I am the confessor

Real love can never end; nothing in this world could possibly terminate it. If a relationship disintegrates beyond repair, then the truth is that there never was a relationship, only two egos competing for specialness. If it seems that love cements a relationship and later on it falls apart, there was little love there in the first place. Love is eternal, constant and ever-expanding. It is not possible to terminate love. However, it is quite possible to abort a special relationship that no longer sustains the pseudo-worthiness of its participants.





















Take Me To Truth undoing the ego


Nouk Sanchez & Tomas Vieira

i will admit that I don't know who I am








but








I



am


















discovered










(again)














I am built.













Through your negatives your positives and your moments








i am remembered.

The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning.

Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers

Erich Fromm

we should not be attached to an outcome that will cause us to lose our peace.



















Course Koans--
(miracle news)

Jean Weston

I wish there were no words to your self portraits

they can hang as scratches to a beautiful finish

there is much to take in





leave me alone with it.

a glass of water in a coffee mug
not older but beautiful

slow














down











you can't you say?
your life is running at that pace you say?















slow down







and your life will run at that pace you say

...for there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so


- edward de vere

..we are all pieces, some bigger than others. You know I just think people keep adding pieces till you can sustain yourself. Then you go around showing people how they can do the same

One

it ain't me





you are addicted
to your feelings



they can easily relocate with you.










from one to another

nothing is visible through that state

dancing with ourselves

from one to another.

...we as people stare at a huge important experience on the shelf...we study it..and instead of letting it unfold slowly telling us where it needs to go...we fuck it.

...because I make it my business to find the authentic self in people--no matter how bloody it gets. Not as a game, but it is that thing that will allow me to see more of my real self...I have grown use to that experience.

It's the sweep

I saw her today












across the avenue



how I found her in the distance
with the crush of 5 pm seperating us.




it was easy

it was


the stance that gathered me






the cuff over the shoes that froze me

and

it was the way her hand swept her hair that confirmed it



it is the sweep
fingers full; neck twisting



the sweep










i don't love her



but she is there

and i have returned


back to the flesh

back to the starting point

those who leave quickly leave something behind....



and I have returned

The honest one sits in a chair in the crowded room

You will call me a liar a fake a bullshitter.




You will hate me




I will connive


I will lie. i will...


I have created it that way







the template is insane so--






I am

but now you cannot stop seeing my honest one.









even donning my shit






I will still clear the way for him.

you appear to be a ship that's breaking up.

A whirling dervis



running






around trying


to




make





sure




all the windows are closed
Is this how you imagine the post show?





More of the same?







Things have changed in your world














except your mind

i created the tempest
gave it life
and then called it my Mother

The Battle

my actions
are seperate
from a divided and stormy mind













I


learn




that





moments before

a storm


there is a feeling of abandonment.





despair

Mother Teresa knew.







It is an error; a grand error









The mind battles on



and


my actions
know.

The Saboteur

the saboteur







is ready


coiffed, erect. Hands neatly folded in front









a smile ready--for anything you have.

I have been asked many questions in my life about poetry, religion, life, and I have given precisely the same number of answers, but I have never, I repeat, never, satisfied a single interlocuter. Why? Because all questioning is a way of avoiding the real answer, which, as Zen tells us, is really known already. Every man is enlightened, but wishes he wasn't. Every man knows he must love his enemies, and sell all he has and give to the poor, but he doesn't wish to know it--so he asks questions.



R.H. BLYTH

you have so many roads








love is sent out, misdirected and always stuck in traffic






drumming fingers on the dash
anxious and final

why am I

drawn to the broken
the foggy
the inconsistent




at home in their dreams
stuck on their porches
and frozen by their fears

Why am I

standing near
analyzing their pieces
kissing their shard's
and making promises I don't believe

Who am I

Sacred Tenets of Egoic Relationships

Being treated specially and made to feel special is a good thing.Having a special partner is a good thing.Other people can make me happy.Some people can give me more than others.It matters what people think of me.It matters how people treat me.I can be treated unfairly.Making sure I am not mistreated is a very important skill.It is right and good for me to point out the errors in how people treat me and tell themhow to correct those errors.Other people make me feel things.Other people can attack and injure me and they have.Because of the bad things they have done, other people deserve my anger.I am honestly angry at the bad things they did. My anger at them is not really displacedanger at myself for my own "sins."My actions are caused by what other people do to me.I never attack first.People have certain roles they are supposed to fulfill in relation to my needs and myhappiness.If they fail in these roles I have to feel bad about them.My picture of them is wisely informed by all of their past failures in fulfilling their role.In reacting to their present actions it is valid for me to respond to the entireconstellation of their past actions that resemble the present action in any way.People owe me because of how much I have given them.Giving to another means loss, sacrifice, and needs to be done very cautiously.The way I was treated in the past continues to be relevant in the present.My past should have treated me better and I can prove it by my achievements in thepresent.I know who my partner is, maybe not perfectly, but roughly.My partner's personality matters.My partner's material circumstance and place in society matters.My partner's body-its sex, shape, weight, age, clothing, etc.-matters.If someone can meet my needs I should be with them, if they cannot or will not I should leave.Knowing how to get people to love me-through giving gifts, having an attractivepersonality, body and life situation, and appropriately guilting them-is a crucial skill in life.My attraction to certain individuals holds the promise of my future happiness.My attraction to them is a gift that should make them feel good about themselves. It is not an attack.Conflicts are best resolved by a good memory of the conflict's exact history, goodbargaining skills and a willingness to compromise.



Robert Perry

You can't handle any dissidents



everyone on board plays your music





you will listen to this
because you want me--comfortable in a seat


Drinks served with your propaganda playing forward

You are a politician

a diplomat

a performer




I am malicious here

privy from too much searching and understanding
but you are also a conductor whose calling a loaded train to your attention

I was on for a stop

Residence

we sit here
creating anxiety


We swing our legs
drum our fingers
and busy ourselves
with an over read book and a over pronounced word




we sit here.

You keep it.

You keep it
holding tight--burying
while you eat sushi and play scrabble
watch movies and listen to the rain
suddenly you grimace
and then it fills you
bulges and presses your mind
it becomes you
all of you
pouring on everything you see
you keep it.

Found your tiny city







surprised


to see how easily I could exploit your ornamental resources











No choice but to quickly traverse your cultural Continent




surpised






to find nothing clear of relevance








should
I
return
towards exploitation?





should I leave

for years


as

mining begins?

will you let me.

what is dignity?

what is it


it is a coat in the summer to feel uncomfortable

You are attached to their loneliness




No documentation needed.

photography

is only a tool



that should not be corrupted by your ideas.







is like sex


used
to verify knowing


not a residing place to hoist your flag
and open your mail.






is like philosophy



pushed out and examined.

it is only a tool that through its stark consistency

through its seamlessness

through your held tongue

your silence










you advance your purpose.





it is only a tool.

I don't like the Leverage

I don't like the leverage

no evidence to push in front of you, and then watch you try and see around it's pile. I then fold my arms.

no boundries for you not to cross while I lob rocks in your direction, and hide my hands. I stand teasing you.


I want the weight

I want to tell you

--what I want

and own every sentence.

That mind---that brain *fairly
loaded with Poe's Tales
and Shakespeare's rails

books with huge tomes


words from many tombs

Divinity cross
and your legs crossed
linen pants avoids a stain

a soiled body
keeps order in the brain.

I can only ask that you don' t fall in love with me.




it is a nusiance




it becomes an endless fireworks display that makes you miss work.

The Dispenser

fear dispensed


but

the invulnerability




excuses that doesn't leave home.

the circle gets smaller




the conversations gets tighter




the moments


even finer

I can feel your heartbeat and your accentuation.


your sigh and your magnitude of nothing.




the circle is getting smaller

my vision even finer



I am beginning to see you.

The Cultural Mountebank

the cultural mountebank













surrounded themselves with a vast array of art and music.



the offerings


Artemisia Gentileschi



Sweet Honey and the Rock






bestowed a grand memory







all held in their hand; easily dispensable, but not swallowed





















what does it all mean if it can't be applied


























marble floors


and echoes











My mind a minimalist





in usuable space













avoiding the cultural charlatan

I am a conductor
with a torn topcoat





a nomad
a cryer

ice cold to sneezes

and pleasantries.










confused,

understood,

angry and merry.







and my subscription is paid up
something is wrong.



Above all I am determined to see.

Terry's legs were crossed and pushed up against the glass facing Monroe st. I stepped in and

slide down next to her.

"You're late."

"I am a slow walker."
"Also an idiot."
"I know, a well crafted one." I said turning my cell phone off.
"Carved from a wonderful pile of shit."

"Yes of course." I said now looking at the menu behind me, and then back at her as she picked at a muffin. "A pile flown in from Savile Row."
"You wish, why did you cut your cell off?"
"What, and have someone disturb us? I'm not taking that chance."
"We're not in a hotel."
She smirked.
" I can't imagine what it is like to work here and have people like you come in."
She pulled at her hair and leaned on her elbows closer to the window.
"Did you want anything?" I asked standing up;she shook her head, and I headed to the front. I ordered a mozzarella and tomato sandwich, and watched as a young woman's hips shook slicing through a loaf of bread.

"I'm going to die M I realize that now."
"What? I think we all have a shot at that goal." I said again seating close to her.
"Isn't this a joke to you?"
"This sandwich? Yea 7 bucks with a bag of chips."
"No this." She said pointing with her eyes out into the street. "Look , look out there."
"Where?"
"Outside."
"What about it?"
"The people, the busyness."
I settled my eyes for a moment. My shoulders bowed forward as if I was watching television, and Terry was forcing me to wait for the good part. People careened back and forth, and the west's setting sun bathed cars in it's last remaining light. All the things that I have seen before. But I made an effort of trying to see things differently. Is it in the way these people walk; their accelerated pace and thousand mile stares. Again this is commonplace.
"The city life." I said softly. It was a common response, and I knew she wanted more recognition, but I was tired.

You are a spoiled

you know that don't you?





a huffer and a puffer
with no house to *blow



after midnight


you negotiate
with





your sighs


and your carbon dioxide



oh dear queen

your face red and pouting





you are still lovely

who is Ali Farka Toure
who are you


I have doubled back


cheap sunglasses and a pretty dress.


silent
but crashing.

The Dramatists

they will cancel each other out with all of their sighs,their paragraphs and their weight.


Oh


their bluster and their threats; projecting a pocket full of nothing while riding the busy wave of anything, and then returning back to their sighs, their paragraphs and their weight.

It is impossible to believe they wasted this go around with such a rendition.







This go-round that is on a stage,
that is on a stage,
that is on a stage,
that is not even there.

In their dreams


they even careen.


Their eyes open and their sentence continue.
The box tightens,the accusers return. The movie speeds up at the darting of their eyes.





that ungraceful illusion streaming out of their head

The Dramatist

I need room







I need more room to love you
the dramatists have filled the great dinner party,
their hands surrounding glasses and staring the way they do, at things that don't matter.



oh they are superbly dress. Their ideas floating above their heads for all to see--the darker ones are ignored, but the comfortable ones,polished and vindicated.


The directives are always hidden in the hand(the one the rope shakes from)


The Dramatist


(incomplete)

I must of given you 30,000 words




thirty thousand



I have explained myself and tighten my philosophy
I have stayed centered and used a different road.



I have been clearly recognized.








to me









I have stopped one train to wait on another
your not understanding me

The Big Empty tries to claim her

every moment seems new

she chases cicadas at night

drives erractic and smiles at me
the suit fits tight.
she fills her wine glass unsure of the protocal



"Are you serious? " She says

in a
A suit that doesn't quite fit


she is everywhere
and the
The Big Empty tends to its pit







her uneveness
this uneveness

We must clarify ourselves

what are you doing with my love

you are staring at the sun
and missing its reason













what are you doing with my love

you are dwelling in the rain
and forgetting the season

Do we know what love is?


is it the final question

I had a conditional idea
but now its unconditional

Am I naive?

I create a rule and watch HS break it,
then
lovingly twist
and






turned it





I allow her to do this instead of the ego. I have let her in.

I needed a new idea another way to live

A superstar; hard to resist.

so it seems when you are loving; when you are finding new clues to who you are. Bringing illusions to the truth.

Do we know what love is?
Because they love me--they do, all of them. Looking to see where it comes from I'm sure.


"is it my sex?" They ask themselves

still offering, spilling and unsure of their posts

I have created this atmosphere as the dictator to the unknown land.
A fucking fumbling isolationist who jumps on stage with an idea.



I have drawn those too distraction by their own discoveries.










all of us looking to understand what we already are.