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Friday, December 31, 2010

Mind full of residence (2)

part two:

small deaths of the mind

Below the horizon of recognition’s

outward declaration

are the internal foibles.

They represent the small deaths

of a custodial mind at work;

the exclusive harnessing

of sensory input

as clues towards

recently stored events

actively repeating themselves

with a front-page type

of attention and concern,

the voracious appetite

for identification in rapid fashion

as if speed were

the only justification needed,

the billboard of knowingness

and the broadcast position

of the host,

the entitlement to the epicenter

of the stage,

the momentum

of constant perusal to find,

the endless solicitation

of agreement’s position,

the ongoings

of the interpreter status

with confidence,

driven by the disingenuous fetish

of re-creating blessed moments

out of now,

and an operatic nature

for conclusiveness

followed by

an etched-in-stone type

of judgment style

that says internally to oneself,

“you have fooled me once,

but not any more,”

in a kind of blade dulling suspicion

that only enlarges the blind spot

covering all

potent irrational energetic reasons

for living.

As if comparison’s method

never ceases to revive

a hapless past

with disappointment’s pledge

to continue the search

of replication without end.

It is a wonder

that an original moment

actually ever occurred

in a custodial mind

as a consciousness environment.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

bus stop (haiku)

children pouring out

of the home-bound school bus stop

right in front of you

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Mind full of residence (1)

part one:

the retentive mind as dis-ease

The disease of a retentive mind

is a process disease.

It is a dis-ease of itself

that comes from intentional efforts

and therefore results in a style

that retentive mind comes to accept

as standard stressful process.

It requires an indelible memory.

It asks for observational skills

in full operation.

It functions

just short of a nostalgic memory

and can respond to recall efforts

on demand.

Besides all the visual input

dedicated to memory,

there are these inner voices

that assert side comments

and notational quips,

addressing peripheral events

with immediacy

in a sort of internal code.

Of course,

there is the failsafe storage

of facts from conditioning

of all kinds

and a veritable tool chest

of common sense responses

stockpiled for imminent reactive usage.

Along with this repertoire

of appropriately clipped answers

to short term memory

in recall situations among friends,

there are the fatal flaws

featured by recognition;

quick observation and surmise,

interpretation towards immediacy

and certitude

as subsequently being the first

to verbally response,

the words and phrases of summary,

the monotone of thoroughness,

the cadence of finality,

the delivery of a final say,

the short fall of dismissed deduction,

the gloss of curiosity

wasted on cynical discharge,

the resounding bellow

that measures for the space

of an ear shot distance

and the surveying glance

to meet all the potential eyes

who have been verbally addressed

and the final stamp

of recognition’s approval

which is the triumphant rant

as consensually celebrated approval

by the grand collective applause

of silence from everyone

in situational attendance.

After all,

recognition is

from its onset to its final cord,

a conclusion process

and the retentive mind is home

to many assumptions and

hidden agendas carried forward

as baggage for life

and the makings and fixings

that go unnoticed

until they appear as disease

and surprisingly so.

Each of us is so absently creative

beyond the call

yet bound by these effects

and then to discover . . .

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

bubbles (haiku)

see the dazzling swirls

bright colors on the surface

soapy bubbles soar

Monday, December 27, 2010

sacred rape

Every conjugal relationship

that is sweet still

has sacred rape.

Behind the behavior,

beneath the appearances,

unannounced by voice or action,

there are images, fantasies,

and intentions

that represent self-isolation

in the subtle objectification

of the other person.

Androgyny, in timelessness,

is not always the full measure

of what is taken

from what is offered.

However the exchange,

there are levels

of conscious involvement

that desperately speak

the language of isolation.

Even the notion of gratification

as a just reward

takes positions

of self-pronouncement.

However grand the experience,

there are

unacknowledged motivations

and secret intentions

directing this account

well beyond the chemistry

and the fluids

and the hormones

and the physicality.

There are other facets at work,

other elements

that conjure and redirect

each second by second

of the mind’s eye account.

We metaphorically

only know of the heads

on the glaciers

in the dimness

of internally altered states

as it were to speak for

the essential truth

of what is occurring.

Where it is timeless,

however short those interludes,

we speak of very little

beyond the experiential depictions

in summary of what happened.

Ultimately, it may be the nature

of subjectivity

that decries every act of intercourse

from a separate singular point of view.

No one

within normal cultural persuasion

escapes this subjective rendering.

It seems to register

among the highlights

of each person’s individual

emotional life experiences

and yet technically, by all accounts,

there are some if not most

of the red flags associated with rape

that pass as this process without notice.

Is it then that rape

is not the party of the action

as much as it is

the party of the reaction

that brings the frame

of society’s inquiry

as to what has happened?

There then is the introduction

of all of the gross frames of reference

as society’s way

of ineptly accounting for a world

it has no entry into directly.

It there by has invented

a set of labored techniques

to render by gross depiction,

label by act,

judge by declared motive a physicality

that is really an end result

to a long and hidden line

of “psyche to psyche” acting out

of the subtlety of life’s traumas,

primal drives, vibes, and otherwise

personally interpreted

private emotional circumstances.

Where is there not the living

from sacred rape?

From our first coupled act

to the deepest physical expression

of love, we eventually share

with another as sexual,

where has the edginess of insularity

given way to a “oneness of beings”?

Is this “oneness of beings”

forever a time-honored contradiction

surely in the minds

if not the hearts

of all of us?

Sunday, December 26, 2010

breathing (haiku)

breathing is applause

permission of consciousness

slowly will follow

Saturday, December 25, 2010

2 in a nutshell

We are chalkings

on a blackboard

then soon to dust.

We are a constellation

for the other

to compel us along.

We are secret acquiescence

into an unpronounced tantra.

We have drunk the other’s nectar

with unquenchable thirst.

Nothing about us

is perfectly clear.

Many lessons come about

from expectation’s curses.

We scratch

each other’s nervous system

without relief.

Often exquisite pain

from the other’s slightest of insults

collectively chorus

to a shared flashpoint.

We have argued

like few mountains to the wind.

We were emotional

more than karma

could have restrained us.

Neither of us

is fooled by rational thought.

We have cried

but never so deeply

as to shut either one of us up

or shut us down.

At times, we make no sense

to be with each other

and it is transformational.

We are passioned

as permissioned

but in deep disguise.

The scale of transformation,

no matter for the movement,

is the compliment ever forward.

Engagingly grateful is a perceptive

gained from the other.

Maybe timely exists is

as an attribute for both of us.

Sympathetic tones in our voices

become methods of shared touch

as we emotionally become present

for each other.

We are pursuant
for the I.V. of the other.

We are the calm beyond chaos,

before any measure’s call.

It is all for

the effortless expansiveness,

that potential wake-up we have

at next moment’s dawn.

That’s two in a nutshell,

if I have to tell all.

Friday, December 24, 2010

boredom (haiku)

with eyes, sight-tracing

a large paper bag‘s fold lines,

boredom driven task

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Opiates (given to cancer patient)

This first part was written to me

as an initial response . . .


how anticlimactic

pumping through my system

a patch and a pill sooth me

and pull me away

but instead

it was more of the same only dull

back from the land of similarity

coming into a landing on terra cognita

full of the known sorrow

and the requisite longing of joy

my response . . .

check your backpack

at the door of perception

leave your hiking boots in plain sight . .

resting from themselves

walk the walk that has no past

you are not becoming a guide

for a sold-out self-tour

this is not the land

of pity and disappointment

there will be no postcards

to dash off to close friends

this land does not feature

sorrow’s valley

nor does it explore

the joys of lofty peaks

instead invite yourself

into the engine think room

you know the editors,

the reporters, and the shtick

they gab, they all have a beat

. . . on you and as you

but whom do they work for?

(this is as bleak about OZ

as can be)

here in the projection room

and the wee pity-me is in charge

“gees, who hired that wimp as me?”

is your response

She/he is on the cell phone

in a sober serious manner

tap that call

and who’d she/he be talking with?

She/he must be really pissed,

yakking a mile a minute

shit, it’s her.

Miss emotional persuasion of all time

well, not really,

but all of your time for sure

you were born Siamese sort of,

the other being? that’s her

the surgery was claimed successful

she supposedly died

during the separation operation

Ah, but we’ve come to know better

she miraculously survived

under a cloak and whisper

as the grand dame

of emotional self splendor

not every one

has one of these phantoms built in

obviously you didn’t get the manual

or notice all the features

that came with her

remember, your life became . . .

really her life in absentia

she lived through you,

kind of as you

but not for you,

well for you, for her, really

she has mega watt perception

and fantasy override

and options of projection,

and a soft deliberate sell,

and whispers truths of indulgence

kind of as the fantasy-answer to desire

(oh and terra cognita maybe hers also)

but, of course,

you have come to know that

all of that, first hand

you and she

made a great working couple

inside you

hey, we all got closet!

so here we are, post OZ discovery,

more you, than ever before

but atrophy is everywhere

as anger a blazing

she is of course much older

and sort of hag

with a mouth that pitches

and preaches bleak concrete

your way for you are the operative,

you are a big disappointment

you, as the stalwart,

deed doer, front man

have falling on hard times

as her functionary

she wants you up right now

no excuses just deliver,

time’s a wasting, otherwise

wow, you must feel

like the phone piece in her hand

yelling the we-pity at you

in the projection room

that was supposedly you!

Maybe to a cocoon of you

but right now,

You are becoming un-mummy-fied

right before her/your eyes

well, right before your eyes

that have no lids

right beyond the obvious

that sees behind your circumstance

which you is the real you? You ask?

you, the compassion

of examiners coming forth

or you, betwixt and bewildered

but alone

well, maybe neither

in the metamorphosis beyond now

but, as self-stories go,

yours is transgressing into . . .

A. mapping the baron land of aloneness

B. it’s all mine as the prison of me

C. you have got to be kidding, for real?

D. I feel a song coming on

E. I am the musical behind the me-players

F. Okay . . . all of the above !!!!!??

as you now say

you have choices

and prerogatives too . . .

so where are you going with this?

(are these the breakdowns,

breakthroughs, bygones,

and bad times?)

just asking! . . . . .

remember, it’s like A.M. radio

that you can’t turn off

it’s all you! (all of the time!)

I mean, all the time!

What better opiate is there

then that?