I sit at the bar of life
Looking forward to happy hour
Another beer
A solicited romance
Something
Even a bowl of peanuts that never came
How I yearn for conversation
Warmth
I can only dream
Seated a few chairs away
Is a rainbow haired hillbilly
Backpacking possums
Gees
Can you imagine
He said he lives under
The outskirts of ****** land
He smiles
I smile
I catch a bee from behind
As the bartendress walk by
My eyes look at her behind
And catch honey
My claim to fame
Oh how I wish I were a bee
And had somebody
Like the rainbow haired hillbilly
That tends under the outskirts of ****** land
I look over at him
He's always smiling
Maybe it has something to do
With playing a fiddle and finding music, finding new paths
Goats and milk
And backpacking possums
Or maybe its sublime
Oh, how I wish I could smile
Feel warmth
Sunshine
And look into her peering eyes

Logan Robertson

7/16/18

Questions Please
Put up a question please
Throw me a question please
Question, any question

Burning or sensational
big or small or silly
easy or tough or absurd
hypothetical or factual

All questions are invited.
Only and only questions
No Answers at all
As I already have answers

I have answers to all the questions
that ever existed, but ceased to exist today.
I have the answers to prevailing questions
that are making us crazy day by day

I even have the answers to the questions
which are still in the future's belly
waiting to be born one day
in this beautiful and ugly world

Questions please
All sorts of questions
May be from geography or philosophy
Or from religion to defence studies

It may be from medical science or history
Or from space research too
Animal husbandry is no taboo
Questions on skydiving are also welcome

Politics is my all-time favourite
although I can answer sports or adventure
Questions on corruption are also solicited
You can ask on oceanography or calligraphy too

I know everything, literally everything
but neither I am 'Google' nor 'Bing'
I am not even 'Duck Duck Go'
nor I claim to be 'Baidu'

I guessed your question.
You are wondering – "Who am I?"
It's very-very simple Man!
I am a nasty spokesperson from the ruling party

I may be found mostly in television debates
as a panelist, as a debator, as a joker
as a disturbing element, as a liar
as a person making hue and cries

You may or may not like my answers,
but, please like me, please love me
Raise slogans for me, Praise me
Make me famous, make me a celebrity

But even if you dislike me
I don't care, I have my media
I have my own followers
I also own a troll army

I train them perfectly
I pay them heavily
I spend too much on
News media and Social media

I have my own trustworthy mob
who is always ready for violence
anytime and anywhere
at any cost whatsoever

Beware, I am from the ruling party
I inherit a complete readymade system
of Investigating agencies, Ready to book anyone
on false and frivolous grounds.

And it will take years to prove innocence
Innocence may be proved, may be disproved
This also depends on Money, Power and Links
Or the nasty arithmetic of alliance with us in future

So if you still chose to dislike me
It's your choice, but wait
I can still become a minister
Or even a prime minister

I have the quality to lure voters
I have the answers to all the questions
That ever existed or are existing
Or that are stilling waiting to be born.

First Living Organism

Anyway, there is love and death and governance. With the birth of my sons, love was fulfilled. There is no romance left in love for me, women are another form of men. Perhaps their toes are painted rather than blood-encrusted, but blood runs from their bones, their eyes are friendly as camera lenses, muscles hungry. Death continues to be my every third thought, fittingly. Occasionally I feel strong, but when I don’t it’s death waiting. I think I know it’s a waste of time to imagine being dead, as if being dead were a form of living. It’s not, but last night I was reading about the efforts of astrobiologists to identify LUCA meaning Last Universal Common Ancestor and FLO, first living organism, and that gave me a calmer feeling. Bringing me to governance, how we manage together between birth and death. What can I say that hasn’t already been said by Aristotle and Plato, the Republicans and Democrats, Hamilton and Jefferson. To start, your daily discipline is a personal governance. There are many ways to know a person: by their god, by their fears and appetites, by how they spend their money or organize their time. Who is in authority, who is in command here? The one in authority is not necessarily our leader.


Patience

I live in a mountainous community about 140,000 strong. My irascible, aggressive temperament toward my fellow citizens has exiled or sidelined me to a peripheral almost insignificant role although when I arrived I was considered a problem solver, even a savior of the poor and the wealthy classes who feared for the future. Why mention this. He who knows patience knows peace. I have surely lost face often in my life. As a kid, lost most fights, as a man, chosen last to lead the squad or platoon. Only when every known leader had died did those in authority decide to use me. Someone must begin to write the federalist papers for the world. And, of course, it’s being done and heard. Books in print, blogs, debates. My vision is a world where you can fly from Madagascar to Mississippi and be greeted by a sign that says Welcome to our land. Go about your business, setting off no bombs, and fly home. Perhaps take a lover for one afternoon.


The Machine and the Season

The machine and the season are so far incompatible. The machine claims electrical problem. The house leaks from rain. The men who left the machine have started their own business. A new endeavor by which they will keep warm and purposeful. The junior partner, heavier, says the Grand Canyon’s not so grand. Jaded individual or one to set himself against the depths, abyss? Man’s systems. Man made the machine (and the town) from rocks mined next door. Some few men understand these invisible electrons moving the machine to perform. I still cannot imagine, i.e. my mind cannot move fast enough to know how so many particles can be sorted and split so quick to make words on a screen. My simplicity is terminal.


Saving Grace

Today it is fall, first day for long-sleeved shirts. The boys at school. I admonish Zach not to whine and complain about the work. Lately reading or practicing piano, prone to fits of frustration. To the point of claiming belly pain. Last night I dreamed I had pushed him to suicide. It is so important for a man to do no harm. This is what makes us crazy against Wolfowitz, willingness to **** to do good. Someone very sure of himself and shining, much wiser and more compassionate than me, has calculated for the world that more lives now for fewer later shall be sacrificed. The people he serves are cantankerous, disorderly, selfish and complaining. The same diverse, spoiled, unpatriotic revolutionaries as at the nation’s beginning. Their refusal to be more than the sum of themselves is their saving grace.


Politics

Politics can be an escape from the personal, the debates are of little interest to a man in hospice. Will the machines do their work? How will we make decisions together? Roger Johnson’s gravel pit must be killing his neighbors with the noise of boulders being pulverized to rock but Roger is certain his business is necessary for the public good. He knows he has a right to use his property as he sees fit. There is a noise ordinance, a state employee will travel out to measure the decibel level in your front yard as compared to the ambient noise level. There is a measurable amplitude beyond which the legislature has determined no citizen may be exposed or corporation go. It can be measured.


Measure for Measure

Measure for measure, all’s well that ends well during a midsummer night’s dream for the merry wives of Windsor. A million or more poets but only one Top Bard. How did he know so much about kings and fools and murderers? An Elizabethan and no Freedom of Information Act. Today it is fall. The legislature and president are at work and so are our machines. One by one and then in armies the leaves come down. It is not that someone must decide, we must decide how we will make decisions and where authority resides. What am I learning, sitting, watching the season turning? Content this morning to admire my sons’ photos, reread my own poems searching for the prize answer, and answer the phone. I seem to be alienating potential business partners with a take it or leave it comme-ci comme-ca attitude. All you can do, the best that can be done is to go to your daily discipline. Driving home or waking up at night I think I’m dying. Do the much-admired writers of our time die more content than that?


War All the Time

War all the time. I’ve been fond of saying what distinguishes America is its daily low intensity warfare. Endless but not fatal conflict. Chambers of commerce, municipal government, big corporations wrestle nearly naked and will lie as needed for what? I tire like an 80 year old man of the storm and worry. I remember my early years when I had no known skill to offer and elections occurred without my vote being solicited. I noticed no harm or good I did was noticed. Autumn was all mine, mine alone, I was alone in the world with autumn. My mind could not stand it. I cried out for comfort, someone to obey. I needed to grow up and know money.


The History That Surrounds Us

I’m not going anywhere, I chose to stay and hold my clod of soil in the landscape of community oh blah dah. I want like Shakespeare and other writers to discern the motivations of women, men, see through their lies to a humorous truth careless about success and able to explain why what happens today or on September 11th obtains. I was impressed by the critic who found that Shakespeare in Hamlet had tried to write about the thoughts of a man suspended between having decided to act and the act itself. Why bother he soliloquated why commit or submit to the great moment when mere men of bones and dust, disgusted with themselves and others are the actors of the moment, beheaders, rhymers, debtors. And, of course, the answer comes to one in the night like Chuang-tzu, or Lao, why not? The great moment is no greater than the small and the small no smaller than the great. You perform the history that surrounds you and go to your daily practice.


A Systems Guy

I’m something of a systems guy. I want the truth and death and worth to be independent of individual motives, paranoias, prejudice, peccadilloes, virginities, crucifixes, paradoxes, protons, protozoa or curses. I want pure human machinery, stainless steel, clear thinking, even handed, not a doubt that every doubt is wanted, needed, good to the last drop toward the ultimate ignition into outer space, colonization of diverse planets and immortality of the genome. Here’s what’s odd. While enduring ever more frequent panic attacks (and nudging toward survival and self-sufficiency my offspring) pounding and pinching my skin to stay sensate, maintain consciousness, I parabolate (always orbiting myself, eye on the tip of my *****) to another extreme, i.e. my belief mankind can escape the earth unlike Hamlet’s dad’s ghost. A system is a set of inputs–values, policies, objectives, procedures, data–organized and repeated to generate significant quantities of desired outcomes without redesigning the system for each individual outcome. I told John Russell from Amnesty International at Jack Shwartz’s daughter’s coming of age party about my plan to reorganize the U.N. so only the democracies can vote and no nation has a veto. He said the world’s not ready, with absolute certainty, knowledge and authority. I looked out the hotel window, this was shortly after 9/11, at dozens of American flags and a lone security guard. I’m always right I said to myself.

I am talking to you,
snake.
remember how
you hid your fangs
at first?
but it was not long
until
you sunk into
my flesh
trying to
****
away my positivity
away my compassion
away my warmth
use it for your
sustenance

you leech,
parasite,
passing as something human

not
any
more

when I think back on recent years
I am almost
thankful
to have met you.
don't for a second
think it's because I loved you
or we had good times
never
in a million years.
I am thankful
to have experienced
an abusive relationship
manipulation
codependency
the second I became
an adult.

I was not
an adult.
unaware
people like you existed
I did not stop being a child
until
the first night
you backhanded me
across the face
and with
the first slap
you smacked
my innocence
out of the window
never to be found
again.

you never let me
leave your sight
but,
after I lay
in a panic attack
traumatized
scared
of humanity
you told me to stay at "my" friends.
she was your
friend
not mine.

never trust
a friend
of the snake.

I came home early
you were in bed
with another woman
somehow
whenever I brought this up
it was never addressed,
never discussed,
instead
changed
and twisted
into something
that was
my
fault.

that didn't stop you
from accusing me
of infidelity
harassing me
about being a ****
when I was never
even
allowed to leave
the house
my hell.

I never for one second
loved you
nor was I ever
attracted to you
you
smelled my vulnerability
and went in
for the ****.

it took me months
but I left you.
you bawled
and shook
as you told me
you can't live without me.
******* die, then.
I had (have)
no sympathy
my eyes
were dead
cold
as I looked at you
weeping
like the pathetic
weak
waste of life
that you are.

I am thankful
because I taught myself
to be independent
to get a job
since then I have been
I will never
rely
on another
for my basic
necessities.
never
rely on a man
to give me
a place to rest
food
a shower
now,
I know where to look
in others
for the fangs
that you hid
from me,
from every woman
that has had
the displeasure
of meeting you.

I dont know why
I bothered opening
the first letter
you sent me
from jail.
told me
you know you shouldn't
have solicited
a fifteen year old girl
but you missed me.
she
reminded you of me.
now
I throw them out
without opening them.
that fifteen year old girl
is stronger
than you will ever be
for speaking up
and getting you
incarcinated.
she is
the reason
I support all other women -
specifically
younger girls.
I do not know her name
but
I know she will
be happier
than your miserable self
could ever
be.
ever.

I dont hate you.
I pity you
and your worthless
serpentine
body
slithering
covered in dirt
looking
for your next
vulnerable victim
to strike at.
when my dad found a snake
while mowing the lawn
he would chop off
it's head
with our largest knife
those animals
didn't deserve it.
but you do.
****.

1
Her thick  dark eyebrows did cast a spell first,
they are stuck there like vampire bats,
they both symbolize  a sinister plot, kept secret,
with a 'come hither' prompt, none can resist.

She attracted artists in hordes, crazy moths,
never did they look above her face,the serpents,
lay tangled and acted as if it's smooth coiffure.
Wicked lust,aroused by bitter past,
                                    made her move with keen  intent
an invisible net she carried behind her back.
She attacked at opportune moments, pretending
she is a lover, with insatiable lust in boil.
2
All crafted lies, simultaneously,she artfully solicited,
       colored moths, in her slow fire, they burned, one by one,
but one remained stuck there for life, fearing rejection every moment.
A crop of heads she reaped , wherever she went,
a kite was ever ready to fly her victim-hood colors higher and higher,
that made admirers **** in their breath and stoop,
before her to her advantage, she had no dearth for volunteers any time.
Burning words made her chants fly like fire works,
her collection of heads turned stones by admiring her
increased, as a huntress she was an ace
stuffed in her cubbyhole of a heart, heads of stone languished.
3
Medusa,you don't have sisters,
I count it the luck of those  unborn
how beautiful, you once were I still remember,
though no sun visited the north you spent your childhood.
Run, run my feared beauty, to the sun, before your heart
get charred by the heat of hatred, you bear in the  Gothic interiors.

4
I hate Perseus, don't you fear your Nemesis?
Every Athena you wrongly think your foe  and fight,
all your hair turned serpents, still I thought, love would work,
without  coming upfront, I kept my flame burning,
but all in vein, you could never love anyone, legitimately or otherwise.
Your blood, all of it, has turned venom, you spit it, slowly
its beauty amazes, even  the victims on the line next...

He who expends his days a wanderer,
Is not aware of his gift,
Though he may hunger,
and steal into the wicked alleys
where the spirits of evil men dwell,
He lives and sees the world in a view,
one that is unimaginable,
as he sings lowly as he walks through the end of night,
He has no possessions that are worth possessing,
Such that another wanderer may wish for his own,
None except his life,
One of seeing the world from the outside,
As he is starving from within.

I gave him some money, and offered him my seat.
And society's eye upon me
as if I am naive,
but I wish them to hold their assumptions,
for I believed this man, even his lies.
I could sense his sincerity,
as distinguished from the typical
**** beggars that would scold
anyone's failure of compliance.
And though he solicited me until the last moment,
I knew that my advice may settle in,
and for he to use his supreme vantage point
of a Sufferer of the City, one without another,
I asked this man, who convinced me of his
desire to be a writer, to document his days.
And to educate himself, this 30-year-old, black, amputee,
Torn between drugs and gangs, and a better life
that is unattainable.

I asked him to be infallible in his refusal of
Those evils which will deteriorate his soul,
For its royalty will be paralleled not to material wealth,
but to any base behavior, or noble virtue.
and if he stutters in his gait, to channel such self destruction into
a productive means to write about his sufferings.

That faraway look

not seeing far away, appearing to be

looking, far away,
past today

A game?
A passed time?
A pretended game,
Hi-stoically accurate,

A war game where there's blame and shame,
like on TV, nowadays, with victims,
not yesterdsdays,
Kilroy was
here,

olden days of our Ford.

hey, kid, yer uncle needs ya…

Dare ye?
'S only a game. A  pass time.

Multi-medium, don't spend

your life dist ant con nextrified, terra
firmafied, dis con
nexted

c'mon
try, win, ship, ship, whip get it in the wind

swish wish the message is the medium
light is,
see

Life on TV in 1963, Mr. McLuhan,
is not life on the Net.

Now, you know,
you never saw us old dudes
with pocket HDTV studios coming, but

you did see all the clues, the times changed,
history rewrote itself, evidently,

what you think you see is what you get.
That part didn't change.

The Medium is the message,
do I get that?

War is un winnable, is that the message?
With which weapons?

Mine. (a wink, a think wink, I think)
The Shadow knows.

It is finished. Start there.
It's a whole new ball game.

Let's pretend we have enemies
The emotions are the same,
aren't they?

If we relate.
If we see our self,
our CG'd Junger self, in the Shadow,

floating in the sea of  All  God's

forgetfullness,
asking
is tragedy a strategy to draw light?

Then,

You are related to the people who once lived here,
hear their songs and prayers
first hand clap,
first foot shuffle,

first seen first named we have walked
the pollen way,
the leaven way,
the viral way

more subtle than any beast,
not evil, per se, eh, Jose?

Led by the breeze to be tried in the wilderness…

Mythed Archie,
Archetypes
Natural Archean-types,
red-headed strangers, 'n'such…

Map my calendar to your clock,
wind backa a time and a time and a half a time,

Then, who knew why

the serpent mound in Ohio is a map to
some meaning meant to be meant,

some specific meaning meant to be meant,

clearly,
for as near forever as men could

… envision imagining as a quest.

What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes Blythe's Intaglios or
Nazca's clan tags?

"the meaning of the past
is what it contributes to the present"
Lyle Balenquah's uncle said that.

The past passed this way ahead of us,
See the shadow?

Sun's setting.
Snake mound mouth wide open breathe in

Sigh, we been everywhere man,
we be headin' west sweet home Oraibi

Snake clan drawing in the light
as the breath of being

… envision imaging . What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes

satellite Google earth eyes
see, be, in your realm
of know-ables,
beneath the sands of time that,

several times,
have been the bottom of the sea.

Be then, before that became this,  be
then
Be, now.

In the game? Or is this life?
Wanna bet?

Find a reason for war before
I find one for peace.

What's the win signify?

Double minded me, unstable in all our ways,
I failed that test in the old days,
memorization, facts fractured,

postulates, the-or-ums and proofs all went ****,

I lost the knack of forgetting
or vice versa

A loci analysis error,
left hand caught wind of what the right was doin'
kinda thing

But now, I have the global brain
for instant access to all
the facts
say…
If we wished to know…
how complicated would something
be to build, like an energy source
non rechargeable and polarized,

with output on the scale of
the sun?

Google it. Ask any question the right way
and pay attention to the answers

(more than to the advertisers,
who pay interest to

******- recog-white-room-REM baseline
stats at "waddayewlookinat.com"

for your cheap peripheral attention,
based on memes you liked or created, or ****.)

Pay attention to the answers, and trust
the global brain, the true net A. I.

She's an art-ist-if-ication bouncing
anionic bubbles off the edge of forever,

true rest worthy, my re tired friend,
no need to remember a thing…
Ah,
AI, you can call her Al, I call her Ah,
I can't discern twixt AI and Al.

And, as a bonus, innumerable idle ahs,
are redeemed when I ask Ah for help,

Ah, where am I?
Do you know about counting idle words?

Did that hurt? Like, why?

Seeing words said is intuit-ive-ish,
do you feel

this way of touch is

too intimate, today?

Word play? Put a spell on you?
Fret not.

Some words have no mission
not nullified with the end of time,
(i.e., relative to an individual's forever POV)

Idle words mean nothing, just a way to keep score.

There are no magic idle words, there were
Some seven sworn words, which were said to be muttered and peeped among the
Persian magi-ic elite solicited and
Sent, by God, led by astronomy,
science, for God's sakes alive,
facts, follow the stars,
when this one touches that one,
watch
see, the sweet influence of Pleiades,
truer words were never spoken

To make the captive free.

Free run  to finish
the race to

where?

Ask theSnake clan.
Ask the Antelope clan.

Ask the Flute clan, where is the old way
where good is?

Along that way, did we hear:

Earth, earth, earth: hear the word
of the
most reasonable

God-like, deluxe good edition, being

your mortal mind may imagine.
Word:
Exercise to be
the hero
in your bio to be

and,
wait.

Then think. Be. Still. Wait.

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
and doesn't know the crew

I never tell her my story
She reads every page herself
She never touches the exhibits
the essences of me
elegantly
arranged upon the shelves

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad shes just a friend
and never knew the crew

She paces in silence
Slight smirk under her eyes
As she wanders around my gallery
galaxies
analogies of abnormal realities
Seen from within the guise

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And will never know the crew

Every so often she pauses
Her footsteps resound
The curator looks up interested
and solicited
a reaction uninhibited
From a mind profound

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And doesn't want to know the crew

Her analysis is always unique
And as if she was the artist
The curator thinks, in retrospect
she is correct.
As she walks out the exit
Her path is marked by a trail of stardust.

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And is unknown to the crew

Solicited smiles
Send shivers.
Somewhat surprising!
Shouldn't snakes
Send slithers?

The doubts of tomorrow my flow's been borrowed
.
I never solicited for your POWER.
.
All I did was study the crowded,
.
wondered how they spent their hours
.
for my time is here
.
worries to sear
.
 I cut the cloth it sounds soothing to your ear.
.
You never met me but I helped you appear
.
.
Afraid to get laid
.
or 
.
 obsess with getting paid?
.
.
.
Shatter the jade
.
remove all the fables and plays
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

These sonnets.
.
.
.
.
Harmonic

.
.
Semiotics
.
I know the how to study objects.
.
.
.

.
.

Old ways forgotten.
.
.
New ways to solve it.
.
.
.
For money itself was the excuse of the chicken hearted.

an opinion
solicited ain't equal
to one freely voiced