Curiosity is what dame Chodron proffered for why to continue on the path of Dharma, regardless of the dislocation of getting “tossed out of the nest,” weekly, daily or hourly. I go in and out of focus depending on how easily what constitutes "i" can slip away from the mantle of “ego,” which however shredded or fractured, seems to cling to my mortal coil like the stink of muck from some bad plumbing assignment. Still when despair is the alternative and the thrill of happiness punctures the day’s events like the trill of a happy chick or quacking duck - i know she, dame Chodron is right in the deepest places of my heart. Just know i am listening to Grandpa Tran mimicking clucking sounds for his latest attentive grand baby and i know all is right and will be right in the world as long as such simple exchanges are made; i can hear baby Tao mimicking sounds and the two of them are utterly absorbed in the bliss of life and i am redeemed, though i can hear barely with one ear and know nothing of the words they exchange - except for the language of love ·
My storm ravaged meal concoction is simmering and i walk the continual plank of vaporizing too much nutrition from the mixture while fashioning some elixir that purges the mold from my eustachian tubes and am just grateful i have an internet pulse with which to check spelling. All of the staging and fantasy about fashioning powerful prose has evaporated with the dull throb of congestion in my troubled ear canal complicated by a silly addiction to the tar of tobacco and the defect of character for not riding in the rain soaked pathways of where i’m still not sure why i remain. Judgement is the theme i dwelled on prior to sitting down to actually write - thoughts full of self recrimination and forgiveness and all the whys and wherefores of such self absorbed nonsense · however useful and necessary for self awareness and growth. I don’t give a fuck about you is what i tell myself, yet the truth is i am never far from the voice that renders one prisoner when you care what others think - channeling Lao Tzu ·
I sleep well enough, maybe too well and reflect on relationships that barely reach the threshold of such. I fantasize about the angel of my death who will hover over my shroud and lament my passing after she has allowed me days, weeks maybe even years of study of her supple young body informed by tender expressions of her value for my living breath tempered with fierce protection for my fragile state that she misconstrues and continually relents and warms to my tender caresses at the end of each long day's work: drawing, painting, sculpting or just fucking. Go ahead tell me i’m not delusional and i will happily concur with you if it wasn’t for the decades of preparation i’ve applied to such a passing.
I began serious study of the female anatomy before my 21st birthday in the city of New York at the prestigious Art Student’s League. I was a custodian and otherwise on full scholarship. I was a renegade and smoked pot on the roof where now rests the pointed coccyx of the capitalist’s Sword of Damocles comprised of Penthouses cantilevered over my Alma Mater because a gangster whore ingratiated himself into a leadership function and then brokered the sale of the “air rights” over the school for blood money from Nordstroms for their penthouse super tower. It was shoved through by greed, threat and financial might - no different than ensconcing the current fascist administration in what was once a “Great Notion.” Now 4 years into the 4th Reich ‘merican traitors are enjoying 230,000 deaths and still voting for their demise.
Form follows function was a platitude of the intellectual art class that sold its soul long before Pablo Picasso the master Art Speculator stooped to withholding 80% of his known works from the marketplace for no other reason than to goose the price of his work - and you wonder why we can’t have nice things. Artists are human and as such are subject to the same greed as amoral, asocial, narcissistic trust fund babies faced with the choice between a lifetime of opulence at the expense of a starving humanity besieged by climate havoc wrought by a bunch of petronazis and the spoils of a merchant class hooked up to the “Digital Information Super Highway” milliseconds ahead of any other investment dollar, shekel, dong - what have you · It can only be from “bitter searching of the heart” that any of us will have the remotest effect on the survival of our collective species - wake the fuck up and VOTE · then “praise the lord and pass the ammunition” - A. Nonymous ·
jts 30/10/2020
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