Strip away the facades and personas that you have had to don over the last near 50 years, and what are you left with?
You can never get back to Tabula Rasa, the scratches run deap on the slate, chipped, weathered and worn.
What would you learn?  How would you learn? Would you feel? Who would you be?

So I was thinking that my new theory is that “life is boring”, and that it should be.

It goes along with the “fear of the world” theory, because both are driven externally; and primarily by unrealistic media/popular culture.

Desire for drama, intrigue, action, etc. is unnatural.

 

Well, anyway.  That’s my new theory.

 

I found this list on line on how to avoid a “boring life”, and thought I’d share (though I now hold that these pursuits are fucking stupid):

Here are “50 Ways to Outrun a Boring Life…”

1. Have goals, pursue them with passion.
2. Do something differently than you normally do.
3. Go for a 3 mile run.
4. Take a chance.
5. Take a different route to work.
6. Learn something new.
7. Read a book for pleasure.
8. Write a book. (What is that idea you have had for years?)
9. Ask out the person that you have been afraid to approach.
10. Finish something you started.
11. Choose the road less travelled.
12. Do a favor for someone.
13. Build something small.
14. Make something big.
15. Tell someone that you care about them.
16. Do something you have never done.
17. Do something that you haven’t done in years. (What do you miss doing?)
18. Eat something you have never tried before.
19. Order off the menu.
20. Write a fiction story. (How old were you when you last did that?)
21. Have a journal.
22. Send a picture and a note to a friend.
23. Take the dog for a walk.
24. Do something that scares you. (What do you need to overcome?)
25. Help someone selflessly.
26. Don’t follow the crowd.
27. Ask for that raise or promotion. (No one else is going to ask for you…)
28. Write a letter to that long lost friend.
29. Talk to someone you have been meaning to get to know. (Who is that person at work?)
30. Cook something from a magazine.
31. Sing when no one is watching.
32. Dance with someone you love.
33. Write down 5 things that you want to accomplish in the next year.
34. Write a letter to your future self.
35. Write a letter for your kids to read when they are older.
36. Stand up for yourself and what you believe in.
37. Stand up for someone else.
38. Volunteer your time.
39. As Steve Jobs said, be one of The Crazy Ones.
40. Go for a walk in the woods.
41. Play a competitive sport. (For fun!)
42. Go to a museum or aquarium.
43. Don’t take yourself so seriously.
44. Laugh at work.
45. Spend time with your kids. (For kids, L-O-V-E is spelled T-I-M-E.)
46. Make a date with your spouse or significant other.
47. Kiss someone you love.
48. Give a hug to someone who needs it.
49. Dare to be different.
50. Be yourself, no matter what others think.

 

 

Rage
Anger
Frustration

A rare hot night
Edge of a continent
Ears opened with the windows yawning
The hive buzzes
A distant pulse
Waves break over the storm of humanity
Listening to the chaos
In a rhythm within a rhythm
A causeway across the cacophony
Connected to the constant
Mindful of the singular
Surrounded by the insignificance

I close the window
Turn on the T.V.

We already talked about Sisyphus back in January of this year or earlier.
Did we not learn anything? I figure these two:
One: if you think you're more clever than Zeus, then your efforts are meaningless and futile.
Two: if your efforts are already meaningless and futile, then you'll be unmotivated and probably unhappy.
BTW, "Zeus" can be interpreted many ways: for me "Zeus" is Nature, Reality, Science...
Is there a way to solve the existentialist dillema in point two? If it's a meaningless life in a meaningless universe (as I've espoused), then how are you motivated and how do you get happy?
Is it all about meaning in the effort?
Is it all about being a "smiling" Sisyphus?
Oh well, that's all I've got

send it to zoom

just watch
don't think
judge
you can't help it
your grass is brown
water it
or not
to be
what who wanted

pay attention
shut up
there is no one there
or here
or anywhere
how trite
you make it
hard
focus

oh there ya go
people
people
everywhere 

Bean Bag Chair in a Group Home, 1987

I sit naked I have a cigarette I stare off I forget I start to wander Through fields of green Along the ocean blue Up past a mountain stream I win a million I shed twenty pounds My prayers are answered I have lovers all around Then I focus Take a long deep breath I sit naked I have a cigarette

hell hath no fury like a High School Poem

I see a blank page and know it should be filled
Lately my hand has become quite unskilled
I know not what to write, nothing comes to mind
I sit there at night, looking, not to find

Am I alone in possessing this trait
I can no longer procrastinate
I need to tell you those platitudes in song
Written in hope were all wrong

Love, they said, was the cure
Just not hating would longer endure

If you are a realist you will know it is impossible
We cannot execute this simple parable

This is the latest my mind has instilled
My feat is accomplished, the page hath been filled

Last day of February, 1991. The tune came first.

The life of an angry man
is built upon defenses
The masks that he hides behind
cut off all his senses

No one cares
no one cares

The work that he shuffles to
drowns him contented
The rage starts to bubble up
Bursting unmolested

Someone care
Someone care
Someone care

The life of the angry man
lacks in its expression
All that he wants to do
is pen his destruction

No one cares
No one cares

The words that he listens to
geared for his perception
His weak self is tricked into
Hating by connection

Someone care
Someone care
Someone care
Someone better care
Someone better care
Someone better care

Oh he needs love
he needs warmth
he needs truth
he needs a reason

Someone care
Someone care

The fate of the angry man
Is not where he's destined
Freedom allows for life's
eternal lesson

Do you care
Do you care

Oh he needs love
he needs warmth
he needs truth
he needs a reason

8/1/1989

Killing maggots
for the health of your mind
not by the dozen
but one at a time

24 and such a bore

Somewhere down deep inside me
plays a perfect melody?
It is every piece of my soul
put together perfectly?
It flows out in every motion
every dream I have of you?
All my life is quite affected
by the song for you know who?

As I pause for a brief moment
allowing my mind to still
Arises an emptiness within me
I admit the song is nil

Confusion suddenly pounds me
a reason come to light
the only song within
is me
and a terrible insight

Negative 12 and odd formalities

A healthy dose of each neurosis
eh, and psychoses
define your life
nothing more than allowing
loving along the way
huddled in it
standing firmly alone
outside in the lies
coming home
embracing your own
shared in total
one in sum

Take your ass to the would should

I should go along
evenly
I should love my woman
freely
I should live my life
peacefully
I should take my licks
gracefully
I should speak my mind
openly
I should raise my children
progressively
I should feed my mind
faithfully
I should be true to my Self
honestly
I should

January 1989

The Beauty I enjoy                  is
Never expected                       it
Arises when I am connected    to
The Form intended                  which
Induces admiration
Free of presumption

Birds fly
Fish swim
Antelope run
Humans envy

All I've said, all I've read;
All I've told, all I've sold;
All I've seen, all I've been;
All I've heard, all I've stirred;
All I've felt, all I've dealt,
All I've stepped, all I've wept:
All are imperceptable to what I know.

Beauty

Dead Carp:
Maggots.

Dead Swan:
Butterflies  Maggots.

The Horror and the Pain and the Ecstasy

The Horror and the Pain and the Ecstasy
Came over for dinner baby, one, two, three
They gave me a brandy, I asked for tea
I slipped on a banana, they put a spell on me

I went to the kitchen where the griddle was hot
Dusted my broom and wrung out my mop
The water was dry and the icicle hot
I stumbled toward the screen door when the hammer did drop

I woke on the porch on the precipice of doom
I grasped for a rope but clutched only the straw from the broom
The car was a haven of curious gloom
I gunned the accelerator, I couldn’t get away too soon

The Horror and the Pain the Ecstasy
Came over for dinner baby, one, two three

The Bath

A bath, a real bath in a real bathtub; I could only be home.  It was only the place I grew up in, but it was often the only place I remember who I was.

I could relax at home.  Here I asked the questions, here I wasn’t responsible.  The tub seemed smaller, the fun of the hot water splashing my feet had diminished.

Could I stay here forever?  My pores opening up as the hot water surrounded my body.  Only at home could I get a real bath.  A lot of love, a lot of respect, a lot of understanding, a lot of living.

Wash away the bullshit.  All the badness encountered since I left this place surfaced and was scrubbed away.  Why was I taught to be so nice to use common sense?

A few tears mixed in with the bath water.  Imperceptible dashes of salinity, the aqueous humor became the only bits of me intermingled with the filth of others I washed away.

Truly, truly I had been the tabula rasa scribbled and scratched on until I was white with only a few fingernail scrapes screeching across my suface.

The world waits.  The drain is open.

Verses for the day 10/29/1987

The final word
A relief
Cognate nonverbally
Action not designed

Soaring bird
Knows no grief
Existing ably
Life is all designed

Ideals absurd
Long but brief
Hating cordially
Love is defined

4/7/1988

I shuddered as I passed the church
True emotion filled its empty hall
Jesus appeared on the road ahead
Formed then vanished
I drove on
Deer leapt where branches swayed
Perils intruded into all thought
The edge of the Earth lay at the corner ahead
Before or aft?

In search of the perfect cheeseburger. Chapter one, 1986

Another Friday evening had come; no plans, as usual; no particular people to see.  Only loneliness; it wasn’t the “no people around” aspect that bothered him.  The thought of being one-on-one with his Self; that feeling of emptiness which crosses his mind as the thought skirts by.  For who is He; he wonder?  Why is each circumstance in life faced with an appropriate personality, one only for gain at each circumstance with no guilt left behind.  “Who am I” he ponders.  Everything that needs to be done gets done, but that leaves so much time.  That time is void of circumstance, so no personality arises.  His thoughts dart away, but where does he roam too?

It was still Friday evening, only moments had passed, and he still had no place to go.

He went to his place, a blank numb feeling in his motion.

He was a machine, a survival machine.  Survival was too easy.  That left time.  What does a man, a woman, a human do with that time?  There was no challenge to survival, no need to read up on it.  There was no need for opinion, opinion less alone, circumstantially opinionated when required.  Do other animals have this time, or is their “no time” only a sense for survival?

Other humans use their free time for survival oriented activities; over, better, stronger, content, happy, love; none for their denoted emotional meaning, but as he saw it, for acceptance to a certain group, a certain scapegoat which together provide them security and survival as a group.  His thoughts turned and confused drift away, but he drifts nowhere.

Unconsciously he set down to watch the tube.  All is absorbed, the pertinent details stored away for future reference.  When needed for survival they will be called up.  Minute details fitting into moments of life with no emotion of feeling behind them.  Absorption itself was time to ponder, as details were stored, as input was made, the feeling of non-involvement, non-caring, the sense of being above and beyond it, the time, the time.  “Who am I” again he wondered.  “Why am I” blew through next; he shook it past and slept.

Only a nap, real free time.  No fantasy, too rational, too easy.  He was torturing himself.  He had been able to do it every moment since abstract thought.  No thought sleep.

Cheeseburgers

Time?

Time.  Awareness.  What time is it?

He was awake.  Friday had passed.

Saturday had just begun.  Who will he be today?

No one ever, really.  Only a puppet to the environment.  Who was the puppeteer?  He was.  He knew it.  You never see the puppeteer, so how do you know it is you?  He came out emotionless, lost, content, alive.

The inner core knows only life.  Once life, easy life, is attained the core stagnates to the pace necessary for survival.  What is easy life?  The knowledge of a future, of no untimely end, is what he purported.

Does the loneliness, the identity confusion only occur when he doesn’t allow himself to be with others to let some personality come out?  Is there a chance once he is settled in a lifestyle, one type will dominate?  Then he’d know who was there and then, but still have no idea who he was somewhere else –especially alone.

Pending…

Life has been pending up to this point.  Now it’s been attained.  What else is left, existence?

Existence, what meaning is there in it?

He knew there was no meaning to the world, the universe, to mankind.

We had to make up a meaning.  Now those made up meaning had become our pitfall.

He still knew he was alone.  For no reason, he existed.  What was he to do?

He thought about challenging existence.  Quit his job.  Take off.  To where?  Where would he, could he, go?  Why go there?  He screamed.

No one heard, not even himself.  He went right back to where he was: alone, existing.

Existing quite well.  “So what?”  That was easy, what about the rest.

Lost.  He knew everyone was lost.  Each only a quark of energy compared to the Earth.  Imperceptible, compared to the Universe.

Potentially a great energy source compared to some other men.

What about Cheeseburgers?

The weekend had ended.  No time was left.

Too much time.  He put his keys in the ignition.  No peace of mind would ever come.  He couldn’t look inside himself and see his world as good.  He knew he couldn’t.

Where was he bound?  Just groceries?  He thought he saw something beyond, over the storefront.  What is beyond Krogers?

He eased out the clutch along with his breath.

No, eyes, don’t swell!
First gear.
450 dollars.
12 hours per day.
20 dollars per day.
22 days.
One tear rolled down his cheek.
Second gear.
Two tears.
Third gear.
Three tears.

Stoplight.
Time.

Time to muse.

First gear.
Four, five, six tears.

Green light, GO!

Seven, eight, nine, ten tears.

First to second.
Second to third.

Krogers approached.  Third gear.
Krogers approached.  Fourth gear.
Ninety, one hundred, two hundred tears!
Fifth gear.

“Bye Krogers” he laughed, bye town.  There will be no more me.  No more existence.  Now life begins!  No more work.  Life on the edge.  Find me, and if you do, you will find me.

Tears poured.  Tears of joy.  Time to disappear.  No where in particular.  Just not any where.

He had a cheeseburger at Willy’s drive-in.  He complemented the waitress, paid the cashier and drove off.

Already 500 miles gone.  What direction he didn’t know.  Away, just away.

No one recognized the lad as he bounced into Park Street Grill.  They all stared in curiosity as he waltzed to the counter, spun down on the stool, and grabbed a menu.  Who could this be in our town?  Who could have a grin on their face?  Not in our small town, no way.  Oh my.

He knew their thoughts pretty well, he was a stranger with a smirk of knowledge on his lips.

He ordered a cheeseburger.

A tune from outside; a youth with a boombox waiting for the next stranger to come; caught his ear.  He started tapping his feet.  He closed his eyes.  Two tears dripped on his sleeve.

Of course everyone noticed.

He ate his cheeseburger…

Christmas 1987

Well thank you sir
for the frankincense and myrrh
Next time you come around
little wisdom will abound
You cannot blindly believe
you must base your life on this eve
True wisdom has it’s start
deep in each individual’s heart
Will I be finally heard
we will stop living absurd

Gossip Perception 4/9/1988

The Cattle mow efficiently
The Blade they miss
You who have kissed
Goodbye insecurity

Ruminants sloppy tongue
Whispers pending doom
Those who do assume
You sling not dung

Propped Up

99%
Athletes
Musicians
Entertainers
Teachers
Police
Firefighters
Retailers
Religions

Who don't we prop up?
What comes next: food, shelter, clothing ------once the struggle for these is over ----what word comes to mind? Art? Peace? Love? God? Hate? Power? ......

Half Way?

With the knowledge we have about nutrition, diet, excersize, health, medicine, etc.; we should be able to live to 100.
So, we're half way there. We should be at the peak of physical and mental capabilities.
We need only implement the knowledge of our species to maximize our potentials. If we have this insight nothing should prohibit us from using it.

Life, take one

The back of a pickup and a bottle of wine
Two happy meals and a little kine
Sun shines down and auras burn bright
Across the desert toward an endless night

Woodland to ABQ additional thoughts

I recall Tioga road. Beautiful, massive granite, green, long vistas, empty.
We stopped at the bar before Yosemite - the one with the old saloon door, on a board sidewalk. We might have even eaten something there.
So many holes to fill in.

Road trip memories.
Jeff Moe from Woodland CA to Albuquerque NM. Date - um sometime in '92 maybe?
The basics
Flew to Woodland (Sacramento) from ABQ to pick up a car that Jeff's dad was giving him. I will recall the model and exact year some time down the road; but it was a late 60's super huge boat.
The route: Hiway 49 down to hwy 120 (Tioga Pass through Yosemite), Continue on Hwy 120 across CA to Hwy 6 just west of NV - then Hwy 6 into NV all the way to Tonaph, then Hwy 95 south to Las Vegas then Hwy 93 across Hoover Dam (the bypass wasn't open or under construction or something), then Hwy 93 all the way to Kingman AZ and Interstate 40.
I40 East to ABQ and we were home.
I don't remember sleeping.
I know we crossed the Hoover Dam at night.
I know once we passed Mono Lake and were on hwy 120 east - we went airborne. The road was a roller coaster of dips and bumps - and this 1968 beast with a huge motor and luxurious shocks was close to maxed out at over 110 mph. Of course we had no seatbelts, and we bounced and tumbled and laughed our way across Eastern California.
I know we stocked up in Tonopah.
I'll remember more later.

Haven't kept up my goals - though I've spent more time with wife and kids, so that counts. No diet or excersize.
Get with it old boy.

In Search of the Perfect Cheeseburger

The lad woke up, looked around, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. It had been a long ride; how long had he been holding his breath?
Was he in any control; had he been in any?
The drive to survive, to use every tool; to manipulate, to lie, to fiegn an entire persona; for what?

The cheeseburgers had been too far and in between. Now it was death that obscured his vision. His vision; his vision going, tainted and blurred. Once upon a time he saw that corner, that corner that lies at the end of the world, and wondered if the corner was before or aft. Did it really matter?

Rolling over he squinted out the window. At least there was a road. Out and into the morn. Through a break in the fog, the lad planted a foot on the path. Pain, disease, apathy, shot up from toe to head.

Where had the search gone awry? Was the will of existence exerting authority over a simple drive through the villages and burgs and towns and cities? Maybe it wasn't the cheeseburgers in the villages, burgs, towns and cities; maybe it was the country in between?

But, it was all about the cheeseburgers. Without, there'd be no search, no country, no village, burg, town, or city. The next step, steadier. The familiar crushing burn, noticed but tolerated; may I have another?

Was there a journey in his youth? Was he still in his youth? How old had he allowed himself to become? Dare he glance over his shoulder? What good would it do? The drive to spin his head, to run backwards, to seek advice from a dead person. Damn, he was tired already. Focus, straight ahead. Put the past back on the shelf. Why hadn't he burned it? What was there he needed to hold onto? Hope, youth, love, honesty, freedom?

The quest for the perfect cheeseburger was unacknowledged. Freedom had been emblazened as his path by his words. Astray from the road, carcass in the ditch.

The lad blinked, he had arrived somewhere. Somewhere they had cheeseburgers; may I have another?

"projectile vomit" was my little allusion to a cathartic expulsion
think long and hard about the act physically, and then apply it quickly psychic-ly
your head flies back and your eyes get wide; what do they see when your head comes to rest?

O.K. so another Sisyphusian (my own word) attempt to roll the boulder to the top of the hill.
The boulder contains:

1. much lard
2. bad eating habits
3. laziness
4. depression
5. arrogance
6. atrophying physical capabilities
7. atrophying mental capabilities

How I will defeat Zeus:

1. strict adherence to an LFLesque type diet
2. another attempt at P90 or modified excersize program
3. 8 hours on bike or trainer per week
4. complete one book of any type per week
5. plan a bike/golf getaway
6. plan a family vacation
7. learn to play guitar
8. learn to maintain bike even better
9. go minimilist and neat and quiet
10. spend more quality time with kids
11. spend more quality time with wife
12. keep in mind the steps ahead that lead to the top

Of course you're welcome to projectile vomit at this. In fact, I encourage it!

Really? Another?