i love your hair (& think i would like to wash it)

Posted in poetry on April 24, 2014 by furious buddha

standing next to you on the production line
sometimes makes me dizzy and distracted
and i carry thoughts of you home every night
that i try to leave the Clown Factory behind
and i don’t want to make you uncomfortable
but i love your hair (& think i would like to wash it)

i was going to make this a sestina
but that’s too grand a gesture
(better an eloquent whisper)
and there’s that other form you like
with the repeating line
i love your hair (& think i would like to wash it)

you make me write poems everyday
you make me soup you make me laugh
you make me read eat love pray
and i know this is inappropriate
and it’s smarter to keep it secret
but i love your hair (& think i want to wash it)

(poem) i wrote a

Posted in poetry on April 21, 2014 by furious buddha

(poem) i wrote a
(it) i’m actually nervous to post
(it) because i don’t know if i’m ready for
(subject) to be read by its
(wonderful) and that is

monday morning poem

Posted in art, days in the life, poetry on April 21, 2014 by furious buddha

Her name was Sabrina and there was a seashell;
that is the keystone memory
That unlocks the year of our Lord 1974.
She held the ocean up to my ear
smiling with shared joy
And together we discovered the vast world.

yesterday’s poem

Posted in art, current events, philosophy, poetry on April 17, 2014 by furious buddha

Because a teenager wanted a sandwich

Millions died in the trenches of France

Events that seemed inevitable

Are just the outcome of chance

Nations are destroyed by viruses

Economies can collapse at a glance

No theories or great men can explain this

Any better than a mountain can dance

RIP Otto @OttoAndGeorge

Posted in comics, current events, pop culture on April 14, 2014 by furious buddha

If you have never seen Otto and George live, no amount of youtube or whatever will adequately capture the experience. You just had to be in the same room as them or what was happening didn’t feel quite right. Do you know that old Twilight Zone where the ventriloquist dummy has taken control? It’s like watching that act; you felt like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to, that despite Otto’s lips moving it was clear that George was the one really running the show. It was one of the most brutally funny spectacles I have ever witnessed. Truly, the obscene filth that spewed from that dummy’s mouth was among the most beautiful dark poetry I have ever heard. And Otto was simply a wonderful and kind human being who knew how to unleash his id as a force of joy. According to wikipedia and other sources, Otto contracted bacterial meningitis and died today. My condolences to his loved ones and the world of live comedy.

friday morning poem

Posted in art, days in the life, poetry on April 11, 2014 by furious buddha

This line feels like a quicksilver rivulet flowing across black velvet
but I kneaded it desperately in my head until it became this one
And then transmuted itself from gold to lead before your eyes
Unrecognizing itself into new form without unbecoming its truth
Contained within these constraints the lines free themselves
Finding their own lives apart from each other
So they can come together in harmony


Posted in days in the life, god, philosophy, religion on April 3, 2014 by furious buddha

Brother Lazarus;

I don’t know.

When my dear Aunt Ann  was descending into Alzheimer’s she gave me her diaries and notes. The diaries are the chronicle of a soul of purest innocence observing the doings of the 20th century, ending before the disease really began. Her more recent notes are a dissolving spiral of increasingly incoherent paranoia, mostly consisting of the most generous woman I knew scrawling about the imagined theft of her meager possessions by the staff. What shook me into stillness was discovering the question mark that filled an entire page, its eloquence unbearable.

It was relentlessly cruel. It forced me to confront the God of Job who murders innocents and torments His most faithful servant just to make a point to Satan. Watching someone I love fade away from their own  self was terrifying. It was a painful lesson in compassion to endure. To be there and be present with her was extraordinarily difficult and exhausting but I think it helped her. When all else was forgotten there still was a sparkle of recognition when I walked in or spoke to her because I saw her as regularly as I could. The people who faded were the ones who hadn’t seen her in years or even much less near the end. Even when the conversational loops got shorter and shorter until it felt as if I were in a Samuel Beckett play I kept it fresh like any pro would for the blue hairs at the Sunday matinee.

Everyone responds differently and reacts uniquely and dies alone. Everyone we love and cherish will experience pain and terror and death. Everyone and everything will be taken from all of us. This is the price of life. This is what it costs to love and laugh and be. But what we buy cannot be destroyed or obliterated; through lovingkindness we resonate through each other. Instead of cowering before the God of Job, Christ and Buddha gave me the strength to look that poor old mad bastard in the eye. What I saw with my squeegeed third eye was that it was just nature and not malevolence; there is no sin or curse or reason in it. There are saints who disappear into the fog of dementia. There are Nazis still drawing pampered breaths who have never answered for their crimes. There are innocent children with malignant tumors tearing through their little bodies. This is not the fault of God or you or anyone. This is the world.

But honestly, I don’t really know.

I love you.



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