You Live Your Life as if it's Real

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Tue, 31 Aug 2004 03:54:00 +0000

Wet Dream

And now that the body is sated
The mind must have its share,
Like the summery sounds of
Children and rats scurrying
Underneath the stairs,

Tween the waking and
The dreaming, where
Dreams lie down to sleep,
Dead upon the reaching
Where expectations cease,

Scuttling through the
Air where downturned
Grins turn up in frowns
Of liquid lust, I tripped
Upon the maker and
Exploded on the spot,

Like the wild call of
Humidity o’er the slick
Veneer of the plump
Lawn chair, me and
The pretty pink
Flamingos and
The feral night air,
Hanging on to
the lightning

In a gob of fisted light,
Like the edge of hungry
Semen sowing a perfect
Night like rolling beads
Of sweat, rolling towards

The basement where the
Tapes are on full blast,
Bobby and the Band
Bending out notes
On a big pink spoke,

Where the wheels of
Rage tear just like joy
underneath the wild
cacophony of each
girl and boy, hiding
under the banister

Where the sun goes to rest,
inside the sound of crickets
And children playing
Underneath the stairs,

I wandered past the wonder
Til wonder took its course,
Like a discarded toy
Who’s outrun his worth,
Wandering through the forest
With batteries running low.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Tue, 31 Aug 2004 03:47:00 +0000

Down in the Well with Murakami

Based on the Wind-up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

The cat left long ago.
The well dried too.
Now Kumiko’s gone
Behind the wall.

And I’m down in the well
with Murakami again.

Noboru Wataya has her.
Noboru Wataya is everywhere.
Noboru Wataya is on TV.
Noboro Wataya is on every screen.

This alleyway doesn’t exist.
Nor the old hanging house
Where there is no good end.
Nor the wind-up bird,
That I and only a few others can hear.

(two men dressed in black with hats
are digging in my backyard. I cannot
move. I cannot scream. I’m only 7.
Why can’t they hear the wind-up bird
that winds the world’s spring. It’s a heart.
It’s a beating heart. The short one climbed
up the tree. They’ve buried a live human heart.
I cannot scream. Why can’t they hear me scream?)

Down here the darkness is pure.
Down here I can think.
Down here I don’t question existence.
Down here, there’s only darkness.

May Kurasawa, the precocious 16 -year-old
girl from across the alleyway that doesn’t exist
is holding on to the squishy thing, the squishy
living thing that rolls away when the body stops.

Down here I do not know time,
Not the time we take for time.
Down here the stars. Down
here the light is real. Down
here the light is not some
decorative thing. The light
was so real that when it hit
Lieutenant Mamiya at the
bottom of the well, he
could no longer live in this
world; though his body
refused to die for many
years after, even after
losing several limbs
to numbness.

May is my angel.
May’s gone and taken my step ladder.
May’s taken my way out.
May’s placed the lid over the well.
May has been a very naughty angel.
May wants me to think my way out.
Or to cease thinking at all.

Several hats hang on the wall
like a prized moosehead.
Several hats that used to be
what i called me. But I am
neither me nor moose nor
taxidermist.

Creta Kano is a whore.
Creta Kano fucks me in my dreams.
Creta Kano is a psychological whore.
Creta Kano wears Kumiko’s clothes.
Kumiko is gone.

All that remains is this burning mark
on my cheek at the bottom of
a pure dark well.

The wall is squishy.
The wall is a living squishy thing.
On the other side, there’s a man
without a face.

A waiter carries a tray of Cutty Sark
whistling the tune to the Thieving Magpie.
In the lobby the well heeled gentlemen
and ladies are watching Noboru Wataya
on the screen. Noboro Wataya is an image.
Noboru Wataya doesn't exist. We cannot
help but fall under his spell.

I follow the waiter into room 207.
The waiter disappears.
A woman lies naked in the bed.
The room is thick with the smell
of pollen. Dead flowers suddenly
rise to the occasion. Thick and
sticky; though it is too dark to see.

‘You should not have come here.
You cannot be here. It is not time.
Go..before it’s too late.’

May Kurosawa knows I need her.
May Kurosawa is far away.

I’ve come for the cat.
I’ve come for Kumiko.
I’ve come for the well
That is dried up in me.
I’ve come for the squishy thing.

May Kurosawa stretches
Her naked body in the moonlight.
May Kurosawa cries real tears.
May Kurosawa’s shadow is
bigger than her small body.

May Kurosawa’s shadow cries
tears that are bigger than the body.

Only a few can hear the creak
of the wind-up bird. It’s a living
human heart. They’re burying
it in my backyard, where the
well once flowed.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Tue, 31 Aug 2004 03:39:00 +0000

Now

I need you more than the cancer cure,

I need you more than the need for eternity,
We’ve all to die someday and it’s always best in you.

I need you more than a good idea,
I need you more than the perfect turn of phrase,
I need you more than the need for hope,
I need you more than restful sleep,
I need you more than peace.

I need you more than desire,
More than my animal needs,
More than the flight of the soul,
More than the chains of the flesh,

More than the sudden epiphany
where paint and light and words
and skin combine to introduce
me to myself once again.

I need you more than the
darkness where hidden melodies
run under moss and stones,
babbling in endless brooks
in tongues I’ve yet to know,

I need you more than silence,
I need you more than belief,
I need you more than experience,
I need you now more than
I need you to go away.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sun, 14 Mar 2004 17:16:00 +0000

Top 30 Reasons to Vote Bush-Cheney in 2004

30. Rome was not built in one term.
29. 4 more wars; we know what's good for you.
28. Saddam was bad, very very bad.
27. Kill first, blame Clinton later.
26. We don’t need no education, just da Bible, da flag and da bomb.
25. Leave no crony behind!
24. Halliburton’s hiring!
23. Lying about war is a family value.
22. It’s what Jesus would do.
21. If it ain’t broke, we’ll fix that.
20. You don’t want to exercise your democratic rights now, do you?
19. Liberals will turn you into a homosexual devil worshipper.
18. Who would you rather sleep with—Ann Coulter or Hilary?
17. Help us free the world, one illegal invasion at a time.
16. Don’t have no healthcare—move to Canada or Russia.
15. We need a man who can act—not think!
14. We love diplomacy—unless the country can’t defend itself and big money is involved.
13. Orwell was wrong—by about 20 years.
12. Cause even your brother might be a terrist.
11. A vote for Kerry is a vote for Bush—we’ll see to that.
10. Peace is for pussies.
9. Evolution is not part of our plan.
8. The rule of law, the Geneva Convention--that's so Old Europe.
7. Care about the environment--hug a tree.
6. Get rid of liberals forever, support the Patriot Act.
5. Admit it; we offer the best entertainment value.
4. Be skeered; be very skeered.
3. Better halftime shows, we promise!
2. Why settle for 1 boob, when you can have two.
1. What? You wanna go back to reality?

(A collaboration with Bruce P)

I just found this: these are better, from Skreed

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sun, 14 Mar 2004 17:10:00 +0000

Westwood Housewives Riot, Martha Flees...

Upon hearing the news of the Martha Stewart verdict, indignant rich white housewives started the worst riot ever known to L.A. In posh restaurants all over Westwood, the ladies protested the injustice of it all by using the wrong forks, putting their elbows on tables, blowing their noses loudly into napkins, which they refused to keep in their laps, rolling their eyes repeatedly at the waiter and making him repeat, ordering cheap red wine with filet of sole, and vowing to wear white after Labor Day. However, this was all nothing compared to the shot heard all over the world, when all the ladies let out one huge orchestrated fart, whose effect could be felt some 50 miles in all directions from the epicenter. Some were so upset that they even put together and wore a hodgepodge of clashing colors from last year's fashions.

One lady went out screaming into the roadway: "It's not fair! It's not fair! Everybody does it! Even the President! CEO's run off with the company's money and nothing happens! Martha saves a mere $50,000 and she goes to jail! Even the President did it! Where is the justice?'

At this point, she grabs a well-dressed white male out of his German SUV and starts slapping him down, until he cries 'Mercy!' and she whips out one of her breasts, to which he hands her her card, and says "Hmm..Looks like Dr. Eberstein's work. I can fix that.'

Meanwhile, Martha Stewart herself is fleeing the police slowly in a White Bronco and apparently getting legal advice from someone on the passenger side.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sun, 14 Mar 2004 17:05:00 +0000

Oh those Wacky Georgians!

Superintendent of Georgia schools and Republican, Kathy Cox, has decided to nix her idea of banning the word evolution from Georgia textbooks and changing it to 'biological changes over time.' Other words she is still considering changing include:

Genocide: this word will be changed to 'sudden biological changes over a relatively short period of time by morally superior liberators.'

Sharing: changed to 'the distribution of wealth, goods, and workers amongst other God-fearing rich Christians over time.'

Islam: will be changed to Christianity over time.

Masturbation: will be changed to 'an evil act which will cause biological changes such as blindness over time; temptation is strongest before marriage; and often appears after marriage over time.'

Sex: will be changed to 'an unholy act outside of marriage, made holy only by married couples for the sole purpose of procreation, after which it is hardly necessary or desirable.'

Marriage: 'a sacred union between men and women only for the purpose of social order, procreation; the holiness of which can be dissolved through mental and or biological changes over time.'

Evil: 'any non-Christian, non-Bible thumper, non-American flag waver, non-profit generating slackers, church and state separators, which cannot be converted but can be minimized through righteous bombings or extreme sanctions, such as through the burning of cds, books, and other holy measures.'

Slavery: changed to 'an imaginary state that never existed, an evil concept that was created by communists, liberals and other Evil doers as an excuse for underachieving.

Education: The works of Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity, William Safire, Ayn Rand, Jesus (excluding that stuff about usury and rich people getting into heaven) the bylaws of the Corporation etc. and the Bible, excluding the parts about women as second class citizens and thou shall not kill.

Persecution: What happens to God-fearing Christians by non-believing Church and State Separators, and the liberal educators and media.

American Values: see Education.

Heroes: Those who make lots of money and those who give their lives for America, the Corporation and the spread of true Christianity.

Charity: 'Tax breaks; not to be confused with socialist programs.'

Government: 'An entity that shall promote Family Values all over the globe, which requires a huge military, a non-questioning media and breaks for the rich.'

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sun, 14 Mar 2004 17:01:00 +0000

Bush Agrees to Intelligence Probe

With mounting pressure from Republicans and Democrats alike, President Bush has agreed to an intelligence probe.

Bush: How long do I have to wear this stupid head thing?

Rove: At least til after the election, Mr. President.

Bush: Can I at least wear the flight suit again?

Rove: We'll see, Mr. President.

Bush: This is ridiculous. I have it. It's in there.

Rove: Yes, I know, Mr. President. But we've got to be cautious in an election year.

Bush: I do have it, don't I, Karl?

Rove: Yes, Mr. President. You have it in spades.

Bush: Dick Cheney says I have it.

Rove: Yes. Dick Cheney is a wise man.

Bush: Tony Blair says I have it.

Rove: Yes, Tony Blair is a wise man.

Bush: Colin Powell says I have it.

Rove: Yes, Colin Powell is a wise man.

Bush: Donald Rumsfeld says he thinks I have it. He knows i have it. He knows he thinks i have it.

Rove: Donald Rumsfeld is a sage and a poet.

Bush: Fox News thinks I have it.

Rove: Fox News is a superior news source.

Bush: Saddam Hussein was a bad dude.

Rove: A very bad dude, Mr. President.

Bush: So what's the problem? Can't we just ignore it?

Rove: No, Mr. President. But we can delay it.

Bush: Can't we just blame it on Clinton?

Rove: We'll see, Mr. President.

Bush: Will we find the WMD, Karl? Like Cheney said we would.

Rove: We gotta keep looking, Mr. President. Just hold still.

Bush: They're there somewhere.

Rove: Yes, Mr. President. Just hold still, while we keep looking.

Bush: You got something big planned, Karl?

Rove: Oh, yes, Mr. President, you just hold still.

Bush: That Howard Dean is an angry man.

Rove: Yes, Mr. President. Very angry.

Bush: That doesn't look good, Karl.

Rove: No, very bad. You've got to be calm and controlled when you are the leader of the world's largest military.

Bush: Yes, it doesn't look good to be angry. One must fight the axis of evil with a smiling face.

Rove: Yes, Mr. President.

Bush: That Wesley Clark. He hangs out with that um...Michael..what's his name...Michael something...

Rove: Michael Moore, Mr. President.

Bush: That's not good.

Rove: No, he doesn't have a chance.

Bush: Is that Michael guy still doing that movie about me and the Bin Ladens?

Rove: Yes, Mr. President.

Bush: You'll take care of that, won't you?

Rove: Yes, Mr. President.

Bush: Like you took care of O'Neill.

Rove: Yes, we'll take care of it.

Bush: And that John Kerry. He takes Botox and has 200 dollar hair cuts.

Rove: Yes, he's a wimp, Mr. President.

Bush: You'll take care of him then.

Rove: Oh yes. He's a cream puff.

Bush: Saddam Hussein was a bad man.

Rove: Very bad.

Bush: So what's the problem?

Rove: It's an election year, Mr. President.

Bush: Right. And you've got something big planned, right, Karl?

Rove: Yes, Mr. President. We've got fear and God on our side.

Bush: This too shall pass.

Rove: Yes, Mr. President.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Tue, 19 Aug 2003 02:39:00 +0000

I've Moved

here.
Please change the link to http://raysweatman.typepad.com/youliveyourlife/.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 16 Aug 2003 18:05:00 +0000

Supporting the Troops (An Open Letter to the Far Right)

Supporting the troops is a far greater, more complex concept than merely waving the flag and blindly trusting the government. If there is to be any honor at all, it cannot be based on lies. Why is this so hard for the far right to understand?

The government has to earn trust everyday (be it in democratic or republican hands). Simple knee-jerk patriotism is not real patriotism at all and is far more akin to the rise of fascism than what our forefathers intended. Our very foundation is based on not allowing the government to have too much power. Why is it when it comes to taxes and social programs the far right understands this, but when it comes to war, they do not?

Dissent (and an unafraid, uncontrolled media) and a healthy probing into the motives of those who supposedly represent us are cornerstones of what it means to be an American, the very things that give us honor, the very things our soldiers died for in WWII...how ironic, then, that today as we pretend to be the arbiters of freedom in other parts of the world, our very freedoms are slowly being taken away from us...or have you forgotten?

When the military becomes a pawn for the expansion of corporations under the guise of 'liberation' (which of course was the last 'reason' used for taking over Iraq, after playing the fear card with trumped up charges and false connections—not to mention that they had a plan to attack Iraq directly after 9-11), our forefathers must be rolling over in their graves. But, if we sit back and do nothing or blindly aid and abet, then it is we who are dead—dead souls, at best sleepwalking on twisted roads of delusion and self-grandeur; at worst, morphing into some new kind of murderous, ignorant beast that hardly resembles the American that our forefathers envisaged.

You'd think we would've learned from Vietnam. As undersecretary to both Kennedy and Johnson, George Ball predicted as early as 1961 that there would be ‘tragic consequences’ if we escalated the war in Vietnam. Well, they didn’t listen then and they’re not listening now. Perhaps they never will.

And while the analogy to Vietnam is not exact, it does hold some general truths. Is this really the correct course of action? Is the government always right? Is the world really a safer place? Are we not just creating many more bin ladens in our rampant, random, lawless, vigilante attempts at ‘justice.’ How many have to die before it’s over? Is genocide the answer (as Kissinger had hoped when we were busy arming the Iraqis with WMD, as the use of depleted uranium could indicate, as the lust for more blood continues to grow)? Will it kill an idea?

With power comes responsibility. A responsibility to return to the rule of law. Is it too late to become civilized? Is it too late to lead by example?

Yes, support the troops. Support the innocent. Restore honor to the military. Bring them home and restore their only purpose--to protect and defend the country.

I’m not so naïve to believe that the military is not needed. Why should you be so naïve as to think that there are no ulterior motives for its use?

War is never to be taken lightly and there better be damn good reasons for it. Otherwise, there is no honor at all—only killers and victims, spurious slogans and the law of the jungle.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 16 Aug 2003 15:57:00 +0000

What FDR Knew, What We Don't

The Night the Lights Went Out. It's raining all over the world.

Greg Palast Exposes the Truth Behind the Holy Myth of Privatization.

Or as Bruce calls it: The Dark Ages of Deregulation

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sun, 10 Aug 2003 02:16:00 +0000

"Oh My God, What a Stud*"

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Not recommended for Those of the Age Where They Can Discern Reality From Fiction

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'Shit,anyone can be President. I told ya that a long time ago.' Billy Carter

*As propagated on the Neal Boortz radio show

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Fri, 08 Aug 2003 19:18:00 +0000

Duemer Treats Us

to a lovely section from Magical Thinking

...the valley. In the
bible only the
holiest men
are taken up into
heaven without
dying & that
is the feeling of
such sleep near the ocean....

More

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Thu, 07 Aug 2003 03:13:00 +0000

Legacy

It’s 100 degrees in London
75 in the deep south,
a pink jane fonda rides
nakedly on a black steed
through the wild bonfire
where a nude brigitte bardot
is tied to a white table
a sober young man
drunken with power
takes out his scalpel
and begins to carve her
while the rest of us
watch and do nothing
in awe and admiration.

Fellini hangs from our ears
like the first Russian joke
ancient Spanish tricksters
tomando mi pelo, hairy
Shakespearean fools hang
from overgrown pants legs
da da da duh doo doo
Let the rivers of the unconscious
wash over: either to
cleanse or to drown us
A man chases his double
til he finally does himself in.

Kilgore was here alright
Coppola and Conrad before him;
Say what you will about the
American psyche; but no one
knows why King Lear went mad;
Bill never let on; Cordelia
left to faithfully carry on.
The spirit of jazz, rock n roll,
the last spasms of the soul
are brought to trial for
attempting the impossible;
Louis, Andre and Wally
arrested for treason.

In the days of Shakespeare,
The fool was the wiseman
who kept the King in check;
Now it seems the fool is merely
The president and wisdom
can’t be marketed.
Jung recommends ancient alchemy
As a way to reclaim the modern soul
The stone sinks like dead philosophy
To the bottom of the ocean.

The lynch mob raises its torches
searching the high desert for the
Frankenstein of its own making
Lynchers and lynchees and the innocent
All come down with some mysterious illness;
But is it all that mysterious?
How many have to die for the world
to become one big corporation,
remnants of the soul left to
beg by the side of the road.

Now I know Eleanor Roosevelt
Couldn’t really fly
But why can’t we have
A leader of the people
Kucinich and Willie
Surely could save us;
Some say we need a woman
A return to some mythical
Matriarchal paradise—
Angel flying too close to the ground.

But is it really gender
Or the nature of power
What’s so funny about Paz,
Amor and understanding;
Paz is a dustmite
that neither comes nor goes
circling around Time
till he becomes a pause.
What can we do?
Bukowski asks.
One last chance
at Romance in Durango?
Nothing. No one escapes.
Unpoetically the poet
answers himself

Between Paz and Bukowski
Young Eleanor writes her first story
Without the aid of the alphabet;
Love was not good to me
Nor I for love; but perhaps
Being childless is not so bad
When I think of the legacy—

Who knows what Yeatsian mammal
Might emerge from the desert waste
Dictators come and go;
Empires too; and perhaps
In this heart of darkness
And the quest for eternity
Depleted uranium, radioactive
dominance was the best we could do.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 02 Aug 2003 23:49:00 +0000

THE APOSTLES CREED

by Susan at Suburban Guerrilla

I believe the Republican party is good for business,
and what's good for business is good for America.
I believe a rising tide lifts all boats.

I believe the free market is the source of all good,
I believe those who would restrain it in any way do the Devil's work.

I believe the Republican Party is God's Party.
I believe it is the bedrock of morality, stability and family values.

I believe the world is a better place when the Republicans
control the White House, both houses of Congress, and the press.

Forever and ever, amen.

Follow the yellow brick links at: The Apostles Creed

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Wed, 30 Jul 2003 03:46:00 +0000

Alignment

Floating in the glow, he sees
Neither hand nor vein nor leaf
Nor the patternless pattern in all things
In the hour of the firefly there is no need

In the hour of alienation, he’s alienated even from himself
His humanity the shadows he takes for something else
Picasso broke it into pieces of perfect blue geometry
Hung it on the wall where Pollack threw his spaghetti
Searching for the connections, he chiseled away at essence
Some say randomness is all; humanity a lost canvas.

Neither hand nor vein nor leaf

In the hour of the firefly there is no hour at all
In the hourless hour he floats in the glow
There is a pattern, there is a leaf
Flight fire and he unseparated by belief;
Flying in the fire he floats on the glow
Til his mother calls him home
He eats til he’s sated; drinks til there is no thirst
Knows no separation til he learns the word for dusk.

Nor the patternless pattern in all things

In the hour of darkness, hours pose as real
Little hands scream out murderous and shrill
he huddles in the corner, closes all the doors
hides from the fear emerging from the woodwork
he huddles in the corner, closes all the doors
Learns of mountains and men and faith
And that what he believes will be his fate.
He huddles in the corner, closes all the doors
Til he learns that what he believes doesn’t matter.

In the hour of the firefly there is no need.

In the hour of the sun, he gives names to everything;
Constructs and destroys in his own image.
Falls in love with power and absolute science
Turns the jungle to concrete, roars from the skies
Til he realizes this too is one more lie.

Floating in the glow, he sees

In the hour of the moon, he seeks to parse the reflection from his true self
Tries to unpart the waters of the opposites, peer behind the veil
Tries to overcome instinct and find the one source
Til he realizes the very act of seeking is why he’s off course;

Neither hand nor vein nor leaf

In the hour of alignment, a leaf hangs like beauty in the wind
Against the tide of indifference, he stops dogpaddlin’
The leafy moon it flows like Time suspended in his veins
There is a pattern a hand a leaf
There is a patternless pattern in all things.

Nor the patternless pattern in all things

In the hour of the firefly there is no hour at all
In the hourless hour he floats in the glow
Floating in the glow, he sees
Neither hand nor vein nor leaf
Nor the patternless pattern in all things
In the hour of the firefly there is no need.

In the hour of the firefly there is no need.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 26 Jul 2003 03:16:00 +0000

Yippee!!!

High Water Becomes The River

And the River becomes us all.

'In Hollywood, adversity is your Beemer in the shop....'

Welcome back, buddy...

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 26 Jul 2003 03:05:00 +0000

Still Contemplating This

from Whiskey River and Hermann Hesse

"In my writings people often miss the customary respect for reality, and when I paint, the trees have faces and the houses laugh or dance or weep, but whether the tree is a pear or a chestnut, that for the most part cannot be determined. I must accept this reproach. I admit that my own life frequently appears exactly like a legend. I often see and feel the outer world connected and in harmony with my inner world in a way I can only call magical."

And from Siddhartha:

"Siddhartha learned something new at every step along his path, for the world was transformed, and his heart was enchanted. He saw the sun rising over the wooded mountains and setting over the distant palm-lined shore. At night, he saw the stars arranged in the sky and the crescent moon drifting like a boat in the blue. He saw trees, stars, animals, clouds, rainbows, rocks, herbs, flowers, brooks, and rivers, dew glittering on the morning bushes, high and distant mountains blue and wan, birds sang and bees, wind wafted silvery in the rice paddy. All this, myriad and motley, had existed always; sun and moon had been shining always, rivers rushing and bees humming always. But in earlier times all this had been nothing but a fleeting and deceptive veil in front of Siddhartha's eyes, distrusted, destined to be pierced by thought and destroyed, since it was not reality, since reality lay beyond the visible. But now his liberated eyes remained on this side, he saw and acknowledged visibility, he sought his home in this world, did not seek reality, did not aim at any beyond. Beautiful was the world if you contemplated it like this, with no seeking, so simple, so childlike. Beautiful were the moon and stars, beautiful were brook and bank, forest and rock, goat and rose beetle, flower and butterfly. It was beautiful and delightful to go through the world like this, so childlike, so awake, so open to what was near, so without distrust. The sun burned his head differently, the forest shade cooled him differently, brook and cistern tasted differently, as did pumpkin and banana. Short were the days, short the nights, every hour flew by swiftly like a sail across the sea, under the sail a ship full of treasures, full of joys.

All this had always existed, and he had never seen it, he had never been present. Now he was there, he belonged to it. Light and shadow ran through his eyes, star and moon ran through his heart."
- Hermann Hesse

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 26 Jul 2003 02:38:00 +0000

Paynter Wrangles Him a Coyote

Or does he?

Excerpted from Sandhill Trek Presents...the Avuncular Chris Locke

'....There is more to do with the mouth than get word out. We can take each other in. Of course blogs. The latest come-on. Since I've already invoked Their Satanic Majesties: we all need someone we can bleed on. The one true aphrodisiac is the heart undone. Unprotected, unbounded, unbidden. Unless and until we become afraid of what we are. Which is what we don't know. And the pretense of knowing refuses love. Denies it. Destroys what is most precious in this life. What is this life. The unconscious is not an idea, a concept. It's an ocean on which our lives float and ride. Unknown and unknowable. This calls for the deepest respect. Calls to something that responds to voice, the resonance and mystery of each other. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. That's how I get the word out. Read me, be me. Cross my threshold...'

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Sat, 19 Jul 2003 23:24:00 +0000

Do not give in to the soul

Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.
Take no heed of the indecipherable script on his unread sign
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Will work for love I thought it had said so
But the mind it wills what it will to survive
Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.

Hungry and tattered he begs to be exposed
The buildings, the houses, the skin he’d rip open wide
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Insatiable as the dream of life, to all that we do he’s opposed
Feeding him would only be the breeding of more insatiable sighs
Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.

Let the sun rage down, let the murderous elements take hold
Let the ancient apparition know there’s nowhere for him to reside
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

Everyday people with everyday woes go where everyone goes
His is a cross to the everyday mind crossing this with that every time
Do not give in to the soul, he’s but a beggar by the side of the road.
Turn turn away and to work go, everyday people have everyday loads.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Thu, 17 Jul 2003 20:59:00 +0000

Man Alone

Great News

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Thu, 17 Jul 2003 20:56:00 +0000

A Woman, A Big Truck and The Wind

That's Right, You're Not From Texas, But Texas Wants You Anyway

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Thu, 17 Jul 2003 20:50:00 +0000

Mother and Son

Now That Would Be More of a Tragedy Really

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Thu, 17 Jul 2003 19:47:00 +0000

Hunting for Bambi

Men, are you tired of denying your manly selves?

Are you tired of being sent off to kill people so somebody else can profit?

Are you tired of always having to talk about ‘the relationship’?

Are you tired of trying to get in touch with your feelings?

Are you tired of having to just hold her rather than trying to fix the problem?

Are you tired of having to help out with the kids and the housework?

Are you tired of not being able to hang out with the guys?

Are you tired of having the channel changed during the best part of the game?

Are you tired of going to Men’s Retreats to recall what is to be a man?

Are you tired of having to shave your bodily hair?

Are you tired of penis extensions, penis reductions and penis substitutes?

Are you tired of being blamed for all the ills of the world?

Are you tired of women wanting equal pay for equal work?

Are you tired of having no significant role left to play in modern society?

Are you tired of being sued for Sexual Harrassment because of bad lines?

Are you tired of beating on your chest and yelling Jane when there are no Janes left in the jungle?

Are you tired of having to constantly create Romantic scenarios?

Are you tired of all those popup ads on pornography sites?

Are you tired of the high price of hookers?

Are you bored with hunting down deer and exotic birds?

Women, are you tired of bringing home the bacon, using your brains, crawling across cut glass to make the big deal, having children and raising them too, trying to explain your needs to a man, sextoys, sleeping and/or dancing, flirting your way to the top and artificial insemination?

Then this might be for you:

Hunting for Bambi in Las Vegas.

Pay 10,000 and shoot wild screaming naked women with paintballs.

Women or should I say girlsreceive 2,500 for avoiding paint pellets and 1,000 if you get hit. Medical insurance is not included. Raises are possible when it is turned into a Reality TV show.

There is an extra fee for shooting above the waist. Maiming and inflicting serious bodily harm is much much extra. See Cochran, Bailey, Scheck, Dershowitz and Shapiro.

Have fun.

found at Burningbird

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Thu, 17 Jul 2003 19:42:00 +0000

Urban Legend

Folks, this is absolutely not true. Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein are not hanging out on the beaches of Los Angeles recruiting senior citizens over the age of 85 to do a few errands for them. No matter what George Bush and Tony Blair say. The French did not have anything to do with it. The CIA has not confirmed, denied and then taken the blame for it. This is a mere urban legend.

noreply@blogger.com (rays) — Mon, 14 Jul 2003 04:14:00 +0000

You Live Your Life as if it's Real Turns One

After over 60 poems, countless parodies and God knows what else, You Live Your Life finally turns one.
Thanks to everyone for stopping by. Here's a few oldies but goodies, i hope: one of my first feetwetting posts and the first Streams of Bloggishness.

Overheard at Self-Loathers Anonymous

And the man at the podium asked:

Does life seem brutish, nasty and short?

(Swift? Hobbes? Calvin? Calvin and Hobbes? I wondered from the last pew)
And somewhere out of the ether that infernal voice, that infernal music blew.

The ceremony was on.

And Waits fell off his piano stool on late night TV.
And Letterman said something about not being in Kansas.
And Waits clicked his heels. He clicked and he clicked.
Shaffer smiled. And they mercifully cut away.

And the sound of desperation grew louder and louder.
And 12 infernal midgets with green tongues started banging.
And Waits started singing.
And we all started banging, all of us, gathering round
for the music had started.
And Waits sang.
And we all beat out the rhythm on our very own tin garbage lids.

Bang. Bang. Bang.
And Waits sang.

Well, the moon is broken
and the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
the only things you can see
is all that you lack
all you're crying dont do no good.
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house
The world is not my home
I'm just a passing thru.

And there on the front row.
Bukowski turned to Kafka and asked him if he had a roach.
Kafka said Fuck you. Bukowski said Fuck me.
The cockroach smiled. For he was not waiting.
What are we waiting for? Bukowski asked.
I dont know why we were there. I certainly don't know why we're here.
I told you. We have to wait. Kafka replied.
Well, at least i felt.
I felt, Kafka muttered.
Guilty, Bukowski snorted.
At least I wasn't false, Kafka retorted.

And still we banged on.
And Waits sang.

You got to Come on Up to the House.
And we banged.
Come on Up to the House.
And we banged and we banged.

Does life seem nasty, brutish and short?
The seas are stormy and you can't find no port.
There's nothing in the world that you can do.
And you've been whipped by the forces that are inside of you.
And you're high on top of your mountain of woe.
And you know you should surrender
but you can't let it go.
You gotta come on up to the house.

And then all the banging stopped.

And for a moment, i think i rose.

Bukowski said At least the music's good.
Kafka sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered something about that infernal American music.
The cockroach smiled.

And I wondered about my own coffin.
And whether or not i might sleep tonight.

Streams of Bloggishness (Mow Naked)

beginning and rebeginning, flashing up and into nothing, blue fire flickers the millennial tree exploding in blue fire while the flame of time licks lips to speaking of that which was, is, and will always be James Brown! Like our bodies, our feelings are also controlled by the robot, running on automatic pilot Mow naked! Sure enough. The split comes, and that motherfucker is going west. We've made the split, that Honda has just about cut me off someday i'll be a good little girl with a plastic smile, i promise, golly gee shucks! and i'll turn off the dark parts of my brain and i won't think and i won't think. and i won't cry over thinkful things but just broken nails and sad puppies and i won't think and i won't think.Mow Naked! Same old script, same old cast of characters; familiar, swarthy, moustachioed bad guy; simple, all American, cowboy, good guy; show down; high noon; staring each other down in the heat of the desert... In our own way, we are all tilting at windmills One hopes it's the president of course, though I've heard strong minority voices for Condi Rice, Rumsfeld, and Cheney. Whoever it is, I think they've confirmed my belief that the Administration has managed this crisis like a virtuoso. The Red Wine Negation Café. When I get my farm, I want to throw wild parties where we will run around naked and listen to James Brown and sit in unladylike positions while we drink our beer on the front porch at all hours. And Mow Naked! War is peacefreedom is slaveryignorance is strength what is happening in the world is a projection of what is happening inside each one of us; what we are, the world is. Connection reaches in and changes us. It picks us up and moves us – just like the music – to someplace we didn’t expect to be. And there we are. But where do the children play? If you wanna kill Rushdie, kill Rushdie. Poor Cat. Fuckin’ Coyote. Our minds contain a vast unused library of thoughts and ideas Sometimes when I look back I still see the severed head.. I think that everyone in Tie Rack ought to apply to the UK for political asylum, on the well justified grounds that they're probably going to get bombed. I think we might see a shift in Mr Blair's stance then. 'You want to bomb Tie Rack? But, George, it's a shop that sells ties!' 'That's what they want you to think, Tony'...No, you can't kill the devil with a gun or a sword. Our grief is not a cry for war. Mow naked! We accept the universe around us as stable and normal, when there is immense mystery and complexity and reality hidden from us by ignorance and habit. I don’t see heaven or saints or angels. I see people cashing in on every decent moral impulse and every human tragedy. Our moral authority comes not only from our conscience but from our actions. In our own way, we are all tilting at windmills... Do you think they have a big board on the wall in Seattle that lights up… and will George C. Scott be able to ward them off? Why settle for skyscrapers when you can have sky, shorts and a tee, when you can mow naked? Ithaca is traversed by waves, there is no place of safety to which Ulysses, each of us, any of us, might return to the source of the sirens’ song. Shhh, here she comes with her damn milking machine. Blue millennial flickers. Although I am a true believer in the power of the mind, today will not require its magic.

Words and quotes taken from:

Wood s lot,Mike Golby,Tracy 'Mow Naked' Swank,Whiskey River,Tom Bolton,Miranda,Human B Leever,George Partington, Frank Paynter, The Happy Tutor,David Lyttle,Pilgrim at Enthusiasm,Gary Turner,Loren Webster,Mike Porter,Tish, Jane Gault, Chris Locke,Rose McMahon