“poll”

if I decided to put out a small chapbook of poems running about $5 ppd, would you buy it? yes/no.

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lunchtime lines

learn to be grave. life is war on all sorts of levels. this means not to give away all sorts of information, because it can be used against you. their actions, opinions, whatever, may affect you. don’t give away all your breakthroughs.

rain on a Friday and in the forecast for tomorrow, too. I’m still not any more depressed than usual. it could be argued that publishing a journal is giving too much away. to that I would say, it’s not black and white, it’s up to the writer what he or she chooses to reveal, but to be aware of it, that you could divulge vital information is key. in certain buddhist practices one may move very slowly to observe the smallest detail. in sitting meditation observe the breath rise and crash like ocean waves. your body, this curse and blessing.

lunchtime lines jotted to a close.

spring days

in the days
we get our fill
of events
for example
across the street a
mini riot
15 people
some with bats
banged a few
apartment doors down
and scrambled
before the cops arrived

I get in from my walk
and sit in the chair
watching TV
open the window
for some air flow
it’s getting more humid
soon it will be time
for me to take a road trip
I’m just unsure where
it’s almost a year now
since our move
from DC
now were are thinking
about “the good old days”
the highlights
the moments
typical behavior I guess

I was so bored the other day
I decided at lunch
that I would walk out the
front door from where I work
and cross the street
to climb the mountain
unfortunately as I got
to the base
I discovered it was
too steep and
the earth was mostly
not solid
this did not stop me
from going up about
40 feet, then coming
back down sliding backwards
on my feet, tearing up my
hands like a jackass,
getting all the dirt and
rocks in my shoes
ten or fifteen minutes were over with
and I was happy
just to get some fresh air
though there wasn’t much
of a view at that level
return to the microwave
and desk at work
close the door, hope there’s no
phone calls so that I can
focus on something else
besides line art, fonts,
color seps, color plates,
typos slipping through the cracks,
underlying tensions floating
throughout, and general problems
popping up left and right
I have to separate the two
my own life and that of a
print specialist
not always easy

these days:
watching such shows as Angel, Buffy, Six Feet Under, Sopranos, etc. reading Blindness. listening to the audio book of Siddhartha. watched all the various stunts these kids are pulling these days, paper cuts in the webs of their fingers and toes, corners of mouth, God forbid up near the eyelids. a lot of insanity and wasting time. I want to keep myself busy part of the time, and at other parts, sit and stare off, close my eyes, breathe, write . . .

wife. husband. holding patterns. burns on legs, on arms. scars. life scars. send a rocket to mars. we say we can’t go that far. lemon with water, lemon in mouth. the entire pension plan. this man is insured. and talks relevant matter in current times. the craft’s surface is scolding hot. land here. land herewith, dismissed on account of. fit your hand in this glove. I like pranks, too. but not to the point of seriously hurting people. a fine line. walking in what you imagine to be a woods which is really just a shaded street. sometimes we wonder what our cats think, what goes through their heads. they love us, we can tell. the way they lay down with us at night and sleep is heart crushing. love for these small beings trembles in me to the point of frustration, not being able to express or understand it myself.

years ago I fell down a flight of wooden stairs. after all the time my hip is reaping the pain from it now as I limp like an old man and mostly can only sleep on my left side. I walked and walked to gain rank in the higher platitudes of physical depletion but against all hopes that I would be deleted off the map altogether.

melting fame. melting to the point they have to be reminded who you are any more. a man sitting on a hill staring out will most likely not make it to magazine pages. you always have to be a part of some scene to make it into something like that. clumsy with everything, he decided to head up there and leave the rest of the world behind.

coming up in the world

stressful
coming up
in the world
typing out
notes in a
random computer lab
not so random
or dumb but
outside is out there
waiting for me
stopped holding its
breath for me
five minutes ago
my fingers
and other parts
hurt
money burns
holes in each
pants pocket
they throw me in jail
for not
balancing a budget

it’s something I can’t help
I inflict
pain on myself
it came up in my world
through my geans
ran through each seam
seaped a stream
these fiber optics
got electrocuted on
wasn’t perfect
no one helped – I could
never say that
it’s just we fly
one plane on our own
through life
and most of us crash
some land in fine
but the landing gear
cracks off
or we die in the airport taxi
ride home
unfair
I’m scared
of what this could be
appears there are
a thousand fears
nothing we can do about it
at each others throats
perfection boredom focus blur

I hope these into
the windsheild with
a finger tip sign my name
one of many names
tie my shoes tight
barren of people
Roanoke makes
for nice evening walks
Fridays and Saturdays
are desolate
I can’t locate personality
flags all over a front yard
a marine’s family
proud or whatever
maybe dead men and women are
proud for getting
it all over with
they send their best wishes
through to quiet
mornings when we
wake up with tears in our eyes
an easiness doesn’t exist if we
try
fry in the pan
consume
bloom
soon
ruin

walk in peace through the war

I must remember to
ask this morning’s
mechanic for
headache medicine
I don’t think
I’ll be able to
forget
and I will be gracious
because it hurts
just from
the crunch of
eating cereal
all day yesterday
like this, into the night
and waking
with a delirium of
head pain
imagining my own
personal end times
fevered at room temperature
unable
unstable
making my rounds
in typical movements
from a make believe death bed
fantasy freestyle battles
the soul expressing itself
from the standpoint
that everything
is a battle

so we don’t eat dirt
we must evolve
into not always
thinking we can
give the soundest
advice all the time

life settles around you
life bustles around you
life hustles around you
what are you
going to do about it?

all I know to do is
write poems
into earth and air
into water into fire
to paper to tilted landscapes
and see how it shapes
or does
not shape
see how the mind escapes
or does
not escape
witness earthquakes that devastate
like headaches

there’s no aura left
if anything you’ve got
auras in your holes
someone something some you
punched them through
for the love of abuse

at work I have found
no social nitch
it’s so far all about
doing the work
and doing it well
then sneaking in
some writing and reading
when I can
I write about
being just
who I say I am
why add preservatives?

I say I can
never again
be a part of a movement
and I like
how it sounds
to some it brings
alarm and the
need to write
whack-ass letters
so that they
can feel better

Matthew tells me:
“I’m suspicious of people who
try to give advice all the time.”

I admit these days
I’m spread out thin
it’s something I have to
think out some more
see if there’s truth to it
or maya
a bag of tricks, lies
well meaning
in disguise
today’s pain
in the weight of
sand bags on my brain
and just
behind my eyes
an attack of
fruit flies
to annoy you
and contort you

admit this is war
but walk in peace
through the war

rotten apples all about the yard

I don’t have
a problem with
taking a hatchet to
things that I think
are fucked up
sorry if that
torments anyone
but as far as I’m concerned
the madmen gotta go.

my spiritual life or lack of it
is my own business.
I guess that’s a new attitude of mine
but one
that is more solid.

I’ll move how I like.

I’m not in the mood
to be pounced on by
your “friendship”
I just have better things to do

I agree with you,
I’m not the same after ten years
and what the hell?
why should I be?

still, I’m not thinking clear
I’ll be honest –
I have my mouth
jumbled up
full of curse words
for you
and
what good does that do?

where does road rage get
the driver?
maybe more later,
then again maybe not

incoming mail

pamho  all glories to S.Prabhupada:

I do apoligize for saying  “where you went wrong”.Perhaps i didnt fully understand what you were telling me.maybe i should have worded it different.

What i am really trying to say is:I don`t when you changed.You are not the Glen that i grew up with and knew from early baltimore temple days.You have become very bitter and overly defensive.I also feel that you are not very good at being a friend.I can`t ever remember a time when you have just email`ed me without me emailing you 1st.The only reason i even thought of giving you any advise is because everytime i`ve talked to you (at least the last 3 times) you have just told me about how down and out you are.What awful luck you`ve had.How poor you`ve been.How you don`t get on with your mom and gran;and how you have a great new job;but you fight with your co-workers.After awhile it all becomes old.And if i tried to give you any advise;it was not because i thought i was better then you or that i have it so much better then you.(because we all succeed or fail according to our works).When i finally do talk to you;you tell me about this web-site you have contributed to.I found it complete rubbish;all of it.! maybe that is just my opinion.But in my short experience in KC;when the devotee becomes critical of Guru and Prabhupada`s movement(and how he/she can contribute within that movement)then that devotee slowly drifts away.And without association of the devotees it is not long that devotees fall down.I am also talking from personal experience because this almost happened to me.

You have told me to have more faith in your judgement.But if your judgement is association with all of those ritviks rather then devotees who are sincere and hardworking toward serving Prabhupada;then i have to question your judgement.I don`t know if this is the case unless you tell me different.Like i said before;i can only go by what you have told me.

i guess the main point of what i am saying is:I really don`t know who you are anymore.You seem very self-absorbed.Your writings don`t mention Krsna anymore.You appear to be in illusion.

We are all looking for acceptance and association.But it is worthless unless that association will help uplift our spiritual lives.We are taught to be the servant of the servant of the servant.A servant cannot live in selfishness.A servant cannot live for himself/herself.

i have been completely honest about how i feel.I`m sure you will do the same.

looking down into the smallest moments, being there. expect less “success” demand more soulfulness. turn some music on.

this large body of writing I was just working on crashed and erased into thin air. I have to bite the bullet on stuff like that, and put less trust into these little apps. the process for real is in writing from line to line anyway. what gets erased, I can always generate more. let this serve as a lesson not to hold onto even the immediate past, what you think is the present. the present is also that next string of words up ahead of you. can you foresee? go, run, surprise yourself.

before I was writing of this fictional, very awake man, who went about the room at a frantic pace cleaning and setting everything around him in order. I described him as having carbon hands, whatever that means. maybe – copy what you saw the last guy do, mimic his idea, take, borrow from. no, go drink a Dr. Pepper. wait, what am I saying?

I was in the middle of telling you fidgeting moments like what happens to a toothpick in the hands of a fidgeter. it cracks in half. crack! quietly. like this morning, snow from overnight had turned to ice so hard that my ice scraper smashed to pieces trying to get it all off. throughout the course of the day the remaining ice sun-stroked the windshield wateriness while I was inside working, color separating, and trapping. my engine felt new liquids. it was Monday.

I’ll take up a new coarse. I’ll have to be more honest because Time looks like it’s not staying for dinner. have to be sharper or the rest of the world . . . you get the goddamn picture. If you’re reading this and you know who you are, then good for you. I’ve always liked you. I’m sorry I can’t give shoe-laced purports like you’re used to. this is going to be my own thing and from now on I’ll be stepping up with a sword. I’ll fight my own wars.