Bosom Promise / Transient Coyotes, Home: Unafraid.

I met the coyotes,
Past two days

Today I was out deep –
Knew it was deep when the grade got steep –
Met two in a thicket,
Tall as wolves
Their heads turned (For me!),
And I yelled, “Git, skat! Skidaddle!” LOL…
And I turned back down the mountain,
Away from their territory

But they’ve been with me since, goddamnit they have

As yesterday, when I alone, to the east, and he alone, to the west, passed,
In silent gaze, amazement
Mutual caution, timeless wildness,
He like me, Me like he:
Loners, Transient Coyotes
Both with our reasons

That bosom promise of a den we’ve never seen,
Which calls us to go on, nobly enough – unafraid.

Postscript:

I dream of them, in their den tonight, living as they have for millenia – and I think of them out there, and I think of me here – and there’s something connected – this great metaphor of the wild-masculine and the journey back home, to wholeness, to the den-heart and all that matters. But also, the boldness of going it alone to get there – but also of being here, of knowing that on my way home is also home.

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TBD

A person asks who they are,
Who might they become…
And years are lost this way,
Spent in abstact thought rather than concrete action

To declare ourselves
As hero and author of our story,
In deed rather than word,
Is to know we are not who we think we are
But what we are, as we have made ourselves.

Satan’s Loneliness

Woke to a map of Mexico on my desk
Newton’s world on my chest…

I am a satan to myself,
The immortal adversary
Irrational, passionate –
My most potent emotions my lowest, the finer qualities still wanting…
Would she be lucky?
My exes hate me
But now I want to know,
Genuinely want to know
What about what I was or what I wasn’t was that bad,
What made my qualities irredeemable,
What made me dead, ?lo que me mató?

I’m out here trying to birth a gentleman from wild west genetics
The pestilent past, full of fuckery, unspiritual things
And now these chips on my shoulder, these pieces of me,
How will they be turned to advantage,
How will the way out be written, seen
And will I have to die to myself too?

Are these past lovers just that classy and me that trashy…
Me not worth knowing
It’s a goddamn crime;
I wanted to be free so I pretended I didn’t have a shadow, and in doing so,
Gave myself one

So I have to figure out how to remember I’ve been forgotten,
So I don’t get lost;
For what is unconscious posesses us, and the light doth sanitize
And what writer was ever a simple lover but a bad one
Maybe I’m supposed to be as polyamourous as my gods
But I am not meant to be forgotten, killed off in your finale, cast down from your heaven;
I baphomet, serpent of the garden,
Know the loneliness of the exile that is hell

FountainHeart

The house is dripping moonlight
The fire pops and snaps softly..
Manipura healing music ensconces me

How easy to be zen when the dao is with us
But we must too learn to hold space for the dao in less daoist conditions

Your whole life is the way, the path,
Even your work, even the things you do not want to do
But we must learn to bring our hearts to them, for where the heart is, the way is with.

Don’t Fucking Suffer, Son

Spent my whole life getting laughed at –
Thought love was where life was at:
So I found myself last,
Till I found myself at last –
Now I’ve finally passed my own past

I returned to innocence in a sense
But I also got Belly opening scene with my big dick energy

Like Cardi B:

You can’t fuck with me, if you wanted to…

But listen, you can be your own hero too
So save yourself and let everyone else be themselves

It’s worth it….
Don’t fucking suffer, son
Because life gets fun,
When you love number one

So say it:

I deserve my dreams…
I deserve my dreams.

33, Reminder

It took 33 years for me to learn that emotional security is the center of my cyclone,
And that without it I am simply detached and disconnected,
On the spin cycle
Off-balance,
Like a sneaker in the dryer.. tha-thud, dud-dud…

Emotional security,
Not financial –

For Maslow’s pyramid is inverted for artists and creatives..

I speak from experience when I tell you your pity is not wasted on the sad sonofabitch for whom creativity, actualization, and being are her bedrock and cornerstone

Took me 33 years to figure this out

Imagine living in a machine built to spit out the lowest paying job you are qualified for,
Wherein you loathe the activity that extracts 70% of your waking hours,
Only to leave you worrying for the remainder

Take this as a reminder:

Don’t worry.

Be secure.

Own your time.

Be kind.

Don’t take shit.

And give a fuck about Yourself.

Just a Word We Invented [The Rich Are The Players]

Listening to Tuesday’s Gone,
Remembering I am on a rock

Telling myself all the anxiety doesn’t matter –
Not in Space…

Well, I did think all my fears could be solved by hard work
Lost my goddamned mind with that fuck shit once already

Now it’s a pale Friday,
And my workload is //////////////////////////////////////

So I lean over in my chair to pet the dog as he walks into my office,
Saying, let me tune this server,
So we can eat…

And Elon thinks we’re living in a video game….
(Who could imagine a South African of privilege living in a goddamn bubble… [crickets.wav])

Yup, I came in here to dream of a shitty, tiny room,
Where I’d be able to afford to write… and outrun my childhood

But it’s all excuses if you ask men who live in suits, with gray or orange hair…

Anyway, I’m not sure if this is anger or maturity,
But since it’s a poem, I’ll go with the latter

I’m just trying to figure out why humans have tried so hard to forget that they are a species, and that human was just a word we invented, like whale or bear… [@ Wyoming…]

And one day, when the megarich are hunting us for sport from helicopters, maybe we’ll change. But not until then. So let’s just blame the media and keep raising asshole kids.

What Bukowski said, about how the problem with the world is that all the idiots are so sure of themselves while all the smart people are so full of doubt…

I think of the Mexicans riding their bikes from the grocery store yesterday, and I think of how wild they live, just like I grew up. And I understand some of the fear in their eyes.

[Ryan Reynolds voice] And to all you Anti-Journalism Bubblehead Wannabe Bond Villains: If this world is a game, the rich are the players.

monogamy

I can tell you about spaces between walls,
I’ve lived in them –
Not the walls, the spaces:
Rooms.

Tonight, I’m on the toilet,
Seat closed,
Wind blowing vicious outside, howling sounds –
Feet up on the tub, chilling.

Need to egress, get my beer;
I’ve no other company…

Just the sound effects of the racoons in the attic.

Unknown To Myself

I’ve been revisiting the wilderness of my youth in dreams,
Picking up loose threads in the dark like berries from the forest floor
And in the mornings, I reflect on my stained-bounty,
Weaving and dyeing the truth with fresh memories;
For, wrapped in a quilt I’ve made,
Covered in shame,
My treasure has hidden,
Unborn in the buried past –
A past where I was the odd-man out,
Excluded by the in-group
A freak in my own town
Manipulated, blind…
How unknown to myself I was;
Yet in hindsight, I see,
I am reborn like the hero of prophecy,
Purifed of and by my naiveté
Myself reclaimed
My perspective changed