war / peace - the sonnet

Today is 11 September 2016; fifteen years ago on this day mayhem rained down on New York City - regardless of its origin or its cowardly origin - nothing will ever change this fact, chew on that for a while .  .  .

It sickens me to think what might have happened had the mayhem stopped right then. There are some reading just now shouting “fuck yeah’ and slamming their fists against the sky; i know, because i was one howling with blood lust - i must have spent 1 full month absorbed by the aftermath of this tragedy shooting a pop-up Bin Laden dead - a month i will never get back. This loss of mine is a paltry sum compared to the 2,500,000 human beings murdered in retribution for the 2,996 lives lost that sad day - for the math challenged that is a nearly 1,000 fold increase in carnage. Without knowing a living soul who has suffered such agony as leaping from a burning building to their death, i would venture a guess few from that horrid day would wish the same for any other human being - much less a 1,000 others - for any reason, ever. At the same time i indulged my bloodthirsty vengeance repeatedly destroying the CIA dupe - Bin Laden - our planet was nearly universal in its condemnation of the carnage, most especially our muslim brothers and sisters whose sphincters were likely clutching from a visceral awareness of what would happen next - what would and did. Not one human life lost in New York City has been resurrected, and the human suffering has only increased exponentially. Why is this? To what end are we gorging ourselves on the delusion that more murder will end murder? Who has benefited from the derailment from all of humanity’s better service? Do you think one family affected by 9/11 wouldn’t happily trade every one of those 2,500,000 human beings slaughtered since that day for just 10 minutes more with a lost loved one? That is a question. .  . I know i’d happily return any of those lives taken for the month out of my life wasted by killing my Osama Bin laden avatar, over and over .  . there is no answer, but if you listen to your heart, you know what you would do.

What is this curtain that has fallen over the hearts of our kind? Some will say, what curtain - “as long as man has existed, so has war”. This isn’t exactly true; for 100s of thousands of years we morbidly fragile creatures clustered together developing cooperative practices which allowed us to prevail over much more powerful antagonists - wild boars, kangaroos, drought etc. Even after a skirmish with other humanoids, there was no percentage in pursuing, much less, decimating any marauding band. “Get the fuck out of my face” seemed to suffice for much longer in human history than “death to the infidels” has, or ever will. We don’t have that much history left us by, it would seem, those same shadowy characters profiting from our continued self-slaughter. Who are these mooks making book on our deaths? I’d have never made a good soldier taking orders from somebody hiding in a bunker, but that’s just me. It is in large part why i question this zeal that we consider anyone an enemy, let alone, everyone. When i am asked to hate on another person, especially someone i know not, i listen very carefully. After too long, whatever camaraderie used to seize my allegiance becomes overshadowed by the petitioner’s personal agenda. Sometimes i have to listen for a long time - hatred is pernicious like that, tarry, gooey and slow to boil. But once it gets on you, it is a hard thing to scrape off - just like the commander with medals of valor and glint in his eye. Eventually the tarnish fades and the glint becomes flinty, usually around the time i ask my first question. Somehow there’s a relationship between obedience and compliance that muddies the waters between friend and foe. Alexander the Great was a leader of men; while it is true he killed with barely restrained ardor, friend and foe alike. It was he, Alexander who first established the convention of shaving - this because he saw his men being pulled by their beards into the sword point. But Alexander was different than those who’ve amassed the entirety of our world’s wealth hiding behind puppets on a string representing the will of we the people - an important distinction, for today’s Alexanders could give a shit whose sword point you get pulled into - theirs or by your own hand.

There is much hay made on how proficient we’ve become at death; how we are able to protect ourselves in the pitch of battle, or according to General George Patton - “The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.” - the same general who slapped two PTSD patients in WWII Sicily, calling them “cowards.” The Wikipedia reading gets more interesting when psychiatry - hand maiden to the war machine, same breed as the consultants in Guantanamo giving torture expertise - began to understand if men were not removed at the early stages of PTSD, they were lost to the “theater of war” for longer periods, or entirely. It’s not so much that the “chicken hawks” in charge give a shit about warriors, but more a staffing question. It takes more time to train a soldier than give that soldier relief from the rigors of war - a relief i’d be willing to bet large sums of money is parsed down to the nano second, not unlike the $24 aspirin you might find in any emergency room throughout the U.S. You begin to see how difficult it would be for me in a military circumstance; it would be difficult to take orders from someone who cannot see exactly who the enemy is. Bruce Lee says to become one with the enemy, but that is from a deeply Taoist tradition which abhors war; Bruce Lee also said, ”It is compassion rather than the principle of justice which can guard us against being unjust to our fellow men.” Those marketing the drones are neither compassionate nor just - just greedy. The act of killing is oozing from the hatred of our leaders demanding what Richard Nixon proudly proclaimed, “Peace with Honor.” There is no honor found in war, or in killing. This is why Lao Tzu advocated approaching victory the way one might attend a funeral. If we haven’t become numb to death we will soon have occasion, for the amoral amongst us have declared war on life - they are winning.

Or more accurately, we are losing. Anyone who has an infant, or child in their care knows exactly how much more dangerous our world has become since those same parents were young. I may not be soldier material, but i shall not be vanquished - not by greed, hatred or delusion - not willingly. My enemy is anything that pales the beauty of a happy woman, or the luster of boulders in a mountain stream. Children’s laughter is the most precious sound on our planet, yet we are allowing that blessing to be cultivated by the same screen tearing them from us and we from one another. Just as the gore of death is filtered through a remote screen, so too have we become unplugged from the gut feel necessary to fully understand death and what it means to kill another. Ted Nugent, aside - the abnormal psychology of someone hiding his penis behind an arsenal is not my idea of killing, i’m far more inclined to learn the killing language of the indigenous people wherein permission and gratitude are the central alter from which life taken, as opposed to the blood lust of one raised in a Walmart - yes the same of Walton fame and “fortune.” That i’m not soldier material does not mean i’m not full with warrior blood - any human alive possesses this quality of character just by arriving this far down the human chain. It is a modern conceit to obscure the very real difficulty of life behind a cavalcade of convenience; which as it happens only really aids a handful of people while the balance of humanity is left footing the bill. It is that sort of stupidity against which i apply my cunning and fading strength as a warrior scholar. I do not oppose war, i oppose death, destruction and dishonesty. For these reasons, i ally myself with any who oppose cruelty, conniving and coercion. I have comrades; we are not alone and with patience, decency of spirit will prevail, because these qualities of the human spirit have fought the hardest to get this far in the gene pool. The myth of might is a charade of appearance - like the brashness of those most afraid. This is clearly seen in the faceless exploits of those who have poisoned our world and stolen our time without the backbone to take credit.

The first objective of war is to survive, but contrary to General Patton’s tactical error - another’s death is a weak objective. In the killing of one, you are only sewing the seeds of your own destruction, or that of your family. That is fact; nor is it possible to winnow the opposition into manageable proportions. Once you have committed your resources to destruction, you have absented efforts from the more powerful outcomes gained by learning, training and personal application - more facts. Any army based on death and destruction will never be a match for one born of concern for the greater good and welfare of all. The experts, those hired and told what to say, knowingly or unknowingly, by our corporate overlords are feasting on your quiescence. The whores of media enjoy a rich existence of prestige, and celebrity because you have allowed them this stature - they serve at your pleasure. The instant humanity turns a deaf ear to the fiction that we are at war with anything but our own ignorance - war will end. I’ve hated, deliberately and with a burning fervor to my own great detriment - as with my lost month assassinating into oblivion the digital avatar of Osama Bin Laden; i will never recapture that time. I’d like to say i am wiser for it, but that would be a lie just like believing these words come from a place of peace. I am not at peace - i war with every fiber of my being that which wants to surrender and relinquish any second of this life not devoted to helping my family, my friends even my enemies to survive the next 1,000 years. Enlightened self-interest is our friend - to believe the death of another by my hand or by my silence cannot be enlightened, for it runs counter to our instinct to survive. Not one of you reading this doubts the adage of “do unto others, as you’d have done to you,” those that scoff by saying “do unto others, before they do unto you,” are either afraid or sociopathic. We were not born afraid, we were born roaring, and those who care not for others have already lost the war for meaning - their heart voided with possessions and a trail of havoc neither of which will ever be enough. While the warrior scholars legion to which i aspire will have won the war when and if one person reading this finds something of use, for “to the victor goes the spoils.”    

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peace - the sonnet

“Tuesday Afternoon” use to give me peace

Until i learned that it was just in song;

Castles don't come without a long term lease.

'Forever' makes me feel how time is long.

I’d just as soon bring along a good friend-

A peaceful one - one you’d spend a day with.

I’ve comrades - all warriors i’d defend.

Blood was never forced by peace to spilleth.

For all my brothers by this news chagrined

Blame me not, it is nothing personal.

When i go elsewhere, after how i’ve sinned, 

Nor use vanquished souls as collateral?

What if our planet is part of heaven

and all who've been 'offed, were angel brethren?

ami / ennemi - le sonnet

«L'amitié est la chose la plus difficile dans le monde à expliquer. Ce n'est pas quelque chose que vous apprenez à l'école. Mais si vous ne l'avez pas appris le sens de l'amitié, vous avez vraiment rien appris. »- Muhammad Ali

J'ai des amis je ne l'ai jamais rencontré; je ne sais pas comment cela est arrivé, mais il est aussi certain que je suis assis et écrire. je suis pas non plus obligé de les traquer avec ma gratitude; il peut être qu'ils sont des amis pour cette seule raison. Je ne sais pas. Je dois beaucoup plus de reconnaissance à ceux que je suis assez chanceux d'inclure comme des amis. Ma vie a été mieux de leurs soins, parfois même l'absence de celui-ci. Il peut être l'exhaustivité j'ai trouvé dans l'amitié que je trouve très utile - ils savent vos conneries, et il est correct. Je me suis souvent lutté avec cette limitation de mon propre caractère, comme si l'on peut éviscérer le goût désagréable d'un de monde et donc de soi-même. Mes meilleurs amis me l'ont rappelé de la compassion que j'avais perdu le ressentiment, la fureur, la douleur et les milliers d'autres irritations sous la contrainte de l'homme par la trahison, l'indifférence ou toute manifestation de l'illusion que l'on n'a pas le choix. J'ai entendu "un ami est un cadeau que vous vous donnez», ainsi que «un ami est quelqu'un qui partage la douleur et double la joie". Il y a des millions d'homélies sur l'amitié, on peut lire en essayant de comprendre "ce qui est arrivé à tous mes amis?" Dans les banlieues Californie hautement socialisées de ma jeunesse, l'école était tout aussi balkanisé que rien trouvé dans les guerres serbo-croate de la début des années 90. La principale distinction étant, il y avait peu de gens de couleur pour nettoyer, donc pas la différence "Lord of the Flies," cliques formées et fixées les unes sur les autres avec une ferveur similaire trouvée sur cette île. Selon le point de vue de l'un, cette fois dans ma vie heureusement correspondait à la contre-culture de l'époque du kaléidoscope 60 de hippiedom. De nos parents point de vue, il ne pouvait pas être facile à entendre leur murmure de descendance ricanant sous leur souffle "tuer tout le monde sur 30." La hausse devrait être que pour un instant dans le temps "une fraternité de l'homme" est devenu presque visible - un point dans le temps qui démêlé avec des affaires de drogue qui a mal tourné et les ravages de substances tuant vos frères. Il ne semble pas aider beaucoup que sur les mêmes gonzesses de temps est tombé malade de la connerie de la fraternité et avec raison soulevé le noble drapeau de "fraternité" - elle-même soumise aux pièges de toute noblesse.

Mais l'homme que j'ai eu quelques bons amis, mâle / femelle - animales, minérales et spirituelle. Je ne pourrai jamais oublier le regard dans les yeux de mon père quand Jimmy B______, un vagabond passant par de New York se hissa sur le toit de notre crashpad et backflipped 12 pieds à la terre - en continuant sa conversation avec mon père comme si rien était. Pop avait été un gymnaste à l'école et son expression était l'un des profonde égard - un sentiment que je suis souvent a considérer mes amis proches. Il y avait une magie à cette époque, qui manifeste une synergie inattendue. Par exemple dans la même cour backflipped humungous où le fou parmi nous avaient marché sur des charbons trop ivres ou trop fidèles aux soins, 12 d'entre nous et un frisbee se tenait dans un cercle qui sillonnent le disque, quand en quelque sorte le cercle a commencé à tourner et pour une inexplicable période de temps le cercle a tenu et filé aussi vite que 12 jeunes puissant pourrait fonctionner. Grâce à la brume du temps - je suis presque convaincu moi-même le frisbee jamais tombé; si elle l'a fait, il n'a pas été souvent ou longtemps. . . Je suis sûr que l'élan est le même adrénaline trouvé par les «maîtres de scripts" viaducs mise à l'échelle dans le monde d'aujourd'hui. Cependant, la camaraderie est à risque dans notre temps présent en raison de l'atomisation de notre tissu social. Cela peut venir à la suite de la «grande migration» sur les autoroutes de l'information dans la réalité virtuelle - si vous n'êtes pas trouvé sur l'écran - qui êtes-vous? Mon point de vue sur cette question ne naît pas de requêtes informatiques, mais est une sensation viscérale informée de l'échange humain direct. Je ne peux pas imaginer à quel point il doit être difficile pour les jeunes d'aujourd'hui pour évaluer une personne à partir d'une liste imposée, non pas par des normes humaines, mais des normes clickbait de tout réseau social essayant de commander le trafic nécessaire pour obtenir plus de revenus et une plus grande publicité. Pourtant, tout comme le vieil adage français, "plus les choisit changent, plus RESTENT Elles les mèmes. Avec la liste des amis de numérotation 1000 de, pour un savoir qui sont ses amis est encore plus important maintenant que jamais. Rosetta Tharpe a chanté, "ne prennent pas tout le monde à être votre ami", mais est presque noyé dans le zèle pour trouver la reconnaissance de sa propre valeur dans les badlands de l'Internet. La vérité reste cependant le même, on ne peut pas être un ami à personne jusqu'à ce qu'on trouve l'amitié en soi-même, pour une fois que cela arrive - tout ami trouvé devient un heureux hasard, et tout ami perdu devient encore une leçon sur l'importance de la patience.

Tout comme la confusion de 60 Californie comme un adolescent, «terroristes-under-chaque-lit" d'aujourd'hui fureur brouille les traditions humaines à un point où ils deviennent presque méconnaissables - la loyauté trahie par les tentations de grandes piles de l'argent à proximité de grandes piles de médicaments, ou à l'intégrité perdue à la célébrité musicale instantanée et la fortune. Mais cette trempe des valeurs humaines est pas nouvelle à notre nature; Aaron Swartz aurait été un héros pour toute période de l'histoire humaine dont je suis conscient. Il est réconfortant de croire que cette qualité de l'altruisme peut être trouvé dans les amis i ai maintenant et ceux que j'ai pas encore rencontré. J'ai toujours été améliorée par l'amitié - être celle de la déception dans mon propre caractère, ou vice versa. La portée d'une amitié est souvent définie par des moments difficiles - les rigueurs de la vie, ou comme Cliff S______ aimait à le dire, "il est pas tout le gâteau et la crème glacée;" Oui, comme une question de fait, je ne me casser la main frapper un mur après qu'il est venu sur ma première épouse, bien avant notre mariage; Pourquoi demandez-vous? En toute justice pour lui, et compatible avec la complexité de l'amitié - qui était l'une des leçons les plus importantes dans ma vie; je frappe plus des murs, des amis peut-être - mais jamais les murs. La chimère de internetedness tord complexité de nos différences humaines dans une forme plus ressemblant au processus de normalisation d'une base de données, que la réalité qui était Cliff et ses valeurs douteuses. La loyauté est risquée et en partie pourquoi pour moi cette question de l'amitié tient une telle fascination - qu'est-ce d'être fidèle? Quel est le rôle de ce concept insaisissable avoir à notre espèce? Tout comme le gain personnel alors tenté tout "frère avec la dope», aujourd'hui baser un milliard de dollars sans visage, plus des affaires sur la fidélité de marque et le comportement du clavier prévisible est fou, mais comprend le divertissement seulement Googol pourrait fournir par mutation «ne pas faire le mal" en "faire connaître le mal. "

Il est peut-être le désir de trop d'amis est une menace aussi semblable que la cupidité et la tentation sont à sa valeur intrinsèque - plus encore que rien trouvé dans les mythes hippie? Je ne sais pas. Que dire alors de la partition qui Larry G_____ sagely observée entre ami et connaissance - même Larry qui a répondu à la question «comment avez-vous tant ami?" - "J'ai une scie à table." Si nous voulons limiter le nombre de les êtres humains que nous appelons «ami» à ceux qui sont le plus complet dans leur acceptation de nos attributs, bonnes et mauvaises - ce de la multitude de l'humanité à la recherche de la proximité de la société qui fait partie de notre nature après des dizaines de milliers d'années assis à la maison feux racontant des histoires des amours de nos ancêtres et des batailles sur l'amour? Un ami est rare, mais des gens sympathiques ne sont pas. Il est une innovation récente de la classe dirigeante de nous, on divise de manière efficace de l'autre pour des motifs superficiels comme la race, la profession, l'éducation ou même sexe? L'ironie pour moi est comment nous avons été si bien divisé en étant simultanément attelés à l'aspect le plus faux de nos gouvernants - leur argent. Je choisis un ami basé sur la sincérité de leur comportement - bon ou mauvais. Tout ce que je peux comprendre de ceux qui mènent, est la cohérence de leur demande que je me suis absous de choix - conservatrice / libérale, on est à peu près le même que l'autre. Un bon ami peut avoir une opinion différente de la mienne, mais tentera d'élever ma conscience plutôt que commande l'obéissance. Je ne suis pas bon ami, mes opinions sont devenues des vaches sacrées qui, dans mon désespoir je tiens à ne pas très différente de celle d'un bébé affamé à un tit vide. Mais je suis chanceux, car j'ai réussi à prendre des amis et connaissances, plus sage que moi-même. Auparavant, je choisirais des amis plus populaire que je percevais être moi-même. Peut-être que je pensais que la popularité était contagieuse. À un certain point le coût de la fidélité à une telle superficialité est devenu plus grand que le coût du respect de soi. Une partie de l'odyssée de se lier d'amitié avec comprend un inventaire complet de soi-même, ou ce que Leonard Cohen a décrit comme un premier temps mon catalogue auto était composé presque exclusivement de traits positifs "recherche amère du coeur." - Résidu d'un déni pernicieux de l'auto répugnance. On pouvait s'y attendre, les amis des beaux jours est tombé au mois de mars de temps avec de moins en moins disponible pour commisération mon innocence.

Il se trouve que, après je me suis arrêté moi bullshitting, j'étais celui qui tient les autres à un niveau plus élevé que i appliqué à moi-même - pas très sympa. «La conscience de chaque homme est vil et dépravé. Vous ne pouvez pas compter sur elle pour être votre guide, quand il est vous qui doit le garder satisfait »-. Bob Dylan. Il a été dit que les livres sont les plus proches des amis et le meilleur des conseillers; i faudrait ajouter de la musique à cet adage. Au début de ma sœur m'a donné C.G. «L'homme et ses symboles" de Jung qui discute longuement une obscurité que j'étais longtemps incapable de comprendre, dans mon état sans amis, tout ce que je pouvais voir autour de moi était le bonheur et la fraternité de l'homme. Je en voulais profondément que i seul semblait soumis à la trahison, la déception et les promesses non tenues - ceci après avoir doigts la ligne irréaliste défini par ma liste de traits supérieurs. G_d dans sa sagesse enseigne avec une patience infinie, qui dans mon cas était vraiment nécessaire. "Donc, vous voulez sculpter de belles statues afin d'avoir des gens que vous aimez? D'accord, mais le savoir - avec votre vision en deux dimensions qui est va être un peu difficile "Essayez comme je pourrais, elle avait raison -. Il est sacrément près impossible de faire un objet en trois dimensions quand tout ce que vous pouvez voir est une surface plane. Qui étais I Gonna pleurnicher à ce sujet? Elle m'a dit la vérité; i ignoré ce que je savais dans mon propre cœur. Il n'y avait personne à blâmer, mais moi-même; il n'y avait personne pour pardonner, mais moi-même. Comment pourrais-je faire cela, je ne l'avais pas fait quelque chose de mal? G_d a été fait non plus avec moi; combien d'autres imperfections étaient là? Si mon édifice sacro-saint de raison d'être était pas plus d'une faim émotionnelle insatisfaite utilisée pour inclure et exclure les gens de ma vie, qu'est-ce donc? Trop tard, il n'y a pas d'obtenir des chevaux à l'intérieur une fois que putain de porte de la grange est fermée. J'ai eu plus personne pour se lier d'amitié, mais moi-même si je pouvais ou ne pouvais pas sculpter des statues avec brio, aimer énormément, la peur ou de la haine sans relâche avec un mépris à mon propre bien-être. Je ne sais toujours pas qui les amis sont là-bas j'ai pas encore trouvé; mais je suis assez sûr, je ne suis pas la seule personne sur la planète avec des rêves brisés, la fureur non résolue ou un amour qui ne veut pas quitter.

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ennemi - le sonnet

Qui est ami qui est l'ennemi, je veux savoir?
Qui n'a pas - est-il important plus?
Je considère que ceux qui verraient ma mort - ennemi;
et ceux ami - qui trouvent dans les plus Amor.

Ben Laden ne voulait pas me voir mort;
ce serait un sur un déclencheur nucléaire,
ou ceux qui prendraient l'or, et de payer avec du plomb.
Il est pas l'islam qui empoisonne l'eau.

Jésus n'a pas non plus tuer et aller au ciel.
Dur comme de la baise est de savoir - il est de ma faute,
i qui prient et comme mon pain sans levain.
Qui pourrait voir la vérité dans un coffre-fort?

La triste vérité est mon seul ennemi
sur la terre causant le plus grand mal, est moi.

amigo / enemigo - el soneto; en español

"La amistad es lo más difícil en el mundo de explicar. No es algo que se aprende en la escuela. Pero si usted no ha aprendido el significado de la amistad, que realmente han aprendido nada. "- Muhammad Ali

Tengo amigos que nunca he conocido; No sé cómo sucedió, pero es tan cierto como me siento y escribo. Tampoco estoy obligado a seguirles la pista con mi agradecimiento; puede ser que son amigos sólo por este motivo. No lo sé. Le debo mucho más que agradecimiento a los que tengo la suerte de incluir como amigos. Mi vida se ha hecho algo mejor de su cuidado, a veces incluso la falta de ella. Puede que la integridad que he encontrado en la amistad que me parece más útil - saben su bullshit, y que está bien. A menudo he luchado con esa limitación de mi propio carácter, como si uno puede eviscerar el sabor desagradable del mundo de uno y por lo tanto de uno mismo. Mis mejores amigos me han recordado la compasión que había perdido al resentimiento, furia, el dolor y los miles de otras irritaciones de la coacción de los seres humanos a través de la traición, la indiferencia o cualquier manifestación de la ilusión de que uno no tiene elección. He oído "un amigo es un regalo que usted se da", así como "un amigo es alguien que divide la pena y duplica la alegría". Hay millones de homilías sobre la amistad se puede leer cuando se trata de comprender "lo que pasó a todos mis amigos?" En los suburbios altamente socializados California de mi juventud, la escuela era tan balcanizado como cualquier cosa que se encuentra en las guerras serbo-croatas de la principios de los 90. La principal distinción había pocas personas de color para limpiar, por lo que no se diferencia de "El Señor de las Moscas" camarillas forman y establecen una sobre la otra con un fervor similar que se encuentra en esa isla. Dependiendo de la perspectiva de uno, esta vez en mi vida felizmente se correspondía con el calidoscopio de 60 época contracultura de hippismo. Desde nuestro punto de vista de los padres, que no pudo haber sido fácil para escuchar su murmullo progenie burlonamente en voz baja "matar a todos los mayores de 30." La ventaja tendría que ser que por un instante en el tiempo ", una hermandad del hombre" se hizo casi visible - una paja en el momento en que se deshizo con ofertas de drogas que salió mal y los estragos de las sustancias que matan fuera de sus hermanos. No parece ayudar mucho eso de las mismas tías tiempo se enfermó de la mierda de hermandad y con buena razón planteó la noble bandera de "hermandad" - sí sujetos a las trampas de cualquier nobleza.

Pero el hombre que tenía algunos buenos amigos, macho / hembra - animales, minerales y espiritual. Nunca olvidaré la mirada en los ojos de mi padre cuando Jimmy B______, un vagabundo que pasa a través de la ciudad de Nueva York se izó hasta el techo de nuestra crashpad y backflipped 12 pies a tierra - la continuación de su conversación con mi padre como si nada hubiera sucedido. Pop había sido un gimnasta en la escuela y su expresión era de profunda relación - una sensación que he menudo había teniendo en cuenta mis amigos más cercanos. Hubo un mágico en ese momento que se manifiesta sinergia inesperada. Por ejemplo, en el mismo patio backflipped Humungous donde el loco entre nosotros habían caminado sobre carbones demasiado borracho o demasiado fieles a la atención, 12 de nosotros y un disco volador se puso de pie en un círculo entrecruzando el disco, cuando de alguna manera el círculo comenzó a girar y por un inexplicable período de tiempo el círculo llevó a cabo y se volvió tan rápido como 12 jóvenes de gran alcance podría funcionar. A través de la bruma del tiempo - casi me he convencido de que el disco volador nunca cayó; si lo hiciera, no era a menudo o por mucho tiempo. . . Estoy seguro de que élan es la misma adrenalina encontrado por los "maestros de la escritura" pasos superiores de escala en el mundo actual. Sin embargo, la camaradería está en riesgo en nuestro tiempo presente debido a la atomización de nuestro tejido social. Esto puede venir como resultado de la "gran migración" en la autopista de la información en la realidad virtual - si no se encuentran en la pantalla - ¿quién es usted? Mi opinión sobre la misma no nace de las consultas de ordenador, pero es una sensación visceral informado de intercambio humano directo. No me puedo imaginar lo difícil que debe ser para los jóvenes de hoy para evaluar a una persona de una lista impuesta, no para los estándares humanos, pero a partir de los estándares clickbait de cualquier red social intentar mandar el tráfico necesario para garantizar más y mayores ingresos por publicidad. Sin embargo, al igual que el viejo dicho francés ", además les choses Changent, además de elles restent les mêmes. Con las listas de amigos de numeración de 1.000, por uno para saber quiénes son los amigos de uno son que es aún más importante ahora que nunca. Rosetta Tharpe cantó, "no tome todo el mundo para ser su amigo", pero está a punto de ahogarse en el afán de encontrar el reconocimiento de la propia autoestima en las tierras baldías de internet. Verdad, sin embargo sigue siendo el mismo, no se puede ser un amigo a nadie hasta que uno encuentra la amistad dentro de uno mismo, para una vez que sucede - cualquier amigo encontró convierte serendipia, y cualquier amigo perdió convierte en una lección más en la importancia de la paciencia.

Al igual que la confusión de los años 60 California, como un adolescente, de hoy "terroristas-bajo-cada-cama" furia difumina las tradiciones humanas a un punto donde se convierten casi irreconocible - lealtad traicionado por las tentaciones de grandes fajos de billetes en las proximidades de grandes pilas de fármacos, o la integridad perdió a la fama musical instantánea y la fortuna. Pero este temple de los valores humanos no es nuevo para nuestra especie; Aaron Swartz habría sido un héroe para cualquier período de la historia humana de la que soy consciente. Es alentador para creer que esta cualidad de la generosidad se puede encontrar en los amigos que ahora tengo y los que todavía tengo que cumplir. Siempre he sido mejorada por la amistad - es que a partir de la decepción en mi propio carácter, o viceversa. El alcance de una amistad es a menudo definida por tiempos difíciles - los rigores de la vida, o como Acantilado S______ le gustaba decir, "no todo es pastel y helado;" Sí, como cuestión de hecho, me hizo romper mi mano golpear una pared después de que llegó a mi primera mujer, aunque antes de nuestro matrimonio; ¿por que lo preguntas? Para ser justos con él, y en consonancia con la complejidad de la amistad - que fue una de las lecciones más importantes de mi vida; Ya no golpee las paredes, los amigos tal vez - pero nunca paredes. La quimera de internetedness tuerce complejidades de nuestras diferencias humanas en una forma que se asemeja más al proceso de normalización de una base de datos, que la realidad era que Cliff y sus valores poco fiables. La lealtad es incierta y en parte por eso para mí este tema de la amistad tiene tanta fascinación - ¿qué es ser leal? ¿Qué papel tiene que elusivo concepto tiene por qué nuestra especie? Del mismo modo que la ganancia personal, entonces la tentación de cualquier "hermano con la droga", hoy de basar un rostro mil millones de dólares, más negocio fidelidad de marca y comportamiento del teclado predecible es una locura, pero incluye entretenimiento solamente un Googol podría proporcionar mediante la mutación de "no hacer el mal" en "hacer conocer el mal ".

Puede que sea el deseo de muchos amigos es una amenaza tan similares como la codicia y la tentación son al propio valor intrínseco - incluso más que cualquier cosa que se encuentra en los mitos hippie? No lo sé. Lo que a continuación de la partición de la que Larry G_____ observó sabiamente como entre amigos y conocidos - el mismo Larry quien respondió cuando se le preguntó "¿cómo tiene tantos amigo?" - "Tengo una sierra de mesa." Si hemos de limitar el número de los seres humanos que llamamos "amigo" a aquellos que son más completos en su aceptación de nuestros atributos, buenas y malas - lo de la multitud de la humanidad que busca la cercanía de la sociedad que forma parte de nuestra naturaleza después de que decenas de miles de años sentado en su casa incendios que relatan historias de amores de nuestros antepasados ​​y batallas sobre el amor? Un amigo es raro, pero gente amable no lo son. Es una innovación reciente de la clase dominante para nosotros, uno dividir de manera efectiva desde el otro por motivos tales como la raza superficiales, ocupación, educación o incluso de género? La ironía para mí es cómo hemos sido dividida tan a fondo y al mismo tiempo ser uncido al aspecto más falsa de nuestros gobernantes - su dinero. Elijo un amigo sobre la base de la sinceridad de su comportamiento - bueno o malo. Todo lo que puedo deducir de aquellos que llevan, es la consistencia de su demanda de que yo me absuelvo de elección - conservador / liberal, uno es más o menos lo mismo que el otro. Un buen amigo puede tener una opinión diferente a la mía, pero intentará levantar la conciencia en lugar de la obediencia de comandos. No soy tan buen amigo, por mis opiniones se han convertido en las vacas sagradas que en mi desesperación que no se adhieren muy diferente a un bebé hambriento en una teta vacía. Pero tengo suerte, porque de alguna manera han logrado recoger, amigos y conocidos, más inteligente que yo. Lo que solía ser yo escogería amigos más popular que percibí yo a ser. Tal vez, pensé que su popularidad era contagiosa. En algún momento el coste de la lealtad a la superficialidad tales llegó a ser mayor que el costo de la autoestima. Una parte de la odisea de hacerse amigo de uno mismo incluye un inventario exhaustivo de uno mismo, o lo que Leonard Cohen ha descrito como un principio mi auto catálogo se compone casi exclusivamente de rasgos positivos "amarga búsqueda del corazón." - Residuos de una negación perniciosa de auto- aversión. Como era de esperar, los amigos de buen tiempo se redujo a la marcha del tiempo, con cada vez menos disponible para commiserate mi inocencia.

Resulta que, después de que dejó de bullshitting a mí mismo, yo era el que sostiene a otros a un nivel más alto que apliqué a mí mismo - no muy agradable. "Conciencia de cada hombre es vil y depravado. No se puede confiar en él para ser su guía, cuando eres tú quien debe mantenerlo satisfecho. "- Bob Dylan. Se ha dicho que los libros son el más cercano de amigos y el mejor de los consejeros; me habría que añadir música a ese adagio. Al principio de mi hermana me dio C. G. de Jung "El hombre y sus símbolos", que analiza en profundidad una oscuridad que yo era incapaz de comprender larga, porque en mi estado sin amigos, todo lo que podía ver a mi alrededor era felicidad y la fraternidad del hombre. Me molestó profundamente que por sí solo que parecía sujeta a la traición, la decepción y promesas rotas - esto después de haber punta de la línea realista se define en mi lista de rasgos superiores. Ds en su sabiduría enseña con una paciencia infinita, que en mi caso era realmente necesario. "Así que usted quiere tallar estatuas hermosas con el fin de tener la gente te quiere? Está bien, pero saber esto - con sus dos visión dimensional que va a ser un poco difícil "más que trataba, ella tenía razón -. Es maldito casi imposible hacer que un objeto tridimensional cuando todo lo que se puede ver es una superficie plana. ¿Quién era yo que va a gemido al respecto? Ella me dijo la verdad; no hice caso de lo que sabía en mi propio corazón. No había nadie a quien culpar, sino a mí mismo; Así que no había que perdonar, sino a mí mismo. ¿Cómo podría hacer eso, yo no había hecho nada malo? Tampoco se hizo Ds conmigo; cuántas otras imperfecciones eran? Si mi edificio sacrosanto de la razón de ser no era más que un hambre emocional insatisfecha utilizado para incluir y excluir a las personas de mi vida, ¿entonces qué? Demasiado tarde, no hay manera de algunos caballos de vuelta en el interior una vez que la puerta del granero de puta está cerrado. No tenía a nadie dejó de hacerse amigo, pero yo si podría o no podría tallar estatuas de manera brillante, el amor enormemente, el miedo o el odio implacable con indiferencia a mi propio bienestar. Todavía no sé quiénes son los amigos están ahí fuera todavía tengo que encontrar; pero estoy bastante seguro, no soy la única persona en el planeta con los sueños rotos, la furia sin resolver o un amor que no acaba de dejar de fumar.

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enemigo - el soneto


¿Quién es amigo quién es enemigo, quiero saber?
¿Quién no - Qué importa más?
Considero que los que me vieses muertos - enemigo;
y aquellos amigo - que se encuentran dentro de más Amor.

Bin Laden no quería verme muerto;
que sería uno en un gatillo nuclear,
o los que tomarían el oro, y pagar con plomo.
No es el Islam que envenena el agua.

Tampoco Jesús matar e ir al cielo.
Duro como la mierda que es saber - que es mi culpa,
i que rezan y le gusta mi pan sin levadura.
¿Quién podría ver la verdad en una bóveda?

La triste verdad es que mi único enemigo
en la tierra que causan el mayor daño, soy yo.

friend / foe - the sonnet

“Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.” - Muhammad Ali

I have friends i’ve never met; i don’t know how that happened, but it is as certain as i sit and write. Nor am i compelled to track them down with my gratitude; it may be they are friends for that reason alone. I don’t know. I owe much more than gratitude to those i am lucky enough to include as friends. My life has been made better from their care, sometimes even the lack thereof. It may be the completeness i have found in friendship i find most helpful - they know your bullshit, and it’s okay. I’ve often struggled with that limitation of my own character, as though one can eviscerate the unpalatable from one’s world and thereby from one’s self. My better friends have reminded me of the compassion i had lost to resentment, fury, pain and the thousands of other irritations coerced from humans through betrayal, indifference or any manifestation of the delusion that one has no choice. I’ve heard “a friend is a gift you give yourself”, as well as “a friend is someone who divides the grief and doubles the joy”. There are millions of homilies about friendship one can read when trying to fathom “what happened to all my friends?” In the highly socialized California suburbs of my youth, school was every bit as Balkanized as anything found in the Serbo-Croatian wars of the early 90’s. The major distinction being there were few people of color to cleanse, so not unlike “Lord of the Flies,” cliques formed and set upon each other with a similar fervor found on that island. Depending on one’s perspective, this time in my life happily corresponded with the kaleidoscope 60’s counter-culture epoch of hippiedom. From our parents viewpoint, it could not have been easy to hear their progeny mutter sneeringly under their breath “kill everyone over 30.” The upside would have to be that for an instant in time “a brotherhood of man” became nearly visible - a speck in time that unraveled with drug deals gone bad and the ravages of substances killing off your brethren. It didn’t seem to help much that about the same time broads got sick of the brotherhood bullshit and with good reason raised the noble flag of “sisterhood” - itself subject to the pitfalls of any nobility.

But man i had some good friends, male/female - animal, mineral and spiritual. I will never forget the look in my father’s eyes when Jimmy B______, a wanderer passing through from New York city hoisted himself up to the roof of our crashpad and backflipped 12 feet to ground - continuing his conversation with my father as though nothing had happened. Pop had been a gymnast in school and his expression was one of profound regard - a feeling i’ve often had considering my closer friends. There was a magic about that time which manifested unexpected synergy. For example in the same humungous backflipped yard where the crazy amongst us had walked on coals too drunk or too faithful to care, 12 of us and a frisbee stood in a circle crisscrossing the disc, when somehow the circle began to revolve and for an inexplicable period of time the circle held and spun as fast as 12 powerful youth could run. Through the haze of time - i’ve nearly convinced myself the frisbee never fell; if it did, it wasn’t often or for long .  .  .  I am sure that élan is the same adrenalin found by the “masters of script” scaling overpasses in today’s world. However, camaraderie is at risk in our present time due to the atomization of our social fabric. This may come as a result the “great migration” on the information superhighway into virtual reality - if you are not found on the screen - who are you? My take on that question is not born of computer queries, but is a visceral feel informed from direct human exchange. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for youth of today to evaluate a person from a list imposed, not by human standards, but from the clickbait standards of any social network attempting to command the traffic necessary to secure more and greater advertising revenue. Yet, just like the old French adage, “plus les choses changent, plus elles restent les mêmes. With friends’ lists numbering 1,000’s, for one to know who one’s friends are is even more important now then ever. Sister Rosetta Tharpe sang, “don’t take everyone to be your friend,” but is nearly drowned out in the zeal to find recognition for one’s self-worth in the badlands of the internet. Truth however remains the same, one cannot be a friend to anyone until one finds friendship within oneself, for once that happens - any friend found becomes serendipity, and any friend lost becomes one more lesson on the importance of patience.

Much like the confusion of 60’s California as an adolescent, today’s “terrorists-under-every-bed” fury blurs human traditions to a point where they become nearly unrecognizable - loyalty betrayed by the temptations of large stacks of money in close proximity to large piles of drugs, or integrity lost to instant musical fame and fortune. But this tempering of human values is not new to our kind; Aaron Swartz would have been a hero to any period of human history of which i’m aware. It is heartening to believe that this quality of selflessness can be found in the friends i now have and those i’ve yet to meet. I have always been improved by friendship - be that from disappointment in my own character, or vice versa. The scope of a friendship is often defined by hard times - the rigors of life, or as Cliff S______ liked to say, “it ain’t all cake and ice cream;” Yes, as a matter of fact, i did break my hand hitting a wall after he came onto my first wife, albeit prior to our marriage; why do you ask? In all fairness to him, and consistent with the complexity of friendship - that was one of the more important lessons in my life; i no longer hit walls, friends maybe - but never walls. The chimera of internetedness twists complexities of our human differences into a shape more resembling the process of normalizing a database, than the reality that was Cliff and his dodgy values. Loyalty is dicey and partially why for me this topic of friendship holds such fascination - what is it to be loyal? What role does that elusive concept have to our kind? Just as personal gain then tempted any “brother with the dope”, today’s basing a faceless billion dollar plus business on brand loyalty and predictable keyboard behavior is insane, but includes entertainment only a Googol could provide by mutating “do no evil” into “do know evil.” 

It may be the desire for too many friends is a threat as similar as greed and temptation are to one’s intrinsic value - even more so than anything found in hippie myths? I don’t know. What then of the partition which Larry G_____ sagely observed as between friend and acquaintance - the same Larry who replied when asked “how do you have so many friend?” - “i have a table saw.” If we are to limit the number of human beings we call “friend” to those who are most complete in their acceptance of our attributes, good and bad - what of the multitude of humanity seeking the closeness of society that is part of our nature after tens of thousands of years sitting at home fires recounting stories of our ancestors’ loves and battles over love? A friend is rare, but friendly people are not. It is a recent innovation of the ruling class to so effectively divide us, one from the other on such superficial grounds as race, occupation, education or even gender? The irony to me is how we have been so thoroughly divided while simultaneously being yoked to the most fake aspect of our rulers - their money. I choose a friend based on the sincerity of their behavior - good or bad. All i can gather from those who lead, is the consistency of their demand that i absolve myself of choice - conservative/liberal, one is pretty much the same as the other. A good friend may have a different opinion from my own but will attempt to raise my consciousness rather than command obedience. I am not that good a friend, for my opinions have become sacred cows which in my despair i cling to not much differently than a hungry baby at an empty tit. But i am lucky, for i have somehow managed to pick friends, and acquaintances, wiser than myself. It used to be i would pick friends more popular than i perceived myself to be. Perhaps i thought popularity was contagious. At some point the cost of loyalty to such superficiality became greater than the cost of self-respect. Part of the odyssey of befriending oneself includes a thorough inventory of oneself, or what Leonard Cohen has described as a “bitter searching of the heart.” Initially my self catalogue was comprised almost exclusively of positive traits - residue from a pernicious denial of self-loathing. Predictably, fair-weather friends fell to the march of time with fewer and fewer available to commiserate my innocence.

Turns out, after i stopped bullshitting myself, i was the one holding others to a higher standard than i applied to myself - not very friendly. “Every man’s conscience is vile and depraved. You cannot depend on it to be your guide, when it’s you who must keep it satisfied.” - Bob Dylan. It has been said that books are the closest of friends and the best of counselors; i would have to add music to that adage. Early on my sister gave me C.G. Jung’s “Man and his symbols” which discusses at length a darkness that i was long unable to comprehend, for in my friendless state, all i could see around me was happiness and the fraternity of man. I resented deeply that i alone seemed subject to betrayal, disappointment and broken promises - this after having toed the unrealistic line defined by my list of superior traits. G_d in her wisdom teaches with an infinite patience, which in my case was really necessary. “So you want to carve beautiful statues in order to have people love you? Okay, but know this - with your two dimensional vision that’s gonna be kind of hard.” Try as i might, she was right - it is damn near impossible to make a three dimensional object when all you can see is a flat surface. Who was i gonna whine to about that? She told me the truth; i ignored what i knew in my own heart. There was nobody to blame, but myself; nor was there anyone to forgive, but myself. How could i do that, i hadn’t done anything wrong? Nor was g_d done with me; how many other imperfections were there? If my sacrosanct edifice of raison d’être was no more than an unsatisfied emotional hunger used to include and exclude people from my life, what then? Too late, there’s no getting some horses back inside once that fucking barn door is closed. I had no one left to befriend but myself whether i could or couldn’t carve statues brilliantly, love enormously, fear unrelentingly or hate with disregard to my own wellbeing. I still don’t know who the friends are out there i’ve yet to find; but i’m pretty sure, i’m not the only person on the planet with broken dreams, unresolved fury or a love that just won’t quit. 

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friend / foe - the sonnet

Who is friend who is foe, i want to know?

Who doesn’t - does it matter anymore?

I consider those who’d see me dead - foe;

and those friend - who find within more amor.

Bin Laden didn’t want to see me dead;

that would be one on a nuclear trigger,

or they who would take gold, and pay with lead.

It is not Islam that poisons water.

Nor did Jesus kill and go to heaven.

Hard as fuck it is to know - it’s my fault,

i who pray and like my bread unleavened.

Who could possibly see truth in a vault?

The sad truth is my only enemy

on earth causing my greatest harm, is me.

suffering / happiness - the sonnet

The Oxford English Dictionary defines suffering as “the state of undergoing pain, distress or hardship.” Not sure if i understand why, but listening to Roy Orbison sing “Sweet Dreams Baby” causes me to suffer - a sweet suffering but like watching a chick crack out of its shell, or a child’s awe for fire, before the burn you know is coming. There is a painful vitality that comes from the cauldron of feeling our body’s senses provide. My stepfather described this feeling of anguish when listening to certain symphonies, i’d always confused similar feelings about music with drugs which oddly stifle such vividness - sort of. Daniel Odier in “Tantric Quest” likens the use of substance in service of heightened awareness as prompts, which after having prodded the persistence of certainty out of the path, becomes an impediment to clarity. What is useful in life’s quest for clarity is the deeper awareness with which Buddha peered into existence then described “life is suffering”. The capacity to endure the discomfort of great beauty, is no less important than that of great anguish, while the willingness to dwell in either enriches understanding of both. “Pain in this life is not avoidable, but the pain we create avoiding pain is avoidable.” -R.D. Lang. Is that to say seeking grief will make us happier - a logic leading to the fatuous argument that more death will preserve peace. Like a parent wanting a child to be unafraid of the harmful capacity of fire, short of putting the child’s hand into the fire, it is not possible to assume for that child the inevitable lesson which only fire may teach. Nobody can know what is fire for another, but we are all responsible for helping others with their lessons. While pain is a very useful tool to understand suffering, kindness seems the better prescription for healing. Buddhist faith holds the root cause of suffering as the three poisons: greed, hatred and delusion. Greed and hatred are not really such poisons, more like bad companions on an already too long journey - i’d just as soon leave them off at the next stop; but delusion, how do you lose something which by its definition “nonexistent”? Is that the foundation for the discipline of meditation - to see clearly into the abyss?

What then is the point of meditation, affirmation, or any form of compassionate existence if the net gain is deeper grief? “Yeah, i’ll take a side order of heartbreak with my poverty please.” .  . What if that’s all there is, greater portions of decay, disease and death, broken only by firestorms searing your wretched hovel. What of it? Squirming won’t digest our ample repast of shit anymore than beating the snot out of an aggressor will render you safe, for there are always more and greater dangers. Lao Tzu - “If you rejoice in victory, than you delight in killing; that is why a victory must be observed like a funeral.” To prevail apparently is no path out, to vanquish every wrong, bad habit or even Bin Laden believer, by Lao’s logic, results in occasion for grieving. What has rejoicing the “free world’s” victory in the last two world wars bought us: only profits for the “military industrial complex,” while bringing us closer to armageddon than when John saw Nikita’s bet and raised him an “anonymous incineration.” Is it possible to be at peace with suffering; where’s the harm if Trump wants bromance with Putin - what business is that of mine. Is there an achievable state where the pigs won’t take back the farm? What if we missed it and George Orwell was the messiah - 1984; year of the rapture - same year i met my 2nd wife? What is enough? William Blake - “enough, or too much.” Clearly we have too much plastic, there are whales washing up on shore with so much plastic in their stomachs they starved to death, yet 8% of the fossil fuel pumped from the ground is diverted into the manufacture of “new” plastic; fame - do you hunger for fame? Open your screen and find how many keystrokes have acknowledged your unique contribution to the world; now do it again, and again, and again.  .  . Is your stomach empty? The amount of food worldwide lost or wasted every year is equivalent to half the world’s cereal crop (2.3 billion tonnes in 2009/2010); or are you without a home? In the United States the richest most powerful nation on the planet, there are 18,600,000 vacant homes: enough for every homeless person in this the last bastion of democracy to have 6 homes. Why is it in the midst of so much abundance, so many suffer hardship? I don’t know, i’d like to know; but i don’t.

I hate not knowing, sort of. Knowing is like calisthenics just before your warm back touches the cold floor first thing in the morning; it’s jarring, but you understand it’s good for you. Hatred not so much - the best thing said about hatred is when it’s gone; like that skanky 1st flu of the season, never sure exactly when it lifted, but thank g_d it’s gone. I wish it were that simple - i know how to hate, it’s a weakness i’m not proud of, not the sort of infirmity that comes from aging which you can’t do shit about, but the sort of frailty one encounters in  others that is so scary you shrink from them only to hear that obnoxious voice inside snickering - maybe not at first, but afterwords while searching for justification as you try to process the hurt look in their eyes. You might be the sort that needs no justification, because the hatred you feel toward yourself is so deafening, you can barely distinguish another for the fear and shame of seeing yourself reflected in their eyes. Mahatma Gandhi said, “You think it’s hatred, it’s not - it’s fear.” Is it possible with fear as the only growth industry the yahoos in charge seem capable of growing - hatred is our lot - a lingering sickness you can’t shake 6 months later, or a resentment hardened into that lump in your gut which fat gloms onto and then grows geometrically? I am not afraid of you - what are you gonna do, kill me? I’m 62 fucking years old; that’d be a waste of good ammo which you’ll need more of when i’m gone. Nelson Mandela said something very interesting after 27 years of confinement when the South African regime released him from that imprisonment of his body, but not of his mind. “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.” I feel a bitterness that haunts my steps when trying to comprehend how the same hatred which attempted to break this man and deprive the world of a voice for freedom continues to lead, seemingly unchallenged, using cowardice, connivery and what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. described as “willful stupidity” as their only arsenal. This haunting is of my own creation and possesses a certain warmth for me, not unlike the feeling one gets when finding out just how weak a schoolyard bully can be - but that was then, this is now.

Now - even the bullies are running scared, because bullying has captured the imagination of our “higher angels.” You know the ones - the sanctimonious amongst us, myself most especially. I am not fond of those who rely on advantage to make their case - be it anarchistic capitalism or the thug talking shit loud enough for his closeby homies to hear. Fair Dinkum is an Aussie expression meaning equal exchange, or in the vernacular of these holidays from our shared humanity - “do unto others before they do unto you.” I do not, quoting Leonard Cohen “pretend to understand at all.” The way the Aussies explain this transaction makes perfect sense - when you fuck around, you get fucked-up, or words to that effect. How is it with all this aged wisdom and historic precedent favoring, please pardon the pun - liberality - is our world at such a loss to accept the very real possibility we have cut off our noses to spite our faces. Why such denial about what is clear to even one as obtuse as myself (don’t believe me? ask any one of my three wives - dense as fencepost). In the past 80 years we humans have lost 93% of the variety in our food seeds. Chew on that for a moment; then gag it down with this little “info” morsel, or what our valiant writers in the news refer to as byte in a shot glass: the same people responsible for that willful stupidity are feverishly developing the “terminator seed,” (single generation plant - devoid of the capacity to regenerate itself). These same titans of commerce, using no small measure of taxpayer subsidies, are as we speak, inundating the world with its own labor saving liquid - “Glyphosate.” The hitch with this 21st century DDT is it has now been conclusively linked to autism in children, actual persons which are our police forces are shooting at will. Autism is a disorder within the growing, not shrinking spectrum of behaviors deemed abnormal. I find this infliction of pain and suffering by our leaders as delusional, not crazy that they would be so audacious as to believe a handful could steal 90 pennies out of every dollar earned on the planet, but insane that we as human beings would allow it to happen - then try to blame some other body - that is goofy.

I could suffer about this idea until the cows come home and change nothing; so i write - i draw, sometimes i even get to paint and carve stone - writing is suffering enough for now. If things get real bad, and i need more travail i can always drink too much whiskey - that’ll fix everything . . . until the next day. However, our kind may not have that next day with which to wake up to its “Oil Hangover.” The fossil fuel whores (my apologies to sex workers everywhere) are desecrating what, for all we know, may be of the last sacred sites in our world which attest allegiance of our kind to its inherent nature - Water. Is it irony this engineering sacrilege is being done for the “greater good,” but in reality solely and exclusively for pelf, lucre, jack, moolah, money - the only actuall holy grail at the pinnacle of our civilization. I suffer to think that the most pristine, clear and unequivocal fantasy ever imagined by our species has become so blindingly bright in fakery that its very lack of meaning is entirely lost to 99.999% of the population - a population that is so great in its suffering and denial that it feels no recourse but to blame a handful of human ciphers amoral enough to achieve its plunder and then charge us to watch it do so. There is no blame, them or us. We had a good run - got some nice threads, drove some fine ass machines and kissed lots of pretty woman. How much more do you want from any world, this or the next ever-after? I’m hedging my bets as a devout christian, islamist hebrew, zoroastrianized, renegade buddhist bornagain pagan, so even with all that spiritual feeling having my back, i find it a necessary comfort within this vale of tears to at least quell what vestiges of fear i can find through “bitter searching of the heart” and to enjoy a little of all this wonder while passing through. 

“When you think you’re screwed, remember we’re all on a big wet ball floating in the dark” - A. Nonymous     

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happiness / the sonnet

Happiness may follow like a shadow

in the absence of any suffering-

Greed, hatred and delusion make grief grow.

Why are these planted by they who’d be king?

Yet, we be farmers - the crops are our own.

I don’t grow grief, but seen fields of that shit.

I dig weed - and love, when i see it’s grown-

once infantile - then juice looking to fit.

Light may illuminate much - what’s behind 

in that darkened corner beyond the bright rays?

Is what blocks our view, demons in our mind?

Could pain be desire from earlier days?

what would “enough,” feel like - not being afraid?

Is joy as simple as making a child’s braid?

jts 6/9/2016

http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com 

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com

all rights reserved 

∞

compassion · an essay / indifference - the sonnet

What is it to compassionate (sounds like fate)? One definition includes the fashionable pejorative of conflating care with feeling superior when attempting to alleviate the suffering of another. How have we ever gotten to a place in our quest for self awareness to qualify “good” compassion and “bad” compassion? Pema Chodron has observed this disparity and counsels, “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.” Because of my own darkness i experience conflict with this distinction, for no other reason than if one is to gain the capacity for care, it must begin wherever that person is in the arc; if all you can muster is pity because you are unable to perceive the vast insignificance of the entire human race, why should that prevent you from making an effort to comfort another? It seems we have been 2nd guessing ourselves for so long we’ve grown gun-shy about what i believe is a reflexive human instinct. When I read that quote, i imagine the wounded as being more evolved mostly because my sense is there is no healing until one takes it upon themselves to be well. I love Ms Chodron and feel compassion for her courage to pursue the relationship of pain to peace. Sitting here daring to write about something so lacking planet-wide that we are assaulted wth photos and videos depicting untold suffering without any apparent means to control, much less understand the causes of such pain. We’ve allowed ourselves to become numb and given our natural inclination to help into the often doctrinaire purview of “professionals.” I believe Ms Chodron is also saying - to be really good at compassion, one must see deeply into one’s own self, but that holds true for every aspect of our lives. Truth be told, without Ms Chodron’s kind encouragement, i’d never have attempted something so fraught with peril as advocating for care; if you are hearing darkness, it is mine - not the honest efforts of so many puzzling with the same dilemma.

How does one develop a capacity for concern about others when daily we must turn away from the ravages of a dying race or be consumed by its magnitude? I don’t know, for many years i pursued a state of selflessness because the greed and egotism demanded by the ruling class was such an affront to logic and decency that i fought with the only thing at my disposal - my existence. While there is much to be gained by disappearing into the fabric of humanity as to be no more than a thread in the vast tapestry of our kind, i found if my thread was weak, it contributed more to the rending of the whole by forces natural and deliberate. My good fortune is to have been born of creative people and i discovered my life was best served by following their superior example. The helplessness i felt for conditions of others was countered by that necessary empathy used to conceive. I found relief in trying to understand other’s difficulties and to then share my perception - be that from the expression in a face, turn of a wrist or articulation of the real torment that evil manifests. This process has not been straightforward by any means, and informed all too often by my own wellspring of rage. It seemed though, that until i was able to find kindness for myself any effort to contribute to another’s peace was diluted or missed entirely. What makes the equation so complex is the very effective insinuation by our merchant class equating objects with feelings, and to then correlate those feelings into self-worth. You were born worthy - there is no middle ground. “The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong in the world” - Paul Farmer; however difficult Mr. Trump makes that argument very to defend. A famous person on fb once commented quietly that the billionaires may be the ones that need the compassion. At that time, as with all good lessons, i could barely wrap my head around the concept, except for the nagging discomfort of its truth. Yet the deeper you go into the pathology of power it becomes more and more clear that those wielding, what is by all accounts, the world’s power are deeply troubled souls. By my reckoning, those same ciphers demonstrate a remarkable level of weakness as opposed to power. The delusion that any one person can change another is of the most suspect concepts we have ever allowed to take root in what C.G. Jung calls “Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious.”

You who read this will only take away those beliefs you’ve arrived at through your own efforts and reflection; everything in this essay that is recognizable to you will be from your own learning rather than any assertion i make. How can it be otherwise? My resistance to the idea that our rulers are all powerful, is from my own internal struggle with worth, not from the reality that anyone so oblivious to their own frailty that they would attempt to define their lives almost entirely from trappings and regalia. I learned about this chimera of appearance in the cauldron of the largest courthouse west of the Mississippi which was served by many - from high to low. Within that melange, assumption had no place, be that judge, clerk or the accused. Outwardly there is no question of roles, but the greater reality of who was powerful and why could not be taken at face value - not when your livelihood depended on clarity about who was doing who with whose help. Ironically the weakest of the lot needed the most help - without a social construct to support their rulings judges seemed the most fragile, while those couriers transporting the mountain of legalese on bicycles held great leverage and exercised it assiduously to their personal gain. Sadly awareness of their inherent nobility was wholly lost through the seduction of stupidity which the ruling class uses on susceptible demographics like that blunt force object of a weak man to coerce the much stronger woman. It was the realization that not one thing i could ever say would convince the couriers of their worth that eventually became resignation to the reality that i am incapable of altering anyone. However, to say that i was unaffected by the experience would be untrue; i am profoundly changed by all i saw, but from the pain that knowing only through their own efforts could they be lifted. Previous to these events, my own worth was tightly linked to my identity as a Social Justice Warrior (SJW), an acronym i’ve only just learned exists. There is no war except for the truth that can only be found within the heart of each human being. 

Does this knowledge absolve me from my belief that service to others is the only viable occupation left to our species, no. If anything it forces me deeper into my own limitations - either those of my own design, or ones overlaid by the well-intentioned to whom we all owe so much. Whether self-knowledge results in a greater awareness for the suffering of others, or deeper compassion for how to aid another’s healing doesn’t matter much; more likely there is not one without the other. However, at the root of self-awareness is to know we are our own worst enemy. “The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly and gently.” - Pema Chodron. Without gentleness, this growth cannot be accomplished. Honesty will come like the cactus flower that knows not it grows amidst thorns, or a piano that has fallen 3 floors, it will land regardless of your desires. Gentleness is more elusive. One can be uncommonly tender an object, yet hideously cruel to one’s self. I’ve had shirts, i’d take better care of than my teeth? Why is that? There is a threat that comes from seeing into one’s behavior, for to know the reason one is unkind to oneself is to accept unkindness from others. Conversely, to see clearly one’s faults and to possess them means you are free from the judgement of others. It must be the same for shame, guilt or love. I don’t really know anymore, but i find the minute i feel repulsed from anyone - the disquiet is my own. Life is too short to live outside of one’s own peace, or more importantly to not seek ways for others to enjoy their own peace. True generosity is finding ways to give what you seek for yourself.

We are entering into a period of crisis for our species, the false premise which declares personal gain the engine of our economy has resulted in the poisoning of our water - a compound which occupies 70% or more of our anatomy. Our food supply has been adulterated for no greater gain than to deprive millions of employment, and to increase the wealth of those too rich to spend what they have in the course of their lifetimes - that is insane. I don’t make these statements to alarm you - you already know the truth in your hearts. You can see it in the glow of your child’s face while they scroll on their toy computers - the vacant stare that was not there as their eyes began to focus and the world’s wonder was reflected in their expressions. We must, as Leonard Cohen has sung, conduct a “bitter searching of the heart.” Without a willingness to know, or return to the instinctive kindness one can still see in every playground on the planet, our motivations will shortly be uploaded from corporate servers into chips implanted within our brains containing news no different than the false promise that labor saving devices would free us all from drudgery, but in fact separated us from the very rhythms of our hearts. What is hard is not our enemy, what is easy must be considered for who? When a man was caught breaking into another’s home, the “Code of Hammurabi dictated that the offender would be buried within the wall of that home. Those who would steal from you your very worth, must be made similarly accountable. It is not the black man who has caused the breakdown of our social fabric, but anyone seeking life’s fulfillment at the expense of all others. When you buy a shirt for $20 that a mother of 12 was paid 60 pennies to produce - you are not being honest with yourself; it is not a fair exchange, anymore than when you spend a 1/2 a month in wages to buy an electronic shackle fashioned as a convenience, and another half month’s wages to access “your” internet. The corporate shill sponsoring this “knowledge revolution” only cares about your keystrokes, and will do anything to make you press that button - anything that is except be honest.

“Truthful words are not beautiful; beautiful words are not truthful. Good words are not persuasive; persuasive words are not good.” - Lao Tzu

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indifference / the sonnet

Who would drag indifference from a child?

To what end blunt outrage of injustice?

Is our doom better managed when we’re mild,

or more easily led without compass?

It’s hard to care when you don’t see it done,

like feelings from a disembodied screen-

near impossible with an army of one,

whose supply lines have gotten awful lean.

Who’s singing “if you can’t beat, ‘em join ‘em”-

them or us? Why are they called “them” - who’s “us”?

Does it matter anymore whose emblem

is on it; there’a cliff; we are in the bus.

row, row, row your boat doesn’t really fit

sounds a lot to me like, who gives a shit?