Thursday, June 2, 2011
"Beat"
I just needed to write so desperately this morning. The yearning for good writing has been welling up from the depths of myself. There are so many strange, often times otherworldly ideas floating about in my tired brain. Tired not in the sense of needing to sleep or even lack of sleep. In fact tired is not the word I am grasping for at all. Let's borrow a word coined by the likes of Jack the Buddha: Beat. The word of a generation, with almost as many meanings and interpretations as the bible. My mind is beat, in the sense of being worn out from toiling with these questions that have haunted mankind since the ancient of days. And we demand answers! But to our dismay these questions will never be answered in the concrete terms we would like them to be etched in. These questions are unanswerable in our current state of understanding. So in a sense these answers are relative, relative to the degree of beat-ness of your mind. However, the definition doesn't stop there. This term which was coined by the great master himself has deeper, hidden meanings if you dig deeper. Beat in the sense of beatific glory. A divine essence of beatitude, exalting you above this realm of mortal souls and revealing you in all your glory. This is the state of mind I strive for so painfully. So in a sense I suppose tired is an acceptable synonym, but it goes beyond that into total exhaustion. Exhaustion of all the paths to knowledge and all the energy required to tread those paths. To the point where nothing new is allowed to eneter the prism of mind and thus the self (mind included), like a crystal, reflects clearly and perceptibly the inner, absolute truth of said self.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Thoughts on this blog
This blog will form into something, some beautiful day on the horizon
I promise you, dear reader, that this will be worth reading someday.
I can promise this only because I can feel this essence, this life-propelling force within that flows effortlessly through expression.
This expression which is ever contracting and expanding in beatific perfection, is the very source of life, the very root from which all of this is here.
Organically we have expanded as expansive creative beings, and it is our curse or blessing to be creating at all times.
Whether consciously or unconsciously we are creating right now, this very second.
So my simple question is “why not create what I want?”
That question has me excited, has given me thirst and even lust for life anew, as if my every tainted breath depends on this very question.
I ponder this question over and over, and it always leads me to an immensely more difficult question: “what do I want to create?”
Now my mind is reeling, just teeming with ideas and thoughts, fears, anxieties, apprehensions, joys, lusts, longings, the whole lot. it's quite overwhelming.
So at this point in my journey of beginning-less time, that is where I stand.
An infant in this playground of life, naked and fumbling around trying to figure anything, or something, out.
I promise you, dear reader, that this will be worth reading someday.
I can promise this only because I can feel this essence, this life-propelling force within that flows effortlessly through expression.
This expression which is ever contracting and expanding in beatific perfection, is the very source of life, the very root from which all of this is here.
Organically we have expanded as expansive creative beings, and it is our curse or blessing to be creating at all times.
Whether consciously or unconsciously we are creating right now, this very second.
So my simple question is “why not create what I want?”
That question has me excited, has given me thirst and even lust for life anew, as if my every tainted breath depends on this very question.
I ponder this question over and over, and it always leads me to an immensely more difficult question: “what do I want to create?”
Now my mind is reeling, just teeming with ideas and thoughts, fears, anxieties, apprehensions, joys, lusts, longings, the whole lot. it's quite overwhelming.
So at this point in my journey of beginning-less time, that is where I stand.
An infant in this playground of life, naked and fumbling around trying to figure anything, or something, out.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Writing
I am almost finished with the outline of my novel I have begun painstaking work on. It is an epic adventure tale. Based on factual events, semi-autobiographical, (mostly.) Writing is the most incredible and maddeningly depressing act that can ever be acted. It is going to be a daunting irascible task, but I’m willing to put in the work as long as the words come. I just need to get the framework laid out completely so that I have some creative parameters to work well within. If you don’t harness and direct your creative flow it can be quite destructive I’m coming to learn.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Poetry
Oh man I am in an intense state of mass thought overload and confusion. I am droned and feeling boned, occasionally stoned. The magical whip of the world keeps a beatin’
It’s a mere annoyance in my graceful state.
I smile and watch the world go by.
I notice existential hate.
Forms are shifty, thought -forms fleeting
Time is thought which falsehood bring
Come the time when the golden bell doth ring
An ode’ to forever in the endless night sky
How about a man in the wondrous light
Just keeps on a starin’ in the glorious moonlit night
Perhaps he has a lost love to regret
At least he has some reason to fret.
Me.. My life’s a bore, I can barely get up and go to the store.
I remember when I was 8
I had a physique that was wonderfully great.
And at that superfluous time, I believe I had a farthing worth more than a dime.
The worth is not the meaning, and the meaning is worthless.
Meaningless has nothing to be worth ------- Remember that gal Courtney Firth?
I don’t mean to drop names
Haven’t you heard?
I’m practically insane. I repeat these verses inane
I have hidden these puppets I maim
This force that flows through me can never be tamed
As if I have just spurted a vein.
Red flows and white blows.
Reveries of hydro
Myths gone and lost in the mist of the haze
Long hot summers drifting on sweatily for days
And if your own heart can dare to betray----
Then in your own filth will the gardener lay.
I know sometimes people are made out of clay
But my child, you’ll be a star one harmonious day.
On this subject, I have nothing much more to say.
Except that where love is, your focus should stay.
Don’t follow me child, I can’t show you the way
You’d be better off just living at…… play.
In fact, that’s what you should do.
Take play, and make it WORK for you.
That’s what to do.
Play all your life and your dreams will come true.
Dance through the night with scraggly, untied shoes
Like a jester at court just singin’ the blues
From the south where the states seem to be shaped like shoes.
It’s a mere annoyance in my graceful state.
I smile and watch the world go by.
I notice existential hate.
Forms are shifty, thought -forms fleeting
Time is thought which falsehood bring
Come the time when the golden bell doth ring
An ode’ to forever in the endless night sky
How about a man in the wondrous light
Just keeps on a starin’ in the glorious moonlit night
Perhaps he has a lost love to regret
At least he has some reason to fret.
Me.. My life’s a bore, I can barely get up and go to the store.
I remember when I was 8
I had a physique that was wonderfully great.
And at that superfluous time, I believe I had a farthing worth more than a dime.
The worth is not the meaning, and the meaning is worthless.
Meaningless has nothing to be worth ------- Remember that gal Courtney Firth?
I don’t mean to drop names
Haven’t you heard?
I’m practically insane. I repeat these verses inane
I have hidden these puppets I maim
This force that flows through me can never be tamed
As if I have just spurted a vein.
Red flows and white blows.
Reveries of hydro
Myths gone and lost in the mist of the haze
Long hot summers drifting on sweatily for days
And if your own heart can dare to betray----
Then in your own filth will the gardener lay.
I know sometimes people are made out of clay
But my child, you’ll be a star one harmonious day.
On this subject, I have nothing much more to say.
Except that where love is, your focus should stay.
Don’t follow me child, I can’t show you the way
You’d be better off just living at…… play.
In fact, that’s what you should do.
Take play, and make it WORK for you.
That’s what to do.
Play all your life and your dreams will come true.
Dance through the night with scraggly, untied shoes
Like a jester at court just singin’ the blues
From the south where the states seem to be shaped like shoes.
Random musings
Lacy and I went on a beautiful hike up the treacherous Iron Mountain this morning. The view was wonderful, especially at the top, and the rocks protruding from all the surrounding mountains were explosively colorful, and truly a delight to my eyes. It was nice to inhale some fresh mountain air and get out of the city for a bit.
It is always a really awkward situation when you’re eating a footlong banana, especially if you’re a man. I can’t imagine trying to have a serious conversation whilst eating a banana, it’s just too comical.
So I have been thinking about writing like a fanatic as of late, and perusing over jack Kerouac’s famous writing logs does not help to quiet the creative storm that rages in my tortured artists soul. It is truly an incredible thing to read the words that sprung out of a dead man’s soul. And to have those musings touch you in a way that no one has ever spoken to you before. They become a part of you and begin to shape your character, principles and everything. There truly is a way to be immortalized, Kerouac in a wild way, is living through me, that flow that he had and harnessed beautifully throughout his mad, isolated life, has now entered me and millions of others. The torch has been passed and it is up to me to make something of it.
I love writing, but I’ve found it is difficult for me to type out my thoughts, it’s too scattered and mechanical. But I’m going to try just for ease of the writing process. I usually write everything longhand in cursive but that just makes it twice as hard, if I want to actually type it out or print it, or do anything useful with it, rather than let it collect dust with all my other notebooks full of the madness of my mind. It’s truly a daunting task decoding my own cursive, so that’s an event in itself, and then I have to type it out, add in punctuation, edit and revise. Just talking about it wears me out. But it’s the only way I have found to be able to keep this endless flow of ideas coming.
Anywho I’m a tad hung-over from the night previous, drinking sparkling wine alone as I wrote lyrical poems and pondered my creative yearnings, which are forming incompletely in my withered, tired brain. When I don’t write, or don’t write enough then I lose my balance and it feels as though I am going to tip over and all of the greatness that is within that I can feel so subtly lately, will spill out and leave me here, just a pile of bones and nothingness, an empty vessel with no greatness. Perhaps that would be a blessing, to be emptied of all this hocus pocus, materialism and American ideals of transgression and dichotomy. To not have to live with the burden of greatness or failure to be neutral and not worry, or mull over these maddening thoughts until they eat at you, so you must purge your body of them through expression. Such a glorious hateful thing this double-edged sword of creativity.
I am fond of Germaniums and lilies. Those are the only two flowers I could look at and tell you the name. (besides the general, seen in cartoon flowers, like sunflowers and tulips) Lilies are so lively and happy as they dance in the suns rays. And germaniums are beautiful in a traditional rosy kind of fashion. Excuse my random ramblings, but I don’t know where these things come from. Or maybe I do know, who knows.
Consciously Is the best way to live. Unconsciously is a lower road that doesn’t exactly lead o the sacred grotto of soul awareness that I seek so diligently. The intelligentsia of this generation seems depleted compared to the glory days, of the 40’s 50’s and 60’s or maybe I just am at the point in my journey where I attract the things and people from my old depleting, heavy world consciousness. Perchance since I am on the cusp of an old way of life, thinking, and perception, and entering the new there are still slight resonations of my old consciousness that the universe picks up and delivers back to me. Also the opposite is true and ever increasing are the blessings that come with accepting the blessings that come so naturally. Today is a good day. smile
It is always a really awkward situation when you’re eating a footlong banana, especially if you’re a man. I can’t imagine trying to have a serious conversation whilst eating a banana, it’s just too comical.
So I have been thinking about writing like a fanatic as of late, and perusing over jack Kerouac’s famous writing logs does not help to quiet the creative storm that rages in my tortured artists soul. It is truly an incredible thing to read the words that sprung out of a dead man’s soul. And to have those musings touch you in a way that no one has ever spoken to you before. They become a part of you and begin to shape your character, principles and everything. There truly is a way to be immortalized, Kerouac in a wild way, is living through me, that flow that he had and harnessed beautifully throughout his mad, isolated life, has now entered me and millions of others. The torch has been passed and it is up to me to make something of it.
I love writing, but I’ve found it is difficult for me to type out my thoughts, it’s too scattered and mechanical. But I’m going to try just for ease of the writing process. I usually write everything longhand in cursive but that just makes it twice as hard, if I want to actually type it out or print it, or do anything useful with it, rather than let it collect dust with all my other notebooks full of the madness of my mind. It’s truly a daunting task decoding my own cursive, so that’s an event in itself, and then I have to type it out, add in punctuation, edit and revise. Just talking about it wears me out. But it’s the only way I have found to be able to keep this endless flow of ideas coming.
Anywho I’m a tad hung-over from the night previous, drinking sparkling wine alone as I wrote lyrical poems and pondered my creative yearnings, which are forming incompletely in my withered, tired brain. When I don’t write, or don’t write enough then I lose my balance and it feels as though I am going to tip over and all of the greatness that is within that I can feel so subtly lately, will spill out and leave me here, just a pile of bones and nothingness, an empty vessel with no greatness. Perhaps that would be a blessing, to be emptied of all this hocus pocus, materialism and American ideals of transgression and dichotomy. To not have to live with the burden of greatness or failure to be neutral and not worry, or mull over these maddening thoughts until they eat at you, so you must purge your body of them through expression. Such a glorious hateful thing this double-edged sword of creativity.
I am fond of Germaniums and lilies. Those are the only two flowers I could look at and tell you the name. (besides the general, seen in cartoon flowers, like sunflowers and tulips) Lilies are so lively and happy as they dance in the suns rays. And germaniums are beautiful in a traditional rosy kind of fashion. Excuse my random ramblings, but I don’t know where these things come from. Or maybe I do know, who knows.
Consciously Is the best way to live. Unconsciously is a lower road that doesn’t exactly lead o the sacred grotto of soul awareness that I seek so diligently. The intelligentsia of this generation seems depleted compared to the glory days, of the 40’s 50’s and 60’s or maybe I just am at the point in my journey where I attract the things and people from my old depleting, heavy world consciousness. Perchance since I am on the cusp of an old way of life, thinking, and perception, and entering the new there are still slight resonations of my old consciousness that the universe picks up and delivers back to me. Also the opposite is true and ever increasing are the blessings that come with accepting the blessings that come so naturally. Today is a good day. smile
Friday, May 13, 2011
On Idleness vs. Laziness
I have come to the conclusion that idleness is not, in fact, laziness. Now i'm sure there are millions of people out there who are idling lazily about this lonesome world. But idleness is not, i'm convinced, inherently laziness. I came to this conclusion by observing myself. Lately I have been working on my art manically, to a point where it is becoming unhealthy obsession, no matter what i'm doing, it's the sole focus of my mind. Yesterday I decided that I need to slow my role so to speak and just soak in all these ideas and thoughts without immediately releasing them onto the page or through my guitar. So in a sense I decided to bide my time, and although I still had that intense impulse propelling me to write or sing or strum, I chose to sit and smile instead. I found that it cleared up a whole lot of doubt and uncertainty that I was beginning to have concerning my art. i've been experimenting more with this concept and it will take time to find the balance between output and input, but the journey is not the means to an end. It is the journey that makes it all worthwhile.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Wind
What sort of adventure can I create for myself on this lovely afternoon. Perhaps something creatively inspiring? We'll see, I suppose, where the wind takes us. As I lay here, lifeless allowing the wind to do with me what it will, I can't help but resist the natural, graceful flow of this friendly wind. I struggle to find my own way but there's no way other than the way of the whistlin' wind which takes me where it will. I rejoice in myself and my abilities when i do something good. But I am being carried, there is no action that is my own. There is nothing that is my own. I own nothing and therefore nothing owns me, and I can be free. By letting go of control I learn that I never had any to begin with. So I release the tense sense of controlling my life, and remarkably ease returns to my life experience. Because there is no me. So I just lie here, smiling in the glorious rays of this afternoon sun, knowing that there is nothing to be done. Just smiling, enjoying the summer sun.
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