Camping with Cosmo in Indiana
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
Finally Someone Gets It
Finally Someone Gets It
A Monologue in Three Acts
(work in progress)
Every day, I have my horoscope delivered to my email.
For Amusement Purposes Only.
Sometimes, I wait until the end of the day
when the sun settles us up testing to see how accurate it is,
or at the beginning, wondering if, like, a uh, ah hem, Ohm,
[clearing my throat with a sip of water, too]
Is it a self-fulfilling prophecy, or more like, existential... Or,
Is "Or" at the end, or- - - ummm... or. . . what--- What for?
Either that or, or, nevermind. . . will it be no matter what. . .?
For what is- - - actually. . . true: (?)
How do we intrinsically know more than we think?
What is "gut feeling"? Instinct? Intuition?
Meta____? Why does our hair
Sometimes stand on end, white like a sheet,
Like mine does, as if I've seen a ghost?
Just languid, sometimes seething.
Do I see dead people?
A HA HA HA LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL ROTFLM OW OW OW
I swear. I cry. It hurts.
Make it stop.
[BTW: I've never seen a ghost, but my lord, my hair,
bursting out my head, sometimes it glows in the dark. . .]
just clowning- - -
How immature!. . .
Neotony at its worst!
The Fountain of Youth- - -
But the Earth keeps on moving. . .
***---***||| ***---*** |||***---***
In the beginning,
Reality is what you imagine it to be,
even subliminal, sometimes, whether or not
how much it has been stained and tainted matters,
or if our preconceptions count; or better yet:
Is it Sublime?
[[[What's so funny?]]]
(I'm just waltzing through)
Life is what you make it
seems to be the modern American equivalent.
Thinking makes it so.
In America, I be damn, progressive as it is,
Life is a consensual reality:
Your guess is as good as mine.
We're all in this together.
A house divided. . .
...and they all went to heaven in a little row boat.
Think what you will
and that's what have you.
Thinking makes it so.
Sharing is better.
What I got yesterday:
Dear monkey,
Here is your AstroSlam for Thursday, October 11:
Pretending you don't speak English has gotten you out of more sticky situations than you can count, but the act has worn thin. If you're smart you'll make friends with the truth -- but you aren't smart.
What the #%?@?
Finally, someone gets it right
and it just keeps getting better.
But the Earth keeps on moving. . .
How did I get here?
Whose handbasket am I in?
A Monologue in Three Acts
(work in progress)
Every day, I have my horoscope delivered to my email.
For Amusement Purposes Only.
Sometimes, I wait until the end of the day
when the sun settles us up testing to see how accurate it is,
or at the beginning, wondering if, like, a uh, ah hem, Ohm,
[clearing my throat with a sip of water, too]
Is it a self-fulfilling prophecy, or more like, existential... Or,
Is "Or" at the end, or- - - ummm... or. . . what--- What for?
Either that or, or, nevermind. . . will it be no matter what. . .?
For what is- - - actually. . . true: (?)
How do we intrinsically know more than we think?
What is "gut feeling"? Instinct? Intuition?
Meta____? Why does our hair
Sometimes stand on end, white like a sheet,
Like mine does, as if I've seen a ghost?
Just languid, sometimes seething.
Do I see dead people?
A HA HA HA LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL ROTFLM OW OW OW
I swear. I cry. It hurts.
Make it stop.
[BTW: I've never seen a ghost, but my lord, my hair,
bursting out my head, sometimes it glows in the dark. . .]
just clowning- - -
How immature!. . .
Neotony at its worst!
The Fountain of Youth- - -
But the Earth keeps on moving. . .
***---***||| ***---*** |||***---***
In the beginning,
Reality is what you imagine it to be,
even subliminal, sometimes, whether or not
how much it has been stained and tainted matters,
or if our preconceptions count; or better yet:
Is it Sublime?
[[[What's so funny?]]]
(I'm just waltzing through)
Life is what you make it
seems to be the modern American equivalent.
Thinking makes it so.
In America, I be damn, progressive as it is,
Life is a consensual reality:
Your guess is as good as mine.
We're all in this together.
A house divided. . .
...and they all went to heaven in a little row boat.
Think what you will
and that's what have you.
Thinking makes it so.
Sharing is better.
What I got yesterday:
Dear monkey,
Here is your AstroSlam for Thursday, October 11:
Pretending you don't speak English has gotten you out of more sticky situations than you can count, but the act has worn thin. If you're smart you'll make friends with the truth -- but you aren't smart.
What the #%?@?
Finally, someone gets it right
and it just keeps getting better.
But the Earth keeps on moving. . .
Rattling at the Gates of Hell, part one
Photographs don't do it justice.
That hole is spookier than it looks.
That hole is spookier than it looks.
For those of you who know me well,
It goes without saying, that I spend a good deal of time,
Sweating beverages in front of me, spinning coins
or golden rings or disks in puddles of dripping condensation
and little spills that result from tipping mugs and bottles
into the air. As I watch these coins or rings or cardboard disks
twirl and wobble, in both directions, pondering the spinning rooms
and refracted lights in warping mirrors, polished brass, liquid droplets,
carbonation foam and effervescing heads, reflecting quickly changing gestures
of other patrons in the bar reminds me of this leisure time long ago now past:
My favorite spinning top,
the inspiration for the Wobbling Planet Project.
(*note: insert top photo*)
The disks will always flatten out.
In my travels, I've noticed different places feel different.
It's very subtle and I think most travellers will tell you, too,
or you can feel it for yoursef and you will notice it as well.
Visiting temples, ancient ruins, or holy places, makes you feel
ancient or holy or something other, and you see things
tht were not there before and you hear sounds differently.
You glow, or other people start glowing, and right there,
There is light, an unbearable lightness of being.
The joy of living. Ecstacy and epiphany.
Why did it take so long?
Why do I have to go so far away to see it closely?
Why does that feeling always leave?
Why is it so brief?
Can I keep it, just for a day?
Me, skeptical of religious and spiritual experience,
only maybe exploring the possibility of it a little- - -
I tend to chalk it up to oscillations in energy fields,
increasing ionization, magnetism shifts in iron beds
shackled in the surface landscapes, or the 23 and a half degree tilt
of the earth's axis hurtling through space, lunar pull, solar flares,
comet dust in the uper atmosphere, plasmas made by sprite halos,
or superstitious historical traumas affecting the karma of a place,
like massacres in Chicago or Houston, other people's dreams haunting
mine and interfering with my own brain wave activity like a television
stuck in between channels, crossed conversations on the cell phone,
or accidental radio reception with the braces on your teeth,
and how the government jams garage door openers
because they want to use that frequency, incubating more pink noise
shoot it in the aether, spurt into the atmosphere.
Walk with me across this vivid globe we share.
So now, we've got this a here thing called GRACE,
twin satellites mapping fluctuations in Earth's magnetic field.
Look at the map:
So now, I'm sitting at the bottom of this gravity hole
I like to call the seventh sewer of hell
with a mouthful of Fudge Rounds and spurting
Coca Cola out my nose holes, laughing, and debased
wondering why"Clarissa Explains it All"
skipped over the problem of astral projection,
binaural beats, and event-related potential.
It goes without saying, that I spend a good deal of time,
Sweating beverages in front of me, spinning coins
or golden rings or disks in puddles of dripping condensation
and little spills that result from tipping mugs and bottles
into the air. As I watch these coins or rings or cardboard disks
twirl and wobble, in both directions, pondering the spinning rooms
and refracted lights in warping mirrors, polished brass, liquid droplets,
carbonation foam and effervescing heads, reflecting quickly changing gestures
of other patrons in the bar reminds me of this leisure time long ago now past:
My favorite spinning top,
the inspiration for the Wobbling Planet Project.
(*note: insert top photo*)
The disks will always flatten out.
In my travels, I've noticed different places feel different.
It's very subtle and I think most travellers will tell you, too,
or you can feel it for yoursef and you will notice it as well.
Visiting temples, ancient ruins, or holy places, makes you feel
ancient or holy or something other, and you see things
tht were not there before and you hear sounds differently.
You glow, or other people start glowing, and right there,
There is light, an unbearable lightness of being.
The joy of living. Ecstacy and epiphany.
Why did it take so long?
Why do I have to go so far away to see it closely?
Why does that feeling always leave?
Why is it so brief?
Can I keep it, just for a day?
Me, skeptical of religious and spiritual experience,
only maybe exploring the possibility of it a little- - -
I tend to chalk it up to oscillations in energy fields,
increasing ionization, magnetism shifts in iron beds
shackled in the surface landscapes, or the 23 and a half degree tilt
of the earth's axis hurtling through space, lunar pull, solar flares,
comet dust in the uper atmosphere, plasmas made by sprite halos,
or superstitious historical traumas affecting the karma of a place,
like massacres in Chicago or Houston, other people's dreams haunting
mine and interfering with my own brain wave activity like a television
stuck in between channels, crossed conversations on the cell phone,
or accidental radio reception with the braces on your teeth,
and how the government jams garage door openers
because they want to use that frequency, incubating more pink noise
shoot it in the aether, spurt into the atmosphere.
Walk with me across this vivid globe we share.
So now, we've got this a here thing called GRACE,
twin satellites mapping fluctuations in Earth's magnetic field.
Look at the map:
So now, I'm sitting at the bottom of this gravity hole
I like to call the seventh sewer of hell
with a mouthful of Fudge Rounds and spurting
Coca Cola out my nose holes, laughing, and debased
wondering why"Clarissa Explains it All"
skipped over the problem of astral projection,
binaural beats, and event-related potential.
How did I get here?
Whose handbasket am I in?
Monday, October 1, 2007
The Fate of the Little Prince
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
