It is…

I sit in an over lit café on a dark fall night surrounded by the sounds of a Juke box that has not been updated since 1988.

It’s a Time Machine that dances with my veggie burger and fries like old lovers long forgotten.

It’s moments like these when I question everything and nothing equally.

It’s moments like these when I am paralyzed in the perfection of now.

It’s moments like these when the silence is louder than love.

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Carpeted in the wall to wall American dream

The full moon looked down on me against the tropical night.

It’s reflections danced on my jack-o’-lantern mind singing songs written on stolen stationery from a cheap hotel that looked out on a highway with a number long since forgotten.

Deep in the shag of loneliness, carpeted in the wall to wall American dream we sit and contemplate our physical lives that play over and over like a radio station not quite in tune.

Seeing all the answers like smoke rings that shift under the light breeze of refrigerated air.

Get your wings

I sat in a nearly empty wing of the Colorado airport. I saw a small bird flying through the announcements and the artificial light. I wondered how this bird got in here and what she thought of the place. She landed on the short and strangely colored carpeting several arms length in front of me. I looked at the bird and I felt human, more human than I felt in a long time. Then the bird flew away. I think it took part of me with it. Something I no longer needed. I don’t remember what it was.

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Pacific Ocean #7

The waves slapped me like the foot of God.

It was a baptism.

Under the crash of the water the only thing I could hear were the thoughts that rang distant in my head like wolves howling in the hills, love sick and alone.

I laughed in my complete lack of power as I was pushed into the rocky, sandy, bottom.

I reach the shore on hands and knees smiling like a mad monkey stoned on fermented fruit.

I looked up into the light of the sun.

Laying on my back I heard the voices of children.

They seem free.

But not nearly as free as this moment.

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Exercise and exorcise.

A lot of heavy emotions are like ghosts. It’s like you’re haunted and you need a exorcism. The funny thing is that one of the things that can help to remove these ghost like negative emotions is to do yoga, or walk, run, go to the gym and physically exercise. Is it just me that sees a link between these words?  Exercise and exorcise.

Which Side Are You On?

The slam of the steel door was so loud it created complete silence. In the silence I heard a voice that said, “I’ll be right back” I kicked and screamed and beat the walls and the doors and the lies until I was exhausted. And when I turned around I realize, I was not locked in the cage. I was locked out of the cage.

The power of stillness

I was driving west on Sunset Boulevard.
The sun was warm on my left arm as I crossed into Echo Park.
I could smell the street vendors cooking and it set me at ease.
You’re not gonna smell that in West Hollywood.
The clouds in the sky looked like pillows offering me comfort I didn’t know was even available.
For a moment I was not lonely.
For a moment I was home.
For a moment I didn’t care. 
For the moment I was able to climb the overpriced skyscrapers that serve so few.
I touched the sun and it burned my soul  black like a bowling ball that had never been rolled.
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#333

The rain falls at a 45 degree angle as I think of dinosaurs and watch pelicans diving for fish.
The earth will wash itself of humanity with bright indifference.
The styrofoam cup will become oily sand on empty beaches with water so clear you can see the soul of the universe.

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Decaf delirium

I watch condensation drip from the car air conditioning onto the asphalt laid by men who cannot afford to live in this town. For a moment, I am sure I am not far behind them. I drink decaf coffee and Steely Dan comes onto the café sound system. I am glad my girl cannot join me today. But I hear her words anyway. “Those guys sound like pretentious frat boys.” I wouldn’t disagree. The waiter gives me my check and I walk home in the heated September LA morning, slightly high on caffeine.

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Who’s there?

There was a knock at the door, which was strange because so few people knew where I was living. I had this one-room apartment on a street lined with 30-foot pine trees. It was dead center in the town of Hollywood.

I had no cable/satellite, internet or computer in the apartment. Often, I sat for hours on end doing nothing. Well, not nothing, exactly. I searched the depths of my mind with no ulterior motive. I floated like a plastic bag on a windy street.

The times I wasn’t doing “nothing,” I read books, played guitar and taught the occasional yoga class. I had had a vision of this lifestyle when I was in India in 2006 doing exactly the same thing.

Oh yes, but I said there was a knock at the door. It was a friend who lived in the building. He was the kind of friend you knew you could definitely count on if you needed to dispose of a body. But he was also the kind of friend who would be most likely to ask you to help him dispose of a body.

He was standing in the doorway, holding a refrigerator door. I didn’t ask. I opened the door further so he could come in, with his refrigerator door under his right arm. He was very cautious not to hit it against any of my stuff, of which I had very little. He leaned it against the wall. I sat back down on the edge of my bed.

My friend says, “Hey man, I have this refrigerator door I’m going to use for an art installation I’m thinking about. But I’m out of room in my apartment. Can I store it here?”

I wanted to say no, but I didn’t. Even though I had only a one-room apartment, I had a lot of open space. I had brought a girl back to my place once and she said, “Jeez, there’s nothing here. Is this just some place you bring girls to?” I don’t remember my reply.

Anyway, he left the refrigerator door and said thanks and good-bye.

I sat for a long time looking at it leaning against the wall. I got up and moved it into the kitchen. I leaned it against the wall in there and stared at it a little longer. Then I started putting the bottled water I had on the floor on the shelves of the refrigerator door that now leaned against my kitchen wall.

I was startled by another knock at the door. It was my friend again. He had another refrigerator door. It was the top half that closed off the ice section.

“Can I store this here, too?”

“Sure,” I said, “put it in the kitchen.”

He saw what I had done with the first door and commented that he thought it looked very cool. He also said, “Don’t get attached to it because I’m going to want it back.” Then he left.

After he left, I turned off all the lights and lay in bed. It was only 8:00pm. There was another knock at the door. I didn’t answer it.

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