Happy Newtonmas

Today is the celebration of the berth of sir Issac Newton.  and it can be done so with a decorated tree and the giving of presents.  Or the dropping of apples.  traditions regarding this holiday haven't relay been cemented.  For me the important thing is the celebrating 

Happy Newtonmas!

A retelling of an old story

A Man Of Many Stories

      This is not a story, well I say it is not a story but that is because I have yet to get to the story part.  You see, I tell stories as a hobby but I learned the talent from my father.  And yes it is a talent which can be learned.  My father and I talk about story telling quite a lot and that is why I will tell you one.  The part of this that is a story is about a man, a simple man, which has no ego.  The story goes something like this…
      In a town not far from hear in a land very far away.  There was a young man that considered himself quite the intellectual.  He was not known to many but those that did know him called him Barry.   This was not his name but the pronunciation of his true name was too complicated for everyone ells.  So Barry the scholar was fast asleep when he had a dream that he was wining a contest.  Up with a start he proclaimed his dream to be the future.  After a while he realized that if he were to realize the dream he would have to study.  So to the books he ventured, investigating all known volumes on philosophy, psychology, theology, and cartoons, for who doesn't like cartoons.  Finally after many weeks of this he emerged disheveled and unshaven, but with knowledge he felt could rival any other. 
      On the other side of town was a man, a simple man, a man with no ego.  This man was named Nasreddin.  He was the local Mullah and went about steeling arguments as was the job of Mullah.  Though he himself disagreed many thought Nasreddin the wisest man of all time.
      Barry decided that the contest that he was fated to win was with the Mullah.  So he boasted his inelegance around the town and even set a date for the competition.  On the day the contest was supposed to be heeled Nasreddin was not to be found for he was asleep in bed.  On the next day he was also asleep in bed, but on the third day he wondered out of his house and was rushed to the contest by spectators.  Bewildered he found a seat not realizing it was the one across from Barry.  After a long silence the two men locked eyes and that's when Barry knew he would begin.  First Barry drew a cercal.  Then Nasreddin drew a line splitting it in half.  Barry pondered this and drew another line splitting the cercal into fours.  Nasreddin confused by this scratched it all out.  As the realization dawned on Barry his jaw dropped he had lost. 
      The two men went there separate ways and soon after no one saw Barry again.  But before he disappeared he was asked what it all meant.  In reply he stated that the cercal represented truth.  That the split meant there is always a lie with every truth.  That the quartering symbolized the only four truths that there are: the four elements.  Finally when the Mullah rubbed out the picture he was saying everything is nothing, and this is the one ultimate truth.  On the other hand when Nasreddin was asked what happened he simply said "He wanted a pie, I thought lets share it, but when he cut into fours I realized this is ridiculous its not real food." 
      So there you have it the true reason I like pie, because it's the one and only truth.  And that is not a story. 

More from the past

Writing is sex. Good writing is like good sex; you have that satisfied smile afterword. The act of writing is often vary hard and needs a lot of pushing to get it done. If someone gets into a writers groove then the process becomes vary carnal. The act of writing can be very pleasurable as with sex. As with the nature of sex writing begets more writing. When writing with a passion there can come a time when pressure builds up and the final release is glorified in the form of words on the page, sometimes haphazard and messy sometimes not. When the writer is charged up again then they might find the sensual nature of their work vary comforting and will enjoy returning to the task.

Prison Poem #18

Its funny how growing up I was a member of the cult of self worship.  But I always thought religion was bogus.  The thing about therapy is it can be an addiction and now that I've gone without the therapist I self analyze  Any starter in the field knows the dangers of this but its also unavoidable.  I am great-full for any outside analyses but I don't usually go searching for it. When I do its for a one of two reasons.  One to self a firm a preconceived notion, two to get an objective perspective when I know I need one.  The first happens more often and Id prefer it never to.  The second is good but sometimes I thank its my goal but I'm under a cloud of self deception. One form of objectivity I've neglected frequently, is to write down my thoughts for tatter review.  This I do often now.  I like poetry because I can express a mood or feeling and be completely subjective with out worry.  My best poems are when I'm in the thralls of a particular emotion. Such times my rational is always clouded.  At these moments my rationale mind takes a back seat.  My preferred definition of insanity is the forfeit of rational thought.  The reason I don't like Einsteins is because there are times when rational thought dictates the repetition of actions. I should write a poem that has the starting lines repeat 'the definition of insanity is' Thought Id never keep a journal because I was to afraid of what the reader would think of me.  Now I see the catharsis in realising my thoughts to paper.  Not relying on it but giving it the burden.

Prison Poem #17

To men are one man in no-mans land.
Three men are unhappy without a woman
One man is silent on the face of a woman
Pi men have theory as to what they are
One woman has power she may not use
Two are easy they fight to choose
Three women are dangerous they will abuse
Both together in symbioses fuse.

Prison Poem #15

"This is not a good idea" sayed the man with the gold hat, He was working on the rail lines for the subway company back in  the sixties.  No amount of shouting would dissuade Roger.  He had a job to do and he would get it done.  "At all cost." He mumbled ad he lowered the bomb into the circuit box.  If timed right the number of casualties would be one that Bob would like.  HE hoped Bob didn't punish him again for making it out of plastic.  Bob didn't like plastic it was something that Sally made.  Remembering how Sally hurt Roger made him go faster.  He missed the mettle of the circuit and detonated.  The explosion killed one.  Bob was happy with that number.  Sally asked; "Want to play another game?"

Prison Poem #14

A dialog with nobody

"Thought you were writing."
"Its not enough."
"Ha ha."
"No more."
"For now we will sing pretty little love songs."
"To much of a good thing can drive you angry.  Not that you'd knotes."
"From one to all."
"All is me."
"God is."
"Hellos welcome to reality, may I take your order?"
"This is a dream."
"Once I woke up and found that I was asleep."
"Tape this for it will not happen again."
"The, wind blows the, string sounds the, fire combusts the, field turns."
"Happy sounds make sad smells."
"From me to you with Gods love."
"She can only be one."
"Is it a loneliness that we make?"
"To me?"
"For what?"

Prison Poem #13

How in the haven can I remember that life is now but there cant be more to it than no one knows.  Life is gods walk.  True life is of death.  This is my act, your will.  You show me in discourse, visions, and repeated advice.  No man is subject to only them self.  I flower in your beautiful splendor.  Lotus, posies, tulips, gladiolus.  On harmony we strive.

Prison Poem #12

Tea is no delusion but the British forsake us

and imbeciles and gun lovers I do not party with

No I am a smart ass; which is why I hate fat

ivory; its so full of contraband   

Earth is my home don't shit on it, bitch.  

Prison Poem #11

Through the Cartesian thought experiment I can not trust the reality around me except on the assumption that it has been therefor it is likely to still be.  Statistics become the most reliable ground for truth.  Emotion throws a monkey wrench into this whole thing.

Prison Poem #10

Drugs are Wack

Irregular boils cover my ass.  Meth fiends are selling jewelry at a very nice price.  Crack rocks can cause cancer if your a Taurus.  Know thy self.  Gnow thy self.  Destruct attorneys play golf for friends in white hats.  No man is an archipelago.  White is the new yellow.  To much of a good thing gives my lady a hard-on.  Down with soup.  Tut-tut the king is a nudist.  Mary would you like a giro? Go to the bark and ask for your money.  That's what I'm talking about.  To much change can cause flexibility.  Yoga has a long list of side effects.  Take two and call me in the afterlife.  White powder is dangerous.  Many have tried.  One and one and one is three.  I've got blisters on my fingers.  Trust is a two way street.  How many lanes? Crazy people see the clues.  Nice try god Ill get you next time.

Fest de musik

On Sunday the fifth I went to a festival in Bethlehem Pennsylvania called musikfest.  I went to see Philadelphia Funk Authority.  It was great.  I saw them a few months ago at Mayfair.  This band is really good.  I have it on good authority that they schedule vary few rehearsals together.  Before they played I was lucky enough to be at the before party for hosted by George Hrab.  He and his friends were vary welcoming, they are some of the smartest most skeptical people in the aria.  What a refreshing change for me.  It is great to find a group that can say wait amount where is this information coming from? what is it biased on? how valid is it? I have found my tribe. 

The past year has been a life changer for me, I now have a new goal and a new set of standards and principles for myself.  With this I can be 'part of ' instead of 'solo' it makes me happy.  There was no mountain to high and no valley to low. 

Prison Poem #9

Acid Trip

Bivel balather blah. No this is your dog speaking.  Yes you are stoned.  Don't touch that lamp. Where are you doing  Tick. Tick. there's a tick in my fun.  Dose this remind youof anything? Follow me.  Down down into christmass town.  The town of mass for christ.  What is mass is it the things that take up space or a great song? Maybe there's a requiem. Tick. Tick. Tick, your late! The baby is overdrew.  Your bass is going to fire you.  What time are you on? You mist it the buffets gone.  Your late.  Where were wing wizle. A nice pint is just what I need.  Wheres the sangria? Don't ask questions your stoned.  Fear is the mind killer.  Mine is the feeler.  Theres no business like showbuziness so get up on stage and shake it.  To much of a good thing can make you love Jesus.  Christ Christi what is up with you.

I'm sinking

I feel like I'm tredding water.  Trying to get some where but losing energy and I call out for help but I don't eaven get a floater.  Its painful.  Its Scary. It makes me angry! Now You get to see me angry! I don't turn green.  I turn cold.  I calculate.  Revenge is a dish that's not easy to make.
I am looking for work anything that will help me to keep going until I can get to where I want to go.  I just hope the dour is open when I get there, assuming i get there at all.  The next days, weeks, month will be crucial!
There will be a new poem this wednesday 

Me now

I am writing this today Friday.  Usually I write things in advance, use a buffer.  But I ran into a problem at the place I'm staying and now I'm spending a lot more time job hunting.  I'm having money trouble again.  Next month I'm moving to a new place that charges weekly rent.  Without a job I wont last long.  I am searching in the Allentown aria and its tough.  I'm so tired right now its not fun. I'm going to try to keep up the regular blog schedule but I may have to drop one of the days.  Ill continue alternating between rants and poems, or at least try to.  I still have a lot more in the prison poem series. 

Worked at a fair

 

That's Ox!

I worked at the kutstown folk festival last week and it was hot.  I got some good food and met some nice people.  There was an ox roast that was delicious and a glass blower that was really cool, or hot.  The theme was heavy on Pennsylvania Dutch.  I had an exhausting time and my boss was... is looking over my shoulder. 

Motevation

Run! That's all there is. Action. The willingness to do. I am working to change my life around. I was a passive slacker. I am now trying to make every moment count but. There's still this part of me that doesn't want to Suffer now for a long term goal. There are times when I remember it's more important to put up with this now then to repeat it later. I'm trying to make those moments more frequent. I run and that helps. I do yoga and that helps. I write and thy helps. I talk to people and that helps. I try to be accountable. There's this desire to run away strip naked and frolic with out a care in the world. I couldn't  last like that. There is a different kind of peace in responsibility, this is my goal. Routine is my serenity.  

Poem #1

I'm sitting in someone elses filth not seeing my oun.
Listening to an escape not seeing it as my get high.
Running from to get fit not seeing my oun escape.
Swimming in and out of coherint thought not seeing.
Returning to my past faliurs unwilling to see the direction I'm going.
I am trying to be one of the guys but I want nothing to do with those guys.
I have to choose and make the choice over and over every moment.

A dialog with nobody

Thought you were writing,  Its not enough.  Ha ha.  No more.  For now we will sing pretty little love songs.  To much of a good thing can drive you angry.  Not that you knotes.  From one to all.  All is me.  God is.  Hello welcome to reality, may I take your order? This is a dream. Once I woke up and found that I was asleep.  Tape this for it will not happen again.  The, wind blows the, string sounds the, fire combusts the, field turns.  Happy sounds make sad smells.  From me to you with Gods love.  She can only be one.  Is it a loneliness that we make? To me? For what?

Prison poem #6

Were once wise when wing was whelp.

Don't fuck with an upright and lawful situation Mr. Government;
 for I will not stop till you are no more.
Don't fuck with my consumption of knowledge Mr. Oppressor;
 for I will use what I have to make you nothing.
Don't fuck with my pursuit of faith Mr. Dogmatic;
 for you have but an empty shell of a religion and can not concur me.
Don't fuck with threats to my life Mr. War-monger;
 for self defense means the end of your life.
Don't fuck with my bran chemistry Mr. MD;
 that's my job.