Tag Archives: philosophy

Who wants to be right?

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Who wants to be right?

all the way through?

never a doubt

your life like a perfect photograph

sorted out with precision

each thing in it’s place

Who wants to be right?

knowing what’s what

setting everyone straight?

It’s a lonely profession

being great

having endless conversations

with yourself

who wants to be heavy?

when you can be light.

who wants to be right?

 

 

So so sad

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So so sad

this summer morning

all that I would

seems faded

history closes in

why can’t I get it up again?

and challenge the world

to be more?

Instead I pretend

and write poems to the wind

so so sad it is

when I have lost that spark

no interest, no heart

a shell of a man

what remains are only parts

held together by a fierce will

and a determined heart

so sad though

that this has come to be

once I sang brightly

my destiny urged me forward

and whispered in my ear every day

today I feel lonely

so sad so so so sad today

my path seems cloudy, windy, and grey

such is my state

as my body slowly reaches it’s fate

leaving my soul in sadness

so so sad

Where Uncertainty Reigns

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I should be happy. I have a good job. It’s true I cracked under stress and blew up at my boss, but that got cleaned up, and now I am an even better employee than before. But I worry. Boy! do I ever! I worry about keeping this job and I worry about my health. I worry about how much more time I have left on this dismal Earth. But in spite of all that, happiness often breaks out within my body and my soul and I am happy. For absolutely no reason whatsoever. That is a blessing. But most of the time I fret. I feel tired and there is never enough time. Everything seems fragile, temporary, and quite uncertain. Most of the time I am in that place where uncertainty reigns.

I can’t seem to relax and just let things be. I have to know what lies ahead and be comforted that it will be alright. My anxiety poisons my experience, and I am often not fully present. I dwell in my fevered imagination, where the silence is filled with an indefinite fear. Sometimes I feel pissed off and I am not clear why. It seriously gets in my way at times, and then I get angry because I am angry, and then I feel sad. I feel empty, misunderstood, and unappreciated. This is how it feels in an uncertain world. This is how it feels when you have an apartment but you no longer have a home. I seek a reassurance that cannot be obtained. Of course Jesus loves me, but this fails to comfort me. I feel abandoned by time. I have gone past my date and grown curdled and sour. I need more time, or even better, I need to stop time altogether and give myself an opportunity to catch up with myself. I am too damn old. What happened? Where was I all this time? Daydreaming about my future while failing to notice when that future arrived? Sounds about right.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my life. I am not always filled with anxiety. Sometimes I am comfortable with uncertainty, or even enjoy it. The risk is intoxicating. When everything is going really well I seem to always find a way to fuck it up. I’m sure this sounds quite familiar to many of my readers. But, still…..Those two words are the words that define where uncertainty reigns. Everything is good, I’m happy, but, still…….

I hate how this uncertainty prevents my truly enjoying the time I have left on this exasperating but fascinating planet. I realize some people turn to alcohol or drugs to silence that constant drumbeat of uncertainty. I try to use sex for that purpose but it only emphasizes the emptiness, and how terribly temporary it all is. All is fleeting, and it is up to us to catch a bit of meaning along the way if we can. Some find solace in religion, politics, or a stamp collection, but I can never commit myself fully, because uncertainty reigns in my soul. Nothing is ever enough, nothing feels truly complete. There is the feeling that something is missing, and I will die before I find it. There is that nagging doubt which always insists that whatever the truth is, this ain’t it. A mistake was made, and I am dealing with the consequences. All of us are. We make the best of it. Sometimes I am depressed over all of this, and other times I am filled with joy in spite of all of my attempts to sabotage my magnificence.

I know that I am bigger than all of this. This malignant tumor of a philosophy whose odor taints my perfect knowledge is like a hobby of mine. I use it to hedge my bets, for I am always suspecting that I may be full of shit. Bliss and Bullshit come full circle and become one. It doesn’t really matter in the end. It is what it is, and becomes a perfect whole. In the end I will be struck dumb by delight and disappear into the night.

Uncertainty reigns and that’s alright. The end will arrive before I have even begun. I won’t be prepared, but then, have I ever been prepared? Life seized me and threw into this mess to make of it what I will. Whatever lies ahead I accept. I know absolutely nothing, I am as fresh as the first atom peeking out from nothingness.

What if they held an election and nobody voted?

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What if they held an election and nobody voted?

And nobody went to work?

What if the gangs stopped killing each other?

What if everyone lost their smirk?

What if Jesus returned and nobody cared?

What if everything were shared?

What if Madonna stopped touring

and meth were a thing of the past?

What then? I ask

Would the birds stop their singing?

Would the phones stop ringing?

Would people stop lying?

Would babies stop their crying?

Would I finally give up my act?

If the server went down

You couldn’t get to town

Blank screens throughout the internet

Emptiness filling the streets

What then? I ask

Would we be afraid?

Would we have a parade?

Would it piss us off?

Or would we just take off our clothes

and relax?

Poking Around

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Never know what you might find

Poking around

Might be pretty, could be gross

It might bite, or stick in your throat

Poking around I discovered things

That you might not believe

Tiny little levers that move the universe

Poking around I improvised

Making tools out of tickets

Treasures out of wickets

Poking around I blew my mind

And had to replace the sockets

Poking around is always fun

filling my pockets with gum and soot

Poking around

I just might find the truth

A Foggy Day in San Francisco

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I like fog. I like the way it makes me feel. I love San Francisco, and the city is given a sense of mystery when enshrouded in fog. When I arrived for work this morning the Golden Gate Bridge was completely covered in fog. The fog moved across the ground like an ephemeral animal seeking it’s prey. You can smell the fog and it has a unique flavor. A foggy day enhances my senses and makes me feel more alive. I don’t mind it at all. By contrast, although I love sunny warm days because it means beautiful women tend to wear less clothes, I don’t like the way it saps all of my energy causing me to just lie around and sweat. I am certain I would like Scotland and other foggy climates. Many of my ancestors were Scots, and I can easily imagine these hardy souls freezing their asses off just for the thrill of it, standing above some fog filled crevice.

We live in such a beautiful world and don’t stop to appreciate it often enough. Ever since my eyes have been restored (actually better than just restored, my eyesight with my new glasses is 20/20 and close to that without glasses) I can see things that touch my soul in little ways. I can’t necessarily explain it, but it bares close resemblance to wasabi. I think that is the right word. This is a taoist concept of when something is perfect just as it is, in perfect balance and harmony. At times I can see wasabi in all kinds of unexpected places. But the tao puts on an especially lovely and intriguing coat on a foggy day.

There is a freshness in the air on a foggy day, and even though it isn’t comfortable I rejoice in my uncomfortableness. I am alive. I play a part in this beautiful play of existence. It seems that everyone and everything has it’s part. I still can see the squalor and sad urban decay both animate and inanimate, but I view it from a different perspective. I marveled at the sight of the little black birds picking their way through the tasty goodies hidden in the grass at Fort Mason while humans frolicked nearby. Each species absorbed in it’s own agenda, and beautiful in it’s own way.

This is why people sometimes seem unaccountably cheerful on foggy days. Even though it is chilly, the world has taken on an eerie, inexplicable quality which excites their imaginations. Or, at least, that is what it does to me. I am reminded of the tourist I saw. He was laughing and taking a picture of where the Golden Gate Bridge would have been if it were not for the fog. He was delighted with this trick played by nature, and decided to get even by snapping his photo anyway. I am often struck by the hardiness of tourists who come out to see the Golden Gate Bridge and are wearing shorts and no jacket expecting warm weather. They are tough, they enjoy themselves anyway. This says something about the human spirit, it’s tenacity in the face of adversity.

I feel like I am in the middle of a really good novel when I walk about on a foggy day. This is the cinematic backdrop to this drama called my life. I have always absorbed the texture and the mood of any place I have lived and San Francisco offers a rich antique, and yet very up to the minute contemporary texture and mood which is enhanced on a foggy day.

CraCKing Up

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I am in a strange place tonight. It is getting late and that is when my thoughts are often not my own. Whose then? A self I have often disowned, been uncomfortable with and lies tucked away with my old photographs, journals, and acid flashbacks. Something is amiss, or perhaps, I was amiss before and now I am on the correct course. It feels as though I am on a double track, my actual life and imaginary lives overlap in a precarious manner. I need an outlet desperately, any outlet will do. There is another world which embraces this one, it comforts us as we stand in the fierce wind waiting for the bus. It carries me away to beautiful lands and to dark twisted sweat filled nightmares each night. Another life, another self. Here I am young, here I am female, or not even human. Here I am very very old, living alone in the midst of a vast desert of my own making. Here I am a celebrity, with many many people vying for my attention. I have many heavy responsibilities, and I can’t even remember my own name. SUch as it Is, I am CraCKing Up. It isn’t as much fun as I expected. All the usual habits fall away in the face of the abyss. Each day is a NEW DAY. When you are crazy, it is all new to you.

Now don’t get worried, I am not truly crazy, I am just feeling a bit dislocated. Like I said, I live many lives at the same time, and occasionally my focus wavers, and it is hard to sort things out. When the contents of your imagination outweigh all else it is time to stop and take an inventory. Do I have all my marbles? I do. I am exaggerating to make a point. We are all crazy to a degree. We are multitasking many many lives at once. We have a rich untapped tapestry which continues to surprise us, and provide us with source material.

But wait.

But wait.

This was not meant to reassure.

The world has become unhinged. Just read the news.

We are all cracking up by degrees. Sometimes I feel I have too much inside. I cannot contain it in a story.

It bleeds into my body, and possesses my mind with a noisy cacophony of meaningfulness, an urgent meaningfulness to which I must attend.

Cracking up.

Living a life for which I am no longer responsible, has it’s appeal.

Cracking up

Being taken care of for the rest of life, has it’s appeal.

But the nut house has it’s terrors.

And I have lived with my strange musings,

and will foolishly continue my flirtation with insanity

For that is the nature of the game

So much is going on, and I can only write about a small piece of it.

Still writing, though

In that, I find comfort.