old writings, old loss

Looking through the drawers of love
I came across this poem for a friend
who OD'd back in '85
I still miss him,and many others

Dennis

why didn't you watch it?
I hate you for dying
Why did you have to leave me here so alone
I miss your happy smile even if your
con was always your own

no longer to party, no longer to share
in my bitterness, i hate that i care.
so easy to mourn you
so hard to let go
I am reluctant to let my pain show.

It was a dark lonely love
alone that we shared
But in our own ways
we knew that we cared

Yet no matter how much i deny it
nothing i feel
will change what is true.

I wait along with the many
for the rising of the few
so i may again
be with you.

I think this is an excellent example of the
both sentimental and perhaps genuine
love we feel for our friends,
and on the impact
of drug abuse,
suicide, and death.

Exploitation of Soul

drugs,
sex,
food
media
being right

eclipsed
by
ideas,
religions
political power
violence
 
Arms'n "defense" industry,
oil, lobbying, legal drugs;
 alcohol, tobacco,
pizza, prozac
computer games

We operate the largest prison
system in the world.
and yet we imagine ourselves free

That people will make reasonable
choices in their long term interest is a far more risky
venture than chancing  their foolishness may
lead to and opportunity for learning.

Recovery is confronting the
addictions that destroy not only family's,
but countries, forests and ice caps.
  the ones we buy through hierarchy

 intoxicants are part of what makes us
not only human, but creative and responsible to heal
necessary for the flu, chicken soup, made with love
there's some of the best drugs of all.

whatever we use
is benign in comparison:
 to the inherent
violence of capitalism:
exploitation
of the Soul

Time

Writing a bit on another project
you come across an old song
i've been listening to this
since i was 9. it's weird to
hear Morison say the same
words today.

Soft Parade

When I was back there in seminary school
There was a person there
Who put forth the proposition
That you can petition the Lord with prayer
Petition the lord with prayer
Petition the lord with prayer
You cannot petition the lord with prayer!

Can you give me sanctuary
I must find a place to hide
A place for me to hide

Can you find me soft asylum
I can't make it anymore
The Man is at the door

Peppermint, miniskirts, chocolate candy
Champion sax and a girl named Sandy
There's only four ways to get unraveled
One is to sleep and the other is travel, da da
One is a bandit up in the hills
One is to love your neighbor 'till
His wife gets home

Catacombs
Nursery bones
Winter women
Growing stones
Carrying babies
To the river

Streets and shoes
Avenues
Leather riders
Selling news
The monk bought lunch

Ha ha, he bought a little
Yes, he did
Woo!
This is the best part of the trip
This is the trip, the best part
I really like
What'd he say?
Yeah!
Yeah, right!
Pretty good, huh
Huh!
Yeah,
I'm proud to be a part of this number

Successful hills are here to stay
Everything must be this way
Gentle streets where people play
Welcome to the Soft Parade

All our lives we sweat and save
Building for a shallow grave
Must be something else we say
Somehow to defend this place
Everything must be this way
Everything must be this way,

The Soft Parade has now begun
Listen to the engines hum
People out to have some fun
A cobra on my left
Leopard on my right,

The deer woman in a silk dress
Girls with beads around their necks
Kiss the hunter of the green vest
Who has wrestled before
With lions in the night

Out of sight!
The lights are getting brighter
The radio is moaning
Calling to the dogs
There are still a few animals
Left out in the yard
But it's getting harder
To describe sailors
To the underfed

Tropic corridor
Tropic treasure
What got us this far
To this mild equator?

We need someone or something new
Something else to get us through, yeah, c'mon

Callin' on the dogs
Callin' on the dogs
Oh, it's gettin' harder
Callin' on the dogs
Callin' in the dogs
Callin' all the dogs
Callin' on the gods

You gotta meet me
Too late, baby
Slay a few animals
At the crossroads
Too late
All in the yard
But it's gettin' harder
By the crossroads
You gotta meet me
Oh, we're goin', we're goin great
At the edge of town
Tropic corridor
Tropic treasure
Havin' a good time
Got to come along
What got us this far
To this mild equator?
Outskirts of the city
You and I
We need someone new
Somethin' new
Somethin' else to get us through
Better bring your gun
Better bring your gun
Tropic corridor
Tropic treasure
We're gonna ride and have some fun

When all else fails
We can whip the horse's eyes
And make them sleep
And cry

Jim Morrison~1969




Stay Free

Healthcare

 

I wonder about it, what will happen, how and when. I've kinda opted out of the debate. Don't quite know how to do it. (debate, attend to it) A friend challenged me on it toady. It's interesting, I've become "uncovered" or "self insuring" as I think of it. I accept that my finances are best managed by myself and that if I need and cannot receive critical care here, perhaps I can afford it in India or Mexico, and if not, I will die. I accept the simple reality: we all die.

 

And I started wondering. I've intuitively known that at some point fending off death is merely a delaying tactic.  Holding onto decaying health after this point is an economic and legal issue as well as moral. If we are to come to some reasoned settlement on social security for the public we must also accept that we have limited resources, and that as population increases, this will be exacerbated. This means people die. They die when insurance companies stop paying, and we will die when our government cut's its losses as well. Its reality and we behoove ourselves to accept it with dignity and aplomb.

 

Yet this invitation to accept the transient nature of life, and more importantly the naïve and particularly american fantasy of empire and freedom from not only terrorists, dissention but death itself is a wonderful paradoxical opportunity for exploration of life, and the further enjoyment of it, knowing it is but a passing fancy.

love no dog from hell

Love dog

 

It's a dog of love

This love the dog

You love the dog

And you wish it

Would die times

Like these you

Remember why

Smiling is our

Natural state

And then again

Later, a bit maudlin

Perhaps in age

Forgot to cry.

do it much again

Later.

it’s all vanity

sitting on the shitter
thinking I’d like to have the
two or three initials after my name
like my sister's or my mum's or da'
some personal failure made socially
relevant, not being in the wider healing
professions. Yet profess I do, constantly,
except when deeply asleep, or the verge of love,

even with myself

no more separation between good and failure.
doing and not collapse.

Just watch the dog.

Sleep in the yard, not waiting for the sun, simply sleep.
Watching the sky, incoming photic messages thousands of years old,
too see that which is emitted rather than reflected~no distinction in perception exists
listen to the silence at three am late evening in Hawaii, something still, is alive.
are we any different in our Ballardesque media consumption
apparently lacking almost all public attention of alternative
assumptions, rather than sand over air. not even turtles all the way down.
Class struggles are sharpened by perceptions
not our hearts desire

While at the Park

It’s suburban paradise in Marin. I went with the dog to the park today. We met 6 neighbors.
All drawn by Amma. the kids wanted to pet and love on her, as she is especially beautiful whilst running and jumping for the ball. Four of them ran from 4 to 7 and an equal mix of boys and girls, and two adults, much the same, all unique, the older of us, likely a bit more curmudgeonly, than the younger.

Yet one of them was unique. Everyone was quite pleasant, and polite, even the reluctant old socialite. What was odd was the love and attention they gave. The young one who after petting the dog, somehow snuck around to my blind side and started calmly proceeded without comment to pet me! Naturally, matter of factly with authority, petting my shoulder and bicep. It was so incredibly intimate and sensuous, as distantly, publicly, she managed to stroke my soul.

I did turn and look at her, but she ignored me and I went back to listening to her friend complete her detailed life up to here story including; how she and her dog were both 7 and had been together their entire lives, relating her twin had died at birth. Somehow all this seems so ordinary, like the tearful little boy, relating how his dog, had died. I just stared at the other adults, none of said a word.

Stuck momentary awake in the beauty of the day, the sun after days of rain. The kids teaching us, being bodhisattvas, gods and poets. I left unaware or in some strange shock by witnessing their shimmering beauty. Whose attention moved with absolute grace, “like goldfish”, from moment to moment with perfection.