Buddha in a Catholic church

I drove the winding yellow flower roads that led to the mystical bear so many had worshiped. I was doing 45 in a 30 mile an hour zone and locals passed me with conservative aggression. I made it to an early morning café and drank hot brown water listening to a man talk of the rising price of cement. I pulled my “America’s #1” baseball hat down over my eyes and sipped the warmth, hiding. I knew all along I would be found out. I can mingle with them but the nose ring is always a giveaway. One of us, not one of us. The large flat screen TV above the fireplace played CNN horror stories and I didn’t care. Even in satisfaction we can find dissatisfaction. Some find satisfaction in dissatisfaction. I sat like a Buddha in a Catholic church. Simple and happy to be… anywhere.ontheroad. Simple and happy to be… anywhere.

Poem #28

I sat in the car passing time one block south of Sunset Blvd.
The mechanic light was on and I was listening to some 1970s Latin music waiting for my next class and a little pain in my heart to pass.
A purple flower fell from the sky and dropped on my windshield. The sun shined down on my eyes.
It was  5:09pm on a Tuesday and for a moment I felt the presence of g-d.

Scream

It’s an argument that swings in the black hearts of chaos.
Warm, like rats leaving wooden ships that burn in the dark soul of human terror.
Like the first monkey to scream, stop! stop!
He’s eaten by the snake that crawled through the dark of night hunger to pluck him from the tree.
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Power

It was 7 AM and I was driving north on the 101 freeway. It had been raining for a couple weeks, maybe more. We were feeling isolated. The steam and the mist glazed the green mountains. It reminded me of the hobbit books I never actually read, but saw a couple of the movies. If you listen to enough Led Zeppelin you don’t really need to read the books since they stole from Tolkien about as much as they stole from the Blues masters. I exited the 170 at Burbank. I downshifted and realized that Mad Max and I are probably the last people that drive stick shift. I thought about that ring, the ring that hobbit had. Does power truly corrupt? I’d like to give it a test. Where is  my precious?

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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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Rainy Day

It was the rainy season and we sat under the freeway overpass most of the day. Some smokes cigarettes and we talked about the good things in the past and  we talked a little about the future. But we never talked about the present. How could we? We passed a cheap bottle of wine that gave some of us a headache but, if nothing else the pain gave us something else to focus on.

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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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The Architecture of Indecision

Everyone knows what’s behind the door… subconsciously, at least. But it takes the free thinker or the bravery of the artist to push the door open for all to see. There’s a price, of course. Just ask Galileo (the world is round).

But once the door is open, after the artist has paid the price, everyone goes inside as if the door had always been open.

  1. Go through the open door.
  1. How do you know the open door does not lead to the same place you think the locked door is keeping you from?
  1. Maybe the room you’re in was only meant to be a hallway.

 

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Photo by: Susan Overberger

Go!

Oliver Stone wrote Platoon in three weeks.

That means, if you start today, your dream project could be on it’s way to completion on January 2nd, 2016.

What do you want to do?

Start a band? Write a story? Stop the war? Save the whales? Feed the homeless? Teach children to read? Write a rock opera? Meditate everyday? Lose weight? Gain weight? Learn to speak another language? Clean your apartment?…Go!

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