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Fine Art America
Podcast 2019
Middle Kingdom Podcasts (2005-2017)

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The Language Company
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Music Cleans Ears

Focus on breathing
Shoulder bladed Saturday
Ice coffee

Fat white lost tourists
Hammer sings stones
Courageous sparrow discovers grains of rice

A bell rings dawn
Woman pedals coconuts
Past Europeans inside the universe bus

Verbal exchanges
No one listens BEING plugged into phones
Too poor to pay attention

Feathered dusk spreads wings composing melody
Red, blue, yellow
Primary colors engage senses

Dust coffee rice
Home zone bamboo ice
Vocal chords

Language cultures
Eye-heart-hand shadow puppets

Music cleans ears
A professional stranger shows up

Among whisper smiles
Old man with bamboo staff coughs
Walks as voices decipher meaning’s intention

Plainclothes officer cleans glasses
With what they don’t know or understand
White paper

A girl loving geography
Lights four incense sticks with gratitude
Prays for good luck health and wealth

Dance now think later
Zen meditation
Line shape color

Burma, Laos, Cambodia - verbal and visual stories, imagination, love, play, dreams, intuition, instinct, preparation.

Luck and skill throw a party

Everyone is invited to the play

Banteay Srei renewal
Preah Khan, Ta Som, feeling mystery
1,001 years of passages, light - shadow

“I have walked through many lives some of them my own, and I am not who I was.” - Stanley Kunitz

Grow Your Soul



Describes the guardian spirit of a person or place, a spirit linked to a person or place and a particular fate.

Genius is your unique singularity, the spirit that follows you from birth to death.

It was your fate, your singular destiny.

It couldn't be taught or identified to you by others.

It could only be recognized by you.

You would know it when you heard it, surrendered to it and it would take you where you were meant to go.

Listening to others obscures its voice.



Gazebo Group

Abracadabra - Hurl your lightning bolt even unto Death.

You must break down before you break through.

In 1997 my writing and life were shit.

One wet winter Pacific Coast morning, I drove to a Tacoma hospital and checked into the chemical dependency unit for three days of alcohol detox.

After admission I took an elevator to the third floor. Workmen stripped, sanded and plastered walls.

Room #310 had a bed near a window, old metal locker, sink, mirror, ancient radiator and TV. The window overlooked a grassy area with a wooden gazebo, flowers and basketball court.

Mike was next door and Tom was across the hall. Tom resembled a skeleton with skin. He stayed in bed until he died.

“The hospital was originally used by railroad workers and was a TB unit at one time which is why there is no pediatric unit,” said Nurse Blossom. One wing of the third floor was for Bipolar, multiple dependencies and mental illness. Suicide cases lived in a penthouse on the fifth floor.

She took a urine sample and gave me Ada-van medication for withdrawals. Pills replaced lost chemicals.

By evening my journal writing evolved from large loopy letters into a tight microscopic form. Form the formless. I wandered down to the gazebo to smoke and write in cold night air.

My new drug was water. I swallowed meds and slept well. In the morning I felt the meds were erasing alcohol and cleaning my system. I scribbled in my journal.

My legs feel like rubber. My mind is a monkey. I write in the garden. Substance abuse evaporates. Alcohol relinquishes Control of mind-body mass.

In late afternoon I sat in the gazebo feeling drained, suffering extreme headaches. Light danced through clouds.

I pass through dragon firewalls. I can’t spell. A crow calls. Healer. Breath. I am calm with no monkey mind. Just sitting. I adapt with clear thinking, less agitation, mental and emotional anxiety. I begin accepting my new reality.

On the third day a doctor reviewed my chart. “The next step is Phase II outpatient group therapy.”

Addicts smoked in the gazebo. Fifteen plastic chairs circled stone block ashtrays. Addicts surrounded me in withdrawal stages from heroin, crack, speed, depressives and alcohol.

Gazebo people tried to sort out their lives. They talked about insurance payment scam problems, families, nurses, the lack of doctors, and institutional care histories. I wrote it down among lost lives and despair.

Moist air holding illness confronted recovery. Dead eyes, laughter, faint hopes, repressed angry regrets. Addicts huddled against slashing rain. Smokers coughed collective misery. Addicts bummed quarters for a pay phone to call friends and family.

A film explained how endorphins help us feel good. Alcohol creates a false reality by blocking transmitters known as TIQ.

Mike remembered relapsing after twenty-five years of sobriety. “I just stopped. I was driving down the street one night and plain stopped when I saw a neon liquor sign flashing.” Vodka calling. He started all over again.

On the 5th floor screaming suicide patients smashed heads against walls.

Addicts tried to regain self-esteem. It was about surrendering Control and accepting trust. We turned our lives over to someone who knew what they were doing.


Adventure - Risk - Transformation



Coconut, sewing machine, hyena laughter

Small talk, broken light vegetables green life

Where do you stay, asked man.

I stay in blue sky

Is it a hotel? A guesthouse? No it is blue sky.

Pure land poetry

Jazz poem


Passing through

Professional stranger

Ghost Other

Eye hand heart – two won’t do


Show up sit awhile smile draw meditate on emptiness

Witness point line shadow less form




Rhythm of place

Grow Your Soul




ART, (Adventure, Risk, Transformation) a memoir, covers 1997-2002.
Backstory includes Colorado childhood and a year in Nam when he cheated Death.
He was in Morocco on 9/11.
Writing there and in Spain, satire and facts met creativity and humor. Published in October 2019.