Page From The Past (Popol Vuh Dream)

the sound of every car
going by with their radio
on with their window
down to chase away wolves
ring through the bells
and small devices

to challenge envy
remember what gentleness
was like
before you watched the guy with the wheelchair
get kicked over by girls
on scooters
with tattoos

and the cars go by
the wind is blowing still
like be bop
and wild dances
in the evening skies
it smiles, in the cloud lines
like azure, like sunset, like champagne
spilled into the Van Ellen belt
for dreams to bounce off of,
all those hands and sans serifs
waving like a bonfire sunset
full of pages of the *Book of Community
fiery ideals and victory
cast into the standards of past ideas
then forgotten.

Self(ish) Portraits On The Verge Of Boplicity

You know you're from Fremont if you grew up in a town full of small minded, inbred bigots and anti-intellectuals

I was over Fremont 25+ years ago.

I think I just realized I am equally over the people on FB from Fremont as well. Its the same old problem of the mentality. The boorish, anti-intellectual, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, salt of the earth folks who think anyone rocking their boat, calling them on their bullshit and otherwise asking them to behave like reasonable people is a 'bully'.

Oh, if they only knew how little bullying they've gotten from me.

I've always known the place was riddled with homophobia, with racism, with heaping spoonfulls of hate. I think the lure of nostalgia, of feeling like perhaps there was enough strong memory to keep my interest up, was a hollow notion. Recently, I made the mistake of trying to get involved with what I thought would be a helathy debate about a public art piece-el mistako grande. The term pearls before swine comes to mind. Not only were they not interested in making a dialogue happen, but soon it turned into inane questions about topics totally unrelated, false analogies, false equivilencies, straw man arguments and just outright "stupid poopy head" grade school insults, It just didn't seem like bothering. Well thought out points were treated with disdain over differences in political affiliation, not the issues raised in the statements themselves. The last straw was being constantly attacked by a NIMBY republican whose only book listed as reading(a single book) was "How to drive liberals crazy" by some Breitbart quack-hack. They wanted to whine all day about not liking something being a reason it shouldn't exist. and hey we have potholes to fix and our school need that money! why do we even need public art?

Why did I even bother? Why do I bother trying to hold on to good memories from a place that continues to produce bad ones?

So, with that in mind I decided to leave the group. I didn't say anything or flame war my way out in a blaze of glory full of nasty insults, even though I was certainly getting quite a bit directed at me. No, I just went up to the box marked "notifications" and clicked 'leave group'. Done. I felt mad, like I was walking away from a fight someone else had picked. I was angry. I am still angry! But I knew that what was causing the anger because I had let myself get wrapped up in caring about something, and trying to engage others to do the same with what were my best, most inclusive statements. Why art was important. why public art installations are not cheap-why the $200,000 they spent on this very large site specific piece was actually quite cheap compared to some pieces out there. When I pointed out that people shouldn't complain if they weren't willing to get involved or pay for anything themselves, they finally went over the edge and called me a bully. They said I was 'too educated for my own good' I guess I must have threatened them too much or pressed their 'you're not a special snowflake' buttons too hard. The hen party harpies and homophobia came out, then the personal attacks began. I started realizing my pulse and stress level were so high my forehead felt hot. Why was I doing this again? Because I wanted public art to be taken seriously? In my hometown?

Other than one or two dissenting voices who showed support, it was a chorus of "I don't know much(or anything) about art, but I know I don't want any of that hippy faggot shit in my town!"

You know what? Fuck them. Fuck their willfully ignorant stance. and I don't mean book smarts, I just mean basic willingness to tolerate other people's desires without demonizes them. I don't want a drag strip in town, but I wouldn't object to one if they were to go through the proper channels. I don't like broccoli either but I don't go out of my way to hate on those who do. Well, I learned Fremont California doesn't work that way. If you don't like broccoli there you hate freedom. Hell, someone, with zero sarcasm, even called me a commie-pinko! Simply because I thought public art was worthwhile. So I didn't call them out with fluffy puppy, cotton-ball gentleness, which they neither deserved or were showing me. Often times when this had happened with others, there was a lot of public nastiness, cursing and big public announcements that "I AM LEAVING THIS GROUP!" followed by lame 'don't let the door hit you on the way asshole' comments. I'm taking the high road, and just leaving quietly. Fremont doesn't, nor has it ever deserved my attention or consideration. It was and is still a cultural wasteland. I don't miss it, and now I have even less need to interact with the assholes from within it today. So long Fremont FB group. Won't be missing you.

Make a wish. Count to ten. Time to dream again...

Self Portraits / May 2015

Random Bits Of Words On A Theme

tears 

sadness 

the passing of time like rain drying 

on fog-less morning streets

crisp, cold

cutting as razors

though silk

in slo-mo

daft

mind teetering 

as waves lap

my last inkling lapses

and the twinkle 

fizzles out

the street is here

it says nothing

the sparkle and shine 

are jackhammered away

and it is quiet again

until the next ruin

runs aground

struggling against frost

citrusy bitterness to cloud the 

dreams I pulled the shroud over

without counting the cost.

_______

He learned the 

lashing of legends

like the last lingering

rays of manhood bursting

through an unbuttoned shirt.

_______

the last 15 seconds 

are nothing but rain

the last final seconds before the crash

when I move the needle back again

to the first groove

my last love

the first few seconds of crackle

before it starts 

all over again

a kind,balmy storm in the soaring nights

pain shield in place of armor for the four-hundred thousanth time

when the voices came

you knew my name

flashing over

time repeats with a fury of mosses

delicate caresses

and daffodils

Wilde, Quentin, Tin Tin

falling in love again

lest you need reminders

its you.

---

Icebergs crash into deserts

eyes close amongst power drills,

confectioner's sugar

and interesting drugs

a lifetime of ideas fades into azure. 

bad people surround us

inhumane ideals hound us

let the sky call us names

they designed the 

microsecond

we have no reason to fight them

ashamed of the name and of the nameless rain

we cannot be blamed.

Let The Adventure Begin / For Jesse

For you Jesse 

my wish of good fortune

for you to live long

and be full of life,

to be as happy

as you can be

bearing the weight of 

whatever world 

is yours to splendor in,

to bring joy to others

whenever possible,

to not fear difference,

of opinion,

or fear love.

 and to not fear late nights

studying for finals

or a doctorate in some smarty-pants field,

something you'll casually 

get a nobel prize for

later, cause you're awesome

that we can toast over Champagne in Switzerland.

possibly with your 'Guncle' Steve?

no pressure or anything. 

<3 p="">

for Jesse Robert Lenzen 3/28/2015

"Let the adventure begin!"

In The Meme-time

Icebergs / Civil Unrest

How many times around the sun

and still

I am

the one

still floating

for every bright 

eye

there are unrealized 

seasons in the 

sun

withering dreams where death's henchmen 

ride

and a rusting cart 

drags behind

a million bones

on broadway.

they say iceberg's dangers lies

in what's beneath

like flames underfoot

like the knife unsheathed

glimmers,

glances

glaciers

rapture

raptors

vapor.

gone.

Whores Of Babylon: Michelle Duggar

Apparently if you have a clown car for a vagina you can move enough of your followers to help repeal an ordinance to protect LGBT people - I'm speaking of course of that humanitarian(as in, she is actually recreating civilization with her uterus, one child at a time) Michelle Duggar.

The sad irony is, she is super into the 'sanctity' of life-as long as that life doesn't turn out to be a gay one, in which case it can be damned to hell for all eternity for all she cares, and don't even think of giving it equal rights-or love. Wouldn't want that, as that would be something Christ would do.

Er, Waitaminute!

Yeah, a big old fuck you to her and her whole family full of bigots and baby worshippers. They are nothing more than users and grafters from the religious community that have for years sucked off the teat of society, from their FREE 'Big' government subsidized health care to their tax right off of their entire property as a 'parsonage' since the Father ALSO magically runs their church from their house. Not just parsonage, but any and all profits they make from church work goes right past you and I and into their pockets. Many of the children are magically ALSO pastors-working for-you guessed it-the same church. Many of the other kids also work for their church or its affiliated organization. In addition they are using their fame and notoriety to advance their own fucked up biblical narrative, the Quiverfull movement. Never heard of it? Its basically "make as many babies as you can for god's divine glory" and anything that inhibits that (like gay people who don't make kids) is godless and immoral, deserving of any and all torment available, beginning with public shame. Glory!

Only the Duggars upped the stakes by getting into politics. Since they are also an independent family and legal voters, they are not forbid from becoming involved in political issues as they would be if they were recognized solely as a 'church' due to separation of church and state laws. Dad IS a career politician after all.

Fucking sick!

Calm (implicating water quantities)

You can feel a storm coming

The first faint rumblings
low frequency dips
deep bass frequently
tumbling
into the hiss

of rain
diamonds falling in formation
sky fathoms movement rushing
repetition, repeating, replication
multiplication, reproduction
implicating water quantities
     drips out pooling
as a coral sea
at once

tears of all ages
blood, snow and bile
    cooling in the muddle of puddles
so revisited
ad infinitum
pharaohs, landmarks, history and light
raindrops and race cars and robots fight
for spaceships exploding into splendors in flight

tension
in rusty unhung
windy trances relegated, commanded
    for the un-mended fences to dance
in the tendency, modestly demonstrate
corroding Swan Lake
an aperture focused
on fates

keep a ladder in your pocket
every lamp needs a socket in darkness
    Waiting for lightning to illuminate
to the unchecked
box you climb
Mountains I am,
as a sky you lay over in a starless, seamless black
like storms need a calm sky
a blank canvas
to imbue
with fury
and meaning.

For Tweed 3 Years and So Many Tears How I wish you were here...

Not a day goes by where I don't think about you

You and I, we went through so much together

You held me

while I held you

You visited my soul

when I was in darkness

and needed me

as I needed 

you.

Through the veil and the time and the ages, 

here you are again, 

with some stranger's face, 

with some stranger's grace. 

In every cat's lovely face, I see you.

(But I'll never get over you, my cranky old man)

Tweed ( 1997 - 2011)

For Tomorrow (that we would do as much as you would)

nastiness on the internet
television full of fools
double-speak on the radio
hate on the telephone
wish it all blows away
in the radioactive snow

horns honk
brakes lock
stocks fall
a repeating
state of shellshock

pretend hope of families
left behind feelings
of youth
no wonder so many
become riddled
with trifled medicine

swaths of bristled insincerity
luxury vanity insecurity
bugs in your home
and under our skin
jewels of memory
taken by pirates
buried forever in a cheap tin

blinds drawn
in the pool of chemicals
for the golden dawn
innocence strip-mined
by soulless trappers
doomed ourselves with plastic bottles
and candy wrappers

take another breath
take another deep breath
for tomorrow

Ready / Colour Of The Hour / Memories of London

elegant towns
electric towers
branches that don't reach
much farther than the sky
you're a flower
amongst thorns
red chimneys
and the sea

on this horizon
sky changing color by the hour
whiskey, navels and staples
on the window across the way
you'd explode
left alone
in the same
vampires falling in love
at sunset

and out at sea
new ghosts
and old ghosts
dance the waltz
as daybreaks
like water on the sidewalk
outside the bar
where you threw
your life away

time goes
clocks explode into soon
while I get distracted tying shoes
I'm ready
take me
all the ideas and the
and the bad breaks and the fixated dilated dilapidated eyes
yeah, take me.
a millions panels of broken glass
a thousand souls washed away
by their own pasts
I'm ready

Stairs / Mystery / Figure /Waist / Face / Dog /Helmet / Road / Love /Comfort / 42 / Laundry

"Wolfie"

Dream Made Real

From A River To A Robin (Real Reasons On A Cliff)

is there ever any rest?
the target. Does it ever stop moving?
Nothing witty to say.
I want to be here
but I also want to be a thousand miles away.
some other person.
some other place.
a night club or walking in the valley.
its insincere, really.
a new day
robbed of laughter
of its light
how do a million other people see the fade
and not stop to see the
catastrophe?

the 12 inch mix, it goes a lot longer than 7 minutes

get down
boogie oogie oogie
'til you just can't take it anymore.
up on the floor
the ceiling laughs
as it has laughed
many times before
these are the good times
you don't know
you don't recognize
you cannot the fathom
the fathoms
the layers of water
you should have drifted through
in the back seat of that Aerostar van
is it always March?
and the waters always rising
here at the edge of the troubled world
you laugh
I laugh
but the tape comes to an end
your voice and applause trailing off into the hollywood distance.

funny man
funny woman
funny how love is
funny how life is
all new state of mind
the record runs to it's 'out' groove
and time is silent save
'for the crackles that move from the end of time to the gloom

this is fantasy
this is fabulous
this is the moment before the end  of time
where you and I and all that came before
are united in the moment, the minute, the last flapping end of the 8mm reel spinning into
oblivion.

Guide

Ghosts

Waves

light and shade
buried under the weight of
dead ideas
like an iceberg's cascade
sloth-like in visions
seething in seer's sessions
pretentious unmentioned
cord stretched tight
coiling pill clenched mouth
left in perfections,
predictions, predilections
distillery and artillery pointed at the anointed one
before the blue perfumed curtain call
and BLAM.
BLAME.
FAILED.
Flailing.
nails, rakes and rugs
rails, fakes and thugs
trails, lakes and
enough drugs to stay quiet
in the underground
til the plastic flowers come
where the insects sleep
beetles rattle and worms
withdraw winding sheets
care-worn rare room culture statutes
silks sheets beaten heathens
by slow poisons
tin foil hats on
pilloried posts
in the age of jetsons
lost.
No cars fly here
no space shuttled
muzzled
fizzled
dwindling
riddled.

not awake
here
in the room
with cold spirits
laughing gestures dead dancers pirouettes
with street muscle
black eyes sparkle against diamond shoals
layers
pulled back like aristocratic diction
slack-jawed and skull softened in the morning
of the evening
of the last day
of tormented words
flung through the trap door
to freedom.
-----------


"I came to find the last star
   and it was dust."

Light And Shade In The Waning Afternoon