Where i Go i Hope There's Rum

be still. go forward on calm waters. smooth winds don't exist with what i've chosen. Aces and eights, rolled up queens over kings, a nice mark who likes to over bet top trips against my straights playing pot limit omaha, i hope to see again. dearest King, can you ever be okay with this?

i think about things like purpose and identity, the way you think i should. only when i go to the well of desire i come back with things on the edge, i like cards, white water rafting, rivers, mountains, snowboarding, motorcycles, electric guitars, late nights, early mornings, and to be fair i like them sober. however, when it's time to have a shot i want to have it. i need heaven to have stiff drinks and danger.

sueño de una aldea con playas y cervezas pero todavía no...

there is way too much more to go before then, that place, that life, that gift, that heaven will come, of that i have no doubt. a place of sweat tea, caffeine, cigars, waves, sharks, cannons, ships with sails, my love, a place where i can dream of. a place that gives me the grace to fight one more day of snow, to forget the fact that my face hurts like the violence of a thousand poncho villa bandaleros.

Jesus i trust you, i know you don't get tired of saving me. One, You are Good. i have what i have because of You. though i might try and piss it away, please help me to hold it together, help me to keep the whining down to a minimal and be thankful for the nights when i get to eat top ramen and bologna sandwiches. you are good to me. i breathe, they do not defeat me, she loves me though i am a fuck up. i have a job, i have a couple of good mutts, i am working on developing my career, i have some good mates, i have some bad habits, i think you have done a damn good job. Thank You.

so keep giving me chances. keep sneaking me in the side door and squeezing me through the tight spots, i will dodge the bill collectors and not make a fuss when i gotta pay roll with the punches, even to the right side of my face.

Primal Scream

i was blind, now i can see, you made a believer out of me. i'm movin' on up now, i'm out of the darkness, my light shines on, my light shines on, my light shines on.

danger lurks around every corner but it is not ready for me, a lion stalks the land but the One has made me a Lion of Light, a devourer of the dead morning star. he and i are warlords, both equally aware of each other, both deeply entrenched to our cause. we sit in opposition. i feel like a little piece of me fit into my heart as my fangs grew a little and my ferocity deepened with the glow of the heavens. the prime of my being a light with the danger of gale force winds and a strong sense of true north. the gift of prometheus grows deep in my belly.

i didn't wear my masks today. no bandanna, no balaclava, no elmer fudd. only the breeze, my only face was my own and i remembered that while i may at times be closely shorne, i am a wild animal, and while i marched i gained a new control over the danger. it lurks but it serves a deeper purpose, it is the aggression that will allow me to fire the third bullet when i feel weakness, it is the flaming sword to be taken out when the garden is in danger. the One kissed me on the cheek and i will not betray Its' kiss to the surgeons knife.

i threw the shadows out of my closet last night. the dangerous ones who asked me too many questions, they said things i didn't like, and while i think they are still trouncing about they are now able to be captured and they are up against a much more dangerous foe. the last time they saw me i was drunk, i was easy, i was a mark. they haven't tasted the copper or seen the darkness of the next life. they haven't seen the glory or the dream and thus they have not been to the deep places i have been and they have no footing.

i am deadly. this is who i am. a child of the King. a hired gun, a Lion, a Lamb, a prosecutor at the trial of the Accuser. his time is drawing near, i am the Primal Scream and my light shines on, my light shines on, my light shines on.

Can Someone Tell Me When the Sunrise Will Be?

i believe the time for gathering is quickly drawing to a close. while many think the corner will be shortly turned i disagree. we are headed to midnight and we would be wise to do what we can to prepare our hearts, minds, and physical necessities. for those that think i jest or think this is some prank or ploy feel free to disregard my warning. i believe we are going into the darkest of nights. i think we have seen the beginnings of this and it will only get progressively and exponentially worse. this may go unnoticed on a personal level for a little time but not for long. the waste of resources i have shared in is one of my deepest shames. from this point on i am going to become even more hard line about every dollar i spend and where it goes. every meal i eat, every purchase, this must be done. i have shamed myself, my fellow man, and the One who created us by what i have done here with what i have, i have not done well. this stops. also, it is time to be more gracious. with the limited amount of time i believe there is left i want to go out being known as someone who was thankful and not a complainer. and i want to be known by those closest to me. i want to end the scam. Grace is free. beyond grace it comes with work, put in get out, that's how it goes and it is time i earn it. i am not entitled and i am not deserving, i am not owed a damn thing, and i don't want to get lucky, i want to take from those who want to get lucky and are resting only on chance. you can take your shifting sand and mine, i don't want it anymore.

so what gives, why all this end times, sky is falling business? because it is. stretch your mind out. stretch far. now think about what you know about time, how it works and how it handles. now think about what you believe about the One. i believe the One is both inside and outside time, the Nature of the One supersedes the nature of time, it bows to It. the things you are doing now are exactly the same things you will be doing in heaven. and why not? with every breath we exhale we can do it in harmony with our purpose. so why now? because it's time, my friends are hurting, i am hurting, the world is hurting, my country is hurting, the church is hurting, our people are hurting. the end isn't a bad place to be. it is a time of renewal. a time of re-birth, of washing clean and re-ordering. so i say this, the sun is quickly going down, in fact it may well be the midnight hour. it is indeed looking closer every day when the fire will build in the sky and the chariot will come. but blessed be that Chariot, can someone tell me when the sunrise will be?

Welcome At the Table

it needs to be said since it's easily forgotten that it doesn't take being good and it doesn't take being rotten. Getting in isn't fancy and it ain't magician's work. You are welcome at the table no matter what crime you committed, that's the Jesus i know the one with the little ones. the tax payers and sinners, the boozers and the saints. the killers the rapists, the raped and the victim. It might piss you off, it might burn you down but that's the way it is that's the blood on the crown. i'm not saying there's no justice or we don't use our heads but if your don't like sinners then heavens gonna suck. the One likes the broken and the One likes the whole, It likes everyone, every danger, every scamp, the One takes the bullet for every lover, ever hater, and every tramp.

The Days of Youthful Fire

Last night as i sat behind the wheel of a $40,000 S.U.V. with an off duty police officer sitting shot gun whispering freshly laced jack daniels secrets in my ear i knew i was in deep. More than once my right foot touched the floor as we six intrepid adventurers blazed the county roads, Led Zep on the squawk box loader than they played at concerts, beer cans rattling, empty whiskey shooters littering the country side - this is how you make an exit from the big city.

Three new hats, a couple of old friends, and i went to see the Denver Nuggets bask in the glory of handling the Sacramento Kings in a somewhat lack luster game of basketball. We met in front of a place that apparently serves the wild side of the buffalo wing and began the evening with the off duty police officer having a little trouble breathing. Plans were almost canceled early, as, red faced and sweaty, he was trying to make his move into the hereafter without as much as consulting us or our feelings about wasting our money on NBA priced tickets for good seats. He pulled himself together though and we loaded into the S.U.V. owner's ride. Nice vehicle. Three rows, leather, 6 disc, ass warmers, you get it, the works. We busied ourselves with conversation the hour or so to Denver. It was coronation day for the new president, good luck buddy, you're gonna need it.

We get to Denver and i shell out a ten spot for parking. in my mind i am thinking it is a little much for parking but i'll go along, it seems fair. then the S.U.V. owner mentions that at playoff time last year the same parking lot was $60 a night and i realized this may be the best chance i get to park in this lot with out having to do something that would bring shame on my family for generations to come.

After picking up our tickets from will call our motley crew mosied our way over to the saloon and it became quickly apparent my job was to be the designated Breathalyzer test passser. Granted, the medication i am on makes me as stoned as a 1974 Grateful Dead show in Albany at least my exhales wouldn't be laced with anything that would give the hint away. So at 6:45pm i became the keeper of the keys and the five became the proud owners of expensive stadium beer. through luck of the draw i got the short straw ticket. section 126, row 20, seat 9, which happens to be right next to seat 8 which is not being filled by anything other than what it is...woody allen's degenerate cousin, willy allen who spends the whole game yelling in a nasally voice. not just yelling mind you but making weird noises and the occasional deep breath exhale directly to the right side of my face. at one point i almost made him eat the read sweatshirt he was wearing.

as the game wore on the motley five continued their swill in stadium beer and shots that are way too overpriced while i ate a foot long hot dog and bad fish and chips yet was grateful i escaped with as little damage to my wallet as possible. as the game wore on it became apparent my frustration with Willy turned into a point of mockery for those in the crew and so he and i became a team, he and i against them. so, in an odd, way he became endearing in his brown 1970's slacks that he must have worn when the Denver Rockets played with the red, white, and blue ball in the ABA. it was all in fun and by the end i had abandoned seat number 9 and taken over seat number 14, sorry Willy you are on your own.

the game went almost without notice until the Birdman, Chris Anderson, hit an alley-oop backwards dunk. Carmelo Anthony was out of the game with an injury to his left hand, and as it should be in a team sport, the team triumphed still. Carmelo cheered from the sideline in a nice beige blazer and stunning red tie. The star of the show was a waitress who at last call delivered two trays of 32oz beers to the front row high rollers with poise and grace. She received the second of only two standing ovations of the game.

as quickly as my foot long hot dog and sign up for raffles i won't win came the end of the game came and we were shuffling along with the rest of the huddled masses out the door. at this point we begin the normal round of questions every group of guys needs to have after leaving the sports venue. everyone take a piss? good. we decide on a route home? not really, um not too bad the stoned guy driving will get us there. where's the closest liquor store? where is my phone? etc... i jump in the driver's seat, off duty cop, drunk to the gills riding shotgun, click the radio on - "Sweet Child O' Mine" via Guns N Roses, all is right in the world.

i must explain, i normally drive a 1979 delta 88. a boat with windows, a large field of vision, no brakes really, the power steering is a little weak, there isn't a radio, and the blower motor is broken for the heater. Basically i drive a car worth about as much as a nice pair of Jimmy Choo's. I don't normally drive a Jeep Commander, or what ever i was driving and i am about as rolled as i can get on my meds. plus i have a little of the drunk by osmosis you can get when you are the only sober man among a group totaling six. Needless to say, i am the best option, but i needed to find my groove and it took a few minutes but i found it. We are all just lucky the few cars i changed lanes in front of got out of my big way. Move with surety and they will obey.

So as we were flowing down the highway, this time i think i remember Ozzy blaring, i hear the call from the back, "Hey, we need to find a liquor store. That's your new job." the divine comedy has a nice way of striking the tuning fork. as it so happens i am really bad at directions so when i was elected to drive us home i was a little nervous, but, as fate would have it, my years of partying gave me the innate ability to sniff out liquor stores. so while i couldn't drive my way out of an open field tell me to find booze and i am quit useful. so at the next exit where my internal divining rod perked up i made the swift right and we pulled up to the front door of Mico's Liquor at 9:58pm. They close at 10pm. i am that good.

so to be as polite as possible we only send two recruits in, myself and the cop, and once the deed is done we make a quick exit. the goal here is to be as ghosts. this guy is closing shop and wants to get home but he has an obligation to call the locals if he thinks something is up so we do our business quickly, with cheer and mirth. and once out of sight of the store i hear the first crack and hiss, the first twist and pop. beers are open and shots of whiskey are being passed back and forth. i take a left instead of a right. if, by the slim chance, the badges showed up i wanted to make sure it wasn't on the interstate.

on county roads the radio never seems to be loud enough. we find the Led Zeplin CD and remember that they have legal rights to everyone who play any sort of heavy metal, punk, or hard rock. about 15 minutes into the drive the off duty officer begins to divulge the secrets of the force. how he hates crooked cops and how he hopes to be head of IAD at some point. He teaches me how to spot under cover vehicles and when to look for patrols. by the way if you are driving on colorado highways beware the green cadillacs. Also, if you are a police officer you need to be at home and loving on your family. family first, job second. you work your forty and get the hell out. the off duty told me about the behind the back dealing of off duty officer's wives and officers themselves. being a cop and being married is tough business.

on the trip there was the ever requisite piss break. "hey man, pull over" so i do and then i pull up a bit leaving dudes scrambling with their dragons hanging out trying not to pee on their jeans as they hop back in the truck. Many swear words in my direction. Laughter, smiles, perfection. turns taken a little too fast, collective navigation. diretionalism at its best. sometimes you go with the true north that's in your heart, not with what the compass says.

much to early for how long i wanted the night to last, at 11:15pm we arrived back to our starting point, the bar which serves those delectable but improbable buffalo "wings". and what would have used to be my starting point was my finish line. i knew it was my time to drive home and love on some mutts. that at this point my place in the mechanism has me with things i am faithful to whether or not i want to be - and most of the time i do want to. there are times though when i think back to what it was like to be unhinged.

then i wake up this morning. no hang over, no shame, proud of who i was and the things i had done last night. very rarely during the days of youthful fire could i say such things. and as i have sat here writing these things memories from old times have retraced my mind, the things i did to be tough and hold the image. the remembered taste of a lucky strike cigarette floats in my mouth and i am thankful i didn't get hooked. the burn returns to my finger tips from the couple of times they were singed on the glass and once again i recognize the blessings i wear. and i am still blessed.

blessed to know off duty cops who will get drunk and spill their heart to me, telling me the secrets of his trade craft. blessed to have friends who trust me with their wife's car nice truck even though they know i drive a P.o.S. Blessed to not be judged by the quality of my exterior among those who easily could.

This night may easily be forgotten and the details fade from my mind as countless others have. i trust, however, that as i have preserved the nuances here for you that they also may preserved for me, that they may never be forgotten.

The Road Is My Redeemer

i think i got a full dose of what it means to be real good and human this morning. within three hours i have gone from a troubled soul who might not make the next few minutes to someone who is going to last at least another eighty years. in the same breath comes in the epiphany that not even tomorrow is promised to me. it makes me wonder more and more what, if anything, i am supposed to be. or if i am supposed to be anything other than a follower of the One. that seems so damn esoteric though. however, i know, if, out of the blue, someone in a pressed shirt walked up with a time card and official documents from heaven and said we have everything in order for you her is your new vocation do exactly this for the rest of life i would throw the papers on the ground and spit in his eye. maybe that is my fault. i want my own life still, maybe that is my flaw that i still am living out of a heart for me. Which causes constant frustration anytime someone slightly taps the tank. let's be honest, most the time i am the monster in the water. let's paint it even more clear, i am an alligator, go ahead put your head near my mouth, then maybe you can hear what i am talking about.

i just can't seem to connect lately, i seem out of balance. it seems deep and broken. like everything looks like it should be running, and it is running but there is a thump that if you get still enough you can hear. i just can't seem to locate my tell-tale heart. i want to say it began with the Trigeminal Neuralgia but i think it is deeper, i want to blame it on the apple but i didn't taste it, i want the blame to be everything except me yet i know that the blame is with me, but what is me? Is "me" the choices i have made, history, what has happened, what will happen (remember if we think fourth dimensionally everything for the One has already happened and thus already is exists, so you have already eaten breakfast tomorrow, and to a greater extent are already in the Kingdom.), is "me" my thoughts, the One's thoughts? If i had a real guess at what was happening here i think we are the dreams of the One. when we dream it gets to be imagination when the One dreams it becomes us. the Atom bomb is a nightmare, plagues are nightmares, heaven is the place where the One meets Its' dreams.

Do dreams know they are dreams? we don't know. it might not matter, i think it does, and i hope they don't, and i hope they live in their world because it is a beautiful place. the same way we live, with only smatterings of the divine. but it doesn't help me understand what i am? or who i am? i believe i am more than just chemical and mineral and electricity but these are the only ingredients science can give, the soul has no weight. but i know, i hope, i have a soul. but when i look in the mirror i get scared sometimes. i get lonely sometimes. there are times when i think i can see the Face of the One, and there are times when that sentence looks more like -"i see the Face of the One" but this is not one of those times. there are times when i think of killing myself just to find out. i know i won't do it but that is the truth. i am scared though because so many people have told me that if you kill yourself the One won't have a damn thing to do with you. well i think that is bullshit but i don't have the guts to prove them wrong. but it seems funny, maybe the point is that you have to be willing to die, whether by your own hand or someone else's to get in. maybe that is why He was able to conquer death, He wasn't afraid of it. He looked it in the eye after a perfect life and said you can't keep me, and if i am covered under such a sacrifice then i can do anything - anything - and look it in the eye and say you can't keep me. - - but that's not it, that's a selfish asshole take on it and i know it, so what gives.

i say love and roll the dice, play the hand you are dealt and play it the best you can. get your as back up on that flying elephant and give it another go. when the lights go out for the last time i want to know they went out on a heart that left nothing left.

Old Men and Boys - or - Art Does Not Come Easy

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. Thank you John. There is a quality in great the mechanism of the world requiring a certain amount of due paying before there is any amount of interest bearing. In art as well as life, most good things do not come easy and the things that do come easy will probably leave us easily as well. The harvest must be brought in just as surely as it is tended to through the growing season and lovingly planted during the seed. Even before this the rows must be tilled and the field needs to be kept in good condition. So it is with the crafts with which we chose to busy our lives, when, in reality, we come to the startling realization that the true craft is our lives. In the constant fires of death and rebirth, not in the metaphysical sense but in the daily sense, ideally life becomes less the opportunity to fall flat on our collective face. Men in the middle of Old Men and Boys forget their dreams and forget what it takes to be an artist. To be an artist is not easy, it takes dedication, struggle, death and rebirth, commitment to ideals and dreams with the dedication to carry out the patterns necessary to achieve greatness.

Men in the middle get caught in the ideas of dreams. What do these other men think of me? What does my wife think of me? What do my children think of me? My boss? Society? How does my church see me? How does God see me? How do i see myself? Boys don't think like this, they haven't yet danced with the devil in the blue dress, and, to be fair, it isn't the devil in the blue dress that causes the problem. It's the dance. Every time a boy gets out on the floor he sees the other boys. (As i write this, i realize i have authored this with a very gender specific bias, i use Old Men and Boys because i know them well. i believe women can and will relate. Please forgive me as i am still trying to become the art and artist i hope to be.) And as the boy sees the other boys a comparison begins, eyes start to wander, other dance partners, better shoes, "Hey that guy has a much cooler look than i do." The beginning of a long road of comparison. To be a Boy means having the opportunity to walk into places the first time without presuppositions. To be an Old Man means to realize all the trappings added to those things and places as a Man in the Middle is oft to do don't really mean a damn thing. Old Men know they will soon be entering back into the woven texture of the universe and the small, ephemeral, things added to the universe will surely fade. So it is with craft, art, and life. The fleeting things are just that, fleeting. All be it beautiful, they are quick for this earth, and for us. We must enjoy them while they are with us for surely they will pass. Those enduring things are those that have been well crafted and dedicated. The things that have tamed us.

So here we are trapped. We will be Boys, Men, and Old Men. Thus we have the confluence of art and craft and life. Some art is so great but is stolen from us so quickly; your mind can wander across the names and abbreviated collection of works these budding artists left with us before they died. Then we have a glut of the things in the middle, a place where we seem to have an influx of mediocrity. Unfortunately, there is so much mediocrity now some can make a lucrative living somewhere in the middle. At the end are the classics, museum works and books children will be taught for the rest of educational history. It is here that i have found myself. It took this long for me to set it up, but this isn't an essay on the understanding of quality. It is a journal entry, a digression into the question i have been utterly faced with over the last thirty minutes. The last couple of days. In fact, i think this is the question i have been faced with all of my life.

I used to be the Boy. I haven't been the Boy since i was 13. That's when i was hounded by the need for comparison, the first time i went to church and was saved. Immediately i was thrust into the battle arena where i wasn't good enough and needed to change who i was, i didn't understand ultimate sacrifice or transmutation. All i knew was i was lost and the cure was somewhere with in between those four walls. i was wrong. After a couple of years of being the darling project, the one who was the center of a bright universe, a universe where i was doted upon with attention and training, something changed. enter the new project. suddenly others began entering the dance. there were all these other Boys crowding my space on the dance floor, i didn't understand it nor did i like it. i was furious and confused. so i did what i could to emulate them. burrowing deep into my psyche this abandoning of my own ideas and identity. this is where things began to be unhinged. the structure of the church began to fail as i grew older and fell out of reach of those who could control me as a youth.

as the shackles of the system fell off i thought my shackles were falling off. once again i was wrong. the thing, and thing that i still believe i have to try and be aware of, that is my greatest, and i believe Man's greatest flaw is the need for comparison to the great unknown. we are never content to our position or what we can create through dedication to craft, or our ability to create art in our life or form. we are afraid we are missing out. Or we have seen another one of the boys dancing and our mouths have salivated at what he has or holds in his arms and have forgotten completely what we have in our own. so i disintegrated. i drank myself into oblivion. i spiralled into debt, into the lifestyle, the party. i became the image i thought i was supposed to be. i became the Man in the Middle. the Boy i used to be would have tried to kick my ass, he would have lost because the Man in the Middle fights out of fear so he has an immense amount of power, but the Boy would not have cared because he would have gotten the point across. The Man in the Middle constantly fights and loses because he never measures up. It is never good enough, whatever he does it is never enough. i have been this man, this Man in the Middle for at least 12 years. It is only striking me now how important it will be that i make the transition from Man in the Middle to Old Man, and make it soon.

That's the problem with time, you can not go backwards (at least not in a traditional sense). i can not become a shooting star, the chances of me becoming a jimi hendrix or vincent van goh are slim. however what i can not do is stay in the middle. to maintain the mind of the Man in the Middle is taxing and would be the death of me, and has been the hardship of my heart and the cause of many tears. the only option is to press on into having the heart and mind of the Old Man. for those who read this and will get trapped in the vernacular i will plainly say this has nothing to do with the gerontological studies. to have the heart of the Old Man means to have pressed on until you have achieved your voice again. to let the trappings of life fall away. to be willing to walk around with yellow plaid pants or no pants at all. to be free from the confines and structures we have placed upon ourselves and those that have been placed upon us. to be truly free, to be art and to create art in ourselves and outside ourselves.

so what's the catch? this sounds grand doesn't it? everyone pressing on until true art is achieved? the catch is that the road is narrow. it is hard, it is riddled with hardship and loss, there is pain and suffering. to be an artist means to fail, to continue to cast your line even though a fish does not rise. i believe it is a matter of heart, we all have competing natures within us, awakened by when we first noticed the mystical clockwork of the universe. so in one breath all my heart will want normalcy, i will want the quick fix, the drunken brawl to express dominance, the Man in the Middle screams for the things of comfort, things without dedication. then in the next breath i want something deeper, an eternal connection to the ever real, the connection to immortality that i believe exists. i want to be art and to create art, i want to love completely even though i do not have complete understanding. so here i stand at the great dividing waters in my life, i live and work in a world where so many people easily choose to be Men in the Middle. i can not do this. i will not do this. to even say those words seem dangerous, to know the ups and downs it will take, to know life is not a work of art makes these lines bitter sweet.

i hold out hope then, that some day this is what i shall be: a man who has loved well, an artist who has left his mark on the mortal and immortal. a work of art who has been transformed and re-transformed time and time again for numerous purposes. i will remember i am made of dirt, and to dirt i will return, that without great humility great art is smug and pompous and holds better place in a fireplace than in a gallery. i will remember that as easily as i breath words out i am but a breath. i am words in the story and part of the woven story of the universe, eventually all things merge into one and i too will graciously take my place. i hope to have a thankful heart, a place where i encourage and bless those around me and those far away. to have a mind and Spirit engaged in the great conversation with the One who first spoke to me. thank You for speaking, i am grateful i heard and could return if only a meager volley with You. You awoke me from a deep slumber from which i was most assuredly sleeping in the middle of grey scale, thank you for the world of color, may i do You proud most of all.

A Pirate Looks at 25

there have been many dark clouds on the horizon, many red mornings but alas i have made it here. i've done alright, got a few friends, a good love, a good life, good pain, and, i hope, a good heart. destiny or chance - a little bit of both. a little Hand a little Plow a little Wind. i have seen clear skys and storms, recent currents have me at an interesting beach called trigeminal neuralgia. there's not any booze here, probably a good thing. i think i have spent most of today sweating out gin and juices from 4 and a half years ago. i did not get much sleep last night, but even so, i am thinking more clearly today than i have in a long time, although, if i have any guess, if the detox maintains its' current course my brain will begin expelling vodka resin somewhere in the next couple of weeks and things will continue to piece themselves together.

as i look out i know there are many more unknowns and unpromised tomorrows than guaranteed continental breakfast buffets. that's okay with me, the unknown is not a scary place, it is a good place. uncharted means a chance for courage and taking heart in those good folks around us. i can only hope to make it into uncharted waters with people who are as excited and wanting as i am. i hope i have the courage to act as i know i should. until the time when we meet again,

faithfully yours and always illegally at work.

i said too much

i've said my, i've said my, i've said my piece. i'm down on my, down on my, down on my knees.

i said about three sentences too much about fifteen minutes ago and it is all i can do to keep from crying right now, it hurts from the top of my right eye brow down the side of my face, tracing my jaw like a violent lace finger. dragging damage as it caresses down under my chin. the pain is so bad i am almost choking. it is tough to remember to be an observer of my own pain rather than a person experiencing the pain. i want to be both, to learn it, to taste it. it is like copper. it tastes green and oxidized. if the statue of liberty had a flavor it would be what was in my mouth right now. give me your tired, hungry, your poor. give me your troubled, your pain, go ahead give me your worst. i believe it will not last forever though i am not sure. time doesn't have a whole lot of meaning right now. i am glad there are other things around me right now. other people make it easier to hide. any good criminal knows the best place to keep up ambiguity is in a crowd and the best way for me to keep from screaming out in utter destruction is the comfort of anonymity. i love to hear them still working, completely unaware of the violence happening within 20 feet. i wouldn't breath a word unless they asked, and even then they would get a truth not resembling this. they would get a gargling glass of salt water, you get the north Atlantic.

it seems to be swimming away a little more. when the pain begins to fade it reminds me of leaving the wave pool or leaving the ocean after a long day of swimming, i still move to the ebb and flow of the residual pain. my equilibrium in harmony with the gruesome song of the deadly waves. i will wade here a little longer in the shallows. i am becoming more of myself again. the tears are receding. the tide going out, i love the Moon.

Hey Friends

What happens when the painting is blurry? i determined this place for things that are real, thinking things, off the cuff things, but real things, a place where i can find that groove and let the amble and ramble of my words just roll. a place for the living things. my other blog ( shameless plugs are everywhere but it is http://hauntedbywaters1.blogspot.com) is for all things creative, eg fiction or poetry. so we have a twisted fellow here who doesn't feel good enough about having his art next to his journal, well i guess you don't shit where you eat if you know what i mean. a little hubris but none the less this is how i do it. broken as it may be. i wonder where i go when the turn is living fiction. a friend tells a story that reminds me of a me i only barely know now. i wonder who i have become, if identity is a complete history or evolution or can the slate can be wiped clean through certain events. Maybe the mind is powerful enough to change somethings for good. i hope it is, i need it to be. for the kid whose neck i held a pencil to, knowing that i was one milliliter of adrenaline from punching his train ticket home, he needs me to be able to grow and change. for the women in my life who i am not a man but a devil, and maybe not even a devil but slime, they don't want me to change they want me to disappear and for their sake i will learn to be the greatest magician. for those in my life who i bless they need more of it, and i need to keep growing, i think that is the point, you are either growing or you are dying. plain and simple, that's the fact jack. there ain't nothing profane meant by it but when you get to heaven it ain't auto clad perfection, there are still fires inside and out, if you ain't growing and changing you are dying.

i feel for a lot of my friends, there is a lot of change right now, very apparent real dramatic change. i dig on it like growth spurts, i didn't go from being 17 inches to 6 feet 3 overnight, it comes and goes, sometimes it is hard and you gotta wear the high water pants for a little while, sometimes it takes a while to get used to the awkwardness of life with big goofy hand and feet. but that's how the Spirit tells me life is. we wander about all awkward and goofy trying to get used to life with what we have and when we start getting close we get some changes, we get em for hundreds of reasons more in the spirit than in biology but the point remains, we get em. and whether or not we want them they are here on our door step. knock knock. so change is a good thing just as much as it is important to be anchored to things deeper than life and death (mainly things deeper then death) it is important to embrace change and a non static life. - - - so observations - - -

i change this - i refuse to serve bad cranberry juice if i ever run a bar or pub, i had bad cranberry juice this weekend and it ruined the meal, there will be no cranberry juice cocktail, it will be the real stuff at my place. don't order a cape cod and expect something sweet, a cranberry gets you in the cheeks not on the tongue.

good friends are good friends whether or not you are a deviant, you may spit upon the very thing they love and they may have to curtail how they love you but they never stop loving you. i am well loved, if it hasn't been made clear by most of what i have alluded to my interpretation of Biblical pathology and epistemology is a little different. i need to learn a more graceful presentation, tongue sweet as sugar. but that isn't the point the point is that i am part of the Body and the Body is part of me. i haven't been cut off - and neither have you.

illegally at work.

So the Question Is...

So… The theory stands to reason, our dollars used to be IOU's for gold or silver, we could walk into a bank and exchange dollars for a rate of metal. We scrapped that. Now we have paper money that isn't tied to a commodity, it itself is the exchange commodity, the value is the dollar. The paper must be able to sustain itself and its value must be secured by the faith of the people and the people's trust in it. Not a bad idea in and of itself, essentially the dollars replaced the gold - I don't know why we did it - gold is much more useful and "valuable" than paper but whatever, we did it, we are here now. This is less about me arguing the gold standard or against paper money and more about the linked article but allow me to digress a little more. The power happens because of faith in the exchange. To insure the faith in the exchange the Government has authorized a private entity to print money with it government seals and logos all over it. Essentially the government sub-contracted out the work to a private bank. So a private entity prints these dollars with government logos, essentially a business card with different numbers and pictures. Granted, a wicked complicated, intentionally hard to replicate documents, but essentially business cards. And we trade these for goods and services. LOL. Now read Article.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28448852/

Okay, so now if you live in California, you won't get a refund Check of your State Taxes? What does this exactly mean? Well it means many things, allow me to riff on a few… First, some how the state can't balance a check book. There should be riots. This is easy so I ain't gonna go deep into the pluses and minuses of humanitarian efforts or which programs the state should or should not have. What I want to address is the absurdity or the Validity of the letters? Or what the article has called a Registered Warrant. My guess is that it will look somewhat official, it will potentially have a state seal, or be on state letterhead. It will probably have the signature of the state's treasurer, in fact I almost imagine something looking very similar to a refund check. Maybe even a post dated security note. The big question. What Then is the real Currency??? Is it the dollar, printed by a private bank with government logos or is it a State document printed by the state? Could we trade the Registered Warrants or sign them over to others as payments for goods, service, or trade? This is laughable.

One of the great history lessons abandoned by the modern world is the constant failure of paper money and the ability of a paper money system to over value leisure. While essential goods and services get priced out of the hands of the poor through even minor price increases the uber rich of the world are athletes, business moguls, stock traders, and entertainers. Those who have broken through and figured out how to corner their portion of the leisure market hold court over the swarming masses who gather round to throw their hard earned production dollars at the feet of rich. I think this has morphed past just the rant again the mess in california into the argument against hollywood - how the hell did Compton happen 1 hour away from Hollywood? I have been both places and it makes me sick. On both sides of the fence. I say if you are sick of the situation it is time to take it by force. You are at war against those who would force you to pay $110 for the new pair of shoes or Jeans or $15 to see the new movie or pay $20 for the new CD. Refuse to do it. And those who sell it, stop. And those who are in movies, stop. It may be a little grass rootsy for some but that is how change happens. The best way to tear down a house is through a pressure change at the foundation. I would love it if a world class athlete came out and did something like…"I just got a $120 million contract for 8 years, I don't need that much money at all, I need at most $5million for the rest of my life, so I give $115 million to charity." Look I talk a good game but I don't know what happens if someone puts stacks of green in front of me, maybe I sell out for thirty pieces of silver but I hope I don't. but I know for sure I won't sell out for a stack of 30 Registered Warrants from the government, you can bring bushells of corn or whatever crop or trade you got instead, other wise you are working off your debt with me. Peace out.