You Don’t Know Me

i am

 

Modern Beat Flow of Consciousness

People like to judge, criticize the perception of who they think I am but know what? They have no idea who I am, what I’ve been through, what I survived on the outside or in. So judge your own self and back off the rest of us.
Don’t tell me
You know how I feel
Like my life ain’t even real
How I pay for my love
With her sex appeal
You have no idea where I’ve been
So take off that robe
Pass penance on yourself
Before you probe
Two good eyes but you still can’t see
Judge yourself
You know nothing bout me
Who am I?
The effect of one passionate evening
A spawn of sex
One steamy night of heavy breathing
Dads eyes gleaming
Moms mind streaming
Waiting to beam me
Aboard
Don’t ever doubt me you know nothing about me
I languish in anguish
Despondent but real
Been down to soup kitchens
Finding a meal
Locked up and hopped up
Dragged through the dirt
Beat down by street clowns and shrugged off the hurt
Been strung out and rung out
Then hung out to dry
Tested molested with no tears to cry
I’m not plastic imitation
Shifting for compensation
Quit judging me
It aggravating and degrading
I’m a hard swinging gate
Pulling an inside straight
So back off and give me a pass
Go and judge your own ass
Don’t need your scam
You have no idea who I am

I am a child procreated
Dated then fated
A mistake of sex
But still I’m not hatin’
I’m waiting
To find out who the real me is
I was a child of Gods sake
Swam in Satan’s wake
As he sped cross River Styx
With his devilish tricks
Laughing at the trails
As I flew off the rails
Cause some joker like you
Likes to tell tales
So before you pass judgment take one long hard stare
If you reflect hatred than I just don’t care
But beware
Not everybody will treat you that fair
PEACE

 

Existential Crisis of the Future

crisis

 

 

What is the future but a collage of moments
Waiting to become memories
Painted by the brushstrokes of the past
From the pallet of the present
Times yet to be created
We all wish we could glimpse into the future
Peer into the portent
Of our own crystal ball
Premonitions
What are premonitions but reflections in reverse
Remembering the stories of our experiences before they occur
As told by the apparitions that haven’t yet passed
Is there a future after death?
Or do all graves remain in the past

Father
Tell me about my future
Your future is your story son
Built on the pillars of your present
And lessons of your past
Interconnected choices
Determined by the fate you make
Your future will be consequences
Of the choices you chose long ago
You will be what you are meant to be
Be only yourself is all I ask
You see your future Son will some day be your past
As mine is now so will yours be in days ahead
What does that mean Pops?
Its just another existential crisis son
Why don’t you tell me about your future
My future? My future is…
Paintings filled with secreted dreams
Red desires, true blue loves, green envies
A calliope of melodies yet to play
Songs waiting to be sung
Lyrics longing to be written
Tales of joy and anguish
Of love and anger
The future is bright and dark
Full of smiles and tears
Halls waiting to be filled with family
With children pondering their own futures
Laughter, sorrow ,hugs, kisses
Or maybe a lonely room
Sad and gloomy
Forgotten and abandoned
But its my future Dad
I’ll try and build a good one
I hope we both find what We’re looking for
Me too Son
Or at least mercy and forgiveness in the end
Don’t ever stop looking son, the thrill is in the chase
Without the thrill well……
Anyway my portrait is finished
My song is sung
My tale is ending
The future belongs to you now
I had my chance
All that was to be
Now just a memory
Go and make some memories Son

FREE??

free

 

Chained by your own apathy

Eyes blinded by the glare

You tell me you’re free and wonder why I stare

Back aching from the weight

Freedom taking a toll

Carrying crystals of your embittered soul

From the shadows of freedom

Hold them to the light they still won’t shine

 

 

But what is freedom anyway

Absence of care and grief

Choosing your belief

Monetary relief

My freedom is not the same as yours

My freedom is of the mind

To think free of my own design

Not your kind

Your tunnel vision causes derision

But its your decision, you’re free

 

 

My freedom can’t be won in war

Fought in the mud and paid in blood

You fear me because I empathize

I’m counter to your clockwise

I don’t fit into your expectations

I’m abstract thought creations

So just let me be

Nothing is truly free

No one is truly free

Except in your mind if you want to be

 

 

 

 

A Face From The Ancient Gallery

face

 

 

(Inspired by a Welsh poet who refused to go gentle into that good night)

 

I was King of the evening

Time was my mistress

So many darkness’s ago

Life beckoned my call

I was the survivor forever

Fortunate dreamer

Age clutched me close to her breast

A pillow of confidence

Embraced me in endlessness

Swimming side by side

A vast ocean of pleasures

Drifting in her grace

Filling my vessel

Warm compassionate smiles

And enough comfort to keep me asleep

As she whispered promises

So many promises

Whispered dreams

So many dreams

Visions of greatness and grandeur

Oh the potential of those reveries

Dreams she only leased me

Mine to pay back

 

Endowed with dominion over the night

Writhing in the passion filled light

In darkness of nights

When my world needed observing

She shone her light across my obscurity

Her torch to my ear

She whispered close

“Dreams yet to come will burst with elation

Don’t rush past them in your haste my love

Live inside them and breathe deep

The brass spiral is yours for the climbing

And the world yours to embrace

While you keep your dream alive”

 

 

Time held my hand close to her heart

Laid my head on her shoulder

Tenderly caressing my soul

Her hair smelled of sweet promise

Of vows once confided

She murmured into my core

My prophecy is a life of bliss

With condition

Embrace them together

But heed this warning my love

Do not close your eyes or blink

Never let your lamp grow dim

You may also miss precious moments

She looked past me into the horizon

Eyes hinting of sadness

Sorrows of mine yet to come

Foretelling misfortune

Our eyes once met in an embrace

Together we shared a teardrop

And a moment

A precious moment

 

Time is a calculating prophet

I wish I had paid closer attention

My prophecy I was bound to fulfill

Blindly I continued chasing the air

Sunrises and sunsets came and then left

Leaving me lonely and tired of eye

Until her prophecy emerged full

I shut my eyes too tightly to see

For only one brief second

Moments morphed into memories

Both time and I grew older of age

As time got more distant she added some pounds

Placed the weight of the world on our backs

Stripped me my carefree title of midnights

Made me slave of my own 9 to 5

Stresses of lifetimes pulling me down

Gravitationally held in a rut

My dreams collided confused

Love or success?

 

Please I begged her spare me the onus

No longer can I bear the demand

I was offered beverage of self confident stupor

To lighten the load of spiritual bricks

Took more than my share

Far too many times

Filled my lungs with wisps of contentment and joy

Laughing my way past my life

In constant search

Found euphoric fulfillment in carnal release

Seeking out intimate solace

Passions moaned softly under silken enticements

Blissfully groaning in tandem with love

In the midst of salacious confusion

Of blind indulgence I blinked once again

It was gone

 

 

 

I stood still as my dream ran right past me

Forgotten moments tucked under its arm

My eyes became heavy with lost opportunity

Too much weight for my tear ducts to bear

Dejected I blinked once again

In an instant I was again abandoned

Leaving me alone to negotiate the forest ferocious

Void of strength to fight

Unable to flee

Unwilling to enter the brawl

No longer able to face the dangers I once braved

Behind me trailed ashes of my yesterdays

Billowing smoke of pale ghost dreams

Time left me for another

I’m old enough to care now

But I’m too tired to cry

 

A face from the ancient gallery sang her plea

“Why must it take so long,” she inquired

“Why must it take so long?”

Time blinked

Confused by her query

Once more she offered dreary supplication

As we waded in my teardrops she spoke

“Why must it take so God damn long to die?”

Time held me tender caressing my head

“Close your eyes my love, and let me hold you a while ”

She sang a song so soft and sweet

A warm embrace

Her lullaby was like a dream

So I slept

 

 

Happy Mothers Day Mom

JT’s Most Awesome Travels

start

The Beginning

by JT Hilltop

 

Prelude

We all had our demons but sometimes I felt as though I had more than I deserved. Seems I was given a lion’s share of self destructive tendencies and sometimes took to creating my own. Yea that’s me, JT Hilltop, king of demon manufacturing. Never could figure out why, It’s not like I grew up in a dangerous town or in a bad family situation. I mean Centerlawn was like this sprawling suburban paradise beach community jam packed full of upstanding citizens. It was actually once my father’s summer retreat from the perils of his Brooklyn childhood. Apparently my Grandparents took him and my uncles here for two weeks every summer and for them it was like vacationing in The fucking Garden of Eden or something like that. That’s where I grew up, Centerlawn “Lawn Guylan” a sleepy little North Shore haven just below the Gatsby Gold Coast section of the island. A town of great cultural diversity. Irish, Italian, Jewish, German, and various Latin ethnicities flocked to the small coastal town to escape the growing fears of living in the tough cement neighborhoods of New York City, The Bronx, and Brooklyn. It was an innocent and pioneer like community of urban sooner and boomers. They formed close knit ties with diverse neighborhoods where families looked out for each other very closely. Too close for my comfort because made it very difficult to get away with any bullshit, which is supposed to be part of a growing young mans diet. One neighbor saw Joe’s son smoking a cigarette, another noticed my sister with a boy much too old for her. It was like CCTV only verbal. You couldn’t flirt with the next door neighbors daughter without the entire block asking your intentions. It was always a bad situation if my Mom said, “where have you been?” Do I run the risk of telling a lie and hope no one saw me, or fess up with the strong possibility that a nosey neighbor told my Mom she saw me at the mall? If only these were the toughest decisions to maker in this so called Hamlet then I may have lived a simple mundane life like everyone else in suburbia. I’d have gotten a good job, settled down, raised a family. The American dream was right in front of me like a brass ring and all I had to do was reach out and grab it. But alongside that brass ring, was a tempting seductive lure far more dangerous than any forbidden fruit. And I really dug forbidden fruits!
If you knew the right people it was a world filled with money, drugs, crime, and the promise of unrestricted sex but the price was a piece of your soul. A big piece. If you put up your innocence as a down payment you were promised thrilling high speed ride with many salacious twists and turns. It wasn’t hard for my best friend Ken and I to choose to ride that ride. Adventure was in our blood and we thrived on tickling our adrenal glands, especially when we got high. Ah yes, getting high. The norm in high school. More than just a kick or a pastime for us we had turned it into a Goddam art form. Bongs, water pipes, chamber pipes, and assorted “drug paraphernalia” at the tips of our fingers. We could get rolling papers right up the road at the stationery store, or hitchhike into the village and go to a head shop for an assortment of pipes and rolling machines. We even had special names for our smokes, Panamanian Red, Acapulco Gold, Green weed, Skunk weed, Wheelchair weed, and on and on. One friend, Patrick, even had a six foot bamboo pipe that took two people to use. That little beauty filled the whole six foot of length with one hit of smoke so huge it could fill up the lungs of a fucking elephant. And let me tell you when that hit filled your lungs it would take a damn elephant not to cough. That was my favorite smoking implement but it didn’t come out very often. What the hell, I guess I would have had an impossible time sneaking something like that out of my room too. But Patrick’s parents were pretty naïve and he got away with all kinds of shit. Me and Ken had to be careful, our parents were stricter than most. That made escaping or hiding from the cops so alluring. If the pigs catch us at our shenanigans the amount of shit that would hit the fan could cover a football field. Maybe two.

In the backdrop of this little utopia was a huge cauldron of a media inspired sizzling hot generation gap. A war in Viet Nam, a disregard for civil rights, women’s rights, and youth rights, added to the police brutality all over the country had boiled to the top and threatened to spill over into the kitchens all across Centerlawn pitting sons against fathers and daughters against mothers. It was no wonder all we ever cared about was getting high. My brother was in the army and if things continue the way they are my entire neighborhood would be in Viet Nam in two years. Being in high school sucked, but it sure was better than being shot at. Anyway, time for some old fashioned get high, let the search begin.

I. School Daze

A typically boring day in school, cutting class was necessary to keep from dying o0d boredom. So it was time to go and look for a little buzz. By now almost everyone in my high school was smoking pot. So much pot in fact we wondered if that was how it earned the term “high” school. We knew that was just a joke of course but the amount of marijuana in the hallways was really was substantial. I had earned a reputation for being one of the more prolific puffers. I could puff a huge doobie all by myself and still be able to go to any class and function. Except maybe gym. Yea the “jocks” Those boneheaded sports enthusiast loved to pick on us longhairs. They talked like what I assume was the Cro-Magnon vernacular saying well thought out repetitive jokes like “Hey, is that a girl in our gym class? Hey girlie, the girls gym is next door.” So many times I wanted to say something like “Oh I know, I share a locker with your girlfriend”, but I am much too nice a guy. Then again maybe it was because they would have kicked my ass with their Charles Atlas biceps. Not wanting to get sand kicked in my eyes I opted for keeping it an inside joke. They really would kick my ass if they ever found out I had sold and smoked pot with most of their girlfriends at one time or another.

Whenever I got bored, which usually only happened on school days, I engaged in a ritual tradition that Ken and the rest of my band of merry marauders enjoyed engaging in called “Find some Buzz”. We would go in search of anyone that had a joint, or a chunk of hash, and ask them to front us a hit. More often than not when a good friend came by they would ask us if we wanted some buzz before we even asked because we always shared our stash, no one really liked to smoke alone. It wasn’t really unusual for Ken and I to run into each other in school because we had a certain few places we always hung out at that were prime hiding spots while cutting class. Today would be no different. “Hey dude, I have a fucking brilliant idea.” Ken was the idea man and had tons of them. “And we should start saving money for it right now.” As always, Ken immediately garnered my curiosity having blown me away with truly great ideas so often. Ken was brilliant and creative. Many of the other students laughed at him back in Jr. high, because when he moved here from Oklahoma he was the first boy in school to have really long hair. All of five foot tall, he had long flowing blond hair that was parted in the middle cascading over his shoulders and half way down his back. He had a rebel soul and I was drawn to him instantly. Like most of the male students, I had started growing my hair long in part to look cool, but more importantly to piss off my Mom and Dad. Most all of us had developed a twitch from keeping our long bangs out of our eyes. We all wanted to be Beatle “moptops”. But Ken was ahead of the curve and had already grown his hair long like……well like a girl. That was also part of Kens appeal, he seemed to know ahead of everyone else what was in style before it actually came in style. He had gone from a long haired geek freak that was made fun of, to a well respected member of the hippie rebellion ranks. Proudly I admit I had much to do with his rise to “coolness” because I was considered one of the “cool” kids since fourth grade. It wasn’t that I actually was cool, but I had an older brother and even older sister who had created reputations with the teachers. Those reputations preceded me. I was cool by association. I played football and baseball with the “older” kids, got rides in my sisters boyfriends “Surf Woody”, and just always hung out with the older kids. So my becoming Kens friend had helped him gain acceptance and move up the hipster social ranks quickly with my friends. It wasn’t long until they too saw how insightful he was to popular culture and trends. Before the end of the 9th grade we were all growing our hair long, and wearing cool clothes like bell bottom pants and double breasted balloon sleeve shirts. Checks, stripes, paisley prints, the brighter the better and no worries if it doesn’t match. Now we all had real long hair, afro’s, long straight hair, super curly locks or like mine long wavy banana curls.

My first thought was to relieve the boredom so I told Ken, “Cool dude, but lets go out to La Bomba and do a bowl first. You still got that hash?” As always, Ken would came through. “Of course bro, some nice opium streaked black Afghanistan. Lets go asshole.” I hated his “lets go asshole” phrase but he always sang it like a commercial jingle and everyone laughed, so I just dealt with it. Off we went to the parking lot to climb into my car to smoke some hash. My little red Simca, A French sedan type car that was Frances answer to the Volkswagen, “La Bomba” is what we called the car and it was our entire groups pot smoking haven. I never locked the doors because so many of my friends used it at various times of the day, even if I wasn’t there. But this day, at this moment, no one else was around. I could tell Ken was happy about that because he really wanted to talk about his idea. Tell you the truth, I was pretty anxious as well. As he filled his chamber pipe with a small piece of black hash I needed to know. “So Ken, what’s this new idea?” Not a ground breaking or earth shattering way to ask but I got my question out. “ Well, here’s the thing.” I heard the match strike and light up as he put the pipe to his lips and lit the hash. He spoke as he was inhaling and his voice got lower and stranger as he talked as if gasping for a last breath but had to get a statement out. The interior of my little red bomba filled up with the sweet herbal haze of hash smoke. In between inhaling and holding the smoke Ken laid out his plan. We would be graduating in two year’s and with no job or plan for college Ken was open for an adventure. I did have a job, but it was just a job not a career. I was up for adventure too and most likely not attending college either. The choice was basically go to college, get drafted, or leave the country. I was smart enough for college but my grades had fallen substantially over the last two and a half years. I stopped putting in any effort after my Dad called me a worthless communist because I did a project about the dreaded USSR and the positive side of Socialism. I took the point of view that they had some redeeming values. Controversial but worthy of an A+ from my “liberal” social studies teacher. Instead of being proud he freaked on me. What an asshole! Anyway our fates will be in the hands of our government considering we would more than likely be shipped off to Viet Nam. Ken thought we could save up some cash, get a video camera and supplies, and head out to Chicago. “Jesus shit man, we can burn our draft cards and just get the fuck out of town.” His idea was to start at one end of Rt. 66 and travel to the other end to Santa Monica where we could settle in with the hippies of California. “You know man that’s a great fucking idea, we can be like those two guys on Rt 66, I’ll be Buzz and you can be Todd.” Ken gave me a punch, “No fucking way man, I’m Buzz, you’re more the Todd type. If either of them dudes were around today Buzz would definitely be in a band. Todd would have a silver pen!” Ken had a love of guitar and film and I wanted to write. His idea was to basically make a kind of documentary of the trip, Ken with his camera and me with my pen. “Bro, you can write the whole thing down in your notebook.” Yea, my notebook, JT’s bible. I took my notebook almost everywhere convinced I was the next James Michner, Jack Kerouac, or maybe even Ken Kesey who wrote about the life of the Merry Pranksters. My book was full of poems, short stories, or just a few of my abstract observations. Ken’s idea blew me away. To me it was brilliant, the chance of a lifetime. RT 66 was so historic, a television show, the route for all the dust bowlers of the 1930’s who fled to California to escape poverty. Route 66 was the sort of scenic route people took who just wanted to migrate to Los Angeles. I mean Jesus shit, the fucking stones do a tune about it. Brilliant choice, from Chicago to Los Angeles via Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Texas, and Arizona. Ken shot me his infamous shit eating grin and said, “whatcha think, lets go asshole.” I was sold instantly.

Ghosts of Wars

ghosts

 

 

The ghosts of war don’t only lie dead on the battlefield, they live in the hearts and minds of those we lead into war and send back home wounded mentally, emotionally and physically, and the destruction of families and towns we leave behind. The young children and fatherless families whose homes are in ruins, the ones we claimed to liberate but actually left orphaned by war. The women and men we send to fight the wars then forget about once they‘re home. Is it truly a victory when we see towns, cities, and families left in a world of bombed out destruction then ease our conscience saying we liberated them? They aren’t free, they’re devastated by monumental loss. You can’t bomb and kill for someone else’s freedom if your not willing to acknowledge and become accountable for the horror left in the wake. War is easy, costly but easy. Peace takes far more work but the outcome is far more rewarding. Don’t be anti-war, be pro-peace…..

 

 

 

 

Haunting blackness creeps amidst the home of the brave

Umbra’s of guilt and remorse obscuring many a lost heart

Bodies and appendages in blood-soaked jigsaw explosions

Troubled back at home worlds of survivors fall torn apart

Sent back whence they came like last weeks bad news

Shoved into halls of healing or lost attics to gather dust

Damaged oxide soldiers left to battle out in the street

Out so long in the rain their like the Tin Man they rust

 

 

Raison d’etre drowns in murky waters of battle

Perhaps the fortunate never return to burning scorn

Of the people they promised to lay life on the line

Who scoff while memories and souls are morbidly forlorn

The deaths of men and women sent into paths of destruction

Commune as the phantom civilians called collateral damage

War has no preference of whom shall own their sorrow

Nor who shall suffer from it’s murderous mismanage

 

 

 

Over the devastated fields of meaningless victories

The generals fragile smile glistened in the sunlight

But whenever the sun shines over innocence lost

Shadows of darkness are cast beyond the light

The defiant officer could sense his oncoming penance

Knowing one day his hollow smile destined nevermore

Chimeras and wraiths will gather in a punishing storm

Then he’ll lay beseeched amongst the ghosts of his war

 

 

 

 

Sorrow fills the cracks of the Generals once armored conscience

The strategic leader questioning his role of insanity

His legacy will be written in the blood of his martyrs

His guilt etched into his crimes of war and humanity

Then faceless apparitions will stand shoulder to shoulder

Held up by their loved ones grief both intense and internal

Past the homeless and misplaced wraiths of his mongering

The general alone to face his amassing guilt eternal

 

 

And the dark shadow from the caves and fields of his horrors

Fell across the floor and the walls of his now lonely room

A silhouette dangling from the rope of a misplaced destiny

A fitting end to the machines in which he created such doom

And the people will shake their heads and stare at the floor

When one takes their own life for the ghosts of their war

 

 

 

 

Perceptions of a Desert trip

jim

 

Homage to Alan Ginsberg, poet laureate for the pioneers of meaningful enlightenment and Jim Morrison, The Lizard King. May they both forever Rock In Peace.)

 

 

A Yaqui medicine man by the sands of an arid graveyard treated Jim and friends for underdeveloped perception. He opened his bag of dreams and together they traveled through the eaves of perceptions in search of meaning. Like any mind bending trip created in the dark it’s truth would soon come to light…….

 

 

 

The desert horizon smiled broad at suns close

Atomic tangerine beams bouncing in chaos

Sanguine dreams scratched sensory trails

Across the hot steamy orange hazed sky

A mural of living poisons formed in a cloud

Painted by the brush of the cannabis queen

From a palette of peyote and mescaline hues

Hallucination dust was rising up in Mr. Mojo

Speeding shadows dash across the desert floor

Like amphetamine eating arachnids and….

 

Oh my God the cacti, the fucking cacti

Spiked emerald armies of angiosperms

Arms raised in communion with the Agave God

Stand in glory waiting the mushroom lords command

The shiny green skin oozed psilocybin fungus

Instant Zen

An obscured coyote pants curiously at Lizard King

Who slithers cautiously across the sun burnt sand

Mr. Mojo alight in a psychedelic rain of prisms

The coyote retreat to its den

Time for some more hashish

In agreement the with Lupine Prince they go

Another hit of acid will do the trick for us all

The seller of wares appears in a green convertible

Tambourine vials of moods happy and numb

I have songs I play so you can hear the vision

Notes to make your fantasies dance

But here in the once ocean floor palace

Some apparitions and a mirage I think

Lysergic Acid Diethylamide mixed with THC

The moodman put them On The Road with Dean

Cowboy Neal at the wheel of the bus

Kerouakesque travels along surreal highways

More hallucinogenic dust

 

An unscheduled stop for a roadside attraction

Chemical larvae hitching along Rt 66

Looking for the map to the doors of perception

The Lizard Monarch offered a sugar cube caterpillar

Whose cocoon blossomed into a strange but beautiful creature

The sun knelt and prayed then bid then adieu

An experience of great spiritual importance

Outside the lair of the coyote Mojo bows in homage

Gave blessing to the terra statue of Buddha in drag

The Lizard King salivates licking his eye

His vision blurred but never clearly obscured

And They all saw things they’d never saw before

The moment they stepped over the border

Past the chaos and disorder

 

 

 

 

Before I sink

Into the

Big sleep

I want to hear

I want to hear

The SCREAM

Of the butterfly

When the music’s over, turn out the light-J.M.-

 

 

 

MEDITATION

anecdote I

 

Here in the silence

Mysteries deeply hidden revealed

Of the heart and soul metaphoric

Secrets that glow with the shine of moon

Secrets illuminate bright in the radiant sun

With all of their passing’s accumulated

As the spirit of Id merge with Ego

Words unspoken in deep thought

 

Yet still my eyes parch dry from thirst

For the echoes of knowledge struggling

My mind to understand the changing tides

My tongue to taste the salt less sea at dawn

And comprehend they have their meanings

The touch of my fingertips the answer appears

Perceptions profoundly pondered in reflection

Inspired

 

Here in my silence

Like an oracle revealed unto my very eyes

Theories puncture at the rind of my essence

Uncover obstacles from the way of path

Shedding the fears the clutter unburdened

Self awareness clears the passage to come

That will become my Yellow Brick Road

Less traveled

Here when my silence abates

A murmur of autonomous nature heard

Seek not every single truth as yet untold

But seek one single truism and exhilarate

Raise but one reality from the well of peace

Let its rose petals bloom in glory internal

Bring a joyous vision in my lane of life

That peace and love will guide this nothingness

This meditation

 

Live and Love in Peace

 

Cosmo And The Garden Earth (An Absurdist Philosophical Tale of Creation)

revelation

 

Part 8 REVELATIONS

War, Hummph, what is it good for…Absolutely nothing!

 

Now I’ve done more than my fair share of hallucinogens in my day and honestly I have had some pretty obscure hallucinations but believe me this was no chemically induced manifestation. The most remarkable thing happened. Cosmo’s arms came right through my computer screen and grabbed me by the shoulders. As if I had been transformed into a wavelength of pixilated energy I entered into the story I was writing coming face to face with the god I thought I had created. I was confused beyond galactic proportions and I somehow managed a statement. “Oh My Cosmo, did I die?” My mind was racing, no harp music, that has to be a good sign, but there he was big as life. His voice was less godly than I anticipated, no thundering roars, just a friendly statement as if he were a college professor or just a bar mate, “I understand you have some profound questions JT. Come with me and I will try to give you some answers. We’ll be traveling through various dimensions in a way you are unfamiliar with so just remain quiet and observe” I was stunned, in a sort of trance but I decided to take the RAM by the horns. But Cosmo grabbed my hand and even though I had a keyboard full of questions I was dragged alongside this sprirty thing in silence. We moved through some sort of crowded city street then through a bustling building into another building. I thought it was the New York Stock Exchange but it was cold and unlit. I could hear people trying hard to yell over each other even though the place was empty. Through another dimension and we found ourselves walking through a bank, also cool and unlit this time filled with voices in a language I could not understand, like Japanese or something. Through another dimension we found ourselves in some sort of foreign government building, a palace or some ultra rich home, and finally through a concrete graveyard. Just as quickly as it had gotten cold and dark a light appeared and a wave of warmth spread over my body. We were walking along a beach I had gone to many times in my younger days, and then through the familiar streets of my youth. The seaside city that watched me grow to a man. The ball field I learned to play baseball in, the playground complete with see saw where I learned the mechanics and necessity of teamwork, school, cars, bars, all of my youth. I was feeling giddy. He led to some sort of park that was filled with all sort of life. Everywhere I could see and hear children playing and laughing squirrels darting to and fro, birds jumping from branch to branch, and I even thought I saw a small fox. I couldn’t help but smile as Cosmo walked me through the most carefree times of my life. At long last we came to a path in a wooded area that led to a clearing. “There JT, over there. We can sit there and talk.” I almost ran up to the clearing and found a spot to sit. I had so many questions and I wasn’t sure where to start but as it happened I didn’t need to. Cosmo looked me in the eyes and this is going to sound strange but I got the feeling I was looking at everyone I had ever known. Cosmo spoke clear and soft. “JT, you have many questions and I will try to answer them as simply as possible. You ask of the purpose of life?” The largest and warmest smile I had ever seen.

“Its not God that works in mysterious ways JT, its love. Love has the power to create misery or mystery, irritation or elation. You remember one of your favorite all time movies? How about this line, “You’ve always had the power to get home. You just needed to learn how to use it?” Its not a co-incidence that it’s a wonderful life came out the same time. “To my brother George, the richest man in town” Love tried in the year 1933 to remind the humans what’s important and what is real, but it never caught on as anything more than entertainment. People still went about learning to hate, to be greedy and jealous. The opposite emotions of love overpowered the minds of humanity.” He sat and stared reflectively out at the children playing so I took the opportunity to ask a question, “Am I dead?”. Again the warm smile, “JT my son, death is not something to fear, its merely a stage. What’s important here is that you understand life, not death. Things are what they are because love lost out to power and greed. That’s the classic Good versus Evil if ever there was one. You see the planet earth really is a garden, like a giant rain forest and it needs cosmic tending. I am the gardener. I got all of life here started and have just shown you your history.”

I was not quite sure I grasped what he was saying, I mean just like if there is a God why would that God allow so much misery? “What’s the matter JT, did you not understand?” I reflected a moment and responded. “No, I understand on a certain level, you say something like fate that you created determined our paths on earth but something still bugs me I mean ….well why wars? Why did you allow war with its devastation and destruction to evolve. Its like history was written in blood and not ink. Why does it seem like we are constantly at war somewhere?” I watched as Cosmo thought deeply, I assume to give an accurate assessment. “War as it has come to be is hard to explain it’s one of my biggest disappointments along with my dinosaurs. Let me start at its beginning and see if I can in some way outline it for you. When the garden was still quite young many different tribes were forming all over. They shared one common concept. They understood and observed my law of life. This understood law was quite simply that every creature has the right to achieve its survival in the garden. What a creature cannot do is deny any other creature its right to its own survival strategies without reason. But in one little garden corner, or more accurately a crescent, a certain species figured out a way to manufacture and horde food. They penned animals behind fences and learned how to cultivate and manipulate vegetation. This would eventually become known as the agricultural revolution and they horded so much food that no one in the tribes ever went hungry. They prospered, and when a species prospers it has growth spurts. They were eating and fornicating so much the population doubled, then tripled. This created two major problems, first it was getting too crowded, and second by hording so much food it was depriving other creatures of an opportunity to feed. To make shit worse, if a fox or a gopher or a crow or any other creature tried to eat the horded food, they not only killed the hungry thief, but they attempted to annihilate that entire species of the hungry creatures even if they themselves weren’t taking food. Just because they MIGHT take some food at some point. But it was the crowding that really set the fecal matter hurling towards the rotary oscillator. These tribes began forming imaginary lines and began laying ownership claims to the land, and all the animals and vegetation on that land. My land! As a few generations passed by the people began forgetting the time when the garden belonged to everything and soon the people were growing up with the notion that their parts of the garden actually belonged to them by virtue of their imaginary lines. As they worked the land they tried to figure out why some harvests would suffer droughts or flooding storms. They began to fear that a higher power was responsible so they invented gods. Oh mercy did they invent gods. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. A god that made it rain, or a god that controlled the wind. Even the big beautiful sun was a god. And they started making sacrifices to these gods. Animals, other humans, whatever they felt would make the gods happy so they could continue to horde food. Somewhere along the line one culture came up with the concept that there is only one god, the true god. This somehow gave them superiority because they were the culture that knew the truth. When other cultures challenged that belief they would destroy the threat brutally so their god wouldn’t think them wimps. They began building armies to protect their belief and to protect their imaginary lines. The weapons they once farmed and hunted with now became instruments of death and destruction used on any human that challenged their land ownership or their one true god. They began a strange custom of burying their dead which further denied other creatures the right to what belongs to the garden. It broke the cycle. So the armies began killing in the name of god and they began killing any who trespassed their land. Their land! Oh that makes me laugh. No, it makes me angry. They began to get crowded, they were charging people money to live on my land which they called their own because of some stupid imaginary lines. They wanted more land, they made the imaginary lines longer and wider.” Cosmo stopped to catch his breath as he was visibly upset. I wanted to change the mood so I asked, “You keep saying imaginary lines, are you talking about borders? Borders are important because they separate areas of land.” A funny sound came from his nose like a nasal windstorm or something, and I wasn’t sure if the smile on his face was sincere or sarcastic. Maybe both. “Where do you live JT?” I proudly informed him I was born and bred in New York. “And what makes you so different form someone born and bred in Connecticut, or New Jersey? Or even Oklahoma for that matter? Do they have three arms in New Jersey? Five legs in Connecticut? Perhaps they are half bovine half human in Oklahoma! Of course not. Aside from a slight difference in the way they pronounce words, or the words they use to describe things like soda in New York and pop in Oklahoma you are all the same. You see JT, borders don’t separate people from other species of people, they are just arbitrary lines that make you think you belong to something special. Like New York which you so proudly proclaim. You are no different from a JT from Oklahoma just different environments. 0You can’t step over a line somewhere and not find people similar to the one on the other side. You look for the differences in each other instead of the similarities. That’s part of the problem. You have forgotten that in the end you are all human. You all want to love and be loved, you all want to live a happy and healthy life, you all get sick or injured and you will all eventually die. When you really think about it there are much more traits you have in common to others than there are that make you different. Why even more similar if you take religion out of the equation. If there were no Jews, or Muslims, or Hindis, or Christians how would you define your differences? But I suppose you will go on believing that it is important to consider yourself in some way better than other humans. That’s why war JT. That was how it began, war was a child protecting its ego from the rest of the world.”

“And the armies got bigger and stronger, and the weapons more and more advanced to give whoever had the most money to pay for the best equipment. Ah yes, once greed reared its ugly head in it humanity was done for. The larger landowners had better weapons and machinery and therefore built stronger and deadlier armies to protect them. It wasn’t enough to have more than enough food, they wanted to have it all. Control the food and you will control the world. Wars raged on in a struggle to control the food and hence the people, and to keep everyone in line it was important that everyone believed the armies had god on their side. Sounds a bit ridiculous when you think about it. All loving God wants you to kill or maim other humans. In the name of God my ass, it is clearly in the name of gold, or oil, or rubber, or anything else that can make one rich with the false perception of power. War had and has terrible consequences. Death and destruction resulted in a bid for the powerful to become even more powerful. It’s easy to see what horrible atrocities could come out of war but there were unintended consequences occurring as well.. The most hideous was the buying and selling of other humans. Slavery was a direct result of war. When one army decimated another those unfortunate enough to live were turned into slaves. Why? To work the land so the owners could own more and not have to pay. Buying another human being. Despicable, yet an accepted practice everywhere. Now they owned the land, the food, some of the animals and even other humans and industry flourished. War had become a teenager feeding on greed and lust for power. Yea, things were out of control, people killing in my name, killing for power, killing out of lust. That’s when I sent my son down, to put them back on track. To get them to understand that they should worship no one but accept everyone. They needed to revert back to a culture of existing with the rest of the garden”

Como paused here as though reflecting on a happy moment in his past. I know the look because I do it myself quite often. That was okay with me because my head was spinning anyway. After a five minute pause, he continued. “ Well that sure didn’t work out too well. When my son witnessed so much greed and lust and crime and trickery it pissed him off. He began to use my name to warn them of my fury so instead of a message being go back to living together they continued to worship. They gave him so much shit and many of the humans wanted to mess him up so he changed his message. Out of anger it became more like follow me and listen or my Dad will kick your ass. Just as quick as a nuclear fission things turned from bad to worse and religion split off into a few different major religions, all agreeing on only one thing. That their religion is the one and only true religion and all others must perish and give the world to them. God created earth for humans after all, but only for the humans that know and understand true religion. Bah!. So they did what they always do to a theory they can‘t comprehend, they killed him. A horrible way too. It’s almost like they had to think of the most heinous way for him to die. I guess it made them feel all chest puffy or something. They had no idea how little and insignificant they were. Like any other gnat in this galaxy, their entire species could be wiped out in one giant swat and the universe would continue as though they never existed. But war was now becoming a young adult, and the weaponry just got more and more advanced. Bombs, missiles, planes, tanks, all the best and biggest in high tech murdering. Not that they should stop there, why of course there would be biological and chemical weapons as well. All the way up to the ultimate bomb. The atom bomb. The garden was ultimately taken over by the most destructive species that ever roamed the planet.”

TBC

 

Dispossessed

dispossessed

 

I love music but I am far from what you Call musically inclined. I couldn’t read a note of music even if it were played on Rosetta Stone. I always pounded my own drum to my own off beat and even in the shower my singing voice is atrocious. I couldn’t carry a tune in a wheel barrel. But be that as it may from time to time an interlude of sounds takes up space in my brain and pleads me to give it words. I’m far from a songwriter, but not being something has never stopped me from deluding myself so I wrote the words.

 

Dispossessed

 

 

Four course dinner

A movie a dance

While little children waste away

Hoping for a chance

To earn a piece of bread

Wash the pains away

Praying for some silence

When the bombs begin to play

Smart car- cell phone -flatscreen scene

Blindfolded luxuries

To watch a movie and not see

The homeless refugees

 

 

We’ll never change the world if all we do is justify

We’ll never change ourselves if we believe we’re satisfied

Don’t hide behind complacency of nothing can be done

Don’t shake your head but shake your fist until the peace has won

 

 

Bomber jets fly overhead

Then circle to come back

And drop destruction on the land

A civilian home attack

Family lives being shattered

Don’t even know if the children live

Chemicals fill in the cracks of life

Somethings got to give

Get those rockets in the air

Limbless children blood and gore

Close our eyes so we cant see

Families dispossessed by war

 

We’ll never change the world if all we do is justify

We’ll never change ourselves if we believe we’re satisfied

Don’t hide behind complacency of nothing more can be done

Don’t shake your head but shake your fist cause war is never won

 

 

Eighty year old in Ukraine

Lost her house today

Lived in it her whole damn life

Until a war blew it away

With a fifty year old crippled son

Alone in the forest hear them cry

Hold each other tight and pray

That sometime soon they’ll die

But I gotta go to yoga class

And I gotta buy some wine

Then turn on my favorite TV show

O I can try to justify

 

Don’t glorify or justify

Just open your heart and unify

Tome to give real peace a try

Yet still the war machines roll on

Fuck political camp-pains

Use the donations for starvation

Because if we continue on medication

Our world will spin in indignation

And we will continue to build destruction

And we will continue to create deconstrution

Because murder can be a tax deduction

Fuck it, I’m done with my rap Y’all

Peace out, right on

Live and love in peace