Poem #1:
I don't know
Where I'm going.
I don't know
Where I've been.
Out of context
I am floating.
Unlatched to Self's
The Very Sin
of Existence.
I just made up this poem right now... this morning. Tuesday morning in May. I just came from visiting my good friend Lauri, zipping around in San Diego, a hectic (but very good) fisheries stakeholder meeting, a sick tomato-poisoned best friend, Santa Barbara burning down, and a trip from up in northern California. And so? I feel a bit out of context. Not very processable in a single blog! It's funny at one point in the COMPASS communcations workshop, Dr. Ron Rice (Communications Professor) mentioned (sarcastically) [paraphrased] about how surveys usually involve people's perception of certain issues, and he finds it ironic how can we try to figure out people's perception of issues when they don't even have 50% accuracy in perception of their own selves? People don't even keep track of themselves or even know themselves, the body and the mind they are housed in! So much for religions attempting people to be in tune with themselves!
Poem #2:
Why do I
Have to go
Through the Past
Just to get
To the Future?
I wrote this poem on my first drive / first train ride to San Diego from Santa Barbara--back in March of 2009. The future was (and still is ) waiting for me in San Diego, but I had to go through regions of notable failure in Los Angeles and Orange County... baggage of the past, so to speak... primarily in the film and music industry. But I am learning how to train my mind to go forward with what works, and account for / scrap all the pathways and elements that don't work.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
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I have another short poem #3:
I told Jules that my sister is going to Disneyland for two days in a row!
Then I wrote a poem in my words:
Setting Foot in Disneyland
As long as there are
dirt roads,
geology field trips,
boat rides,
catchings of fish,
and campfires in the boonies,
with a close pack of friends,
I will never
ever
have to set foot into Disneyland
ever again,
for however long I live.
And yet again, I have another short poem:
Who can know
all the pieces of the puzzle
when I've got a puzzle
that's yay big enough?
Who can know
all the parts of my troubles
when livin' all my troubles,
I've got it pretty rough?
CONTINUING THE POEM:
Who can know?
Who dare knows?
Do you dare know?
Who dare knows
of the pickings of my rubble
when my rubble's a triple mess
I think that you're pretty tough.
Who can know
all my whispers and muffles
when muffles' are a breed estranged
did you just have enough?!
Whooooo?! Youuuuu?!
OTHER KEY WORDS:
stubble-muddle-meddle
gruff-enough-stuff
DOSAGE/DOSE
Another poem.
Encounter #1. He's quite--uh... interesting.
Encounter #2 (month later). He's quite an interesting character.
Encounter #3 (two months later). He's actually a really interesting character.
Encounter #4 (three months later). He's actually a really, really interesting character.
Encounter #5 (three-point-five months later). He's actually a really--OH! Uh, hello there. :-)
Another poem!
I ventured down the alley of a
Nowhere in Particular.
The vacuum of spacetime was carving
entrailed vernacular.
Filling up an order
in a Road of Retrospect.
But the ways before me
in a pile, uncoalesced.
Always...
Venturing down the alley of
Nowhere in Particular.
And yet, another poem!
Big Black Box / Whatever's Left of the WildWest
I'm sailing down to a
Big Black Box.
Euphorical Haywire-tang-
led to a Knot.
Inspiration's foraging
An Idiot Quest.
To gain an-Known of
Art's Intelligence.
I'm sailing down to a
Big Black Box.
Carving Universe to an
Untangled Knot.
Unexpectedness to
Whatever's left.
Unexpected to
Whatever's Left
of the WildWest.
Unexpected to
Whatever's Left
of the WildWest.
And yet? Another poem!
I never ever ever thought
this ever would have happened,
but now the doors are double-knocked,
it makes total sense.
I never ever ever thought
this ever would have happened,
and now the doors are both unlocked,
it makes total sense.
The randomness of space and time
that goes about a'twisting,
The branches of the tree
that never touched, in unexpected.
I never ever ever thought
this ever would have happened,
but now the doors are double-knocked,
it makes total sense.
My gawdzeeks! Another poem!
Why do I
have to go
through the past
just to get
to the future?
To the feature?
Why do I
have to ex-
tract the good
from the bad
just to nurture--
just to mature--
A fruit a lil' better
than the one before?
A world a greater better
than the one before?
A game, a maze remodelled
than the one before?
An openness and wonder
than a fixed-enclosed?
I will grasp the best
of whatever's left
of the wild, wild west!
Unexpectedness,
I'll soak the rest
of whatever's left
of the wild, open west!
IT SEEMS LIKE I WILL ONE DAY WRITE A POEM/SONG CALLED "WHATEVER'S LEFT OF THE WILDWEST" PHRASING MENTIONED IN TWO SONGS!
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