unrelenting sickness

i walked out of my room into the stale air of the computer room...only the computer was gone, along with the furniture...the only thing left was the overflowing litterbox still in its usual corner...i rubbed my head and wondered how long i had been out...down the hall everything was gone but the smell of time's musty breath and the ammonia of cat feces long since shat...in the other room was little christopher...only it wasn't the little down-syndromed critter i knew well...he was changing, three in one, shifting shape and position...shifting silently with a far-off look in his pale eyes...i asked him the only thing that i thought he would be capable of answering..."where is your brother"...he pointed to a couch where his brother was sleeping...i figured if he suddenly materialized his brother like a crazy voodoo boy-priest he might be able to shed light on others...i asked him about other folks...where were they...i received no reply, just the silent stare of the three-to-one, shifting in the dull gloaming of the sun-rays through the apartment window...and suddenly i was floating, moving around the two story flat at will...i could feel that something was not right...my heart was beating faster, and i knew it would pop if i continued to float, so i landed myself next to the couch where christopher's brother joseph was sleeping with his back to me...at that moment joseph turned towards me, woke, and asked me, "are you ready to climb the ladder?"...

what's the big ta-doo...

have you seen the deep blue sea...i've seen the waves roll in...leading into the spin that is only found laying upside down on the mountain...as wave after wave tumbles and falls, so does the mind...in every direction...homeward on the tracks...bound for glory, and all the rest of that bullshit...piles of dung, piles of realization, you've got the piles...the spiritual piling up...you're driving the fresh-aired backroads...on your way to smelly cities, passing through has-been towns...the sandy feet, the bleeding oceans, cured in the fire...cured in many lifetimes...

a reply

this is a reply to the comment to my prior blog on the savagery of man...the comment was...

"I sure hope that you are implying that I am not a good person. Perfection and it's sister heaven bore me. " -baswazin

my reply...

i didnt think about it too deeply, i just thought it sounded poetic...however i have never bought that heaven of perfection pseudo-christian bullshit, i was merely trying to imply that one who truly understands existence is always in unity with the nature of existence and never is reduced to this ego-filled reality that we dwell in...but always remains fully immersed in the bliss of the unified-consciousness...it is surely not a matter of perfection, only realization...so c'mon to nyc baswazin and we'll have a couple of glasses of wine and reminisce about the illusion we shared in colorado, and continue to share to this day...

on the savagery of man

someone much wiser than me once said that all the good people never leave heaven, they are there from the start...a truer thing was never told...

doppelgangers galore

lately i have been having some strange experiences...people are telling me stories that i have heard before...stories that are mine...it is truely the first step towards oneness...and madness...they are truly telling me my own stories back to me in which they (instead of me) are now the protagonist...i sit and listen to myself...i have gotten to the point where i am in fact bored with making up characters with their own tired stories, so i just indulge myself in my own stories relayed to me by others...it is a feeling of strange bliss and confusion...the stumbling and the bumbling of a dream...all the world carrying on conversations, and all an aspect of myself...you wonder what the difference is betweeen the mystic and the madman, the madman and the fool...and it is simply perspective...the banshees are howling outside my window, the shapes are shifting by the light of the moon...i have begun the long walk home and left my breadcrumbs behind...

visions of leo

leo would wake between four and five in the morning, after catching a few hours of uneasy sleep...unshowered, unshaved, unwashed...he would start his morning...a thermos full of coffee, and the keys to the white van in the yard was all he needed...stained and ragged he would begin another day, full of garage doors and good deeds...leo, didn't drink in a daily regimen that would befit someone with such a life...no he would wait six months and then go on a two week bender fueled by home-made wine...he would chase us around the kitchen with a red hot poker warmed by the wood-fire of an antique stove, and then would give up and sleep on the kitchen floor, next to that same antique cauldron of warmth...and we loved him for it...he was the authentic, and uncorrupted human...balls out in the flesh...something we could never be...and today i see him rarely...but when i do he shakes himself from sleep, sits up from his musty-smelling easy chair, and welcomes me...he misses me like i miss him...we are all suckers for the past, all slaves to memory...so when i do see him, i join him in a glass or two of wine, an old western on the telly, and a silent evening teeming with the past...

"and where are you tonite sweet marie?"

i am thinking of marie tonite...an old lover, you ask...no, sweet marie, waiting up with the light on in the old towne, is not my lover or my mother...she lives in the towne with no name...the towne of sorrows, and remembrance...the towne where we would shuffle in at four in the morning and ask for anything from pancakes to the schwann man's head, and would receive our request in abundance...she would jolt herself awake, and perform the duties she was put on this earth to carry out...without question or thought, and she still does to this day...man, she is all that is left of home...yeah, i know all you savages have no concept of home, and scoff at my reminiscences...but hell, i dont care what you think...when we all fully contemplate the true reality between the ever changing environment of gnomes guzzling cooking sherry for sustenance, and the solid recollection of existence before time, we end up where we begin...in leo and marie's kitchen, frying up a lifetime...drinking down an eternity...