Archive for the ‘spiritual’ Category

I saw a city
out on the horizon
of an endless prairie.
Grand skyscrapers
buildings of beautiful architecture
but it began to crumble.
One by one, buildings
folded into dust.

There was a house
it was important to me
the way things just are
in dreams.
The house was not
where I needed to be
but inside
I knew there was a black girl
waiting for me under a blanket.
As I tried to reach the house I grew
with each step
my body became gigantic
until like Alice
I could never fit into the door.
So I grew so big
I traversed the prairie
in one step.

I woke in a van.
It was the black van my father
had converted to a motor-home
for our family vacations.
It had a big dirtbike
painted on the side.
Only my father was there
driving silently
my fighting brothers where not there
nor was my anxious mother.

Suddenly we stopped.
A girl from my highschool
walked onto the van
she grabbed a handbag that was left on the seat
then she got off into the arms
of her black boyfriend
who wore a cadets uniform.
As my father drove us onward
I realized we were driving through
a training ranch for cadets.
A horse galloped through a banner
with a touristy quip like
“Y’all Come Back!”
Two cadets fought
in a fenced enclosure
with bayonets and white hats.

We drove under a gate
a wild First Nations girl
skated on the frozen mud
long black hair behind a white mask
she grinned at me knowingly
and I also spied a father and son
sharpening spears
preparing to hunt bison.
As my father drove the van
down an icy hill
the First Nations girl
skated alongside us
a spear in her hand
a wild smile
behind her mask.

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city of mountains

Posted: April 9, 2017 in spiritual, urban, Vancouver

vancouver
a wet city of money, culture and trees
there are such strange tress in vancouver
older
more attuned
primal
the ocean near enough for infinity to be on our backs
yet we are the rocky mountains
the epic reality of seeing them every day
something i dreamed as a child
a cloud filled fantasy
and this is where i live
among the trees

city of memory

Posted: April 9, 2017 in spiritual, travel, urban

in taipei there were so many signs
foreign designs
curves and crosses of chinese
to my eyes nothing
but hints at dreams and for me
the signs spoke no specific thought
rather i had to look closer
judge a storefront by its owners and family
of customers
by the characters
bringing whatever product to surreal life
as wide-eyed cartoons do
thus living in taipei wasnt the familiar
conversation that a north american
city provides
rather it was more akin to glimpsing
at  a prospective lover
wondering what they looked like vulnerable
the mind stumbles in a foreign city
its usual logic broken
by a distance of endless
ocean waves
cured by the heat of centuries
of culture
it knows not what to make of dragon cornered temples
where citizens line up for blessings
of intentional open ponds of koi
as urban design
the soul here eats up days
to last a decade

Fable / Fallout

Posted: January 16, 2017 in madness, spiritual, Uncategorized

And it was the same time when the ants found that they had been replaced
by empty plastic bags walking upside-down on clear teeth
through the hollowed skull of panda, who had in turn
turned himself into a ghost simply by wondering if his thoughts
were simply nothing but ice water fountains of his own desires
hidden inside a sort of ghost panda, in a sort of doll
made entirely of dolls continually knitting themselves into being

Where the squid dancing with itself forgets that it is only one squid
it tries to wake up other versions of itself by shaking it’s own tentacles

This is of course madness
comparable to the pheonix feathers painting themselves
as a rainbow with every color but they are themselves the last color
that they will never be able to paint unless, they can become
like chameleon, ever skin shifting
sneaking away the secret parts
to build the golem, the magic clay monster
to do the bidding of the fable kingdom

City Shock (c. 2015, Taipei)

Posted: January 11, 2017 in spiritual, travel, urban

Overwhelmed
Overstimulated
Responding to my new environment
With a camera and a laptop
With a hungry stomach and hungry eyes
An open spirit
An open mind
Body shaking
From the sheer scope and awe
Yet when an earthquake happens
I can’t feel it at all
Head tilted back
Trying to see the top of 101
Look for keys
On moss covered mountains
Oversimplified
Overexerted
Reconstituted
Poetry books reworded

is a narrative about narratives of historical meaning, experience or knowledge, which offers a society legitimation through the anticipated completion of a (as yet unrealized) master idea. (wikapedia)

As I study post-modern philosophy I am struck by the parallels between the (old) (faith-based) narratives such as “Christianity” and the current metanarrative of the “Enlightenment”. I suppose these parallels work like blanks which need to be filled in, and thus they reveal the underlying psyche of human thought:

We need an origin story: Christian = Genesis,
Enlightenment = Evolution/Big Bang

We need an end times/apocalypse: Christian = Revelations,
Enlightenment = Ecological collapse

We need authority: Christian = priests, kings, god
Enlightenment = scientists, rational thinking

We need a mission: Christian = repentance, purity, servitude
Enlightenment = freedom, discovery

We need to be winning: Christian = converting non-Christians
Enlightenment = eradicating non-rational thought

We need an other: Christian = demons, devils, ghosts
Enlightenment = extra-terrestrials

And now my reader may be outraged at the length my broad-stroke thought experiment has been stretched to. How does the enlightenment produce aliens? One could argue that the image of the alien or E.T. was only possible and manifested when the world conscious hit a critical mass of rational thought and technological advances made them ‘imaginable’. Basically it goes “we need ghosts” – “we don’t believe in ghosts anymore” – “obviously technological advancement is our endgame human potential so clearly there exist beings that have reached it before us”.

As a side-note, I had a long conversation one night with a friend in Taipei who was very much a ‘citizen’ of the ‘enlightenment’. By this I mean he held to the narrative that rational thought and freedom is the potential of human beings and that it will ‘solve our problems’, basically I could tell he ‘thought science was cool’. I proposed my idea that science is simply the new religion of the masses and he was outraged. He insisted I could not compare the two because one is based on facts and rationality and the other is based on faith and lies. We had a very constructive and heated debate over beers in a park into the wee hours of the night.

I don’t recall my exact counter argument, though I do recall making him aware of his emotions, how ‘into defending science’ he was and how it sounded similar to a believer defending their religion. He was even proud that his home country of England had a statistic of more than fifty percent of people being non-religious. Which only made it sound more like his side was winning a new crusade.

Also on the topic of ‘not being allowed to compare the two’ because ‘one is based on fact and the other on faith’. I find that to be a moot point. ‘Facts’ are only a legitimate currency within the metanarrative of rational thought. Just because one side doesn’t need to use that currency, does not make it impossible to compare. I can still image the Punisher fighting Dr.Strange even though one of them uses guns and the other uses magic. I constantly find ‘science-lovers’ trying to bring the scientific method into discussions about human politics, but testable objective truths have less of a place in these discussions. Our weapons here should be personal experience and imagination (with a limited amount of rational thought, I will admit, obviously).

As the reader can probably tell by now, I try not to believe in the metanarrative of the enlightenment. I find the mechanical ‘Newtonian’ view of the universe extremely boring. I find peoples ‘faith’ in science and rational thought to be dangerous and depressing. These are heretical things to say and feel. Often in groups of new (actually even among my old friends) and at work I feel like I have to ‘stay in the closet’ with my personal view of the universe. Also, since I am a ‘sensitive’ and ‘intuitive’ human, I actually find it a struggle not to fall into their narrative of ‘science is cool’ when society (advertising, media, the water-cooler) is doing it’s best to shove it down my throat.

So you may be wondering what my personal metanarrative is, am I Christian or some New Age hippie? Not quite. I do appreciate the mythos of Christianity and all faith-based traditions (and the messiah narrative resonates with me since I exist within (scientists would say ‘suffer from’) a messiah-complex). But I try to see the world as a creative process. Personally I believe I am a god, or have an energy that could be called Christ-consciousness, atman, creativity, whatever, and that I created this world (and continue to create it) in order to experience it. I am not completely soliptic, if you asked me what I thought of other people and animals I would say that they are gods too, and I realize that this muddles the term.

So to return to the start, does my metanarrative reveal the above ‘psyche’ of the human condition? Of course. My origin story is all the experiences that have crafted my current existence. My apocalypse is my death, which I imagine at times and try to keep in my consciousness as a sort of final celebration or breaking forward into another reality. Do I have an authority? (muses? other artists or creators) An other? (well I do have a strange relationship with ghosts and aliens so I don’t quite know what that means, perhaps a bleed over from the other metanarratives surrounding me).

And now I come to the end of this post and I have no idea what the point of it was. It is a far stray from my usual poetry and madness posts. Perhaps I should start a separate philosophy blog? (oh god, not another blog page) Perhaps it is best to end with a Baudrillard quote:

“We no longer seek glory, but identity.”

 

Who called it writers block anyways?
more like usually writes but not today
jam tomorrow jam yesterday
but never clever enough to stuff the pin cushions
roll up the bills feelin’ unstitchings
saves time nine sink kitchens
wishing the elephant was an automat
check the status of that closet hatched
still full of dustmites
that crust sights flicked with a finger licking
sting lights at the mingler picking
one nurse hurt for the doctors heart
start calling out numbers art
post-it notes cover a wall unspoken
broken wheels on a spell potion
maze anagrams with the goblin King
spring summer monk temple fling
moon shines handmaiden sings
acid sunday’s girl from the prairies
isn’t really from the prairies
barely windy enough to make a crush
rush the pill to pillows untrust
thrust into a forest subtropic
the topic is drugs and hot chicks
and flame sticks dancing like back home
marty mcfly in the delorean
scoring plutonium on moms door again
biff’s got the book all bets are off
being john malkovich charlie coughed
caught the bus to bee-alzebub
rub a dub give Aladdin the tubs
catch the carpet for the snub replay
too sane for my say
blue face-paint from the free shelf
we don’t serve that kind of elf
wait outside while the sabers dance
prolapsed chance to save the universe
for what it’s worth
still bleeding ink blue perverse
this side of a sideways hangover
one rung short of a come over
exercise on the year of the monkey bars
all-star almanac and flying cars
and weird futures like impossible
one year ain’t that long just improbable
yet unstoppable I kiss the girl at the airport
summer of love, summer too short
now I’m in a forest and its god’s court
gold watches are so last year
tennis players commercial for beer
and I fear the desert is un-insurable
purple t-shirt worthable
worthers originals with Grandpa
replaced Wilford Brimley switched with David Bowie
and all the crazy just knows me
flows and grows and breeds
like bees kept secret from the Vatican
I’m my own clown fetish in a vat again
of mixed up chemicals
carrying fixed up decibels
to jungle mountain festivals
and back again
sunday distorted
on track again
from the mist imported
luck dragons and garbage bin bullies
didn’t know me since I spun soul leaves
in an avatar avalanche shirt bender
word turf mender
on all the quilts of yesterdays
who called it writers block anyways?