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Entries in silence (15)

Thursday
Jul252024

Visionaries

The asylum is a prison and a protection. We shelter psychotic misfits, deviants, shamans, tricksters and uninhibited geniuses. The outside is the inside veiled in mystery.

We escaped the maddening crowd to be on an island.

You’re either mad or innocent. A polite genius.

Do you work from the inside out or outside in? The outside objectivity is an illusion. The inside Mind-At-Large is flowing chemical and electrical energy. Magic.

 

The asylum is filed with writers, artists, musicians, dreamers, creatives and orphans exiled from many countries. You wouldn’t believe the input, output. In out, in out, click and clack quacks, scribble dribble quibble, maniacs, dancers, actors, poets, musicians, playwrights and painters with canvases expand their dreams. They create a world of memory using active imagination.

You breathe in you breathe out.

My body, my breath, my practice.

We have dreamers, screamers, singers, schemers and bell ringers. Ding-dong. A monk ringing a bell walks down a Yangon, Burma street at 4 a.m. Everyone shuffles to the meditation hall. Sit in silence. Silence is a great blessing. Silence is the loudest noise on Earth.

Deep silence = Deep bliss.

The bell is small brass with a clapper. What is the sound of one bell clapping? Meditators and artists see with their ears and hear with their eyes. Nature abhors a vacuum. Nature is my teacher. I see through soft eyes.

Janitors, Grave Digger and literary outlaws are essential artists. People make a beautiful mess and I clean it up.

What do inmates sing about? They sing about identity theories, art, sexual and spiritual love, freedom, addictions, ideas, suicide, hope, light, fragility, strength, integrity, beauty, truth, kindness and mystery. They sing the nomadic alliterative alternative.

Zeynep and her friends are visionaries. They are visceral realists. Why does the ONE STATE lock them up? They are a perceived threat to the stability and social harmony of the status quo. They’ve been branded, labeled, categorized, diagnosed, drugged, tortured and incarcerated. Perhaps incinerated. Set yourself on fire.

Burn like the sun, radiant … flame your life.

Give a person a match and they’re warm for a minute.

Set them on fire and they’re warm for the rest of their life.

If you catch on fire jump in the river.

Sounds like fear based propaganda. It is. Clearly. Precisely. Concisely ... Too many adverbs if you ask me, but what do I know, I’m only a word janitor. Every single fucking beautiful day I collect tons of word garbage in a Top Secret BURN BAG. I haul it to a gnat on life’s river, light it and leave it free flowing down the stream of life.

Yes, said Death, Flowing.

Book of Amnesia Unabridged

Friday
Jan282022

Bushido

Way of the warrior:

justice, courage,

polite, truth,

personal dignity

the world is

a simulation run by aliens

time manipulation

silence

comic commentary

on the tragedy

of forgetting

Boudhanath, Nepal

Thursday
Dec282017

Poem

In a Brave New World you shift

from truth and beauty

to comfort and happiness

I ate civilization

Aha ha

A new notebook deciphers emptiness

The fisherman

In a long blue boat

Cuts the engine

Drifting with current

Cool cornflower silk red ink

Slashes memory's fascination

Forgetting

Letting go

Be silence inside the labyrinth

Dancing shimmering red blazing wisdom seeks wisdom

In Laos

Wats glow golden

A sleeping Buddha

Dreams of compassion

Direct immediate experience

I am twinkling 

Monday
May302016

silence is loud

Matter and consciousness.

Mystery is all.

Create. Live w/o fear, shame or humiliation.

Sewing woman. Thread leads needle.

Courage.

Sewing family in the labyrinth. A singing fool sits down. Sat down. In the center of a labyrinth without a center. He sings. Women smile and laugh. After moments he is invisible.

He laughs one says same same Cambodia.

Laughter language speaks.

You may find yourself in another part of the world.

You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife.

You may ask yourself, how did I get here?

What am I doing here?

How did I grow?

I love the chaos.

Kids recite text from a book at the top of their small powerful voices.

Don't ask them the meaning. Read and repeat.

They know the printed word/symbols only.

The rest is silence.

Silence is the loudest noise in the world.

Sunday
May082016

Beauty of travel

The beauty of travel is the anonymouse sensation in a crowd.

On a Sunday all the Khmer men gather for coffee, tea and stories.

Do you take milk with your stories, asked one. No, straight.

Some study another's face and words.

Others study cell phones or the unposed their music video on a tv.

TV is great, said one, it allows you to give up your consciousness.

Still others study a conversation disguised as a peddler pulling his trash cart

Down a street squeezing air out of a worn plastic bottle to summon the attention of a person waiting to hear the air knowing they can pawn some junk, perhaps an old family heirloom or weaver's word loom in Lao village along a river stream of consciousness.

Or a real loom with or without threads of a dangling modifier; cotton or silk having created clothing for relatives now since gone.

The silence of conversations attracts flies.

No one bothers the stranger writing or drawing in a notebook.