Month: July 2016

A Glass Darkly

A Glass Darkly

I burned late into this night, old friends and beers, my mouth stale, late air,

met a man with an artistic home in an alley,

there are still those who say no.

I hear they say we done destroyed the democratic process, i hear them saying shes bad, hes good, theyre things.

Our we children? Its as if we trusted the opinion of the first man who saw and ceased at his extrapolation. Surely this is not the civilized way, how could it be?

But watchin the hatchlings grope by its easy to see how we could be in such a situation, such trust and un earned safety and lack of fear in a world that literally bleeds for your right not to,

even if you wish it away,

see through that glass darkly,




The Escarpment Near The Track

The Escarpment Near The Track

Itll be a wet morning as always in the region of Pine,

the temperature holding ones skin like the clammy hand of a villain in tales of luridity,

Ive read my Yellow Journalist and scoffed and regained my composure and laughed off the nonsense,shook it off as a dog shakes off water, there is that bit of moisture.

But in minutes it will be gone and their sputtering’s will have left my mind, thank god the morning is too much like an eraser,

not to be caught up in its scent an impossibility,

My nerves un frayed and Seneca my brother lounging near.

I don’t cling so heavily to life that I mourn its loss rather than clutching at its gain,

I dont regret the death that came before this life,

why fear the one that comes after,

It is nothing new to me.



Nothing like harsh times to give men a sense of the spiritual and the breaking away from the old. Lately I’ve seen many movements, all very similar to ones before, no matter how much these movements claim their originality, they are unoriginal in the fact that they claim to be original at least.

Men speak meme now, a ridiculous language of similes, syllogisms half assed’ly made , and images .

And Im too lazy to say more.

Quickly Now

Quickly Now

I quickly wake and blame God for the feeling I know he is apart from.

I dig deeply in my books and find many incredible things, but not a man in whom Ive read has found the way out for another, only for themselves.

They don’t even lie to you, they tell you just as much.


“You ask what that is? It is his spirit, and his perfection of his reason in that spirit. For man is a rational animal. Man’s ideal state is realized when he has fulfilled the purpose for which he was born. And what is it reason demands of him? Something very easy- that he live in accordance with his own nature. Yet this is turned into something difficult by the madness that is universal among men: we push one another into vices. ” from Seneca’s letter to Luciulus # XLI

My uncle has passed away, and rather than say anything which isn’t really how I operate I will do what Im actually thinking which is ruminating on the act of loss, and the beginning of the new life, the one i struggle to believe in but know is real because I live it each night, because I was given mind and not just flesh to feel with.

They never fill in the blanks {these thinkers}  but give you a decent measure by which to figure out the equation yourself if you have a mind to, as they say. Some of you do not, I wouldn’t recommend going on if I were you, or if so, to busy yourself with the play of life because you shouldn’t muddle in the affairs of men and the mind.  These aren’t fun except on accident and when they are, it is more the brother of joy that comes with wisdom than some farce one endeavors upon for a laugh and an orgasm, and then moves on to the next. There is no next, wisdom and joy is the end.

I write from my home like a snail from his shell, the storm beating against my keratin formed outer hull, the windows my fogged eyes, the landscape over-green, my children quiet, the rooms dark though lit, as if darkness itself lived there and would not move away.  My home is like the attic the boy reads inside of in the movie Never-ending Story. God.

When your narrative voice becomes a weight its time to toss it into the sea. Let the waves wear at its metal and the crustacea give it tow.

Things I Am: A Poem

Things I Am: A Poem

I am Abraham,with no ram caught in a thicket,
I am the rotting white oak,
the dripping water from the busted gutter,
the smoke emptied,
from the lungs of the vagrant,
the fog lifting from the indiscernible horizon,
the pangs of childbirth in an alien country,
an unfinished road,
leading to a spring,
that everyone fears to swallow from,
the prophet,
living in fear of his profession,
the ignorer of Yahweh’s voice,
resonating in the cavern of my skull,
the fish drowning in the shallow lake,

the priest aching in his fervor,
the rabbi,
dying under the weight of his phylacteries,
the footfalls on cobbled streets,
the tolling of bells,
the peals of laughter,
the tear on a widows face in an unknown frontier,
the sunrise over equatorial crops,
the scrape of the pen,
the mortar of prayer,
which keeps my umber ethereality from going asunder,
the metallurgist forging chains endlessly,
I am Pilate with hands that can never be cleaned,
I am he who betrays with a kiss,
I am he who kept the silver,
the cook with no one to feed,

the weed in the midst of  the valley of virgin lilies,
the cicada screaming to be understood as an individual,
I am the blood of two surnames,
I am aching knees and a flight of stairs,
I am a father,
a husband,
I am an organic machine designed to love,
and I hear instructions from God in the confused language of children.

On What We Let Pass

On What We Let Pass

Art: Good and Evil by the writer ,poet and printer prophet William Blake

Many things should be tossed into the detritus of our former wreckage, but much of what we let float past us in our lives is that which we should’ve clinged and built a new raft to once more flow asunder towards a vaster horizon ,away from the defined one we know better than to be happy with.

Rather than be verbose I will instead get down to the tacks of brass, whatever that means ( note to self look up that colloquialism) , I feel as my days are slipping through my fingertips, I need to hold onto more moments and experiences, wisdoms imparted, must! or perish foolishly, meet an end unbecoming of my common uncommon lineage.

…”and a rage which gnaws into itself the more it is compelled to shelter itself under the pretense of goodwill.” M. de Mont.

There is much to be done, and much has been done, but how does one go about it? If history is any example then the only way or pattern I’ve noticed is a total lack of patterns , merely artifice, manmade creations accepted as writ by common cultural submittal, unconscious or otherwise, nevertheless it is.

And within it we live, tempestuous the waves of its reaction to us, this harsh reality made more harsh than it is by our laxity in fear and overabundance of glut. Made lazy with acceptance, we moulder over what we should have already done, and do what we should never have, yet there are men who speak of humanism, whom i witness tortured in their own minds, speak of nothing but pain, why i ask would i listen to a fool who wishes to immerse his psyche in merely one aspect of a beingness?

Answer: do not. These are the things one should let pass.

I choose instead freedom in the limitless expanse of memory and present thought, a breathing in of the marrow of music, words, sex, love, my children’s laughter , the melted bronze summer sun, the crucible of change, and the sleeping earth in the depths of nights womb.

On Occupying the Mind

On Occupying the Mind

Ive always had a crafting mind, I wake with thoughts on ancient designs of war machines, or the importance of salt in certain regions of Europe and the mining of it, and then I think of Paracelsus and his experiments in medicine on Salt miners.

Truly the mind is a vast thing and endless, and simply trying to occupy it and somehow envelope it with even an ephemeral definition is considerably hard, nay, damn near impossible, like wrestling an alligator covered in baby oil.

I’m trying my hand at the Stoics and such, I’ve read modern philosophy  having found it wanting, or perhaps i merely lacked the prior building blocks and order to attain a whole i needed to look deeper and recognize in men from long gone Empires, as myself, feel the way they felt, recognize in them my spirit, and this alone would give me fruition. As men will maybe read my words and think of me at the cusp of my dying Empire.

All is in bloom bout me but  times I don’t smell the blossoms, so occupied am I with trying to figure out how to remain occupied.

Certain musics move me beyond what I believe to be the normal realm of what it is responsible to feel, ( Lachrimae Antiquae, by Dowland for ex.) they take me to alien places where my thoughts transcend the need to have form and almost suffocate themselves on the pure joy of being in that moment, a mere glistening thought in the spiral arm of an obscure galaxy far from the center, the glowing dark mattered and explosive center, some dynamism, some God.

When I fathoming myself against the mass of my planet,  fail to gather power from the thoughts,only fear,  when I examine my spirit in the context of void and know it is not a shadow of life but its actual dimensional self, I am heartened, only then am i quieted at 3 AM, and only then does the intermittent pain become reasonable to bare and to bear.

On Being Ruled

On Being Ruled

It is not the natural condition of man to seek out rulers , this is a temporary adaptation we have made to our furtherance and our detriment.

I don’t speak of what we call politics because it is an ending, and we are speaking of the beginning, Ive never been ruled by anyone but myself, and occasionally those i love, but no government has any real power, especially over mind, which is all i am, all you are, unless you let yourself believe the lie that this is you, this sack of flesh and bones, with humanistic presence patting itself on its back, a jailor , overly polite, preparing you for incarceration of its liking.

Many people have never even opened a book, or thought any differently than the internet would encourage them to, and this is the sole reason we are falling apart, the lack of an educated group of humans, not blind enough to ignore their house sliding off of a cliff into the mouth of the debtor and beast.

Sometimes when I’m writing i say to myself ” God is this really the voice you gave me, this pocked empty thing which tries to make verse when it should make points” and he always replies silently in a way that lets me know I’m an asshole for pissing on the blessing he gave me, no answer is an answer to the one who has mind enough to think of his own accord. Such is God, he rules without ruling.

Dont endanger the streets, hold signs, or fight the government. Simply cease showing up to work, wander away into the fields , bring your fishing poles.

The quickness with which we are all reigned in by people acting like our parents will be the litmus which judges how overruled and misruled we are.

On Being a Patient

On Being a Patient

Being isolated to your bed with a toothache is both Proustian and Kafkaesque at the same time. Next to me is a pile of books, various episodes of Star Trek move across the screen, my cheek ,a swollen node, glowing on the left side of my face.  The essays of Michel de Montaigne have been as much a nurse to me as my wife and the medicines provided me by modern physik. In my idle dotage, I think of books i wish were with me now, Senecas epistles for instance, have always assuaged pain both in my head and heart.

I am the worst of patients , i ignore all recommendations and diagnostics which would further my health, i sneak cigarettes and coffee, like a child would sneak chocolates and just as surreptitiously, looking over my shoulder like a street urchin having stolen bread.

Yet I am the loudest complainer when my ills are furthered by my own malfeasance and breaking of the code of Hippocrates, being often in pain, and greeting it always in the same way , I have the contempt of familiarity and it sometimes gets in the way of the progress of my health increasing to a viable level.

I will try to be more philosophical about my pain and think of the Stoics who long before me mastered the art of suffering and turned it into the joy of the conqueror.

What I want to write is a diatribe, what ill do is ….

What I want to write is a diatribe, what ill do is ….

This is not a diatribe. This is a cry for hope in a world bent on it own path of hatred, inverted on itself to no avail and at cross purposes to what is logical and good for it.  This is a love letter, and ill write it for the rest of my life, but let this be the first installment.

I get the sense that all men feel at odds, and truly believe in their illusions to the degree where they would kill for them, and beyond, feel for them, which is worse and eats you not just on the battlefield but in your mind , in your home, as you sit with your children.

As we speak the Black Lives Matter movement is blocking roads and protesting, as is their right under the Constitution, the one i happen to live beneath and accept, but they are granted this right by a much higher law, one we can’t even name, and I support them and any in the fight for regular treatment and understanding. I don’t understand Race hatred, I wonder often if Im from this same planet, I read the science books and the religious texts and i take them in, I know for a fact there is no race, but the one, Us, that the higher laws we’ve adopted in all of our books be they philosophical or theosophical  , line up with each other enough for there never to have been any wars, I know we are being tweaked and pulled at by something beyond us, and we are dancing to the tune and it is eating us alive, visibly, it shows as the scars of our behavior.

I know when I was a boy unavailed of such thought, I was free and I remember an unburdened heart and a world where vitriol didn’t leak out of all available faucets.

I pray in the way I can, I hold my hands in my mind together always, and I implore not just God but man, let us live blemishless and accept our blemishes, discard anger, overcome fear, embrace difference, we’ve got nothing to lose but self ,and its a lonely world with that guy.