Is the belief in god a scientific claim?

When someone says that the belief in god is spiritual and cannot be tested by science, what are they actually saying?

Many people claim that belief in god is not based on physical evidence and is not a scientific claim and that it should not be treated as such.  They claim that god is not physical.  If god is not physical, then what is god?  If they say god is spiritual, I ask what is spiritual?

If god is not physical wouldn’t that mean that god doesn’t exist? If  something doesn’t have a physical impact or body then it does not exist.  If there is a god, then god would have a physical existence even if it were something like light or energy or waves. If god interacted in the natural environment there would be some scientific evidence for the existence of god. There is none to date, still the belief in the nonexistent is wide spread and many toss out physical evidence that contradicts their belief in something that  is nonexistent.

Often times religious people use the term spiritual experience to describe why they believe there is a god. They don’t refer to their feelings of awe or joy as human emotion and usually they don’t admit or realize that people of other faiths or those who lack faith have similar experiences.  People who believe also claim that god is a spirit and that they have a spirit.  If there is such a thing as a spirit, what is it and what are its physical properties?

The so called spiritual experience cannot be used as evidence of god the same way that hatred or anger or confusion cannot be used to prove or justify a belief in god. If there is a god the only way to tell is if there is one is by physical evidence.  The only way we would believe anything else is with physical evidence.

Now some say we take things on faith all the time but I ask what do we believe that we could not be proven with physical evidence?

Like the idea of someone having a brain or if they care about us.???

It would be very easy to check if someone had a brain.  We just have to open up their skull and peer inside.  The reason why we know people have brains is because that is exactly what people have done.

For matters of abstract ideas such as love it is possible to prove someone cares about you by the way they treat and interact with you..  If someone tortures you or abandons you,  you can assume they don’t care about you.  If on the other hand they take care of you and treat you with compassion and kindness you can assume  that they care about you.  There is certain amount of physical evidence that a person cares about you or doesn’t. The word love is a label of a physical response in terms of emotion and action.   How people responds to us and how they treat us determines how we think they feel about us.  So as the question of love’s existence it is easy to tell by physical evidence because love or the lack of love have clear physical reality to our persons, even though we may disagree about what it means to love because love is a term used to refer to things that happen in the natural world.

So what do we believe that does not rely on physical evidence or that could not be proven to certain probability by observing the natural world?  Faith is the belief in the nonexistent.  This is very clear. Why do people believe in things that are nonexistent or have no physical evidence?

What is god?  Is it a feeling like love? Or is god believed to be like us, a physical being in the universe, not a word to describe an emotion or actions or chemical reactions that happen in our brain and bodies.  It is easy to prove that people believe in god in the same way we can tell if someone loves us.  We may be wrong or be misguided but there are physical manifestations. However when people say that god is spiritual and not physical what they are really saying is that there is no physical manifestation of god, which is the same as saying god is nonexistent or there is no god.  Who could say that about emotion or clouds or chairs that have a physical reality and impact on the natural world without being labeled as out of it?

If there is a god, god must be physical in the same way an atom or a wave or a rock is.  To say otherwise is to say that god is nonexistent. So the existence of god is in the realm of science and evidence.  When we say there is no evidence for god or god’s existence cannot be proven, we are saying that god does not exist according to the evidence that we have so far.

I have heard it said that believers of god(s) and atheists don’t share common ground and therefore can’t debate but I think they do because both believe that god is nonexistent. One just realizes the implications of nonexistence and other does not.

You and I are ugly

You and I are ugly cowards

who cling to the rational and practical

bound by the social constraints

of our reality

and time and town and positioning

who will never live under the water

or have a son or grow old enough together

That is the reality. The dream I whisper

in your mouth is just a trick to keep

your head above my liquid body

Ask Questions

I think asking questions is a good thing to do even though it only leads to more questions. What could possibly be better? People want an answer to their death but the answer is not fulfilling to many people. How come we as a species haven’t come to grips with our death yet? Religion negates death, it says we don’t die but even a small child understands we die. The body decays. Our sense of self is a byproduct of mental functioning. It ends too. The heart stops beating. The brain is the same.   Can you honestly comprehend that one day you will no longer exist?

Why is important to think about death or to ask these questions?   I suppose it is not.  One could stay focused on life and not worry about death…. but no one does.  Besides our understanding of brain and conscious is growing.  Does anyone apply mystery or supernatural transcendence to the leg or arm or heart?   When our brain is fully understood, will that kill the soul in the mythical and mystical sense?  How will humans live with this new knowledge?  Will large groups of people just ignore it and keep with their beliefs even though much of the mystery they base their beliefs on is no longer mysterious?  Is this clear or a cure?

I have no problem with mysticism or spiritual beliefs because I understand they are invention of humanity, mainly the human brain to make sense of the unknown.  No one who knows about weather thinks the storm or winds are evil spirits.  Once a scientific explanation comes from physical evidence and experiments creating a myth is no longer necessary.  I think as a society we are preparing ourselves for this.  We understand that there is “probably” no god.  Does that mean we want it that way?  Probably No. We like the predictable and small.  A ball you can hold in your hand is easier to understand than a ball that you live on.  As humans we can only comprehend limited number of parts of a whole at the same before the pieces become the whole and we can no longer observe all the parts.

But as we make models and understand the physical world what is called god or mysterious is no longer logical.  God is not a fulfilling answer to how an atomic bomb works or how the brain works…

This is the hurdle. Can you stop your mind from creating delusions to answer the unknown?  Do you have that kind of mental control?  Do you have enough knowledge at your disposal to fill the mysterious with natural explanations?

As a child I started this questioning.  It has taken 29 years of reading and thinking for me to be able feel alright with uncertainty and death.  I don’t want to die but I can look at my death as a natural process and find a measure of peace and understanding that like the blue bird, the ape and crow I am a part of nature and bond to the limits of nature.  I have stared into the face of death  and my friends, I am now liberated.  I can feel overwhelmed by the beauty of life.  That is something that peoples of faith don’t understand.  The fact that I am alive with you is enough for me to feel joyous.  I am not afraid of death nor am I enticed by it.  I value life because it is fleeting and we only get one life.  I would not go to war or kill someone because I believe to take another’s life is one of the most immoral things a human can do.  I don’t like picking flowers or putting birds in cages either.

I hope these clumsy words help put the atheist in perspective for you and as well encourage others in the search for knowledge.  Learning is not easy or pain free but for me, and many others the nectar of enlightenment is worth blistering  the mind.

What is the meaning of life

what is the meaning of life

truth

what is the purpose of life

ham

What is the result of life

the color red

what is the meaning of life

pinpoints

what is the purpose of life

death

what is the result of life

birth

what is the meaning of life

chance vs survival

what is the purpose of life

stuffing it

what is the result of life

explaining decay to a dog

what is the meaning of life

what

what is the purpose of  life

sex

what is the result of life

murder

what is the meaning of life

love

what is the purpose of life

pain

what is the result of life

cabbage

what is the meaning of life

sight

what is the purpose of life

delusion

what is the result of life

creating a death system from scum

what is the meaning of life

water

what is the purpose of life

ignorance

what is the result of life

blue jeans

what is the meaning of life

creation

what is the purpose of life

washing dishes

what is the result of life

the waltz

what is the meaning of life

smearing poop on the empire’s bathroom wall

what is the purpose of life

energy exchange

what is the result of life

determinism

what is the meaning of life

scotch

what is the purpose of life

picadors

what is the result of life

a sharpened double-headed ax

Let us begin at a place that everyone can agree

Let us begin at a place that everyone can agree.  There are too many poor people and too many wealthy people who do nothing to help the poor.  United States, for all its pomp and power is a nation of poor who are the backs that carry the wealth of the rich to their holding cellars.  Consumption, markets, fickle wants, ups and downs of demand and supply, the staggering affordable housing shortage, poor education, and lack of adequate health care are crippling my nation, my beautiful homeland, my resting place.  My mother is sick and the children are out in the cold at war with death’s promising door.

There are about 600,000 homeless people in U.S.A, that are counted for, and there are probably many more that have not been counted.  If a country with such wealth and resources, technology and potential cannot help its citizens, if in this great age of knowledge, there is no cure as of yet for poverty and instability, I must ask, is anyone looking for one?   If affordable housing is not available, where will the working poor live?  Or the sick?  Who are you working for?  What are you working for?  What are you living for?

Just in case no one ever told you, there is a better way.  Out, as far as you can perceive, the horizon of your hope and imagination, I ask you to sail the dangerous waters of the impossible, and tell me, what exactly can’t we do?

We have heard the old tales of competition and that the fittest survive, but the true tale of life and civilization, the bedrock of why we as species developed society, is cooperation.   The reason we have advanced is cooperation.  This is not some high in the sky bullshit.  This is truth; it is easier to carry a heavy load when you have help.

Freedom, potential, creativity, dreams and imagination, hard work, and fearless dedication to life, are the keys to the many locked problems that face us as the gardeners of earth.

Today I sit in a comfortable condo, off of the street and bitter cold drinking a hot cup of coffee.  There is food in my home, even a little beer and scotch.  There are plants and books and warm sweaters.  I have socks on my feet and I wear a gold ring on my finger.  Today, I am lucky and I am alive, and there are few who live better or have more joy.  I have pants, and underwear.  I have this machine that I write on that I can learn more than I can imagine.  I have music, piles of cds, files, records, and radios, and a tv.  I have everything that a woman could want.  I have tampons and nice fitting caps.  I have green tea and honey.  I have real maple syrup.  I have paints and canvas.  I have so much that sometimes, I don’t know what to do with it all.  Should I have tea or coffee?  Should I fold or hang my sweaters.  Should paint or write?  Should I listen to the public radio or Whitestripes?   Should I read the dictionary or world philosophy or physics?  Should I make a pumpkin pie or a pumpkin cake?  I am so well off that if the world could live as I there would be rejoicing and dancing and fucking, and peace, o, peace, would spread.  but of course, when I list off these things, they are not the same as a fat stack of money or a big house or a fancy car, or anything that my society considers to be wealth.  Its bunch shit.  Its bunch here today, gone tomorrow.  But what do you have that you take for granted?  Legs, arms, a full belly, medicine, a warm and secure place to live?

I know many think I am depressing or that this all negative, but for me it is the only way to exist.  I must be thankful and I must speak out, and I must bend my body to get the work done.   I have seen too much not to realize how truly wealthy I am.  Do I have needs that are yet to be met, yeah.  Do I have wants that may never be met, yeah.  Am I living an offensive life style on the labor and backs of others who suffer while I gain?  No.   Are you? And if you are, why?  If you are so damn smart and rich, successful and hard working, why don’t you help others?

You’ve Seen Enough

So you’ve been on the road in your car for hours and the lightening is on both sides and you can see the bolt, and your daughter, who is still into stuffed snakes and dogs and cats shrieks in the back seat everytime the lightening flashes.   And then there is hail and realization that you don’t know if you are in the right lane or in more than one lane and there are thousands of cars behind you. Its Sunday night around bedtime, and so you wonder where are all the cars going to or from, as if you are the only who has anywhere worthwhile to come from.  You are not in a rush.  There is no time frame for you to plot, only a long way destination and the desire to put as much distance between you and roads and cars and lightening.  Your stomach hurts.  You haven’t had a quiet undisturbed bathroom visit for weeks.  You have been in a car for days -each day pulling further away from anything familiar.  This is right before the mountains. Mountains you will never climb and even driving through makes you nervous, aware of death and how it easy it will come to you.

You’ve seen enough to write a thousand stories, a thousand poems, a thousand paintings, and it’s rolling through your mind.  You don’t know who you are or your suppose purpose or if you are still on the right path. The road and the lights and the shadows of mountains grow larger, as the soft talking of daughter bounces off the interior of the car and traffic and wind noise. Where are you? Why did you think that a road trip could set some kind peace or meaning in you?  How does this help anyone, anything?  Then you realize something. For first time in your life you don’t give damn about what others need or want from you.  You come and travel because you can, because the road is there.  And this is the metaphor for your life. You are here because you can be like the stars being born or dying, the rotating planets of universe pushed by dark matter, pulled by gravity, highlighted by waves and electrons.  You say out loud, I have never believed in god, and saying this out loud, you are yourself. You are happy.  You are finally at the point where you will not a put mask on, and you will continue to live naked.  Of course you realize that this is where you are alone.  You cannot share this quiet wonder and joy.  There is no way to explain, no way to share it.  So, you hold your own heart and mind, and you love it.   Certainly there are others far or close who experiencing the same inner peace with existence and meaningless. But you don’t know them; you will never get inside their mind or behind their beautiful mask. That is what you come to grips with.  That is when you have changed yourself.  This is when you realize there is hope for the world. There is hope for life and it, although it will cease and decay, will be reborn.   The road is long between the west coast and east coast of north America and you cannot do it in one drive, so you pull up beside a motel, go in, and get a room, and despite being so tired, eyes that a few minutes ago couldn’t stay open, now are focused and awake.  The motel smells.  The TV is surreal.  You’ve forgotten about it somehow, and news, which you stay current in, seems fake. It is no longer important to you which laws are passed, or which war the president ends.  Only the mountains and badlands and roads and trees and prairie are real.  Only the beats of the hearts inside the motel room, readying for bed mean a thing to you.  You know what is like to be poor, to be rich, to somewhere in the middle. And tonight in a dank motel, another night in a town you’ve never slept in, you are at home.  Because even though everyone you love is not with, your daughter is and you’ve have gotten to know her in way that you have never gotten to know her, after 8 years, you see her as who she is.  And something about tomorrow is said, takes showers tonight, eat something, go to bed. But you are so happy. You want to talk the night off but you don’t. You don’t say anything you are feeling, you don’t try to make anyone understand.  You go outside and have a cig and a beer you smuggled in your bag, and smile.  Just smile, and it is a strange smile mixed with sadness and joy and human possibility, that you can’t share, that you will never share. But o if you could

When you are on a long road painting

Another picture of red trees

rocky mountain national forest

Look past the first line of trees…. the red goes on and on and on….

the pine beetle is native to north america.  The experts say drought and warmer climate is leading to the spread…

they don’t mention fire. but to say that fire is a natural part of the forest (opens the cones and allows the seeds to come out).  Pine beetles fly to the tree.  Pine beetles usually eat the dead and older trees, or the remains of a tree after a fire but because of their population increase they are now eating young and healthy trees.  And spreading to other areas that used to not  be affected or target by the beetle.      I think the lack of fire is a problem though.

Because of life and money, we control the fires but this forest is a time bomb.  Even the green trees can be infested.

Fire will spread very quickly in a forest of dead trees, which may be the only way to impact the beetle. or not.  Perhaps fire will cause the pine beetle to travel on to another spot or tree.

check this out…

nasa stardust mission

http://stardust.jpl.nasa.gov/news/news115.html

free online courses from mit

http://ocw.mit.edu/OcwWeb/web/home/home/index.htm

working on a story

For the past few days I have been working on a story.  This is not the first story I’ve written but by far, it most outrageous and longest piece that I have attempted.  I will not be posting it on here.  It is a long way for being done or resembling anything coherent or readable, but my friends, I’m having a fun time.  It is science fiction.  It is an adventure story.  It will not be too weird.  When I have it sorted out, I may post parts of it, but I hope it will grew too big to put on a blog.

Already the characters are coming alive.  They are budding more characters.  I often times write a story and then realize somewhere in the process, that is going nowhere.  This is one is different. I already have thirty pages, and the plot is getting more complex and so, even if it does come out as total trash, it will be the longest trash I have written to date.  I can tell now that it will be at least 100 pages of trash.  And if I want it to be good, it will have to be a bit longer. Of course, I am trying too much for one story maybe. But perhaps it will grow to more than one story.  I am not sure yet. But I am excited.  I’ve been bouncing ideas off husband and one of my brothers, and both have given great feedback, and have said, that it sounds like a good story.  Lots of times my story ideas are boring. Like I am going to write a story about dog that eats bones. That is not a good plot.  A dog eating bones. Ha. Laughable.

My goal in writing poetry and flash fiction has always been to learn to write a decent line, a decent sentence. Then it was to write a group of sentences that were decent.  I wasn’t sure I was ready to move on, and I certainly won’t stop writing shorter pieces but with the advice of my family, I have decided to move on to a bigger project.  Will it work out?  I don’t know.  Will it be worth the effort?  Yes, maybe. Is anything?

So if you have written long stories or novels successfully, please feel obligated to give me advice that I will no doubt ignore, and wish later that I had followed (hehe).   What are some of the things you learned during your writing process?  How many of you worry about the word count?  How many words should make up a chapter?  What is the best way to stay motivated and excited?  When should you let someone else read the story?  When your done or halfway done, or as you progress?  What about editing and shifting?  Do you do it as you go along or do you plough through the whole story and go back?

Should you let yourself write the ending as it comes or do you plan it out before you start writing?  How much information does the reader really need?   Does reader need to know how, say a space ship works, or just that it does?

Of course, I have my own process, and it’s going smoothly now but I’d love to learn how others accomplished the same goal. So if you have the time, throw some words this way.

Why are the trees red?

rocky mountain national park

Damn those beetles

Think of Your Mother’s Heart

You little miss, should not lie

especially to your mom about being

sick because it breaks her heart

and makes her pace.  It is bad for mommy to pace

Her hair starts to stick up in the front of her head

from her hands pulling upward on her hair

The neighbors can see mommy through the window

punching her leg to stop the fuzzy panic in her brain

It is messy and disturbing for all of us to witness

It caused a humming bird to fly into the window

and your poor mother had to pick up the dead

little thing and put it in the garbage

She had to sallow her puke down and

recite lines from Our Town.

When you were a little tiny babe

you were sick and your mother

held you down as the doctors

and nurses put needles and ivs

in your body.  You were like

a trapped elephant with a tiger

in its belly.

Your mother, without faith

or knowing what was wrong

stood so strong, trembling within

screaming within,  wearing her

solid and brave mask

demanding and ordering

the rush of incompetence

moving around you and her.

She had to accept death, she had to accept

that she was powerless to save you

Each time you went into the hospital

she had to become a stoic Buddha

Do you know what that does to a woman

Your mother when she first had you

was but a child herself, dumb

and wild and on a hero’s path

She abandon her passport and toys

and silver cup that had been given

to her by the ancestor’s

She was disowned.  She was cut apart

She was a promising figure, a whisper

in circles, a goddess of beauty

with a powerful grip

your mom with her funny little

voices and facial expressions

with her songs and rhymes

is not that girl but an old woman

who has made it her goal

to give her life to you

Don’t lie to her

It may kill her

before you have run

out of uses for her

Sand in Hand

On the shore of a northern sea

in November some day ago

I grabbed a handful of sand

and rubbed it in my palms

and watched it fall to the ground

Sliding and tumbling- the sand smooth

but gritty, reflecting beige and yellow and white

I put my hand out and said, feel this

and the shadow next to me stepped back

and said, what

.

.

What I really meant to say was

Hug me smooth, Henry

It was cold outside

It was cold outside. It was windy and wet

or it was snowing, ten feet, since the day before

or it was hot and sunny; a freak surprise of warmth

or I can’t remember that part

You were wearing  tan pants rolled up just below your knees

I carried my journal and didn’t write in it once

We leaned into each other, hands around

each other’s shoulders, sitting on a rock

Do you remember what we promised?

Me neither. It was probably something mundane

or impossible, like buying chickens to celebrate

when we finally made it

Do you think the dogwalkers

thought we were sisters?

Homeward

There is a place for me

Its not in there with the dirty dishes

or on the white carpet next to the thunder stain.

Its not the box of pictures flashing

faster than I can perceive

Its there though, cold and blue

Very bad

I believe that people are born gay, and there is nothing deviant or abnormal about it. I believe that we born asking questions but are taught not to. I believe that faith, although comforting for some has killed too many. I believe humanity will one day embrace enlightenment. I believe that the faithful are not the only ones who experience moments when they feel connected to the universe. I believe in life, diversity, equality, and justice for all. I believe cookies are better than potatoes and for inner peace one must accept their ignorance and the uncertainty of life and death.

I believe that all humans are foolish, and yes, animals.   I believe that people at a very young age are brainwashed and that is why they have religious beliefs.  I think humans, as a whole need to get over their death wish.  I think more people need to enjoy their life and give more to those who have less.

I believe that gay people should be able to marry.  I think abortion should stay legal. I think the world would be a better place without religion.  I think religion teaches people to accept ideas or systems of beliefs, even when the physical evidence clearly proves it wrong.  I think most people sometime in their life have doubted their faith and I wish more would do so.

War offends me.  High heel shoes offend me.   I think people who wear make-up would look a lot better without it.  I think whole grain bread is awesome.  I think basil is tasty with tomatoes.  When I look through a telescope at night time sky, I tear up a little.

My favorite writers are  Mckenzie,  Hummel, Bukowski, Adrienne Rich, Steven Wallace, Emily Dickenson, Oscar Wilde, Brian Turner, Poeticgrin, Syliva Plath, Chekov, Miller, Twain, Emerson, henry david thoreau, charles dickens,Kurt Vonnegut, Daniel Clowes,Frank Herbert, Robert Jordan, Peter Farb, John Milton, Joseph Conrad, Tom Robbins, Eliah Anderson, William S Burroughs, Siegfried Sasson, Steve Martin, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg  David Budbill, Roo Borson, Wolfe,  John Kennedy Tool, H.G. Wells, Langston Hughes, D. H Lawrence, Galway Kinnell, Herman Melville, Lisel Mueller, O’Hara, Anne Sexton, William Carlos Williams, Ferlinghetti,   and many, many, many more.   I loved Billy Holidays Biography.  Moby Dick is one of my all time favorite books.  Crime and punishment is still awesome and Shakespeare is still the master.

I like writing that is absurd and political and biting and well crafted. I like writing that breaks rules or follows rules or makes up new rules.  I like a good story or a sad one, or one that doesn’t have a purpose.  I like writing that doesn’t  take it self serious or takes its self too serious.  I have never read something that is all bad, just very bad

Chin UP

It is very hard for me

not to bend my head

at the dinners when people pray

to their vicious gods of antiquity

but I keep my back straight and chin up and out

Out of cultural pressure

I used to bend to the old authority

and pretend that I could logically

taste the purity that will anoint

the human condition in the phase

after this one

Now I keep my eyes open and the apology off my face

Mutters and an Atmosphere

I’ve just finished a painting that will be the cover of the chapbook, Bring Your Own Cup….maybe…

Painting is not my strong suit.  I try very hard and take my time but everything I paint comes out a little weird.  The paintings look cool and are colorful –that should count for something.

There is an elephant that can paint a better elephant than me.

This is not a big deal.  I enjoy painting.  I can say a lot more with a painting than I can say with poetry or a story.  I can put what is in my mind on the canvas and there is no confusion.   I like confusion. I do but painting is more expressive of the mental images.  I like how the mind creates meaning with light and form.  Different colors set different moods.  If I could I would paint more but paints and canvas are expensive. Besides I broke my best brush.

Do you paint?  Are you good?  Why is that the talented don’t paint and creeps like myself paint?  Ok. I know a lot of great painters who paint but my favorite painters don’t paint enough.  They have jobs and lives and budgets, and well, they could make money selling their paintings.  All of my paintings are for sale.  You can buy them. Warning –they cost an arm and a leg.

They are not very good.   If you like twisted worlds of imagination, you will like them.  If you want to look at a painting, my paintings are for you.

You and I are not alike.  Our bodies and brains are lived in.  I’ve damaged mine.  You might ask how, and I might answer with a cough or ask you if you’ve ever made an atmosphere.  You will want to talk about your favorite TV show and I will discuss science and art and poetry.  I’ll play Thelonious Monks and you will say, this is weird or say you really don’t like jazz.

You’ll want me to notice your new shoes and I will talk about the obscenities of a long dead bard.   This will lead both of us down a path of desire.   I’ll desire someone who is more knowledgeable and you will want someone who is not a weirdo.

Time.  What is it exactly?  Space, what does it feel like?   Distance, why don’t you run to catch up?

Ultimately I’ll want to be a lone.   I will go into my office and finger my addiction.  I will write and read and try to comprehend what it meant for Kepler and me, to imagine.  You will watch TV and later, call your best to talk about it.

I will pace up and down the hall, muttering to myself.  I will call my soundboard, and he will belittle me and remind me how pointless my existence is.

Money is stupid.  It is convenient.  It is everywhere.  It causes the waste of natural recourses.  Spend more money, space explorers.  Earth is overcrowded.    How much money do we spend on discovering new ways to kill?   Some people can’t wait to die.  I can wait.  No, really you can cut in front of me.  I don’t care. all of you can go before me.  I have a lot on my mind.  It will take a long of time for me to sort it out.

The more space and time fabric between me and the predicable, the better.  Play the banjo or beat the drum.   Don’t run with scissors

Ever since I started painting my mind has been changing.  It is hard to put in words… Perhaps I’ll paint a poem about it.  What would that look like?  Does your brain try to build it?

Bees are not native to North America.  I love honey and the first person in 1500 something that brought those honey factories to good old u.s.a.  Do you realize that there is this beetle killing your trees?   In my past life I was a tree.  I was never an elephant, sadly. Who are these enslavedthinkers that are barking religion and confusing the masses?  It is hard enough to live.  I am a freethinker.  No one pays me to do it.  Are you afraid yet?

Radiation is a big deal. We need to build a thing you can climb into  and go ten thousand miles per hour and protect living life. How do you make an atmosphere?   Take your time, I’m never going to mars anyway.  Mars is boring.  I want to go to Andromeda

Children are stupid.  They are lazy and they are imaginative.  They don’t care about homework.  They don’t care about safety.  As a parent, you will probably ask yourself, if your child will make it to adult and if they do, what will become of them.  You’ll try very hard to teach them all you know but they won’t give a damn until you die because then they won’t be able to ask you the same questions over and over again to argue with you why you are wrong.   If they stop arguing with you then they have probably learned to accept your inferiority. It is a struggle to survive.  Have you ever got mad?  What did you do with your madness?

I burnt all my old writings.  I lit them on fire and watched them burn. It was pointless act.  I should have known better than to take matters into my hands.

I hate games.  I hate football.   Not that games are all the same or all bad.  I hate them because people use them as way to entertain themselves without thinking anything complex or new.  People want to always be entertained with simple and predictable ways.  Take riddles or ethic problems.  Children love them.  They are good for children. Adults love them too because they are simple.  They, like games have preset rules. You can comprehend them.  You can hold the whole thought in your mind with ease.  You don’t have to take notes.  football is complex. It may be the most complex game.  Watching a complex game is not the same as playing one or designing one and the game despite its ability to entertain you will not make you immortal or help you save your trees from the beetles or get honey in a jar.  It is a soap opera. You are attracted to the emotional elements.  Fan. Fanatic. A fantasist’s way to spend a day.  Fuck.  There is no way in hell I’d go back in time.  There is no way I’d pass up going on to the future.  Unless it was mars and I had no way to return.  I’m not saying I would come back.  I’m saying I’d want the option.  If you get in a boat and sail to a new land mass, when you set out and explore, your boat is waiting for you.  It will ride the waves for you. You don’t need a special suit for that.  The future, who knows what kind of suit you’ll have to wear.  One thing I am sure about though, it will not be biker leather.  That is just the way things are.  It will never be a world where everyone, even those who don’t ride motorcycles wear black leather.  Leather is old technology.  There are better fabric choices now.  What everyone in the future dressed in football attire?  I’d want to come back and slip on a pair of flops and cords.   Are you paying attention?    Wake back up,        please?

finished Bring Your Own Cup Painting

Bring Your Own Cup Painting -work in progress

The Oldest Blend

The breeze of  this august

day is moving the hairs on my body

giving slight tingling sensations

The chimes ding and the tree is forced to

rub it’s leaves together and bend it’s branches

The cars are quieter than yesterday

The swallows are still swooping about

and I am still thinking about Henry’s diagnosis

I need a cigarette and a mocha java now

I have to get up and go inside to get

‘em.   There is something horribly wrong

with that

Henry is in there dying and I don’t

know what to reassure him about

Pizza Puzzle

In the half dead world I call now there are
crazy makers and orchids shooting up
in the line of houses on top of each other
nestled and convenient their lifestyles
hum and swash and vibrate the context
of human movements.

The light of the sun hits the countertop
and breakfast crumbs. The world of now
is busy and murders for rest and contentment
forever bound by labor and new stimuli
the dragon mind scorches wisdom and reality
forever listening to the internal mad left hemisphere
the muttering and mumbling rabbit of darkness
who suffers the task of solace or evolution

The brain triggers before we are aware
Slowly the cells let us in or confuse
us anyway they fit, working the immortal
puzzle, beating and mastering distances
while we are lolled by the jibber of patterns
and piss poor explanations

Your idea of self is a projection
So give love and peace or go
plant peach trees human
frail and afraid and pushed
to break expectations

You are apart of a world you do not
understand. What truth can you
empty? What great task can you master?
So many gods and spirits you speak
for in your twisted little grab for power
or meaning. What scab of a purpose
do you pin on? What lie do you
lay and fornicate on? The buttons
of drive and energy or smiling or hitting
are chemical and electric
and alive. Damn it fool
you are alive. Go fly a kite

I Turned Twenty-nine

I turned twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight wasn’t so bad, really.

I wasn’t a walking one-liner

but after the cake has

crusted and the blue dishes are stacked

onto top of the counter -

I swallowed the coarse

reality that the eye inside

is not going to change -just this body

she must make do with.

So I started to workout

because I am weak and fatting

and want to be forever

with flexible hamstrings

and strong fists.   Take that pie

Summer pastels

Pink and Plump

The sun is on my face

and there is a cigarette in my hand

There are the typical worries and frustrations

in the background but I force the mind

to shut the uck up

There is nothing more important

than sitting and feeling at peace

This is my new way-my secret diet

The trumpet plays spaghetti and breadsticks

This cup is a sad diversion to the heartache

of being jobless and barefoot

in the last month of summer

But I have a bottle of scotch and a canister

of tobacco and I wont let the approaching winter

stop me from tapping my toe in rhythm with the lunch

hour traffic

The piano plays meatloaf and mashed potatoes

I need something else to do

Ever hold fat out of pity?

Sing no songs for me

Here in this castle of cells I live an ordinary

life of a human who is meaningless

in the grand scheme of the universe

I came to life, not from a virgin

but out of a woman who had other

children first.  There was no star

foretelling that I would be great

or gifted or bring eternal peace.

Born on the floor in a swamp

in the everglades, in a hovel my mother

delivered me and although I struggled

early on I rose to awful prominence

and attained silk lined pants and gold

in my fish tank but when I die a few

people may mourn or really feel bad

but the impact I had envisioned

-the wild and adventurous heron’s life

I had schemed up ended and slid away

without a splash of consciousness

The dimpled fabric where my rotting

corpse will lie will be the only monument

of my ordinary existence

The leftovers of life- blood, bone, and flesh

are better than imaginary glory

Sing no songs for me

My Brain

My brain is the size of a grapefruit

spilt in half each hemisphere

connects through my spinal cord

to my trillions of body parts

There are more connections in my brain

then there are atoms in the universe

Even with all my cells I still smell

the shit right after I step in it

Coffee and his shop

I used to live next to

the coffee master and his shop

He was older and smiled

at me in a way that should

have made me feel uncomfortable

One time, oh I think it was a little after

eleven a young man in expensive jeans came

in and ordered coffee with gobs of sweet and fat

and the coffee master said,

“You don’t really like coffee –do ya”

I laughed so damn hard

I nosed some of my coffee

The coffee master looked at me

the way he looks sometimes

at young women and then went back

to his roasting and muttering

perfection

And for some reason

when I get real down and lonely

I go to a coffee shop and anytime someone

asks for some gobs

I expect to hear – You don’t really like coffee

-do ya

but  its some yippy shit–some

jack ball behind the counter

who doesn’t like coffee

either –just a job

to pay the porn bill

and so the coffee tastes like

straw and stale almonds

pressed in puddle water

-served in a wide mouth cup

on dinky little saucer

and I’m the one saying,

“You don’t really like coffee -do ya”

as I leave before I can be asked

if I want a free refill

Daughter And I In Red

Daughter and I walked through the red woods

I told her to be silent and listen to the music

of the forest

and she did

Then she looked at me and smiled and laughed

In the shade of thousand plus year old trees

I taught her everything I knew

that was important

New Love

Even when it hurts to love

I still do.  That is new

I used to get mad and say eat shit

noodle but now I can’t help but see

the gray hairs on your head

and the wrinkled blanket

in your blue eyes

You probably won’t outlive me

Have the last beer -I’ll walk for more

Road trip in U.S.A -work in progress

so I am back from

the  road trip across u.s.a

The journey was worth it.

We road on I-90 first

We rode to South Dakota.

We saw Mt. Rushmore

and we saw Crazy Horse

We saw the Badlands

and we saw wall drug

and we saw interstate 90

and elk and prairie dogs

and we saw Yellowstone

the buffalo  and moose and their babies and black bear

and we saw more mountains

the Grand Tetons

- and Idaho- creators of the moon -the lava beds

and we looked and looked

We saw hot San Jose and

saw Santa Cruz dip into the ocean

and Yosemite and the sea lions

in San Francisco and china town

golden gate bridge and we saw the red woods-

And we saw the salt desert and the salt lake

We watched the Neveda desert turn green and then white

and into Utah -we saw Utah turn green

with lush mountains and valleys and rocks turn red

we saw big bones incased rock in dinosaur national park

We saw the Rocky Mountains and alpine tundra

and we saw the mountains turn into rolling hills into the prairie

and then we were home

And we had mountains inside of us and highways and rivers and waterfalls

and deserts and the ocean and red dead trees of the Rockies

waiting for a fire and we hurt as the road led us on in our country

we traveled in a mini van

there were too many of us

we got bored of mountains

baby buffalo playing and frolicking

together.   what could we say

but wow -my goodness

and there were times we wanted to be home

and times we didn’t want the road to end

and times we felt we were the luckiest of idiots

that got to explore u.s.a

even though we ate fast food most of the way

Here With The Birds

Today I am here -in Wisconsin.  Daughter is with family in Michigan

I sit and listen to the robins in their nest.  The babies get so excited

when their mom and dad comes back to the nest to puke up worms

into their ugly little beaks.

Husband is at work.  I’m making angel food cake

My house smells sweet.  It smells like my grandma’s house

I plan on making a salad.  I bought green leafy things.

My house is clean.  I am going to have too much angel food cake

Can I freeze it?

The woman under my kitchen sink tells me to drink a beer or a glass of scotch

She says, “What the hell do you expect – no one cares how good you cook.  Mop bitch.”

And laugh she does with her whole body until she coughs and sighs and sighs some more.

Tough Choices

Tough Choices

The dishes need to be done

the laundry    the beds   vacuum

the mopping

Always something pressed in the spine

I am told by the man under my table.

Remember that day when we got together and grilled

in the backyard?  Right before dark we lit a fire and sat

around eating and drinking. There were hamburgers

and salads.  Cheese and bread.  Red potatoes with

garlic and onions -a dash of parsley.

There was music.  Someone had a guitar.

We ran out of songs and so we had to make

up new ones.  My face hurt the next day

when we hugged good bye.

Random Niceties

It is nice to know

there are humans still on planet

earth even though they

are destroying it

The fact they are here

and can destroy it

is fun dada poetry

Dry Your Eyes –There Is Work To Do

In the city of normal

with the gentle light

of dusk and the blossoms

of the flowers’ waft  sweet

aroma

-

I had a conversation

which led to the conclusion

when I am walking

on the sidewalk I should

not move my lips when

there is no one in arms

reach

-

I wondered what it is like

to be tricked and kidnapped

sold as a slave in postmodern

day United States of America

and if by chance you got to

watch some news or reality TV

I wondered how pissed

off a person gets when

you realize the land

of the free and the home

of the brave is a giant

john that doesn’t

care how you landed

on a dime in some dirt’s

riding place

-

or  perhaps you get

to watch some popular

children’s program

and say,  you are a child

I wondered how bad

it hurts to have

no one and to be

repeatedly raped and afraid

to breathe out

while other kids are begging

for candy bars and complaining

about homework

or an early bed time

-

Sometimes I think

there is a miracle out there

-the thing that makes a person

want survival

even though their life is

horrible and awful

-

but most of the time

I’m too confused to wonder

because of all the people who

hurt others just because

they want some things like dollars

the street is no place for the thoughtful

to stand and mutter in madness

Must keep the face masked

with smiling stone

and the feet humping

the ground in the pale hope

that the eyes never meet the enslaved

and broken without a loaded weapon

to extinguish those who

master over the innocent

to teach the meaning

of liberty and justice for all

and the enslaved can

learn what it means to have

someone in arms reach

-

that offers compassion and safety

and freedom

Do I need to say more?

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all, except atheists

or

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible under science with liberty and justice for all but the dim witted and religious

or

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation under Santa, indivisible, with presents and candy for all.

or

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation of greed and bigots, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all but the poor and homosexuals

Or

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

Ten Years

ten years

In the last ten years

I have done nothing

with my life and failed at  attempts

for betterment

In the last ten years I have made

all of my dreams come true and the universe

allowed me abundance

In the last ten years I have dropped out of college

and I have graduated from college

In last ten years I have fallen in and out of love

like a willow branch breaking and sprouting

In the last ten years I’ve been convinced that

there is no such thing as love and I have been

certain that love is the only answer

In the last ten years I gave birth to a healthy child

and I have rushed it to the emergency room, afraid of death and powerless

In last ten years I have made best friends

and lost them in moves and pettiness

In the last ten years I have gained spirituality

and lost it to uncertainty

In the last ten years I’ve been  an activist and marched

and shouted and I have been apathetic and still and silent

In the last ten I have owned a home and been homeless

In the last ten years I have seen the birth of new loved ones

and buried loved ones in the dirt

In the last ten years I have found a town and a home, a sense community

and a peace with the land and I have been a stranger in an unfamiliar town,

restless and alone

In the last ten years I have learned more than I ever imagined possible

and I have become dumb, knowing nothing –ignorant and easy confused

In the last ten years I have been confident in who I was

and I have lost my sense of self

In the last ten years I thought of you often and I have forgotten your name.

Sorry i have not been on blog land

I’ve been busy.  I finished the three generations book of poems.  Now it is in the editing process.  Why are margins so easy to mess up? Where do mistakes come from?

I had guests visit.  I visited family.  I laid on my couch and watched the swallows

on the balcony.  One was very fat and sat still. The other swallow was skinny and kept

cleaning feathers.  I worked on my painting a little.  I thought about growing up.  how I am grown up and if my younger self would meet me, say at a coffee shop, she’d think me

a fab – rad old woman.  I came to the idea that sometimes we have to let our parents down to let our self out.  I admitted to my mother that I don’t believe in God. She looked at me in a strange disappointment.  It was a little weird.

It is raining today.  I am planning to travel my country in few weeks.  I will write about you if I meet you.  I will write about the weather and the people and the roads. I love roads.  I love maps.  Anytime I see a road or a map I want to follow its lines and see where it takes.  I open to learn.

The world is different, than it was twenty-eight years ago.  In twenty-eight years what will the world look like? Who is predicting doom and sadness?  I predict science and travel and energy and art.

if it matters I have a ha mad suit

Hey Henry, how’s the job?

O the world is laid off and swine

flu is choking the neighbors my Henry.

My Henry never answers

or shows himself

and so I learned in the search to find him

he is imaginary. He is a  lie so old and used to

answer anything that takes time or thought

to discover. He has many other names like

god or father. If he ever existed he is dead

now and will be forever. Mourn if you must.

I am still here writing profane poems

and soon, very soon –give or take

a hundred years- I will

be a master of the lies or truth.

In the end it will not matter

Someone has mowed the grass for the first

time since last summer and wars are being lost or

won like they were three thousand years ago

and before at the tip of a sharpened stone in the hands of ancestors

My how evolution moves on in its constant revolutions

Now the weapons are atomic with drones to drop them

Far as anyone can tell since the universe specked

in existence it has never ceased in its low vibration

of magnets and cells in an infinite or finite search

for the perpetual molecules arranged by

chance or breath or equitation

As a hair on a big toe or the graphite in a pencil

or a coffee bean roasted and chewed

to test the flavor – All is complex and fleeting

asinine ellipses of fractal portions and all goes

out and in mastering distances with beats

we are told our human mind cannot comprehend.

My life is simple.  It is a monk’s life

without hard labor or the confines of  sacred

knowledge. I am able to pluck a dove’s feathers

or reinvent the telescope without the fear

of rushing stones or the old rope neck

I can say there is no god or I am god or god is a donkey

without the fear of cigarette burns on my fuzzy vagina

my war is a private black-hole where insanity

is the only causality and tranquility the ripe

reward of the endless suck and plunder

How dumb of my kind to strive and contort

with sacred muscle and the holy bomb

when the gentle universe obeys

breath and imagination as an excited

lover hopeful to breed experience and diversity

for as long it wills

Such a shame that the all

cannot flip a switch to light a

flame or lift a handle for something pure

as I can without the weight of eternal kneeling

or ghastly superstition

I wish to put my hands on you

if it matters I have a ha mad suit.

We can at least sing songs together

Please don’t cough on me

my lawn mower lover

I do not have any clover tea

but I can boil water to cauterize

the hemorrhage of your uncertainty

or soothe your fear with rising steam

as some did for the father in childbirth

not so long ago.

When the woman was hemorrhaging to death

they dumped boiling water on her to save her

life and scar her.  It is a risk to gamble

with me but perhaps we will use rationality

and modern science as I do in baking pie

and writing poetry or killing bacteria

Doubt is just the beginning

of healing insanity -thank

history for reason.

Thank evolution for me

There is no yucky religion

to confuse my mind and make

me want death

Please Doubt

Many intelligent people feel the need to lie to themselves or others about a belief in a god.  They are fearful because they have been told since they were children there was a magical being who would take care of their needs. It is a natural response to have some pain in the realization that there is not a god like that, at least there is no rational or evidence for a belief in a god,  especially the way the holy books tells.  This is the first step of enlightenment. Some cannot handle the truth.  It is lonely.  Not believing in a god is not about being sinful.  All you perverts who think you need the fear of damnation to do to others as you would have them to do you are disturbed. I don’t need the bible or any other book of faith to tell me not to torture or rape or kill.  Be responsible for your own actions and do good because you can. I don’t want to abuse people and I don’t want people to abuse me.  I don’t cheat on husband because I don’t want husband to cheat on me.  I do not want to get the ickies or the itch or give them as an anniversary  present.

To admit you don’t have the answers and start trying to solve the mystery instead of believing nonsense is easy in your mind but it is hard to do in front of a crowd of people with chickens they will kill you with.

Don’t tell me your nonsense beliefs and expect me to believe them.  Just because you don’t have all the answers doesn’t mean you can pick a random idea and say that it is true.  I can no longer fake it or go along with your stupidity.  I think you are stupid if you believe in a holy book.  I love you but I think you are choosing to be stupid.

If I told you god speaks to me through a special rock, would you believe it or would you want some proof?  What if I had a bunch poems and stories to backup my claim, would that be enough proof for you? What if I said you have to have  faith that I have secret sacred knowledge… Would you believe me?  Some of you would I suppose but most would rightly call bs and walk away. You would expect me to prove that I received the information from god… wouldn’t you?  Well, I would and do expect proof –physical proof.  ( believe that there are great mysteries and many unknowns that have answers that humankind has yet to figure out. )

What if I told you I was god?  You’d want me to prove it.  What would convince you that I am god? What if a bunch people said they saw me fly and turn a rock into a song?  What if they were willing to die instead of saying that they are lying or that I tricked them….What if I tricked them, would that ever popup in your mind and at what point and how would you ignore the doubt?

What if I put a special magical bark in boiling water and told you to drink it and said a blessing and it took away your lower back pain? And when you asked how you were healed I told you I am god and I healed you.  Would that convince you?   What if I had old books that said god would come and be a woman with holy bark, and I showed these books to you? What if I had millions of devote believers in me?

Would that convince you?  And what if I did convince you, would you teach your children about me?  Would you fear me? What if I told you unless you do what I want you to do you’ll go to horrible place after you die where you eternally eat your own ass unless you believe what I say and do as I command????

What if I told you to torture anyone who does not believe in me until they confess faith?  Would you do it for your Annie god?  What if I told you that there is an evil rat-man that lives in center of the sun and I told you he will eat you forever if you don’t beat your husband or cut off the tip of your son’s penis…

What if I said I only choose to show my power to certain people who I deem worthy and that I can read the minds of people and I know who is worthy, and told you not to question because you are too stupid to understand my great mysterious power.  What if I told you anyone who eats tomatoes is sinning against me and that the tomato is dirty and should not be eaten.  And later scientist found out the tomatoes can cause stomach ulcers. Would that prove that you should be faithful to me?

What if I told you all men must cover their whole body in plastic to protect them from other women who may touch or look at them and men being weak would not be able to defend themselves and men are suppose to be obedient to women, and you must kill a man who is not?    What if I told you to throw chickens at any man who refused to wear the plastic suit until he died.

What if I told you I was born from a virgin eagle. Or I was born from a holy woman who was never touched by a man.  Or I always existed.   Would you believe me?  But I have the books.  And people who say they saw me heal by crushing eggshells and putting them in the person’s pocket. They said they saw me fly and swoop.  I turned a rock into a song.  Would you say prove it, do it now?   What if I put egg shells in your pocket and your cough went away?

Would you believe that I healed you with my god powers?  What if I told you I would come back  for you but I had to go away and make a place for you on mars where you could live forever with me as long as you believed in me and did what I said?

What if  I died and a bunch of people said they saw me fly up to the sky and soar to mars. Would you believe them?  What if they told you that I came to them in a dream and said that I would come back when a big wave washes up 20 dead dolphins, when the people of the land could talk with each other across thousands of miles with their minds, when all people spoke the same language and when war was in the heart of every woman and that it would be soon, very soon

and that no one would know when I would come back except me and the rocks, and that you are to be ready for me and if your are not you will meet the rat-man….

What if a hundred years went by?  and than 500, a 1000, 2000?  How would you change the meaning of “I’ll come back soon, very soon” to fit the fact that I had not returned.

What if there had been thousands of dolphins that washed up on shore, and a few times twenty together.  What if a new technology came out and made it capable for people to talk with one another with a chip inside their brain?  Would you go out to the street and scream Annie god will soon return?  If it said in my book that when all the rabbits die, I will return.  Would you kill rabbits to make me come sooner?

What if there was only one copy of my book and you had to write it down or remember it and then write it down.  What if different parts of my books said different things or forgot important aspects?  What would happen to my holy commands or poems, would they be altered?  What if they were altered and people could prove it? What if they found old versions of my book that had different passages and different meanings?   Which would you believe? When would you stop taking my commands literal and start to put your own meaning to them?

What if it was translated into different languages that did not have the same words, or words that meant the same thing.   Would you believe it?  Would you hold onto it and pray to me?   What if my book was full abstractions and magic and contradictions?

Why don’t you believe in Zeus or scientology or Jesus or the magical Teapot who pours hot water for anyone who asks?  Why don’t you believe in Aliens that come down to earth to probe people’s asses or people who can levitate or astrologers or the great wolf father or the mother turtle or the holy cabbage or that Buddha was god?

What would make you believe that belief in me was the right one and that others were wrong?  Because I told you?  because you read it in an old book?  Because your parents told you or a holy woman or man told you?  Because it made you feel special and loved? Would you believe in me just because it made you feel good to pray and worship me or to think you would go to mars and everyone who ever mistreated you and didn’t believe in me would go to center of the sun for eternity?  Would you wage war if it was in my commands to do so just to feel my love?

Would you give my church money or goods if the old books said I wanted you to?  Would you elect a leader just because she said she believed in me?  Would you kill people who said I wasn’t god if the book told you to?  How far would you follow the wrong star home?  How far would you follow the star at all, what if science proved some of things my book claimed were true -were wrong?  How would you try to make the facts fit  or make up reasons why it so.  How long would you go on cutting off the tips of penises and making men wear plastic suits? When would it be ok to eat  tomatoes again or use critical thought?  If someone believed this stuff would you consider that person brainwashed? Foolish? When they fainted and shouted when listening to my priestesses and my rock songs, would you say they are in a trance?   How long would you claim what you didn’t know or understand was god, the great annie? How long would you believe in lies before you began to listen to your doubt and reason and logic?  How long would it take you to wipe away the fear of uncertainty and try to figure out the truth?  When would you decide enough is enough and you will not be forced or tricked into believing in something that does not make sense. When would you say, why do other people believe in other gods if there is only one, why would It be based on chance that I was born in an annie home or nation?

Why would Annie god help me find my keys but allow millions of children to starve to death?When would you awake from your make-believe fantasy and go about difficult task of discovering truth?  When would you have the confidence to scream, there is no Annie god?  Would you die for truth or if the other believers came to kill you would you tell them you believed in Annie god even though you didn’t?

How long would you hide the truth from others?  When would you come out of the closet and say damn it, I am not lying anymore?  I am not faking belief.  What if they told you were evil because you didn’t believe in me?  That there was something wrong with you and you were being tricked by the evil rat.

That you must cut off the tips of penises or else you are evil. What if you thought that cutting off the tips of penises was wrong?  Would you still do it?  What if other people said they agreed with you?

What if thousands of people agreed with you, millions?  When would you have the courage to search for truth and kill, annie the god?   When would you stop praying to me and go about taking care of yourself and making the world a better place because you only get one chance at life, one fleeting moment to love and live and learn?

How would you evolve?    I challenge you people of faith, instead praying to a god or following a holy book, to solve problems without asking for a god’s help.  Stand with your body and mind, and do good and do what is right based on what you would have others to do or for you.  I challenge you to find your keys without prayer or to face hardship as human without the belief of a magical being.  I challenge you to ponder and act as though there is no afterlife.  I challenge you to respect life and our planet for its beauty and diversity.

What do you think is moral?  How should you be treated? What would be the biological processes that brought you to life?   Would your life really be worthless without a belief in god?  Would you go about killing or raping or having sex with everyone you could if you didn’t believe in god?  Really? Would you want equality and justice for all?  If there is no god, how would that change the way you interact with the nature or other humans?    Would you accept a starving child or torture or war?   Would you share your food?  Would you sing songs?  Would you laugh or love?  Would you seek the truth?

Many people have abandoned the faith, the belief in something that cannot be proven and found themselves as humans capable of doing the right thing and taking reasonability for their actions.  And now, they are free to search for truth and are learning to control their bodies and their own destiny.   They can love, laugh and sing in freedom and champion respect for life.  They desire peace and abundance deep in their minds and in their living bodies.  They still have feelings of empathy.   They crave justice and life. They have become enlightened.  They are no longer in the dark ages and they feel fine.  Do you have the mental power to rid yourself of delusion and fear?  If so, speak up.  Be clear in your demand for truth and evidence, fact and repeatable experiments.   Use critical thought.  Ask questions.  Do not apologize for doubting religious claims or for being an atheist.   The burden of proof is not on you.

Mother Land

 

 

I saw you at the tavern, broken fingernails

with smeared lipstick

drinking whiskey sours. Smoking and debating

the old days with tights and mini shorts.

My orphaned hand handed you an ashtray

in the din of pool balls rolling into pockets,

jukebox tunes of be be bop and in the ghetto

In the howl and haggle of drunks

I recited your song about the home I’ve never known

 

 I saw you in the water

throwing seaweed and clumps of sand

wearing your atomic bikini

I saw a warrior rise out of you

 covered with blood, your rosy cheeks

Allow my clay hands to guide you

to peace my lady liberty I shouted

into the break of waves and wind

 

I saw you at the shopping mall

with bags of over consumption

around your wrists.

 You looked like a movie

fusion bomb

so primed and made up

so explosive and unaware of magic 

your ankles in heels -strong and clicking.

Your thin legs from a man’s painting.

I reached to smack the bags from your wrist

but you walked on knicked and pretending wealth

 

You where in the coffee house with

eyeliner and a corset t-shirt exposing

your watermelons –laughing and bowing

to the attention of the slick dicks

defining your worth you allowed them write

 down their clever puns about your

shadow lips on your tailbone

I wrapped my coat around you but when

I stepped away you let it fall and winked

at me with an eyeful of desire and control

watercolors are hard

i’ll play my flute for you

I decided to build

I decided to build a tower in the valley

in my off hours. This is why.

The sun hits the grass in the afternoon. All morning

there is shade and at the hot part of the day the sun

comes to the valley. It is hot. Then you wish for some shade.

In the morning it is cold. Then I wish for some sun

There is an hour in the day where it is perfect.

We take lunch then. It is nice to drink

a bottle of white wine and share

a chunk of cheese and Hungarian salami

with the gentle breeze moving our hair and vests about.

Little birds pecking at the ground. Tweeting.

On special occasions we have raspberry torte.

Yesterday it was too windy so we sat at the library and drank milk.

I read two books of poems and you read the sports section.

We didn’t realize the day was over until the lights flickered

Then we noticed the sunset over the parking lot.

Across the street the fading light reflected

off the sewage overflow pond.

Somehow we summoned our senses and went

into our white car and drove the couple

blocks home. On the way home there were three

teenage girls walking and talking and smiling

I flinched at that stupid and happy thing that walked them.

Relieved of and fond of youth I thought there was something to be

said of growing old and fearful.

I drove 30 miles per hour and slowly turned

into the drive and into the garage. There was folk

on the radio. I was reluctant to shutoff the car.

You got out right away and went into our residence.

There is white everywhere in our place.

the counters, the cabinets,

the carpet and the tile, and walls and ceilings

the furniture, the paintings, the bedding.

I spent half the night cleaning.

The horrid crack between

the fridge and the counter is clean.

The red stain on the carpet

underneath our loveseat is gone.

The old clothes that were too small are a quilt.

My feet hurt. The dryer lint is empty.

The bed is made with clean sheets.

I hung up your button ups.

Then I locked the door and went to bed.

I don’t know where you were. I think

you were playing poker or reading numbers.

I slept like a big baby and in the morning you gently

woke me with kisses on my face and brought me

breakfast in bed –cream of wheat with coconut.

When I got out of bed in the morning

the air in room was cold compared

to the bed and then and there

I decided to build a tower

so the morning sun could reach us

and the tower could shade us in the hot

part of the day. I figure after I am done

the whole day will be perfect

-not just lunch.

If the wind knocks it down

so what-

Plus we’ll be able to get out

of this valley and see the horizon

A Kid Who Turned

In the city there is a kid who turned 500 and nobody remembered her birthday or sent her a belated greeting or waved when she walked down the street after her dinner of corndogs and celery sticks. The old man with the huge mustache who sits on the café table nursing black tea stared through her. The dog with the lady in spandex ran with her head up but looked slightly to the left without nodding or smiling or barking. The kid had an extra dollar fifty so she bought herself a yellow balloon and one lollypop. Then she rode her scooter to the cemetery and coasted through the sprinklers. At dusk she skipped stones on the pond and counted four baby ducks. Later at night she bathed in chocolate pudding and braided her hair with licorice and went to sleep on her cotton candy blanket under the stars in the backyard of her peppermint city. The last great maple syrup bottle sang all night with such great longing and cracking the kid wished to be grown at last so she could become a scholar and wear silk and dig up a cure for smallness and her stupidity. But in the morning she was still a kid and so she went about her pop drinking and jump roping and tried to ignore the folding sigh of hopelessness

Roots Of Perception -Work in progress

A Person Thinks -A Person Looks Sad

 

People aren’t used to seeing a person sitting and thinking.

That makes a person look sad. Really a person is just thinking

about biscuits.  There are so many different kinds of biscuits

a person would have a hard time deciding on what kind of biscuit

they would like but if a person had some sausage gravy

then that person would want a flaky biscuit.  

Sometimes a person needs a biscuit -just a plain biscuit

The Hypnotic Spilt of Consciousness into Reason and Religion; Staring Henry the Imaginary Uplifting and the Drunken We-Wasted on His Faith –Sobering; Or There Is A Hole In The Boat

         

Other animals seem to have a better grip on life than We.  We have no grips on anything but Our porters from Comstock Michigan. The deep dark gun pickles are swinging inside Our watermelons. Like all animals We must mature over the urge to do the die dance and learn to be lovers of livers. We are not the happy plastic containers We pretend to be.  We are really hungry and angry about it. Not even a unicorn asks to buy us wine or a cat purrs for our hands to praise her. Give us some of your wet food pussy.  Blame the war or the shortage of beer, dragons, miracles or drugs or cheeseburgers.  It has gotten to point where We tell Ourselves We will live forever and then laugh -relieved that We won’t. We usually try to keep these tossed salads to Ourselves. Usually We lie about the ham, future, gods, peace and trick Ourselves into taking another slurp of life bullion but tonight We listen to Pick Trake’s muddled voice and We know why he stopped the fantasy. We have no reason to sing lies either. “Smoked my last..” Even the sun will die.  We wonder if it has the choice to go early… Why doesn’t it just end the shining tomorrow? Why can’t it be an example of free choice?  Perhaps if We had a better upbringing We’d smile a little whiter- white as snow.  We don’t see straight.  The scotch – so this is what 18 years of glen tastes like. The reason why We plant that happy bullshit is because We need to hear it every Monday.  Sometimes many times a Monday and there is no one to water us so We must muster what We can. Tonight there is nothing that comes to mind that can take away the rising axes –forgive us of critical thought.  Another sip of porter.  Thank history for porter. Losing ones warm blanket sucks.  Realizing you’ll never get it back is a blood bath. More hot blood please. Our best friend is drinking himself under the table. He is so bad at drinking. No pacing. His beer is all gone and We still have two bottles left. Sorry sucker. Please be more conscious next Blank Blank. Damn you Blank.  You make us sit here and watch you sober up.  Lets get real.  We are pros at keeping a thing going past the point when it should stop going.  Hold on. We need a smoke. We’d like a mushroom loaf –honey please. That shit is bitter and makes us want to up up on Our tongue tongue. O.  Go get more beer beer already. Please don’t tell Henry We miss him. It is hard to let go of the fanatic. We don’t want him to know that We are drunk and talking about him again.  He gets so faked surprised that We are still holding his braid for ransom or proof.  He gets off at us.  He never saw us this sober. Fuck Henry. Fuck you Henry.  We ate better crab from a tree. Mother blank bank seashell dog ma.  There is a little person who lives next door.  We say our life is difficult as vacuum repairwomen but she has a toddler that is the same size as her.  Holy dicks, We don’t know where she has the hope to keep swallowing lies. We think that’s when We’d drive a car into a springtime river. “Fuck I am too little die,” We can hear her scream now at the last minute. That’s a good lesson. You don’t know how much you want to die until you live in faith. We uncover the beds’ bugs.  We like to lie with people about sex.  Yeah We have sex. O yeah all night guilty baby. Right now We’d rather listen to someone play guitar and scream Holy Cabbage. That’s fucked. We are emotional failures.  Junkies for songs. Anoint us.  We wish the psalm trees were true or plausible.  Things could be great meatballs. We’d have a clear path to the shade of Hades and get that son of bitch without responsibility. Nancy!  But insanity is the only thing religions promises… Death means heaven, the holy book whispers but We know better.  We know it promises holy chickens chicken pecks.  Just like life but at least in reality We can grab a porter or Glen, Our good tasting 18-year-old scotch. Our heaven -he’ll be the crystal pool and the spring of life. That fucking apple is full of illogical worms. You eat it. Fuck trance pie Good damn it. Half of what We say is meaningful. The other part is mumbled riddle ridicule clues. Mudder ludder. Who is that pissing on the window? Come here and give us the holy beeersssss. We need a holy smokie. Another holy token. Want to light one? We have wet matches. Fuck you Henry.  We are keeping the braid. We don’t have it with us.  We gave it to a head doctor.  She’s gonna make it so you can hold your liquor.  Stupid fucking -chive -We were gonna eat that. Damn you Henry, why you piss on Our chive plant?  We were gonna feed the kids with it and now you gone and poisoned it.  We have no more patience for you and your imaginary uplifting pissing religions. There is a hole in the boat. Reason does us better –We’ve drank Ourselves sober and We are patching the hole with material matter. 

 

 

 

 

  

I Expect

 

I expect that very shortly

you will turn your direction

inward and ask yourself

some very poignant questions

that will lead you to change

your view of yourself and

how you behave in the world

You want to be a good and so

in a little bit you’ll stop

your foolishness and stand

confident in a peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Or not

Begin Again

 

 

It is spring.  I dream of the forest mother

the deep and lost lake grandmother

 

 

I’m lost in the city daughter

broken by the roads and hands

that I hold or hold me

 

it is beginning again

inside of me

the flood of life and hope

 

I hope for an egg sandwich

I hope for new shoes

I hope for hands strong

enough to pick you up

 

 

my mother, my grandmother

my daughter

 

I am alone in the universe

I am free in the world

I am rebelling one small

poem at a time

I am redefining

where I fit.

 I am

making room for you

 

 

 

I will hold you when your

body rocks with seizures

when you are too weak to make

it to the bathroom

when you are too weak

to pull the weeds from the garden

I will defend you

in this land of male deities

who see you as a market they can

dress and bend and infest

 

 I fight for your will