Yup, uh-huh, I did and you know it and I think that's OK

So we’re still looking for a beginning, keep that in mind.
For something to exist it would seem that, at some point in time, it began. Perhaps on a syntactical loophole that sentence should be true. The key word though is time. “At some point in time.” This is to some degree true. Time is the limit of human experience. No, it is the limit of the scientific explanation of human existence and our relationship with the world around us.
The world that gets paid far too little attention though, is the world inside us. The world inside us is accessible to all as a gift, perhaps a curse, but either way a principal sent directly from God, to help you and I find our way home....

*

AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE.
Walt Whitman

As I ponder'd in silence,
Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,
Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,
The making of perfect soldiers.

Be it so, then I answered,
I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one
than any,
Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and
retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,
(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the field
the world,
For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,
Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,
I above all promote brave soldiers.

*



Poncho and Lefty
Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard


Livin' on the road my friend, is gonna keep you free and clean
And now you wear your skin like iron, and your breath is hard as kerosene
Weren't you mamma's only boy-oy, her favourite one it seems
She began to cry when you said, good-bye, sank to your dream

Poncho was a bandit boy, his horse was fast as polished steel
He wore his gun outside his pants, for all the honest world to feel
Poncho met his match, you know, on the deserts down in Mexico
Nobody heard his dyin' word, but that's the way it goes

All the Federales, they say
They could have had him any day
They only let him slip a-away
Out of kindness I suppose

Lefty he can't sing the blues, all night long like he used to
The dust that Poncho bit down south, ended up in Lefty's mouth
The day they lay poor Poncho low, Lefty split for Ohio
Where he got the bread to go, there ain't nobody knows

All the Federales they say-ay
We could have had him any day
We only let him slip a-away
Out of kindness I suppose

The poets tell how Poncho fe-ell, and Lefty's livin' in cheap hote-els
The desert's quiet, Cleveland's cold, and so the story ends we're told
Poncho needs your prayers, it's true, save a few for Lefty too
He only did what he had to do, and now he's growin' old

All the Federales, they say
We could have had him any day
They only let him go so-o long
Out of kindness I suppose

A few grey Federales, they say-ay-ay
We could have had him any day
We only let him go so-o long
Out of kindness I suppose

Still Wishin' to Course

Who listens to the things that come into their heads these days?
I mean who really listens? Traffic, cellular traffic, advertisements, half-speak, inner-speak…

When I speak to you I speak to myself
I communicate with my self
I use you to peel me apart and I look deeper into myself.
I look into the parts I couldn’t see without you seeing me
Or what you thought was me, what I thought was me too.
But now you showed me the me I see is still underneath,
Still looking for me to find my self.

*

Baba O'Riley
The Who

Out here in the fields
I fought for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

Don't cry
Don't raise your eye
It's only teenage wasteland

Sally, take my hand
Travel south crossland
Put out the fire
And don't look past my shoulder

The exodus is here
The happy ones are near
Let's get together
Before we get much older

Teenage wasteland
It's only teenage wasteland
Teenage wasteland, oh yeah
Teenage wasteland
They're all wasted

Karma Was Working Hard

Spurious
.chs

“…don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t listening.”
“What were you listening to?”
“I don’t know, my thoughts.”
“What did your thoughts sound like?”
“Scrambled.”
“Whisked?”
“Not really, slower.”
“Ah, churned.”
“Exactly.”

*

Stumbled on Grace
.chs

There’s a pace between the place
where we gather to liquefy thoughts
and the screen we see those thoughts upon.

Behind the veil of self-esteem and dreams we run away from
I found a stillness that is delicious, and if you’re still with me
I can show you.

It’s a little space between the gates
before the tear that keeps us scared
and inside a heart that’s true.

Feel the warmth spring from your spine
up your back and down in mine
back up through you, your heart and
mine too.

*

City of Dreams
by the Talking Heads

Right where you are standing
The dinosaurs did a dance
The indians told a story
Now it has come to pass

The Indians had a legend
The Spaniards lived for gold
The white man came and killed them
But they’re not really gone

We live in the city of dreams
We drive on the highway of fire
Should we awake
And find it gone
Remember this, our favorite town

Germany and Europe
And Southern U.S.A.
They made this little town here
That we live in to this day

The children of the white man
Saw Indians on TV
And heard about the legend
How their city was a dream

The Civil War is over
And numbers one and two
If we can live together
The dream it might come true

Underneath the concrete
The dream is still alive
A hundred million lifetimes
A world that never dies

We live in the city of dreams
We drive on the highway of fire
Should we awake
And find it gone
Remember this, our favorite town

*

Spainish harlem Incident
by Bob Dylan

Gypsy gal, the hands of Harlem
Cannot hold you to its heat
Your temperature's too hot for taming
Your flaming feet are burning up the street.
I am homeless, come and take me
Into reach of your rattling drums
I got to know, babe, all about my fortune
Down along my restless palms.

Gypsy gal, you got me swallowed
And I have fallen far beneath
Your pearly eyes, so fast and slashing
And your flashing diamond teeth
The night is pitch black, come and make my
Pale face fit into place, ah, please
I got to know, babe, I am nearly drowning,
If it's you my lifelines trace

I been wondering all about me
Ever since I seen you there
On the cliffs of your wildcat charms I'm riding,
I know I'm 'round you but I don't know where
You have slayed me, you have made me,
I got to laugh halfway off my heels
I've got to know, babe, I have got to know, babe
So I can tell if I'm really real

Wonder Why We Ever Go Home?
Jimmy Buffet

Years grow shorter, not longer
The more you've been on your own
Feelin's for movin' grow stronger
So you wonder why you ever go home
Wonder why you ever go home

People are movin' so quickly
Humor's in need of repair
Same occupations and same obligations
They've really go nothing to share
Like drivin' around with no spare

River gets deeper not shallow


The further you move down the stream
Wonderin' if i can keep her
As i race to catch up with my dreams
How they shine and glitter and gleam

Years grow shorter, not longer
The more you've been on your own
Feelin's for movin' grow stronger
So you wonder why you ever go home
Wonder why you ever go home
You wonder why you ever go home

The Perfect High
by Shel Silverstein

There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
'Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas -- which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn't quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.

Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly,
But I'll find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits -- and cries -- and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He's grinding his teeth, he's coughing blood, he's aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes -- sits the godlike Baba Fats.

"What's happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz.
I hear you're hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I'm about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here's one more burnt-out soul,
Who's looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won't find it in no dealer's stash, or on no druggist's shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high -- find it in yourself."

"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I've climbed through rain and sleet,
I've lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I've braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot's kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears 'fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn't climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn't crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I'll kill your guru ass!"

"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you're forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzu-Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu-Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don't ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers-by.
And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu-Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu-Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow-blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.

"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it's always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth,
It's always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."

Road Koans

On the bust of a divine chime
I lost my ability to control the fate of the present,
and so i wondered...

If dreaming dreams brings us closer to our riddles,
then what did Jesus dreaming dreams bring?

*

Sometimes I catch myself trapped inside my left calf, or my right shoulder, or inside the center of my head somewhere.

*

I find us in the seams of sense
Between the here and consequence
We ride the hope the sun is coming
To bring new roads to the same old end.

I’ve been driving around in circles
Just to get back to here.

*

Everything is an offspring of now,
And no one contains now with trying.

“No Containers!”

Wait wait! I’m containing.
I’m a container myself it seems.

After all these dreams,
Though this much seemed true,

I know now.

*

Saw myself in a moment in time
down the road a ways.

Just followed the rhyme,
that’s where I’ll be.

No expectations makes me free.

This Moment is a universal pulse of perception, then becoming then, now becoming now.

There is a difference between hard and soft convictions,
A distinction between elastic assurances cautious of incoming data,
And fundamental certainties institutionalized with dogma
In the collective forgetting of a society saturated with
Thirty-second attention spans and pick of the week morals.

I sleep in a new room every night now, and sometimes I don’t sleep at all.

Another greeting with the sunrise
Beat me up before I ever laid down
Somehow this all feels normal now
As if I’m meant to live in doubt

Squishing out sub textual tension means
Absorbing all your animosity for a moment,
To be still. For a moment
Your feathers weather rough winds but you feel Alive!
Dropping behind you filet’s of the mastodon
We gripe, but are happy you remember us.

Words rely on the reeling senses
To make sentences of color and feeling
Small enough to wonder whether
It is to be expressed
Or known.

Afterboroshire Town

Orchestrated Hallucinagen Pills
.chs

Orchestrated hallucinogen pills.
The logo was a consistent visual that would happen every time
at the same time
in the trip.

I say,
don’t fence me in with your fettered consistency.
I’m melting into the present.

Mind you
don’t unwrap me yet,
keep vibing candy.

*

Confusion Prince
the Dead

If only I could be less blind, if only I knew what to find
Everywhere and all of the time, it's bending my mind
Confusion Prince is at my door
The crown I wear is the one he wore
He's here to bring me down some more and bend my mind
The friendly stranger call my name
He only wants me for his game
But it don't matter just the same I bend his mind
I'll wave my flags into the sun
I fought my wars and now they're won
And I didn't need nobody's gun, I bend their mind

*

Funky Town
Psuedo Echo

Gotta make a move to a
town that's right for me
Town to keep me movin'
Keep me gvoovin' with some
energy.

Well, I talk about it,
Talk about it,
Talk about it,
Talk about it,
Talk about, Talk about,
Talk about movin,

Gotta move on.
Gotta move on.
Gotta move on.

Won't you take me to
Funkytown.
Won't you take me to
Funkytown.
Won't you take me to
Funkytown.
Won't you take me to
Funkytown.

The Labyrinth

Mind Gulp
.chs

The placebo effect is working itself into a
Calculated paradox, rising expected new frontiers
Collecting the arrows of physics and micro-science.
The hypothesis points to phenomena outside the box
Shaking a foundation built with eternity in mind,
Or at the least the very present
So many rationales betrayed for ridicule, labels
To make crowds more organized.
By now I know it’s as much my fault as anyone else’s-
My ancestors are yours.
But the receded vision shows there is only One
Pregnant with all of us.
Babies do kick in the womb,
I feel the slumber of my heart’s sun
Restlessly waking to rise east to west again,
Tonight another evening of chance to fulfill
Another canvas, to cast a masterpiece
Elevated enough to catch the Masses’ child soul again,
Younger You to remind your runaway train
Cages are made of false freedoms.

*

Stillism

Writing my inspirations instead of experiencing them
is my fundamental split from the Universe.

I am never here nor there
I am observing
from in between.


Tuesday, Dentist

What is the center of my being
if all I ever think about
is how I can only think about
what I want to do?

If I am thinking about being happy
I am not happy,
I am thinking.
Where am I going to from?


Home Zen

Compassion is taking the time
to unbutton your dress shirts
before you throw them back into the dryer
because you forgot to take them out of the washing machine for a day
and they smelled like mold
so you washed them again.

*

Ganja, or better known to non-Rastas as Marijuana, is used for religious purposes for the Rastafarians. They find its use written in the Bible in Psalms 104:14, "He causeth the grass for the cattle, and herb for the service of man". The use of this herb is very extensive among the Rastas not only for spiritual purposes as in their Nyabingi celebration, but also for medicinal purposes for colds and such. Other names for it are Iley, callie, and holy herb. Following are a few of the many Biblical texts that Rastas embrace as reasons God, or Jah, gave them the use of the herb:
". . . thou shalt eat the herb of the field " (Genesis 3:18)
". . . eat every herb of the land " (Exodus 10:12)
"Better is a dinner of herb where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith" (Proverbs 15:17)
“He Causeth the Grass to Grow for the Cattle, and Herb for the Service of Man” (Psalm 104:14)

These Waves Roll Tide

Derka Derka Derka
.chs

Never stops
Never grasped
Never realized
Till I hit a wall

He hit a wall
I hit a wall
He hit a wall
I hit a wall

But I broke it down
And now I’m through
Hard road to take
Still might be mistaken
This was the best way
To crash into you

*

Insides
.chs

North, South, East, West, Earst.
Earst is like in but its closer to the coast.

Keep remembering to go in to touch God, go in.
Concentrate all energy inwards towards your heart and
In your mind give permission to surrender all that binds
To the current deep down inside that’s always flowing.
Its time you know to go inside for the best fuckin’ ride,
Trust me, go inside…

Have to go inside now,
Cavern of my soul.
The lord has blessed me long enough
In this naïve bungalow.
Understanding to learn to love to
Give out what I’ve been given,
Show others how I see the joy
Through a back road in my mind
that always leads me here to you
In less than twenty-six turns,
guaranteed.

*

That’s the Way That The World Goes Round
John Prine

I am the question to the world,
Not an answer to the earth,
Or a moment that's held in your arms.
And what do you think you'd ever say?
I wont listen anyway.
You don't know me and,
I'll never be what you want me to be.

And what do you think you'd understand,
I'm a boy no, I'm a man.
You can take me and throw me away,
And how can you learn whats never shown.
Yeah you stand here on your own.
They don't know me,
Cause I'm not here.

And I wanna moment to be real,
Wanna touch things I dont feel,
Wanna hold on and feel I belong.
And how can the world want me to change?
They're the ones that stay the same.
They dont know me,
Cause im not here.

And you see the things they never see,
All you wanted I could be.
Now you know me and I'm not afraid.
And I wanna tell you who i am,
Can you help be a man?
They can break me as long as I know who I am.

And I wanna moment to be real,
Wanna touch things I dont feel,
Wanna hold on and feel I belong.
And how can the world want me to change?
They're the ones that stay the same.
They can't see me,
but I'm still here.

They can't tell me who to be,
Cause I'm not what they see.
Yeah the world is still sleeping,
While I keep dreamin for me.
And their words are just whispers,
And lies I'll never believe.

And I wanna moment to be real,
Wanna touch things I dont feel,
Wanna hold on and feel I belong.
And how can they say I never change?
They're the ones that stay the same.
I'm the one now,
Cause I'm still here.
I'm the one,
Cause I'm still here,
I'm still here,
I'm still here,
I'm still here.

*

In a moment I can see the world through the wag of a puppies tail as I sit awake, late at night, struggling to find a balance enough to sleep with, pets for her for my own protection. So full of potential, so incapable of translation, lost, and searching endlessly…

Pulp or no?
Seedless or with?
Here to accomadate
Your every favorite sin

We used to pass it like a hot potato,
How foolish youth can be.
Would love to have that chance again
Only in my dreams
But in my dreams
I am too
I live with legends
In translucent heavens
Each night here on earth.
I’m so good at foolin ‘
I done fooled myself,
Fooled man don’t get fooled again,
But that’s bullshit and we both know that.

couch at bo’s place-
Sitting outside the answer to infinite potential walled up with unspoken givens no ones feels but nags their inner voice with, to a degree. And to a degree I am glad that those guiding sounds are there to keep me on path, but at other times I worry they tangle themselves up and I am left impotent in mere observation, as opposed to of course, participation.

Starting here I drift away like a hot air balloon, fueling hot air with coal. Feeling your beat like a geothermal suite I bob and fly, eagles pass me by, but I’m free to rock here just with you, I’ll keep burning if you keep pulsing.
Now I know the flushing is real-
Hue’s whooshing past mirrors in my mind
I see you through a bug eye view
You bring about a hurricane
A lighting rod of nonverbal communication
I can almost taste the tingle in your spine
Tell me, can you taste mine?