You may ask

You may ask,
who is he?
To wit I reply
I am not.
You may ask,
From whence he comes?
To wit I reply,
From nowhere,
Everywhere.
I am as am not.
You may ask,
What sayeth you?
To wit I reply
I sayeth not.
You sayeth for me.
As always, yesterday, today,
And evermore.
It is as it was
And will continue
With me and any other
Like me.
Like you?
No, like you.

My daughter wants a tattoo.

I woke up.
My daughter wants a tattoo. Something that reads
Chicks are tuff,
Strawberries are cute, or
Fuck you.
It’s time to make a decision.
Okay, I woke up. Now what?
Sitting in this wheelchair at the top of the stairs
I heard they closed the corner tavern.
Troubles a stirring.
There’s no taking care of business
My designs were washed away
As the Etch A Sketch® was sold
During last week’s garage sale.
We were able to buy grandma's medication
But boy how I miss that toy.
Kids these days!
They grow up.
They take over and
Design the newer prosthetics
We all become so dependent on.
I remember when I only needed
A crutch.
Now it’s hovercrafts and tattoos.
But it’s nice when they ask
Can I say fuck you?

Transmagnamodified Technicolor Sensationalism

Stumbling locutions and non-confabulating copious word lexicography striving to reveal a rational juxtaposition patronizing soul-searching connectiveness and boundless inappropriate boundaries. Boundaries? Hah!

Lavender phases mixed with purple hazes; new perfumes dancing within the hues. Bi-polar elation magnifies opposing certainty. Behold the Jabberwocky for The Allure of Madness is seen in mirrors reflecting mirror images making the nonsensical sensually sane. Schizophrenic internal preoccupation lying to an altered state of consciousness. Electrified Cool Aid Acid static electricity moving the uncontrollable contorting convictions of black and white conflictions touched by gray.

Sharing and caring, jarring and marring, an archangel sending in his hoards to watch over and comfort the vulnerable, weak, and weary. The smells and the bells of dream state church attendance. Reading the missal of The Power of Now marks a New Beginning with the Buddha sitting, laughing, smiling, contradictory to the nature of suffering. Vanity of vanities, time being in the wrong place, place being in the wrong time, a dichotomous duality heeding hedonistic Epicurean delights, never a “…release from the captivity of concupiscence.”

Suspended disbelief, believe in the moment’s delusion, to live the circular nature of
Surreal discourse. Walk away, up the down staircase, swim upstream against the tide of unyielding dialogue, descend into the depths of the inferno, a Paradiso of intellectual, spiritual, emotional, and physical passion. Is Milton Right? Are we lost in “The dark decent, and up to reascend, though hard and rare”

You say not for you but for yourself. Selfish want and need needing to be needed and wanted within unrequited love. An enigmatic sooth-saying elixir said to reveal the nobility of life. A Placebo (FDA approved Rx Obecalp) that produces extroverted expectancies within the struggling soul searcher; the Shaman within. Countdown to extinction through a Catalyst not of our own doing, not of others doing, not of our control. A Catalyst for what? A change for the better, for the worse?

Fight on brave Saint Solider. Thrust thy trusty sword into the fantasized mythical dragon of passionate sinful barren hearts laid waste by a moment of honor. Infinitely caught in a blaze of the bright and the balmy effulgence of a modern day rotund Shakespearian amphitheater while circling the heavens and skirting and prancing along the event horizon. Duel on, Knight of old, Eternal Champion, canonized by the forbidden pomegranate offered to all but experienced by two within the world of lotus eaters, naysayers, and hater-ations.

William Hurt’s modified monkeyness caught within the primordial swirling why-self; a void of fulfillment and sustained awareness. A moment of profound clarity and oneness with the whole when life suddenly grabs you and you forget about yourself and just are. The Circular equation of pi where “... those who claim to discover everything, but produce no proofs of the same, may be confuted as having pretended to discover the impossible.” Since there is no squaring of the circle, since there is no end but the middle Tao, since the vision quest within the tent is but a construct, a massing of smoke-filled opulence, is the moment deluded? Is the solution solvent with the suicidal thoughts of a boy’s never ending story. A lovesick neediness poked by a needy undefined love?

Without a doubt, doubt says it all, at least No Doubt, singing a song of conviction and knowledge of certain uncertainty. Reaching inside the honey pot knowingly wanton sticking to the glow of amber chromaticity and dominated by an embodied revolutionized meta-morphed modulation. A linguistic grouping of two where so much has been said, so much can be said, and nothing else can be said. Amare me vocat. The unabridged 13 volume dramatized romance adds to the common place Romeo and Juliet lexicon through Transmagnamodified Technicolor Sensationalism.

A radiantly sublime climatic emotional oeuvre indeed.

Still

Still
It's that after sex
After a mad dash
After a days hard labor
Where you're quiet, content.
Still
Hints of a Pounding
A deep quivering thrust
Then a
heart beats last giant push
Like A
dying fish's last jump
Moving agaist the water
Lovingly
Still
It's not for not.
It's a cool sheet's touch.
It's a walk in the fog
Knowing your way
Waiting happily at the end.
Still
That low murmer
Like a babies sleeping rumble
Or a winds wrestling a rock
Or a pedals loss of color
Still
To be still and all
Presentable

Standing in front of an empty auditorium

Standing in front of an empty auditorium,
a blank movie screen,
the grand canyon,
naked, hard as a rock,
yet looking down,
nothing.
Looking out at
a blank stare of forever.

There's that quietness,
late, late at night,
that's so comforting
& coldly numb
You hear the distance racing by.
You feel a star's solar wind against your bare skin.
You close your eyes to see better and
attempt to move but
trepidation.

You've locked eyes for ten hot minutes,
wanting,
go in to kiss and
puff!
The moments gone.
Desire never happened.
You're touching that one,
soft part of the inner thigh.
Dared to move up,
asked to indulge.
When you move,
it's like corse bark
on the log left out of the fireplace.
The heat died out and
eveyones been asleep for hours.

Bucketlist advice be damned!
never waste a Boner *cough*
In a lone apartment,
with the trains rushing by,
I grab my resolve,
and I
Scream and Yell!
And I
beat at the walls,
and I
push through the door,
into,
nothing.

It might be a long,
yet likely short,
tunnel where I
and a bunch of
echoing me's
want to go running out
to escape these frigid confines.
But where's the light?
Where's the embrace of knowledge?

I loved!
I fought for the fuck!
I moved from beginning to end with
sprinkles of relationships,
smatterings of emotions,
and for what?
This baby set adrift?!
Damn the torpedo!
Wasted hardons them all.

For as I lay here.
I seek that quiet.
I wish that moments nonmoving
with a bodies emptiness,
and a hardness that's soft.
Now, to share that struggle
might just fill up an empty auditorium
and I'd see more
than nothing.

Been a long time since I Blogged and rolled. That's okay. I had lost the motivation to really add anything here. Life for me seems to move like that. Ideas come, I roll with them for a while, and then just I simply stop. The will is gone. Well, I have a reason to write again and do what I wish to do. Let's see if I do anything with it.

Ping Pong

someone close to me said, "if ping pong is an olympic sport, than foosball should be too."

well, why not?

From the movie, "The Killer Elite"

The 6 P's:

Proper planning prevents piss poor proformance.

If interested in the film, go here: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0073240/

My favorite part of "One Last Thing"

The lunatic on the street says,

"When you're born you cry and the world is happy. When you die, the world cries... and you are happy. "

What a cool way to look at things!

Cool poem I read related to the VT shootings

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die. -Mary Elizabeth Frye

4 noble truths

in consideration of the buddha's ideas and my humble ignorance, i present this interpretation of the 4 noble truths.

1. Life sucks
2. You make it suck
3. It doesn't have to suck
4. Here is how not to suck

maybe this is accurate, maybe not, but i will continue to contemplate the teachings of the buddha.

smiles!!!

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

Happy Earth Day

People will be celebrating by driving their Hummers, protesting Exxon, and eating Buffalo Burgers. No matter what, look around and enjoy. It is the world, great and small, both mine and yours. Here since the beginning and gone when it's over. Simply look within and outside yourself and enjoy what's before you here in the now. Celebrate life, yours, the life around you, and especially the life pulsating under your feet. A great green gift this third rock from the sun :-)

King Kong's meaning

yeap, one more movie remake. i heard last night from the president of the academy of oscar that what matters most in movies is the story and was mirrored by several actors. what i can't understand is why so many movies are remakes? someone said to me recently that a good story is worth telling twice. how true! however, does this formula also hold true in today's block buster mentality? is it necessary to add the latest technological "break through" to every compelling drama, action packed adventure, and spine chilling suspense? consider george lucas's additions and changes to his great epics. what was added to the story line? how was that improved? worthy questions indeed which may be of no consequence when we all frequent the latest and greatest addtion to movie fanfare.

what might be worth noting is the reaction offered up by my 7 year old daughter who never saw the original or 1st remake of the kong trilogy. she saw this scarred, brutish monster of skull island as "cute". she seemed to get the movie and its deeper meanings, if indeed there are any, when she commented on how kong's nose looked like a heart when the nostrils were fully flared. perhaps to her and anyone taking something special from the story, it doesn't matter if there are two or three versions of the story. perhaps it is the story that continues on.

question of the day

Is Curling a sport?

High School U2

Funny what I heard the other day at the high school I work in. This girl asked me if I liked U2. Saying I used to, she indicated that she too liked the band in the past yet now believes that the group particularly the lead singer is a publicity hound. She further stated that "Bono would talk to a cardboard box if he thought that it was paying attention to him." Funny! I laughed quit a bit and just had to post this jem of an observation. Cool beans!!!