Beginning To Notice

Always return to writing. Don’t be scared. Return. Return to zazen and sit with the suffering, say hello. Get up close instead of always on the run. Don’t flee.

You can see their faces and how they wear themselves down. It’s in everything. It’s the system. It’s readily available. It’s easy. It makes you sleepy. It’s the poison and you call it the shit.

Trees are filling with ash. Telephone poles notice. They light up and fume. The future is caught up here. Poles are the future of trees, and a vocabulary remains dormant. In just a couple years they will begin to speak to us.

Tell us about patience. Tell us about the calm. Tell us how the man came to rob with his friends and his friends brought machines terrible with teeth.

Level. Look. Clear meathooks. I put food back in so much so the poison overflows out like black ink until it’s gone like I said was gonna happen.


On Learning The Architecture

bent into shape
snapped back to perfection
rebuilt body
replenishing gallop
in brisk cult form
chill crack of bone
against the other
atheists rising
pity the condition
drilled in drug
wake up fuss
outpouring of support
cross with you
beyond cross
I’m so wasted
found in pain
the old life
Wilson has left us/
a body of
work remains
so don’t complain
breath last seen as
a fog from your lips
these days in accord
half recorded all
the taudry entrails down
cider sipper
at cost the warehouse
stocked up
every leg of lamb
in place
waiting in an oven
every man Stewart
has this comfort
owed to him
by Shirley’s

Outbursting Part II.

Outbursting. Beating your adversary to death for the sake of showing and teaching a lesson. Someone grab me some elbow room. Tight in here. When I concentrated on my subject, the harder I tried, the more I was able to lock on, sink in, sync in, sick in, sick ’em. Concentration is powerful. It is an iffy thing.

Go from standing where there is heat to standing in the cold, walking around in the cold. Going to that place which emanates power and life, finding it fizzed out since before you arrived.

This means so many things to so many chilled out people. To the other ones I wanna say… I really just forget. Turn the microphone on or is that too much trouble. Wait. Wait. Yeah, too much trouble. This here, the journal entry, is the troubleshooter, the solution to that which must be shot, so shoot it, you’re dead at eleven, twisted shit, a line drawn. Harpoon the skinny whale. Eat your vegetables on a cheaper scale. The mess let out. Help me get this message out. Fried thy brain on solar spleen. The idea is aim it where it should go.

Some of the speaking loudly is not seen in the proper way, is prejudged, shat upon by jubilant fellows quick to continuous jubilations—continuous, but thoughtless. Or a thought mess. Not what I intended. Unwanted outpouring is the conversation flaw. Don’t share such delicate information with those you don’t even feel comfortable with tossing around the Wiffle Ball.

Bring it to a calm. Shooting your mouth off.

"The truth will set you free, but first it’s really going to piss you off."

But there are men standing around water coolers talking about last night and what movie they saw. Don’t they wish they could’ve been in the story of that movie they saw? Don’t they pine over being heroes or making it to some island far in the distance, while standing in line, one of the more preposterous of lines, the grocery—from their cell phones? This is playing out from Thoreau. What quiet desperation this is fucking turning out to be. I mean, duck a buck, this ain’t criminal to chew the fat. It’s an outflowing.