No Sunglasses | Judgement Day | d-d;P-P | suBterFugE | Trinity House Cats | Belen Lunch | LoveHomoSapiens | Simply Gifted


I did not grow up in Gallup, NM
I was never a Tiger, Bengal, Panther, Wildcat, Lynx, Puma, or Lion.
Some people in California prayed power into me anyway.
Under such protection I failed to celebrate the special blessings.

One friend, Mot the ButcherKid, got the opposite luck.
A magnet for cops and injuries,
he reminded me to NOT take goodness for granted.
He was often offended by the unappreciative lucky ones.

As a Christian Punk Rock--trained to be shameless--i found this nonsense:
"Forgive us our offenses as we forgive those who offend us" ?
It's o-k to offend the rich republicans, and NOBODY was offending ME yet.
Why does innocent Mot the ButcherKid get to suffer so much?
I guessed it'd come back in a fury at me--if there's any justice, right?
Someday I'd succumb to hideous torture as a prisoner
or get paralyzed in a car crash, or lose my soul,,,

It's just a matter of time
before good fortune, serendipities, synchronicities dissolve.
When Destruction, Despair and Painful Failures finally visited vengeance upon me
Bringing a downward death lunge,
the backwards-flying-angels offered an escape.
Now approaching the decision and diversion point,
my dreams give me clues more consistently that I'm in a parallel universe!

Some unthinkable violent terror came to my Hyper-Affectionate-Romantic-Partner
or to me.
I can't remember whom because the bargain to go back in time 7 months
erased the horror of the original option.
Now I'm in the reality of the alternate world, which sucks,
but is not nearly as bad as
what had already happened next month
in the alternative land of lovelessness.
Wishing to change history, I had to relive half a year
but only the worst damage has been replaced.
The weight of this present darkness is lifted
since I won't undergo what REALLY happened NEXT week,
that which has now been changed irrevocably.

In THIS obvious world my work projects were sabotaged
by bad mystical forces,
I taste my mortality for the first time: my age is visible,
I'm losing my hair, my skin thins to anemic weak leather,
and former friends have no interest in me.
But maybe all the luck isn't gone, since i sense the truth of the alternate timeline already.

Living in the parallel universe
you feel almost every little thing is slightly different
While something ENORMOUS is erased as I relive this year..
Eventually you question, "How many other people were this lucky?"
"How many multiple variations are occurring simultaneously?"
How many people really received their wishes to change the past?
None of us knew that the dream coming true is paid by repeating the past.
These miracles are expensive and that's the reason people grow old--
they are ALL doing double or triple duty by living twice,
unconsciously repeating parts of ourselves
in order to clean up messes we don't want to create.

You can't believe it's possible
until you actually experience the LESSER misery unfolding
in other-worldly harmony with the real-serial dream-life.



This cargo is really personal
Our brains and bodies are on vacation
A rapid lift up 18 thousand feet:
the gentle brutality of jet-powered flight
thrusts us across the planet in
paradoxical safety.
The collaboration of super-human speed
is a common miracle these days.
We don't honor or revere these bizarre trips.
Before we reach 36 thousand feet
our plane immediately destroys harmony
in the community of water molecules.
They simply practice their togetherness
What do they think?
They don't apparently care about our temporary disruption,
as we burst through their space.
They reconvene after we pass.
And the clouds NEXT door don't seem to notice either.
Who gives the vapors their shapes and dark edges?
Why organize that way?
I think
four powers
are at work, persuading this ordinary behavior:
the spinning earth, the wildly stable sun,
the random racing ghosts and the hovering moon.

After we land,
our defiance of gravity is forgiven
when we walk again.

Lunch in Belen

vacated the LACY RANCH
the healing rain began.

Computer, play the RAGA: "ME PC"
Computer, you shall cease to be the MAC GAPER.
The answer escapes us, "CAN HAL CRY?"

We sat in the fresh, moist, RANCH CLAY
and excitedly studied the GRACE MAP.

Erasing Hope issssSssuBterFugE

You did not request it.
You did not demand it.
We nonviolent folks operate respectfully--aim for agape!
True companionship is beyond coercion.
BUT you did ask if IT exists.
Back then, IT did not.
You had hoped IT WAS.
Just prior to my own comprehension--
"Could IT exist?" I quietly asked,
" makes perfect sense," I thought.

"IT's exactly what God's Love should create," I finally believed.
"MAKE IT SO!" I did.
and IT was too late.

Writing, running, flying, spinning in the offspring of human waiting.
That daily desire to be praying with you--man-o-pause.
This heart commitment is now irrational.
Send the dogs away--bring in the cats.
They are the wild spirits of partnership:
the music that guides the Indie-Pen-Dance.
Enter the era of crone-hood when
our nation has been smashed and the surviving remnant
sweats in beauty with your support.

No big deal--but--a---METEORITE?
Very significant, moreover: masterfully conceived!
The miracle mirror of the sky's night lights you showed me.
The lymph nodes of lunacy
your sage questions answer.
The kettle of juniper ice dropped slowly enough
for my joyful dark binoculars to glimpse such eternity.
My point is my wish.
Your fresh conspiracy is encouraged
during the apocalypso dance.

No Threats From NV to NM & No Risky Biz Either!

I left a cultural wasteland of nuclear experiments
ready to resist Los Alamos in this different desert.
Instead, i simply fall asleep in the MRI tube
while the obnoxious pulsating alarm buzzes.

What do the researchers really want
when they ask me to not move
(for the time being)
my head inside the machine?
Only my fingers should be active,
on plastic buttons reacting to visual & aural stimulus.

Our reward is Mall*Wart money
for these medical experiments
where you lay down and slide
into a plastic magnetic tunnel.
Assistants record how your brain functions
inside a field of magnetipulation
where each hydrogen nucleus
will line up, lock-step with frequencies
set by revolutionary atomic spin-doctors

What do the cats really mean
when they leave random cockroach legs
scattered openly in any room around their house?
The roach body didn't live long enough to
see & survive radioactive warfare.
Meanwhile, the people are really thriving naturally.
We're not commonly ripped apart in public places.
Only 1/3 of humanity will get cancer,
so why complain?

What gadgets will protect us
In the post-Trinity land of modern nuclearism?
I feel safest when i eat 90% of those
Hello Kitty Pop-Tarts
with their sugary decor of
pretty yellow pink bows & bits,
donated 2nd hand through the RoadRunner Food Pantry.

NEWS RELEASE on dA dA Pooh-Pooh

dA dA Pooh-Pooh v. Paw-Paw dO dO

Two claws are embedded in the paws
Although they seem soft and cute at first.
Both parties dangle from your long arms
ready to strike enemies when you ring the bell.

As your tectonic social plates crack,
The beastly presence is out of sight.
Wild fear provokes paybacks
of violence day and night!

This is your Paw-Paw dO dO,
but who will challenge the vulgar laceration rules of such jungle games?
Nobody criminal enough--except for the cold-hearted fuzzy hypochondriacal self.

As the dA dA Pooh-Pooh Voter
I submit a ballot on behalf
of a man ineligible to vote due to his non-citizenship.
Voting is a holy ritual
in which the masses cleanse themselves
from the dictates of personal responsibility.

The foreigner who cannot vote uses me as a scapegoat.
She wishes to vote (for that which I would not vote)
so she pays me to do her will.
{ Non-voters won't call me a scoundrel:
voters with AnybodyButBush disease want my Kerry vote. }

I cast the votes of others
against my conscience
because that's what we learn to do
from the example of our politicians.
Our corruption is mutual.

Many will call my selling the vote "scandalous",
But I'm simply following the spirit of electoral politics,
i.e. compromise and settle for solutions based in evil.
We voters for US President
Do not believe in taking DIRECT ACTION
To do the works of justice, mercy, goodness, and peace.

Judgement Day Technology

I recognize this person in her serious lotus position.
She's taking the discipline to heart, mentioning her stringent codes that
grease the skids to Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Lucky Strike.
New standards that don't relate to me.
We're in a cool green thin poplar forest with just enough sunshine
illuminating the simple, painfully slow conveyor belt with rustic metal braces & rails.
I feel goofy riding the machine--it's easier and quicker to just walk next to it.
But my former friend is carried by the belt too.
This familiar person must no longer face me straight-forward.
That's the rule.

Later there's an amusement park ride called
"Waxy Water" where the windy wetness twists all riders' faces
in grotesque suspended animation for
time... I can't believe people want that, but...

She says "pay attention."
The engraved instructions on the metal braces and railings
Explain the spiritual reasoning for the present divergence:
In the past decade I got too close too soon with five people
who looked me in the eye when I wanted to look into them.
Now my former friend,
comfortable with this rickety yet strong-enough transport,
is hereafter at a 33-degree angle--although these indirect angles of permanence
are only dyslexic statements about the angels.

A reckless and mischievous boy just playing ninja-flier rushes by.
Pausing to face me straightforward--but I don't want that responsibility
with a haphazard punk, now that I know THAT rule.
He's gone in a flash of course,
Completely unaware of the depth we just disrespectfully gouged.

And I forgot what the instructions at the beginning of this machine said.
I jump off to return to the beginning--alas the lettering is incoherent in dreams.
Resuming the belt ride I press forward into the next stage
While the farm mechanic man comes in to check on the conveyor.
I wonder if he knows that the end of the belt goes into another dimension.
I wonder if there's eventual pleasure in being with my guide there,
or if passing through that ethereal window where I can still see her from here
will mean that we are both already in the territory beyond this region.
A fretful suspicion:
will the maintenance man inhibit this metaphysical portal?
I would have been there already, but I knew I had to try to see those instructions,
For when I wake up I might forget, so it was worth the backwards effort.
Like holding tightly to candy or toys in the dream when I was 8 years old,
hoping they'll still be in my fists under my pillow when I wake up.


No Sunglasses? The Glorious Impossible Farm

Two decades ago I sought escape from pastoral fallacies:
Up the industrial ideal of
fast concrete rubber steel
glass chemical insulation
a million captives of communion
That buzz & jam pounds down our suburban grass roots.
( My opinion--but who are you? )

Now a desert pavement pedestrian I block sunlight the old fashioned way:
Eyelids DOWN five seconds; blink open; blind again for five seconds; blink.
The rhythm works even when a few other urbanites nearby walk.
( My belief? Less sun exposure enables good vision longevity. )

One bright August day
The straight narrow trajectory cuts across a foreign field of smooth green.
A perpetual well-manicured university campus lawn.
Two trees hang out somewhere who don't belong in THIS climate.
Before now the 10% open-eye policy simply worked
With no random wheels, birds, bullets or horses to dodge.
Legs move triple-speed--a new level of risk?
(Slow blinking stays behind.)--i'm ready for the challenge.
What THWACK on my forehead was that?
The low branch just started a THIRD eye.

The slap does not slow the jogging.
Sweaty stinging clues me in--
A central scab coagulates

We explore the opposite direction:
out of the master-planned land of little boxes & shaved plants
is the hearty consumption of SUB-RURAL photosynthesis
many factions committed
to good raw soil
enveloping our
knees and digging fingers.
This ancient clean work sends
lifesaving green currents to heart and spine.
( My guess--but where are you? )

Caught between the feast of compost-harvest and buzz-jam
I'm in a tired vehicle and you are grounded in thick air.
The Creator finds you greater than Clark Kent!
Your sisters gave you this strength
You've cultivated a gift
expanding human potential, yet destined to REVERSE Jack's Giant Ladder,
you have broken the law
with experience of RAW.
YOU have the power to bring
To people who are STUCK in HELL--just for a minute--it's their job to get UNstuck.

How? In twenty years you'll know.


The pendulum swings:
Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale
Each switching of directional flow
occurs at the exact point of slow return
to the opposite extreme where the flow switches again
Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale
Each apex point is a solstice window
never opened
to reveal tangentalizing universes where
angels dance to the ecstatic music
of your burning corporate clothes
and homegrown coffee.

Inspire Expire Inspire Expire Inspire
EXHALT and engrave
fantastic facts upon the rhythmic breathing valley floor
EMBOSS those same patters on the mesa's door
Your lungs liberate your conscious heart!

1000 Generations
In your eyes are 1000 generations.

Yesterday i gave away two kittens from the litter to the family running a bourgeois yard sale for gymnast kids. When i was a kid, i was so desensitized that i never bonded with any family pets, not even my Guinea Pig Zelda, nor my Curious kitten. This emotional distance which resembles a kind of permanent shock with no extreme bliss or suffering was fertile ground for the nascent punk rock ideology leaking into suburbia in the late 1970s as i entered my teens.

DOGdom vs. KINdom (anarchy)

Having a dog is like going to the moon and back.
Having three dogs is like going into orbit around the earth twice.

exciting? worth the cost? whose happiness?
Rejecting dogdom is simply one way to love Jesus.
A beloved family of humanity is based in justice for the

How do people of earth get sucked into a
space so grossly complex at the expense of other earthlings?

How can anyone such as myself find a heavenly home when
space tourists block the view of human utopia free from hierarchy?