Let's Drop Out, Baby

If ever there was a sign that it's time to make art
the priority, the time is now.

A life inspired.

T'ai Chi, a little contemplation, a spot of tea,
writing, making art, a bit of exercise, an hour to read,
a delightful glass of wine, a cinq a sept, followed by a
delicious culinary adventure and a walk to the beach.

All the days ahead, the rest of our lives,
a love, a life fulfilled.

In a Deeply Troubled World

there is thought strangled,
manipulated and twisted to resemble something.
what? that doesn't matter. it isn't recognizable;
it doesn't exist. we go on and on about the issues
when the issues are dead. the mind is vacant.
the life has gone missing.

is mother dying?

i really can't ignore the plaintive cry of the Long Island Railroad anymore, especially in the middle of the night. and when i lose all patience, lose all sense, lose all focus, not for anything in particular but for the cumulative effect of life itself, i have to admit (unlike my parents) i know nothing. i do know...i know nothing at all.

gimmeabreak

have you noticed how people are really soliciting out there? doesn't matter what they're after--job, security, escape, love, the hereafter. it's all the same. the moment is all we have. if only...

i beg your pardon

we're not talking about belching here, we're talking
about the new president elect. can't obama wait until he's
sanctioned before he has to solve the world's crises ?
no. we're scared. we've had it. we're f--ked. we need to know.
so forget about all those scumbags Bush has pardoned.
let's move on. and up. there's hope in the world.

can the can can?

not sure how to explain what's going on here. it's moving around,
down and out. seeing with blurred vision. the crown, it weighs heavily,
the crown of love, of responsibility, of duty, of vision. the fucking thing
weighs a ton. want to set myself free, ya' know? take off.

hospital holiday

always seems those days are the ones in the emergency room. don't feel right. hot. spaced. having a hard time. who is thinking of me? who am I thinking of? who can I, how can I, think?

i keep saying, why am i still here?
what have you been up to?
no. talking makes me feel more relaxed. makes me feel safe.
what do you mean you have to go?
there's a perfectly good bed in the second room.
a TV, a computer, ice cream, vodka.
what else could you want?
i haven't heard from her in a long time. i keep calling. usually she answers.
i thought, no one would know if something happened to her.
how would anyone know? who would tell us?
what? yeah.
we talked yesterday.
i know. i was talking about today?
who would know? who? tell me who?

why does my world...

seem so skewed, so out of sync, so out of control. we're talking impact not addiction. family not stimulant. when the love is so big there's so much to lose. when the love is so skewed, it's out of control. when the love... the love... love.

Long Time No Write

What can I say? Life is an expanding universe that is so hard to keep up with sometimes you just give up. Not give up literally, just figuratively and then
one breath of fresh air, two, three, thirteen. Why is that number so magical?
Do you remember? I do. Everything about that age was transforming. New AWARENESS,
new BODY, new PRESENCE in the WORLD. I sat at a cafe in Nice and ordered
my first drink, a Cinzano. When the waiter returned and saw that I had not diluted the drink with water, he looked disgusted and I finally figured out why it had tasted so bad. The reason I was there was because Bea, the sister of
my foreign exchange sister Suzanne, tried in her very liberated yet respectful way, to say I have to fuck my boyfriend so scram. She was stuck with me in her apartment that summer. So I took to the streets, talking
to hookers. The pressure to wear a bikini was formidable and I painfully marveled over the rocky beaches with their amazing boulders that were so flat, all these sexy French women laid their nearly naked bodies across them to pray to the sun. I wondered why I couldn't be like them. Have their bodies. Know the love. Hunched over, I made my way across the boulevard, thankful to get to the other side, while trying hard not to expose myself too much. I was 13, after all.

what constitutes the end?

this is the question. one we ask ourselves over and over throughout our lives. always seems to come up no matter the circumstance. in this case, i'm thinking about the end of my novel which just doesn't seem to want to end, as if it has a life of its own and i have nothing to do with it. and then there's the issue of the end, what it means, death. so much death all around me. always the prospect. so i have come to adopt it as something i encounter in my every day life, part of what to expect and in the case of my novel SEPTEMBER 10TH, death keeps knocking on the door. it's where it started and it's where it all ends (eventually) but that's past the place i intended.

Using Our Groovy Minds

What a moving experience it was watching the election unfold and
seeing Jesse Jackson brought to tears, knowing how the years he toiled
to keep civil rights in the spotlight finally paid off. My faith has
been restored.

YES WE DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

above and beyond

do you get the feeling that the universe is in retrograde?
have people lost their ever lovin' groovy minds?
can we not reason or relate or contemplate any more?

these are the questions.

NIRVANA

we fail to succeed, succeed to fail

gross national product?
measure not a value that is immeasurable.
a point
that is infinite.
a cause
that is just.

no ratio
can adequately explain
human behavior.

we try
we fail
we try again.
we fail
we succeed
to fail
again.

can we possibly understand what this is about?

ask all you want
the answer is an illusion
because there is none.

how can we tolerate the ignorance?
how? or more accurately, why?