because of bukowski

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12 & york.  denver.  mile high.

i got mad at a man in a wheelchair today.
and i was everything i despise, and everything i never want anyone else to see.

dark side out.

it’s there, and i walk with it some times.
do you?

it’s all any of us wants isn’t it?  to know we’re not alone?
to have a lilting tune or thoughtful prose tap us on the shoulder.
to feel the living earth under our bare feet pulsing and humming, “yes!  yes!  me too!  me too!”

the undisciplined tongue

 

 

the beginning

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mt. democrat, 14,154′

as i roam the streets in my walking meditations, it is abundantly clear that people are generally unhappy.  most do not smile or even nod their heads.  most, in fact, avert their eyes.  or look indifferent.  or numb.  or frightened.

“please, someone save us from this place,” they mutter.  forgetting that they are this place.

so here is my attempt to make a hopeful contribution.  to create something immortal using these tiny little symbols.  and, please lord, not to end up like them.  devoid of course.  bitter.  unable to see that all this rubbish they keep piling on us will never save us.

only we can do that.  if we but recognize that the significance of this whole thing lies not outside—in grabbing at life.  but inside—where we create it.

and how will you know it?  how will you hear it?   if you’re hooked up to the machine all day?

the undisciplined tongue