"If I was a hobo I'd sleep in haystacks and do whatever I wanted all the time."

Airports Stress the Fuck Out of Me

Especially when I'm holding :)

I kept beeping.
And they're all"Ma'am do you have anything else on you?"
"No." : /

I had my wound wash/peircing cleaner hidden in my underwear cause I knew they'd try to make me throw it away.
I start turning red and feeling very very warm.
-Fuck they're going to kick me off the flight when they find out I'm hiding this thing.. and what if they find what's tied to my chest under my clothes.....-

"Female!!!!!!!!"

A burly lady with a crew cut worse than mine asks me to join her on the side.
Inside I'm freakin out man, as she does the hand held beeper thing all over my shaking body.
All good....then she gets to my crotch.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
"What's down there?"

gulp.

"Uhhhh... You see I have this piercing I just had redone, and I need this wash for it and I was afraid they'd take it from me, so I stowed it.."
I reach up my dress and pulll out the aerosol can.
She looks it over as I hold my breath.

"It's medical. You can take this. Just don't hide it next time. I'm going to finish patting you down, and then you're all set to go."
-Oh my god it's not over yet-
She pats me down...across my chest where little umbrellas of colorful happiness sleep to my racing heartbeat. Nothing.

"Ok, have a nice flight."
I misuse the "you too" phrase and start walking away, stirred and fading back to my milky tone.

sigh.

Walking down to my gate, I pass a kind-looking black police officer.
"Hello, Occifer." I choke out.
"I mean, officer!"

He laughs as I head toward my gate - 8.

What a fucking start to my journey.
God love me.
NyC here I come.

The Coming of Travels

Hello world.

It has been some time since my last blog, and I apologize to you - whoever you might be - for not keeping up with this commitment.

I spent last week in WY at the National Rainbow Gathering. The site chosen was beautiful - rivers and hills and woods and flower-studded meadows and so on. I sang, conversed, cooked, ate, slept, wandered, hiked, laughed, rode a horse, met Jesus Christ on the 4th of July (epic), and had a colorful, wonderful time.

Now back in Boulder, I am sleeping in my wrecked and immobile car. I'll be here less than a week, bumming around, reading, and napping in parks until next wednesday in the early am. On that glorious morn, I will load myself into an aircraft that will move me from my current location to the infamous city of New York. There, I will soak up 3 weeks of stress-free NYC living - perhaps even working a little - and meet again all those who I hold so dear and miss terribly.

Flying to San Diego August 5th and spending a bit of time there before slowing hitching my way up the coast of California, stopping in the cities of interest for whatever my desire. Long Beach, LA, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz, and San Francisco are now just prospects, as my plans change often and drastically.

Then, my final plane hop: one way to the Big Island of Hawaii to live simply at http://www.gaiayoga.org/.

Keep you updated.
Stay tuned, kids.

Loving You All,
Coraline

Looks Like Rain - the Grateful Dead

play it.

the icicles along with you
are cold and wet
and turn me blue :(

alike winter's promise of sunny spring
i knew with time i'd love again

The Partial and Beyond

Is the living spring I seek

Held together by the

Unending sway of beauty

The Mother and Father -

Our bearing Earth and breathing Skies

Seep light and love to you and I

For we are an array of inseparable diamonds

Blessed as one by our changing minds

the air is cold again

questions scrawled on my skull

Does your tongue speak

In the sunshine I crave?

Can abysses of you

Hold up craters of me?

Have I affected afflicted

or simply detained?

In what ways do you want me

And til when shall I stay?

Inside me there's a ship full of slaves trying to sleep. The devil keeps them up and rowing.

If I Was This Rock

Last weekend, Ellen and I took a mushroom-induced trip by Boulder Creek. Things went very well as we drank tea by a small waterfall, stared in awe at the sun as long as our eyes could stand it, practiced yoga, and rejoiced at how beautiful Boulder was and how much we were enjoying our lives.

I decided to take a swim and changed into my classy one-piece. I wandered toward the top of the waterfall and sat down on the edge. Feeling the water rushing around and by was a fantastic sensation and I called to Ellen with a laugh, "If I was this rock, I don't think I'd be moving either!" Her giggles filled my ears and my smile turned to the rocks around me.

It was then that I thought I saw - on a submerged rock - a human face. I smiled at him and was reminded of a lyric from Disney's Pocahontas:

"But I know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name."

I realized I was witnessing an actual manifestation of this particular rock spirit, and was grateful it had revealed itself to me. So, I named it - Jeff.

An idea struck me, and I started naming all the rocks around me. Not making them up myself, but asking the spirits for their titles and listening to my heart for the answer. Then, a revelation struck like fire:
If we started giving all living (animate and inanimate) things around us human names, it would create a more personal bond with such things, and just maybe we would respect them more and see them as the divine energy they (or, we) all contain within. We would no longer see them as simply mundane objects of the everyday, and would therefore be less likely to take advatage of them.

So, whoever you are reading this, I urge you to go out and look for the spirit in all. I guarantee that with an open heart and mind, that spirit is hard to miss.

a song played as she entered the earth
and i wept.
it was more than six years ago,
but i think i can still hear it
and i know i remember the words:

"she was a gorgeous little girl
only 14 years with her mother's eyes
and her father's smile

and she was taken way too soon
life so full of promise full of light
but yet to be realized

and i raise my hands in anger
and wonder why you take the tender hearts
and leave the rest of us behind

but ours is not to question why
ours is just to live and try to settle for the answers
whatever they might be
until we see you face to face
in another time and place
where the river of your love runs free"

happy birthday Celeste

if the mermaid still thrived

21 would she be

the unexpected beauty -

swept by storms -

now the name of my daughter

comes a start with the sun

and the dark cannot stay

just a spotlight of love

keeps the demons away

war is about as necessary
as children dying

for z

If I was an ember
Baby
I'd be burning

Bound by fire
Ticking with ardor
Smol
der
ing
Inside

I'm just hot to inform you
Cause Baby
I'd warm you

it's nine fifteen
and there's creaking from above

the man who lives
and cannot love

is drinking spanish rum

New End

The city of Boulder
Grows older each day
But the children are magic
And they stay young to play!

why is everyone around me

so fucking ignorant?

but then what should we live for
once love has gone away?
the stars are darker than the night
and darker still the day

The Meaning of Love

"Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become fully aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him. By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of the what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true."

Viktor Frankl

as time grows shorter everyday

i long to be a bird

to do the things i hold so dear

like dance with souls that burn

and though for me their eyes are cold

i will not show my face

so please accept apologies

and keep my secret safe

love/sex

Viktor Frankl, a Jewish mystic and Holocaust survivor, was the founder of Logotherapy and Existential Analysis. His writings deal mainly with the meaning of life and observations of the world around us. I am inspired by his views on love and sex:

Frakl explains that in modern society, the world confuses and blends the two very separate indentities of love and sex. Without love, he says, sex is nothing more than masturbation, and the other is nothing more than a tool to be used, a means to an end.

Sex can only be fully enjoyed as the physical expression of love.

I feel that today sex can sometimes completely miss the path of enjoyment, becoming instead a form of self destructive mutilation. Disrespecting one's body is the same as disrespecting a divine temple. It is easy to lose one's way, but guided by love and (both internal and external) forgiveness, we can always find our way back into the light.

<3

revelations and unhidden secrets of life

ahhh, where to start?

we are all space - divine entity - neither separate nor apart.

think of us as water - capsules of water plunged in water yet again surrounded by water - various entities of the same complete element that can function alone while moving through itself.

have i lost you yet? think "one".

space-energy-ultimate reality: whatever you'd like to call it

if you think about it, we are really just objects making use of that space. something to see - something to move.

the human mind is an endless spectrum of ideas and oh, the possibilities! each imagination could go on forever - but what if we were to align these imaginations - these perceptions of the world? the ego would cease to exist perhaps, and every amazing beautiful and inexplicable view of the world would be in tune and exemplified throughout one another. the world (though already beautiful) would be so emerged in energy that light would have no boundaries, the eye would refuse to focus, and maybe - just maybe - the world would could become a giant interlaced trip of the imaginations of all. perception would be a constant projection from the self - encompassing the good of the world. maybe we could even see love in the air.

so, how do we do this? i'm not sure.
keep living every day with a pure heart, open mind and a love for all. strive to spread the good word: the divine truths that have been kept secret for far too long. it is high time we were liberated - enlightened. BUT, caterpillars (humans) can't become butterflies (enlightened) without a hard long period of meditation/self reflection and analysis (cocoon). we just need to believe that we are inseparable and everything is taken care of. we just need to see it that way. there are no mistakes.

perhaps the alignment of our minds could come in the form of an all-natural self-and-sun-produced dmt dose the the brain (2012?). perhaps then the world will be seen as so endlessly beautiful (-not that it isn't already-) that we will not be capable of anything BUT love and compassion. a general positive perception of the world would be shared and interconnected through each of us.
(i'll keep my fingers crossed)

last night i watched people disappear in front of my eyes. i watched their flesh go transparent and all that was left was the only thing there really is: that energy, that space again - not void but substance. i am convinced and encouraged by the smile of god on me from every beam of light.

whew, that was a mouthful. and i'm not even sure if i can explain an idea so profound into simplified terms... but hey, i tried.
i wish i could explain better. i wish i could help you to see! i pray i have made an impression of some sort

blessings to all
and to all a beautiful morning
<3>

when good friends go bad

like cho-co-late

they melt and run

produce a bloody mess

though sometimes sweet

they're sure to rot

with fingers round your neck

<3

Send me the same signals
You did the past year
For the only result
Is a heart without wear

I apologize for being perverse, but poetry knows no boundaries. I am only honest - forgive me. This is the poem I wrote for my birthday:

It's your birthday
Again, happy birthday
How old are you now?
Are you a burgeoning legal
Old enough to go down?
Could your pretty red lips
Look so nice around me?
It's your birthday again
Make a wish on your knees

Another Short Short Story

A man walks his dog.
Everyday.

To My Prisoneer

A poor boo
Is bound in a room
Without knobs

The dinner is gruel
Where the faces are skewed
And everyones waiting to walk

Maybe now
Maybe then
Maybe in a week

Restricted guest
You can't forget
That government is King

Quote from Guru Gobind Singh:

On the Divine.

"Salutations to the one without Color or Hue
Salutations to the one who hath no Beginning
Salutations to the Impenetrable
Salutations to the Unfathomable
Oh Lord, thou are Formless and Peerless
Beyond Birth and physical Elements
Salutations to the one beyond confines of Religion
Beyond Description and Garbless
Thou art Nameless and Desireless
Thou art beyond Thought and ever Mysterious"

To Someone I Hardly Knew

I wonder if my soul is showing
-Is it hanging from my neck?
Or perhaps you possess x-ray eyes
And can see into my depths

Praise be to Him -
Him who?
You? Me? Us?
The Universe.
Praise be to the creator:
My Father
Jesus Allah The Sun
Anyone
Just believe
And praise!

On Monday, February 5, I will be participating in a Diamond Protest from 12-2 pm. The protest will take place during the International Diamond Conference at the NY Hilton located at 1335 Avenue of Americas (and W 54th).

The price of all diamonds is oppression and violence. In diamond-rich West and South Africa, diamond miners are paid 30 cents a day, have no clean water or electricity and very little food.

Help put a stop to the suffering.

Show your courage.

Demand change.

Stand proudly beside me.

I'm Feeling:

The Beatles - For No One

Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all the words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you

She wakes up, she makes up
She takes her time and doesn't feel she has to hurry
She no longer needs you

And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!

You want her, you need her
And yet you don't believe her when she said her love is dead
You think she needs you

And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years!

You stay home, she goes out
She says that long ago she knew someone but now he's gone
She doesn't need him

Your day breaks, your mind aches
There will be time when all the things she said will fill your head
You won't forget her

An Article To Remember

Requiem for a Dreamer

by Kurt Vonnegut

Editor’s note: What follows is a conversation between Kurt Vonnegut and out-of-print science fiction writer Kilgore Trout. It was to be their last. Trout committed suicide by drinking Drano at midnight on October 15 in Cohoes, New York, after a female psychic using tarot cards predicted that the environmental calamity George W. Bush would once again be elected president of the most powerful nation on the planet by a five-to-four decision of the Supreme Court, which included “100 per-cent of the black vote.”

TROUT: I’ve never voted in my whole damn life. I didn’t want to be complicit. But is it time I did?
KV: The planet’s immune system is obviously trying to get rid of us, and high time! But sure, go vote for somebody. What the hell.
TROUT: Everybody’s so ignorant.
KV: The overwhelming popularity of President Bush, in spite of everything, finally shows us what the American people, whom we have so sentimentalized for so long, a la Norman Rockwell, really are, thanks to TV and purposely lousy public schools: ignorant. Count on it!
TROUT: You ever meet anybody who was really smart?
KV: Only one: Saul Steinberg, the graphic artist who’s dead now. Everybody I know is dead now, present company excepted. I could ask Saul anything, and six seconds would pass, and then he would give me a perfect answer. He growled a perfect answer. He was born in Rumania, and, according to him, he was born into a house where “the geese peeked in the windows.”
TROUT: Like what kind of questions?
KV: I said, “Saul, what should I think about Picasso?” Six seconds went by, and then he growled, “God put him on Earth to show us what it’s like to be really rich.” I said, “Saul, I’m a novelist, and many of my friends are novelists, but I can’t help feeling that some of them are in a very different business from mine, even though I like their books a lot. What would make me feel that way?” Six seconds went by, and then he growled, “It is very simple: There are two kinds of artists, and one is not superior to the other. But one kind responds to the history of his or her art so far, and the other responds to life itself.”
I said, “Saul, are you gifted?” Six seconds went by, and then he growled, “No. But what we respond to in any work of art is the artist’s struggle against his or her limitations.”
TROUT: OK.
KV: You seem unimpressed.
TROUT: I said, “OK.”
KV: You said it so emptily.
TROUT: Sorry. You know me: Always running on empty.
KV: Somebody else smart? OK, try this: After the Second World War I enrolled in the graduate division of the Anthropology Department of the University of Chicago, the most conceited university in the country. And in a seminar for about eight of us, half of us vets on the GI Bill of Rights, my favorite professor, in fact my thesis advisor, put this Socratic question to us: “What is it an artist does?”
TROUT: Hold on: What makes Chicago so conceited?
KV: That it isn’t Harvard.
TROUT: Got it: That it isn’t high society.
KV: Bingo. Anyway, I’m sure we all came up with smart-ass answers, since a graduate seminar in any subject is a form of improv theater. But the only answer I remember is the one he gave: “An artist says, ‘I can’t do anything about the chaos in the universe or my country, or even in my own miserable life, but I can at least make this piece of paper or canvas, or blob of clay or chunk of marble, exactly what it should be.’”
TROUT: OK.
KV: Did you forget to take your Viagra today?
TROUT: Very funny. But what he said an artist does is what I do every time I brush my teeth or tie my shoes. You thought this guy was smart? He’s an asshole.
KV: Look, when you put a piece of paper in your typewriter, don’t you try to make it exactly what it should be?
TROUT: No, I just effing write.
KV: What are you effing writing now?
TROUT: It’s about how the future has as much to do with the present as the past does. Giraffes can only have come from the future. There’s no way evolution in the past would have let something that defenseless and impractical live for 15 minutes.
KV: If you say so.
TROUT: Try this: The First World War was caused by the second one. Otherwise the first one makes no sense, wasn’t about anything. And all Picasso had to do was paint pictures that were already hanging in museums in the future.
KV: OK.
TROUT: Just trying to be Einstein. You never know. But hey, the two people you said were so smart were both men. Women say smart things, too. I went walking with a woman the other day, if you can believe it, and I stopped to retie my shoes, and she said, “Every time I go for a walk with a man he always has to stop to retie his shoes. Why won’t men tie double knots? A fear of commitment?” How’s that for anthropology, the science of man? I’ll bet they didn’t teach you about men and shoelaces at Chicago.
KV: That isn’t anthropology. That’s sociology.
TROUT: What’s the difference? I’ve often wondered.
KV: A sociologist is paid by the Sociology Department. An anthropologist is paid by the Anthropology Department.
TROUT: Glad to have that cleared up.
KV: Knowledge is power.
TROUT: Well, I’m off. Ciao, adios and aloha.
KV: Whither bound?
TROUT: Back to Cohoes for an AA meeting.
KV: But you’re not an alcoholic.
TROUT: It’s the only place I can pick up women. They have their defenses down. “Hello, I’m Kilgore Trout and I’m an alcoholic.” And I’ve met this babe named Flamingo who is a professional psychic. She’s going to tell me our country’s fortune. Who’ll win the next election.
KV: OK
TROUT: Take care.
KV: You too.

(Thanks to Dave for sharing this with me)

A Psychedelic Experience

On Wednesday night, my very good friend Janelle and I ingested some very delicious mushroom tea. It was Janelle's first experience with psychedelics and I was proud to be the one by her side. We laughed, cried, made art and poetry, found ourselves in music, blessed her diminishing dog, stared at the clouds and the heavens, started a zine, and became closer than we could ever imagine. Overall, the night was a beautiful and liberating experience. I consider our journey together a cosmic gift and would like to share some of the short poetry I pulled from my mind that wondrous night.

-------------------------------------->

A poem for my love:

Tonight
a fungus grew
Inside and Beside me
And as it grew
the Stars and the Sights
Reflected Everything
And Nothing
but You


Poem for Peeing:

Into a hole
I drain
The whole
Into a bowl


One more for him:

His Name
The fruit of my tongue
Red purple grapes
Enslaved by his toxic embrace
Pears and Figs
Crisp with the thought
Of his lips,
His eyes,
And the way he plays tricks