Retread Angels on Mount Ararat


Safeway Medallion logo, 1980

Safeway Medallion logo, 1980 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was walking with my magic staff in the Safeway parking lot when
I spotted another man walking with a staff.  He was rather disheveled
and had a backpack.  I cried, “Ho there!” and walked toward him.

He looked me up and down and said, “Hi!  Are you a magician?”

I replied, “No, I’m a wizard.”

He muttered, “Well I’m a working man.” and walked away.

Later, I would see him walking around town with and without his staff.
It was obvious that he was another homeless soul in the wealthy hamlet
where I had sequestered myself.

One day, I saw him outside the Safeway again.  I thought I would try
and approach him again.  I didn’t have my magic staff but I took a chance
and walked up to him again with a $5 bill and said, “Here’s the $5 that I lent you.”

He said, “What is this?  A pigeon drop?”

I said, “No, just take the money, it’s yours.”

He thanked me and went into the Safeway and I took a seat on the bench
outside to roll up a cigarette.  As I was lighting the cigarette, he came outside
and sat on the bench next to me.  I introduced myself and he said his name was Curtis.

We talked for a good bit and even bought a losing scratch off ticket together.
( He insisted on giving me 50c for half the ticket.)  Apparently he had grown
up in that area of California.

As we were sitting and talking, Michael, one of the guys that worked at this
Safeway as a bagger and cart rounderupper came over to us.  Michael and I
had often spoken, he seemed just a little slow, or maybe it was just an act.

Michael and Curtis seemed to know each other pretty well.  Michael asked if
that was a bottle of wine Curtis had in his backpack.  Curtis told him it was.
Michael told him to be careful and not get caught drinking outside the Safeway
again.  He then asked Curtis if he had gone through the groceries he had given
him.  Curtis said he was still good.

I am still touched by the pathos of Michael, a low wage bagger in one of the
wealthiest areas in the Bay Area, helping out a homeless man in a city where
Safeway would block people from taking day old bread out of their dumpsters.
(I got nailed trying to retrieve some dumpster donuts on a couple of occasions.)
I never saw Curtis again but I am sure Michael is still working at that Safeway.

I’m convinced that both of them were angels.

Pops’ Scar: A Short Huckabuck Tale


Pops’ uncle used to own the building outside of Huckabuck that
he’s lived in since he got out of prison the first time. He’s
got no running water in the place but has a toilet that he
flushes with a bucket of water and Pine Sol once a day.

Pops gets his water from his mother’s house next door. (She’s
been in the nursing home for about 6 years and his brother,
Mike owns the house now. Mike doesn’t live in it though, he
likes to stay in his little, red, Mexican-Schwag-slinging shed
in the backyard.)

I’ve hung with Pops and partied with him for a long time and I
can tell you, when Pops drinks (which is whenever he can scrape
together 10 bucks for a bottle of Kessler’s), he likes to tell
stories. And he doesn’t mind repeating them either, which, if
you had known Pops as long as I have, would add up to a rather
impressive amount.

A story I’ve heard often is one of his childhood stories. As I
had mentioned, Pops’ uncle ran a gunshop next door to the 2
bedroom clapboard house Pops grew up in with his four brothers
and sisters. He grew up around guns and as a 10 year old, he
took some bullets from his uncle’s locked gunshop and gathered
his brothers, Mike and Rog, along with a couple of the
Neighborhood Nuts in his back yard.

I can’t remember if his parents were away or simply weren’t
paying attention but the little hooligans were in that back
yard standing the bullets up on the hard ground and hitting
them with hammers. Pops did most of the hammering (he would
often remind me he was a little hellion) and had the misfortune
of catching the first successful bullet through his right cheek.

Now that I mention it, his parents must’ve been home or nearby
since they had heard the gunshot and ran to the backyard then
rushed him to the emergency room. Pops still thinks about the
scar on his cheek, I guess that’s why he likes telling the
story.

 

Conversation with a baby wolf spider


English: Female Wolf spider carrying her young...

English: Female Wolf spider carrying her young. Pictured in the sand in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Français : Une araignée de la famille des Lycosidae transportant ses petits. Photo prise à Dar es Salaam, en Tanzanie. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

This is an old blog post from some crazy days on Myspace

 

13 October 2007

Things talk to me. Plants, trees, traffic lights, all sorts
of things. Not all of them mind you, most of them just choose
to ignore me. But I find that most of the ones I strike up a
conversation with have the courtesy to at least reply. Even if
it’s just to tell me, “F*ck off! I’m busy!”

I was just now sitting on my front porch smoking a cigarette
when I noticed a baby wolf spider perched on the white square
column across from where I was sitting. Now I love spiders of
all kinds and have had conversations with a few in my day so I
thought I would engage the little fellow in a little banter.

I walked to the pillar to get a closer look at the baby wolf
spider and issued him a greeting. I said, “Hey there! You’re
just a little baby! How are you doing?” I received no reply.
So I said, “Oh, you’re still very young. Do you know how to
speak?”

The baby wolf spider replied, “I know some words.” I was
delighted. I had made a friend.

I said, “Tell me a word.”

The spider said, “Foolishness!”

I replied, “That’s a mighty big word for such a small spider.
Do you know any others?”

The spider hesitated for a moment and then shouted,
“Jocularity!”

I replied, “Oh, how wonderful! You saw that episode of M*A*S*H
too? I better leave you alone. Thank you for your time.”

I knew the spider was busy hunting and he had already given me
enough material for this blog post so I walked back to where I
was smoking, put out my cigarette, and walked inside my house to
share my experience with you.

The world we live in is a magical place full of wonderful beings
and some of them are even human. Take the time to listen to
those tiny voices that are clamoring for your attention, you
might be surprised and delighted at what you hear.

If you can’t hear the voices of the silence then I pity you.
But there is something you can do about it! Strike up a
conversation with anything that catches your attention. You may
receive a reply and find yourself engaged in a wonderful
conversation. There’s no need to be lonely while there are so
many beautiful souls surrounding you.

Peace

 

the Buddha beneath the bridge


English: Head of the Buddha from Hadda, Centra...

English: Head of the Buddha from Hadda, Central Asia, Gandhara art, Victoria and albert Museum (London) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

the Buddha beneath the bridge

i forget his names now
though we have often talked
in different places

he lived beneath the bridges
where he kept his stuff
he couldn’t carry on his back
which wasn’t much

he never asked for anything
nor carried a sign
only desiring for his body
the change that other spirits
would not easily miss

some spare change
some food

funny that some spirits
could not even spare that

 

Let us praise nugs


Recreation Hall

Recreation Hall (Photo credit: CT State Library)

for we that love the nug
must not fear to praise it
we pass the joint in love
in honor we do raise it

in peace we pass our pipes
no violence can it foster
we’ve smoked it our whole lives
so praise the kindred “toaster”

merrily we smoke the bud
and laugh with one another
no harm in sharing ganja love
with a sister or a brother

then fear not singing out
our ranks they can’t imprison
if we stand, from roofrops shout
our freedom can’t be hidden

Lay off my quadrant, Gumbytron!


Una hembra de hamster ruso

Una hembra de hamster ruso (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

The Jehovanator had gotten pretty up tight over the millenia, having been confined to this backwater sector of a minor Galaxy.  He especially didn’t like other gods muscling in on his territory.  He had pressed the “smite” button on the followers of a few minor gods who were trying to get a foothold in his franchise on more than one occasion.

 

This Gumbytron was gonna be a problem though. She was insidious. She would do stuff for Beings she had no hand in creating and not expect anything in return. He looked at it as a sort of “loss leader.” You know give out some free stuff until you can get your foothold in a market, then when they’re hooked, hit them with the worship and sacrifice shtick. He had seen it before.

 

But, the Jehovanator had completely misread Gumbytron’s intentions.  Her mission with the Hamster planet of Snadragon had taught her a few things about sentient beings.  She had watched the fear that the human population lived in from their designated god.  That the people of the planet still found joy in their existence was a tribute to the human spirit and not a reflection of anything the Jehovanator had done for the local population.

 

The cycle for one small planet in the sector presented an opening for Gumbytron.  Earth had been sequestered since the end of the last ice age with a probability randomizer and was unable to send or receive signals to any of the other populated planets in the sector.  Because of this, most of the humans sincerely believed that they were alone in the cosmos and that maybe the info the Jehovanator had planted with his pyrotechnics and smiting was all there was to know about human history.   The randomizer had start losing its phase response in the year 1994 of the major Earth Calendar and people were already plotting transdimensional grids in a few of the larger Earth settlements.

 

The phase response fluctuations would come and go but were fairly predictable.  Gumbytron had sent Agnew to Earth in 1963 to prepare a transition point for the Hamster People so they could open trade negotiations with the aboriginal peoples of the planet.  There were of course many alien seeded species on the planet that would have to be avoided.  They usually had agendas that were contrary to hamster principles.

 

Gumbytron had taught the hamsters of Snadragon many things that the Jehovanator had withheld from his created beings.  She knew that once she had lifted a spirit from the vacuum of non-existence there were really only two ways to control its ultimate destiny.  Through love or through fear.  The path of love would, of course, create beings of infinite potential that would learn that their bodies were merely a tool for the expression of the great Spirit on the lowest plane of existence.   The teachings she passed on to the hamsters through her many incarnations empowered them to teach their offspring that more could be achieved with cooperation than with competition.

 

Not that competition was useless, but that because of the transitory nature of the physical vessel, more could be achieved by the accumulation of wisdom than by the keeping of secrets.  New insights that even Gumbytron was surprised by were constantly being revealed in the woven mythos of Snadragon.

 

to be continued

 

wash over me


wash over me
Light

let me bathe in Thee
from a distance
small
in proximity
greater yet than All

wash over me
Light
that i may feel Thy greatness

and greatness felt
may feel Myself
in Infinity

Won’t Somebody Come Smoke Me Out?


song lyrics:

 

Won’t Somebody Come Smoke Me Out

I get the blues ‘most every time
My bag is empty ‘n’ I got no wine

Won’t somebody come smoke me out

I lost my job and the dog won’t play
Scratchin’ my head, all I gots to say

Is won’t somebody come smoke me out

My girlfriend scream ‘n’ my girlfriend shout
Won’t somebody come smoke us out

The fridge don’t work and I got no cable
No need to read the warning label

Won’t somebody come smoke me out

If you don’t care, what can I say?
Don’t come around ‘less you can play

Won’t you please come and smoke me out

My girlfriend scream ‘n’ my girlfriend shout
It’s time for you to smoke me out

Now yer my pal and yer my friend
Just make sure that the joint don’t bend

Thanks so much for smokin’ me out

My girlfriend scream ‘n’ my girlfriend shout
We found somebody to smoke us out

 

Smoke

Smoke (Photo credit: AMagill)

 

a renunciation


a renunciation

i will not celebrate
another year of war mongering
another year of fake news to keep me programmed and docile
i will not celebrate
another year of slavery to an unsustainable system

let the cliffs come
let Malthus have his Day
the status quo is killing me
it may sustain my carcass
but my Spirit has had it

be Patient?
i have been patient my whole life
it is time to take my Staff, my Book, my Helmet and Kazoo
and cast my own Future

and if that leaves me
sitting Alone, frozen
on an Asteroid going anywhere
pondering a Coke booger
I once drew from my left nostril
(Oh holy Magnificent Coke Booger)
for a Thousand years of Peace

i’m on my way
gladly

in my crystalline state
i will learn who i am
and how to dream
and my Friends
i will see you in those dreams
in Peace

Babel to Babylon (and back again)


babel

babel (Photo credit: throgers)

 

from Babel to Babylon
and back again

towers of information
specialization
techno Babel

schism
a particle chamber annihilation
in one one trillionth of a second

what chance do we stand?
the powers that be have always been
and they will endure
they have their exit strategies well planned

but what about you or I?
are you tired of being herded into conformity
and seeing your children becoming cardboard cutouts?
don’t you see?
it’s starts with you or I

we must
must question why
and leave those questions in our children’s minds

it’s easy to fall in a comfortable dogma
but these dogmas no longer serve the day
they call it evolution for a reason
and what has always worked before
may lead to our extinction

think