Happy Hollandaise,
Happy Hollandaise,
Save the mayonnaise
Save the mayonnaise
wrapped in cellophane for
the war!
(repeat until it's no longer funny)
(repeat until it's no longer funny)
Anything created and exists for its own sake does not last very long.
The things which are costless to us plays on our laziness, the costly plays on our extremism. Keep the fulcrum well oiled.
Quality with anything is the fierce consistency of its promise in all aspects and instances.
By approaching success directly you are eliminating the many number of other opportunities you have in winning.
"they each dreamed their dreams,
and then left the world."
Nothing by itself can be right or wrong, good or bad. You bring something to it. To observe is to participate. And in your criticism you yourself is criticized.
In truth, I love nothing. Which is another way to say I love everything. If everyone in the room is yelling then no one is yelling.
I don't believe in anything. That is a problem. I believe it to be a problem. Then the problem, by itself, is solved. Return to the beginning.
The principle of change does not concern itself with right or wrong and other dualities (there are others for that), but only on the dynamic itself.
There is a way to find youself in the middle way without choosing the middle or the mediocre. Simply choose both extremes.
Sorrow is unavoidable when we are, without our control, in transport between our nature and our understanding. And we find neither to be lesser than the other.
You aren't an artist, there is no artist. This isn't an art piece, there is no such thing. There is only vitality.
I hate awesome.
There, I admitted it. I don't like the word. And the resulting flatness from the barrage of too much awesome.
Wittgenstein as written about by Bill Beckley, December 8, 1997:
Meanings of words like beauty result from their use. Beauty, he pointed out, is most often used as an interjection, similar to Wow! or rubbing one's stomach. When aesthetic judgements are made, aesthetic adjectives such as beautiful or fine hardly play a role at all. "The words you use are more akin to right and correct than to beautiful and lovely."
"and on the third day he brought his uncle." --Robert Hass
As a precaution, regularly take the following in small doses. On occasions when an agent of illness has entered the body, take the following in large doses:
* Whiskey or whisky
* Excercise
Rest on the fact that you are likely stronger than a microorganism. If it calls your bluff, be prepared to take your body to the brim of collapse. Surely, the germ would die before you do.
Here, a remedy for a life plagued with illness, prepared in three parts:
1. Avoid living in a perfectly sanitized environment. Eat often with your hands, and do it gracefully. Take hand baths as often as a restroom sink is in proximity, but only for its splish-splash pleasure.
2. Unless it is an emergency, never ever go near a doctor. Develop an involuntary upchuck for pills. Avoid the scheduled medication routine. Avoid needles in the eye, mouth, chest, abdomen, neck, spine, and scrotum.
3. With a straight face, deny being ill. Selective denial most often applied in religion can have more practical uses. To be effective you must learn to accept the multiplicity of truths, practice your best act, and master the art of belief.
I am by this profes-
sion Not as much in
the sense that 'I kid'
like the drunk kids
the sober Rather more
in the sense that the
sober humors the
drunk Sober, not
to say one isn't drunk
Or that he is a man
absent --dry table
Rather 'stead to say
he keeps steady a
pint of pity in each
eye corner
It wasn't until I began taking
my own advice...
Did I bring you here only "to give my fears a shape"?
that I felt the dishonesty
of trying to survive unscathed,
full feathered
Let our minds forget
Let the autumn never forget
To see
Do you recognize the quality in everything?
To stain
Do you leave traces of it along the way?
To leave
Come follow me
I've known you since eight
We met standing there, alone
Swallowed up by the sun-warm rain
Tapping your shoulders, heavy
And you wondered if she told you the truth,
If birds do marry.
In the distant future, truth (as in fact, non-fiction) is able to be, and is only, evaluated at its actual occurence. That a moment is a granule of our operating experience, which encapsulates time and space (or place).
What is a fact but truth devoid of meaning? A fact, just as much as a lie, can be used to create the wrong meaning.
As they say...
"it's a beautiful day"
Remember me
Without my face
Just standing here
Plugged-in
The screeching sound of
innumerable givens
And when is it any different?
do our eyes
always glossed with tears, refracting
these holy images, of you
of me, of mangled
hearts wandering and never
to be certain
Who could you be?
facing east, facing
the big day
when my hands are no longer mine
when my very reflection peels ill
Who will you be? And what will
you whisper to me then?
oh dear I will miss your face
Sank you smaller into the distance then
Lodged you big into my consciousness, only
Hell you've been here for
years now doll face, and
I'm afraid
Sketch by Alexis Mackenzie
our eyes
our eyes
They are gashes
we must
tend to
Do not listen, do something else. Allow it to simply occupy the background. Grasp your every moment with some other meaningful activity, like your most impressive thoughts, or most provocative actions. Ignore the music, let it shape the surface of your environment, like the furniture around you.
This music is not intended for listening. As with anything repetitive, it must be allowed to fall off your consciousness. Naturally, your mind will try to kick it, become unaware of it. If you do not allow this you will feel disturbed.
In absence of an official measure to what is commonly referred to as a 'moment', as in "Can you give me a fuckin' moment, please!", or the annoying "Uno momento por favor" said with a thick english accent, or better in "...discrimination is a hellhound that gnaws at Negroes in every waking moment of their lives to remind them that the lie of their inferiority is accepted as truth in the society dominating them" (by Martin Luther King Jr.), ...I hereby declare a 'moment' to be approximately nineteen seconds in length.
Knowing what we have left
behind
Afraid we will forget
--then forgetting
Soon
Then again
And one day reminded
Dearest,
Listen for the wind through the evergreen leaves
for the sound made by distance
between us
And when you shivered stiff
Over your bed, the
Women boiled water, laid
Damp towels over your swollen sets-
I knew you wouldn't last
And each time she left
Emptied the house with threats to never
Come back for the three of us, I
Waited waited and watched, figures
Take shape at the distant end of her main road-
I knew she wouldn't last
Often, I find myself eating with
a knife blunt-side down
This evening I saw you from across the street, G. She carried her shoulders back and walked purposefully as you do. Your littlest gestures will always be familiar to me. Much of you (but perhaps not your walk) already has become me. I often notice you in my own playful reflections.
Last weekend I kissed you, C. She smiled and was paralyzed by our energy as you use to. I will always have your eyes closely gazing into mine. We kissed as strangers kiss (as the book title said). And as hard as I try I cannot remember what she looked like beyond this sacred vision of your face.
We kept each other's company for a while. Until it got too awkward to ignore the rest of the party. And later, as you were to leave you came by to say goodbye. I kissed the back of your hand. You moved closer and it immediately became clear we needed to pull each other aside. Away from the crowd, this way around the corner and behind the bookshelf. Before it again becomes an entry to another room full of people. Where it seemed private enough to draw out a kiss. A kiss into a cluster of kisses. Words fainted as everything whispered left my memory almost immediately. Though my fingers remember what felt of your hair. And the rustling sound your hand made as it crept over my chest. Someone said... "I could fall in love with someone like you". Sounds like something I'd say.
I know it's Spring
Decibel-ads, they tell me to spring
A day
(of) me
and sun, symphony in C
chasing dust particles
Adance
underneath my lids
Scattered in a dark 6th floor hotel room, late. I seem to have fallen stuck too far in front of myself, where things are screwed off focus. So I scurry about scribbling little worms of thought, hoping it will all connect tomorrow --after I sleep. But I can't sleep so I hold my eyes shut trying to forget that I'm holding my eyes shut. Just like how it didn't work the night before. This is when silence amplifies. Because you have nothing left but what's in your head. And there's nothing in your head.
I remember laying down for a nap in the afternoon. I feel awake now at half passed seven and wandered aimlessly in the dark. Looking for something. Nothing.
So I went back outside to the balcony where I see I've been reading earlier. The book and pen I left on the ledge hasn't moved. I turned on the light I had hung outside, sliding the dimmer up slowly so as to not attract the attention of neighbors. I thought to myself, a seat here should be great once the weather gets warmer, and the sky brighter.
Now 7:34 and I realize I still didn't know if it was early evening or early morning. And that it didn't really matter which. But perhaps knowing may help me find some direction. So I looked at the clock again. Well, it's evening. Happy valentines day.
Hair unnaturally black
Her latex skin you can tell is older
Than the sum of her glamour parts
Bandaged up by design, soft
Glittering ramparts
A rag doll pulled inside-out
Even the lint on her back
Is matching 'pink' --the new Black
(A publicly articulated profile)
It would be difficult to describe you and you probably have the hardest time describing yourself. Perhapses: You are full of contradictions that you are comfortable with. Because you know that one is never the opposite of another. That there is no reason to ever choose. Because balance doesn't mean the middle, and you have the greatest of intentions. You suffer from a lack of enthusiasm yet you are never bored. You never feel alone no matter where you are, you are always accompanied by yourself. You can have a complex opinion on just about anything, but you prefer silence unless you are asked. You lack a sense of entitlement, but settle for nothing less than what's fair. Whether fairness requires corruption or sacrifice. You have great desires but haven't yet learned to be effective. If you have, you must teach me. Chances are, this isn't you.
She who loves motorcycle and sushi more than she'll ever love me.
Could I become
The one who left
Once again
The one who waits
Here, once again
Simply laid-out on its path
Toothed surface of paper
And the duration
Of this blooded pen
Not a hiatus but more a billowing of today, of just today. Which in effect alters the past and the future. Thinking of water itself sinking. It's a Saturday and I bask under the light entering my windows. Free warmth. I face the sun, close my eyes, and chase magnified dust particles on the surface of my eyes. I wondered if you really need language to better understand yourself. Perhaps you don't. But it certainly helps to learn the meaning of the word 'twilight'.
Dear m'liver
At some point last year
I decided --this year I would be
an alcoholic, just for a year
I had my reasons then
really, but now it seems clear
this is no easy deal
demanding (you)
a good understanding
of chemicals,
a complete re-management
of schedule, and
an entirely
new wardrobe
You... in between
a diminishing dream, and
the reluctance to swallow
that menacing thought
of awakening
__eld breath
Now a choice
of where
in which
or if
to exhale
Today you were happy. Beauty came
to you much like how someone would
describe a motor crash as:
"I was driving, then
this big fuckin' tree started coming
right at me!"
They say, it's the heart
that goes first
I wouldn't be sur-
prised if I was next
The day is past halfway
and no one yet has spoken
Sitting alone
in a parked car
until it becomes too silly
alive,
sitting alone
in a parked car
Hey, this is my friend Kimberly. She is the nicest
person you'll ever meet. Unless of course
she's not.
I think it would be good
to figure out why I keep waking-
earlier and earlier
in pitch darkness where only
two things in the house kept lit:
the door of the clothes dryer unshut,
the clock on the kitchen stove, 5:31
as I passed
Eventually daylight
tells me that your eyes
are somewhat green. Still
I wonder where you tuck those lashes
when you sleep, laying
breath, fainting ess'
And the strength
of a two-fish
kiss
(for my estranged father)
Once an opportunity for expression, now
the boy is definitely
idle faced. Head weight held up
by a chin to fist. Blank
time did slow to
a frown. By himself
with what you would call
cotton eyes.
Leave me your honed gesture, you know
the one which never seemed to work for you
your style, or even just half your smile.
Via airmail
Headlights on neutral
The day light fade
the end less p'rade
of cars
move odd
ly slow
A howl sustained
over the drone of a thousand
grieving trumpets
Take-off,,
Wading headless,
I toward the front
of my own
funeral
What am I not telling you?
And I won't tell you even more
Man bursts out of crowd --
propelled by cell phone
I walked in
Then walked
out
This was not
the market
you once took
me to
How
is it best
to end
our story?
Stopped stood there where I was
under
the start splitting rain
with her last...
(unfolding)
Just a meter past the park bench
on the side angling uphill
the sky, a single evenlit gray
almost blinding
her words, laser printed
black sans serif
There was nothing interesting about
what she wrote. Nothing fascinating
about common office paper
no nothing
at all
but, it hasn't rained for many months
and how it feels to ignore it
(or -- Have At, My Mangled Heart)
Dented clay, hanging bent
cage ribbed inqueasy scorn
thornful drifted
dented, heart hanging
gifted
What wonder do spirits bring
as they swing
from windless evening lits
only to embrace you with
a whisper...
an other walks nearby
And your steps
a swing swing gesture
curving luscious like the tiny
corners of her lips
The turny leafy path leading
out to a whole new network
of moments
of warmth
of wet
of silent mornings
You left me inthe middle
where it is ill to be
unsafe, yet not bleeding
I wanted always, or
a visible end-space
a stabbing period, like
this one.
I wonder what is left of that
stumble fool
I'd kill him myself
if I could
I'm finger raking-- slipp
gap-- dunno where
to point and shoot
It's painful when weakness
leaves the body
Then I thought about you
yes, it's all about you
Woke up twice but still continued the chase.
The "Incredible Hulk" was after me, leaping from
building to building. I was my brother I wanted
to protect... him inserted between a bed and a wall,
trying not to breathe. There I see the side of
his face (but not his eyes). The Hulk looks around
but didn't see him. I was the Hulk --leaping.
It wouldn't end.
You know you
scared
It never was:
big important
You
will pepper
and salt
and see your doctor
(or -- The Ugly Use of Ugly)
A wide-eyed gaze at
those who
create
insecurities, while
victims
are invisible
even
to cab drivers
(at the Donostia Bus Station)
Traveled
far to find a tongue
closer passing
by
and gone
I am and I will
I have and I never be
Alter me
Dreamt I was being
closely followed
felt his breath
on the back of my neck
I looked back
and saw him close behind me
I looked right at him
and he did not seem to mind
Some questions are better left to be requestioned than be answered.
Your
dreams
are
your
own
Let it put
scratches
on
your
face
(from a small bottle of artificial tears)
"Saltwater cures everything"
Caution:
If you become famous
they will build a space
with your name
where every which way you have
stained this world
will be
on display
like in your mother's livingroom
(where at which point I stood up and applauded Gaudi)
Tonight reminds me of our Dolores
the deaf evening
the dark empty park
...and feeling safe
I wish I was
back there again with you
What has happened to us so suddenly?
Do you think you can tell... between
me loving something or just
hating its other?
Do I love your body or do I just
hate the buttons of your shirt?
The arrogant little double-eyed pricks
A prescription for living, pressed
against my heart
murmur
Not quiet but speechless
Walking alongside Lolo Pedro (grandfather)
A thin brown 5 AM bag of warm bread
almost too hot too full for me to carry, 1980
My rubber slippers, L oversized
over fathers Kapitan pavement
House,
running up the stair rail corner
you hand carved from a tree
held my radius on sharp one-eighty
Like the bare concrete
of father's walls,
all unfinished
We were wherever
she is there with me
under the streetlight, moonlight
whichever
A reminder:
You are all alone
and within the lone, the hero
versus the contra-bida
beyond the fascia
they are cronies back to back
then perhaps
you are two or three
a small crowd
encapsulated
A reminder:
You are a party-pack
Say hello
Realize it is difficult
to ignore, skin
bare against this
air which fills the distance
between
there, I have made you
my teacher
your shadow is a cloak
that fits well,
like fresh warm
socks from the dryer
No, superpowers are not
just for heroes,
and the hand that wields
the hammer
cannot nail itself
Death confused as
life-- life confused
as death
Don't remind me
dead happy
dead happy
He must have been cool.
With his hair parted off-center
thick with pomade. A pink shirt
with pointed collar, dress white
pants, and strong cologne.
He poses the same face on every
photograph. Looking straight
into the camera. Lips slightly open.
Jaw loose so as to not seem upset.
I have his eyes I think, though
no one ever told me.
My name is not my brilliant idea
but I am known by it. My face,
my body is given as well and it
represents me to the outside.
I don't wear pink shirts and white
pants, no pomade neither.
My lips are usually shut.
My eyes look up and to the side.
If he could see me, I wonder
if I could remind him of himself.
She paints the dark around her eyes
hi flo tear canals
caution: do not push while kneeling
her begging feet not meant to bend that way
her god with bleach
her last resort
The morning
unseduced by alcohol and bar lighting. Yelling
in a bubble and hoping to shatter
front
cold surfaces
like freeways and skyscrapers
twisting grip, lull
twisting grip, lull
still
difficult to be distracted
irrelevance
nothing
sooth else writing, Thoms lungs
schrill two knobs
not loud enough
sober
but still shaking, holding
on off center
hiijacked by circumstance
convincing myself
it's justified
Nunca, soon