A Half-Designed Spirituality of Corsets and Lace
by Tara Carreon
Bang Imagery
Vulcan MisRab
High Priests of Halo
Raise from our emotional table —
Call it “muddled awareness”
Hyperborean magic
Swiss eternity
And they have sinned themselves sin
Dancing in the moonlight
Metaphorical forest, Magic incarnate, Mystical signs, Black hearse
by Tara Carreon
I’ll tell you what
I cannot say my view
Everyone’s got me flagged
I mean, there is some very strange commentary
Parsley, the lies he told me
The stucco and gold wash
Paul Bunyan, tall in the canyon
The cats all died
My cries have to be integrated into the necessary cries of experience
Can you howl on the police force?
It was all creepy & distressing
I’ll talk to you about the civil war & armageddon
And why I should change at all
And how to be careful amid the destruction of my life
I’ve been thinking about you, and that horrible man
We have all been revealed to be whores for the establishment
You could change it by believing in the hounds of destiny
I’m not the only one who can leave, buddy, having been drawn to the water
I don’t know what to do
Sail into the midnight gloom
As of now, the world is stuck
Expansive words, a shutting up
My whiskey or my hat
Christopher Reeves said it first
Mother love
Snake & grammar hermano
50’s Saigon
There are only two camels left after that joyous & former ride
And she wouldn’t miss it again
Except for the mascarpone walk out revenge
Having great pictures
A goddamned cave man Krishna
A Guy, A Tongue, A Coat & Some Trousers
by Tara Carreon
Shall never find you
Shall never need you
I saw the heart of man
What did he kill?
Shiva, Dancing in Space, Flipping a Bird
by Tara Carreon
To associate with others is to be forced to shut up
People don’t understand
They all experience a common culture
Your culture is uncommon
They can’t relate
Herd animals, with common understanding
They are frightened of your wit
Your perspicacity
You are their enemy
You can only goad them
Dangerous herd animals
They all want to shut me up
Cheese pizza effect God
Making everyone the same
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
You’re only allowed to say what’s on TV
Or spouted by some stupid guru or personal trainer
Astrologer
Actor
Physicist
Common mind, in a mold
Sadly unadventurous
Squashing everyone else down
Down to the ground
To be mashed like grapes in the common mash
Churches
History lessons
A common understanding
Making pathetic robots of the people
The best you can do is make a joke about them
You can never be serious
Serious fracking
Tearing apart their universe
Nobody appreciates that
They’d rather tear you apart
Or politely walk away
Whispering hateful things under their breath
Cursed animals engaged in a common behavior
Wolf pack of humans
You know not what forces guide you
You don’t know what’s funny
The Campaign for Self-Harassment
by Tara Carreon
The dirtiest creep
The existence of existence
Brass bitch
Spread the word
And I stifle to prevent weird rages
I don’t know what to do with this mess
This abortion
Deep oil on my feet
Cut & die
Alter the course of history
The black and the blue
This is how to fit it all together
Depending on how fast it goes
The greatest thing in the universe
Led by a certain Satanist
Who had blood on his hands
Liquid rumination
I’m a good sister
I, I, I, I’m Joan of Arc
A filthy rebel
A horned beast
Terry Vaughn, Sr. sent him packing
The point goes directly
From society to our eyebrows
A lot of locked doors
We need to have a study done on it
His topic: Good toys
A chat with the mafia seems not in good taste
It doesn’t seem right to camp out on the sun
Tasting the Master’s wisdom
If you hate your mother so much, then fuck off
You can’t grasp the source of faithlessness
We hate the cinnamon of others
I told him to go to hell
And it just exhausted him after that
A ruler of sorts
Epileptic script
There was something being boosted
Being celebrated by life
That’s all your fault
Sad diet
They did what they had to do
What they’d done before
Steam engine
Rocket ship
Is that where you feel your life?
The dragon and the horseshoe
He who holds velvet, barren bones
We’ll think it out, man!
We’ll turn the clock back
Start with the basic questions,
“Do you love me?”
It’s 1967, and it’s not 1967
Wagner and the nuclear bombs
Bomb paranoia
The mercury descended
Half truths and half lies
He denied that he was ourselves
And stuck the sword in
The fable begins with bloodshed
And a walking ghost
Murder me once, murder me twice
It’s a big place
Created by fools to walk away
Man is the only species who is wrong
And wants you to declare he is right.
Bright Tomatoes and Potatoes: A Whole celebration painting
by Tara Carreon
Standing at the chancery door of fate
Afraid of hearing somebody else kiss
Here, the quick majority too bent to know
Rainbow job
At the height of the revolution, I was married to a negro
Pale blue teardrop
The way I see it, having great tattooes
I empathized that he’d be reborn again
Free in a profound way
I can feel its rhythm
Free of me
Of the angry destination
We have to add an answer to that
You don’t know it, but it has a time switch
Stage knife civilization
It’s a signal achievement:
food and water to drink
There was no more clash of tears to the crown
The angry money
Yes, that would be your first marketing point
I would just like some nice advice to the people
Where we place the people even above the climate change
CONVERSATION BETWEEN TARA AND THE BOLIVI LIPPO BLUES
— DON’T SELL YOUR SOUL TO THE DEVIL
by Tara Carreon
Your theory is essentially, sir
Drink a thousand cups of wine
I don’t want five years ago
Boohoo, let’s all cry for the Illuminati
I don’t give a fuck what you’re talking about
That’s not going to give us any guidance about how to run our life
There is a tendency to cohere into yourself
You can’t just let go
It’s too dangerous
Things don’t go out, they go in.
Openness is contained within a body
A Vase Container
You don’t have to guide
Just keep the light on
It’s not actually irrational
Lucid dreaming
There are even stars in the sky
Do you really have control?
You live in a van
Take a slap in our hands, honey!
On the Trail of the Octopus
A bright white light star here
Revenue
Translucent heart
He can shoot dead, three actors
Have fun!
This is all the merry of the citizens who used the negative instead of the hand-holding
She was a cowgirl
NEW POWER VERSION FISH
by Tara Carreon
Mother, brother, adversary gain
It’s right there in the core
You can see the phrases
I flew to Russia and the day seemed much sweeter
When will I have a kind of mighty triangle, you?
Leila Lorenzo, she’s our latest admirer of the pig
Every time we give them a ride
There is no hypothesis.
But when funds come
Which seems better than anything
How much better do you want?
I went back to school and suffered
Catching fish in a net
New power version fish.
A NEW NOTORIOUS ADVERTISING
by Tara Carreon
Pretty soon I would have no idea of how to venture
I don’t know how I came to understand planets
Read on, to the contrary
He said watch out
There are some new razorblades in this dimension
And he has a really nice spirit
Are you sure of that, mister?
Neither was I able to avail myself of the
Secrecy of second hand reporters
What, was I able to get something better?
What a teasing I was
Learn to talk in the United States of America
I conclude a poem that is disturbing
These are the far-flung worlds of men
A new notorious advertising
Even the older cat
When the brooding issue wasn’t good enough
You pray for pictures
He was the very face of twilight
Geronimo’s bones
Just stop looking like that, Job
It would never be as good as if you made a clear sound
Lurking, distant timing
You want the truth with the argumentation, argumentation, argumentation.
Men of Action
by Tara Carreon
It is not funny to depict horror
To dance in death
To spit on decency and order
And eat body parts and filth
It is not funny to show the earth destroyed
And people as cannibals
Hacking off limbs
And leering at the prospect of eating human flesh
Who are these men who control our collective vision
Who dance with lipstick smeared on their faces
Their hair pulled up in a lady’s coiffure
Beating garbage dump drums
Eating crumbs
And tying people to the rack
As they dance and sing
Their drunken songs of self-hatred,
Indian-style?
Mindless on purpose
Doing whatever comes next
Simply acting, doing, fussing, moving, stomping, yelling, hitting, killing
Move, move, move
Act, act, act
Be alive!
Scatter the three worlds with a powerful swing of your arm
Bite life in half
Exhale a dragon’s breath on the world
And watch it wither and die
Then laugh and laugh
Then bury your head in your hands and cry
Until you fall asleep and wake up
Foul
To do it all again
You are, after all, a Man!
You are men of action
There is still earth to be dug up
When everything is gone
You can throw the dirt in the air
And laugh and laugh
Until you are dead
And the world is rid
Of your miserable, disgusting persons.
The Banality of Evil
by Tara Carreon
Eichmann sitting at his desk
Filling out paperwork
Jews fed into the grinder
It is all so plebian
Would that it were a little more exciting
My elitist tastes are suffering!
LET ME KISS YOU
by Tara Carreon
Come with me to my jurisdiction
Flying through space
With bird-play at his command
I backed off from it
Politeness and double politeness
Leave us alone to whirl my witch
2,500 damsels
There is nothing on my pages
There will be more
There will be bite
Dominicus darling
I held you as I led you
He was a nice boy
Caught between two pincers
This isn’t Sherman Oaks
This isn’t catty-corner
Let me kiss you
Madness and secret service
Trying to find secrets
What you see is what you get
Falling inward
I actually had to stop doing that for a living
Theatre tickets canceled
Fish eyes
What can be hanged in earnest
Kick it aside
Leave the van intact
Dreams are the potential
I’ve always been a back to the front kind of guy
Are you going to listen, dear flesh and blood?
So let me look at my compassionate and skillful remedy
We would even try to kill an illusion
Just like I said
And if you divide to accept this offer I’ve made you
Key positions of power
It’s been a long long healing
You in the grey house
I seem to dress out of vanity
It’s broken; it’s a scandal
The demon woman’s red
Do you have to kill the middle?
Yes, I have to kill the middle.
Who do you look for, darkest Andrew?
What do you mean?
I just have to ask you,
Is there any benefit from this whole fucking ariette?
Man, you’re not a fucking physicist!
Will you leave your doctor at home?
I could give dirt on everyone I see
Did you hear of the medicine girl?
If what you have is more like a war mag
Than what you have in private
His Majesty’s sleeve.
The special advancement seekers
It’s a matter of icy let-go
A babe of an effigy
Do I keep screwing around with crude puissant corn?
No one can get between a 25 billion dollar fake
With the stars light at night
Peace rain
We were very very sure of ourselves
Even without some convenient movie heads
He has the courage to see us
Reptilian beasting a schneeze
Frogpop
The language that runs undercover
Within the lungs
The battle of wills
Evo-man
Color joy
Color of dreams
Emphasize it
Advertise it
Friggery mason
Did they read about you, Tibetan sovereign
In front of the hot, bright sun?
I believe that the prophet stays at home
Speaking of Chinese creatures
In the grand tradition
Out of this franchise Switzerland
Think with the birds of paradise
You’re always an outsider
Learn with irritated breath
Separation across the land
You have the right to be screaming
It looks like a lady’s heart
Caress my sides buster burger
I tell you what
I have to go.
THE DUTIES OF THOSE WHO ARE AT WILL
by Tara Carreon
My father also had a very lusty house
And proved egregious
Telemachus was out of luck
Cult conditioned
Wow, the whole world was mine!
Baby frightened and yo-yo indicates
That the personality
Variant
Thinks in different corners
Power, out of my way
Carmine
Helen Keller
Lay my responses down
I keep thinking of
The sources of their dreaming
In a barrel big charge!
Saturday’s nut unfolds
The Bishop’s son before the King comes
There are simplified things
Between egregious egos
Hot, fiery things
The first word
God’s company broke through.
She is unexplored
She has never spoken before
Her Greek tongue
A horse
Om is not the factory of this hot dog stick
In all her metaphysical
In all her warmth, heat
All the European countries
In one wild moment
Argue and wherefore
I see them on the horizon
Perfect little sized balls
Sometimes you have to wait a minute
Say something hungry
I look back
Ill omens, heavy, smash
A profound disconnection from myself
I can pick it up for you
Saturday membership rating
Sunday joking around
Not waiting for whoever will adjust my circuits first
Blandishments
I play servant to no man.
I’m wondering whether in that boutique
She’s gathering power to sleep or to skin us?
Let’s go out last night as if in the morning
Is that what the purple interlude is about?
Flying around
Waiting for her to speak
Her first word
Pink purple moment
First man who doesn’t treat me like he should
I’ll swallow him whole
Well that is against the law
1, 2 and 3
It’s amazing when you’ve been pushed out to the farther edges
Give me Edojin, something thin at the edges
Rod Steiger said that after all these years
Hem to toe, hem to toe as it were
Superman three times over.
She is the crystal ball nature
Perhaps he’s a mechanical dolt
Divided is his long lost teacher
And now he’s truly reliable
Now that you have achieved nirvana
Sitting around achieving insights
Noisy fellow
You want to get closer up there?
Lots of chocolate,
lots of chocolate,
Pretty soon I’ll be on my way
I love you dearly
That fat cow place I went to yesterday
In the direction of the lead singer’s tempo
Wa-doo Wa-doo
Country singer
The duties of those who are at will.
I Start to Live
by Tara Carreon
There’s a lot of controversy over
Coffee & cigars
The Master Game
Neon light
That’s what I say
To be effective whisper light
Or I’m going to have to pay for it
What people don’t realize
Is the night-time kiss
Jimmy Swaggart
Bitter Collette
100% pure hustle
We’ll never be the same again
I’m going to tell a story
Does it ever bother you
That I’m not a man?
Did you ever see a traffic jam?
You try & keep on pushing through
You can’t panic
This is a property case
An explosion behind my eyes
I am gentle, but assimilation is not my thing
I want to kiss a girl
The female warrior is everywhere depicted
I was weaned of it
To have a soft heart
I read this novel
Re-reading the past
A vicarious blade
A kettle of fish
Now what has that given us?
A dog running loose
Snow fries
Time to put down the gun
Nature didn’t give us a gun, but ears
I am not published in one country
But seek communication in another
The wild life kiss.
Decry Death
by Tara Carreon
Death … I’ve always said it is dangerous
Lord of the test tube
Lord of the belly
He said he was going to be my friend
The source of all wisdom and happiness
“Life is enhanced by Death”
“Death must be so, or else the universe couldn’t exist”
“Death is necessary,” people say, repeating the Devil’s dogma
Love Death & hate life
I want another universe to live in
Get away from me, demon!
Evil incarnate
And killing, its friend
Reincarnation it’s buddy
The opposite of love
The stoop on the step
I wanted to get rid of it
It’s tragedy
It’s black moor
So abusive
Abominable snowman
Evil malignant force
Hole in the universe
Taking loved ones away from you forever
Black, foul vapor
Spoiler of centuries
I couldn’t get a deal
Like he’s some King I should bow down & worship
Darkness over heaven
A young man’s burden
A bullet in the head
Death is not cool
But a maudlin business
Robespierre
Afghanistan
Who could love death?
People admit to disliking lesser things
Broken love
A cheat, a lie
But big things like Death they ignore
I’ll never be Death’s friend
I curse the day he was born
I would project a missile from out of my heart
With power enough to blow him apart
A big, black, hulking thing
The darkest thing in the universe
Containing the essence of death to take Death down
On contact, Death would explode like a star gone nova
The last death
We’ll hold no funeral for Death
No more black caskets
Or holes in the ground
Crematoria covering for brutal murder
The death industry collapsed
Mortuaries out of business
War a thing of the past
No more crying
Sad poetry & songs
Freed from the oppression of Time
The sun can continue to come up and go down every day
But a sun that does not die
In another kind of nature
A universe purged of Death
SUBTERRANEAN MELTDOWN
by Tara Carreon
(For Norman Spinrad)
Are you going to tell me how another chip of credit bought you
Erotic delight
A Sufi smile
Death’s gorgeous bones
He just sat there
Melancholy riders
A boat stuffed with ostriches
The future open
You could be beyond that lily glamoured smile
Everything that I love in the land of Talmod and Sod
The body is a flowing place
Almeida of the Cloves
Supersheen clothes
Tarot for the rising
What was that shouting about anyhow?
Stop giving me these death visualizations!
Lemon yellow pepper tree
I don’t need to emphasize your penis
People matched up the etheric music
What is it with you, me?
Tatters in fragments
Strengthening on strengthening,
over and over
On a suicide cloud
Pretty expensive
Diamond cover
Chop chop chop mashed potatoes time
A sea of filgree
You know what I’m saying
Tyromachtor was a bodyguard serpent
God is after all a figment of your imagination
In agony the poor lamented, demented
Set sail in the eastern sea
But true to her enamoured genius
She got sick, the Venus Carolyn
Then she asked this life-giving person clothed in fire
And she fell through the clouds
Crystal purity fire with a vengeance
She only appears in the mirror of no thought
I’ll make my mind a perfect mirror for her
Couldn’t stand the beat of a subterranean meltdown
The mangled fish
For without clarity we are nothing
Last season left girls about ten years of age.
Thanks, Cop, Can I Go Now?
by Tara Carreon
You drive? I mean, a car? Then you see bumperstickers, right? Like, “Thank a Cop.”
You ever ask yourself where these bumperstickers come from?
You got a telephone, right? And you’ve gotten calls from the Police Protective Asssociation, right? Yeah, they’re the ones who move this product. Of course, you can probably pick up one of them at any cop shop… Did it ever occur to you that it might be a good way to protect yourself from getting a traffic ticket? It didn’t? That’s why you’re a chump.
People buy these bumperstickers so they can drive around knowing they are allied with authority. And safe. They’re more afraid than anything. It’s like paying protection money. “I’m on your side, now just leave me alone.”
But thank cops? For what?
For the fact that they bungle every major investigation, and always let the really, really
bad guys go free?
For the fact that they browbeat witnesses, provide the cover story for the State’s conspiracy du jour?
There’s a billboard in town that claims there’s a direct correlation between the number of cops going down, and crime going up. Oh, fuck yeah! How could that be true, when cops cause trouble wherever they go, and piss people off with their intrusive behavior? There is no science behind this contention! The truth is very likely that where there are fewer cops, there are fewer arrests, hence fewer Quote-Unquote
“CRIMES!”
Obviously, there are some nice cops, and thank god for them. But bad cops, they are I’m afraid, the ones most of us encounter, while the bad ones continue to roll along and determine which evidence to put forward and which to destroy.
I know this is a TABOO subject, like all political topics. We get along as long as we keep our mouths shut. Free speech is way too dangerous. But if you’re against free speech, then move to Russia!
In L.A., during the Rodney King riots — I was camped out at the federal building in
West L.A. during the carnage — all 50 of the persons who ended up getting shot
were shot by cops. There were eyewitness accounts on local radio station KPFK of
cops seen stepping out of unmarked cars, firing randomly, getting back in, and
taking off! Of course, if you think the LAPD are good people, don’t listen to
me!
I’ve been fixated lately on this totally out of date topic. The death of Robert F. Kennedy. Takes you back. You remember him? He was the brother of JFK. Oliver Stone hasn’t done a movie about RFK, but maybe eventually he will.
Why the hell am I worried about Bobbie, as he was known to such celebrities as Caesar Chavez and Joan Baez? It’s all due to Casa Video, where I rented an investigative documentary by Shane O’Sullivan called “RFK Must Die: The Assassination of Bobby Kennedy,” first of all, because Bobby Kennedy looks just like my dad, and secondly, because Sirhan Sirhan (why did he have mirror names?) was a Rosicrucian.
You’re all like, “What’s a Rosicrucian?”
Now just slow down your beer-slurping for a second. I got news for you. Hitler and
his gang were Rosicrucians. Rosicrucian means “Rose-Cross,” and oooooooh – bite
down hard – I strongly suspect they are the real troublemakers in the world.
Yeah, like now you’re checkin’ out: this bitch is fuckin’ crazy. But I can tie this together. Remember, I’m talking about the RFK assassination. Do you know shit? Do you know who killed RFK? Do YOU Fuckin’ know? You don’t, do you? You have no idea….
Okay, I’ll tell you. The man who is serving a life sentence for killing RFK is “Sirhan Sirhan.” Yep, a man with a first and last name that are one and the same. No, he’s not dead yet, like your brain.
According to the California justice system, “Sirhan Sirhan,” a Palestinian Christian raised in Pasadena, conceived the idea of killing RFK because, yes, RFK was an Israel-supporter. RFK had said he was going to give Israel some jets, like killer machines with lethal eggs to lay amongst the A-rabs. This detonated in Sirhan Sirhan’s mind with lethal force. Yep, we got documentary evidence. Sirhan Sirhan conveniently had a newspaper clipping bitching about RFK’s promise to give Israel some nasty silver warbirds in his pocket when he was arrested. That’s good evidence if you’re a prosecutor. Worked good.
Strangely enough, Sirhan Sirhan might not have been the killer. There was one woman – her name was Sandra Serrano. She was sitting outside the Embassy ballroom, where RFK was shot to death, on the fire escape, when two people ran by her shouting, “We killed him, we killed him.” One woman had on a polka-dot dress. Sandra asked “Who did you kill?” They answered, “We killed the Senator!”
Sandra Serrano stuck to her story until the police had had enough of her truth-telling. Then they sent a big goon cop named Hank Hernandez to interrogate her and get her to retract her statement. I loved his technique. It was all about outrage. “How dare you do this to the Kennedys? I love this man, and you’re shaming him.” It’s exactly the tactic they took towards all of us who believe that 9/11 was an inside job. “How dare you do this to the dead?!” They said the same thing at Katrina. “Stop sticking your nose into that dirty business, don’t you have any respect for the dead?”
Yeah, kill another politician for me to respect. But make him a Republican this time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hand on Oblivion
by Tara Carreon
Beyond the mereological and teleological
Take me off the Zodiacal reference of life
The sage was right
Each of us partakes in our Paracelsus
He’s an elephant at dawn
He hath already stolen the body
A scandal is no money left
A rock is in the water of the lake
If there is one
The true word is extradition
The many-colored newspaper
To launch a thousand ships
My dad was a royalist
And gave up the butterfly
To come back and watch, what?
Another Mexican push Chinese food?
Rough me up with government scorn
Holy monopoly
Anger that is nothing
Goat hairs
So you won’t dream of matter
Illegal tie-dye
Rabbit breath
Mephistopheles
The Flowers Appreciate Timothy Speed Levitch
Performance by Tara Carreon
Dialogue by Timothy Speech Levitch
| Timothy Speed Levitch wrote: |
| If I have an essential goal on the Cruise right now, I think that the simplest goal is perhaps to be able to exhibit that I am thrilled to be alive and to be still respected. The more soulful of us, I suppose the Buddhist or whatever label you want to put on those experiencing their further individuality, might say like, “Look, why should you care about respect from others? I mean, just the thrill of being alive is your own business. You can do that alone in your living room.”But that’s not what the Cruise is for me. The Cruise is about the searchings for everything worthwhile in existence. It is about walking into the bar and lusting after all the worthwhile possibilities of the world. It is about flesh. It is about waves undulating. And it is about exhibitionism.You know, I want to look at the flower and appreciate the beauty of a flower, for instance. Somebody else might say, “You can look at the flower and become the flower. Isn’t that even better?” But then I further would love it on the Cruise, if I could look at the flower, appreciate the beauty of the flower, and then have the flower appreciate the beauty of me.That’s how I feel about Cruising right now.I mean, yes, becoming the flower would be a lot of fun. I mean, I can do that, too. I can do that on Wednesday afternoon. I think I’m free Thursday afternoon. I can try to become the flower. But come the weekend, goddammit, I will appreciate the beauty of the flower, and then likewise I will stand, exhibitionistic, having the flower appreciate the beauty of me.And I think having an intimate, quote unquote “love affair” with a flower is far more psychotic and riveting than having a love affair, quote unquote, with some of the banal creatures of the human race. Although I’d be into that, too. |
The American Anger Museum
by Tara Carreon
(for Rimbaud)
It would take an act of thinking
Without it, I thought,
Let no man here think I am not his enemy
You want to assert your dominance over me
When different colors swirl up and are lost
Your sexuality dis-gusts me
The violence
The rage
Take your people apart on someone else’s territory
Flayed human skins hanging from trees
The endless parade of sailors’ drunken vomit washing over the seas
Let’s hang you up in a tree
Eyeballs bulging
Tongue protruding
Body slack
Harassed by a swarm of bees
Give the torturer his torture
Freeze him
Blind him
Cut his limbs
In a magnesium and paper house
Set ablaze in merely an absurd way
Obviously, none of this is real
So don’t blame me!
Would you legislate free thought?
And confuse the story with what’s real?
You motherfucker
Go to hell!
I hate your sadism and torture
A Face in the Mirror
By Tara Carreon
Without makeup I was perhaps the most subversive person in the world
Stupendous occupation
A special wondrousness
I find it flattering
Because she was designed to stand up by herself
Foundations being met
I’m not going to deny it
The people existed
I reject the black hole thesis
Life is always manifesting
All self-existing forms are true to form
I know it’s real because I can feel it between my fingers
and touch it in the air
I was a mormon, but didn’t believe
I prayed the deities then walked away
I don’t want something mechanical inside me
Rattling & clanky
But a child born from within
A person has got to release their own power
Embrace thyself, outside in
I’m leisurely, independent
Here to do an investigation
United nations
To read of their contentment on earth
Some people throw the I-Ching
Some people read the tarot
I just ask myself, “What is the answer?”
She was swinging down the street from a giant holy man
Tracing the pattern of frogs
That came from the other shore
A song for the cats at the gas station across the street
Drink a cocktail to it
Toast your reality in the alternating sea
A Christmas Prayer
by Tara Carreon
Ah, that thing we’re not supposed to do
Be aware of other people’s pain
I’m not going there
Put if off for another day
And another, and another
Until I see a homeless, black woman struggling with ten plastic bags,
Full of necessities, or garbage transformed into things?
That look of pain on her face
I can’t get away from people’s suffering for long
It takes the bravest person in the world to look at the world’s pain
But for now, it lies over the horizon
Way over in Afghanistan
People are screaming in agony
A baby died from poison gas
Family members have been bombed to pieces
Heads decapitated, like Pat Tillman’s
Burns, lost limbs, blindness
Everyone in your family is dead, except for you
And you’ve got nothing
And all you want to do is die
You can’t even get up to go get some water, and you are completely parched
If only you could just sit there and die
Now multiply that poor person 1 billion times — 6 billion times
Everyone has their own sadness
Because the world is run by monsters
And few have the guts to try and stop them
People are confused in their ideology
And cowards, almost all
Show me the person who doesn’t want to be liked
And I’ll show you a hero
An individual, not a collective
Someone who can speak the truth
Without fear of losing their ground,
the earth under their feet
Go up to a Big Guy and push him back
The world is wailing
At least the economy has the decency to collapse
at this time of great suffering
I pray that the world will never find its way back up
until every human being is brought up with it
Until then, let EVERYONE suffer.
Sacrifice-honey-pot-Occupy-Movement
by Tara Carreon
The brutality
A kick in the head
“Catch me if you can,” said the gingerbread man
A man of many names
The life-threatening vehicle
Sabu, Sabu
You proud son-of-a-bitch
Why not, when you’re working for The Man?
He gotcha downtown where you whip up the masses
See if you can make them fall
There are plenty of cripples
They got tickets
And the organizers who are lawyers step in
To represent them, and get paid by the State
They make a pretty penny
And the State gets its criminals
which is what it lives for
Violent young minds raised on vampires and blood
have no mercy for their victims
They have nicks like “raepsauce,” and “pwnsauce”
“Who do we rape today?”, they ask each other by instant message
And grimly advise each other: “Don’t fear the reaper”
Baby vampires from hell
Messengers of the Occupy Movement
Now the feeding frenzy begins,
just like on TV
While the FBI looks on and licks its lips
They’ve got to teach these young kids a lesson
Make them eat each other alive
Any loving Daddy would do the same
These young’ins gotta be warned
not to mess with Daddy’s business
If you wanta hack, you hack for the State
Who are the heroes in this story?
If you break the law, you’ll go to jail
And they’ll do everything they can to make you break it
They’ll make it look so cool and anarchic
But how can you possibly defeat Daddy by marching in his parade?
By stealing credit card numbers and publishing them on the Internet?
Hacking government sites in Tunisia, Algeria, Yemen, Zimbabwe and Syria
Implementing Washington’s agenda for regime change?
Run from them if you can
There’s nothing left of the human being
Nothing but abysmal-I’m-immortal-motherfucker-action
In Daddy’s inexorable march towards Russia.
I Tell You, Many Black Nights I Feel Like a Dog After a Killer
by Tara Carreon
There is here and there a spark of divine intelligence
— “We will be holy”
— “We will be holy”
Hardcore nazis
I want to yell it: they never stop beating someone
The agonies of flesh and Judaism
Roulette-wheel religion
Bombastic pilast
We’ve got to get out of here
Agonizing convolutions
Sky rocket
Beasts and the dogs
Global warming
Falling, literally
— the heaviness
A hint of passion to take the blues away
Violent meme
The end where all the seeds and the devil nonchalantly find their way
Stupid-straitjacket-Augustinian-nightmare
The personification of the dead
The inseparable separtee with the monks
It transcends madness
The twilight twitters begin
I’m against wings
Against the sun
Against everything
I’ve been lost forever, thank you.
And I told the class, I’m against war
Against paranoia
High-orb gowns
And snatched eternities
I don’t care about the son, the son
Only in what’s fair
Intellectual soldiers who are lost forever
We wanted our son to know what’s going on
The impatience of the omnipotent
The endless cleverness and grief
A fallen angel is possible
It’s warm enough to kill a cat
What’s the value in thinking about opposites?
Here’s the revelation:
who’s on top and who’s on bottom
Why make the ultimate distinction of self and others?
It is what it is
It’s time to break out
A new voice is needed
Really know something about yourself
Suck a door into yourself
Grossly navigating, pounding, sounding …
Cloud in My Ear
by Tara Carreon
Cloud in my ear
How foolish to stand puckered at the door
Mystical carnage
Pink salads
The fantasy is just a little too obvious
Did you know that there’s no God?
It would have been different if we’d put the pig on the windowsill
I was right –
she was a complete throwaway
When you are in prison,
you and your shit are never separate
Toxic eyelids
She was so responsible
She liked to watch deer running,
and vampires
Here is another sparkling
The passionate armor
India, India
Grape leaves in Colorado
Let’s make some clarifications about the money over there
And jealousy
There was no place to turn around
Caught in a spider’s web
Reading the terms of our agreement
How else could she recognize the rhythm of her life?
Massive brain hemorrhage
Raindrop in water
There is so much pain.
MEDITATION ON BREATH
by Tara Carreon
Out, in; out, in; in, out.
Or maybe side to side; side to side; side to side.
No — Up, down; up, down; up, down.
I’m quickly disoriented.
So what’s up?
Are you inside or outside,
yin or yang,
zero or one?
First you roll, then you become a powerful swing,
You are droplets of nectar in free fall.
Keeping an eye on you from everywhere,
you tighten then relax.
You’re a swirl of mist.
A ghostly dust devil in the wind.
A galactic fish.
Constricted or relaxed,
you are just space,
always new, always moving,
never being anything.
You are transformation punctuated by burps.
Nose breath, mouth breath, holding my breath,
sighing, yawning, long out-breath, short out-breath,
restful breath, excited breath, big mouth-gulping breath,
swallow in the middle of a breath,
sniffle breath, cough breath,
Always new, always floating in space.
Ascending a ladder breath,
graduated staccato breath,
remember a dream in the middle of a breath.
Breath like a rose unfolding.
Swallow your snot breath.
Breath like a big zeppelin,
bloated and floating
in the blue hot sky.
If I don’t watch you carefully,
will you run away?
Looking at a thought of you,
you disappear.
To see you, I must look directly at you,
move with you.
You don’t exist in frozen time.
You’re a peristaltic wave.
Are you cut in half or are you whole?
You’re in my chest and in my stomach
You smell the smoke in the air.
Where are you anchored?
Are you the same as a sneeze or different?
You’re a string of falling stars.
Where is your boundary?
Where is your heart?
You present sets of everything:
outside/inside; up/down;
good/bad; black/white; yin/yang.
Are you puffed up with air?
If I stick a pin in you will you explode?
Are you the clock of time?
Losing your separate place for a moment,
everything becomes you.
Are you an illusion?
A space ship floating in the void?
Are you emptiness or form?
Or both?
You’re a fire burning in the desert.
Are you scared like a shaking white rabbit
with a wriggling pink nose?
What is it that struggles to get oriented
and see breath at a distance?
You’re a white shark in a tidal pool.
A dark submarine in the black ocean.
An automobile on the vast highway of my mind.
You never get hungry.
You’re the throbbing pulse of desire.
Red hot blood pulsing through my veins.
You’re a simple heartbeat.
You’re the bellows of my body.
I can see straight through you.
You’re a hundred iceburgs
floating in an ice cold sea.
I start to lose perspective,
but without grasping where do I go?
Without struggle, what is the landscape?
Struggle to organize, but you’re just
a transparent butterfly’s wing.
Seeing you through rose colored glass,
you’re not there.
What are you really?
A bulbous cocoon?
But what’s inside?
Relax down into it.
Don’t fight it.
It’s a long way to the ground.
Don’t try to make sense of it.
Get inside it.
Ribs heaving.
Blood pumping.
Am I whole, or hole?
If I am in and out,
can I be male as well as female?
Looking for the ultimate let-go,
I fart a big one.
Nasty little dragon.
In one end and out the other.
There are two places for breath to go!
Another duality.
Looking for rest,
I sink down, down, down,
transforming into a great white stupa
resting on the holy ground.
copyright Tara Carreon, at Boudhanath, Nepal,
birthplace of American Buddha Online Library
I know not what is Buddha.
by Tara Carreon
I know not what is Buddha.
People say “Buddha, Buddha,”
Buddha 2,500 years ago,
Buddha man, Buddha god,
Buddha enlightened one,
Buddha many enlightened ones,
Buddha king, Buddha miracle,
Buddha heart, Buddha love,
Indian Buddha, Tibetan Buddha,
Formless Buddha, Timeless Buddha,
American Buddha.
I know not what is Buddha.
Buddha baby, born to change.
Learning, ignorance, pleasure, disappointment,
striving, discipline, enlightenment,
never the same.
I know not what is Buddha
Buddha’s body appeared under bodhi tree
Splendid golden body made of golden parts:
golden hair, golden skin,
golden muscles, golden fat
Fed by earth grain of earth rain
from celestial spheres that danced
with universe eternal;
changing second by second,
baby to boy to Buddha to man to corpse.
I know not what is Buddha.
Buddha searched for mind,
but could not find shape,
color, substance, birth, death,
or resting place,
out and in.
Yet mind sees all things
and is one with all things
of shape, color, substance, birth,
death and resting place.
I know not what is Buddha.
Buddha flowed through time,
appeared and disappeared
back to the universe of change.
I know not what is Buddha.
No body, no mind, no time, no existence.
I know not what is Buddha.
I DON’T WANT TO KNOW
by Tara Carreon
The projective mind is a powerful magnet, it sucks you in
It’s easy to project outwards and get caught up in appearances
So when you sit down to meditate, what do you do?
Who are you going to search for?
Your lama or yourself?
It comes down to that in every moment of meditation.
I have the same problem, believe you me
I’m always searching for the lama
Realizing that, I have to gently disengage myself from old habits
And focus on self, another word for emptiness
It’s a struggle.
Last night I met a guru in a dream and my mind was powerfully attracted
The son of a great lama, rebellious, he didn’t want to teach
He seemed tormented somehow, unable to come to terms with his expansive awareness
I was drawn to him like a bee to honey
But am I always going to be looking for someone besides myself?
I choose to look for me.
In the depths
The bottom of the well
Darkness
Looking for the ground
Looking for breathlessness
Who am I?
I get no answer.
The answer has something to do with breathing
Going down, then coming back up
It’s a natural balance
Life is in-breath; annihilation out-breath
You and the world; you and you.
True self is without
concepts of self and other
Yet it’s important to get clear about your thoughts
Go ahead and do it
Follow your inner impulses
Body relaxed, spine straight, hands on knees
Eyes open or closed
Breathe
Everything for yourself.
Focus, but lightly
Now observe in stillness
The mind naturally moves down to the navel area
And deeper to where the butt meets the ground
‘Til you connect with earth
Through the power of gravity
Go down in the earth until you reach the center
And can’t go any further.
Balance
Sitting in the center of the earth
Looking around in my dark cocoon
I am the lord of the universe
Someone got a problem with that?
Who am I?
Don’t give me the answer
I want to remain answerless.
JUMPING INTO MOTHER’S LAP
by Tara Carreon
Sitting as a child
of the universe
which opens before my eyes
The Buddhist trademark
falls away from me for the last time
I’ll not peddle the Buddha’s goods
for the Buddha Corporation
Or sell my soul to commerce again.
I am a natural woman
undefaced by signs and symbols
Sitting on this earth
breathing molecules
That have circulated through the cosmos
since the beginning of time.
I am listening to my mother’s words of wisdom.
Take me into your arms
Enfold me with your spiraling galaxy arms
Light my way with your brilliant light
That shines in the deepest space
and in the eyes of deep sea animals.
Sitting in the posture of the fully human
I humbly bow to my human nature
I am already what I seek
The Buddhist logo is released from around my heart
And gently set aside forever.
I am whole, without virus,
clean of contaminants
Buddhist deities are washed away in the purification
No tyrant has a deed on my heart
Mother universe has cleansed me
and made me one with her.
My heart is your heart
My mind is your humble servant
I breathe at your command
I serve you with total dedication, mother.
I’ve missed you so much
Hold me close, I love you
I’ve been looking for you so long
And all along you were right here in front of me.
What a wasted journey I’ve been on
I’ll never ignore you again
I am your humble servant
Until the end of time.
I shall study you
in the behavior of animals
In natural phenomena
In the movements of galaxies
In the kind words of saints.
In the music of angels
In my deepest most thoughts
In the wind in the trees
In sunsets streaked with orange.
In vast waves rolling across the ocean
In mountains rising high
In tiny insects looking for sustenance
In winter birds alighting
on snow covered branches.
Fill my heart with love
for all of your creation
Bless me with tolerance and justice
for those who would harm me
Help me bring happiness and peace
to those around me
Help me detach from my thoughts.
Help me give willingly to all who need help
Let me smile and have a peaceful disposition
Let me set aside sorrow and regret
And shine with the beauty of atoms.
Let me give encouragement to others
And walk with back straight and head held high
Sedate and dignified as befits
a servant of the great queen herself
Giving courage and hope to beings
beat down by sadness and failure.
Bringing back the twinkle in the eye
The calm majesty of being kind and open
This is my sacred oath
To leave confusion and torment behind.
THE ENVOY
by Tara Carreon
The story starts with a woman
Who exposed far off lands to change.
As I pull the covers around my face,
I’ll call to no one.
I’ll send my energy back to me.
I am a gestating pupa.
You either have enough energy to sustain yourself,
or you die.
I don’t talk about Buddhism anymore,
because it causes me too much pain.
An emerald parrot flew over my head,
she had a broken leg,
but her other leg was extremely strong.
It didn’t appear to be a handicap.
I put my finger out and she landed on it.
Who would ever know a parrot could have
so much strength?
Lee ti ta da ro
I’m experimenting on an artistic rock,
leaving pennies on the ground
to find my way back home
without looking back.
The music of words is carried on breath.
Seeking self I speak my own language.
Breath catches fearfully from time to time
as memories rise up and choke me.
Thoughts are carried on breath.
That’s the key, mi amour.
The earth is breathing,
pumping rivers into plains.
It’s a song course.
A man with red hair, a suit and a tie, looks sternly at me.
Of course he has freckles.
The moon glitters in the garden,
Subtle messages are carried in the wind.
They could be anything:
a woman’s face, a horse, a baby.
The voice is a flotilla of envoys
you need solitude to hear the music.
My story is just one among many,
but few have come to the end as have I,
of course the end is the beginning.
A red dragon appears,
a metaphor for my cascading, fiery thoughts,
a slow marching band of soldiers,
and a pirouetting ballerina pass by.
Couples dance in circles
Women wear large hoop skirts
Men like sticks across from them
In a waltz with no beginning and no end.
A man in a white lab coat
with a long hooked nose,
scraggly dirty hair
and great big teeth
brings me a bottle of poison
and licks his lips.
“What do you think about this,
Girlie?” he says.
“I don’t know,” I reply.
Form struggles to take shape
Time rumples the beach
Maverick, knife, inundate
This is a cosmology.
Lasso, shoestring,
the phone always rings
in the background.
Toosel-too and tales untold
A river carries my thoughts
Honey bees and honey flowers
We are all something
even when we think we are not.
No Buddhism allowed here
Miserable purple mix-up
One-eyed Jack
Innocuous Bullwinkle
Stupid hat, studying this and that
Okay, it’s all over, Santa Claus
You are marvelous, darling.
I breathe for the first time
as though just being born.
Letting things happen,
not building dams.
I am conscious and I am dreaming.
Subconscious gossip is my friend.
Solar clouds
Bubbles in foam
There is much pain in my body
The pain of aeons.
Crystal water cave breaks me apart.
The earth is shaking.
And finding leisure in the practice,
Time escapeth all.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUDDHA
by Tara Carreon
Today’s the Buddha’s birthday
It is also my husband’s
And my old guru Gyatrul Rinpoche’s too
It’s April 7th
My husband always insists that this is the most important day of the year and constantly points out important events that occur on this day
Of course, because he was born on it
I will devote myself 100% to him after I write this poem to the Buddha
The Buddha got a bum rap
They took his good and mixed it with their bad and put him at the top as their figurehead
That’s like mixing an angel with a vampire
It was ancient day identity theft
How I long to be away from here
Torturing Buddhists
But Buddha got a bum rap
Who stands up for the Buddha?
Who says, “Buddha was an amazing person, who promoted these specific ideas”?
He threw everything on its head
He left his palace of luxury and privilege and walked away from it all.
You were an amazing person, no doubt about it
Come into me Buddha
And let me be you
Are you sure you want to do that Tara?
Can you trust him?
Look again
He tired of being feted, he walked away from it all, he declared the equality of all people, he promoted individuality, he rejected authority, he accepted women into his circle of friends, he was constantly fleeing from crowds of people who wanted him to be their savior, he didn’t want recognition, he rejected asceticism and accepted a bowl of warm rice milk from a pretty girl. He refused to write anything down, saying that the dharma was everywhere, and wouldn’t appoint a successor. And when he died all he left were memories.
Yes, you can trust him
Come into me Buddha, and let me become you
I was the son of a king. A soothsayer told my father upon my birth that if I saw the suffering of life, I would leave the palace forever. My mother and father worried about this constantly. Of course, I didn’t know about this until later. We were a very tightly knit family, you could almost say they suffocated me with love. So there was a lot of phenomena going on at the palace to distract me. Everyone was busy, busy, busy trying to have fun, and grasping greedily after life. It was manic, I can tell you. What was everyone so desperate about? I couldn’t figure it out. It was just one spectacular event after the other, but after awhile, I tired of it. Have you seen the Truman Show? It was like that scene at the end when Jim Carrey gets in the boat which he’s been told he almost lost his life in as a child, determined to face his fears and sail into the unknown, and his corporate masters program that big storm to make him turn back, but he doesn’t, and in the end he bumps up against the walls of his prison, sees a door going to the outside, and without hesitation walks out? That’s what it was like for me. It was all so artificial: the dancing girls, the incredible feasts, the ornamentation, the flowers, the furniture, the scents, the alcohol and drugs. It all started to look the same. To tell you the truth, I was bored stiff. Where was the incredible complexity of nature? I felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage.
So one day I snuck out and saw what the world really was. It was horrifying. There were sick people, old people, dying people, poor people. While we lived in luxury in our palace, the rest of humanity suffered in poverty. THE LIE was revealed. My parents had been lying to me all along, and were exploiting my fellow man and woman. Filled with disgust, and with a fire burning in my heart, I left that palace never to return.
I looked everywhere for the answers like a good little boy. I prayed, did yoga, and meditated with the best of them. No one knew what the fuck they were talking about. Finally, I decided I was going to have to figure this out myself. I was determined, I can tell you. I had a fierce will to find the answer, and I challenged the universe right then and there to a showdown. I was either going to get enlightened or die. Enough of this fooling around!
So after accepting a bowl of warm rice milk from a pretty maiden — enough of being hungry as well — I sat myself down under a beautiful fig tree — I just love figs, don’t you? — and willed myself to see the answer. Well, sometimes a strong determination for a miracle can produce amazing results. I had been tormenting over this appearance / emptiness business for some years, and suddenly I saw that they were one and the same. THERE WAS NO HIERARCHY. Everything was equal. I didn’t say they were the same, just that they were equal. Everything is really different. The world presented itself with relative perfection, changing moment to moment to moment, the cause a complete and utter mystery. I experienced a beautiful simultaneity.
Wow, what a trip! My separate self dissolved into one whole being that was punctuated by constant inspiration that sometimes appeared to come from another place. What is life? Just drop your jaw in wonder. Suddenly, I feel so much better.
Now what the hell do I do? Just hang out and dig life, be all spontaneous and joyful? Or do I have some kind of responsibility to share my experiences with others? Maybe
a little of both sounds good. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.
I tried not to make a big deal out of it, but people were dying to hear my message, and the word spread like wildfire. Jeezus H. Christ, I was an instant celebrity. I couldn’t find any peace and quiet. Of course, I was the son of a king, and my parents let me get away with everything. It was a very auspicious situation. And you can be sure that as soon as people started to gather, that’s when the bickering began, and it was one petty dispute after the other. But that’s not really fair to say because these were the issues that concerned people the most, and were the cause of their unhappiness. I don’t want to demean their confusion. The world’s a confusing place. It’s no one’s fault except for the people at the top who make the rules, and exploit people shamelessly for their own benefit and enjoyment. But how the hell are you going to topple that power structure? I did the best I could. It wasn’t really much, as you can see from what happened after I died.
You already described it nicely when you said that they put my head on the body of a vampire. But there was really no way I could have prevented that, people being who they are. And I’m not complaining either. I see peoples’ foibles, their hate, passion, aggression, jealousy, murderous tendencies, etc. as the display of a relatively good universe, which, after all, is always in the process of evolution. Still, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to make things better.
There is only one meditation object in the room. The room is white and large, and in the center stands a throne, and on the throne sits a white Buddha. Everything is perfectly still. We see his story flow over his body and light up everything in the room.
Light comes from life, and from no other place.
The Buddha got a bum rap.
Let it be known that there was one person who stood up for the Buddha, for who he really was. The guy deserves to have at least one friend.
Comrade Buddha, I salute you. May your spirit live in me forever.
Ashland, Oregon
April 7, 2004
FERRIS WHEEL OF MY LIFE
by Tara Carreon
[Be obscene
Be, be obscene
Be obscene, baby]
It’s the end of June and thunder is rumbling across the sky
There are no disconnections
A shadow flashes over my body and caresses it everywhere
And the heart sings its song in-between burps and bubbles
I am not ashamed
And I do not hate myself
[A Mexican woman, wearing a green summer dress, carrying a rifle, looks around nervously, gets shot, and falls down in the dirt]
Don’t try to own space
Breath is my own
The thunder a drum roll
Not holding on to anything
Preconceptions are meaningless
Nothing is happening
Clap your hands and dance
Spread legs apart with jaunty step
Unburdened by political correctness
Having enough to share
There’s no need to force connections
Identify illusion and spring instantly out of trap
Then tell him right then and there
That you never want to speak to him again
[Be obscene
Be, be obscene
Be obscene, baby]
A million dollars in my pocket
And nothing but clarity
I don’t even know what breath is
Another clear sky
A wounded table with coffee poured over it dripping down the edges
Free from all thoughts
Half, half, half, half, half
I am a light being
with hyper-extended ears
A sphere, an egg
Energy flowing out of the top of my head
Seeing aura for what it is
Pure perception is truth
But don’t forget the psychobabble
Sounds move through me
And I learn how to sense
All directiveness is ego
A gun in my heart
Why should the mind move at all?
Nothing to build on
No throat to choke
That’s a relief
It gets aggressive out there
Space has no dimensions
Water washes over me like a wave
[Put an explosive in a little girls’ tutu
Spread the labia carefully, and stuff it deep inside]
Perceiving new things, not old things
Each moment is free from the next
Who am I free from grasping and beginning?
No need to untie knots
Holding on to nothing
Things disappear like mist in a breeze
Now free to laugh and cry
Without bias all irritations disappear
Pure basic being is like empty container
A gentle wind
Time to take the anchors off of things, boys
This moment is mine
Sky in orange cream and blue
Mind is the same whether
eyes are open or closed
Rest in peace free from commentary
And see reality without filter in-between
There is power in all things
So look and get the transmission
Gather life in a basket
A pink sunset in a silver sky
Life is a celebration
Knowing what’s false and what’s true
One has total confidence in oneself
The angel does not need her wings
But contacts earth in orgasmic tremble
Convulsive sigh
A lake between her legs
Pure water falling from high
in streams of turquoise light
“Tara, Tara” echoes through the mountains
She is the earth
Splayed out for all beings
But not subjugated
Giving her body
The rocks grow, the water runs, the mountains rise high
And the earth gives happiness to all beings
Veins in her body, skeleton in her bones
Her mind a ganglia of light filled honeycomb
Net of golden jewels and luminescent pearls
All creatures move in their own space
It’s never too late for a pure moment
Remaining without expectation
No need to get tired
Again and again clear awareness arises
Wiping the mirror, it instantly becomes clean
Reality does not harm you
even when it is in your face
Why settle for ignorance for even one second?
IT’S TAUTOLOGICAL, LIKE WHIRLED PEAS
by Tara Carreon
We’re looking for the voices
Sometimes we want to hear the inner voice
That’s why people take drugs
They are looking for other sentient life in the universe
And finding it in short supply.
There’s nothing more beautiful than meeting another being
Especially the ones who talk
I should probably take more psychedelics
But I’m afraid it would just be a waste of time.
I’ve never seen another being on psychedelics
Except that one time I saw God
But he was so God-like I couldn’t get close to him
It’s tautological
Like whirled peas
Will you ever be able to visualize world peace again?
Who I really seek to know is myself
There’s someone trying to bust through
It’s as if a tissue of skin was separating us
I can only see her translucent self
Scarlett spoke of having a guide
A guide is not science fiction
And wasn’t invented by Blavatsky
Why is it that idiots are attached to guides?
Does that make me an idiot too?
That’s a really hard question to answer.
It’s just that when you’ve had experiences with these beings
You get greedy for more.
Not that your greed does you any good
They are rare, and you’re lucky to meet one in a lifetime
I met one that I’ll never forget
And I met others less impressive
But powerful and insistent nonetheless
But not enough for my tastes
It’s almost as if you go looking for madness
Just so you can have these experiences.
We’re experience junkies.
If only people didn’t harm themselves and others
But you can’t be safe all the time
It’s a valid human activity to want to contemplate and meditate
We don’t always have to do do do.
Why is that?
Do we have to have our stories to continue on?
Our guides
We don’t want to be going nowhere
We have to flesh out physical existence
We need an inner landscape that physicality cannot provide
Which is why people get so attached to religion.
Religion is not afraid to create an inner landscape.
And anyone who denies this basic human need is a fool.
The question is, how to provide it for ourselves so we are nobody’s slave?
You borrow someone else’s stories, and they own you.
Very slave behavior.
But it’s not easy to create your own stories
Religion gives you a sense of self even as it rips it away.
Imagination is like a drug you can get carried away with.
And what’s more fun than being totally obsessed?
Why should a person deny themselves anything?
That’s what the elite think
And just give me the chance and we’ll see how far I will go
Hopefully not to the point of fucking demons!
Man, it doesn’t seem to take much to get some people there.
Those people are scary.
They have very dark instincts.
I’m looking for something a lot brighter,
and as far away from sun worship as I can get.
I have no desire to worship the sun,
None at all.
And I do not think I would miss a world that did not have a sun in it.
I can’t think of any dreams I’ve had that had the sun in it.
I can think of many warm and closed worlds that don’t have the sun in them.
The sun is a very physical world thing
You’d think that these sun worshipers,
Being the fantasists they are,
Would go for something different.
In fact, they do, they go for a black sun,
Whatever that is.
It sounds a little crazy to me.
I like a different kind of light.
I can get into bright light sources, but yellow is not my favorite color,
Blue is, so I go for a spectacular blue light source.
And I’m not really into the sky, so I prefer it to be more at horizon level.
A little above that, maybe half way up the sky.
And I’m really NOT into bowing.
That is so retarded.
I like big open spaces, like tundras,
Places where lions roam,
A few trees,
Sparse and yellow.
I like the yellow at ground level.
I love yellow mountains.
Probably because I grew up in Arizona,
But who knows?
Maybe I would have felt that way anyway.
I’ve been in Oregon a long time
And that hasn’t stopped me from
fantasizing vast yellow tundras.
Like Spain.
A big continent surrounded by water
Makes an interesting, dry environment.
We have a need to communicate about things
That aren’t going to make us a penny of money.
What is money except what you have to have?
It’s not what’s fun
It’s a necessity, not a pleasure.
You get as much as you need,
and then you do what you want to do.
It’s simply a means to an end.
It’s not the end by any means.
I’m sure if everyone could do without it
They would.
What kind of madness seizes the person who thinks money is a goal in itself?
It makes me wrinkle my nose and roll my eyes.
These idiots who make a big deal out of money,
They have no inspiration at all.
It’s another example of a complete lack of imagination.
And they think they are the imagination kings.
It’s fun sitting in your room as the morning turns to afternoon,
The light just barely coming through the mostly closed curtains
Made of a nice burnt orange Turkish brocade.
Like light shining through ice.
As if you lived at the North Pole.
I wonder if Hitler was attached to that kind of light.
It’s an interesting cold blue light.
Again, very physical world.
I think I’d go for something warmer,
Dusty pink for a boudoir feel.
The feeling of being in a womb,
But not inside my mother’s stomach!
Something more open and spacious.
With nice flesh furniture placed all around.
Some translucent curtains
And far off inside spaces seen at a distance.
LISTENING BETWEEN THE LINES
by Tara Carreon
There are more than things involved out there in lines, choruses,
I have my body when it interests me enough of what I say
You can change the rules any time you like
Juliet, daughter of macabre
Must be Apache
Deeply the rough cut
Just pretend I’m not color blind
Don’t touch! Follow orders!
I am bringing you a gigantic eagle
I don’t know if they are other people or what
Geronimo!
I don’t think it’s extremely satisfying
But in a movie who will know?
Cypher, gopher
Make the decision via bots, via rant
Imagining television, or go get well
When you said we’ll get it done
Because it’s huge, 100%, the whole thing
Meanwhile, the years just go by
Get a pen and a paper, and I’ll tell you what to do
Yeah, we’re anti-Catholic, you bastards
Who cares what they say?
I’m tired tired tired
Cheney didn’t listen
The game itself drives them on
Stupidity, ignorance
I am sick of it
It’s just more magic tricks
Their power over reality gets greater and greater
It is a lonely thing
Typhoon, cyclone
Listening between the lines
I think you ought to go play with it, yeah!