Light, and a Day

a day is more than 24 hours

if you let it be

and when I say, “let it be.”

I mean, leave it alone.

Most people can’t do this

they need constant distractions

they can’t take the agony

of sitting still in a quiet room.

I watch the sun rise

the red, and yellow, and shadows.

a Wood

is magical

when the orange

shines through the green

casting rays and beams

like the light is fishing

in the earth

for something, hidden.

I see Treasure Island Trees.

Light

turns ordinary

into extraordinary.

When I was a boy

I dug random holes

because I believed

gold was buried under

light.

Your perception is controlled by influence

Adults watch the News

and get angry

they talk to their friends

and get jealous

their point of view

is limited

they don’t have any peripheries

where the magic happens

out of the corners of their consciousness.

I’ve spent five days alone

invested

in my own imagination

far away

from knowledge, sight, and belief

Only pure imagination

opens doors

into other worlds

there’s a reason, children are the only ones who gain access

to magic

they see what isn’t there

they don’t understand adult conversations

about anger

and ideals

Adult talk

is full of judgement

about conforming to a standard

about being like everybody else.

Five days alone

and I’m a child, again

with no ambition

only a desire to discover something hidden

to watch the light

go down

to read friends

who died

to pay attention

to the length of a day.

And that’s why I’m writing…

it’s always dangerous to let people know

the real you

I do this inadvertently, with my sense of humor

bits of comedy, inspired by the truth

and who knows if I’m deluded

but I think most people are curious about me.

they wonder why I don’t join in their conversations

even though, I do enjoy watercooler talk, more than the average joe

watercooler talk, is an art

you have to say something interesting, but innocuous

profound

yet simple, in order that people don’t have to think.

it’s the art of superficial humor, without talking about yourself

like I’m doing now.

If you don’t join in conversations, or put in the time

or make sense to people

you’re liable to get shunned

Being shunned is a blessing…

However, I do worry about the meanness of the world

If average people are this mean

what about the above average sadists—the gifted geniuses of pain?

No bother, I’m in heaven now.

Today, I’ve been fasting and losing weight

I drank 300 calories

I believe eating good food is necessary for good art

fasting though, is a spiritual exercise, and writing is in the same vein

I can’t write, if I don’t eat. If I eat too much, I get brain fog, and fall asleep

My creativity is a science…

I’ve been taking vitamins to write better

I go for short runs to get oxygen to my brain

I even think about planning adventures, to write about

but when I become machine-like, my writing is dull.

thinking should inspire writing, and not the other way around

I have a few good ideas for short stories, but with the short story, I have to want to write it

a good idea is not enough

life is about balance, and I’m always out of balance

strange, though

when I have endless free-time, I struggle to write

when my time is full

I’m fighting to write one more line

Life is better when you have to fight for it

As I lose the pounds, I feel like I’m losing myself

I’m out of balance

lighter, than before

and that’s why I’m writing.

All great men are lovers…

I admire men with obsessions

and I dislike men with causes

the difference being

causes constrain

and obsessions are explosions

expanding narcissistic passion

“But it’s bad to be a narcissist,” you might say

it’s far worse to have a cause, to believe you are right, and insist others are wrong

this is okay, I guess…

I believe most people are wrong, but I don’t tell them

and the problem is, people with causes don’t stop there

they want to make others pay

with their time, and money

and most of all…

their freedom.

Those with narcissistic passion—or obsession, for lack of a better word

have something to live for

it’s like their own self-created religion

that saves them

Some would call it a distraction,

because they aren’t progressing like everyone else

My highest value

is INTERESTING.

Show me a man, who loves what he does

and he is a genius of leisure.

I’ve met several men like this, on the golf course

they love being there

they talk a certain way

about women

about all things, that aren’t okay

in the offices of the world.

Show me a man obsessed with money and what it can do

and I will show you the most competitive, soulless, lifeless suit.

Show me a man who takes the time to appreciate a place, cherry cigar smoke

dancing through the Maple Trees, amidst the smell of sand, and fresh cut grass

drunken laughter, and the sound of golf shots

and I will show you a genius.

Progress

is for those who trade their relationships for better ones

for people who upgrade, constantly

they don’t know how to love…

not the character in a car

instead, they get a new one.

After 20 years, I have to put my car down

I just can’t keep paying the medical bills

for new parts

and pretty soon

the car is more new, than old.

I guess all places worth saving die in this way

buildings get renovated

patrons, are too old to play

your friends die

the nubbies think, this place is a dump

change, is time

but we remember…

the Past

in our minds.

All great men are lovers

and they give, more than they take

they are at home, at the racetrack

they learn the horses

obsession is their science

women can be a science

drinking

writing

if you love, your day is beautiful

and the test of your love, is your willingness to do it

despite hangovers, sleep deprivation, and a slump, with no chance.

You won’t consider not doing it

and most people, looking on

see madness.

I see genius, in the man who loves.

I see genius in the man who loves, an unlovable woman.

Your love is redemption

you aren’t trying to change the world

you are trying to be part of it

to love it

to worship the earth—

who has brought all these beautiful obsessions into being

desserts, cultural foods, movies, golf courses

hundreds of years of books

a million things

to love

Why save the world

when it will save you

each day

if you let it?

Choose Wisely

Alone

in a hot box

where I was

last summer

striving to understand

what no human, knows

fasting, and praying

for redemption

this bag of bones

wants to live

before being

neatly tucked

underground.

To discover a value

uniquely my own

and be that value

in every breath.

My character is born

in each moment

not the big decisions

but the small

to transform the beast within

and control it

like a lion tamer

sweating

washed

in my own inadequacy

a strong mind

becomes weak

a young body becomes old

in our later years

we remember the height of our power, imperfectly

in weakness

we know who we are

and what matters

in isolation

people matter

Still, I strive to be unappreciated in my time

not to appeal to reason

to win an argument

not to join the mob of emotion

to be accepted

To be a genuine, good person

and by good, to seek knowledge

as the ultimate goal.

It seems that all human behavior has a social end

even the artist

wants to influence

to gain a following

Why?

I don’t know

Why.

Perhaps, Power.

What is the purpose of being beyond being

when our bodies are tied to this terrestrial earth?

The knowledge of men who came before

speak, calming consultation to me

closer, than a close friend

the intangibles make more sense

they satisfy me

though, I don’t know why

wisdom, will pass away

We cannot hide

So, choose a value

a Way

to Live your Life.

The Changing Colors of the Day

Morning Trees are Fresh

Green

Evening Trees are Magic

Red

Afternoon is Lazy

Yellow

Night Moon

Shines

Mirroring

the Sun.

The Purpose of Art

The purpose of Art

is to connect people

like unplugged

scattered wires.

the artist

is neglected

until

they create something

that matters

left alone

because they prefer it that way

unwilling

to join the status quo.

they are always outsiders

used to the outside

to the cold looks

and tormented souls

who express their lack of trust

with hollow laughter.

the test of the artist

it to become an insider

for a moment

to be accepted

because of their art

and then inevitably, rejected

by creating something controversial.

don’t give the people what they want

but what they need

Show them something

they have never seen before

that is the artist

the outcast

the savior

the true creator

loved

and then hated

mostly, misunderstood.

the artist does their own art

to save their own ass

risking rejection

is small worry

compared to the fear

of never doing it.

On a Silent Day

On a silent day

tense, and hot

I played a game of golf

with strangers

who loved to talk

they asked me questions about where I was from

and we talked about golf courses

and where each of us lived

and it went on and on

hole after hole.

I stopped trying to communicate, after hole 5

I started thinking

and I instantly felt better

I cracked a book of poetry

on hole 7

while waiting for the group in front of us.

“That asshole hit into me, twice! So, I threw his ball in the pond!”

It was the guy behind us, talking. “I got a hole in one on this hole, last time I played it!”

He was smoking, and drinking a beer.

“Why do you think it’s so busy on a weekday?” Somebody asked.

“Because nobody works anymore. We have a welfare president! It’s okay…it’s okay…I’m an asshole, I know.”

I didn’t care. My golf game was getting worse and worse. I couldn’t wait to quit.

The conversation in my group was the same, no matter what happened.

I hit into the pond and this black golfer confirmed it. “It went splash!” He said.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it! On a day like today, you could take a swing from there and feel pretty good!”

I liked him instantly. The problem was, all the interesting golfers were everywhere, but in my group.

I quit after 9 holes, and my group politely waved. The air conditioning in my car caused me to realize I had paid for hell. It’s like walking out of a bad movie at midnight, and enjoying the stars outside, instead.

So, I went home, ate some cherries, and went for a long bike ride. I spotted a girl, with tanned legs, and a bright green tank top. She spotted me too, through her amber sunglasses. Her head turned. Did I dare speak to her? No. I kept on biking. I sat on a bench, and another girl in a spaghetti strap top smiled at me. Did I dare speak to her? No.

And this is why I stay single.

In my apartment complex, there is this woman who is all sex. She has curves, blonde hair, and she wears expensive clothes. Did I dare speak to her? Yes.

“Nice dog,” I said. I was sincere. She had this Pug that looked ugly and cute at the same time. It was choking itself on her leash, trying to get away. I thought about those beautiful women. How quickly the mind moves to obsession.

Life is more pleasant without desire.

One day, I’ll allow myself to be a womanizer, but the pain of pleasure is too much for me right now. The absence of company is more peaceful than any kind of intercourse.

THE END

On the Importance of Aesthetics

Time,

will add and subtract from your life

like an equation of lost and found feelings

You will lose passions

and then

you will rediscover them

until your personality adds up to something you can appreciate.

A one-dimensional dot is not beautiful

a straight line will take you somewhere

a three-dimensional picture of personality offers depth

time travel is possible

when you integrate your past with your future

You see order from disorder

Your past makes no sense to friends and loved ones

their type of psychoanalysis would render you insane

as you add and subtract

your mathematical equation

for meaning

you compose the rhythm of your life

it’s not the drumbeat of mediocrity

or the composition of the culture

All aspects of your aesthetic become art

your unwashed dishes

and unmade bed

speak

to different priorities

Your clothes are not an expression of someone else’s standard

because you dress for something else—

for occasions that meet your aesthetic

Not to blend in like a chameleon

but to dominate

by expressing defiance

with a suit of armor, you put on

when you are going to war

at the office.

When your imagination

meets passion, meets reality

Art is a weapon.

Aesthetics, are more than just beautiful

they symbolize the types of change going-on beneath the surface of your beauty

to say that beauty is only skin deep

is to fail to recognize the character of a face

the intensity of the eyes

and the prominence of a nose

the suit

every superhero wears

before they do something

is just as important as what they do.

Your life can be beautiful

if you pair beauty with thought—

then all actions become an expression of your art.

Hell is where the Heart is…

down, through all the stories we tell

down, through all the years we sell

down, through all the arguments we yell

down, into hell

where we can be pulled apart by language

I will take my own advice

and do what’s right.

If this simple life

is mine

I will live it well.

the oak tree

gives up

its dead dying leaves

each season

it loses its beauty

and never complains of loss

it feels lighter

naked

in the cold

new

each year.

What does it all mean?

Can language tell me that?

Must I abide by the seasons?

this short life can be lived in harmony

or it can be an unpredictable story

Some years are traded for lifetimes

Some arguments

won without yelling

We whisper

who we are

in secret

We know, and the world knows too, without words

Hell is where the heart is

it’s your own personal pain

the more pain we can feel

the more power we can have

look around and see

the weak humanity

people do not want to feel.

What giants

they would be

if they tortured themselves

sadistically

for something that mattered

beyond

their own personal comfort.

Discipline

must lead

but not for need

of perfection

to be something

I don’t know tomorrow

to be surprised

like a rainbow sunrise

crying for promises

I made to myself.

Your Style

Dressed in clothes that don’t fit me

Dressed in a uniform, I don’t understand

Dressed in a suit that does not suit me

How does a man

open himself to style?

As one gets closer to it

one feels this free-flowing energy.

In the darkness, undefined things, drop

where there is much sadness and misery.

Imagination, pulls action, like a spear-gun, underwater

dangerous, in the deep-blue

where your style, is not trapped

behind glass, but free-flowing

alive

like the sea anemone, dancing, with the ocean currents

not talking about the past

not planning for the future

it is like your body

more intelligent

than your desire

like the unplanned adventure

like the setting sun

you chase

so the day

never ends.

A magical place

where time stands still

so you can discover

your style.