Ammunition Factories Pay Good Wages
My country isn’t the best.
You have to work hard
to get a pair of pants.
You have to leave your
home and go it alone.
If you get sick or lose your job
no one will give a damn unless
it is an election year.
If you ask for help you’ll get
a bag of canned goods and told
to get a job.
Lots of people want to come here
and live the American dream.
Lots of people who live here
wish they knew what it was.
The military goes out and does things
that most of us never learn about
Until thirty years later or when
someone finds the bodies in the mass grave.
You don’t even want to know
what we’ve done in the name of freedom
and progress. It’d make your stomach turn
All over the world there are jokes about
us only caring about money.
Its true. We care about money.
Without it we are homeless
landless creeps starving and driven
to madness and we are incarcerated.
Without a job or some money
we can’t get our cancer treated
or sleep in peace. In my country
citizens kill hobos they catch
sleeping outside.
People all over think we
have it so good but really only
the wealthy and blood thirsty have
it real good here. Its not for everyone
but it is better to be here than somewhere
that has something that our leaders
want because they’ll bomb your village
or rape your innocence. They’ll kill
and then say it was an accident of one ours
They’ll tell us you are evil.
Then they will tell
us they’ll give us money if
we do our part for their war of more
and do the worst to you and your evil
And some of us do.
We are tricked by greed
We want a better life
We want to be heroes
We want money
We want to kill the wicked
We see war and death and blood
as a necessary foul.
Its how we feed our babies
My country is not the best
unless you are comfortable
working in the morally grey
Unless We Went Insane
Dear Mother,
We don’t believe in your god.
We don’t now nor will we later
We never want to believe what you believe
and we can’t see how we could possibly
believe what you believe
unless we went insane
This is when we are suppose to apologize
Notice however we did not.
Sincerely,
your children
Come here keys
The dishes are dirty and they are on the countertop. Someone must do something about this. I am too busy to rinse off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher and after all that put soap in it, and close it and then turn it on.
It is too much. It a shackle around 30 minutes. There are more important things for me to do. I would very much like to address a much needed bath and bottle of Spanish wine. As well, I have the important task of briefly looking at papers and then putting them in order of importance, and then finding a place to put the papers until they become irrelevant.
There are other serious problems. The fact I can’t command my coffee cup to fill itself and come to my beckoning is very disturbing. It is not the worst problem but it is a good indicator at how bad things really are. No one I’ve talked to can order their coffee cup full.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten the bathroom. Or caring for clothes and other fabrics. It is almost too much to bear – think about it. How can I be expected to get any of this done while I am in the tub watching the soft flicker of candles as I listen to public radio’s jazz hour and reread “The Marching Drum”?
As a move toward solidarity and progress, we should seek to end these horrendous problems that infect billions of people with chronic suffering through these problems tedious continuality and lasting residue on their lives’ time.
No one should turn their eyes away from these atrocities that cripple time and force people into predictive patterns of humdrum behaviors. No one should have to clean a toilet again! Can you imagine a world where all tasks of maintenance are performed automatically? The windows clean themselves?
When objects do as they are commanded? “Come here keys!” could be heard all over the world. We the American people need to be a good example for rest of the world and move forward to solve these problems of human life. How much suffering should people be expected to endure? All possible resources should be put into these problems. The inefficiency of these problems is costing us too heavy a price. We are supposed to be happy with automated vacuum cleaners or airplanes or radios that don’t even work well? I tell you now -these sloppy quick fixes are not enough.
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
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?
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
or make it with a brunette
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
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
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
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
About
I am a poet. I am a mother. I am a someone’s wife. I cannot stop writing. I have tried. This is very anti-progressive of me. I will apologize later to my chive plant.
I work at writing but it is not what I call hard. I am a natural. But I don’t just write down whatever and call it something. No. I have pride. I have standards.
I am political and I am popping jokes. They are subtle, often times overlooked, but if you find yourself laughing or crying, you can bet, I’m glad I could assist, reach a dead metaphor out to you.
If you like my words, my poems, share them, print them off. Tape them up. Let me know. If I make a mistake, let me know about that too.
I am trying to be the best piece of U.S.A that I can be. Poetry is my way. Its not medicine and it is not an organic lunch. My poems are hard to swallow. If I offend you, you can bet I am happy about that too, because that means your alive enough and thinking enough to respond. You probably just missed the joke. ( I don’t know anymore than the fools who keep selling out our country or the great ramblers of the past. I don’t know a thing, and my friend, hahahahahahaha neither do you).
I am not a master of poesy. I am twenty-eight. I am a burp. Remember that, remember I am a fool. I am like you.
If you are a writer as well please feel free. Share your lines and advice.
Sometimes people think I am a good writer, and they believe that I have a good sized ego. That is not the case. It is far to big and it thinks it is a bunny. I am sorry for any claptrap or bloated dogs it tries to sell you. I work endlessly at my lines, and want those who I share my life-art to be just as passionate and as eager as me.
I love writing. It is my family history, it began before I had a name. Maybe I was hurt into it. Maybe I hurt easy. Maybe thats why I can’t stop.
I know I won’t even think about it until justice is in the reality of every molecule.
You need someone to write love poems. I know you do. You’re begging for someone just to care, just to give a damn and love.
My poetry is for you.
It is for the lot of you who suffer or love.
It is a reminder to you, that we are in this together and we are alive.
So lets party.
I am nothing but a solitary grain of sand
but with you, I am beach.
(I will keep at least my swimsuit on, no porno here). Who doesn’t love a beach party?
If you would like me to read at a poetry reading email me at a_burie@hotmail.com.
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