There are some evenings…

You just happen to tilt you head back and dusk is already right in front of your face.

Sometimes it’s just you, sometimes, some dude taps on your shoulder and while pointing straight upward he goes “Hey…look at that!”

And of course you’re gonna look, ‘cause what’s to see is just not real.

The sun is suddenly more than a big ball of flaming gas, the clouds more than some vapor. This red hot blood spread across the sky seems to come right from your veins.

You gaze into this huge scenery and you realize that it’s taking everything away. No more endless commute to your office, no more ******* for your missing pencil sharpener, no more reports, boss, todesangst… ****… for what it’s worth girls don’t even have ***** anymore.
Right that moment, it’s all burning along with the clouds and slowly sinking.

Then you just have enough time to blink twice and it’s dark already. Daddy Sun is gone to his other family.

You’re still there though, staring at nothing, feeling your existential mess creep back up your spine, cramped between the pencil sharpener and some girl’s *****.

What are you supposed to do then?

You’ve just been the enlightened Zen monk from the movie for a full minute, and now papa’s gone home, you’re back to your old whiny self. **** it up.

How are you supposed to return to your everyday’s plasma screen craving and internet **** when you feel you’ve just been dumped by the Sky itself?

I mean… how are you supposed to survive a sunset?

His eyes burned 2 holes in the mountain
when he sat for years, 'till
they let him in

He threw all your old books in the oven
saying, you can like the tales
but they ain't sacred

Theravada or Zen?

It used be Theravada
Little did I know of Buddhist scrolls
Just a couple of commandments
obsessed with death
and a-clinging to enlightenment
Everything I did was with dharma and importance

Then it went to Zen, anything goes
absurdist, all for enlightenment
except overly polite ritual hymns
What’s up with that
when you don’t fear death?

Now I’m sort of back to Theravada
With a hint of roots Zen, Bodhidharma
But devotedly, I’ll take none of it all
Why believe in enlightenment?
Just appreciate the fall
changes

...**** It

Killed a moth on principle last night
I saw it outside standing on my air-conditioning
Then I found it inside after I turned my air-conditioning off
Climbed in through the silent vent
and orbited my light bulb l006 times
Before I killed it with a sock
and whipped it one more time into the lamp’s brass base
Almost saved a moth on principle last night
Rationality’s a sham and you know it
The moth said in the morning
I found it clung to my lampshade, dead
with white **** coming out from under a wing ripped in half
Life is a sham we all share

Are you the dynamic person you said you are 4,000 years ago? With no intoxication the conversation’s a bore. The stakes aren't high enough. I’m conditioned by the narrative and we’re all pretentiously pedantic, spewing poison at the heroic romantics.

I've lost my coper’s cloak. I remember how I dropped the dry ones at the river bank, I cut off my imitator’s finger, and as I fell into the tiger’s pit, I grasped a strawberry to make me sweeter. I crowned the beast a hero, cause out of perfect tiger dharma he tore off the limb that led him from his prison. Yet, the human dharma is to save all beings from our reckless peering.

Some things change
and some things take longer
You say he’s always the same
well one day he’ll die
and won’t say a thing
Was he quiet all his life?
Well he didn’t look like bones
Now he’s eating worms
Somethings change and somethings take longer
Take long steps
and you won’t notice the footprints, getting
larger or smaller
A limp in his walk
His back starts to arch
a new way
except it’s always been empty
Always full of change
no matter how sharp you are
you will be forgotten
All the books about you
burned by a tyrant
All the progress made
is dead
Some things change
and somethings take longer
Put them together
and every thing is empty
Everything is empty.

And someday the truth will seep
Schizos, and friends who took too much, will be right
Truth seeping from the sewers and dampening
the carpet (basement first, upper floors later)
Then it will seep through our eyes
and our ears, some veins may burst
with all we found out
Our dark eye lidded friends holding the cigarettes
their stories will be true
There’s a New World Order being crafted
We didn’t land on the Moon. No sky
just a big planetarium around
The relatives of politicians, their children, etc.
picked out for some reason (which hasn’t seeped to us yet) from
random families at the hospital, or homeless on the street
Plastic surgery happens, so they all look believable as a family
and then everyone gets hypnotized not to tell, with pills and chanting
Cause secrets are never safe
just look how they seep
They live in satellites (watchtowers within the planetarium sky)
and wear nothing but white and clip their fingernails perfect, everyday
They think they know all
But he’s not as close
as yogi bear guru atop a peak point
that seeps up his ****** hole
He collects his bark and snow
at what the men in the tower label, 4 AM
then he sits and convinces himself
that everything’s fake, even himself
Convinces, for the least amount of reason possible

Dropped into perestroika events
and I don’t really know myself.
I talk differently than my driving desires
I’m a less apt projection of who I want to be.
I can honestly say sometimes I might be the original
but that’s a last resort in boring places.
Someone once had a quote
about how it’s foolish to know yourself.
But I get so **** scared.
Nothing to hold.
Not even a floor for my shoes.
Not even sure what shoes best suit me.
I’m free to make this soul go anywhere,
Yes, Mr. Voltaire, ****** too free.
Mr. Holy Roller says Jesus already came with his plow truck
and paved a way for me.
But which ways did he pave,
God, where will it all lead?
God, which way is best for me?
Still I might not be supposed to know myself,
But The Self
that we all share.
You and me babe.
and that dog and that deer
and that grass and that car
and that lamp post.
All the same.
All the universe’s
and all the other universes’ weight on my head
that keeps being ****** into a vortex
in between where everything’s all the same goop.
All the same stuff. What am I doing living with it?
******.

“Whoever observes himself arrests his own development. A caterpillar who wanted to know itself would never become a butterfly.” -Andre Gide

So dusty,
what's the harm
Another shell of skin to cling to our jeans and old sweaters
Swallow it down with our table top soft butter
and the cowboy leather in our insides
will make us infinitely tougher

Barfing nails longer than the ends of gypsy hands
to scratch the antagonists
in our crystal ball's plans
Sorry, but bloodiness is what
my trombonist destiny demands
I'll slide you a swan song
to contemplate dark magick's sand
that spirals down the throat of the hourglass man
In 100 years time,
our empty glass bodies
will tip from the wind of a fan
held by a butterfly drifting through a faraway land

Hell, so why do we care
when anything at all goes wrong?
Yes, Devil most evil
I address you and everyone else
who resides in your throng
He just lit an unfiltered cigarette
said "just enjoy the song
and ******* lighten up a bit
Think your dead and burning
use your imagination
Whatever's in your head
you're it."

"Meditate"
Tattoo my brain with infinity
Cure shallowness
bring about contentment
cause we're all blameless in our small existence.  
I truly believe meditation's not an end
When, before, I thought it was the key to heavenly eternity
I broke another misconception
It's all you need for eternity
No, just me
Nothing without me, that's free
A being being it.

"Social Mara: Lord of False Appearances"
Searching for past life memories
effigies of more miserable days
painted positively with the longing of their highlights
and the possibilities we already threw away

My present just hangs, suspended in contemplation
for tip of the brain answers
Need to reach the primitive stem
Just live, now
I think the way is already paved
by these split second sparks through the cauliflower mush
Instinct.

"A Ceaseless Conquering of the Unconquerable: A Love for Becoming"
Weird coincidental sayings and labels
Think things, or some happenings
come full circle
Like a defense of solipsism
a dream shared by the lucid
This is my world
and I only almost have control
Stomach in Shambala shambles
Can I face sobriety with a drunk childish high
from the atman in my eyes?