Ocean Cello

And when a Jewel cries,
are too her tears jewels?

Not sharp and angular,
as the flinted gem and jaded crystal.


as what focused gentle
hands of celloing ocean
distill from shores of hard metal rock.
Soft with such muchness that
when struck to the eyes it
does not hurt;
it is rather a sweet Turkish towel,
soaking away cold jagged Kraken terrors,
leaving glowing eyes.

and Scintillating,
the stars of Libra descend
as spangling light
in the falling tears
of a crying Jewel


Fucking Sunrise Piano

Jan 27:

Very hard time falling to sleep. Anxious, dread, fear. Some respite after realizing the high possibility that the anxiety is about the likely possibility that I will have SEID for the rest of my life. Truly makes me sad. All the things I possibly will not be part of, will never be part of… Though, like I say to people with cell phones, who say to me you are missing out, “on the contrary, I’m simply receiving/leading a different life”. The grand total amount of things that I do in my life is not going to change having cell phone. I would do the exact same amount, simply different things. Similarly related, one of my major critiques of society is that we tend to portray life as a videogame: getting the best score on a test, passed the driving level, past the getting a job level, pass the getting a girlfriend level, past the getting a house level, past the having kids level, etc. any of the simple achievement of those things does not necessarily amount to anything. And really that is the problem in that I feel they must amount to something. A large part of my value system is based on my ability and capability to do things. And yet here I am lamenting about our society has a bad metric of success . Suddenly I am coming up against having to actually walk the talk with having the malaise that I do. And I dread it. It is revealing to me that despite all I ever said about happiness is a choice blah blah blah, have never entirely accepted that. I certainly have to some extent. I have also relied greatly on my capability to derive emotional well-being from my ability, i.e., Life is painful and at least I can play good piano, least I have the strength to bike 1000 km, at least I am doing less to pollute the earth than others, at least I can dance pretty good, at least I have creativity, at least I’m kind, at least I’m handsome, at least I’m different and not as sheep etc. I have all these things to comfort onto despite lack of loveability, respectability, recognition. And that is the crux, even those things, wanting love being loved and recognition, are part of the video game attitude. I.e. I need to have love to be happy, or happiness is the goal, I need to be able to live, or unless I achieve peace I won’t be good enough. Indeed there is a safe box with inside of me that I keep holding and holding and holding onto. As if that is what will make me survive because I’m scared and I dread letting it go. Life isn’t a fucking achievement, it is walking. There is no justice in making it an achievement. I have never said I believe that there is some chosen people, and yet I have. I desire to be that chosen one – whatever the hell that means. The one who gets over it all? Another thing I get caught up in is the rule that if I am at peace I cannot be angry, annoyed, sad, frustrated. As if I ought to have just one special emotion and all the others are bad and because I have them that is bad and I should be guilty. When I look at the sunrise where does the colour change from pink blush to beach blue? I will never know. Any line I make will be false. There’s only one great spectrum. Within there, at some point, the pink and the blue are part of each other. Just as I keep telling myself that life is like a piano: all the keys are there, everything is there, every possibility is there, and it highly depends how you play it. From one piano you can get heavy metal, classical, rock, folk, reggae, etc. yet do not often live so democratically. I am wired with this notion that I can’t have certain emotions, or that these mean exactly that. Life is like a fucking sunrise piano. I tell myself that the patterns of life are seen all around us in nature and here they are screaming at me. So why such a grip on the achievement attitude? What am I getting out of it and what are we getting out of it. Perhaps it is not serving me so well. Because, you know, everything here is is here to serve me well.


Photo: Dale Brazao

Heavy Flocking

I rose from the deep
to the sound of no clock
Rather an exodus of sheep
a heavy wool flock
and the bugle calamity
of personal vitality

With hay in a hoe
I lept to the tap and had a great slurp
and washed my sweet face with not even the burp
and squared myself down
on the throne of ejection, dereliction,
the throne of reflection and contemplation,
a kingdom of self-absorption
With a co-task of great emission

After a walk through no beaches of Peake
I look to the fire
Squinting the eyes to see it more clear
refracting the light
through the cracking
in soggy eyelashes
What a blossoming blurbing blur
that’s nice that’s for sure

What a dainty dand time
when there is here just to be
and here with my time
I suffer you know
in my hands, and my feet,
my throat, and my knees,
my mind, and my spirit
all a ghastly goat show

Yet life breezes
when lent to the sneezes