Something about

A daily bloodless revolution

It’s the art of war

The uber neo tech man ethos

Better than democracy for whom?

It’s the visit to the shrine

It’s doing what must be done

It’s God‘s work

It’s in the name of feeding one’s family

It’s the kill

It’s the hunt

It’s reacting to the blood in the water

It’s the hup-to hup-to echoing shoes through the hallway

Chasing the lettuce 

the dollar

the shekel

the lira

the Deutsch mark

the drachma

the pesos

Chasing the long green

Chasing the dream

The dream in between

of shangri-La

of success 

of the white deer

of the rainbows end

of conquest

The dream of power

The dream of the hour

of endlessness

The dream of the dream

The dream-builder reality killer

Yet it’s quite the reverse 

Here I sit and fold and unfold it daily

All pieced together to make a life

The deadline party

Columnar in my important posture 

Glacially speaking from the down low of my throat

With all my ducks

Goal minded

Aphorisms

Just dancing

Man how I dance 

Warehouse

Raw materials come in

Cross dock

Unload and erect

Production begins

Time clock order of operation

Some if not all of the moving parts joined together

Deadline and repeat

It’s a straight shot through the area, although circuitous in elevation. For the rabbit romp. For the coyote whose cries we hear nightly. For the Vietnamese vegetable gardens and the electromagnetic fallout. For the undulating mind too. From a Google map, you see its long green serpentine form pointing directly to downtown in one direction with a view of the mountain in verso. On this path, I have stumbled on turf and mud and trail for some 20 years dragging thoughts of Cervantes and Hokusai every time.

On the Duwamish

A river created from a lack of specificity

Today with its chemistry enriched from airplane parts and papermills

It could be any swamp or bog or slough, but this one is ours

With rich brackish colored mud

That streaks the canvas well

long beach cal

36 hours

rewrite

right left

right wrong

we write wrong

so it is said

if we write and not wrong

that is are rather

fill in our noble assessment

edit that

etc

blacken this

do you know what tale to believe?

thats the news motherfucker

ask again later tic-toc tic-toc

good lightly

god lightly

this page is for distraction only

Styluses

It’s a personal matter one worth sharing to anyone who cares to decipher anything

I guess it seems kind of childish to be sharpening sticks and playing in the dirt

I guess it seems kind of humorous

But if you’ve ever felt bad enough

Paranoid enough

Afraid enough to want to arm yourself

To want to protect yourself

And from what

From others and yes, I’ve said it and thats not too funny or pretty or childish anymore

Hast seen my composition 

No gam for me I assure you 

13 hits of some 48 attempts 

Laughed out of Nantucket

No dinner either 

So here we are

Printing money again 

Yet here, I don’t consider this a weapon any longer

Rather a stylus for writing the subjects at hand

But I would say the guttural qualities of this method are not only a performative, random mayhem or display of some machoness exclusively

It’s just that sometimes everything seems so institutionalized

But more than that, it’s industrialized

That’s what I mean

Industrial paints

From industrial stores

Industrial ideas

And then I realize what I’m making 

something that is created indoors, moved and displayed indoors 

Sold indoors and remains indoors forever 

I am of all these institutions and I am my own little institution as well

Yet before my idea becomes a facsimile that is never to be corrupted 

Let me start from corruption 

A beacon

One day a neighbor came over and asked me to accompany him to his driveway. It was a strange request, considering that we’re not that friendly. Not unfriendly necessarily but standoffish as is the local custom. He led me to his car and more specifically pointed me towards his rear window broken. Protruding from it was an unfinished canvas that laid derelict on my porch for some time. Somehow the wind had caught it sent it sailing some 30 feet in his direction. He said normally he wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it, however even as a mechanic, replacing the glass himself would still cost $3000. That amount later what was my fortune or luck or omen or beacon became with a message to share.