Solemn

“The stars began to flash. I fell into deep meditation, felt that the mountains were indeed Buddhas and our friends, and I felt the weird sensation that it was strange that there were only three men in this whole immense valley: the mystic number three. Nirmananakaya, Sambhogakaya, and Dharmakaya. I prayed for the safety and…… Continue reading Solemn

Solemn

“The stars began to flash. I fell into deep meditation, felt that the mountains were indeed Buddhas and our friends, and I felt the weird sensation that it was strange that there were only three men in this whole immense valley: the mystic number three. Nirmananakaya, Sambhogakaya, and Dharmakaya. I prayed for the safety and…… Continue reading Solemn

Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into…… Continue reading Autumn Day

Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into…… Continue reading Autumn Day

Untitled

“What is this detour in which I get lost when I try to find myself? What is this screen that separates me from myself under the pretense of protecting me? And how can I ever find myself again in this crumbling fragmentation of which I am composed? I move forward with a terrible doubt of…… Continue reading Untitled

On Arguing

“…You can’t put fight into a man’s guts if he hasn’t any fight in him. There are some of us so cowardly that you can’t even make heroes of us, not even if you frighten us to death. We know too much, maybe. There are some of us who don’t live in the moment, who…… Continue reading On Arguing

Bukowski

To The Whore Who Took My Poems some say we should keep personal remorse from the poem, stay abstract, and there is some reason in this, but jezus; twelve poems gone and I don’t keep carbons and you have my paintings too, my best ones; its stifling: are you trying to crush me out like…… Continue reading Bukowski