask of the limited manifestation and seeks to create its own universe from every individual aspect. to create a response to everything as it is experienced at every level of awareness and embedded consciousness in the physical, vital mental and psychic planes.as each iota of the divine is revealed through the tiniest of fractions so to is the divine experiencing first hand the self of the individual just as if it were the divine self.for in the transposition the unending unitive consciousness experiences itself in the fractionating multiplicity of finite possibilities even as the totality becomes greater and greater for the experience of its endless self realized individual components as smaller and smaller levels of infinite division. for every grain of sand and solar electron and the emerging nature of dark matters spreading from the individual experience, everything is not only becoming known but like wise is knowing back, just as the electron is being understood in quantum mechanics so to is it defining itself as the conscious observer of the process. we are those electrons magnified and coalesced into the extra consciousnesses of extraordinary forces, becoming aware of the supreme force examining us even as we define ourselves.

you are the hammer

you are the hammer, everything else becomes the nail, nothing is a nail, and you are not a hammer, but since you choose to think you are, everything is what you desire. life is not about no. its all about yes. yes you are a hammer, yes I am a nail. pound to your hearts content. and fear not, nothing is lost or destroyed, only your disillusionment can grow, if the hole of a donut can be said to be everything that remains after the last bite, then you are that. the donut biting hole of its own creation expanding through reduction. the first taste is the sweetest, baby I know, the last bite is the meanest, baby I don't want to go. but the bridge of sighs is collapsing behind you and the prison of the past has given way to the gallows of the future. choose well grasshopper, for now is the time to live. I know, the crossdressing asphyxiating orgasm freak maybe chose a bit differently in the end, but the moment is everything. I cannot judge what is, only my reaction to it. and always I feel there is more than I can understand to be making judgments. but they come unbidden and I let them be, for to fight them is to only give them credence. nothing matters in the human system, we do not choose and we do not act, all is another force using these bodies and minds for their own purposes, we are merely the experiencer/observer trapped as witnesses to the birth life and death of unending profusion and plenty, emotions by the oceans full, thoughts enough to fill all empty space, but nothing is created by the forms playing out the endless machinations and dramas, no thought word or action is the free movement of an enlightened human. tragically, there is no tragedy or comedy, only eternity. starting now, what exists is truth, what doesnt exist is a lie.is this truth or just judgment. what is the source of the existence of being if I cannot understand its embedded nature in this soulless form. take no positive from the negative for what finally emerges has no relation to the pupae or the seed. man is parent to no one, each becomes the man next to discover this or die failing at it. what makes this moment special is its lack of reason and glossary, or truthfulness, for what can the actor say that changes what the playwright demands. they've come for a show and they will not be denied. Shakespeare always included a lot of swordfights and sex since that seemed to be a sure recipe for a hit, out out damned yorick, if you prick me, do I not exist? father I want to kill you, mother I want to YAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH, take me for a ride on the blue bus to the blue bus, come on babe.

love a little, die a lot, learn to know the difference