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David Bojay Jun 2018
tbh
sabrina has her cartoons on
i keep pouring my drink
my phone is off
my laptop is fully charged
these moments are being recorded
the steak is cooking
my mom is sleeping
i miss listening to her sleep when i kiss her goodnight

i wake up to the sound of nothing
i turn around and look at sabrina
i look at the ceiling and contemplate the day
i walk to the restroom, the mirror tells the outcome

i live the day, and cook for sabrina

my darling

i'll satisfy your stomach

and your mind

my darling

you're watching cartoons

i love you dearly

this moment, until my body shuts down
David Bojay Jun 2018
they tend to indulge in what uplifts their ego

i know, because i've been there

the time is spent, but not on me, but on the interests that generate creativity

the future isn't written without now

the past wasn't shaped thinking of today

the moment isn't lived in the past
John Koroko Jun 2018
I can still hear the cicadas,
their inescapable and deafening hum.
They are the only thing I can hear,
and you are the only thing I can see.

Dry green canopies of less oft seen gums.
Rocky outcrops for zen water to trickle through.
I can still feel my heart beating to your drum,
the only thing I can feel.
Sally A Bayan Apr 2018
Zen
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"...go to hell, purloiners!
you breached my trust...my privacy,
both, are sacred to me...
what about you?
...is anything at all sacred to you?"
:::
:::::
:::::::
It's been
three days and more,
of crossing fears...thinking,
how easily......and suddenly...
one's precious worded gems,
could be exposed to strangers' eyes...
to think that private thoughts can
no longer be private, is infuriating...
how does one deal with violated privacy?
i'm ailing...while drowning in dim streams
.....all assurances, now disputed
all negative possibilities considered
i'm paranoid...the devil is winning...

the stomach sympathizes
with a disconcerted mind
growling its discontent
creating deleterious acids...

mad, upsetting hours stay for a while
holes must be mended or patched...
what was disorganized ...must be straightened
got to start from scratch

these past evenings, i trod
through hot valleys bright with fire
burning with anger and disgust
...for, i felt betrayed,
never have i been this way before,

.....i must go back to the water.....

slowly............i wait,
'til i can look past those trees,
those walls....those worlds outside, and
from them, create a swinging hammock
tied on two coconut trees~~~then
feel a mist from a not so far clear, blue ocean
feel the breeze whisper its magic spell
to cool and melt the fires within
be at peace with everyone
with everything...

i must take hold of that space
where i'll float...and i'll forget
where i'll toy with the ripples
and be overcome
with
~~~~moments of zen~~~



Sally
...i keep on scribbling, even when i'm angry,
      'til i get to that moment of calm.
Jen Snow Apr 2018
Sunlight
Dappled
Wood
Floor

Old rocking chair

And
A
Breeze
That
Smells
Of
Summer

Tall
Grass
Dances

Birds
Expand
And
Contract

Accordion
Style

Their
Flight
A
Music
Unto
Itself

Such
Rare
Beauty

Far as the eye can see

In this moment

Everything
Is
Alive

Especially

Me
The supposition of a higher power is fruitless
It plays with the curiosities and leads the faithless blind
The “cognizant” host of this paradigm shall always find more questions, the hunger never tempered
Is it not in our nature to seek and desire?
Or are we guided by the hand to a place where we actually remember who we are instead of trying to discover who we are
A challenging thought I suppose, but that’s exactly my point
If we suppose we are to assume and if we are to assume then we get lost in a whirlwind of just trying to be right
What if we just stopped saying what if?
I’m not asking for omniscience because that would take the fun away
However, I envision a world someday living fully in experience and divine synchronicity
Where the eb and flow of every vibration is just a ride for us all
And enlightenment will follow
I cannot suppose that the great mystery is random, nor can I suppose there is a higher power
I must Feel it
Breathe it
Become it
Every dimension, every space and intention must be divine
Until I’m living the way at least a little
Until I’m perceiving as one would for even a moment
I will remain fruitless
When we practice the art of the divine, supposition disappears, faith is resolute, wisdom thrives, and the world gets a bit brighter
**Taiji**
Kagey Sage Mar 2018
What’s new about Hipsters? It’s not that they're the first co-opted counter-culture, far from it. The Beats were co-opted. The Sentimentalists, over 200 years ago, were co-opted before capitalism was so industrious. It’s not even new that calling a ***** a ***** is offensive. “Hippies,” “Beatniks,” “Emos;” all insulting labels for youth that thought they were much more.

There it is, or some of it, perhaps. Does the current so-called counter-culture feel like they’re part of something much more? Even without labels, I don’t think they think of themselves as a counter-culture at all. The worst part about it is the Hipsters and  non-Hipsters are really much the same. Falling for a similar niche, but feeling like they ain’t.

We all like flannel, thick glasses, and good beers. We’re all killing Applebee’s. We’re the waitstaff there who laughs at ourselves, cause we’re just so low-down. Not the last, but toward the bottom rung of a ladder that once meant progress beyond our parents’ lives. We stand for nothing and everything, because a secure tomorrow seems unlikely and unwanted. Beget suburban kids like our parents did? Could I buy them as much as I had? A student loan on top of a mortgage, I think I’m better off paying exorbitant rent. Plus, it just feels more temporary, like everything else.

Late twenties, long passed the age my parents conceived, I’m getting old. Lack of full adult independence, still feel floated in embryonic fluid, trying not to give juvenile hopes up.  Qualified for that secure job, but is it open? Maybe I’ll have to move down South. Just like everyone else.

At least there’s always music. Nearly a century of recorded songs. Indie, Scene, and Emo; the last real counter-cultures associated with rock genres, and most practitioners scoffed at these labels. Why didn’t Punks or Metal Heads care?

More pressing, what is the newest rock genre? Emo faded nearly 10 years ago. Some formation of Americana seems sorta fitting now. Not far from that “Indie” umbrella,  it’s what Hipsters seem to like most, at least in the TV commercials. These more choral, sometimes bluesy bands. Some are good, but it’s nothing new.

Now, the algorithms anticipate evolution years in advance. All tastes like Styrofoam, so we spit it out fast. We keep skipping tracks to futility escape the same persistent hum. All the price for our growing clairvoyance. Telescopically, we are flying fast into a wall that ends originality. Too many citations needed. We enter them into software to manage. Our fear of plagiarism makes one uninfluenced instead of inspired. We just make homages. Turn anything creative into a list of allusions.

We forgot to forget
Suspend St. Anselm
patron of using rationality
to explain away one’s faith
in magic and mystery
God exists because
all we can imagine must exist
Your unicorns are but
a mind’s fusion of
horse and narwhal
and your culture is but
a culmination of has-been trends
So it’s all been done
Why try to change a thing?
Why try to be new?

This is the end. Not reflecting and absorbing past cultures with an eye to the future. But judging and consuming past cultures with with a carnal now. There are some niceties to be gained in solely present preoccupations. Yet, no Buddha abounds in these selfish meditations. We are no longer the bodhisattvas, suspending enlightenment to save all beings. “We’re woke, because we know we’re ******” Then we type a symbol for “laugh out loud,” while our mouths stayed closed. We take a morning slug and drive off to work. The complexity of our controllers v. the simple fleeting pleasures. What can I do? Why should I bat an eye at the way the world works?
https://www.adbusters.org/article/hipster-the-dead-end-of-western-civilization/
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