Monday, December 31, 2007

Words to Myself

When you feel like life is too much,
make it less. Remove something.


I filled a box for good will.
I trimmed the bonsai.
I took out the trash.
I folded the darks.
A small change in direction:
That is how personal revolutions always start
humble, mundane, and wild with potential.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Words to Myself

When in doubt, do what is in front of you.
When in doubt, do what you know to do.
When in doubt, relax and wait until you aren’t.


A glass sits to the left of my laptop, and
on the right, “Jung, a very short introduction”.
I know I need to fold the darks, and
I know I need to fix dinner.
A bath might relax, while the wine
will help me wait
, until I’m not in doubt.

My life, will have a new woman in it

My daughter is coming in days.
This presents itself like a new thought
ever hour.
My life, will have a new woman in it.
New love.
I'm unstable with the waiting
I want her here now.
I imagine her too much
I'm grumpy with the waiting
a thorn in my paw, festering
No over night delivery option available
No way to prepare that doesn't seem

I'm sitting down to write
because I don't know what else to do.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Buffalo Burgers

We went to see the buffalo in 1992.
We also went because it was cool
Aaron wanted to go
so I thought it was cool
and so Tim thought it was cool.
So we went, to see the buffalo.

It was fall
cold wind
nice days.
We drove for hours,
engaged in great college
finally arriving
at the OK state park.

We parked
and walked
We saw scat
and followed the track,
we looked for hours
we despaired,
wanting beer
and conversation.

On the way to the car,
we split up,
searching individually
for a final chance at seeing a buffalo.
I walked over a rise
covered in scrub trees,
pushed them back
and I was within five feet of one,
five feet away,
I could fall over drunk and hit it
in the head with a pint glass:
We were both startled.
She snorted.
I went quiet
just staring.

They are big animals
dumb eyed but not so
tame as cattle.
They remind me of
history lessons
and rugged country
when men were proud
and the Right was personally enforceable

This is an appeal of the country
this culture
this illusion of manhood
its very nice
to be a man
with boots
a truck
and a physical job.


The buffalo got bored with me
snorted out a long
trail of snot,
all the way to the ground,
surely some bison style insult.

She turned,
sick of me,
and too slowly
walked off;
another bison style
fuck you.

I started
thinking again,
experience sped up,
it was over.
She had left
without saying a word.

I had no idea what that meant
I stood for long minutes
Maybe she had
said something to me
something beneath the tongues of men
something older.

I could hear Aaron and Tim yelling.
I smiled and hiked back over the hill
towards the cars.
We had dinner at one of those
"famous" burger places
frosty mugs of beer and lots of seats.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Thoughts about our purpose

In recent studies I have been impressed with the Western Renaissance and Enlightenment time periods. They seemed to still highly prize the inner journey, personal growth, self actualization. They seemed excited about their new tools. Enthusiastic about themselves and what they could bring forth. They were playing in a very real sense, and I found myself wondering; when did the American Dream replace personal fulfillment. When did material wealth push aside other forms of wealth? When were we ever so materially satisfied but so personally unfulfilled?

Our founding fathers seemed to still have this quality. We have lost a cultural and personal quality that provided a deeper way to appreciate life, and we lost it within the last two centuries. Maybe it has just atrophied from disuse. Maybe it is still there just waiting to be revived. I imagine it sitting just below the surface, you can see it at times, dehydrated by the nearly singular appreciation for monetary wealth. It waits for water to be poured into it, it waits to be revived and rebuilt for the information age.

That First Decade

The first decade of my adult hood, was wild,
it was passionate,
it was creative, and
dangerously undisciplined.
I am who I am because of it,
and in that way I celebrate it,
but in a very real way
it was a waste of material.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

The Way We Lived

I was never good with women.

My twenties were flowing with them
but I had no use for them then,
or barely any, besides the basic
exercises and interactions.

On rare occasions,
usually in the fall,
I would want a real girlfriend
but I would have no idea what
that meant, really
or what was required.
Effort would be wasted
in futile attempts that rarely
amounted to more than saying hi
or waving. I would leave poems
and drawings for anon girls
in coffee shops,
then leave,
not to return for months
due to both poverty
and the fact that the cave
was always
hard to escape from.

Who was I then?
I was hungry.
I was poor.
I was alone.
I was manic and crazed.
I was desperate.
I was alive with creativity.
I was a magnet
hiding from metals.

I rarely remember eating.
For years I think I barely ate.
I was heroine skinny
but it was all
and minor drugs,
mostly I was burning
from thought
consumed with thinking.
Undisciplined mind
Uncontrolled abilities
leaking all over the ground,
the cheap carpet,
the floor furnace,
the smoke colored walls,
the paintings hanging from every space possible.
I was living on pure
liquid youth.

I painted the closet doors
took them off and hung them on the walls.
I painted cabinets and sheets of hard board.
Those were hung on the walls too.
The house was all open cabinets and closets
and a wild riot hanging from the walls.
I ran out of detachable surfaces
and starting painting what was left of the walls.
It was a museum
made by everyone living there
painted by me
but made alive by the crowd
coming in and out,
saying my name,
talking about me, only feet away,
betting on when I would die.

They all lost:
I am still alive, and
grounded by memories, imbued
with the solid craftsmanship
of unhindered youth.

The way we lived
baffled those around us.
“How do you keep it up?”
“When do you study?”
We studied every night
We were desperately studying
, searching, for ways to keep going,
ways that made living better
than not;
Hoping, the next book, hit, girl, party,
would somehow balance it all out
so I could keep a job
so I could stop crying
when a girlfriend would hug me
so I could stop thinking
so I could stop burning
so I could just stop
and relax
and feel normal.
The way we lived was more like survival
than the careful experimentation of our peers.
They were baffled and entranced by us.
We were burning bright
right before their eyes
and they didn’t know any better than to clap.

Cynthia Trigg

I barely knew this girl.
She was short, freckled,
cute of body
and she was unstable,
of course the women that would
gravitate towards me were unstable
crazed in some unique way unto themselves
hoping for someone to figure them out
unwind them and string it back together
but first, to tolerate
to listen
and be there for the binges
for the cathartic, nearly daily
explosions of living.

I didn't know cynthia for long.
She would wear a grey hoodie about campus
sulking in a way
but angry too.
Something lurking there,
in the past:
Common malady really.
There are only so many
events that haunt young women like that
and she had one of them.
I never asked which, becasuse
you will always find out eventually,
when they are ready,
and you never really want them to be ready;
best they stay fun and crazy
small sideshows that take the mind off
take the mind off
pointless, hard, victory free topics
that never cease to beat themselves about.

I knew her briefly,
I think I scared her away.
She realized I was farther crazed than
she understood, or wanted to.
She wanted to be pulled back
into the center crowd
pulled back into the warm
and moist light of the well understood.
I wanted to nail wings to my shoulders
and leap off buildings.
I wanted to push whatever would give
and to drink
all day
every day
while reading classics
and talking madly about them
deep into the night.
I was still looking, searching for the edge.

When I found her sitting on a stone ledge
6 feet above the ground
dangling her short little legs
looking out from under her hoodie
like a neglected idea, lost from parents
and home, lost from convention and
open to suggestion and new ways of thinking,
I knew she would follow me back
I knew she would
I could always spot that, it was a gift.
We were going different directions though,
but briefly happened to be in the same place,
for a moment.

I remember the color of her panties
her mood swings
and her easy offense
at finding a mathematical chart predicting her
behavior for the next few days.
I thought it showed my interest
and that she would recognize my genius
and embrace me,
"No one has ever thought about me so much!"
, but she just stared at it,
as if she just realized she was rubbing
up against an evil villain,
a completely dangerous lunatic,
or something so serious it would
take her away from herself.

She pealed back from me,
so quickly adhered, the broken,
and so quickly parted.

Memory Operator

I've known many people, closely.
This is not easy.
It becomes a weight.
Their faces come back at you
some slip in
some jump in
and some hit you hard in the gut,
memories are not there for our entertainment.
They have their own purposes,
we just run the projector.

Cold Weather Wear, Part Three

Winter has qualities for the smoker
air breathed in warm
cherry burning bright
smoke hanging in front,
all around
like a camping tent,
or an umbrella.
A shroud that
smokers shrug into
like familiar jackets.
Somehow it elevates the streets
to an interesting place,
where faces and people are warm
and more approachable.

When I used to smoke
I could stand there exhaling
and gaping at everyone
feeling new
and deeply potential.

Cold Weather Wear, Part Two

People on the inside,
those huddled close
to the center mass of humanity,
the very density of the crowd
making them nuclear bright.
They can't see us out on the edge
making our own raw sputtering light.
From their over lighted house they
look out, thinking
there is nothing there,
but we can see them
and ourselves.
We are surprisingly well adjusted,
we are aware of more life
than they.

Out here on the edge, in the dark
we have a perspective
a vantage point.
We have a spatially social
point of view.

We don't huddle out here,
not much.
We work
strange designs in the sand
with our minds and fists.
At first, just to stay warm
and then, after awhile
other reasons evolve out of the dark
other colds are realized
new work
to be done.

When you are surviving,
a daily drink can be a life preserver,
a weekly kindness a reason to wait and see.

There are numerous patient drunks
maintaining vigils from mountaintops,
tree tops, skyscraper roofs,
from behind telescopes, spy satellites,
and from a sick variety of recliners, all
waiting for the world to change,
waiting for a world with
shaped like themselves.

Waiting for a world
with hopes
to match
their needs.

I notice the wind more in the winter.

Cold Weather Wear, Part One

I have never been bored in winter.
Cold weather does wonders for my appetite,
teas and soups taste better,
breathe and it hangs in the air
like thin sheets streaming
behind words and thoughts,
as we rush from office to home,
and back. We always go forth
to somewhere warm
and bright.

The outside, always hostile
to life, especially mine,
acts openly in the winter, finally honest,
affirming my attitudes,
confirming my experience,
bringing my behavior closer to normal
leaving me feeling casual
not having to explain
why I'm rushing home,
why inside is my main
source of warmth
and freedom.

In winter I’m
a full standard deviation
more statistically normal
than in summer.

Not having to explain
my normal
to those who practice
a normal closer to societal mean
is very relaxing.

"Us" and "Them"
is so much more clear
when a personal
defines the boundaries.

Solitude adds resolution
to vision, it refines.
Society is required
for new definition,
it winds, reminds and exerts
the force of organizing kind,
we respond and become who we are.

Solitude refines what living defines.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Forgotten Buddhas

When I feel my best I don't write. I just feel.
Days will go by, without a written word
I'll be in the groove
without thinking, just feeling the being.

I wonder if that is why Socrates and Jesus
wrote nothing.
Maybe they just felt.
Or maybe that is all part of the deification process,
infallibility requires no permanent record
no lasting evidence
a comet streak
a story
retold, among bored brothers
after a long summer day of gaming.

How many modern Buddhas
live among us
lacking the less than perfect friends
establishing a record...
how would we ever know.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Fitting Into the Scheme of Trees

I was outside
under the canopy covering my house.
It was close to sunset.
I was in a chemically perfect spot,
looking up, eyes open
watching the tops of the trees
sway easy
forth and back
making that slow sound
of rubbing,
of limbs touching.
So rare for the immobile.
So exceptional for the solitary.

Outside felt more
inside than was usual
and I knew
those trees were
seducing me,
softening me,
patiently acclimating me
to that slow sound.
They have been all along.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Forget it

You have a space time location. Accept it. You can not go back and live with the Greeks or the Romans. You can not go back and be a Christian in the first century. Your complete make up is incompatible, you are a modern man or woman, born and raised to thrive right here and right now.

Forget doing anything. Forget being anybody. Forget being famous, rich and wanted by all. There are too many of us and we are too varied to really think everyone is going to appreciate you, forget it. Forget all that, and the creative sea of variations plaguing you and keeping you from appreciating where you are at, who you are, and what you have to work with.

You are a force, thrown in a direction. You have a space time location and you are headed in a direction. Want to be happier. Forget everything and remember your self. Notice where you are. Figure out who you are and what you have to work with - run with that.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007


My dreams have been hostile and unkind
They have used me roughly
Leaving me feeling nervous
and hunted
I have had trouble remembering them lately
Usually I do,
but they are obscured from me
as if a crime has been partially
covered up,
hidden from scrutiny
and judgement
so they can continue
their secret work.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Listening to Corinne Baily Rae,
drinking A nice easy wine,
working on a piece of writing
that has been on the shelf
since October,
enjoying meeting up with that particular
train of thought
Yeah, this is better.

I feel flat tonight,
Like a glass of coke
left out:
No fizz.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Words can only promise they can not fulfill.

All words are empty until filled with action.

Words are containers, to be filled with experience. This is how words gain their weight.

Every word is a promise waiting for actions to put true.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Persons that are not people

Some people just don't know how to be people. They need other people to reflect their person, so that everywhere they look they see a brilliant company of themselves, dancing to strings unseen. These images of self compose all they know of others and the bulk of what they know of themselves. We live our lives, and the bulk of theirs as well. When they speak to you, they are looking themselves in the eye. When they show affection for you they are affirming themselves.

We become people as we become aware of each other, while they remain a person in the midst of a reflective throng; blind to others and surrounded by themselves.

Friday, November 16, 2007

We are all technically different, but all practically the same.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

the night more blurry bright

I like to stand in front of my bookshelves.
It feels good,
to soak it all in at once.
Eyes tracking across spines
Remembering moments, thoughts
and places I’ve been. Some moments and thoughts
mix just right;
forming one feeling,
like mixing yellow and red skittles,
almost warming in its goodness.
I imagine that this is how a weight lifter feels
staring at his equipment before a work out
or a painter at his brush and canvas.
The music helps
And the wine
But there is something about standing in front of your bookshelves
And letting them tickle your mind:
remembering a feeling,
or an entire line of thought.
It makes the wine stronger
And the night more blurry bright.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

In Brief: October

All things are possible if you do nothing.


Perfect battle plans will always be changed by initial contact with the enemy. Also applies to personal goals coming into contact with life.


You can't purchase ends, only means. When seeking ends, save your money and spend your time.


Do something to narrow your possibilities, spend your time on ends, your money on means, and architect all your hopes and dreams flexibly enough to survive contact with life.

Monday, October 22, 2007

That Creative Mood

A mood can be an elusive state when sought after through the sticky fog of a daily environment.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

We can all seem like hypocrites

We can all seem like hypocrites to someone who takes something slightly more serious than we do.

We can all seem like hypocrites to someone who hasn't been obsessed with something and then some years later realized that they no longer cared.

We can all seem like hypocrites to someone who has never moved on, from something to something else. Someone who has never left will not appreciate those who are arriving.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Attractive and Playful Ghosts

It gets harder and harder for me to make phone calls
Non daily social interaction is difficult
It has nothing to do with those others
those who I would call
those who I think about calling
but don't.
It has everything to do with
my mental state
and I'm not talking about depression
or something like that.
In a way its positive,
it feels positive.
I'm pulled, away from some things
and drifting ever closer to
something central.
Several times a day I wish
I could focus my thoughts
on certain topics,
but I have to bend them back to work
and the people around me.
I can't give them up
or they won't give up on me,
either way,
they plague me like
attractive and playful ghosts.
I want to go and live with them;
not forever
not even for that long
a year
maybe two.
And when I come back
when I reemerge
I can make those phone calls
and assure my loved ones that
my feelings and thoughts were never far away from them
I just had to go somewhere,
a small journey.
I'm not sure how long I will wait,
as long as I can I guess.
From the outside I will
have merely reduced my social
circle to my wife and daughter
and maybe an occasional visit
with a local friend.
From the outside I will look far away
or maybe withered and drawn
but it will just be the stress of the work
the travel
the playful and unrelenting
thoughts that tease at me
and pull at me.
is difficult when I truly want
to receive what they have for me.
There is nothing supernatural here,
I just don't have the words to express
what I struggle with
on a daily basis.
It wears on me.
I hope it makes me stronger,
so that all the resisting
and waiting will give me
the strength and patience I will
need when I finally and fully engage.
I just hope its worth it,
that what I bring back will
help others forgive me for the length
of the journey, and for not being
there during the long deployment.
I worry that no one will understand me
when I return and what I have will
sit on a shelf
and wait for someone
who is ready
to find it.
That would be an unkind fate,
but my fate is my nature,
so my worry changes nothing.
Even now, after saying all this,
I can just let my mind drift a bit and
I'm there
with the lights of thought
the puzzles that haven't been worked
and the warmth in my
chest that says
its good.

I am Temporary - Huh...

I feel mortal today.
Not old,
but aging.
I don't mind;
no negative vibe here,
just an encouragement
to focus
and minimize
wasted time,
and even more, to enjoy
the people around me
as much as possible.
I wish it was all
as clearly laid out
in my head, as I'm making it sound,
but really, these
are passing thoughts
and feelings.
I'm just trying to capture one
before its gone
and I again forget
how fundamentally mortal I am.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Let It Rain

The dogs pout when it rains.
I like the rain, muscles relax,
first time in months;
what else can I do but
stay inside,
and listen to music:
I have no choice when it rains.
I value the freedom of that loss:
let it rain.

The dogs hate it, and look at me
like I could, and should
stop it.
They want to go outside,
and run
and bark
and feel themselves.
I understand this, but
I am a pharaoh unto them,
and my self is of greater value.
To these I am a sun god, incarnate.
They can not comprehend me
and so heap their
wishes upon me,
in deep want of evidence.
I’ve never made it start
or stop raining
but I have acted in ways
beyond them,
and so they expect me to be capable
of everything beyond them:
Capable of fulfilling their
wishes and wants
and assuming
that I have not already ordered
all things under my authority
so that they suit and please
my will.

I have.
I am pleased.
Let it rain.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Next week is my black shirt week.
Cleanse the system.
Change the habits.
My semi-monastic month,
once a year.

The week before is always akward,
want to get in vices before
but mental prepared and ready
to give them up.

Every year at least one vice doesn't
doesn't get added back into the rotation.

Through a careful application of abstinance
We are learning moderation
for the sole purpose of improving
ourselves, so that we are more ourselves
more capable of being the primo us.

A New Burger

There are other ways to live.
(Historically there have been a rich variety)
I'm not talking about the
"variety" we see around us.
I really don't know exactly what I'm talking about.
a belief that there are other ways.
(quality ways)
I would just like to witness
a couple
and make
a selection.

I guess I"m looking for a menu
or recipe book, but there really are none.
Oh many claim to be, but they are
all just variations
on the same dish.
Like ordering a coffee at Starbucks,
all coffee with minor variations.
Or like ordering anything at McDonald's,
it all tastes like McDonald's.

I'm not looking for another way to cook chicken
but a radically different diet
consisting of mushrooms and food pellets
providing me with spiritual moments
and perfect health.

I hate even admitting
that I'm interested
in looking at a menu.
I keep expecting the salesmen
of Christ, Vishnu, Yoga,
Oriental Medicine, or whatever,
to start knocking on my door.
Saying, "We have exactly what you want!"
Saying, "One drink of this miracle elixir will cure all that ails you."
Snake oil salesmen, all.

They don't. They are all veneers.
They taste like McDonald's.
And I know you can develop a taste
for McDonald's and it can even be
but I've got a good path as it is,
no need to make lateral trades.
(worse in most cases, just being kind)

I want to trade up.
I want a new high.
I want a new burger,
but I would really like to see a menu
and maybe see some before and after pictures.

(I'm going to go shut my door,
turn off the lights,
and post a no solicitation sign
before its too late.)

Surely as a species
we can be more creative
about the way we live
and work together.
I'm really dissapointed in us (humans)
and bored with us too.

We can do better.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I Apologize

White Russians tonight
missed 'em
been since the holidays.
Stumbled onto a worthy
jazz electronica album today
lots of trumpet
and drones.

There are days
that I can barely imagine
keeping up this mental stress
this driving pace
for another year.
How can I bring myself to do it
Where will the energy come from
I'm tapped
Reserves depleted,
and I have partial
of times recent past
when I had reserves
tapped into the Earth's core
So much enthusiasm.
So much optimism.

I'm still optimistic, mostly
but I think I'm running
on momentum now
old inertia
still propelling me
at life.
I'll find my spot,
where I can rest
and build
a spot to rest
a couch on Sunday after all the chores are done
a few of those
and I'll be energy positive again
just a few
and I'll be back.

In the meantime
I've got my white Russians
and jazz electronica
to keep me from thinking about the one
while staying patient for the other.

(If that was overly cryptic I apologize.)

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

A Form of Sleep

How long has it been since I didn’t feel tired?

I can’t remember.



There are moments I feel wired,
amazing and ready,
but mostly I feel exhausted
and in need of pastoral
scenes of steers
and looking up on
bleary eyed,
like they had just woken up
from a form of sleep
that they enter while eating.
that and some nice red wine
maybe a cotes du rhone
or bourdoux
and time,
blessed time,
a wealth of time.

Friday, August 17, 2007

What did you say?

I screamed coming in;
I want to be quiet going out.
It’s so I can listen better,
but I’ll probably be talking.

I will have been preparing,
for last speeches,
last advice, and
concluding opinions.
It is how I know to show I care, and
will probably seem more immediate
than listening.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Patiently Waiting

I feel ugly today
ugly inside
like the awkward kid
worried about being beaten
at school again
or at home
or maybe more like the kid that beats him
at school
and only gets beat
at home.

He's solving the problems he can
Neither are comfortable
both seek solitude
both patiently wait
to not feel like this anymore
to just live
without so much struggle
day to day.

Easy to see how human minds
first started to imagine
nirvana, etc.
Real undisturbed rest
at last.

I wonder if anyone really minds
dying from old age
is it always a release
is the last exhale
a sigh
of relief.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

American Sea Change

A wave has crested

Change feels inevitable

Disillusionment is commonplace

Mistrust of the prevailing social order

Feels honest

It may not come during my lifetime

The wave of a nation is large

Measured in generations

Between crests

But it comes

And we feel it pulling at us

Plucking those taunt strings of meaning

That we have recently become so aware of

Sore muscles we didn’t know

A shift

Or a discovery

Of what the good life means to us

To our generation

Beginning to take power

Beginning to take responsibility

I’m ready for a change

The tune life is pulling from me

Compels me to move

To think

Not in refinements to what our parents did

But in wholesale change

Radical redefinition

Creative reinvention

Of our national self image

Of the American dream

Of the good life

A wave has crested

And a generation comes to power

Generation X

The first generation to be accelerated by technology

The first generation to be more mature than the preceding

The last generation that will remember the way it used to be


The American sea change

We have been slow to move

But the tune is personal and compelling

And what we do is not rash

It is inevitable

And we all begin to feel the need

To move

Towards the only honest direction

That leaves hope for those that will replace us.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Two Beers... and bam.

I really should have had a coach for this
life -
living -
this existing -
This needs more attention.
We should really get better training
for this.
This making it from day to day
after so many years
spent living.
Too much piles up
and memories long forgotten
can jump back at you:
Two beers into a good
Friday night
and bam.
You are there, you feel it;
the unnamable state of mind
of an unstable intellectual
in college.
Wonderful and depressing,
Rich and thin,
Like a French soup:
Not fair.
Not fucking fair at all.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Hearing and Knowing vs. Meeting and Seeing

I heard about D before I met him.
I think he heard about me before he met me too.
Its funny how it started out like that;
Hearing before meeting;
Knowing before seeing.

Now we hear about each other (phone, blogs, email)
more than we meet with each other.
Its funny how we keep it going like this;
Hearing more than meeting;
Knowing more than seeing.

Would Jefferson and Adams still have written letters
if there had been telephone, or email?
I think they would have.

Would Cicero still have written all those letters
to his beloved friends
and companions of heart
if there had been telephone, or email?
I believe he would have.

In missing my friend,
I remember what he has said to me.
I replay him.
His expression,
of face
and word.
In his distance, he is closer
than many I see and meet,
but have such trouble hearing
and knowing.

Friday, June 15, 2007

On Your Mark, Get Set

Shot of tequila,
a beer,
and a chest full of smoke;
Thats where I was when the
evening started.

I could feel it for days prior.
The angst and emotions,
a plague of unbalance
sloshing about,
barely kept in check.
One day I am a machine of logic
unstoppable mind,
the next I'm fried
and ready to escape to a
poor cave, richly devoid of people.

There is no escape from your nature.

Drop the Wrench and Back Away Slowly

We are passionate,
self motivated,
and other elevated adjectives
that bullshit bloated
childhood authority figures
drilled into our foreheads,
eager empty eyed missionaries
tightening bolts
on our social salvation,
and each day of our lives
we do what we can
to escape the impossible
fucking goal of living up to


We are passionate about escape
We escape in intellegent ways
We escape in creative ways
We are self motivated to escape
Everyone I know gives escape one hundred and ten fucking percent!


and in doing so
we do so.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

I am not your gameboy

I'm finally on.
Its 8:22pm and I'm now on.
I'm writing and wrestling with
I've enjoyed a wonderful
half bottle of pinot.
The smoke has been superb.
In my mid thirtyies, I've finally
established respectable smoking habits.
I've got this laptop,
warm and clicking in its
response to my thoughts.
I've had a truly mangled dinner experience;
salad from a bag and dressing from a bottle,
microwaved bacon, maple and extra salty,
dripping with grease from the
many pieces that used to be there -
these were the last two
and the dripping best.
The music is superb,
Elctro Pop at its current
finest. Wonderful new
genre - I'm enjoying music from the older
side of the artists, doesn't
change a damn thing - good is still good
no matter how many more beers
and years I've had.

Quality Code

Good quality code comes from discipline. Intelligence and knowledge are useful, but without discipline quality is impossible. Disciplined programmers are a vital asset to a software company, form them into a team and you have your greatest asset.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Little Honest Bits

I'm not sure if any poetry
is actually good.
I like some of it,
a very little bit.

The best seems to be honest,
voicing every day topics
I may not be voicing to myself,
but should.
They can lock all the romantic poetry
away in a vault to be preserved
but never read
and I would feel fine.
Its all shit,
and it makes real life feel pale,
and incomplete.
Religious writing often
leaves the same after taste.

Lock them both in a vault and leave
me with Bukowski and the philosphers.
Leave me with the honest seekers
and safe guard the next generation from
the lying, misleading, overpromising crap
that oozes from the finders.
I want the seekers:
Fuck the finders.

Anything I find, becomes another step
to peer over the next unknown.
My focus must always be on
seeking, searching and creating.
That is the vibrant
reason to live.
I've strayed before:
I was a finder more than once.
Every time; mistake.
Reuction of self,
until something inside goes
It gives up on my dumb deluded ass
and sleeps,
until I wake up and remember
that seeking and searching
are the only ways
to create something new,
something fresh and honest.

Thats when I feel good for the first time
in too long.
Those times, the periods when
I'm an honest creator, seeker, searching;
ponderer of obscurities for fun
and general stimulation.

That is what makes it
possible to put up with
all the tedium, and stale air
we have to breathe and muck about in
to fund the seeking.
The jobs, the employers, the empty
false panic of the business crisis.
Without the spark of personal,
small, wonderful creation
everything would be covered in
a dim grey fog of subsistance.

I would rather not end this poem
on that note,
but it probably sets the most

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Another Day

Stress goes straight to my neck;
muscles seizing,
grasping at themselves, so
each new grip, just
binds them tighter,
heat builds up,
throbbing, and kicking at shoulder joints.

Frustration and pain.
God Damnit, exhale,
Slow breath.

I massage at them
trying to relax the muscles.

My head's held at an angle,
hand massaging rebelious neck muscles,
into submission,
grimace on face,
beard long in front,
balding head cut close,
eyes intense,
marching down the
quiet white halls
of wherever i work.

I look out from my angry
frustrated head;
the world is askew.
I'm looking for some way that
it will change.
A way the future will make it
better, easier to bear,
more tolerable.

I want to have time alone,
to think,
to be at peace for extended periods of the day,
to write,
to study,
to create something
for people like me.

I keep looking,
but the older I get,
the less hopeful
it looks,
that there is anything but
more daily suffering,
not understood
by those who appear to
feel good today.

I can't appear to
feel any way other than i do.
Its a failing of mine,
this involutary honesty.
I often wonder,
how many people
walking, these same white office hallways,
feel the way I do
but never show it,
never let on?

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Every Fifteen Minutes

I'm drinking good wine,
listening to excellent music,
and reading a low quality, high satisfaction novel
for five minutes, every fifteen minutes.

I'm playing with writing
nine minutes of every fifteen minutes.

I'm drinking a truly kind tea,
and looking at a bonsai
that I will eventually
until is thrown onto the compost heap
one minute every fifteen minutes.

Friday, May 18, 2007

a good morning

I'm up today. Why? No idea.

I whistled this morning. I feel like smiling for no reason. Its great but I don't trust it. You can't trust these kind of things. Enjoy them when they come but I don't try to attribute cause anymore.

Its biochemical and the worst thing I could do is think I was feeling so up for a causal reason, that I can directly control. Same goes for when I'm down. There are causes and there are reasons but none should be addressed when in effect. Let it pass and then you can trust your judgment. No matter whether its up or down, the thing I keep reminding myself of is this, it will pass, and there is nothing to be done or not done to keep it that way forever... along that path lies madness and a severe mental break (not the little rests).

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Significant portion of what you do

A few weeks ago I turned down the best job that I have ever been offered, at least if you quantify it by the measure of the middle managers: Head count and authority. I turned it down. It was a hard decision. I knew what most people I knew would do, but I did not do that - that in itself is difficult. I turned it down. Why? That is hard to answer. I did not want the effect the job would have on my life. I did not want the life style that comes with that type of position. I did not want to be changed by that job. Remember, you are what you do, and what you do from work is a significant portion of what you do. My goals for myself are higher than that job. Some friends think my goals must be lower than that job to turn it down, but they are higher - much higher.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Your first time

I remember my first nervous break down.

You never forget your first time.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Pulp Flesh under Fist

When a woman was wronged, her man left
to exact justice by the physical exertion of his will.
He would pulp flesh under fist.
He would kill.
Her fury was funneled through him,
imagining his wrath and
his savagery as the extension
of her own will.
Together they were strong.

Humanity has found it necessary to make the units of power
weaker, so the whole
can be collectively stronger
and more savage.
A modern funnel for a nation
of passive men and women
to pour their fury and frustration into:
the state.

Men used to fill the imaginations of women.
Men were the sword of the family.

Men lost a role in the family, protector.
Women lost a concrete and constant
reason to honor her man, protection.
Every step of civilization has reduced,
the family, in favor of
the state.

We went from the swords of the family
to the iron ore of the state,
being pounded, daily
into the service
of a common fate.

I still dream of pulping flesh under fist,
of righteous slaughter,
of my woman funneling her will through me,
of blood on my hands and clothes,
and of her picking up these clothes
and carefully washing the blood out of them,
while smiling at me with
open respect and love
leaving me ready,
to do anything needful.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


All opportunities should not be taken.

Every offer that includes greater authority, power and pay should not be taken.

Everything costs. An offer, even for power, will cost you. The price, what they pay you for, is chunks of your life. I sell my time. We all sell our time.

What you can do with your time often determines how much you are compensated for it.

Power's value depends on its nature and the uses to which it will be employed. Before accepting authority or other types of power consider what this will cost you. How much more of your life is required to compensate? Can you tolerate weilding power of this specific nature or for the intended or expected uses?

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Drained and Spent

How cold and hard the mid thirties seem at times. Maybe its yoo much understanding, too much responsibility, and too much work.

The realization begins to settle in, this is all there is. This is my life, and its declining.

The mornings are best. Work waits. Something to throw myself into.

Nights after a long day of work are the worst. Not enough time to do much of anything, but enough time to drag out the waiting for sleep.

The weekends are chores, and the conflict between a desperate need to have enough fun to make it all meaningful, and the need for rest, so I can be ready for the next work week.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Excerpts from Man is a Good Creation

[Excerpt from Man is a Good Creation]
I was indoctrinated into the Christian religion from a young age. While I was still naïve and young enough to have recently believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, adults were actively and systematically trying to save my soul from an eternal and horrible torment that I was sincerely assured that I deserved.

[Excerpt from Man is a Good Creation]
A man who gives himself the benefit of the doubt is equipped, by practice, to extend this to others.

[Excerpt from Man is a Good Creation]
Healthy humility is not so hard to experience. Look into the mirror a few minutes longer than normal. Hold your own gaze. You will either have to look long enough to bring your "bad" side into focus, or long enough to bring your "good" side into focus.

Healthy humility consists of liking who you are, good and bad, and experiencing hope and anticipation in whom you are becoming. Humility is an honest self understanding.