BGKARMA.COM

Radar (Rémi Gaillard)

bgkarma — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:04:59 +0000

Filed under: Poetry

Being Removed

bgkarma — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 01:55:21 +0000

I wanna get to know me, and you, and me and you, and me again
sure it’ll get weird for what seems like a really long time but
we can go on hoping for the best

here we go

through this tumbled mesh
of headphone wires
made to make you mad

arrive quickly and
with a dedication

they heavy-doused and
sandblasted the side of this windowpane
with cinnamon, of all things
heaven the scent of it
flowing through all things

they spray everything down with Lysol where I work
so it’s like when you’re using the phone to assist a customer
you’re also having a conversation with Lysol

screaming and screams that turn to sighs
screaming for change, being the real surprise
screams that turn to sighs

the life of knowing
so much inside
comes crumbling out
popular jingle tree branch
broken in the heat of violence
proof pretty decent

up and walking and
off to houses
okay credit
alright then

why can’t we
name our hours
and finalize our supers?

it’s pretty nice I think to be
doing new things and experiencing
new bud

two suns brush up on a planet

the edge is where you carve the teeth
of the mechanism
and come back aboard

very careful not to have a run in
with you
with me

very careful not to have a run in
not to appear tired in front of your friends
you fail to pick my number like every time
I know I’ve heard your name before
stripped to what’s left
one two baby steps of breath

not a victim, not a bad night
hard to get the dirt out their dollar eyes
a dead grit of cold shadow house
internal signs
screams then some sighs

not a victim walking around like this
here fall the grapefruit peels
the man that casts these peels smiles real big
here fall the grapefruit peels

Filed under: Poetry

Morning Poem

bgkarma — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 19:12:22 +0000

Friday, October 21, 2011

things wind up as they are
spread system wide
eyes sunny bright cat or owl like moon
cleavage smartly
however these guys here
never speak interestingly instead
deck, out there, sanding the deck
in the weekend
it’s a passion I guess
minute spec hidden gem
tarnations! transactions
the transgendered magazines
on the rack
that man has a nice rack
are you sure as sunlight?
mistook the hidden identity of
a strong right hook
a shame has a face to hide
the color of pride
the color purple
the blood on the emerald
red bookmarked sparrow pocked
glistening
bud in pipe
happy please

Filed under: Poetry

Uprooting, Moving (again)

bgkarma — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 10:42:44 +0000

My poetry reading in my dream interrupted by this rude guy I continue to threaten and increase my aggression. He is curious and mocking, karmatically.

I jump out the window into another coffee shop. The MLK memorial celebration, hurricane postponed. Dr. Pepper tastes better. Trash Heap Earth. Throw it all into the open space. The snotgreen wonders.

veggie burger Mexican food excursion
day trip
your way through
little girl tai chi movements
fling out the story
dream the way

Dreamt my mom and grandmother dug up two grandfathers—regular and great. I ran from the backyard into the house, looking for my missing cats. Where the FUCK have the cats gone? No one would answer. And my grandfathers were walking around. Messed up family.

The go with the flow vibe of morning state, this prayer, vibratory rise, light up. I rise up before the sun and crush the crust out of my eyes. Life is really light and to be free and to explore art, to help people. Begin, this day. I have to look past some annoyances and see them as blessings in disguise.

“When you eliminate fear and attachment, when you self-liberate, you attain the golden age.”

morning bell
early sun
all dressed up
a vat
a rat
a cat
a smattering of mags
the magazine loaded
into gun
harm at the end of hand
shorthand
short walk blessing quiet
settled stillness
a day ahead
things to look forward to
be thankful for
memories to release
yourself from
we say of her chances
slim
that she is
locked in
all we can do is hope
batter a human today?

people are immediate branches
not separate
in trouble
words are garbled
I often watch people clumsily stumble
but he says to me
“what is this shame on your face?”
I don’t know, I’ll get back to you

Poem as prayer
thought poem
store bought poem
the best practice for me
I realize that my connection to Terra
is seamless shamanism coming through
first way of the world

rocks create a hard place
Kalika sleeps next to me for hours
I try not to wake her
and pet her when she
seems to be having a bad dream
make sure she does not slide off
with love I never slide off

all over experience we
try to communicate our needs
and lash out if we don’t feel
they are met
there are all types of brats
young boys start learning how
to look at girls
we don’t need any help
with that
poems don’t come as natural
for all young boys
I drink coffee—
interim

life is
being free, creating art
sorry if you can’t handle
if we lose sight of that
become consumed by stress
then what?
I go from writing gargantuan paragraphs
back to the beloved broken line
vine
gabbing
thinking of old friends
birthing new ones
swing around…
rooting into earth
wouldn’t it be
nice to buy a house here?

Filed under: Poetry

Hot Air

bgkarma — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 13:45:41 +0000

There was this guy tonight who walked around like a broken record wanting to sign the list for the open mic: “Can I get on the list? Can I get on the list? Can I say ANYTHING that I want? Anything? I mean, can I just get up there and SCREAM into the microphone? I mean, I wanna SCREAM! Can I do that? I think that would be really cool. I think people need to see it. Hey man, do I have to sign up or can I just get up there? Yeah, I wanna get up there and scream into that thing. That’s the kind of day I’ve had. That’s how shitty life can be sometimes.” And on and on. And he did get up there and let it rip. No explanation. Even I covered my ears until it was over. And that was that. On to the next sad sack, the next junkie, more theatrics, while I gear up to shoot out from my very own circus cannon into the park full of detectives with curious flashlights.

Filed under: Poetry

Zine Originations

bgkarma — Sat, 21 May 2011 23:57:47 +0000

Before blogging, bulletin board systems, and social media, there were zines—do-it-yerself style; copied-folded-stapled sheets, however you did it, whatever it was for you, however you flexed your head, from music to politics to collecting poems, or Xeroxing journals, theorizing, riffing existential, interviewing your friends, sharing found art, sexxxing it up… THE ZINE AND ZINE CREATORS ARE THE ORIGINAL INTERNET.

While I was roughly piecing together my fledgling involvement with Krishna’s New York version of Hinduism in DC, my ex-wife, in West Virginia, who had a similar involvement, was also getting into Riot Grrrl and put out several zines dedicated to sexual abuse and feminist principles. I don’t think we understood at the time how these worlds would collide and force us to reassess our feelings and beliefs.

Krishnaism, I doubt, will ever cast aside its scriptural excuses and admit to its conservatism, blatant sexism, racism, and homophobia. It is guilty, as are many institutions, of hiding the essential HARM and plodding on. Riot grrrl and many others are never gonna bow down to this bullshit.

My first zine, Suffer Free, in this regard, had zero foresight, and the same was true for my Exposing The Educational System and even my beloved, well intended, Journal of Thought… at least in the beginning, until I plodded UP and OUT and ON into a sister movement, The Open Mic Spoken Word, basically greatly killing you. But now that we’ve evolved into nearly all things digital and our books and magazines are now vastly digitized into byte sizes, still THE ZINE lives on. I’ll trade mine for yours.

Filed under: Poetry

“The joy of life is incredible.”

bgkarma — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 08:11:05 +0000

A little medicine is a good thing. Midnight typewriter. All the things, the inner workings, the innards rattling with the melting ice cubes in a Summer glass, Summer wannabe glass. A friend drives me to the angry, reluctant doctor in a room marked for emergencies. This is America. Medical insurance pimps it all. We die in its slick war. She says to lie down, they’ll pump me full of fluids, to heal my stomach lining. Later will come an x-ray. I ask for gumdrops. I think back to the lobby court rooms and the arguments turned down so you can’t hear. Everyone walks around with guns holstered on their hips for protection in the blur of the argument you can’t hear. The lines are long stretching out their shadows. Stomach lining could be better, could’ve told me in English that there was a problem. I hold a red balloon in agony. If I let it go it could be the one last thing holding me here. A cord is streaming out of my right arm. A new right arm wants to grow out of my left side. They are talking to my mother on the phone. You know your son is here. We are about to tell him everything is okay, ‘cept for his stomach acids are really something else. We wouldn’t wanna be him. Know what I mean? But he’s your mess now. Would ice cream help? Just as I think this, someone calls out my name. The curtain opens. There stands a friend. Life is wonderful that way. I hope this is not an episode of House, in which case I could be getting better treatment of course. Make my heart explode to reconnect my sentiment to Billie Holiday on the radio. You wanna dress in drag as a fine gag and that is fine with me. I wanna live to see another day so I guess I’ll carry these meds with me to try and numb the pain. Make it workable. Make it heal. Paper cranes and everyone, you can hold paper hands and mute the commercials.

“The joy of life is incredible.” -RZA

Dietary paradigm shifts on a flier. Don’t eat this. And don’t drink that. Fill in the blanks. Some of this is fictional. You’re the type to get knocked out in a snowball fight. This is what I mean. You’re the type to throw a fit when you don’t get your way. When it happened to me, I’d throw a dish all the way from the living room on into the kitchen. What a crash it’d make in there. Everything but the kitchen sink. Other innocent dishes drying on the rack polite as hell.

Something could rupture, burst, drain, rise. Watch out for those eyeball whites. When Bukowski was admonished by the doctor, “You have one more single drink and you’re done for,” he walked right down to the pub on the corner and ordered some whiskey like a new lease on life was nothing. Not everyone is gonna get that kinda free pass. They’re not exactly handing them out. No booze, no coffee, no tea. “I’m making you a smoooooooothie.”

Don’t panic, for when I fall back it’s that I’m making snow angels. The temptation to make a family in the snow is… not really there.

Filed under: Poetry

Bullet In Ya Head

bgkarma — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 13:50:59 +0000

I doubt this will be my last entry but with this pain in my gut and troubled breathing all adding up to what feels like a bullet wound, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. Today is the day I decide to check myself into the emergency room since a clinic is not really equipped to handle anything past a basic physical exam. With this pain increasing I’ve tried to push it aside and even heal it with loving visualizations in the middle of the night. Still the dull ache, now it begins to pound, making me think I’ve gotten myself into some sorta trouble. Well, think some good thoughts for me! I’ll see you on the other side of this.

Filed under: Every Day Life

Storm Can’t Crush The Love

bgkarma — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 17:19:50 +0000

Picking up pieces, rebuilding, working with what I have—I’ve been doing that all my life. For the first time in awhile I wake at a decent hour to plod blueprints for moving and a continued glow. Hours have been all screwy lately since that cut off from work, and it was a much needed split. They say look out for a severe storm and yet the sun is shining. Metaphor metaphor! Metta! I transition into new work and a new flat.

Radio waves fill the room. If the conditions are right, someone will appear with a radio. Friends and good times are the same way. I fear nothing because everything depends on conditions upon which life twists and turns. All I have to do is move about with a positive mental attitude and flowers bloom. Some say Move To Austin. I don’t think you can find friends like this in Austin. Sorry. You can’t switch ‘em out.

I quit the suds and carry a treasure map under my arm, with love. I wish to pick a day to watch Seven Samurai in its entirety. I wish to pick a friend who wants to watch Seven Samurai in its entirety with me. If conditions are right, corn will pop.

Filed under: Every Day Life

Take Me Away!

bgkarma — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 20:42:22 +0000

Mystical winds blow.

Neighbor tells me alcohol ain’t for him any more. My decision is to fly my bike into the sun. At bars I shall drink water. I shall breathe in secondhand smoke and try to smile. She drinks water, serves otherwise. He calls and without prodding from a single soul, “Weed ain’t my thing these days.” What is happening?

they try to stab me
I step lightly
maybe I’ll pack my bags and Calgon!
if another city wants me
say so now
and thanks ahead of time

Try not to be bitter. My honesty—”To tell you the truth, I’m feeling a little awkward right now”—could not penetrate her haughtiness. It did not bother me enough to pursue it, only to mark it down as a note to self: Some people never wanna play nice. They insist they know me right away. How could they? I let go of them just as quick as they let go of me. It’s only complicated when you allow yourself to get sucked in.

Everyone hides behind something. Smoke. The bottle. Lies. Buerocracy. So try to make it right. Trying to repair the past is one thing, but from this day forward, you can make those big decisions that you’ve had sitting on the back burner for years and years. Don’t we wanna celebrate something real for a change?

Filed under: Every Day Life, Notes

MF 11

bgkarma — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 17:45:33 +0000

reactions from others
news that comes in like
Japan gets smashed by big waves
casters are snickering in Godzilla references
reactions smack the world
just two days ago
our sun had an X Flare
how does this connect?
how do you write a sentence with authority?
I saw you playing frisbee with your dog
you saw me in a tattered sweatshirt
I don’t mind wearing
they’re using the word “fabulous” a lot
won’t own up
to being psychos
my dreams are string filled
keyed to the teeth piano-wise
no where do I turn up
my three tarot decks
what on earth?
at four AM Inception
I begin a forced sleep
hope for dreams that unfold
into symphonies
all is offered is
homeless clips
fuckups
mistakes made
highlighted red
I pant pant pant out a wild animal journal rant
dreamy drip moderately
this entry
dripping coffee

Filed under: Poetry

On The Heels Of A Dawning

bgkarma — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 08:59:57 +0000

on the heels of a dawning
I let the early bird
do it’s thing

and I wake at noon
the speed of business
tries to surpass me

they open can after can O Worms
commence fighting and blood letting

innocence in shade where
they design fliers
for windshields

competition had it’s day
caused its stir

what really everyone wants
is a middle of the night quiet

Filed under: Poetry

bgkarma — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 08:23:14 +0000

Filed under: Poetry

Untitled

bgkarma — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 07:08:31 +0000

pains painfully
degrade the
infrastructure
of such control freakish plans
the bad attitude is the wrong attitude
it degrades the infrastructure
of being
and the capacity to
anticipate curve balls thrown
at your head
is why you see all sorts
policemen and women
police walk around with
bloody noses lately
it is this and that
gravity is
being tampered
with

Filed under: Poetry

November

bgkarma — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 06:23:56 +0000

By sunrise, we packed up our session and went to our respective sleeps, sleeping on our ears strangely, with our necks bent. I took it under my wing to venture into on a chilly day bicycling the streets of H hitting my usual hangout spots and enjoying conversation. The November Coming Fire rises out of my nooks and crannies.

the sign:
"take the trash out"
don’t forget to
take a Dash out
the connector car
the sleepy car
different city you wake up in?
somewhere a
child-sized Arizona!
hell no!
why the hell no?
one of those days… November
mantra meditation like
constantly repeating to
yourself People like me
but they don’t like you—inordinately
the meditation like all things
is vibration-based
and it is in the earnest death of
asshole fiber that you get somewhere
so you’ll finally mean the world to others

give up your side project of
being an asshole

surely it seems like a huge
sacrifice but no one is watching
and everyone is watching

fairly windy a faery
feels the chill
fluttering
she cleans the leaves
outta the storm drain

the gift brought in
open eyes to

the whole universe
within and without
to love so hard you
learn in this love
how to let go
removal of fear
is a given
without the gift of
the removal
of fear
you only experience
distractions
at your level of love
to watch
feel
be
and climb

this just in:
"I feel weird that you are
actually taking this love shit to heart.
seems to be a trend these days."

I hate you but I Love you
I’m joking firstly, lastly I can say
I hardly consult the trend books
hardly time to concentrate

I’m sorry you don’t
believe in me
funny thing is…
I make up for that
on my end

love love love love love
I can’t love myself enough
loving you, you find you can’t take it

radically, charity personified
clarity
curiosity
burning eagerness

to know
to discuss so many things
wonderment
joy
immense joy
moved to tears
I couldn’t be happier actually
yet I keep going
I keep happier haphazzard
lap lizards across my lap
I write my own fill of books
chapter after chapter
from the happiness disaster
that I’m about
the transcendent
warm fuzz feel
my foot falls asleep
my leg follows shortly

Filed under: Poetry