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

The Dream

Last night I read “The Dream” by Harry Bernstein.   I was at the library with my family and I stumbled upon this book, opened it up and began reading. And I did not put it down until I was finished with the book.  I have never read anything else by Bernstein.  Bernstein also wrote “The Invisible Wall.”  They are both autobiographical. 

 

I recommend “The Dream.”  Read it. 

 

 

Have you ever wondered what it was like for your ancestors to travel to U.S.A?   Or what inspired them to or what it was like?  Well, I did.  Although this is Bernstein’s story, it is a story of the American dream and the human dream for peace and abundance. 

 

I will not go in detail of his life because he does a better job than I could.  In fact he does such a good job that I wish he would have wrote a 100 books instead of two.  We like to hate America for the crazed actions of political leaders, for her dim and dirty streets, for lies of a promise of the American dream but my friends, the hope and dreams of our ancestors are the same as ours.  They wanted a house with a toilet and windows.  They wanted to be surrounded by nature and earn a living that provided for their families.   Of course most take it granted that they live in an apartment or a house but for our ancestors that is what they wanted.   So read “The Dream” and reach with your soft hands for a dream of your own.  And I hope that your dream comes true before you reach ninety.  

My Master’s Hands

There is a time when a person

must become a bed and lay

unused, perfect and an inanimate

 

That day is coming -you old dog you

to you and your 1939 voice. 

Tell me again why you bend over

that grave.  Did you drop something there? 

 

Can you hear the kick up of dirt?

Death comes out innocent as a blessing

Cured as sausage in the market sun.

So pale and pink, your old man hands

lifting a little grasshopper

I almost forgot why I was here

 

How do you old poet watch

without the someone catching

you? Tell me this secret and I

will stop stocking you. 

A Line In Hell Or A Fucked Machine

 

 

 

Charles was a bad piece of dick meat.

His words about women are not shockers

or clever streaks. His poems are not poems

but I don’t have a better name for him.

 

He broke into thousands of gentle

little snakes and I  forgive him;

he was a sad man and his poems are greasy.

If you drink them they leave dregs

that are hard to dilute.  In a child’s abstraction

he rebuilt the old and mundane insanity

over and over again through pain and anguish

his fat fingers mashed on his type writer

puking and shitting himself until he was recycled.

 

Charles tried to get published.

He wanted to make money doing this shit.

He kept at it and some suckers, like myself

bought his sores and chewed his scabs.

 

I would’ve like to meet the old fart face

Poked him in the forehead and said, you’re lit. 

i’ve been reading

robert jordan- wheel of time.  I just finished book eight…. I’v read 4 in the last week and my head is floating in his words and characters, and reality is the last place I would like to be.  I have to get 9-11 somewhere and I should clean the house before I read anymore.  I am not sure I am fit to write after reading his work.  The way he interweaves the characters and setting, and plot line are beautiful.   I don’t know if I can begin to distance myself from his shadow.  He must have been nuts with fantasy inside his mind….so many details and so much heart.  How could one man keep that all together?  without spilling it out, all over his reality?  I don’t know where I’ll go as a writer, what direction I am being pulled but I cannot help but giggle and feel as though I’ve been studying the master.  I will be even more humble as I continue.

 

I felt the same after reading Shakespeare…. Unsure of myself and scared to continue.  I enjoy almost every book I read but rarely am I teary eyed and full of awe.  It is like scribbling on a napkin and than comparing it to the great artists who controlled light and shadow with such ease and detail.  You realize you suck.  You realize that you will die and still suck.  I wonder if Robert Jordan felt that way?  If he was unsure of himself and what he was doing…. That is sad and beautiful.  That is the essence of art, of creating, of humanity.  We feel like fools in a closet, in darkness but we keep our hearts open and we imagine light and energy and fountains and rivers and hands and swords and full bellies when they are nowhere to be found.  we create a world inside our minds and hope, that we will have strength and courage to share, the time to tell  our part of the story.  I hope that you continue on your journey with faith and hope for the future.  You may be a fool, a sad and lonely one, walking on a hard road as a battle goes on around and inside you, but keep stepping, oh step on, step on.  Who knows, you may save a soul on your way just as Robert Jordan continues to save mine from his grave.