Tuesday, February 28, 2006


"Man passes through the present with his eyes blind-folded. He is permitted merely to sense and guess at what he is actually experiencing. Only later when the cloth is untied can he glance at the past and find out what he has experienced and what meaning it had."

Milan Kundera, Laughable Loves

Monday, February 27, 2006


I lost Shazam;
He hitched a ride
In a box
Left curbside

I loved his painted
Eyes and hair,
White cape and
Rubber underwear

His red jump suit,
The golden crest
Of lightning blazoned
On his breast

Could have sold him
On Ebay--
Could have
Given Him away

Wonder Woman's
Feeling blue
In her shoe box
With R2

Torn, the fabric
Of my mind
To leave this
Tiny toy behind

Lonely lonely
Like a child
I rummage through
The basement wild

Tearing open
Box and bag,
Looking for
A music mag

Or something
To distract my eye's
That plastic guy

Old! Old!
I'm growing old
My better instincts
Do corrode

Maybe if I
Say the magic
Word I'll transform
From this nerd

Into something
Truly grand
Please help me now
My friend...


"For good or ill, we have phased ourselves out of the older visual society by our electric technology that is as instant as light. If we want to get back into a visually ordered world, we shall have to recreate the conditions of that world. Meantime we have a new environment of instant information that upsets and "pollutes" all the patters of the old visual sequences. Nothing is "in concatenation accordingly" in the simultaneous world of sound. Effects now easily and naturally precede causes, and we can freely predict the past."

Marshall McLuhan, 1973









Sunday, February 26, 2006

Vanishing Point

all this space around
folded into time
origami corners
large and small combine
keeping us enthralled
distances sublime
every second breath
planets will align
only to disperse
like a lightless star
slipping into verse
gravity's own scar
'till it shows the way
past the near and far
'till it shows the way
back to where we are

The Cage

far too lazy
far too vain
this freedom drives
a mind insane

the cage was square
the cage was good
were understood

the light was clear
the shadows soft
restrictions bore
the soul aloft

God and man
were kept apart
you and I
could dream a start

I wish you never
turned that key
with infinity

now horizons
just recede;
the open air
inflames my need

so many stories
to discuss--
the landscape
all ambiguous

amidst this
poverty of wealth
I collapse
upon myself

and angels fierce
eyes ablaze
guard the entrance
to my cage

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Slow Train

click to enlarge

No Loitering

Glowing like graffiti left
Where people never go,
I came here to catch my breath
Between the flakes of snow.

So many times I failed to act
When action was required;
I know the way the deck is stacked
And how the walls are wired.

Lacking proper testament
The days have come and gone
Until, with aimless wonderment
The moment simply shone.

Monuments of launderers
Are built upon the ground
Where saints and other wanderers
Have paused to look around.

So, to dodge embarrassment
And fossilized debris
I won't stop to raise a tent
To this epiphany.


Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Some folks have nothing
Some have even less
Everyone is hoping
For more than hopelessness

School is full of learning
Church is full of sin
Government is waiting
For the UFOs to win

No use pretending
We share the same time;
Those graduating
And those left behind

Searching for that place
You and I conjoin
Both of us the beggar
Both of us the coin


Tuesday, February 21, 2006

"Is it possible you still concieve--having experienced
the endless infinitude of night existing within my cape
of darnkness--that I am capable of wearing cloths?"

Cloak, Cloak & Dagger #8







Saturday, February 18, 2006

Friday, February 17, 2006

End of Zen

What I'm saying
Needs no ear
The silence there
Just like here

Happy with
The goal obscure
The atmosphere

Bring it down!
Blueprints fail
Boat comes home
Without a sail

Up a stream
That never flows
Hear wind
That never blows

All the living
There are dead
There the bleeding
Never bled

Movement is
Staying put:
Harder still

Truthful words
Never spoke
One hand clapping
Not a joke

I don't know
Never did
Visions manifest
Or hid

Hope to meet
You all again
Here or there
Who yet remain

Found Photo



So many failures
At such an age
Drove me to
Dissect the page

But it came out wrong:
Instead of a curse
I ended up tracing
The moon in reverse

I ended up running
From the wind
Drowned dreams
Drenched in sin

Magnetic fields
Held me fast
I sank to the bottom
Of a wine glass

Still the page screamed
"You're not even close!"
I turned to religion
For a stronger dose

I turned to religion
And it turned to stone
Carving out letters
In a jaw bone

Stupidly lonely
Mind in a cloud
I wandered and sang
A song out loud

And turning around
Was struck to see
A thousand blank pages
Following me


Monday, February 06, 2006

Saturday, February 04, 2006

My Time with the Ninja

Life here at the Ninja Training Facility is interesting, but these martial arts types are a little crazy. For instance, all they ever eat is a strange dish made of boiled spinach and blood sausage. Also, the senior ninja all have abnormally large forearms, funny accents (not oriental, kind of squeaky), and they all smoke corncob pipes, even in the midst of the most arduous maneuvers.

They have an odd song, an anthem of sorts, that gets sung at the opening ceremonies to each training session:

We're the Ovaltine Ninja clan
We live in a camper van
We'll kill all the cows
Drive around in snow plows
We're the Ovaltine Ninja clan!

It's a strange song. Since I've been here I haven't been offered a single cup of the delicious malted chocolate drink, Ovaltine; all that the new trainees are given is orange soda. I have caught a glimpse of some of the elder ninja sitting on their meditation platforms and sipping a dark, warm substance from rustic, clay receptacles. Sometimes they laugh--no doubt as part of some arcane ninja ritual, or as the answer to a Zen koan of some kind. But their laugh sounds more like a sputtering, guttural choking. It's one of the weirdest sounds you'd ever hear.

The head Ninja, known as Sensei Po-Pi, cuts a striking figure. He has the same strange physiognomy as the other ninja, only more so: pronounced forearms, barrel chest, spindly waist and legs, and extremely poor posture--or maybe it's a ninja stance of readiness to keep one's knees constantly bent. Po-Pi also has an offset jaw, visible even beneath his black ninja mask. I can only imagine it is a battle wound of some sort, no doubt inflicted during a duel with Po-Pi's arch enemy Bu-tow San.

My days here are comprised of equal parts training and meditation, punctuated by a couple of brief, silent meals. After supper, the entire clan assembles for a sermon from Po-Pi on ninja virtues and the nutritional merits of spinach. Afterwards we watch old cartoons on a large screen television.

I have learned much from these sputtering, awkward ninja. Their fighting style is not like anything you would see in the movies. Their signature move--the only one I've actual see them use--involves spinning the forearm around like an airplane propeller and using the kinetic energy thus accumulated to deal a devastating blow to one's opponent.

Despite the hospitality I have been shown here, I think I will disappear over the enclave wall sometime soon and make the long journey back to civilization. My only concern for the return trip is an ancient legend about the Waum-pi, or "hamburger thief"--a mythical entity said to wander the glacial mountain wastes, searching for hapless victims from whom to borrow money to fund his endless, fevered quest for hamburger meat.