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As I climb from base misery
to the mountain tops of self-mastery
I'm reminded that to remove my mask
precedes these odes to flow

I found myself
on the fields of defeat
where the corridors of power
never seem to meet

You see, I lost myself again
in that merciless unwind
which is not a new place for me
and has been working me over time

But I don't mind the mountain tops
it's where I long to go
I don't mind the mountain tops
it's where my stories flow

When I told myself again
that it's time to let it go
gotta just allow for it
for that short pause, for the plateau

Cause I don't mind the mountain tops
it's where I come and go
I don't mind the mountain tops
it's where my stories grow

So I told myself again
it's time to mend and sew
gotta try and re-learn those things
I forgot to know

I don't mind the tops but
it's the valleys where I rest
no, I don't mind the tops
but it's the valleys I like best

We don't mind the mountain tops
cause from there we flow and flow and flow
through my disabilities:
endured an enablist

it was beyond my masculinity
to stop seeking farther approval

sallying forth into contorted
realities ... humbling and bumbling

along predetermined trails
of oblivion

incontextual servitude
is blissful if done right

like lumberjacks
in forests of gumption

while living within
the synchretic monotony

and becoming
architects for disdain

our composite genius suckling
on ingots of caloric magnificence

while forgetting principles:
art science technology

and supplicating on splurges
converted into gurgles and burps

within this abbreviated lifeway
i strut toward my masculinity

but found my rhythm
on the vector of eternal boyhood

while forgetting to ask:
why does our Mother suffer so?
Jan 26 · 170
Ruffled and Charred
I was a raven once
bumping along on two legs
blundering around in the dark
talking Raven talk

I was enigmatic

I was a hemlock needle once
floating down the stream
waiting to see
who might swallow me

I was enigmatic

I was a young woman once
filled with wonder, attitude,
and
matriarchal potential

I was enigmatic

Then I was a pregnant young woman
filled with wonder, attitude,
and a womb full of
growing child

We were enigmatic

Just as one becomes two,
remember this is true:
Raven brings agency
and misunderstanding

And agency is quite enigmatic

Because agency
is the action that changes
landscapes over time
like water through a canyon

And landscapes of the mind are enigmatic

When Trickster becomes kin,
is a good space to begin ...
with the future rarely clear
and end times always near

By the
moon,
stars,
and Sun,

At
least
we have
perspective

And perspective is forever enigmatic
With thanks to the ODD Gallery, Tara Rudnickas, and Krystle Silverfox for supporting the impetus to create: https://kiac.ca/odd-gallery/current-exhibition/

"Perspective work helps us understand the needs of people who see and work in ways that we don’t understand" Elaine Alec

It is with humility that I attempt to unpack the NW Coast story of how Raven Steals the Light.

With this work, my thought was to step the reader through a hero's journey of sorts. Can you recognize the call to action in How Raven Steals the Light?
Jan 21 · 773
Objectifying Pallina
Sipping cerveza with
Beautiful bocce ***** bowling
Through Pacific sands
While the sun tracks into the horizon
Dec 2023 · 87
Anger (In the Key of Me)
I realized today
Why I've been
So ******* angry

It took me quite
Some time to get here
Cause I was attempting to
Think it through

The thinking through process
Was exhausting
Every time I thought I was there
I realized I had barely begun

My reward for attempting the journey
Was a growing anger
Alive and festering
And a feeling in my heart

Rather than focus on rationality
I began to sit with the feeling
While trying not to take it out
On myself or
Lashing out on those around me
(especially my loved ones)

Trying was trying and
Sometimes it worked
And sometimes did not

While I sat in between
Waiting and wondering if
Maybe the answers could be
Found elsewhere.
The more I felt into this
In those quiet, reflective spaces
The more I was able to
Reorganize my emotions
Which brought me to the conclusion
That my source of anger
Was a feeling.

It did not take me long
Sitting within this
When I began to shift
Into the realization that
This needed to be
Unpacked:

My emotions of anger
Were rooted in the feelings of hurt

I tried to point my finger at a more direct
Source of this pain and
Many people came up
But I could see they were coming from
A place of hurt too
And our hurts were perpetrated on each
Other in a cyclic fashion

Now I was on a roll,
Unpacking the hurt continued to flow
Now I understood that
My feeling and the hurt
Are the product of cycles
That do not serve me

I was starting to embody
This understanding:

These cycles are rooted in
Unhealthy dynamics
Installed and instilled
Within a hierarchy
Infused and embedded
Within the power structures
Of today but
Moreso the power structures of yesterday

This was my call to action

Flowing further
Led me to the knowing that
To assist with restructuring
These dynamics might be the greatest gift
I could give to those I love

Within this knowing, I decided
An army of one
Would not do

So I got to work on building an army of two
Shared at Heart Haven on October 28, 2023 with my EFT cohort.
Here it is ...
My reconciliation statement begins with these questions:
Am I the locus of the problem?
Am I xenophobic?
A supremacist, perhaps?
Certainly neither of those but ...
Am I complicit?
What did I elicit?

Here I am all wrapped up in my trauma bonds
hoping someone will help me to see.
Maybe I am attracted to wounding.
What do I have to do? How am I gonna be?

My pain receptor's cry out:
Feed me!!!
And this is where my attachments are
inflicted
and this is when my attachments are
conflicted

But now I've found some nurturing
and something new is blooming
triggered: guard up
un-triggered: guard down

I am working through my oppressors and
reacquainting myself with allies

It was an invisible war
and it is no more because
my ceremony of innocence
is drowned.
This was written post Emotionally Focused Therapy training in Haines Junction, YT over the ****** Moon, November 2023.
Nov 2023 · 469
welcome to the nonordinary
in this state ...
we follow the drum
dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum

it's a baseline from the numinous
rooted in the luminous
dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum

it's consciousness expanding
and selfishness unbounding
dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum

this thrombosis is cyclical
inspired spirals are psychical
dum-dum, dum-dum, dum-dum
May 2023 · 651
How to Write a Poem
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Every facet within what you’re about to create
blooms from your consciousness, your subconsciousness
your ego, your mind, your heart

But where are those elements planted?
Where are they rooted?

They are rooted within:

your ethnocentric illusions
your lived reality
your privilege, your pleasure, your pain
your abilities, your disabilities
your socioeconomic status: have and/or havenot
your fluency, your empathy, your sense of humour
your vices and your storytelling devices

Now we've got some roots, what are we going to grow?
Let’s begin by observing, using our senses
Maybe, let’s use our eyes
Consider, the reality of how we see and sense the world
Is different for each and every one of us

Everything is tempered by the lens we use
Which is informed through the roots of our synapses
Which empirically flow from the subjective ground
On which we stand

And what does this have to do with poetry?
What you describe in your poem,
Is an interpretation of what you see (and feel)

Interesting poetry comes when
there is exploring to do
It is a poet’s imperative to
Explore the edges
Out past the boundaries of the visual and audible spectrum

If we were fish poet’s
Would we write poetry about water?

I like to toy with my teenagers on occasion
So I asked my son the other day, what his worldview was?
And I have been enjoying the vacuous silence ever since
To be fair, I have been asking myself the same question for many years
And this might have been the inciting incident leading me to storytelling

As we began this journey together, it was stated that
Writing a poem is about locating self.
Can you describe your context?

Let me attempt to describe mine:

Here I am on the stage in this ocean of air
At the Owl Acoustic Lounge
On a Wednesday night in May
Popping air with rhythm, nuance, and a certain je ne ce quoi

Although this poem is not objectively true
Let me attempt to share that
this poem blooms from my developing cosmology
From the overtures of my Overself;
from the undercurrents of the Monomyth,
From my ***** and through my groans of intercession
This poem blooms from oblivion
Threading through philosophy, to worldview, and into a budding cosmology

For myself:
Worldview fell away when I found cosmology while reconnecting with the night sky
That night sky took me places while grounding me concurrently in inner spaces
Where locating self flows into meta-cognitive health,
Well ... that is something to write about
Preparing for Shakaat Artist-in-Residency. Performed at the Owl Acoustic Lounge on May 24, 2023.
May 2023 · 366
Serenading St. Mary
Its a sweetgrass serenade
singing up serotonin
through the cavalcades
and ramparts
that I have been using to
barricade my heart

It's a sweetgrass serenade
when I let those sweet words
slip off my tongue
just like syncopated honey
into the three-stranded braid
of me and you and Him
taking us into those outer places
where we can occupy other spaces

It's a sweetgrass serenade
on our journey to the moon
where I wonder who
is following me cause
on our way back

I'm feeling the exodus
of my past, you know
the part that
no longer serves me.

And in its place...

It's a sweetgrass serenade
singing up serotonin
filling up that empty pocket
with a force of positivity.

Looks like I found a Lifeway
time to let it shine and
step into deep play
Written in August 2019. Performed at open mic night at the Owl with the Lethbridge Poetry crew on August 29, 2019.
May 2023 · 235
Din
Din
Seeking that good kinda din
where I can sit and think again
while sipping my dragonfly gin
letting that distilled infusion
be my medicine
and something not necessarily harmful
to the spirit within

Seeking that good kinda din
where I can sit and think
a remembering why kinda place
so I rode my old bike down
down to my favourite river fork
to offer up gifts
to the Old Man and St Mary
I was grooving with
that sweet and heady inshallah vibe

Just grooving with those
sweet and hearty Inshala vibes
making me feel the opposite of heavy
when a higher self popped up
to remind, treasures buried become
weathered and harried
so I sat down, slipped my shoes and socks off
breathed in deep and got ready

Seeking that good kinda din
where the consciousness be growing again
the kind, you know, where its kinda
like a begin again
Written in August 2019. Performed at open mic night at the Owl with the Lethbridge Poetry crew on August 29, 2019.
Apr 2023 · 235
Mother Earth
What is a mother willing to do?

bleed rhythmically in preparation for you
search relentlessly in preparation for you
fail unflinchingly in preparation for you

eventually, when the time is right
accept the seed in preparation for you
build a nest in preparation for you

This is a universe in motion

Now her body changes as she grows you, and
from her heart she nourishes you
gaia (mythology): http://bit.ly/1ux60jI
Written October 2014

what is a father willing to do?

This poem pairs nicely with https://hellopoetry.com/poem/887692/father-sky/
Apr 2023 · 140
Father Sky
What is a father willing to do?

bleed arrhythmically in preparation for you
search relentlessly in preparation for you
fail unflinchingly in preparation for you

eventually, when the time is right
provide the seed in preparation for you
help build a nest in preparation for you

This is a universe in motion

Now his mind stretches as she grows you, and
gives his heart as she nourishes you
uranus (mythology): http://bit.ly/10K6GqI
Written October 2014

What is a mother willing to do?

This poem pairs nicely with https://hellopoetry.com/poem/887681/mother-earth/
Jul 2020 · 778
Black Birch
when rhymes start poppin'
and beats start flowin'
it's probably a sign
that it's time to get going
maybe just maybe even

((( CAUSE A COMMOTION )))

Now
is the time
where the hero-self
starts bubbling up
which is the time to start stepping
stepping into the presence
stepping out of the prison
and into heaven.


You'll know cause
it be all
effervescing like:
pop, pop, pop

as you turn around, have a see
look up and down
at the old me
and let me confess

I don't like what I used to be

at the same time
we should also admit
that we love that man-boy too
cause he was me and he was you

You see:
he was an egocentric
and a pretender
who was never ever ever gonna be a contender
and let's realize
that to linger to long
is how our past pulls us out of song
:::
refuse to lose that ******
now turn front and centre
leg go
and just
trust, trust, trust

Getting wide awake on these energies?
Let's ride these waves (if you please)
now flow effortlessly
through gross machinations
until energies fizzle
and bond to the enormity
of post-structural Western conformity

I figure it's time
to unsettle debts:
Consternation? Plebiation? Colonization?
What about Subjugation?

:::: THE ONLY WAY OUT ::::
:::: SEEMS TO BE WITHIN ::::

What's wrong with the world today
is that we are sleepwalkin'
<through a lucid dream
of our own creation
while considering
life as profane>

Unfurl your flag
let the mystery free
rise up your fist and shout
Pleiades, Pleiades, I can hear you sing
It's time for us Humans
let's bring down that sweet thing

If you can't put your finger on what happens next
it goes something like this:

We've all been waiting for that
lighthouse bringer, that aetheric singer,
the someone who was willing to point the finger
we just didn't think it was going to be a ginger

Go back to sleep and when you awake
Maybe then you'll know
who's the medicine keeper

If you never learned nothing from Pablo Picasso
is that it ain't no fun being like a big *******

Just funnin' Pablo, don't take no offence
love it how you went swinging for fence
every time you woke up
to live in that moment
it's what you saw and
how you saw it
that makes me feel
~ raw, raw, raw ~

I tried to deconstruct your craft:
it deconstructed me
the only way out of that enigma
was to twist myself up into a new reality

And here
I am sitting
my flag unfurled
in my missed fortune
lost in-between
feeling unseen

A look in the mirror reveals a fractured self
a person separated from collective wealth:
Well **** this!

It.Is.Time.For.Health
Written August 2019
Revision February 2024

Spoken word version on Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/7BdAt

Some of what has been installed within:
Jul 2020 · 1.4k
Plumage
The clock was smiling at us
as if it knew we were lost;
unable to see the path, we continued
along on the wrong side of the ones and zeroes

Tiring of our aimless float;
tiring and lost in the vacuum of our ignorance.
With all kinds of navigational aids to chart our path
we mostly relied upon the compass tattoos over our hearts

Lost in the chasm of our indecision
our bodies and minds listed.
Our attempts to unpack the endless
parcels of our unrest ... proved futile

While  carefully re-learning the ABCs
and re-interpreting the Western Canon
we found that it was only by closing our eyes
that we were able to see; were able to feel.

However, the cadence was off
which was immaterial  as
our feathers were ruffled and
the rhetoric was pluming

With the overture of the new day dawning
we turned our back
on the algorithm of our demise
and shucked off the self-imposed limitation

It was thirty seconds to midnight and
the world that never seemed to want us
needed us now.
Like anemic royalty, we took flight

breathing that rarefied air and
gulping down the nuances of our resilience
to swallow our intergenerational trauma
one last time
Submitted to SAAG writing prize competition on July 1, 2019 (slightly modified version)
Jun 2020 · 1.0k
My Tribe
My tribe is a
mingling of adjacent hues
finding harmony
complementary

My tribe is a
facet of you and me
a mashup of science and art
an education of the heart

My tribe is a
wisdom bringer
a lighthouse singer
over crimson shoals

My tribe is a
ghost dance partner
a symphonies daughter
a shield for fodder

Cause my tribe is peace
like a captainless ship
like a philosophers quip
like a
"I don't know but I'd like to get it right"
kinda trip

My tribe is yearning
curious and learning
rumbling with vulnerability
spilling over with capability

And every time we think we are there
we go a little deeper
but it isn't complicated
because my tribe is love
Written June 8, 2020 in Lethbridge, Alberta

it is not the how, it is the who and the who is you.
Apr 2020 · 337
Scars
living with
dying with
scars

inflicting ~ conflicting
scarred landscapes en-
trained and eroding

pain transporting
grain by grain
these mountains re-framing
and eventually flowing
on to base level and the
Ocean of love

life without scars is anomalous
like a Sun with no aurora

perfectly imperfect
just as life is:
beautiful
a beautiful reminder
of mortality
mirrored in the fluid
dance of the eternal

heaven sent or heaven spent

its never misspent
in post-recompense
morphic resonance

So...
stand
hold space
think about direction
wonder why
then
get ready to fly
Written on Mount Shasta
November 2014
I saw the seeds of the revolution
dawning
crowning

I heard the propositions from vermi-culture
informing the shift
working it out, sifting it out.

I surfed the micro-ripples of influence through
effectures and prefectures and
excused the old guard through heartfelt
conjectures

There was only one logical conclusion so I
quietly and patiently sat in between
with all our relations.

Under the shade of old growth discernment,
I washed through the oceans of my subconscious,
sifted through the compost for kernels, and
mined the midden for wisdom.

New kingdoms arose from that which was expressed.

The raw materials were ubiquitous.
These re-building blocks pointed to
a platform for the gifting economy.

Then one day I woke up zipping around Los Angeles,
toying with a couple of keys,
Sancho Panza and me, all windmills and wizards.

With only one logical conclusion
I took a chance, learned to dance, and
bid my pretence adieu.

Unpredictably, having lost my lance, I won the war.
Now I sit upon my throne with two mats at my door.
One says presence, one says future, and
both are welcome.

Both are welcome because it is here that I found my agency within my sovereignty
through submission.
1st draft was started on December 15, 2019 @ Station Flats. I was looking SW at an awe inspiring sky. Partial re-write on April 2, 2020.
Oct 2019 · 617
When I Write (Relations)
When I write
You might see words
When I write
You might see letters
When I write
You might see space
When I write
You might see time
When I write
You might see boundaries
When I write
You might see energy
When I write
You might see
Oct 2019 · 428
Whispers
I am the poet
I have been whispering obscurities in dark corners for many years now
And I like it that way

I am dark and brooding
Obscure and abstract
And I like it that way

I am the craftsman
Allowing language to consume me
And I like it that way

I am impervious to permanence
And tire of fence sitting
And I like it that way

I am living the rhythm of symbolism so as to
Pawn it as wisdom
And I like it that way

I am the tactician step, step, stepping through
Through the abstract and on to you
And I like it that way

Having found that symbolism rhythm
I am weaning my way off words

Having found my addiction
And now feeling the friction

My addiction isn’t to words though
It’s to whispers

Through the journey from abstraction
And into the rhythm of this reality is
Where I consumed all of it
I even drank down the first person
With a perspective shift and a lime twist for garnish

Now it’s time to inspire
Let's put on our costumes because
Reconciling truths
Aggravates liars

And I like it that way
Read at the Owl open mic night on October 24, 2019
Mar 2019 · 394
Route 66
Caught a moonbeam to Muskogee with a dark angel
Where it started, it's hard to know. Maybe I was a traveller
hitching a ride on an ideology maybe I was trying to find my space,
then she was there and we were sharing space

She was all anodyne and icicles with a presence magnetic and
manner so soothing,
she allowed me to forget
from where I had never
                                          come
                 ­                                  from

And from our first tryst
she was careful to explain that
it is never the shadow bringing the light.
This, of course, illuminated nothing

I was hooked, however, on her ominous banter
Lack of curves, and cubist edges
Hooked and ready for processing:
In her presence, I allowed myself to feel

That I was such a pretty thing
while she kept me under wing...
kept me as her play thing, and
this I allowed for much to long

With her I felt
but could not see
thus I paid the price for wading
into the shallow end of identity

We journeyed through the desert
for a thousand years while I satisfied
my thirst with a state of dementia and
was rewarded with emptiness for doing the time

This infatuation transformed my youth into
disenchanted wisdom and I finally understood that
It’s never the shadow that brings the light
Which for some reason, illuminated everything

Once you know that
you can find freedom in addiction,
wealth in poverty, purity in excess,
then step by step, ferociously

you can find peace
at the top of the mountain
while losing your identity
and finding your self
1, 2, 1, 2, 3...
Feb 2019 · 1.1k
Owl Asks Who
I
am of
vulnerability
authenticity
empathy
fun and
assertion.

I
am of
devotion
humbleness
health
tolerance and
skill.

I
am of
perseverance
learning
pathology
deviance and
contrivance.

I
am of
purging
expanding
contracting
worth and
contrition.

I
am of
polity
deference
you
me and
verbosity.

I
am of
humour
kindness
kindred
kin and
Ki.

I
am of
the salt
of the earth
of the wind
of the fire
of the driving rain
and the
glaciers crevasse.

Who am I?

I am one of your tribe
and I need you tonight.
There's something about you
Jan 2019 · 181
Canary Song
You look at me like I'm weak
I am
Weakness is bending
Not breaking
It's how I show my strength

You look at me like I'm dark
I am
Darkness is light
Not reflecting
It's how I show my breadth

You look at me like I'm lost
I am
So far from shore yet
Not drowning
It’s how I show my depth

You look at me like I'm ill
I am
Illness is health
Not refracting

And when I admit this, it’s to my advantage
Nov 2018 · 632
Raspberry Ridge
In a meadow of wildflowers
under a warm blanket of alpine aromas,
a gusting front gives warning
of impending change yet we sit, observing
as the sun also rises into the moons embrace
July 21, 2018
Sep 2018 · 2.2k
Bulk Barn
Working your way out of ionic ******* can be
seriously interesting however, it can also be
lugubrious.

I was standing in the aisle at Bulk Barn.
low on neutrinos, I was looking to stock up
I like to sprinkle them on my cereal in the morning

I then made my way down the anti-photon aisle
if you like your coffee black and not sweet, as I do
this is almost as good as other alternatives

I did realize that
my electron supply was fine
but thought I'd get some anyway
just for the ion-y

I don't understand the economics of this transaction
but it is apparent the invisible hand does

When the clerk looked in my basket
I was waved through
Working my way out of ionic *******, lol
Aug 2018 · 4.9k
/ colonized \
/                        been                       \
/                      thoughts                    \
|                           my                           |
|                         have                          |
|                  LANGUAGE                  |
|                           my                           |
|                            by                            |
|                 INFLUENCED                 |
|                              is                             |
|                            feel                            |
|                              or                              |
|                              do                              |
|                              or                              |
|                            want                            |
|                              or                              |
|                              say                             |
|                                i                                |
|                             that                             |
/                     EVERYTHING                     \
/                                   if                                   \

                  
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                                ^
| language instructs | the way we think |
^                                   ^                          ­      ^
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                          ­      ^
This poem is rooted in play. If you read this poem in a linear fashion based on the rules of the English language, it will be nonsensical as if Jabberwocky wrote it.

If you take a step back and look at the form and structure and forget a little of what you think you know then you might understand how the narrative flows. And if you dig a little deeper, you might find a few Easter eggs for further contemplation.
Aug 2018 · 1.4k
Waiting for the Moon
Think about it,
She off-handedly remarks:
Formality is separateness

Lost in one of the nebulous folds
Of my cerebellum
I acknowledge her comment with a thousand yard stare

Eagle eyed, I surf a warm updraft
To rise above it all
But I can't slip the prison of pre-conception

Amuse me, she says.
Whisper me your pretty little lyrics,
Sing me your song

You have one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever met
I brazenly tell her, and
My minds eye is full of anticipation

I know it’s pedantic
I am not so romantic
Maybe we should not peel back the veneer, but

A peak

It’s inexplicable

Naive and unassuming, with
Bashful sincerity, and
An enduring patience

Awaken: open your eyes
The serpent goddess counsels

And you will find your way
Written January 6, 2016 with insight from Cath Maige Tuired
Jan 2018 · 810
<>Between<>the<>Bars<>
I saw a good person do a bad thing once
I thought I was a good person but I did a bad thing once, too

Have you ever seen a good person do a bad thing?
Have you ever been the good person doing a bad thing (on occasion)?

Have you ever seen...
<>the bars that imprison you?<>

Have you ever been...
<>the bars that imprison you?<>

There is a potential to be stuck behind the words & letters...
of this Song to the Open Road

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

But look at the stars

|               |               |               |

And look at the bars

|A|n|d| |re|a|l|i|z|e| |t|h|e| |j|a|i|l|e|r| |i|s| |y|o|u|
Listening to Madeleine Peyrou's version of Between the Bars. Orion is having a good time laughing at my antics. Me? I am just ******* around with semantics while riffing on the Jailer's Daughter. Peace begins with empathy.
Jan 2018 · 987
Traversing the Luna Sea
In the crows nest
Wind burnt and ruddy
From past navigational
Errors. Wearing stripes earned
While traversing the
Luna Sea

I see a new world
It smells as fresh
As a newborns
Head, and
As promising as a

:::Higgs Boson:::

Unwinding paired bases
And just-in-cases
Leaving no traces, and
Sharing open spaces

A gossamer trail,
it seems, might
~prevail~
Meta~navigating gossamer game trails. . .. ... .....
Jan 2018 · 1.9k
A Function of Structure
There was a big boom once

Population dynamics are intrin-
sic functions of gumption
and big booms echo in eternity.

I look at the industrial revolution
through infrared filters
to parameterize the haze of our lives using

a kaleidoscope landmarking
technique andor technology
where the function of plutocracy

(and it is taking shape)

while it resonates on post-reformations
and pre-modernisms
How do you like them schizms?

Living the religion of
capital ~ ism
and paying homage on prayer mats of

blood ~ sweat ~ and 1, 2 many beers
through our blue collar dollars and
masonry jars and crossroads guitars

(and between the bars)

of our own creation.
Now moving toward remediation
and un-plebiation.

I cried vermouth and reconciliation while
they expunged truth and trylobytes.
The inevitability always bubbles up.

And in the trailer park of our lord: 2017
Ricky and Julian and Bubbles
pay homage to a great poet lost: Mr. Lahey.

(within the mystery of our own creation)

Thus we toast to: The Theatre of Life
"Birds of a shitfeather flock together" ~ Mr. Lahey ~
Jan 2018 · 252
Anti~logic
I’m a logician
A tic-tac-tician
Accountable to
Me

Bringing it day andor
Night
It’s time to get
Into My groove

Cause ... caustic ... causality
Tom waits for no one.
And the Earth died screaming while you and I lay dreaming
Jan 2018 · 688
Un-singulation
Epiphanies inside hypocrisies
Dionysus whispering prophecies
Chasing game theory trails
During the trials and tribulations

Of our workaday bungalow bills
Enduring quills of porcupine hills
I got a pistil, you got a rose
He Rose after a three day haze

Inside a purple manic depression
With Axl grease and Travolta eyes
We took our face-off and un-caged
Our subconscious in a

One and a half story, morning glory
Jan 2018 · 75
Meta~Principles of Value
Take YOUR medicine
Own your medicine
Be the medicine you want to see in the world
Architecture waiting to be embodied
Boxes and boxes of un~buried treasure

No time for writing the stories
Already in extra time, flitting about and anxious for
Focii to make themselves known thus leveraging the
Many vertices of an under~powered power structure

To repair the leaking forms
Of our realities, seeking assistance
In bringing to life that which
Dreams are made of

Built on soul iron or iron in the soul
I prefer the latter to the former
Not really enjoying those entities who
Extract rather than add value

Willing to teach and learn and flow
As cupid and psyche dance the roomba
Soul butter >>>> and schtuff
Jan 2018 · 278
Average
I was de~meaned once
And I enjoyed it

I am not a sadomasochist
However, I do like being further from average
Not a soulless soldier, just a mostly impeccable warrior
The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.

Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.

You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: *******, *******, *******, *******.  All ******* for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******* keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******* structure that holds up the ******* truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******* structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.

The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.

You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.

The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.

So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!
Bitcoin me, I am ready to fill up this empty vessel of a wallet
Nov 2017 · 1.1k
Grandeur
Delusions of
Futures untold
Created for
Us, you know: the un-bold

Braying our compulsions
To the big ear in the
Sky
As we seek:

Glor if i ca tion
Being meek likely won’t bring
Gra tif i ca tion
Dulling my senses points to
Stu pif i ca tion
But don’t I deserve it, I am a
Hall u cin a tion

So why put in the work?
I’ll wait

<<<PAUSE>>>

The avalanche will find me in perpetuity
Coming in time cause I been shirking duty
Oh, here it is - time for me to be:
Aggrieved

I should’ve known better but I was:
Deceived

I just wanted to tell my truth, I wanted to be:
Believed

Wish I woulda kept something up my:
Sleeve

So how do you rise above?

Do you got what it takes?
Could you climb your
Kilamanjaro?
With a little training maybe
Gut check: find your bravado
Wouldn’t it be nice to have your own number,
Like Avogadro

And I ask again,
How do you rise above?

You breathe it in
Seethe it in
Find a vessel to
Conceive it in
Now that it’s full
And maybe even overflowing

Let it go

Trying to find answers in a bottle
Could point you toward
A 12 step mis-step

Getting back on the right track:

Use a compass
That’s internal
Realign it, maybe
Through a vernal
Equinox, the universe speaks a language
We are untaught
It’s of the Earth and Sky and
Can’t be bought
Maybe it’s me and
Maybe it’s not
I want to commune with my god
Through thought and
Heartfelt overtures that aren’t constrained
By limitations of my brain
Or systems based on economics
My value is not gleaned from
Gross Domestic Products

Answers are found as you expand past the vessel
You may become part of the trestle
Follow the false path long enough
And you get trod under
The false pathfinder becomes the path,
Did you make a few to many navigational errors
Cause you didn’t do the math
And now, as a part of the foundation of which the unending wayfarers
Can use to go a little further and a little longer in the wrong direction
Your hard work has become a bridge to nowhere
But let’s not dwell, cause

Scrupulosity
Will never guide you to the golden city

Maybe its the meat suit that you’re wearing
The overcomplexity of your eyes
That won’t let you see
The unending nerve endings that make you feel so much
You can’t feel, you won’t feel
You could pay heed to Seneca
Consider giving the suit a slip
Taking a trip
Through the underworld
With everybody’s favourite sidekick: Virgil
Kickin’ it, workin’ it
Trying not to let the lost souls hold you down
Throw you down
Now it’s time, let’s start coming around

On my journey, seems
I can’t shake em’
Me, myself, and my shadow-self
Guess I’ll try and integrate em’

Time for a va ca tion
From thoughts that won’t un-
wind, in breezes

Gonna get around to it, to
Writing my treatise
Maybe I can elucidate this false peace
Via an army of one, en masse
Slipping through the bars of false
Beliefs
As the trees
Lose their leaves

Maybe for the last time

I'm working on the unwind
From a labyrinth that is unkind
So sorry:
Guess I'm playing up the sublime

Ah, never mind - it’s
Navel gazing
Self hazing
I ain’t done razing

Roofs and
Telling truths
Or drinking
Vermouth
Cause at my very root I am
Uncouth

Razing?
Or raising!
Roofs
Finding proofs
Telling truths

Ever listen to Ruf-
Us or Martha
The Wainrights
Canadian brain-trust
Listen too hard make your brain bust

Let’s get back to navels, or
Oranges
But nothing rhymes with oranges
Maybe not
Gotta flip it
Tryna strip it
This noose is so tight
Can I slip it?

It’s geometrical
Said Euclides
We got the Greeks
Or do the Greeks got us
Squeezing us into this euro-centric
Box
Can it be un-wrapped?
Can you un-rap this poem?

Busting brains
And taking names
No one to blame, I
Don’t feel ashamed
When I win
Just means I can take it
In my shin
It’s got nothing to do with my
D N A, eh
Nor the choice piece of geography
I made the conscious choice to arrive on,
genetically

But remembering brevity
It’s time to cut the rambling for the sake of levity
Speaking of sake, I wouldn’t mind some saké

Oh, what’s that:
~~~ boom ~~~
Pulled another one out of my medicine bag

Just sitting here

Shifting gears
Confronting fears
Yesterday I was

Bleak
Er

Meek
Er

Should have been a
Streak
Er

Laying out the facts that are
untold
Thanks for listening to me
Another one of the
un-bold
I've got rambling. I've got rambling on my mind
Jul 2017 · 410
Sunshine in His Eyes
Have you ever had one of those Astral Weeks?
Asks the man with sunshine in his eyes,
It was all looking a little bleak
Before finding another one of those highs
Let it flow, let it go? Let us listen to the slow river speak:

-“There has not been for a long time a spring
as beautiful as this one; the grass, just before mowing,
is thick and wet with dew. At night bird cries come up from the edge of the marsh, a crimson shoal lies in the east till the morning hours.”

Flowing through those undercurrents:
Under a sky filled with towering cumulonimbus,
The chill of a long, long night always nipping, now slipping
Maybe, it is a simple reminder,
To go out and find her,
As I long just to hold her tight.

And the slow river speaks:

“The gates of the earth torn open, the key
to the earth revealed. A star is greeting the day.”

Awaken Trickster, bring on the nefarious and teach
us to laugh gregarious-
ly at the shames we allow others to install
deep in our sub
ordinates, can’t figure out these coordinates. Where
are those landmarks that will guide me back.
Earth dividing, plates colliding. The thrombosis
compells me to dive yet a little deeper. More pressure, I hope,
will let me see a little clearer. And mitosis: the warrior is there
and always has been: my impeccable self. Maybe I am
a little closer to filling this vessel

And the train whistle blows

Do not let it pull you under
these currents, that thunder, or maybe don’t fight it
alight it
let your soul and spirit and fly

Have you ever had one of those astral weeks?
I ask as I look at the sunshine in my eyes, I think
it was all looking a little bleak
before finding another one of those highs

Let it flow, let it go, let the slow river speak:

-“Three times must the wheel of blindness
turn, before I look without fear at the power
sleeping in my own hand, and recognize spring,
the sky, the seas, and the dark, massed land.”

Welcome to my castle
as we flow out of the mystic
~Riffing on a few favourites: a mash-up of Van, Czeslaw, and friends. Just finished listening to Dylan's 2016 Nobel lecture - what a mind!
Dec 2014 · 927
Awaiting
Awaiting my orders to stand down
I roll myself another roll-your-own
Mullein style ~ Amber whisps
Shared with the wind and soil

My orders never come
So the decision is made for me
Standing orders are ******* by physical limits
I fall asleep on my feet

I stand down
By sleeping while I stand

Tough job
This is zombie work
Why do we let the vampires
Drink our blood
Just like the kids in
Art school said they would

i got soul but I'm not a soldier
Lyrics excerpted from Arcade Fire
Dec 2014 · 652
A Milky Way
Written outside an OXXO*

I took a bite out of a Milky Way last night.

If you're playing god then you have to delve into such tomfoolery...checked Google news...checked NASA websites. No news is good news!

No headlines are good headlines, so I finished it. Tossed the wrapper, was still buzzing from the corn syrup...so I went back in and grabbed a Snickers...the glycemic index is a little different on this one...wonder what Google news will say about this?
OXXO is kinda like a 7-11 only Mexican
Dec 2014 · 275
Give Thanks [5w]
is pointless
                or pointillism
so
Dec 2014 · 305
Poetry Saves Lives [5w]
It's all in the telling
Inflection perceptions
Dec 2014 · 1.2k
Dragon of Love
From the Songs of the Arcturians

In an Octopuses Garden

On the edge of the Luna Sea

Turquoise and aquamarine hues

Chasing away the blues

Synesthesia is complete

The monkey goes cheep, cheep, cheep
Abbey Road is still spinning in the background as I float along visiting Islands in the Stream (Hemingway)
Dec 2014 · 761
Walking down Abbey Lane
Following les Beat en less path
A little mixed up
Yup

One sweet dream came true today
Came true today
Came true today (Yes it did)

One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven
One two three four five six seven
All good children go to Heaven (fade out)


Where did the ring go?
Lyrics from You Never Give Me Your Money
Dec 2014 · 293
Thotin [10w]
Which way the wind blows
                         the wind blows for thee
Dec 2014 · 403
Who Am I?
I am I
In the spirit world
I am I
In the living world
I am I
In the dying world
I am I
In the body
I am I
In the mind
I am I
In the soul
I am I
who who
                  who who
Dec 2014 · 328
Be Silent from a Jazz Man
Be silent

Consume

Die
Sitting in the White Horse ~ El Caballo Blanco ~ having a cerveza ~ hanging out with a sax player, Roscoe, who used to shoot the breeze with Ginsberg
Dec 2014 · 13.8k
Changency is a meme
My essay, Changency, is a meme
This meme has been growing inside of me
I've been a carrier
Many of us have been

I'm not a benevolent character though
I've been purposely placing the memetic material on blankets
And leaving the blankets in local trading posts
I call these 'trading posts' bookstores, universities, colleges, schools...coffee shops, pubs, restaurants, etcetera

The beautiful thing is that these memes aren't really on blankets
The memes are encoded on the backs of knowledge, truth, and authenticity
They come from a place of pain
Evolution can be painful (but does it have to be?)

Three dimensions are easy to comprehend
Four, sure just add time
What about spacetime?
And a fifth dimension...I don't really know what that means...but some do and they're watching, listening, waiting, and loving us
Dec 2014 · 991
MA at the Luna Sea
Aaron: "Hi, I'm Aaron and I'm a (recovering) misogynist"

All: "Hi Aaron. Welcome!"

Aaron: "I wonder how much longer we can **** and pillage the feminine with a clear conscience?"

All: "Who has a clear conscience?"

Crowd: A few raise their hands . . . more than you would think . . .

Gestapo for Good: Furiously taking notes . . .

Aaron: "I don't know what you're gonna do about it, I don't even know what I'm gonna do about it . . ."

All: "You don't need to know, just don't shut out that feeling"

Aaron: "I'll do my best"

All: "Then you are"

Aaron sits down
Bill stands up

Bill: "Hey, hey, hey I'm Fat Albert" *(in a sad clown voice)
An ode to ironing (or straightening things out) . . . you know ~ women's work! Inspired by the Grandmothers and Sharon McErlane and just about every woman and many men that I've known!
Dec 2014 · 608
Aleph and the Opiuchus
Welcome to the Agora
We've got fun 'n' games
We got everything you want
Honey, we know the names
We are the people that can find
Whatever you may need
If you got the money, honey
We got your disease

Now I'm talking 'bout Borges' Aleph
And Opiuchus not Oedipus

Crossing the ecliptic
On serpentine stomach

Bridging the realms
On land and under

Our spirits
To plunder

Nope
That's a blunder

Time to bring the New World
To the Old

Red Rover, Red Rover
We call Columbus over

You can taste the bright lights
But you won't get them for free
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Feel my, my, my serpentine
I, I wanna hear you scream
Lyrics borrowed from McKagan, Adler, Rose, Stradlin
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