There are rare people
who thrive
in disaster experiences
who find new love
who find a new way
who find that less
really sometimes is more
who find something spiritual
in the midst
of all the great suffering
that most of the people endure.

There is this thing
called losing your mind
that everybody
seems to want to do
and there is this thing
called losing your mind
that nobody
seems to want to do.

So here's the story -
Jesus will come down
from the sky
in a space ship
and **** all of us
with his magic
energy blasting *****
and we will all have
such an enormous ******
that we will all have
a delicious heart attack
and then
in clouds with lotus blossoms
we will float up
into the sky, laughing,
and wind up
in paradise
where God
will have shaved
off his big beard
and come out
from behind
the judicial bench
and just shoot the ****
with us all
and we will write poetry
and eat grapes
and paint and sing
for eternity
or at least
for a long time.

When studying Zen
in Minneapolis,
the Roshi
referred to mind
as a monkey,
but later
in Ann Arbor,
Sunim
referred to mind
as Buddha,
so,
since I like monkeys
and think they are Buddhas, too,
I love the mind,
even if it can be
a pain in the ***, sometimes.

This present, perfect moment
is the end of eternity
and the beginning of eternity
at the same time.
That's why we say
that ordinary, everyday life
is the great way.
Nobody seems to believe it.

This green desk
is something beyond
my mind
because
it goes back
to the twilight
of my frat brother
and my fat father
who are long gone
my dad is dead
and my brother
divorced the family
so the green desk
remains
with me sitting here.

Sometimes,
the best teachers
in our lives
are the dumbest.
I include
the mean guys
and the mean girls.
And let's not forget
the mentally ill.

I'm being watched.
It's not paranoia.
I'm being watched.
You are looking at me.
I'm a poem.

I have, on my computer,
two sound generating devices
which I meditate on
for healing reasons
and I am on
a Dharma network
which has photographs
of Yantras, which are those
geometrical designs
that I meditate on
for healing reasons
and I don't know
if I am healed by these things
or not
but it sure is a trip!

Sometimes I'm the boss
and sometimes he's the boss
so we get along pretty good
and sometimes we're both bosses
and sometimes neither of us
are bosses so everything
is just peachy.

The form of Sijo is basically the following -

3     4
4     4

3     4
4     4

3     5
4     3

Where each number represents a phrase of syllables, with a line break in between (space over about five spaces). In three stanzas of two lines each, the first stanza is an introduction, the second stanza is a development of the first, and the last stanza is a conclusion. See some of the examples of Sijo inside.

So, long ago
we had the Renaissance Period,
and then there was
the Baroque Period,
and then there was
the Classical Period,
and then there was
the Romantic Period,
and then we got to
the Twentieth Century,
and we called it modern
and we called it contemporary
but we can't use
those words anymore,
so I say
we call it
the Weird-*** Period,
where every artist,
musician, playwright,
composer, poet,
and so on,
were doing weird-****.
I love this period.
So, in the sixties or so
we had the killing
of music
by John Cage
in his silent piece,
and the death
of painting
in the blank canvas,
and there must have been
a blank piece of paper
that was a poem,
and then
we had the rebirth
of art
in the work
of the minimalists,
and of course,
don't forget
the conceptual artist
who had himself shot,
so now,
we are well into
the Twenty-First Century,
so it must be
the Post Weird-*** Period,
but maybe
we should call it
the Bizarro Period,
or something like that.

Buddha discovered
the absolute equality
of everything
but us lesser beings
need the brilliance
of descriminating
among the many millions
in order to uncover
what is right
for us
like this stone
around my neck
which I found out about.

This moment
has a car
driving by
and all
of the little clicking
and humming
with a jet
in the sky
as the wind softly dies down
and a bird calls
to the air.

A friend once wrote
that my soap opera
was the sound
of a lawnmower
and he seems
to be right,
right now,
as I listen to one
growling outside.

The hair parts      on the right side
reminding him     of all the grease

that needs soap     for the haircut
in a winter     that has some hair

growing up     on top of the heads
of the people     who they are!

When I was a kid,
I was in a group
of other kids,
called Indian Guides,
and it was a bunch
of suburban Dads
with their suburban children,
playing at being
Native Americans,
so I thought
that it was a Mickey Mouse
organization,
but now
that I am sixty years old,
I have gotten back
to playing
Native American,
by playing
authentic musical instruments
in my own way
and singing and dancing
in my own way
and saying a poem
in the early morning
to the Great Spirit,
so I may be
a phony,
but it does something
to me
that is moving
and peaceful.

I signed up
as a young hippie
on the side
of the losers
in the world,
the poor, the homeless,
the refugees, the starving,
the mentally ill, the physically disabled,
and so on
so that is where
I am,
on the losing side
here with us poor poets
who work long hours
for nothing,
but I figured it out
that even though
I am depressed
about my place in life,
this place is what I love
and the people
like me
are the people
that my heart goes out to,
so I'll try
to cheer up
because even if all is lost,
all is not lost.

The body
needs a direction
to go in
so it needs someone
to guide it,
like the mind
where I sit,
invisibly,
guiding the body
and the mind,
and I have learned
a thousand techniques,
none of which truly work,
so I get lost
because the body/mind
without guidance
can certainly
get into trouble.

So they sang
that we paved paradise
and put up a parking lot
but did we really like
living in paradise
with its snakes and bugs
and wild man-eating animals
so instead we have
beautiful Taco Bells
and strip malls
so we should save them
from being turned into trees
and moss
because I am an environmentalist
who thinks that nature should save us
not the other way around
and indoor nature
is to me somewhat preferable
to being outside
in the cold.

Us hippies and straights
from the baby boomer generation
grew up with two great television myths
which determined how
we turned out
and they are
"The Wizard Of Oz"
and
"Peter Pan"
and every year
as we grew up
they were the TV events
on Sunday night
so as we got older
we went to Oz
like on LSD and stuff
and realized
that we wanted to go back
to Kansas
but like Peter Pan
we didn't want to grow up
so we didn't
so here am I,
an old baby boomer,
back at his childhood home
in Kansas, Michigan
and I still refuse to grow up.
I wish I could fly.

My Zen master said
that he had never heard
of the word "ego"
until he got to the States
so in Zen circles
I often hear
that the ego
is like some kind of enemy thing
or something like that
but I think
"Who is it that practices?
Who is it that takes Buddha vows?
Who is it that takes Bodhisattva vows?
Who is it that learns Dharma?
And really now,
who actually is it
that is our authentic self?"
to which I think
Ego!
so I would suggest
that you don't go pushing
your ego around,
it just might be
your Buddha.

Buddha tells us
not to get into
interpreting dreams
so in a dream
my dead father
told me to go
to the post office
at nine in the morning
for something
that was sent
by planned parenthood
and I got
a free laptop.

Growing up
in an American house
in the nineteen fifties,
sixties and seventies,
the cheese of choice
was Velveeta,
the processed cheese-type food,
and we cut it
with a cheese slicer,
which was a thing
with a handle
and a wire
and a roller,
and my mother
would make us
grilled cheese sandwiches,
which she called
cheese toastwiches,
and the molten goo
would spill out
unto the plate
as we were eating one,
and this traditional cheese
seemed to start
in the days
of the little red metal pedal car
and end in the days
of being drunk and high
at two in the morning
watching Eddie Constantine movies,
and so the cheese
has changed
and it is now
mozzarella.

It began with National
     Geographic
and those pictures
     of nearly naked
African women
as I lay on the floor
     of the hall
and from there
     it became
being ****** by a dog
     in the bathroom
to twenty second ***
     with a girl
who said I was impotent
     to becoming
aware that my *****
     was too small
to a statutory case
     where I didn't
     get caught
to a time in bed
     with a girl
who said
     "How much longer
     is this going to go"
to a grandmother
     who put me to work
and the love-making
     was just like that
     some of the time
to a one-night stand
     with an overweight girl
which was the best time
to me thinking
     "I haven't done too well
     with the ladies,
     maybe I should try
     the men"
and then doing so
     and deciding I didn't
     like it
to a few unforgettable
     moments which were
     forgettable
to an illicit affair
     with a married woman
     in motel rooms
to a woman who picked me up
     and said, "Let's be friends"
     and as she was going
     up the stairs
     she said, "OK, let's get
     this over with"
     and I ran outside
     to get out of there
then to twenty-one years
     of celibacy
when I realized
     that my best ***
     was with myself
and so I married him.

     THE END

This is the place
where, as the poet said,
"All is desert"
and I am deserted
so it is where
I am sitting in a chair
listening to a ticking clock
and I crave
some action
like I thought
I used to have
and the phone rings
so my heart rises
only to sink
as it is a charity
wanting my money,
but here comes the surprise -
boredom is the transcendent thing
that is the empty life
of peace
that is so beautiful,
so as I am sitting here
in this lighted desert
I remember.

This room has a wicker plate with plastic flowers on the wall.
The new computer screen is bright.
Outside this room, it is raining.
This room smells like smoke.
The telephone has ***** fingerprints on it.
There is a long green desk in this room.
The lamp has an orange light bulb.
A piece of paper has numbers of the cycles per second of a circle of fifths.
There is a yellow ottoman with pillows and pieces of blank paper on it.
In this room, on the floor, are wires.
The altar has two orchids.
One orchid was for my dead father.
The other orchid is for my dead mother.
A funky fat Buddha sits close beside them.

Gone, gone,
gone beyond,
gone far beyond
the rational mind
is the thought
that heals
anything
even a toothache.

I had an enlightenment
today
about life
that I want
to share with you,
and I felt like
I got a good answer,
so here it is -
life is walking
in circles
over and over
day and night
and most people
get tired of it
and sick of it,
but I decided
that walking in circles
is great!
and that it's nothing
and that it's a piece of cake,
and I even thought
that I can walk
in circles
for eternity
because it really is fun
and I love it,
so that was my enlightenment
and I hope you like it
as much as I did.

This summer
has been hot
but the mornings
are quite nice
as I have been
sitting outside
with a cup of tea
by the flowers
with the chair
placed strategically
on the bricks
and I think
"Oh, I get it...
life actually is good."

The old guys
wrote about
the great outdoors
and the beauty of nature,
but, you know,
nature may become
completely inhospitable
sooner than we think,
so I suggest
that we should start
thinking about
the great indoors,
and the beauty of artificiality,
because artificial things
are none other
than nature, transformed,
so maybe
we should go
on adventures
in our own houses
like a modern Thoreau,
who finds the transcendent
in a cup of coffee
or a telephone.

Drinking morning coffee
at night
something makes my brain
split open
and the thoughts
spit out venom
from the reptile mind
about an experience
of peculiar pain
which happened
about forty years ago
and after awhile
it closed up again
leaving its traces
in the form
of sadness
so here I am now
with my broken head
scratching its back.

Rattle my yolk control, baby.
Give me a turbulent flow.
Squeeze my needle valves, baby.
Insert your directional valve.

Come on upstream through the orifice.
Give me that viscous friction.
The discharge coefficients are ready.
Blow out your resin agent.

   What's the matter, baby?
   What happened to the elongated pump?
   Do you need a pressure compensator?
   It looks like a reducing valve.

   How about a little friction
   to reexhibit some rigidity.
   Let's renegotiate positions
   and dissipate some frigidity.

I have a hunch
that it is eternal
and infinite
although I don't
know it
and I have contemplated
these things
deeply
and when I do
I get frightened
so there is big eternity
and big infinity
and there is small eternity
and small infinity
and what is so surprising
is that we
are all part of it
and are it
so I can say
that me sitting here
in a suburb
of Detroit
is eternal and infinite
and that's
far out.

When I was really suffering
and I mean really suffering
I was lying in bed
like Brian Wilson
watching Pat ******* Robertson
and the ******* PTL Club
asking for help
from Jesus and God
and Buddha and Dharma
and Sangha and Shiva
and every other ******* god
or whatever there was or is
and they all
just made things worse
so do you know
what got me through it all
no, it wasn't the psychiatrists
or mom or dad
or brother or sister
or friends
or any of the above
all I had
to get me through
this ******* torture
was
cigarettes
yes
my holy smokes
and now
tobacco is an endangered species
but I'm ready
with my pipe
and a lifetime supply
of tobacco
so bring on
the cigarette enemies
because I think
I'll have a smoke -
Ahhh.

Time is an illusion
of the motion
of objects in space,
and the past
is a record
of the motion
of objects in space,
so the present moment
is not a moment,
it is eternity,
therefore time does not exist,
and growth
is a function
of the motion
of objects in space,
and these objects
are mass
which is none other
than energy,
and no energy
can leave space,
and death is only
transformation of energy,
and all mass/energy
is life,
and all mass/energy
is neither natural
nor artificial,
as these are only
thought constructions,
so everything is alive,
therefore,
welcome to eternal life.

Here is a way
to instant relative nirvana -
ask yourself
if you're comfortable,
ask yourself
if you're satisfied,
ask yourself
if life is satisfactory,
if the answer is yes,
proceed -
obviously you are awake
obviously you are free
(even if you are in jail
your body/mind is free)
so now,
here in the moment
look at what's in front of you -
Presto!
Nirvana!
(if you want to perceive
the nirvana element,
ask the seer
to see
the seer
and maybe
you'll see
the emptiness).

I have been sailing
through the somewhat dangerous
sea of life,
seeking the new world
where there
is peace, love, happiness, wisdom, and compassion.
I sought it inside
the mind and body.
So, I found crazy mantras
and incomprehensible chants
and ways to sit
that once broke my ankle,
and a practice
of quieting the mind
that nearly killed me.
So this morning,
on Christopher Columbus Day,
I found
the true mantra
for me
and the true chant
for me,
the true words
which will bring
love, peace, happiness, wisdom and compassion,
and they are
love, peace, happiness, wisdom and compassion.
So now
I have found
my new world.
Happy Christopher Everson Day!

So I got
colored light bulbs
for Christmas
and now I am having
interesting lighting
in my subterranean studio
where I do art
and have private parties
so with the radio
on nothing but static
and yellow, blue and red lights
in the darkness
I drink a shot
and go the the pink room
where I *******
until one second to D-Day.

I got into my space exploration vehicle.
(I got into my car)
I took off, and traveled on the intergallactic freeway.
(I drove down the street)
I was going to the lost planet.
(I was off to the drug store)
I took a few lefts at the asteroid belts.
(I turned)
I arrived at the lost planet, and landed safely.
(I parked)
The automatic entry opened.
(You know, those automatic doors)
The communication devices were greeting me.
(TV in drug stores)
I was searching for the mysterioous red and white cannister.
(I was there to buy a Budweiser)
I found it in the back, in a cold place, by the waffle demons.
(It was in the cooler by the ice cream cones)
I took it to the being, and we exchanged paper and metal.
(I paid)
I left, and got back into my spaceship.
(I got into the car)
I flew at light speed and altered my route to avoid the aliens who were also flying.
(I drove at the speed limit, and turned at the stop signs)
I arrived safely at my space station.
(I got home)
Thus has been
another of the continuing adventures
of Michigan Kongsaeng,
the great Nothing.

I woke up today,
realizing
that if I hadn't
gone to psychiatrists,
and studied religion,
and worked hard
for many years
at Zen,
that I probably
would have been
one of those guys
who gets a gun
and shoots a lot of people
and then turns it
on himself
and blows his brains out,
because I think
that I have lived
a hundred lifetimes
before this one
as a victim of torture
and therefore
was pushed to the limit,
but instead of becoming
a suicidal ******-murderer,
I became
some sort of
love, peace and happiness
Bodhisattva,
so instead of criticizing Zen
and psychiatry,
like I usually do,
I'm praising them.

After coffee
I do seven practices
which are short
like "Lifting The Sky"
and "Carrying The Moon"
and "Tapping"
and "Nianjuli"
and "The Opera Singer's Warm-up"
and "Yoga/Zen/Reflexology/Chi Kung"
and "The Tune Up"
and then I finish off
by meditating
healing vibrations
toward the tumor
in my crotch
which I won't let
the doctors touch.

So there are
heterosexuals
and there are
homosexuals
and there are
bisexuals
and even
metrosexuals,
but I am
unisexual,
so I married myself
quite awhile ago
and me and me
have been having
a wonderful love life
ever since,
so I don't *******
very often,
and I hardly ever
*******,
so what I do
is to visualize ***
with myself,
who is a beautiful woman
inside
and who are four beautiful men
floating around me,
and then there is
this kind of around the world ***
that is a massive kundalinigasm
which is like a trip
to Mars,
so unisexuality
is my *** of choice,
but as you probably have guessed,
it's not for everyone.

So, the window
is open
and a lawnmower
is speaking
in mechanical tongues
as the weather
in early spring
is warm and nice
and the birds
are, you know,
well, birds,
and a friend told me
a long time ago
that Detroit
could be completely underwater
in the future,
so even though that bothers me

I guess it's OK.

This computer acts
as a drug to me
and so does the TV
and my vitamins
and my exercises
and my cigarettes
and my posture
and the light in this room
and the roomscape of sound
so the electro-magnetic bio-chemical man
is constantly ******.

I put on the tea kettle
and turn up the stove
put a tea bag into my cup
and begin walking
in a diagonal direction
with each step
being with each breath
and my hands over
my heart
with my thumb inside
the right hand
so I take a slow walk
and come back to the stove
and the water is ready
then into the cup
goes the water
so then I walk again
twice this time
and the tea is done.
I have given up
the powerful way
of Zen
for the way of Shambhala
where we breathe easy.

I had thoughts today
that probably many people
are taking LSD
everyday
like others take multivitamins
and that this could be doing
something very odd
to all of our minds.

So it went
like this -
she said,
"My therapist
thinks we
should break up."
and I replied,
"Yeah,
my psychiatrist
says that we
should break up, too."
so soon after,
we broke up.
It was like
Woody Allen
and Diane Keaton.
I didn't know
that such comedies
could actually
be real.
The way
that it appears
in my memory
is something
that isn't exactly real.
That's life!
(I think...).

Things just as they are
as I walk on the sidewalk
thinking about fearing people
and loving them
when the morning sun
caused my eyes to look down.

Woke up in some kind of darkness.
Like Dracula was in the house.
Heavy and gothic feeling, drowning me.
So I ate a dill pickle.
That helped, but not enough.
Decided to write a dumb poem about it.
There, there...that's better.