Saturday, May 31, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
you know you're gonna have a bad day
the instructions to your your prayer wheel
are in spanish and a bunch of homeless guys
with shotguns are coming down the hill.
a coffee filter for a skull-cap (you hope the Rabbi doesn't notice.)
Someone is poking the manticore from behind and it hasn't figured out
where the problem lies. Yet.
once ahead of the rain the running never stops
the beasts must still be watered and fed otherwise
you may become the food-
(that thing you eat will eventually eat you, anyway.)
R.I.P. , Utah Phillips
Monday, May 26, 2008
A player (Brian Dennehy) he has several parts:
Bloom and Daedalus
Boylan and me.
Out to the tower- a man in a chicken suit
Morgan on the cheap
All these men set out to sea
in little paper boats
No wonder there are so many memorials
Saturday, May 24, 2008
There were women, here, once.
Now the circus is full of rats and bats and roaches,
but the mice retain control
A dark, tiny-titted world- shrivelled and nipple-less
where the warriors suck at the hind, dry one-
re pleat with falling teeth and shifting hairpiece-
the comb over is truly attractive, yes?
Leopold Bloom and Mack the Knife make their rounds
in the rain it all looks like lonely love
Yes. We have mistaken mania for genius and silence for wisdom.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
"Stop That Man!?"
There are feathers in the lungs of the saints today. The miracles have run out. The biopsies start here.
The dream-machinery is at work, full-tilt, but a gasket seems to be bursting somewhere in the mechanics- reality leaks out- a teaspoonful becomes a tsunami.
Let the big guys collect the data- what will they do with it, once they have it? Store it, keep it dry for a thousand years, then lose it, throw it away or watch it go up in flames.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Now the slow method of winding up, the beginning of the last act- I missed the intermission, I was in the bathroom- it still is not decided whether this is a comedy or a tragedy- as if it really mattered. As I gather little acorns and make them mine own- in the gleaning there may be some method of understanding- the unified field where the grid of the continuum stretches out forever in all directions, no vanishing point anywhere you look.
The only vanishing act is ours. "We are in love with what disappears*."
Saturday, May 17, 2008
How long was Odysseus in the land of the Lotus Eaters? How long will you or I be there?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
I believe that my own practice and approach may be, in some small way, similar; I'm not so much worried about the outcome as I am concerned with the process, both in selection and execution. It doesn't matter if I am empty or not when I start- something will usually happen, as long as I show up.
Monday, May 12, 2008
-an ancient armadillo/asleep for centuries/in the cellar of the Kremlin/raises its horny head/opens its square third eye/and looks around blinking/and then at last/unglues its great gut mouth/ and utters/ecstatic static.
-from Lawrence Ferlinghetti- "Moscow in the Wilderness, Segovia in the Snow. (I will take you somewhere old.)
I bought a new hat from one of those outdoor mall kiosks- it didn't change my smile, though.
borrowed from Terunobu Fujimori
Yes I guess I appropriate (so much nicer word than steal-)
Saturday, May 10, 2008
I went to San Luis Obispo last week to attend the opening of my show at the SLO Art Center. As part of the event, I was interviewed by Crissa Hewitt, an artist and radio show host, for the local NPR affiliate- KCBX. The podcast of the interview can be downloaded here
I have been thinking a lot about Gerard Hopkin's "the Windhover" lately. I remember how forcefully this work struck me when I first discovered it some thirty years ago. I'm not sure if it is completly wonderful (I could do without the last six lines- but I seem to connect with the first eight lines at a very deep level.) I think this poem is about the beginning of the end. The silence in it is miraculous. For me, it explains the duality of existential lonliness versus un-self-conscious exhiliration and transformation. Despite the looming futility of all this, everything is O.K.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
But this is meaningless noise and babble- even these drawings- the emmissions resulting from solitary consolations. Pay no attention. The Universe is not speaking to us.
Who we are will have to be enough.
Monday, May 5, 2008
While walking and thinking, I could not get the segment of Ginsburg's "Father Death Blues" out of my mind.
When I compare my effort in this life with some of these people- I am meager in comparison- but none-the-less, I am skimming- floating-skating on a surface of some kind that I can barely see- (it's way too close- you see.)
Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.