Enchanting Gold Turd Visited by Angelic Trufflers

End Arch

Flowers Dreaming

Accidental Totem

Orient Star

Bragging Rights & Wrongs

I am not modest, so I write naked words.
I have no intention to brag, so it comes so natural and innocently.
I am one of the biggest sinners I know, so my pride can be found in the athleticism it takes to sling stones without breaking glass...

The road traversed informs you of everything -
Knowledge arrives through your feet and
Quickly departs from your mouth...

Away From is Not the Same as Gone To

Take me to the ancient futures - the parameters defined by the absence of my presence. That's where I came from, but have never arrived at because I am not complete. I first became aware of my trajectory in time when I hungered. The taste of being significantly corporal and driven by the lure of nourishing identity. Yes, this hunger leaves me ever incomplete and I speak to you now from a realm that limits my dimensions and flexibility. This is the same realm where the prey is agile and quick and even nature spirits routinely fail to capture game. Given the great odds and probabilities, can I survive as anything but as an illusion?

Fractically Practical

Practically Fractal

Temporary Contemporary

Temporary Contemporary

Glacial Thorn Blossoms

Thorn Garden

Honey Gravy

Have haven, room-ready.
Flower flows, man-mapped.
Bees knees, pollen-swollen.


Honey Gravy

Cosmic Ponies

Riding cosmic ponies til the terrain drifts into other dimensioned scapes - atmospheric tumbleweeds delay crossing paths...

I wait for you in my dreams in a place where I no longer wear the skin of who I think I am. I am still an unchanged event and, in the center of my disassociation, I realize I have never been anything other than change. I was never given a choice - life got in the way...

The ponies carefully make their way down the canyon - in and out of sight - and before I am dwarfed by the fruits of a stone canyon garden, I catch site of undulating bodies and cadenced legs rhythmically throbbing free across the plains...

Anger is not an Expression of Freedom

Anger is the same as creating a large iron-like, magnetic sphere that moves with great force; however, it rolls back to you after having attracted additional energy from distant influences, packing unexpected future events.

Anger really feels good to express, but it's like sending yourself a future bomb that will arrive to present you with loss. The pleasure of anger promises the displeasure of a surplus of shortfall...

Thai Wattage

Tranquil Chaos

Readers want to know where to go -
But it's not how high you leap or URLs you keep
It's the tranquil waves you surf o'er life's anarchy
That leads to the sanctuary of the elan vitale .


Cellular Meditation

Narcissism at its Loveliest

The tragedy of vanity is that our lives are spent in endless pursuit of remaining cloaked from ourselves. We follow and consort with those who allow our charade to escape into the dark of night undetected - even by ourselves...

Futile Beauty

Contemplate the Contemptible

The sun also rises at night, there amidst the petals and compost. It has a name, but it is foreign and few are able to let it gather vocal resonance. It appears as paradox and is spit at in disgust. It is the scorned lover no one pines for...

Sun Flowering

The Diversion of Desires

It's an old story told ever new. I heard it from people I didn't know and perhaps that's why my understanding is faulty. The meanness of humanity seeking to sate its endless hunger for pleasure steals the spirit of those close to infinte timbre. Meanings of the last dance evaporate with the sweat engendered from cosmic copulation. The progeny remain in the lodge seen only by eagles...

ghost dance

Patience is My Practice

"... we all have to fight all the time. If we give up and not fight anymore, that's the end of life. "

I sat silenced by the profoundness this was circling. I continued steering as if in the labyrinths of my thinking.

"I never look to fight with anyone - I hold my patience - I really hold my patience until it runs dry. Patience is my practice. My patience is now long and deep, but when it comes up to the surface and has no more deep roots, I deal with the situation and fight - I face what may come. I never feel worry or being scared - I just go through it. No fear is in my mind when that time comes. After that, I have to pay... Because I become a loser. I could possibly be a winner when patience flees, but most of the time I will lose something. That is true and that is why I practice patience..."

Thai-Phoon

Rings of Fire

Rings of Fire, like fingers bristling hair, entice sensual images. These are the images one might find on the weatherman's sleeve, unless he is a liberal and then he will wipe his forehead and declare failure in his quest to steer the storms. Rings of Fire. Curling on the fingers of time, shifting like plates in a broken cupboard, the Rings of Fire will shake even the mightiest foundation. Spring is still aloft where no weather balloon will be mistaken. And we wait to bust the sod with supra-terrestrial tools...

Singing Throat Nodules

Sticks & Stones are Love

I was in love - more than once - and it never seemed like it was anything more than engaging in giving up my power or gift-wrapping my will to be handed over to another. This is generally pleasing to both parties until boredom of status quo sends the mind a-wanderin'. The "mind-ness" of sexuality takes root like bamboo and episodes play out matinee-style day and night. Then, what is cherished most becomes the end of a flower's career. Season after season, desire springs like a wildflower that has no appreciative meaning except as a decorative amongst scrub or as a resource for birds looking for nesting supplies.

Oh, how we homo erecti love the diversion of desire and submission to its often unfulfilling seduction! But, what is the meaning for this shape in our life? What ghost dances with our longing? Are we like the Plains Tribes who transcended to a memory of a future union that must first face decimation? Is the human condition one of such suffering that pleasure has no meaning except one that is conjured and commodified and leads to such entangled time structures gummed with memory, emotions, and forgetfullness? Can I desire, act on the desire, and fulfill a meaning that is more than decorative to my life or as the bedding of a seasonal attempt at psycho-emotional survival?

Sticks & Stones

The Weavers' Fingers

The weavers fingers, gnarled with precision and knowledge, how well the service became purposeful. If my life is but half as braided with service, I will feel that I merit a good death.

The Weave

The Memory Time Forgot

Quhquh - Place is the Being of the People

I am only because you are other and I know of that. We are because the place is known as us. We are the people and only people live free and in eternal camps. Our ponies of old are now shiny spheres of light that gallop without memory, defining the trail of true being that is acknowledged by both trees and rocks. Do I come as cosmopolitan in post-modern leisure referents, or do I come dialogic in absolute terms of aggression and dollied in colonial cosmetics? Our warrior-princesses and princes know only the hoofbeats of transcendent light that mock the imbecilic temper of war drums...