Dawn Bird's World

Dawn birds debate

on courtships

and nest spots

before sun intrudes its

numbing heat,

while business men in

stiff suits scramble their

polished shoes on

blood diamond steps of the city

I hear this subtle world

calling like pollen to bees

on honey suckle bed sheets

I see more truth upon

the rounded shells jostling

between the energies of sea and sand,

than the hand shakes of kings and 

blood signed papers of treaties 

Sweet nightly chirps

of spring-fancied crickets

swivel into the darkness while we sleep,

overriding waves of cars, mad on fast streets

My heart aches to be cradled

in that simple world

where tea steam evades the cup

where owls wait with mice-breath intent

and turtles trust currents of travel

....except i can't speak that language

and dying are the ones that do.

End of an era

I'm pretty sure some old-fart folk singer once said "and the times they are a-changing".  Gawd, so true; then and now, and forever actually.  Everything is always moving, always changing, and the feeble minded stay helplessly hoping that things won't.  As I'm bellying up against the bar of my 28th birthing day I've noticed that some rare reclusive corner of my psyche is trying to shed off some layers; maybe just for Change Practice Training, or as I call it CPT for short.   Well I actually just came up with that to be honest.  Maybe the Saturn returning journey might be a heavy long trail through the fire swamp and the bog of eternal stench and I'll need a fresh pair of boxers and some fine smelling oils to protect me from the demons of evil; well the fresh boxers are in case I get scared and piss my pants.

And the world is changing pretty ferociously right now too, don't ya think!  Earth quakes and tsunamies, global Occupies and local breakdowns, the birds sing death metal and the monk seals sip mai tais in the ozoneless sun.  The egyptian goddess of this world purrs like a kitten on the tops of live wire.  How can any normal thinking person contest the facts of these?  Another old washed up soul singer once truthfully belted out "its been a long time coming but I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will".

So with all that:  the Vanagon is goneagon!  The end of an era.  She was my home, my kitchen, my studio, my love palace, my tea house, my storage shed, and sometimes my vehicle.  For a year I lived a dream that most people either fantasize about in their cold blankets of Canada or scornfully disapprove from a deep envy atop sky rises on Wall Street.  To be able to lift my head from my dream drooled pillow and look out the windshield to check the surf is beyond the words of satisfaction and joy, such freedom and serenity.......until a loud banging on the door fractures your morning mellow enlightenment with the square stern voice "excuse me excuse me, YOU CAN'T SLEEP IN YOUR VAN HERE and you have no permit sir!"  So anyway, the Westfalia is in the hands of a young beautiful girl making her dream come true..... somewhere on the east side.  The first thing people say to me when  I tell them I sold the van is "oh my god, noooo, well where are you going to live?"  Amongst the pedestrians of "normal" society in square angular things called "houses".  The van was a huge check off on the bucket list, and my bucket has a hole in it.......I think that's a song isn't it?  And now Mr. Miyagi (my new 1986 toyota truck) gets me from here to there, and besides I think the van was starting to exceed my reputation.

Simple Truth

Another early morning

same wind blows

through the same window

on the same bed,

except i'm older

and her name has changed

Normal on island

Everything becomes relative. Where ever one resides they become accustomed to the everyday happenings of that place and lifestyle. "Normal" evolves beyond the fringes of its meaning; past the mullet haired fixed gear hipsters of the North West, past the scruff faced booted fishermen of the East, and miles away from the single toothed swamp donkeys of the South. Hawaii has its own normalcy. A beautiful everyday style that takes the breath away. But one needs to stay aware of this wonderful normal phenomenon in order to live the path of happiness, because on island the energy never leaves. And if ones guard is down and your awareness and attention of the Now meanders off course, than the Negs (negativities of life) move in and demand control. Energy will just keep bouncing from one drama stained floozy to the next, until it settles on the lap of the wise. Which reminds me of a sticker that said: gossip ends at a wise man's ears. People find more gratitude in swirling negative drama shit sticks then they do satisfying their own souls with loving nourishment. So "normal" comes in all shapes and sizes, smells and sensations. Island normal could be magically entwined with a powerful cosmic lover, lustfully dancing for hours, watching the orange glow of the sun settle on the horizon while you share perfect warm waves with your best friend, scamper through lush coastal cliffs picking exotic fruit and drinking from natural springs trickling out of misty mountains, and drinking tea early morning with only laughing birds and swaying bamboo in the soft morning light; or your island normal could be coming home from your laborious job to your drunk husband waiting to beat you again, and you being ok with that..........because that is the only Normal you know. So observe your normal, analyze your normal, ponder your normal, adjust your normal and then love your normal. A good friend who just left island brought this question into my psychic view: What do you practice?

Expensive Wine

Like a drunk turtle I'm in shell
Kicking wild nonsense
To nobodies with nothing
How can this be,
Alive and confused?
Every other animal
Seems to have a vague understanding
of what's happening
Its all the mistakes in history
Reelected for the 2nd term
Lost our best secrets
On snot rags
Blown hard and dirty
In dangerous corners
We have front row seats
To the shit show
We created,
All for a good time
And...
Some expensive ass wine

Late night jargon

A Late One

This is going to be one for the books
One to live by
A time when anything goes,
And it all went
Into despair, this is real
For real bull shit
Surreal misfits
Raping this paradise
Oh Mother Fucker of All
Please slit our throats quick
Bleed us dry before the storm hits again,
This was a grave mistake
A fire squad debate
On this modly divorce
In this rapturous Time of ours.

When does it quit

How do we know when things are done? When does it quit? Stop the foolish banter, relax . "You should know better" they tell me. "I've seen this movie" I say; Neither is true. Justified futures gather no remorse from me. She's doomed, the boyfriend is gay. She walks with sweet softness. An elegance of regal reward. Wet from salt lappings. The cookie crumbles amongst her fortune. Never have I become such fluid, melting and mending. I give the wind full teeth out the window. Drunk on her life ripe smile. I'm nowhere in sight, for yet, another lonely night.

Long time coming

Here I am. Probably been about 3 years since I wrote in this thing. I guess it would be hard for me to sum up all the random wonderful happenings that has transpired since the last post, which pretty much confirmed my demise in Bolivia. Of corse, why wouldn't I have almost died down there, that was all part of the gig wasn't it, all partof the show. ANd for some odd reason I'm still here. Good ole fashion diarea used to kill people left and right, but E. coli and his gut slicing friends didn't wack me off (used in a mobster sense of the word), I'm pretty amazed how I'm still alive. Alive and in the middle of a quarter life crisis, which I presume is a bit of a normalcy when one is 27. Saturn is returning and I have to look like I know what the fuck I'm doing. No sense looking like a god-damn fool in front of a huge planet; they're the worst critics!
ANY hoo, I've been living on a tropical island in Hawaii, on the north shore of Kauai, living in a VW Van, surfing every time the sun comes up and working two wonderful jobs. Perfect life you might say! Sure, go ahead, say it, tis quite a picture perfect life style. But no amount of tropical island, asian beauties nor empty waves can assist a man in the middle of his god for saken saturn returning! Its all in the mind. Its all right now, in my pocket, clenched in my fist. I can't distract it anymore. Grounding? Maybe.Career? Maybe. Soulful direction; sure why not.
All this floods into my overly excited psyche in a rustic looking bar on a hill in Seattle. 1:00am, alone, walking back to my friends house I pop into this Austrian looking pub. The bar tender is this perfect looking black woman from Ethiopia. Her accent resembles french and a mix of Caribbean. Huge gold hoop ear rings dangle with innocent grace from a distant world. I order a beer and sit down, instantly asking her question about her home country, in which americans have such a thin bodied starving stereo-type mentality. We converse about coffee to "democracy", family and college, and love and drugs. Her smile keeps me there for a few more beers. I gather all and every part of my late night charm to convince her I'm a good person and not some bar hound trying to shag her thoughtlessly behind some damp dumpster. She's been here 4 years, about to finish college with a degree in computer engineering. She's smart and engertically aware I instantly pick up from her glowing eyes. "you live here?" she shyly asks. "can i see you again?" she says with a bar tender type confidence, but hidden in genuine attraction. "who knows. When I see me I'll tell him to go say hello" I said without thinking as I chugged the last of my amber ale. I wanted to envite her home to my "house" down the block. I wanted to tell her all my joys and concerns. I wanted to ask her questions about Africa until the sun came up and drink tea till the moon went down. I wanted to just hold this tall curvy black beauty and kiss her like she ment the world to me. But alas Sir Walker, I took none of the above roads, I nodded my head and gave a Maine made smile that only a resident of that state can muster up, and away I went alone down the leaf blown hill, cold in my nose, beer in my belly and a strange sadness on my face, which resembled a drunken smile. I'm on this ride solo this time, the crack head circus freaks are all passed out, the cotton candy is made of arsenic, the darts are dipped in frogs and my ferris wheel is run by gerbils. But who's isn't?