Do me a favor,
blind yourself to where you don’t see.
There was an executive order here
that pit man against man,
shot men
and arranged to murder more.
Can we look at the oligarchy?
I’ve seen you in rivers of hate
you just think you put on for show.
Make a wide trench
and make that the border with Mexico
and fill it with orders and snakes,
great big alligators.
Did you say this to your aids?
The orders are to shoot people.
That’s illegal Mr. President.
Then shoot them in the legs.
I don’t think anybody understood that.
A mean joke you say.
It was the reality he thought about,
never mind the children that crossed too,
the grandpas and women with babies,
any ole human being that wants a better life,
and you said he was joking.
Let’s put the death penalty all along this land,
press people to use it.
We’re gonna make them pay
a blood lust so dear
you love the president for it.
I’d reach for the psychopath in the room
and don’t give him arms to kill people.
Can you see the character of a man that wants to kill?
That’s the president,
and you think he’s joking.
Let’s appease Hitler, shall we?
He hasn’t become the meanest man alive,
what we realized
after the fact.
Now ole Trump’s got an agenda.
It’s not to make America safe.
We put our egos where our mouth is.
America first means Trump first.
You don’t know the national politics
that makes your ego identify with its nation
like it’s you.
It’s a constituent landmass.
The ego is made up of such as these,
your gender your identity
or a race and a peoplehood,
sexuality if yours is the odd man out,
and the gas it all of religion.
I can name more.
Let’s put the most powerful nation on Earth
Trump first,
never mind the responsibility
of being your brother’s keeper.
Higher ideals no longer apply.
We are selfish and revel in it.
Fuck the world
you dirty bastards,
is that what this all means?
Is that how a kid sees it?
How many would share their toys?
I don’t think you’re lookin’ at the younger generation
and what this means to their grow up.
Can I kill people momma
if they make me mad?
Sit with yourself a moment.
If Trump could kill his enemies would he?
We’re talking about the character of a man
that lets hate rule his room.
Seething with ill will,
he justifies a nation.
It don’t come out right.
Can we cross this again?
History has put these men in power over and over.
You’re flattered.
He has the character you wear,
mean-mouthed,
hate this person and that individual.
Send them all back to China!
Okay you put the mass in power,
it’s not gonna be a good human being rules yah.
I think even the Bible makes deacons exceptional.
Now tell me again the Bible makes place for him.
I don’t think you’re lookin’ at dictators
that steal the hearts and minds of the mass
and just please your undeveloped, brass nature.
Every nation lives like this,
and that’s why we call it populist today.
Oh what pride the Nazis wore
in their cruelty,
in their disregard for human life
and diversity,
and they all wore the nationalism pin
and wanted you to behave like them.
Can we take a step backwards?
Can we just almost commit suicide
with the power we’ve given one man?
You don’t see it, do yah?
Look into his eyes.
There’s a killer there.
I don’t know what history will unfold,
but this man can’t be right
in the history books of tomorrow.
Revel in him now,
praise his name;
you’re on dangerous ground.
He’s got the end of the world in his eyes.
Can you see it?
No, he won’t stage that.
It’s just what he’s made of,
the world leader of selfishness
and this is mine.
He won’t bring the apocalypse,
nothing close,
but we will be so embarrassed
as Americans
when his power comes to a close.
MAGA hell,
he brought shame.
There is something
ninja.
He can walk around
clothed in a smiling president
and assassinate so many people’s lives
with deportation,
the death penalty,
and bring it on climate change.
Wow,
there is something.
He’s not my most selfish person in the world.
He’s not my most selfish.
To Earth
had this lion king thing,
except maybe I’ll get on the other side.
One caught right here:
definitely not a good person.
You’re not gonna find anyone to build your snowman for yah
that froze all cooperation missed their forgiveness key.
Can you see that children?
He just broke in my house
and stole all my transgender people.
They must evoke the 5th Amendment or die.
You’re gonna stay there
and hope we have policy changes on Earth.
I’m pregnant.
Oh my God the 14th Amendment’s in there,
right at the moment of conception.
I tell yah an embryo’s not a person yet,
even if they have the right to be.
You can’t see what you’re doin’,
takin’ the Constitution as the folly in the room,
what tells lies.
I’m sure you don’t like talkin’ to me,
but I’m the medicine.
It’s not that human
I’m talking about.
You got too much action,
storm as big as he is.
I think you and I see a woman
stand in our shoes.
Take themselves very differently.
That’s not a pedophile.
That’s a lover of children that does not molest children.
Don’t be so wrapped up in pronouns
or who’s speakin’ the poem.
You savvy a woman speak?
In his vital.
You don’t know the breakdown of the human being.
It’s not a mind and body problem.
A vital being fits in there
just as pretty as you please,
mitigating between the two.
If we knew this we’d understand gender discrepancies,
and we’d never discount the body.
I have a mental male,
vital female,
and physical male.
What do you got?
Do you see where it all adds up?
Don’t get mad at it
and cut if off.
Do you see the human being?
We didn’t go to the same place.
We went to the four winds,
and it was diversity made us equal.
Did yah hear me Trump?
Let’s put white Americans on top
by making sure they stay on top
and get rid of every program that don’t
put them there.
I’m callin’ the shots—
systemic racism.
I’ve gotta get off this island
and give the right blues for my speak,
and who do I address now?
The oneness body of the United States.
It’s bigger than the world.
It includes every man, woman, and child
in the world.
Can you see that oneness big?
Not in an amalgamated mass.
We give each person their personhood
and allow them to be Americans or whatever.
They’re just not more important than Nicaraguans
as human as they are,
but we know they can’t all be Americans.
We just differentiate with love not hate,
or at least goodwill.
Do you know the difference?
Inside a nation we see the world.
The nation’s not greater than it.
You’re just not lookin’ at the world right.
You’re lookin’ at it in terms of you,
like your ego’s your nation,
and you can’t even get that right.
No oneness circle there, is there?
Are you the center of the world or what?
It’s so complicated in here.
I’m standin’ right in the center of the world don’t you see?
And that’s the fault of everyone.
A common language like them best,
the same culture,
and we are so wrapped around skin color,
racial features.
Hello you there and me,
fellow white people,
or maybe it's
black people,
or all Native Americans.
Or maybe religion gets your dick?
We all come from the same hole,
and it’s a blessed hole, is it not?
We are oneness speakers,
how we identify with our beloved group.
They’re in the center of the world with us.
Are we just gonna drop oneness in the sand?
If you can identify with a nation you can identify with the world.
We are all there don’t you see,
in the oneness yard,
even Trump,
but not his hate,
no one’s hate.
A poem has made a bill of it,
showin’ the world his,
like it’s what he does the executive office with.
There it is.
Give him the shoes of a savior?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
If we get into the deep roots of the poem,
there’s an imbecile here,
and it’s not Trump.
I can see him so clearly because I’ve failed mine
in great dark rooms.
Shut up my speaker said;
you are so pleasing to your humanity now.
I’ve gotta tell yah
I don’t have room to talk,
but can we still meet at poem’s end
I’ve shown you some truth?
It doesn’t make freeways,
but it lights up a path, you know?
And we’ve got to get hate out of the room.
That’s the item we wear.
Do you hear me Trump?
A self-reflective nightmare,
I voted for this one.
Gardening deep in transition’s ways
a like broadcast.
Its own title
shows its inadequacies.
I don’t know how many people voted for Trump,
but I’ve offended half the nation.
Half the nation,
I haven’t pleased them in liberties.
I’ve just damaged their pride.
I’ve lost my way
they say.
I can’t get Trump right.
There’s a man there that loves his nation
and doesn’t want the government to interfere in people’s lives,
unless you’re a part of the groups he mentions
he thinks have slammed the nation
or committed heinous crimes.
He’s a figure standin’ up to tall water
and not afraid to speak his mouth.
He loves kin and family.
He champions Israel.
This is a good thing in a world that needs Israel,
and he sees the war with China
to make them back down
and be careful with him.
He’s not a filibuster
that excites for war.
He’s tempered there,
and he may bring the cost of livin’ down.
Part of me would vote for him too
if I didn’t have my eyes open on human nature,
studying you.
He’s mean he’s cruel,
and we don’t need that.
We need to be kind to one another
and learn how to get along.
Isn’t that what you teach your children
in Sunday School?
I think you’ve lost your moorings
from the true reason Christ came.
It wasn’t to judge the quick and the dead.
Now you’ve entered him into politics
like Trump represents him,
like you want to take over politics,
not likin’ gender fluidity
and gays teachin’ children
and another host of stuff,
but can you just stop a minute
and study right and wrong,
the fundamentals of it,
be good to one another,
not just your group or clan?
Do you really want a theocracy?
I know that
will destroy our nation.
I’m talkin’ to power.
It would take another three thousand years
to get it back
the way we wanted it,
people themselves have a nature like Christ,
and they get along.
Can you hear my foot school?
We don’t need against the law.
We need love one another
and be good to each other.
Isn’t that the law written on our hearts?
Goodness rises from within
when we open to the best in us,
the highest.
We need the liberty to do that,
because it’s trial and error with each of us.
It’s not a religion we are trying to cement on this planet.
It’s help your brother and love.
It’s be kind to your sister
and hold her up.
I know you want everybody Christians,
but where would that lead us
truthfully, honestly?
It won’t lead us there.
You’ve put Trump in that place
as God’s helper.
Okay is he there?
What attracted you to Christ to begin with?
Is that Trump?
Would you put Trump in God’s shoes
that’s the way God acts in the world?
Is that what you want your children to emulate?
Does Trump’s behavior satisfy some raw nerve,
or is it really the highest in man?
We need high right now not low
from our president.
Do you hear me now?
In Holocaust
What’s the biggest love you ever had?
The receipt is in the bag,
and you’re probably
torn apart by it.
Good how you doin’?
That’s the ode of life,
our first knowledge of it.
You can’t get over its size.
It jumps out and bites you all the time.
There’s somethin’ here.
Your love has nothin’ to do with it.
It’s a list of hard.
You can never reach it.
Look at the dog.
That’s payment of love let me tell you.
The point of this
somethin':
Donny get your head out of your ass.
Get so close
makin’ it look
like people look,
hear their voices,
hide their fears,
and they are the lovers of your life.
You want me to tell yah
this dangerous love?
You look
awful.
Do it,
love you in the perfection of love’s care,
and you’re this simple little organism
that must awake to itself
as the horseman,
that you are the starship,
you are the unicorn,
that shatters time and all barriers
to arrive back at the house
the One,
who wears time as his robe
and space as his molecule.
Ever the mystery of God finds God,
and God himself is a station of the One,
created before time began.
He bids you a self-discovery bigger than himself
but that can fit into an atom and a plant
or any ring around the rosie,
but only the human being can make it real to itself.
The dog just loves its master.
Now I am clothed in time,
but I have worn this identity
in an unimaginable sphere,
and that brief moment has determined all my life.
I have to deal with God’s love
putting me on those tracks again,
day in and day out,
and I have been given a load to bear
that makes me hated by you.
Only the most exceptional people,
and they are few,
will make my life easier
with their care and concern,
give the comfort you get every day
from friends and family.
I am almost completely alone in this world,
and I don’t think you can grasp this isolation
it hurts so.
So I have taken the world
what to make of it,
and I have found God.
Wrapped in unimaginable mystery,
he holds my hand
and lets me see things you don’t
and gives me keys to man’s change,
and I can still love my boy
and my best friend
and my dogs.
I can still love the world.
I can love mankind.
I can love it all
because I have gone through a holocaust of human abandonment,
and I discovered what love is.
God is love my friend.
God is love.
The Glorious Traditionalist

Tribute to the poetry of tradition.
I’m an art student.
I’m blowin’ the lid off poetry.
I can’t get poetry right to save my life.
If you study poetry you’ll get it.
It’s just about our choice words,
painting things right.
I dare my pen.
Let’s follow some tradition,
and I’ve exposed poetry
to be in the lair of predicament,
every syllable counted and every i dotted.
Someone on the internet will like it.
These Germans,
they like system and order.
Picked her brother apart,
except that Skeptic’s Kaddish fella,
who goes around publicly
and discerns poetry,
and he can make you meet poetry in a formula.
It’s not weathered beat.
It’s not the formula he’s lookin’ at.
It’s his heart and matter.
There’s a haiku,
or a whatchamacallit he’s discovered
that no one’s ever heard about.
A poet has these easels,
and he makes them shine
with the testimony of word.
He passes the feeling test.
He goes beyond words into something else.
How elusive it is to say.
You know you’ve met a poem,
but let’s hand it to ‘im will yah?
David Daylight,
ben Alexander,
measured right
everybody call home.
You can’t find this on paper.
It’s in the poet’s test,
what he meets inside himself to write the poem,
a sensibility in time
that’s brought him world after world
of be the horseman in the room.
He moves humanity along
in great waves of identification
and another brand of thinking
that goes for the goal of everything,
its reach and purpose in time,
how the world was made and why,
and can I be pretty in it?
Every little thing
is a poet’s mule,
the suddenness of his mile
(the traditional lift to pronoun
stutters my feet),
not to figure out and keep,
to brandish science in the room
or the philosopher with his stone.
We must show them to you as they are
with their mystery still behind them
made greater by the sacrifice
but revealed
in the paradox of life.
Oh my great big friend David thank you.
You’re the bravest man alive.
Representational Think / A Blog Post

Alone for you,
state it and I’ll bring it.
That’s our duty.
I’m not a poet I’m a blog artist.
These are
thousands
is that so?
Would you gear with me
the impossibilities of paint
another form of blog?
I wanna get in your living room
the poet speaks aloud,
the blog artist
refashions the internet,
and it is as legitimate as a piece of paper
sayin’ things.
I’ve got out the bugs,
the pieces of electricity put into us
electronic think.
This is my whirl with you.
I take the possibilities of poetry
and group think
and put them right in your lap.
I’m a rebel I’m a holder.
I’m sincere with you.
God it all stinks,
and a better world is coming
in the kitchen sink.
Sylvia Plath
did not Gertrude Stein.
You know what a kitchen is thought,
and how many people sink there?
I bet you didn’t include the kitchen sink,
and I double meaning my poem
blog post.
It’s all gone to hell ain’t it?
I sit and count God on my fingers.
I can’t get at it that way.
I’ve got to get bigger than your living room,
your apocalypse see.
I’ve got to get bigger than the loss of my boy
and Auroville stinks.
I’ve got to be a bigger poet
than a blog post.
Fuck you I said.
That aughta do it.
Oh my fucking God,
I’ve got to get bigger than my pen.
I’ve got to say to you words
that open up worlds inside you
that change the world.
I’ve got to make you see for one goddamn minute
we are not animals in a bullpen.
We’re not even That.
We’re ourselves in time
with the means to change
out of this skin of loneliness and disease
that even all good people wear.
We can improve the human condition.
We can get better at ourselves.
I’m finding that in myself
as we speak.
Adopt a belief?
Change yourself
into the bigger man
when met with the opposition,
your own damn faults
or the shit storm of others.
You can be a bigger person to life’s faults.
You can be the skies
all take room in.
Do you hear my apologies?
A Shoulder in Immensity

I wanted to die.
Everybody knows how to die.
Sufferin’ from panic disorder
my only friend.
I have no comfort in anyone,
and this woe is me will not say it properly.
I cannot believe
I have no worth to anyone.
I’m just a field of crap,
and I have seen God’s eyes,
feel the world’s pain like my own.
I sit in a height of thought
where almost no footing is.
I’ve taken you there
in our thought realms unawares.
The All-Negating Absolute has me by the throat,
and even God is buried in immensity.
I cannot discover God one last time
as who we need in immensity.
3:33,
28-years-old,
I can’t give God the proper numbers.
He is too right and wrong.
Mexican,
He took my pants off and raped me at seven.
It hurt too much to tell anybody.
I was cleaved.
Why am I telling you this?
Afraid to tell anybody,
I put back action
comin’ up in the rear.
Squealin’ inside me,
they crossed death too
a courier
of the same disease,
those little tummies.
I can’t give you molten lava
and expect you to cherish me.
I can’t even say my name.
I’m a brick in a wall
that you don’t identify with,
bricks in the same wall.
Up here,
I’m a way
to photography that wall,
to hold it out open to daylight.
I’m a measure of that peace,
but you can’t come to terms with me.
I’ve sinned to much for God cares,
or I remind you of sin.
I’m an enigma with an open door.
God the carnage at Troy,
sit back everybody
and tell me what hero came home.
The canonical field of Troy.
Do it again,
I stand before you now.
Will you hear me?
We swim in oceans of blood.
Don’t underestimate
life.
There’s a moment
before you
when you can give it to the challenge
it tasks a man with,
and he must stand alone in immensity
and be the voice no one wants to hear
turning every ear on
to a future in ideas
that will save us all
come that future,
whether I’m the voice that says them or not.
See me today
sittin' with you holdin’ your hand
likewise tell me
the world has turned its back to you too.
A pencil in agony,
it’s too early to tell,
and I’m a measure of that immensity.
So brothers and sisters,
I’d help you.
Those tummies are in good hands.
You cannot electrify them like that,
put them on lurch
little boys and little girls.
A needle in a haystack
give you a tap.
Raise Supermind,
I’d be one in the world.
Get ‘im a chair
to latch from our very disease
and bring us all to peace.
You know how it works:
no ignoring you
world enigma.
My OMs are here.
My front door’s open.
Enjoy a body of ideas.
Do it again,
I’m really intercepting your thought.
The Window

I live in an undisclosed location in the area of the international city of human unity, Auroville, and I keep repeating that, and so it could get disclosed if I’m not careful, but I want to draw attention to the fact that I live where what I’m talking about is the center of the world. I’m an ex Green Beret, expat American, ex Classical Greek scholar, in India 20 years now. I traveled the world a penniless vagabond for 10 years before I settled here, but with my skill set I sometimes got nice work and lived rather well, and sometimes no; I lived outside. I spent a lot of time, months at a time, a hermit somewhere in self-study and inner exploration. Yes, I urged the machine on on a U.S. special forces tactical nuke team and in ’83 parachuted with my team into West Germany with the bomb, not knowing until we landed if it were armed or not. It wasn’t obviously. In ’95 I did a hunger strike in Jerusalem with a Danish guy, Lars, so he’d help me tape poems of mine on holy places around the old city, and I looked at them like tactical nukes. I went on alone to put them on the top of Mt. Sinai and inside and around the Great Pyramid. I’m just talking here, and I repeat these things a lot. In a world where make-believe superhero after superhero save the world, the universe, and the made-up multiverse, where stories bigger than reality make up the big screen, are the top off of entertainment to the mass of us, we get numb to reality, and a real guy with an interesting story just doesn’t stand a chance.
I’ve had some small town fame, a TV spot in Cuzco, Peru, made local news sometimes being a homeless pilgrim, but fame and me are a world apart. The poems on holy places were rather bad. Now I still write poems, post them on the net now, mostly here on my blog, get published some, have a very small readership that seems to be getting smaller not bigger, probably because of the subject material of last post. I can only say the poems are better than the ones I tried to nuke holy places with, poems which were not loaded with the weapons grade plutonium of the muse of poetry. So it was a practice mission too. Am I still on a practice mission? I now have that weapons grade plutonium. The problem will not let you see that.
Anyway, I don’t think you see the problem. It’s not Trump, Modi or any political person or party, although they certainly cause a lot of problems. We all do, some a lot, some not a lot. The problem’s not racists, sex fiends, war or even climate change, although we all see what those things do, if we want to admit it or not. I’ve been on the outside of society enough to discover hidden things, and one of the biggest is that consciousness is not localized inside of us some imagination of a thing we live alone in; we share it among ourselves, the good and the bad. This knowledge alone would revolutionize society. Thoughts and feelings move like waves among us, disguised as or own, and we act upon that in mass, most especially hatred and ill will. A magnet picks it up and tries to kill as many people as they can in one go; a president or PM picks it up and ruins a nation more than it already is, and, let’s face it, not a nation one is not ruined. A blogger picks it up and spreads more misunderstanding and ill will, a poet does and does not revolutionize society.
There is so much more to us than the tip of the iceberg. Just the everyday of dreams will change your mind towards shared meaning, if you learn to interpret them, and I’m sorry, but I bet you really haven’t, and you haven’t because it will knock you down with the knowledge of the future they give, of the hearts of the men, women, and children around you, dogs too, of the world unfolding before everybody’s eyes that you are beginning to see because you can interpret the representation, knock you down enough you keep trying to get up and get the word out, in the stunned manner of somebody with really something to say fumbling all over themselves with that word just seething with the elements of inner discovery. If you have then show me. I’m open to your interpretation.
I’m trying to say we are likened unto cavemen still in regard to being ignorant about very basic knowledge of ourselves because we see out the cave of our lives only open out onto the outer world and not also into the hidden caverns of our deeps, are still little animals vying for feeding space and a place in the sun, have not even become fully human yet, in the sense of being creatures more than animals able to move, live, and have our being in the good society nowhere yet created on Earth, but we can at the very least understand we are still becoming and open more to that than the disappointment and fear the times give us, have always given us since we began to speak and build fires huddled together in ancient times afraid more of each other than bears, lions, and wolves. What does this mean to you? I imagine it won’t mean anything more than a curiosity, but I thought I might post this anyway.
My blog gets maybe 10 views a post, and when I have gotten off onto another blog or, recently, onto a literary and art magazine, my content gets the average views/likes the blog does or the magazine, and that’s that. I just can’t say the ‘problem’ right, in poetry or prose, but I want to try again, but you’ll wonder at the digression I make in doing so. It’s the problem with knowledge of anything: you have to explain the whole world to enter any house of ideas within it. You’ve got to start at the beginning, which, I might add, just keeps trailing off into infinity.
The revolution in thought that led to us seeing Earth as a planet rotating in space with a host of ‘dead’ planets around a star in a galaxy one of no one knows how many in a universe that seems like some finite infinity, as opposed to the religious views, which put Earth front and center, not only in Europe but the ‘civilized’ world over, took too many ruined lives and deaths, many, many years to establish as the reality we all take for granted except for some who would doubt that the toilet bowl they sit on is round they are so big-headed, holdouts to themselves on the throne and not the group mind, now so divided we risk the death of us.
Now no one need blast off in space or study the views in a telescope to convince themselves the Earth is not dead center. It’s established fact, but what long-term, iffy at first, in fits and starts revolution it took to establish it, and we might even say that science had its birth there or at least cut its teeth on that struggle to know and establish. We are faced with the same now in regard to other facts of us equal in enormity to these scientific facts I’m stating now but greater, much greater, to what it means to be human and live and work together on this planet. And now science, holding the position of arbitrator of fact, as religion did of old, blocks the new incoming knowledge, not with imprisonment and death but with ridicule and obscurity, oblivion, and religion too is there with its dogma opposing fact, as always.
The revolution in thought needed now is one that decentralizes ourselves, and I mean the one by one of us, from that dead center space, where each one of us are separate islands unto ourselves the de facto center of the world because our senses put us there and our thought and feeling, where we only know others think and feel as we do because it’s obvious, or should be, not because we experience theirs firsthand, and where it’s the degree we’re able to realize that fact of others, that they are the center too and think and feel every bit as real as we do, which determines our success or failure in being able to uphold our moral principles and our higher ideals, which, if you get right down to it, all have as their basis being good to others.
Compassion, peace, unselfishness, and so on are each a higher ideal, and as that only a few of us are able to grasp a higher ideal with our hands and have it guide our lives, such is the overriding strength of the infra-rational in us, and even those few fail quite often. I know I do, but what makes me continually pick it up and try again, indeed forces me to, is the knowledge that I have gained, know as intimately as I know my own penis and body parts, whereby we, all of humanity, including all other animals and every plant, even the denying stone and refuting earth, share our awareness of being with one another, notwithstanding the stone and earth’s denial of such, share identity, share the field of consciousness, which means that we communicate with one another via dream and vision every single night and day, as I’ve said, flinging contradiction to the four winds, hate into every heart, such is the node-gas of the human field filled with so many of us the Earth can’t contain us. We need the higher ideal written upon our hearts and minds so that they are the very stuff of our mouths, hands and feet. That is the revolution we need, an inner revolution.
We are still in the very beginning, early stages of grounding the knowledge among us that starts the inner revolution I’m speaking of that comes from knowing we share a field of consciousness among ourselves and the practical implications of that in terms of human behavior, and that we share also identity with other human beings and also with all beings and things, and the knowledge of higher being that comes from the deep discovery of a shared identity.
That revolution I am still undergoing in my own life, but the lifetime I have spent to gain the knowledge and experience that is giving rise to that inner revolution is not possible for the mass. Only very few can afford it, and I’m not talking about how much money it costs; I’m talking about how concern with money, and all the survival implications of it, cannot be of any capital importance, and who can live like that? And that’s not to mention how many among that number have the capacity to open the inner doors to begin with. Which leads to the second obstacle in establishing such knowledge upon the Earth, which no doubt was one when science was trying to get out of the vice grip of religion and float the Earth in infinite space where it belongs and not at the center of all of creation: there are so very many voices saying, “It’s here the knowledge of world and being; I have it; to me men and women, to me!” It’s impossible to find the needle in the haystack that has the goods, or to put it more concretely, the needle that is pin-pointed in reality and not speculation, conjecture, belief, and superstition.
Before science became science, with its method and set procedure that others could see the results of and judge whether or not so and so fulfilled that, because they could test the results themselves given the right setup, a lot of voices rose in the mix. How were the true scientists discovered? By their testable results that set them apart from other voices. What else can I do but show you my results? You can employ the same setup and get the same results, but you need a master key, not a leap of faith but one of intelligence, what might be called representative intelligence, something that approaches the supra-rational, so to interpret the data that comes in, which is the same data coming in to dream laboratory after dream laboratory, only, because the data is representational on a level science does not yet consider, whereby it’s not outer events being symbolized but the inner reality giving rise to the outer event, its essence showing itself in an act of creation, the creation of the outer world, either possibilities showing themselves or an actuality manifesting, science cannot crack the dream code. It does not give reality to the inner field, much less a power that is creating our lives. You must pardon my indulgence of conjecture and speculation, but I cannot resist the temptation to ask where our dreams and visions take place within us if not on a very tiny level, perhaps subatomic, creating movies we momentarily live in that are moving worlds that cannot possibly fit inside us, if you get the picture.
My partner in the investigation of inner experience, Douglas, and I have cracked the dream code, and we have data-driven and evidenced-based results in the form of a podcast, The Dream Company, which shows how to interpret dreams and see that shared field of consciousness, demonstrated in the daily life of a dream group together many years, but you have to listen to more episodes than your patience and your like button would allow because it takes many, many examples for that field to come clearly into view, and when the creators of such content are unknown and with no real credentials, on an electronic communication field that doubts its own validity, you don’t have the group okay it takes to take that time.
You’d find my poetry and prose on the net if you looked, returning to me personally, although Douglas has had a lot to do with my writings, providing financial and emotional support and the discussion of ideas. It’s particularly when the writing relates my own personal experience as an adventurer in the inner and outer world that you see the inner revolution in progress and the cathartic events that led up to it and continue to lead it on, but that all-negating word anecdotal will crop up, a way science has shielded itself from new knowledge of ourselves in terms of consciousness, intentionally or not, and I’ll be laughed into the barn.
But you know, America was discovered long before it was discovered, and it wasn’t discovered by the scientific method. You couldn’t repeat the results of finding it in all these other labs. You had to go there yourself or trust the anecdotal experience of those who had, and when enough had, America became a factual location on this Earth to the people who didn’t know that before. When we are speaking of events or locations in consciousness, not in terms of the brain but of consciousness itself, such as the discovery of the shared field of consciousness, or even the interpretation of dream for that matter, and I will only mention here but not really include the shared identity, which takes so much more to discover than merely reviewing dream and vision, you have to have as your source material the anecdotal experience of everyday people because you can’t reproduce those things in a lab, the same dream and inner things I mean, but you can approach those things with a set method open to being as flexible as the wind so it can establish the inner facts of us, shared symbols of the inner field, shared locations in the inner consciousness, so that we can begin the inner revolution that leads to that shared us.
Okay, do you see the problem?
Here’s looking at yah.
Look to the mountain humanity.
I sell garments there.
I’m a piece of the Earth
put a Mac in space.
Playing God

About concessions surpassing condition in this mutual lust’s core. /
From Don to poet in 30 seconds.
I’m on poet duty.
I’m a hole in One.
Can I tell yah our range card?
The ego sits in its bunker
wonderin’ over friends and family,
excused about relationships
the very center of relationship.
Hey you I’m a world,
a big planet unto myself,
the center of my see.
You have not that validity.
You’re just out there,
and I’m in here
the substantial train yard.
I wanna melt these barriers down,
but I grab myself again,
and that’s impossible.
I really love you,
and that’s sweet and kind.
No it slaps you in the face sometimes.
I’m all animal whirl
when someone gets my goat,
but I mitigate it
with you must be in there too,
just fightin’ your own wars
really feelin’ yourself
a wounded soldier.
Can we get out of this?
I try.
I don’t know where to put you
if you don’t see my worth,
if I am just a blob in a corner
to you.
We sing awhile
the injustice in that.
Oh my God do I compensate.
I think I feel every hole in humanity.
I so understand your pain,
and it moves me to tears
I’m embarrassed to show.
My God you have a rough time
little Gaza boy
alone in his bed
of refugees.
I don’t know where to turn
from your pain
Parkland shooter
realizin’ what you’ve done.
I’m a hole in the fence
to a greater life
I can’t fit my own self through,
but I’ve been there
a time or two,
on the other side of that fence,
miraculously arrived
in the very vision of God’s eyes,
and I know we are safe
caught in the lifetime passage dream
to bring us all out of strife
at the end of the tunnel.
My God I would be there now
if I could unrealize the dream.
So I sit and suffer
in a peculiar sense of humor
that sees beyond the show.
I know we will be made right.
I see this in my puppy dogs
trying to crawl into me to feel safe
and ease their loneliness.
I am the master of love to them,
and I am but a prototype
based on God.
We’re headed somewhere,
you and me and the whole damn crew,
so I hold my dog and comfort you,
who set bars alight
wantin’ to get at this lust’s core
to dream to change it.
I would not be bothered safe.
Now tell me now would you?
Would you give it to ‘im,
this poem over there,
if he were your little boy in trouble?
We can fly the world on a single point
where suffering goes
and capture the whole poem.
Oh my baby dog Nithish,
we wish you a happy birthday
on tomorrow’s wings.
Burden’s Doctor

Can we reach the delivery of the poem
that our being intercepts?
I am worried about contradictions
and just pissing people off
instead of reaching them.
Nithish is suffering.
I don’t know where to stop that.
No one seems to notice
because it’s not polio,
but it’s heartbreak nonetheless.
He misses me,
a mother to him
for many years,
the most important person in his life for many years,
and I’m not the only one saying that;
his heart does.
He’s in mourning,
and that’s not recognized.
It’s not even mentioned.
He’s not allowed to talk about it.
There is no outlet for his pain.
His mother knows it’s there,
and it makes her very angry,
and she punishes him for it.
What’s a kid to do?
He cries.
He gets angry.
He implodes upon himself,
but there is no issue from this dilemma.
It just keeps getting worse.
He cries.
He carries on,
and the pot boils over.
Now he’s desperate,
and when you’re 13,
adolescence has given you weapons
the child you are still can’t handle.
It’s a dangerous moment in Nithish’s life.
We want what’s best for Nithish,
and if we want anything else,
we are really playing with fire.
What’s his name,
Pride?
You wanna let ‘im shoot your kid?
It might be a gentleman
that gives you honor and social prestige,
for a little while,
but when you put it above your child’s needs,
above goodness and mercy,
you wreck your life
in the fall you have from Pride,
when it’s gotten to the point
even you know you’re wrong,
and that you’re treating your child badly.
But you don’t have to fall.
Put down your pride
and address your child’s needs,
okay Sandiya?
I’ve looked at soul models.
I’ve looked at grief,
and you’ve heard me on Facebook tellin’ about it
and all over the damn place.
I don’t come on this platform
to insult and offend.
I’m much better
in the werewolf of time
reading you right.
You took a bath tonight.
Son of a bitch!
We are closed.
Abolish One on the way.
Who do you get to come after you,
Mr. Cat Stevens
talkin’ about the Peace Train?
No you get a me pointing the finger at you
for all these abuses.
I respond to my muse.
I respond to the image of my boy.
I know he’s hurting.
Now can I spread this on the table?
He’s really hurting.
These are deep wounds he has to live with,
and they just eat him alive.
You don’t know the pain of suffering
when you’re just a little boy
all mixed up in adolescence,
your body a whistleblower,
and everybody knows you’re confused.
You’re standin’ there with a sense of self
no amount of world can resolve,
and you can’t grab the world by the tail
because it has you
so tightly in its grasp
you just want to please it,
make it go away.
He’s an adolescent,
in the most difficult years of his life,
the most confused,
the most tender
where he’s sensitivity it hurts.
He is already a well of suffering,
and then someone took from him
his support and his comfort and his home,
in his mind of things,
took from him his daddy,
and you all know how I mother people,
in a way that made it I’d died
with no contact allowed ever again in his life.
Oh my God that hurts
in the very substance of yourself,
and it’s a pain that won’t go away,
even if you want it to.
That boy hurts.
Please see that.
It’s terrible for him.
It’s the end of the world.
Oh Sandiya please listen.
For God’s sake listen.
Yeah I know I’m studying your attention
like I need to end this poem.
Not quite.
Transact another line.
Who has turned over,
that’s always a thought.
Believe me,
we can fix this right.
Everyone would have run had he been 13,
a teenager in years
with their what's up.
There’s enough fuel,
still childhood left,
to remove this pain,
to take these scars out of his life,
take him to his blue book.
Healing is the first thing I’d do Sandiya.
I heard his manhood
depending upon this time.
Please,
open,
open up in there,
and put down your arms of control
that’s squeezing the life out of him,
and let him be with me,
and let him be with you,
so that it doesn’t hurt.
I’m the denomination now,
and that doesn’t hurt.
Do we throw this boy to the wolves or what?
A kid his own age,
George,
I know very well.
I really know kids,
like it’s the focus of my life.
You know
that boy’s in trouble,
and you know what has happened,
and you know Nithish needs me
because I can make it right.
Pay him back on the outside
what he needs on the inside to heal,
and give him me for his birthday,
and give him the happiest birthday he’s ever had.
Give him what he needs.
Let him on his birthday
be with his daddy,
and here I am.
Born to Love

To murder someone else
on the arms of a little boy,
in the status of a little boy,
you hit the nail on the head
with what keeps us from being human to one another,
what keeps our humanity at bay
in the everyday meaning of relationship.
Nithish has a parent that’s me
we didn’t put together by law
or found by blood.
Time did it,
growin’ him up in my care,
parenting him.
No amount of denial can change that
in this boy’s heart
or in my shattered life.
No amount of lies can make it undone.
We are parent and child and more.
We are each other’s significant other
in that our lives are undone
in the worry over the other.
Where do you see that?
In his inability to concentrate solely on school,
in his brooding silence,
in his anger
that’s at a flashpoint every time,
in his antsyness and nervousness
not knowing what to do,
in his inability to sleep at night.
These are just vehicles.
Those around him know something’s up,
have known for months now,
and all the punishment you can give him can’t stop it,
all the control.
You got a situation
where you’ve gotten rid of one of the most important people in your son’s life, /
a very important person to your life,
even important to the school his goes to,
and that was done in what amounts to murder in the first degree,
where you simply killed him
as cruelly as you did that:
without any thought of goodness
or proper action,
cut me out of your boy’s life
like he was holding the gun,
and you even made him shoot me,
and he suffers for that to no end.
You can’t say why you done it,
just that your parental rights give you that right,
and I have none,
what it boils down to,
whatever the dyslexia of the situation,
the Sri Aurobindo,
and you split your family doing that,
made culpable his school.
Who am I again?
A real live person in your life
no amount of getting rid of will get rid of,
and even if you actually did kill me,
or send me off in space,
I would be around your neck
in plain view of that boy
for the rest of your relationship with him,
what you did to me and why
so you can have him for yourself.
Can we rule of the heart of the matter?
And the heart is a tough customer,
and you feel it too.
It’s what we live by,
overrides every rule,
shows itself as the leader of the life
in every relationship.
It can’t be denied,
and even if you ignore it,
it will make sure you can’t,
and you can’t can you Sandiya?
That’s why you control him so much.
You know he wants to be with me.
He’ll be 13
in less than a week.
I’ve been to every birthday that boy’s had,
been a principle player.
You know what he wants for his birthday.
He wants his daddy.
He needs his daddy.
You are his mother,
and that’s what mothers do,
meet their child’s needs.
Was he born from your womb and now you own and possess him,
or are you really his mother?
Well are you?
Anyway,
I want to see him on his birthday.
Why can’t that be arranged?
That’s tonight’s show.
The Last Outcast

We all understand tomorrow.
I’m goin’ somewhere.
It’s not dishes.
I find my boy,
bring him home to me
and do something bigger than life
right there in my homegrown.
It’a about my consciousness and its see.
I arrive my boy first,
giving him healing.
This is a new brand
we will get good at
so it can be mass-produced.
I’m in enlightenment shares
healing my boy,
a spiritual consciousness override.
They’re dealing with
a mass showdown.
Right now it’s all black.
Not even a pinpoint of light
gives hope.
It’s all gone,
the whole save my boy plan,
and spiritual practice
has fallen by the wayside.
I’m merely drifting
to no ends.
I count my stupidities now,
where I am half-crazy in rants.
I sound good on a piece of paper:
I’m gonna see my boy;
I’ll get that spiritual consciousness again;
it’ll all work out.
I talk to his parents
like I have the power of God.
His parents have the absolute power to rule his life.
I just make them mad and guard him more.
You’d think I’d learn by now
my voices are deceiving me;
my voices are derailing me.
You’re in trouble.
You’re on a stage.
Are you there
with anything bigger than life?
The world’s not gonna listen to you.
Everyone ignores your pleas,
and your knowledge don’t turn anybody’s head.
You just sit there and sing.
This is the gist of life.
This is how almost everybody feels the world.
It’s impotence sings.
I’m a diamond in the hall.
I’m on top of everything.
I really know my business,
and I understand the rise of the world.
I don’t spit there.
I feel humanity like it’s my very self.
I can see the cutting edge of time.
Movements I see,
world shaping movements,
that give me a great yard.
I’m of few people see them.
Now I come back to myself again.
I’m not the stupid guy.
I have reason to believe
my boy’s comin’ back to me,
and I will put on the Silence once again.
It’s evidence
I can get big as the world in tellin’;
I can wrap the hours around God,
and I can make you examine yourself
in your hands on children.
You sit there and believe me,
some of you,
because you hear the angels sing
in this poet’s gut.
I’m a strong one you know,
and I hold up the world
an Atlas unknown.
I really do it,
take the ideas that change the world
and transmute them into verse,
one rocket at a time.
You know I’m there
because I love you
in that special formula
that makes you feel me
in the very place we meet,
in the intimacy of a poem
that’s got handles on it
that bring the world closer to you
as God sees it,
dangerously in love.
You must have some
grace
to journey this day.
It’s the vulnerability of a poet
I give it,
just role of bein’ hallelujah. [line heard sung to tune of Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”]
You doin’ okay?

