Preferences
babysit
my imagination,
and
Woody asked;
Is it the artist or the person?
And
I
sit lost in that lobby
coddeling
the unreal,
protecting
my hope and
truncating my
question.
no sight
no smell
no disposition.

I
haven't
seen you
in
13
years
but still
I have built a city
around you
and declared
you Queen

Is it the artist
or
the
person?
I
sit
afraid
of embracing either truth
because I
know
the answer.

“I slept and dreamt that life was joy.
I awoke and saw that life was service.
I acted and behold, service was joy.”

- Rabindranath Tagore


I was going to lace a paragraph of obcenities for some reason after seeing this at the end of our Human resource update, at my place of work. I don't know (heavy sigh) -aprorisims are wonderful singular thoughts that arrive from invisible places in our conciousness.
It just bothers me that someone in stain resistant dockers is reading this with no visible shelf to put it on.
These words I so eagerly understand and appreciate is being viewed by some working obtuse who cannot truly understand how they can blanket you and add heavy clues to unfinished personal philosophies.
I digress.
I have to relent in my thoughts. I know maybe it will trigger something, maybe enlightement can be reached in someone.
And that one person is all that matters for now.

I practice saying no to keep my life simple, and I find I never do it enough...

--Thoreau


I think this is very important to figuring out just who you are in this life.

An old man in a dilapidated body stands on the corner hawking the Sun Times. I truck past but still take him in. I found myself wishing I was him for a moment--as he briefly talked to someone; undoubtedly someone he talks to everyday.
I viewed him with that crooked smile and unflappable persona. Sure it's a good chance he's homeless, but maybe not. Maybe he lives in a transient hotel or even a housing community with court yard. I envy him not knowing his complete story--only assuming that he has no school loans to pay. No Citibank. No Jones to keep up with. I think about that, roll it deeply in my mind. I could see myself in a one room apartment, naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by books. No TV schedule to keep up with or friends to be better than.
This for some strange reason is what this smiling gentleman has shown me.

lpr revisited

Don't expose
don't explain
I wanted you,
I wanted you!
the Iantic
poured,
the hugs were sacrificed
But you
just wanted
me
to listen.
I needed you to hear
I pointed my solar system in your direction
and you used it to check your makeup.
I exposed
I explained,
you listened,
but I needed you
to
hear.

ny post

Don't post any bills in my mind.

I n a recent issue of 'The NewYorker' I saw and ad for Columbia University:

'Einstein did his greatest thinking while walking on the beach'

below that, gates of the school sat open, it was followed by:

'Where will you do yours?'

Is self contemplation dead?

Am I conditioned not to be alone with myself?

You are beckoned to be groomed for a life of office sickness, greed and helping your peers recieve a check every month as they sit aging with no exposed creativity.

The blackberry, Ipod, starbucks is there weaponed to keep you on the treadmill to and fro
There is no question Einstein changed our perspective on ourselves and our relation to the universe, but I will be damn if I can't discover my purpose while staring into the heavens as well.

Sure schools opens us to interesting philosophies, but only so we can compare them to our own.

1
2
3
24 years old
Yes, the orgasm's sends her.
My tongue dances, slithers and fills the landscape of her pores
but
experiences
have not found her.
Her body has undoubtedly seethed, shuddered, crumbled
but
she
has
no
place
to
hang
these
searing
moments
in
her
mind.

MER

How much discipline does it take to stand waiting for the light to change green?
This is a complex question when you live in a busy city and is something I have no resort to play with when I notice our accountability fading.
Of course this isn't astrophysics but it is something that is very difficult to do. There are too many people stepping past you and edging closer and closer into the street. What do you think is telling you to follow them? You or your body? I'm no expert but it just seems interesting when you are trying to become visible, and later find yourself trying to make more individually commanding decsions and we haven't developed crossing the street yet.

Tea@Francis

my friend Lori believes you must be interesting if you decided to pay some internet service provider your money and then proceed to step into the world of finger talking. Who wants to hear some middle aged man telling you he has to go right now to picked up his daughter from ballet "Are you going to be on later?"
"What! I don't know you?" I can easily hear the words pouring down her elbows.
We are we headed? This online blather is summoning up regergitaion as Kevin Spacey character in 'Seven' aptly described--banality. Men and women droaning on about housework, bathroom dysfuntions and newly discovered sexual preferences. How much responsibility do we have at helping our wayward finger brains? Did we sign on for too much reality? I can get this shit from the elevator at work from Bob in accounting. Maybe she believes that a guy has signed on to hear some woman describe how huge her breasts are, and touching them to her forehead is her latest trick. Maybe she wants to skip back a few years and get back to the fantasy. I don't know. I say eventually boredoom in life translates to a boredom online you just do it in the BDSM rooms.

It's Tuesday I don't want to sign my Boss's card. What the hell is Bosses day when your Boss doesn't respond to its definition. Cards to me, represent a feeling, that can only work through a blank card. Your words. You putting it down,searching the attic of your experiences. How I can I wish a fellow employee, Happy Birthday, merry holiday, or even God Bless You if I don't truly give a damn. I wanted to get a stamp made that can just be pressed cleanly as cards are shoved in front of me, but realize that takes effort.

MER

I have to get out
of this loop,
the Loop
the circling of my problems
the
created and common sickness
from
sucked
down
advertising
'sandwiches for sale'
discount coupons
for
pounds of doughnuts
to
jam into
tote bags
squished next to
sidewalk crowds
with their hot calves,
pointy umbrellas,
and prison cell-ulars that are loaded
with
conversation
about this
philosophical
treadmill.

Who am I?
That
I 'm
aware?
I
the accountable
I
the
weird
the awaken.
Enlightenment is
riding in my backpack
not permeating
me
but
something
I
say
and
press send.
This loop
continues.