Any time someone brings up politics I’m liable to ask ‘So, the sun is due to supernova in three brazillian years, are you worried about that?’

Well no.

But why not? Is it because nothing you could possibly do would have one iota of an effect on it?

Right. Now you see my point about politics.

I say Think locally, act locally. The globe is the solar system is the galaxy is the universe, and it would take a lifetime to understand a single city block.

This land is your land, this land is my land

don’t hate america for her politicians

let’s shun the red white and blue

make a flag from me and you

bravery and individuality

will be our prime evils

predilections and traditions shall be

slathering suggestions & stumbling towards interests

you be my enthused muse and i will

slather paint on canvases

for a while while we’re here

in the greatest country in the world –

our own


A man sees a rose and gets to thinking about possession. About being the one who grew that rose. About soils and climates and terroir and can he grow something to sustain him as well? And not only sustain but satisfy his desires?

A woman sees a rose and gets to thinking about possession. About being worthy of the rose, about her friends seeing her with it, and wondering who gave it to her, and wishing they had men who gave them roses.

Way Of The World

We prefer to pretend that history had her driving forces when in fact she’s been driven by individual men seeking profits. I prefer it this way – it gives it a tinge and vibrancy that the single-motivator model lacks.

Our games of course teach us otherwise. Take chess. In chess we rule absolutely. In reality my left flank would be covered by a knight who’s seducing a woman in b4, and getting a payoff for taking out black’s second pawn, and harkening to build a villa in f2.

On the radio I hear a classic paradox – An axe passed down through the generations is claimed to be Lincoln’s Axe. yet the handle and the head have been replaced multiple times… Or say

you get ‘beamed up’

like in Star Trek. Are you still you, or someone just like you?

Who cares if you’re someone just like you, as long as you still get to be you?

You can’t let paradoxes freeze you. I think we bust them out on kids and it really limits them. Makes them think they can never understand the world. When it’s not true at all. The world is imminently understandable. it’s incredibly detailed, and if you zoom in close then you can enjoy the multitudinous nuances. But at broad enough zoom the world is incredibly simple.

Poetry Scrap

a tiny bit dramatic…

what happened to happening?

old winds blow through pneumatics

being being the art of not doing

slugging, drunk while cold sober

elbowing & shouldering through the crowd

syrupy weather warm with cool breezes

to the sea – her weeds

Poseidon & Triton

tidal episodes, cyclicality

the old pendulum, elephant & donkey

while the polluted bickering extends

i’ll be under the table with friends

rhyme & reason ain’t treason

mother but don’t fucker mine

just come sit play a while –


When there’s no religion anymore, everything’s religion, everything’s a phase, everything’s hoodoo for worship. I love it. We ought to make it up ourselves, damn it, not retreat into irrelevant wisdoms!

Nonetheless I retain the jester’s predilection to poke fun – lovingly I tell you, lovingly! I’d give anyone a hug…

My Gods mock your nine minute mile

here come the joggers

slamming knees and ankles

into pavements & asphalts

all grimaces and convictions

used to be a distance runner

now you’d have to pay me –

I run wind-sprints on Torrey Pines beach

bench & squat iron in my little sweatroom

some guy in 24-Hour fitness

squatting under two-fitty

wail and swim of birth – releasing!

joggers look so constipated…


Drug into the swamp of politics by some juicy headlines espied this morning while waiting for my morning capp –

Katrina relief swamped with fraud
NASCAR throws book at cheaters
150 Iraqis dead in blast
Iraq goals not likely to be met
  • Uh… maybe we ought to let NASCAR handle large-scale disaster relief efforts in the future? Just an idea…
  • We’re not ready to meet God / The Aliens / whatever-you-subscribe-to-as-the-higher-power until this reads ‘150 dead’ and the outrage stops the lattes from flowing if only for a moment. (Maybe someone whould start a site called that lets you bid on many have to die before you’ll acknowledge it somehow? And then they text you when something happens…)
  • I don’t buy this Iraq goals not being met bullshit. Weren’t the goals of Iraq a) To raise the price of oil so that oil men (uh, Bushie?) may profit b) To hand out ludicrous reconstruction contracts so that loyalists (uh, Dick?) may profit?
  • Last year I offered one thousand dollars to any mass-media reporter with the balls to ask Bush ‘Where the fuck is Osama?’. This year I’m upping it to $1500. Wanna put up some cash? Contact me. Let’s turn this into something big, get on the news, etc. ‘Cause seriously George – Where the fuck is Osama?

Ok, that’s enough politics for awhile. Going back to my silly poetics and novelistic intentions

Apple Hill

Just a humble poem about simple sensual pleasures on a magical late-summer afternoon in the Sierra foothills. I wrote it last summer – it didn’t seem to need much editing. Enjoy.

Apple Hill

Smashing walnuts
with a berry stained fist
under a shade tree
on top of an apple hill

Grapes ripening
not ten feet from the table
in Sierra foothill sun and
I’ve been inside tasting wine.

I haven’t dreamt for five nights now
a sign that we’re traveling
and good things are happening
while the sun is out –

This lunch of mine cost $3.89
which included two heads of garlic
for sauteing later with pasta
on my white-gas camp stove