suffused with vanity
the beautiful pray for beauty

eclipse

the world fades
as the moon slowly passes
over your soft lips

i choke
on my perfect day

renunciation is a piggy bank,
boundless love; oinking without expectation.

mind is a rambunctious puppy,
that quivers when struck

the jewel

in the silent vapor of my breath
gossamer snowflakes fell between the pines

A strange rubber ball appeared out of the nothingness.
"Put yourself in the ball," a voice said.
I did as it asked, "Allright?"
"Now, throw it!" the voice replied.

first meal

Some personal rules for silent meals:

1. Take something from each dish that is offered.
2. Take equal helpings of each dish.
3. Eat everything you take.
4. Take only what can be eaten before second helpings is passed.
5. Do not be the last one eating.

The grapes were my downfall. I figured a little sprig of grapes would be easy to get down. Not so. How naive am I at life that I have never eaten, nor am able to recognize, nor able to eat with any proficiency--seeded grapes. Those bulbous purple bastards, it took me some time to even figure out what was happening. What is this crunchy thing? There is something horrible in the grape! It slowly dawned on me. If I had not decided to eat them last, I could have paced myself, allowing time to develop a method. Too late! My frantic tongue twisted the grape against my teeth, trying to extract the cursed seed; but to no avail. Each time, the skin separated and the juicy innards clung to the seed like glue. Eventually, I resorted to shoving my fingers in my mouth (which is not something you can do subtly) and gnashing with my front teeth.

After only managing 5 or 6 grapes, I slumped back in my chair, defeated. Rules 3, 4, and 5; abandoned.

first day

We walked along the cloister.
There was a misting of rain that fell slowly.

Stopping at the Buddha Hall fountains,
the clouds that shrouded the mountain only moments ago, retreated.

Sun poured through the opening,
and a rainbow rose over the tall pines.

breakup #1

tool becomes enemy
clay soldiers march

leaflets of propaganda

drape the dead city

the chemotherapy that kills cities is itself a cancer

the time between shots
is full of tremors

this broken canon
only fires
in one direction

on opposite day
all we desire
gets pushed away

"La Commedia è finita!"

I stole a carnation from Pagliacci,
and gave it to the girl crying at Starbucks.
She needed it more than I did,
and we cried together on the walk home.

jack-in-the-box

One possible theory as to the origin of the jack-in-the-box involves a 13th century English prelate Sir John Schorne who is often pictured holding a boot with a devil in it. It is believed in folklore that he once cast the devil into a boot to protect the village of North Marston in Buckinghamshire. If it's true, it would explain why in French, a jack-in-the-box is called a "diable en boîte" (literally "boxed devil"). [wikipedia]

out of the box
comes a devil and a clown
laughs as he whips you
until you join his parade

he is one without
from his blood flowers grow
he chews at the raw spots
that heal over with a scar

two bites

pulling back the gauze,
"that's gonna leave a scar", she says.

the pulse of life
that throbs in my throat
makes it easy to choke

I'll take this love potion
on the rocks

palms clutching his throat,
through silent heaves,
her arms encircled his belly,
and dispelled the engorgement.

I work at the factory
where they make the lead weights
SCUBA divers use

heat upon heat upon heat

"What's in the box?"
"Pain."

Raytheon Creates Pain Box From Dune

Dear Raytheon,
you've wasted your time,
what you've made
already sits snug and invisible
at the base of my sternum.

A long walk

the cute girl
with short black hair
was staring at me
and I couldn't smile
or say hello

walking past a tattoo parlor,
a man was draped over a table:

his bare back bloody
I did not discuss haiku
with the black needle

beautiful Janette
hands me a gyro
and knows the name
that others give my face

There's a bugbear in Cal-Anderson Park, and he's a nibbler!

The brightly colored ribbons of his chew-toy hurt my eyes.

Tom's dyed his red hair black again.

writing good
makes writing bad

brilliant light
casts a darker shadow

I bury myself in you.
I drop the shovel
lay down at the headstone.

fantasy

in these weeks of pain
the curves of your body
were my only refuge

vampires are normal people
with a black hole in their chest

the child’s mind splits
into high and low
big and little

and eventually forgets
the uniform blur
where the heart formed

Can it hurt to tell the truth?
Hanging blackness and voices in the light-sockets say it will.

the wild horse
will not fuck
the scarred boar

I choke at her lips
my throat is corrupt
from inhaling blood

LHC

scientists were horrified
at the creation of tiny black holes
until they discovered they could be tapped
as a source of limitless energy

stop watching the pretty girls
look to the black holes engulfing the earth

two hangovers

a bottle of wine,
a day of longing

the rock from space

At first it just looked like pain, this black stone I'd coughed up. But under the green glow of the emotional spectrometer, more elements were visible. Thick veins of loneliness and shame streaked its surface. This was an exciting discovery! My colleagues and I had for many years been searching for a pure source of these elements. Theories as to their nature filled the many books of our library and were shouted against the paneled walls of this vaulted institution.

Pulling from my own modest studies, I shall try, in layman's terms, to explain what it is that makes these elements (the term element is not precisely correct, for shame is actually a compound) so fascinating:

Loneliness comes into being only in the darkest reaches of our universe. It arises naturally in areas of total non-interaction, where particles of matter are divided by vast distances. There is no bumping or jostling, things simply hang inert, against the cold vacuum of space.

Shame, as I've stated, is a compound. For, when loneliness reacts chemically with any other substance, regardless of its properties, shame is always formed!

Next time, perhaps we shall discuss the highly theoretical (controversial and probably dangerous) process by which loneliness can be converted back into normal matter, touching on topics, a bit more...  eastern, perhaps?

Phil's Bliss

"You know, I was reading the other day. Did you know that sandalwood is on the endangered list? That, and redheads, because it's--what do you call it--a recessive trait. My two cousins are redheads. I keep telling them, they better breed or they'll get caged up in a zoo somewhere. With the tea-tree, did you want alot or a little?"

crush

my stone heart burdens
weight without light
a good place for a bad idea
comes over you like a cloud

Once, there was a Monk that achieved such spiritual attainment that all the animals of the forest would come to him.

Deer would bow their heads.
Birds landed upon his shoulders, singing joyously.
Bears would sit, Buddha-like, and listen to his stories.

Then after a time this Monk, deep in meditation, reached true enlightenment, and the animals of the forest came to him no more.

hurricane

Everyone loves Jack,
but no one loves Simon.

"just a bad call, it's so funny
you think i'm so serious, oh but that's not it
the thing is, i don't give enough to actually give a fuck
you're just plain boring, and you bore me asleep." [dt]

“If you have ice cream, I will give you some.
If you have no ice cream, I will take it away from you." [jk]

"Why would I choose cosmic energy over Katara?"

Meditating in the swamps of Degobah [1]

"I saw... I saw a city in the clouds."
"Mmm. Friends you have there."
"They were in pain."

[1] from wikipedia: The word Dagobah comes from a Sri Lankan term for a Buddhist stupa, or reliquary monument.

"This chakra deals with willpower, and is blocked by shame."

My early memory
is a series of disjointed
sensations and images.

“You always were a solitary child.
You loved doing things by yourself;
there never were many children around.
You were the oldest, and you loved the company of adults.”

Allowance traded for bubble gum,
Bubble gum traded for affection,
The tightly wrapped rectangles lined our lunch box.

Lodged in the crook of our throat,
a cold, dense stone kept us from speaking.

"There is something wrong with me."

She made me write it on the blackboard 150 times.

The man climbing alone,
feels the awe of the mountain.

The boy sitting alone,
shrinks to the size of a man.

Inadequate

shame · n.

1 a feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.
2 dishonor. a person or thing bringing dishonor.
3 a regrettable or unfortunate thing.

guilt · n.

1 the fact of having committed an offence or crime.
2 a feeling of having committed wrong or failed in an obligation.

Nikki was abandoned by her owner at the daycare facility where I work. She was taken to animal control today, after staying with us for about a month.

[Afterward, Nikki was adopted by an employee]

graffiti on a stone wall

'keep looking'

sandbox

we play in the dirt
push our face in the sand
we both gasp for breath
through the cuts in our hands

ragged

our denim trousers
are three sizes to big.

a sky shredded

by unraveling clouds.

knees broken

into widening holes.

random sayings from the mothership

• walls give us something to lean on.
• it’s dark inside the monkey’s paw.
• work without play is slavery.
• the marionettes of our ancestors still dance beautifully.
• without sunglasses, I walk in the shade.

lost the clouds
that cross the moon

only white
if we notice

the dark box
sealed by two
is opened by one

orbiting saturn

beneath its frozen surface
maybe buried oceans
will contain life

september

I miss horribly
the girl that never was
and count the moments
it takes for her never to return

black box

against the chalk white walls
it waits

full of cancer
and apple blossoms

janitor

after a long day full of work
I walked past a lot, vacant and overgrown
full of tall grass and wildflowers

my mop and broom are useless here

I've decided to break up with myself
it's not working out
and I'd like to see other people

birthday

candles are lit
and blown out
between breaths

old songs

I've never heard a song before
or had a kiss or first step

I choke on the blocks
of this erupting world

three years

[August 2008]
to distracted to notice
a dark song of bloodletting
a leech with two mouths
one for excretion
the other for clinging

[May 2011]
it fell to the ground
in a slow, lugubrious motion
turgid pink and winter-blue veins
across its stretched flesh
it will not feed again for three years

don't be evil

my other pages have been splattered
with the semen of capitalist greed-monkeys!
it seems it's time for a change.

this space shall be forever without,
"Catch a Crook, Get a Hot Ringtone"
or "Free Mascara, ask me how!"

thanks, Google.