Success may come but all we know is the struggle. We mourn the loss of the one who struggled and although your dreams are fulfilled you are left with this sadness and emptiness that this gift has given you. You are left to reconcile with this gift.

Wow Christian Slater got old and turned into a boring guy. I wanted him to turn into Spider Jerusalem.

Maybe I want to turn into Spider Jerusalem.

Or John Muir?

Mmmmhh, must ponder.

Bus Pass Day

Rain was a hallmark card that

fell from grace

and stumbled down the stairway of clouds

Slamming a door of sunshine

Running away with the rainbow of your absence.

So she's not home.

She's not home.

My shoes holler to be stripped down

and my jeans are guilty on the floor.

She is not home.

She is not home.

Shadows mind.

I mind.

Running around like a chicken monkey

Catching my breath between pots of coffee

standing at the bus

stop.

Wondering why people talk so loud?

Every other Wednesday should be mine to take.

Just to make sense of myself.

Just to make some sense.

Just to take hold of all the pleasure and pain.

I catch me stuttering in comments

left in boxes. Illuminated by whiteness

that is not there,

that is as real as nothing.

As real as pushing you away.

Technology

Sometimes I want to throw my cell phone and laptop into a tub of hot water.

Blog is a sound you make when you don't feel well.

Twitter is when you let something go.

Sharing should be more personal.

Not highlighted by so many damn emoticons.

For ME

I wrote a song today. It took shape as a woman walked by.

She sang "Is it still gonna rain"

And repeat.

The rain came about 4 o' clock.

The smell came 'round and let us out.

I ran with wet guitar inside

The green bugs crawled all over me

from the dill plants I intend to use for pickling

It dawned on me....

You aren't coming home today.

I set down the mail

And put down my keys

Watered your housplants and sat down for this

I sit here with wrists and muscles aching for soft things

I cradled my self like cartons of fragile eggs today

I needed to be soft

I need to hold on

Today is my beginning

Today is my song.

A call to arms

I have a proposal to all you pixel addicts.

Just think about this for a moment,

What if we could start a movement to save an essential American element?

An institution that keeps going in struggles and strife's. An almost invisible cog that works magic,

that intertwines the fabrics of our lives. How can a government organization be so personal and prolific?

I tell you if you do anything this year you ought to send a letter. Save the Post office. That's right! Buy a card, scribe a letter, make a note, send it to your aunt, your ma, your old lonely pa. Write it down, I'm literate and I'm proud.

Look at how paperless our society has become. We've nearly decimated the postal service. We can't do this. These brave folks are such a unique part of our culture. They walk our hoods, they handle our personals. They need our support.

I have family who live without the digital confines of communication, (beyond them really). How disappointing it would be to have the Saturday service cut off. That is one more day that gives someone a sense of purpose. The trek out to the mail box looking for that card, that something special that connects that person to the outside world. An old-fashioned sentiment that needn't go away. We like seeing our name in print on an invitation. We revel in that new magazine coming just for us. We need all that the post has to offer. I tell you nothing makes me feel more like an adult like going to the post office and buying stamps. The institution of forms and files and ancient boxes on the wall. I suspect you remember how to get there. I suspect you will answer this call.

Zip code, address, capitals and fire, tomorrow's mail will make me a liar.

Envelope, stamps and black ink, this day's mail will make me think.

Be the hero in your own comic today. Wear a cape and proudly type set your name with a capital. "I am a writing fool, I can make someone's day having given the right tool!"

laundry

in a mad dash for freedom

I purged and laundered my emotions

not forgetting to separate the darks from the lights

they sat separated

I realized

they didn't need to be

I tossed the painful bleak runny ones right on in with the

bright cheery ones

they mingled and forgave and

swallowed the colors of one another

in the end

they dried

and were worn again.

Sliding Glass

The throngs of bacteria

churn inside me.

My blood smells like metal.

I walked past large work benches

that have been scoured, ground down

and sanded to the gleaming fragments of their core.

"I can't get no satisfaction" plays over again

as I work the bass line

in my mind.

Your trickery and lament dispel the rumor mongers

that hold court

amongst The Rolling Stones.

Morrison's Ghost

The long night howling

From the window outside

pressing the issue at hand dear

the answer for you to hear,

Lost in the night for I can't find the road,

wandered too far from town

left the tavern alone,

went hunting down the green rolling

grass of the hills

and sought the ghosts of the past.

When you answer the night calling

lest you don't forget your way

more often than not you'll find

your lover won't stay.

Mystery will find you

but make no mistake

the green hillsides

are no saving grace.

The long night howling

from the window outside

pressing a hand dear

for you to hear.

Money rant

So I write personal stuff on this blog but mostly I let my alter-egos live on my blogs. Today my real thoughts are needing some space. So I just got of the phone with GE Bank who are the holders of my debt. And this debt is a dark cloud, but not a huge one- I chip away at it and sometimes sunshine peaks through. Today a little sunshine peaked through. 

I am a small time spender. I don't buy boats, furniture or motorcycles. I don't have cash hidden away. I get my paycheck in my checking account twice a month and it goes bye bye quick. I pay almost half of my earnings to rent this room I dwell in and occupy, and the rest of my money goes to eating and drinking and getting there. I spend most of my folding money on coffee (big surprise huh?). I don't have a car, I ride public transit, I ride my bike and I get rides with my buddies and my love.(who helps me stay sane)  I don't watch t.v. or pay a cable bill.(I pay for internet) I don't spend crazy. My designer bag is a North Face backpack that hauls everything I use day to day like school stuff.

Every once in a while I buy a book, a cowboy shirt or some guitar strings. 

Yeah so, a little credit forgiveness would be nice, and I got some this morning, but I'm worried.... I go to school, I have a job, but it's not enough.... And like most of America, I'm feeling the hurt. I have to be smart and stay strong and keep my folding money tucked away I guess. Yeah, that's all I have to do.

Waiting

So this morning I open my inbox and I have received an email from a very good friend about Obama's plan to nationalize farming, control every aspect of agriculture and outlaw organic farming. So for the past hour I have been sitting here, reading through some of my most trusted news sources to have a response or explanation for why I think this is an absurd story and completely untrue. In the headlines and the commentaries I get lost with "Barry" bashing. Where are the answers? I've tried to be educated about the new administration and "his radical ideas" but I can't say I have a good grasp on what the future holds. I am a student, waiting for the word on what I will get for school this year. I am waiting for my math book to come in the mail. I'm waiting to see if I will get a raise any time this year. I'm waiting to see if I will have a career to build a future on and buy a house and grow old and wait. 

How can I answer the question my friend sends? She sends it to me because I've been the voice, the only voice of hope at times? We work to together and share our pains together. How can I, an individual react to the idea of this injustice being inflicted onto our environment and compromising our national/natural freedoms? How can I forget where my values and virtues lie? I will be brave in times of trouble. I will choose the middle path, as Buddha did. That is my only answer for now. Hopefully Barack will do the same.

Walk each path as if it is your first, your last, your all. Eat slowly and taste the bounty you intake. Breath slowly and mindfully for it is a gift to live. That is my answer and my blessing to you my friend. Namo Amitofu.  -R

http://kalman.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/03/26/so-moved/?em

Temple of fallen women

I took woman studies two terms ago and wrote a ranting poem. I felt like posting old stuff I have written and wanted to share. Here's part of the piece:

Pink Dress Blue Shirt

I woke up with a war in my pants 

Leslie Feinberg wanna dance?

I am torn down from both sides 

only succeed in building

a wall for my lover 

climb the ladder

of

Success should not be based on lackluster testicles

it should be based on smarts from the start

I won't succeed with a partner dragging his feet

Why should I settle to live life on my knees?

Businesses can be made with suits -ties that get by

And we wonder why

I stand accused

Bare my breasts for plastic beads

Bare my knuckles and feed

Expose my anger and fight

Female form blessed 

strength strife

Anxiety attack

Dear Abb,

Hey you know love is a fickle thing, like Portland's love of Thai restaurants. But what I actually have to say is in regards to regret....

See... I don't feel regret in love, past, present or future. I don't secretly pine for a girlfriend that got away, some fling that slipped through my fingers or the one night-might-have-beens. I don't need to worry about that shit. Its fleeting, wasteful, useless like a wistful fart in temple. 

I'm not on a soap box here. No Ms. Abb, I'm trying to lay it out for you. I got these reasons, these aching reasons to sit here and tell ya that I'm not trying to fool anyone. I have nothing to hide. This isn't a rant. No, this, this right here, has reason. I won't sit for being made a fool of. I won't sit with shaking hands. The hiding of the heart is the devil's only playground. Only the biggest fool would walk down the path of a hidden love. So yeah...Am I a fool? 

Sincerely yours, Secret Heart.

The 1st period is won by the best technician. The 2nd period is won by the kid in the best shape. The 3rd period is won by the kid with the biggest heart. 
Dan Gable 

When I want to give in, when I'm out of breath, when things are lost, I look to my heart to see. Following it never goes wrong. -R

Website I stumbled upon today:

http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

miso thoughts

My hands are shaking. My knees and feet ache. I feel like a bad Elvis song.

Sick

'I cannot go to school today, ' Said little Peggy Ann McKay. 'I have the measles and the mumps,  A gash, a rash and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,  I'm going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as big as rocks,  I've counted sixteen chicken pox And there's one more-that's seventeen,  And don't you think my face looks green?  My leg is cut-my eyes are blue- It might be instamatic flu. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,  I'm sure that my left leg is broke- My hip hurts when I move my chin,  My belly button's caving in,  My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,  My 'pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is cold, my toes are numb. I have a sliver in my thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,  I hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is filling up my mouth,  I think my hair is falling out. My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,  My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,  There is a hole inside my ear. I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?  What's that? What's that you say?  You say today is...Saturday?  G'bye, I'm going out to play! '  Shel Silverstein

Bite in your voice

Maybe them piranhas ain't half bad

Maybe they only nibble a little bit till they find themselves full

Maybe I am a bottom-feeder on the outside 

finding inspiration listening to guitar solos

or on a tagged tea bag. 

Then I float up top 

gasp for the first time

grow some feet and walk on the dry land

 Walden Woods

     discover my voice echoing in the timbers

Shaking legs, shaking breath. Hum. Silence. Stillness. 

Yeah, maybe that is me there, reflecting in the pond. 

Take a dip with me

Today's Urban Grind

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. 

Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you... 
while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." -John Muir

Today I was up by 7:30. Stayed horizontal for another 30, 

avoiding the cold. 

I looked outside suprised by the blanket of white. 

I made towards the kitchen and then started coffee input. I turned on the computer and checked my email. Plans were still on...I connected with pal and looked out at another snowy day in Portland. 

I put my boots and thermals on while I watched a bit more of the Wild Bunch.

The plan was to hike Forest Park. Trimet would not get me to the St. John's access, so we opted for the Upshur entrance. After a few bus transfers finally we reached downtown. We had a big breakfast for energy and made it to the trail head around 12:30. We stayed primarily on the Wildwood trail and trekked through mud and snow.

We emerged tired, hungry and accomplished. It was a beautiful day. The sun came out and melted the snow. The trees shed their heavy loads and I was born anew.  

PCT solo hike one day

Despite my physical and mental limitations it is still my life goal to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. 

Bottom feeders

Did you know that writing in a classroom setting, with a room full of other writers, who are there to learn and critique you, is like writing poetry for a room full of piranhas. How do you write poetry for piranhas? How do you let them eat the flesh of your poem like their bait. My poem is new, and fragile and eggshell white and able to break and shatter. The piranhas in the pool all feel the same sensitivity. Once the first bit of bait drops and the water stops boiling, there are only a few fierce enough to stay. The rest are just bottom feeders. 

Improve upon what you already possess.

Those who see your true nature will not falter your steps.

The truest of truths. The truest of thoughts. 

Gentleness of life,

peeled sweet layers,

gulf storms can,

memories wash away,

nights fold in,

covers blew off.

Cliff face of rocks, tumble to the plain.

Blanket of grey,

Warmed by the coast,

Hearts of mingled mist.

And truest of truest form,

And truest of truest things.

The truest of true thoughts,

The shelter of the wing.