It is a completely irrational fear.

It is a completely irrational fear.

But how much of our fear is rational….we who live in the insulated
walls of a culture bound by the common elastic thread of virtual
adventure, pixel-ed and polished before our eyes see the light (of
stars that die before we see the flash). The sources are lost before
we know they existed.

Even those who gazed up and out and feared the unknown star feared

no true danger, only remnants of what existed, once. Only the past.

I fear the past, and it is a completely irrational fear. I fear the
unknown and it too is irrational. I have a cigarette, the third
(lucky) strike, a physical blow, a rational fear I run to as a refuge
(you hurt those you love the most).

The rational fears we cling to like a mentor, pyro-maniacs poking gas
soaked matches in the furnace to singe our hairs and feel, to Feel
light raw and red and full in it’s original heat before they get to
it, strip it of it’s unknown.

I fear the irrational fear. The fear that seeps in at night on
long dark ways to a suburban house we all tried to make home.
The
glow
we sought was dead before we arrived. I fear the fear with no
source, no root to wrench away. When I pull this one I fall back.
Darkness where I thought there was light, where I expected
warmth but there is nothing.

Give me a thorn
I can grasp, give me a demon to run from. Give me a
living
fear so I can face death like an adversary.

My Rhymes

my name is flammable potassium.
i burn through money like a Kardashian.
Enter the blood stream,
Through your ears
replenish yo' electrolytes
quench yo' fears

You fall into my rhyming chasm
sweat me out like a fuckin' phantasm
Don't get cut by my verbal propeller
I'm unstoppable like Helen Keller

Not your everyday container variety
Not a prophet spitting false piety
I'm a supplement to your daily bread.
I'm the loudest motherfucker in your spinning head.

I like sandwiches.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

> 40. (Carrion Comfort)
>
> Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
> Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
> In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
> Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
> But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
> Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
> With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
> O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
>
> Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
> Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
> Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
> Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
> Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that
> year
> Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

crow

Crow, Power Animal, Symbol of Sacred Law, Change

By Ina Woolcott

Many cultures consider crows to be the keepers of the Sacred Law, for nothing escapes their keen sight. To have a Crow as a power animal is extremely powerful stuff. When we meditate on the crow and align with it, we are instilled with the wisdom to know ourselves beyond the limitations of one-dimensional thinking and laws. We are taught to appreciate the many dimensions of both reality and ourselves, and to learn to trust our intuition and personal integrity.

Crows often appear in groups, and though there seems to be no variation in their caw-ing to each other, each caw actually has a different meaning. Their complex vocabulary is one sign of their intelligence, and is also a sign of their significance as power animals. When a crow explores something new, others watch closely to see what happens and then learn from it. They often make great noise when hunters are around, warning deer and other birds. Crows recognise potential danger and hence always post lookouts when feeding. This is their most vulnerable time. This helps us understand that we must watch what we believe, to test our habitual ideas about reality against a more universal standard.

Without paying careful attention, we are unable to understand the language of crows, this signifies the fact that we can't always see beyond our own cultural limitations. These limitations include certain moral codes of right and wrong, along with 'rules' that accompany these codes.

Throughout history there have been many (unnecessary) conflicts and wars between humans due to differing moral and religious beliefs. To truly create a new age of love, peace and harmony it is of high importance for us to be able to transcend our particular cultural limitations and to hold in our hearts and souls what we share as spiritual beings in human form. We are all connected, infinitely and composed of the same 'stuff'. We need to realise that hurting others only hurts ourselves. Crow is the bird which represents this transcendence.

Crow can also teach us to be mindful about judging people automatically. Be mindful of your opinions and actions. You need to walk your talk, to speak your truth and to know your life's mission. Again, trust your intuition and personal integrity, to create your own standards, whether or not they match those of the world around you. Be an individual, think for yourself, don't necessarily follow the crowd!

In the courting process the male crow's voice takes on a singing quality. This lets us see what the basis of sacred law is, unconditional love, the one unfailing principle by which we can test our own principles.

Crow is an omen of change. Crows live in the void and have no sense of time, therefore being able to see past, present and future simultaneously. They unite both the light and the dark, both the inner and the outer. Crow is the totem of the Great Spirit and must be held with utmost respected. They are representations of creation and spiritual strength.

Crows are messengers, telling us about the creation and magic all around us, that is available to us just for the asking. Look for opportunities to bring into being the magic of life. The striking black colour of the crow represents the colour of creation. It is the womb out of which the new comes into existence. Black is the colour of the night, giving birth to the light of a new day.

Crows are sly and can be deceptive in their actions. They have been known to build false nests high in treetops to confuse predators. Their nests are built very high up, giving them the chance to watch everything that is going on around them.

As crows are adaptable to all environments and will eat almost anything, they can survive in almost any situation. Crow is surrounded by magic, unseen forces and spiritual strength. If crow enters your life, get out of your familiar nest, look beyond your present range of vision, listen to the message(s) in its caw and act accordingly.

water barrel body soul II

Kaitlin

hey, good evening

00:41Harry

hey, kaitlin.

how are ya?

00:42Kaitlin

good, slept til 6 pm today, late night, now i'm up

00:42Harry

is it a nice night out?

00:42Kaitlin

it was my friend's going away party

i smoked too much

knocked me out

00:43Harry

ooh.

00:43Kaitlin

i can go forever when i dont smoke

00:43Harry

going away parties are so bitter-sweet.

00:43Kaitlin

i actually prefer to party sober

00:43Harry

ha, me too.

00:43Kaitlin

yes

00:44Harry

tonight was a going away party of sorts too, although i hardly knew/know the going away-ees.

00:44Kaitlin

ah where are they going?

00:44Harry

oregon.

they are a retired couple.

00:44Kaitlin

mine is going to tennessee

aw

i want to visit portland

00:44Harry

the man is basically the british version of santa claus.

me too.

00:44Kaitlin

wonderful

00:44Harry

and ride the red trolley cars downtown.

do you like turtles?

00:45Kaitlin

i didnt know about those

yes

tes

i used to have one

00:45Harry

i did too.

i had a zoo.

turtles, cats, dogs, lizards.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMNry4PE93Y

this kid is amazing.

00:54Harry

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JocPcYBCN18 brett michaels 0, tony award mis-timed prop coming down-1

01:01Kaitlin

oh zombie kid is hilarious

01:03Kaitlin

ahhhh brett michaels!!!

01:09Kaitlin

i love the things you put on my wall

!

01:10Harry

:)

01:52Kaitlin

what are you doing up this late?

01:52Harry

i sadly am a night-owl. normally go to bed late.

how about you?

01:55Kaitlin

i change

im in a night owl place lately

01:56Harry

understood.

sometimes its a night-owl time.

02:00Kaitlin

yes

just wrote something in my blog

02:01Harry

ah.

the blogspot.com link?

02:02Kaitlin

ya

kaitlinwtfblog.blogspot.com

02:08Harry

and with thus water is life and soul thus life.

i like that.

02:10Harry

this reminds of heraclitus who said that we dont step into the same river twice. its like imagining a stream of consciousness/soul that is captures in this barrel of body.the stream keeps rushing powerfully and barrel traps this energy.

02:13Harry

heraclitus then said, 'the only thing thus that changes in life, is change itself." i wonder if then if the soul with-out this container (barrel-our human bodies) is one powerful stream of life giving change.

02:14Kaitlin

that is how i feel a lot of the time

water barrel body soul

me: heylo

Brendan: hey duder

me: what u doin

Brendan: watching congo

sort of

me: congo? what is that

Brendan: the guy who wrote jurassic park wrote a book about gorillas and the jungle and they made a movie about it

me: ooh

is it an adventure movie?

Brendan: it's sort of like, these people go into the jungle to find a type of diamond right?

and these super intelligent gray gorillas kill everyone

so they send in this special gorilla guy who taught his own gorilla how to speak using sign language into the jungle and they go to get the diamond

Sent at 1:31 AM on Monday

me: oh yea I've seen that movie

i liked it

Brendan: it's sorta good

what are you doing?

me: being online

Brendan: that's all?

me: drinking tea

writing on my blog

i was up until 5 am

Brendan: cool beans

oh yeah?

me: yea

my friend's going away party

smoked too much

Brendan: too much weed?

lulz

me: too much everything

slept till 6 pm today

not proud

Brendan: no probs

party animal

me: wrote for an hour this morning, an analogy between a barrel of water and the body and soul

haha

Brendan: gimme the short version

me: yeah animal, i suppose this is the natural progression after being housebound for a summer

body is barrel, soul is water. what happens when a barrel of water is exposed to the elements?

Brendan: i dunno; i suppose many things

it can harbor life forms

it can empty somehow

it can freeze

it can evaporate

me: exactly, it changes

it becomes something that it couldn't become if it were not in that barrel

and all these changes break down the barrel

but in breaking down the barrel becomes what it could not be if it were dry, and sheltered

it becomes, in it's broken pieces, part of the life that develops between the water and wood

it transcends it's original form

by becoming alive

it's deterioration unlocks it's potential to support the continuance of life

and the barrel's original purpose is the contain water

water that is contained by a barrel is bound, compelled to exist in only one of the many ways it can exist, but it can do certain things existing that way, that it could not do if it were not bound

the soul is the same

Sent at 1:43 AM on Monday

me: the soul is bound by the body, compelled to exist in only one of the many ways it could exist, but by existing with the body it can harbor life, support life

Brendan: gee

Why I am not a painter

Frank O'Hara

(1926-1966)

Why I Am Not a Painter

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

(1971)

To leave or not to leave

I'm pausing. I'm alone (except for Mr. fuzzy). Light, at 4:55 pm, slides through the glass scattering in shards over my arm, the table, the baked grass on the slope across the creek. Fall Equinox.
I hear Mr. fuzzy munching on Iams.

SanDisk digital card reader sits plugged ready for me to toss another batch of pixels into the Internet. Look what I did, did you see? Black nail polish, a toothbrush and rosin. My bag sits in the Prelude, packed for Half Moon Bay. Spontaneous leaving, again, to drink, to smoke, to look, maybe see. To kiss, to question, to play music.

To leave or not to leave. There is a question. Whether tis nobler for the spirit to suffer ....
I was going to parallel Hamlet but I'm too bummed.

waiting.... or leaving. That is the story. Kevin Drew Says: don't get addicted to beginnings. I did that, and cigarettes, and online feedback. I think Kevin Drew smokes too. And night flights from Danville in the little blue car blasting the music of the day/week/month.

After take-off you let go. Sometimes I pray and offer myself up to the universe. I see it all moving at once like a movie or the insides of a watch. Red glow streams away, white stars inundate towards, the sources echo above. I see a hawk watching us rushing.

I see you feeding, deer. You look up with huge eyes brilliant in any given light.
I see the sun rise smoldering Diablo's crest: the hills are ashen below.

Then the come down and I am parched by waking to the afternoon sun. Heat shocking me away, dry with carbon remnants lining the lungs. Ah, there's the rub.

What about a life of constant safe-keeping. To know by the air it is morning, to know the red and white streams as lullabies, not alarm calls. To step into the storming heat face to the brilliance and water the plants. Instead of crawling under dark sheets, with exhaustion's gasp.

Remember, though, how the sun rises to the eyes after a long darkness. Like a shock, like a miracle, like a phoenix.