This is a sorta collage of haikus, each stanza 7-5-7 meter. It's images. It lacks complex language. It's in Kyoto, Japan. It's here to defend the idea that love is in the simple pleasures and transient moments. In case of an emergency...
Alone in Kyoto
Wind opens cherry blossoms
For the tired cuckoos
To sit on and contemplate
How it is never silent
When the cuckoo cries
As the night lights fade away
Toads whipping constellations
From the near sky with
Tongues like a grim reaper's scythe
Koi fish slurping the surface,
Swaying lily pads
For the waves that toads can surf
Water drops are all around
The rich widow’s web,
Seducing fireflies with pearls
On the grape leaf water drops
Sliding down the forks
That just lead to other forks
The leaf falls on the bonsai.
It’s a tiny tree
Next to a gigantic leaf.
August 23, 2005
August 21, 2005
Wearing caps in other angles and tapping feet to other beats
I won't make bets on who's dogma could rip the neckveins out of another dogma. It's like alphebetizing skittles. I will always defend the step back perspective though, because as a good friend told me once, WE DONT KNOW SHIT. We don't. Many of us are waiting for the jump signal, anxious to say "how high" when some irreputable fuck on an ivory tower claims to have discovered the meaning of it all. No one should indulge in all the juice of someone's personal philosophy. Some sipping is fine, but excessive mental dependence on other people's constitutions is weak sauce, multiplied by lazy. Let's be cautious when admitting word combos in our universe of acceptance. Let's take that step back, scrutinize, and then make a choice if you have to. Inspired by an observational account of bullshit, I've sketched an action item list for those who wish to be open minded or shift paradigms...
1. Sit in different areas of your apartment, house, mansion, cardboard box, whatever, and then pull out the contrast-ascope.
2. Step out of the damn self and look through the eyes of a third person. My third person's name is Fred because he speaks like the voiceover guy from The Wonder Years, Fred Savage's Jimmeney Cricket.
3. BREAK OLD HABITS. I mean this in an experimental tone. Just experiment with the mind. Do different things. Do things
differently. Eat different bell peppers. Invent food dishes. Please.....give all class of music a chance.
4. As Robert Anton Wilson explained in his documentary Maybe Logic, that it's pretty much impossible for any one person to be right, or know the truth. Because the variables of space and time, things are always changing. I can look at an apple, call it an apple, and look back at it a month later and not see an apple. I could say it's a pile of mold. I referred to the same damn thing but I called it something else, whaaa? That's right. Mindfuck in action. (Thanks Jonathan for introducing me to this think tank. ) This brings me to the next one.
5. If you think someone's crazy, copy their life exactly. Eat shit, beg for food every 15 minutes, burn your face off, watch TV most of the day, etc. Since you can't, there's no way to affirm the inference of an individual being "crazy." No one's crazy. No one's weird. If you think so, fucking prove it.
I don't mean to sponge up concepts then pawn them off as my own, but this shit's necessary. The next time you decide to go to war on account of "A is better than B", you'll be able to say "wait, what the fuck is going on here?" We need more of that, no doubt. I'm starting to think I'm a hypocrite. Gulp.
1. Sit in different areas of your apartment, house, mansion, cardboard box, whatever, and then pull out the contrast-ascope.
2. Step out of the damn self and look through the eyes of a third person. My third person's name is Fred because he speaks like the voiceover guy from The Wonder Years, Fred Savage's Jimmeney Cricket.
3. BREAK OLD HABITS. I mean this in an experimental tone. Just experiment with the mind. Do different things. Do things
differently. Eat different bell peppers. Invent food dishes. Please.....give all class of music a chance.
4. As Robert Anton Wilson explained in his documentary Maybe Logic, that it's pretty much impossible for any one person to be right, or know the truth. Because the variables of space and time, things are always changing. I can look at an apple, call it an apple, and look back at it a month later and not see an apple. I could say it's a pile of mold. I referred to the same damn thing but I called it something else, whaaa? That's right. Mindfuck in action. (Thanks Jonathan for introducing me to this think tank. ) This brings me to the next one.
5. If you think someone's crazy, copy their life exactly. Eat shit, beg for food every 15 minutes, burn your face off, watch TV most of the day, etc. Since you can't, there's no way to affirm the inference of an individual being "crazy." No one's crazy. No one's weird. If you think so, fucking prove it.
I don't mean to sponge up concepts then pawn them off as my own, but this shit's necessary. The next time you decide to go to war on account of "A is better than B", you'll be able to say "wait, what the fuck is going on here?" We need more of that, no doubt. I'm starting to think I'm a hypocrite. Gulp.
August 04, 2005
how to eradicate a comfortable conversation
I went outside to yell at some kids yelling. They were successfully cock-blocking my daily fantasy meditation session. Before I could withold their breathing with my claws, I was intercepted by the only remotely un-cracked out neighbor. I took advantage and bummed a smoke. Then outta left field, way way left, she let out this monolyth of a fart, which inspired an addition to our english language. I dub it the...
Flutter Fart
Verb
Defonition: A cathartic and unpredictable release of methane, resembling the precise sound of a drumroll crecendo.
Used in a sentence: The hot chick next door rendered the continuation of a conversation impossible due to the severe comic
relief of her flutter fart, thus instantaneously metamorphing her into the unhot chick.
Synonyms: Drum fart, putter fart, audible and aromatic non sequitur, conversation cryptonite
The 2 highlights of this incident go as described.
1. When she farted, it prolonged for the longest 4 SECONDS of her life. For shame. We were both still as rocks when it occured. It was way to funny for an outburst, so I stood still with the "I dunno what your talking about" look on my face. I always thought this gender didn't know how to fart, like it was the only male art that put the gap between males and females.
She had some damn nerve.
2. After she farted, it went unsaid that I should remedy her completely destroyed self-esteem. I actually grew some horns out of my skull and took hold of the conversation. This task was difficult because her ass cheeks were proactive as fuck and at that she had the conch. But I took it back and prolonged the conversation as long as I could because I had the advantage. Fuck yeah this was the best. She couldn't hold eye contact and couldn't hang with my topics. I zero'd in on her pupils with great marksmanship and then remembered this thing called Karma and badaboom I left. Shibby!
Flutter Fart
Verb
Defonition: A cathartic and unpredictable release of methane, resembling the precise sound of a drumroll crecendo.
Used in a sentence: The hot chick next door rendered the continuation of a conversation impossible due to the severe comic
relief of her flutter fart, thus instantaneously metamorphing her into the unhot chick.
Synonyms: Drum fart, putter fart, audible and aromatic non sequitur, conversation cryptonite
The 2 highlights of this incident go as described.
1. When she farted, it prolonged for the longest 4 SECONDS of her life. For shame. We were both still as rocks when it occured. It was way to funny for an outburst, so I stood still with the "I dunno what your talking about" look on my face. I always thought this gender didn't know how to fart, like it was the only male art that put the gap between males and females.
She had some damn nerve.
2. After she farted, it went unsaid that I should remedy her completely destroyed self-esteem. I actually grew some horns out of my skull and took hold of the conversation. This task was difficult because her ass cheeks were proactive as fuck and at that she had the conch. But I took it back and prolonged the conversation as long as I could because I had the advantage. Fuck yeah this was the best. She couldn't hold eye contact and couldn't hang with my topics. I zero'd in on her pupils with great marksmanship and then remembered this thing called Karma and badaboom I left. Shibby!
August 01, 2005
a memory scribed in permanent ink
Snapdragons floating away
I ruminate on Rumi’s thoughts
To the tempo of my heart beat
Because he writes exactly how I felt about you
Because you bailed my eyes out
Of the cell imprisoning them
From this immense beauty I’ve never seen before
Like when you played a note for me
On a broken piano in the alley
That unpopped my ear drums.
When you sold your music used
“in case of an emotional emergency”
For tampons because you were dead broke that day
Chain smoked because you said
You had chronic oral fixation syndrome
And I wasn’t around to cure it
Gave your prized snapdragons
Moral support after you watered them
Every morning you woke up
Carefully expressed your feelings to me
By how you sat on the chair
And what you played on the stereo
Put a pinch of baking soda
In your omelets to make them
Seem bigger than they really are
Thought that collar bones
Were the classiest features of the female body
And cut off all the collars on your T-shirts
Always trumped my arguments
With a solid rebuttal
That shut me up because I couldn’t top it.
I’m a fiend and you’re the fix
And I feed my addiction only with
Memories about the way you moved me.
I ruminate on Rumi’s thoughts
To the tempo of my heart beat
Because he writes exactly how I felt about you
Because you bailed my eyes out
Of the cell imprisoning them
From this immense beauty I’ve never seen before
Like when you played a note for me
On a broken piano in the alley
That unpopped my ear drums.
When you sold your music used
“in case of an emotional emergency”
For tampons because you were dead broke that day
Chain smoked because you said
You had chronic oral fixation syndrome
And I wasn’t around to cure it
Gave your prized snapdragons
Moral support after you watered them
Every morning you woke up
Carefully expressed your feelings to me
By how you sat on the chair
And what you played on the stereo
Put a pinch of baking soda
In your omelets to make them
Seem bigger than they really are
Thought that collar bones
Were the classiest features of the female body
And cut off all the collars on your T-shirts
Always trumped my arguments
With a solid rebuttal
That shut me up because I couldn’t top it.
I’m a fiend and you’re the fix
And I feed my addiction only with
Memories about the way you moved me.
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