capitalism 101 (haiku)

capitalism is

psychology 101

gone insanely mad

the art of intimacy 3/30/19

the art of intimacy has no surface maintained

in an ocean of business,

surfacing for the air of closeness

is a necessity ongoing.

it is the essential language 

shared among the parade of individuals in passing.

sometimes called family, close friends,

endearing associates, significant other, 

boon companions, soul mates, 

benefactors and eventually self.

if ever the want

the closeness is ever the comfort.

to share the expansion of being quite naturally

is a feel for self in the moment.

more than a mirror reflection,

another is the comfort of self assured

without the claim realized as such.

just the touch of spirit from another

that goes on without confirmation as notice.

endearing as body heat to body heat

yet never consumed in account.

intimacy has a sense of replenishment,

of innocent declaration,

of embodied joy without the naming,

of deeper recesses of self discovered without search,

of the living of an energetic logic in function,

and the truth of the matter expressed.

the art of intimacy has a wisdom of the moment

as life force well spent.

there is a fusion that goes beyond connection,

beyond the allegiance of belief expressed,

beyond the boundaries of a historical self on display

beyond one’s proof of worth.

intimacy defies government, corporate stature,

even species elite.

intimacy is organic beyond understanding’s account.

it is the heart-brain in action.

time stands still in the honoring.

lit candles as flame

come to know of their true source.

the deepest truth of being

only then, comes to know of its common source 

intimacy is oneness realized in a conscious way

and expressed as a conscious means of being . . .

first rate (haiku) 3/29.19

opposing ideas

held simultaneously

high intelligence

problems as art 3/28/19

problems are artful in their nature.

they have declared substance.

they present as worthy of study.

they are the focus of attention.

they can age gracefully as familiar.

the beauty of problems is hidden in the focus

yet not the problem itself.

for they profoundly reflect 

how they are perceived in a thoughtful manner.

yes, there is a composition to sustain

but the real beauty is in the re-think necessity.

solutions may come and go

until the thinking clarifies a deeper scope,

a wider frame and a deeper functional timeline.

the mindset of the observer is awakened 

to a grander sense of scale.

there is a richer intake from what is observed.

one becomes richly blessed

in the gain of insightfulness.

what was presenting as an eyesore,

now provides for a keenness of being,

going forward with wisdom experientially in hand.

the framing of art 

is always in the eyes of the beholder . . .

circumstantial as the warden 3/27/19

there is this prison 

as the prison of my own narrative.

and the resourcefulness with which 

I keep myself totally confined.

asking of others

to respect my inhabited-ness.

telling others my story

as victimhood would allow. 

buoyant in a life of secret sorrow,

yet thriving in the minimalism 

of a wellspring of predicament.

featuring futures 

that disappointment will paint.

living in a room 

posterized with hard life images.

forever my motors are running,

driven by interior emotional reaction 

more than cognitive response.

having the inaccessible wisdom of sages within

yet cursing, as muted anger, 

through my vanity of veins.

my projection to others is

as if my animation could come 

into a sweet beneficence from secret rage.

I comfort myself of my afflictions, 

in the privacy of an intimate self-dialogue,

as appearing to be bound to self-conversation

that no one else can really enter in response.

for the way it is topic bound,

there is a pitch to my self-preachyness

but others only hear the murmurs

said in self as stoic delivered silence.

I have a self-industrious 

as if a way to whittle on the would of the day.

emotionally I abide 

by a set of highbrow virtues

that I can never,

in my discovery and despise, keep.

I have, as personal audience,

of those who can never truly understand.

they are ones that I expect from,

a sense of praise and support,

but instead, a muteness

is the dialogue in response.

I view life as a rocky train ride

in which everyone is all aboard.

my talents are one of my personal laments.

for circumstance seems to enslave me.

no one will ever come to know me

as a lightness of being.

I could weep

for the lack of that acknowledgment.

but my narrative has become the tongue of me.

and I have become

my own tool of circumstance.

I bleed a light that nobody sees.

I bless every deed I do

from within the clarity 

behind my self as in isolation.

I am truly a well of meaning, 

meaning well.

I would be a healer of others

if circumstances ever presented in that way.

I bless every deed I do, 

but hide it in a self fashion of subdue.

I am always in the presence of others

by my acceptance 

of my apparent deep absence

for the spirit of the way. 

I bless each moment and every deed

in a blind darkened sacred cursing way.

narrative is my cover

but nurturance, even self nurturance, 

is my way.

perhaps you will pass by me

or the likes of others, there of, randomly

in the ever so 

of the ongoing 

of the day by day.

but neither of us will be the wiser

in that moment of intimacy 

for its justice is not on display.

yet some truth of being

will come to each of us

in that privacy 

of our own separate 

but connected way . . .

thinking positive 3/26/19

thinking positive is over thinking

well ‘over what’ maybe the first question

the position of positive is already an entrapment

the seduction of being positional by assumption

that positive and negative, as a context, is a given

they are only perspectives used in the hoax

and the hoax is to live in polarizing perceptions 

for the sake of conclusions

as if that is the given state of being

for sure it can be a mind state of self-consciousness

but not essentially necessary, 

just culturally highly promoted

as we are prompted into views via accountability

as if judgments are a wardrobe for approval

and subsequent acceptance

any method that leads to conclusions-to-account

has nothing to do 

with the essential state of one’s being

and everything to do with the projection 

and the subsequent observations there of . . .

holding hands 3/25/19

every problem is a virtue in disguise.

every virtue is in expectations’ garden.

every expectation is an unwritten rule of operation.

unwritten rules seethe with undisclosed energetic truth.

energetic truth is profoundly illogical at source. 

the rational mind is sourceless

but holds all of this in an undefined reality context.

and reality, as a context, lives in a conclusionary state.

thus, problem, virtue, expectation, and unwritten rules,

are all functionaries in the dilemma at hand.

and holding hands is more essentially useful

than understanding can ultimately provide . . .

my rebuttal in etheric tears 3/24/19

wall paper in the deeps of a coal mine

legible but somewhat dimly lit.

molting as a form of distant memories fading

as the lightness of feathers, is gone.

drive-bys, as if wind is an angry reminder.

the geologic column of life’s hauntings, in review.

rowing across an ocean of responsibility 

with a skeleton crew of one, obliged.

the hard-press of the signature, 

though the handwriting is still recognizable.

the obligation coming off of love 

carried on unconsciously, going forward.

devotion is always a last breath 

that repeats itself, as it never ends.

an empty nest can be as scary as

an ex-ray to determine to essential cause.

a cereal bowl with an excess of bottom milk

and one lone cheerio staring back, at a lonely sky.

the playing of shadow tag in the dark 

as murmurs scurrying about amongst themselves.

healthy wisdom is too much of the robust,

give me the scourge of pragmatics to grind.

the linear mind is a cruel parent of the moment,

yet to want, for the solo sail upon your singular soul.

there are no months forthcoming

when obligation is the calendar.

when the entire tunnel is made of light

then what is at the end of it?

discipline is a make-over 

without the original inspiration in mind.

inspiration secretly comes out of effort

and not ever from the results obtained.

there are no Septembers.

they are just framed that way, as utterances go.

witnessing the marionette strings back to source,

may give you, the hand of god as yourself.

and you thought that god loved you

but were never really, really sure . . .

primal, ongoing 3/23/19

primal grind, 

dressed up in circumstance

is still just a fashion show.

where the astute occasion of soul-primitive

meets up with the after-taste of fate.

the teeth are presented 

as the lip charade of a smile.

the growl forth coming

is as compliments given to the host.

the claws of determination

appear to be in retraction, 

for now’s passivity as the take.

the forbearance of long standing intention

does not reveal otherwise.

the deeper ambition is kindly cloaked.

savage is occasional smiles all around.

but the look does not match the feel.

reality is the charade in delight.

gargantuan is an audience term

that generally does not apply 

to a spirit sense of this modeling.

time is the mirror for revelations to come.

the walkway may never end

once the momentum is taken to have meaning.

well-dressed becomes the wardrobe,

the backstory, the carriage, the epitaph,

the casket, the gathering’s memory,

the containment of earth, 

as the mockery of representation’s curse.

primal never gives in

and never gives up.

essence took on appearance as

birth, death, and all the mishaps in between.

primal got all dressed up in these circumstances.

and that happens to all of us, ongoing . . .

want’s lament 3/22/19

a bleeding heart, 

done long enough,

is dry blood 

that appears to have cried.

an utterance repeated

so many times

that it represents all moods,

is then whittled down into nothing said.

how sobering can one be

when vision is but a distant landscape,

all sound is but background noise

and the feel for life

is but cardboard in the surround.

bleak is but a sneak preview

of the future answering back 

to calls for the override of circumstance.

details, no one needs details,

for there is a want of kindling,

the feedback of shadows on the walls

for the firmness of light grabbing me, 

face to face, looking forward

and into me . . .

water to water 3/21/19

the mindfulness of experience 

is like the wetness of the ocean

with the viscosity of the moment 

upon us.

we, as the survival of needs,

float on the evidential sensorial surface

as if that is the liquidity of reality’s call.

like our need for breath is this mandate

to have fear of the ocean

as if it represents the great unknown

and yet we are made

of same watery substance that we mutually share.

what wisdom does water know

from millions of years of transformation?

what to tell us

that think can not cogitate? 

we are in a phone-booth frame of mind

asking earth to call us back

before we sink within 

and drown into eternity.

why is our way of language so foreign

to most everything and being around us?

did we ask for comeuppance?

is there another species of smug-dog like us?

aren’t whale, dolphins and elephants in a quiet smirk?

gees, even insects have more novelty then we.

trees seem infinitely patient 

given our false sense of smug-dom-ness. 

it’s a bother to be essentially indifferent 

yet we are possessed in fronting that way.

why if I had a diamond for every dollar owned,

a gold tooth for every smile given,

and a clear vision of living on this planet,

I would regret for the false riches taken

and seek the wisdom of nature’s calling.

as in water water everywhere

and not a drop to think . . .

vast to small 3/20/19

every sensing of self 

is quite privately

a modest negative affirmation.

based on the hidden agenda 

of perceptual smallness personified.

therefore experience is a reoccurring framing 

of that at-affect result.

no matter the apparent context or content,

observation is a peep-hole view

for comprehension purposes,

as if vast is being introduced

in ever so small doses.

and understanding only gives one

a bystander status to be there.

big vision 3/19/19

big vision can be a manifest burnout. 

so swift in an original mindful way

yet labored in the profoundness of the act-out.

earnestness seeping with intentionality

calls for the season 

that makes it come into bloom.

ideas become homing pigeons of the mind.

set out to find by their flight

a residence, for a real world setting.

traveling through language exchanged.

stopping in other minds on an interim basis

and then off again, to be made evident,

to gain structure as if stature.

the labor of repletion and rethink begins.

transparency initially features befuddlement. 

the work towards common mind

precedes the potential of coming into form.

time is constantly laughing 

at expectation’s eventual remorse.

there are needs for people and parts in placement.

presumptions becoming destroyed by display.

the eventuals eek out an initial existence,

unmistakably palpable as if glaring.

big-as-life staring back.

not ambiguous or obscure to anyone any more.

yes, stamina is feeding on the evidential.

confluence and common-cause tend to abound.

big-vision is become well dressed.

manifest takes on character and a presence

as substantial made evident.

it could be as small as a thimble. 

it could be a skyscraper built in twenty days.

it could be an aerosol forming as a haze

or a military-like monument, 

dedicated to become invisible to the naked eye.

the human mind signs off on every product made.

for there is a forensics to everything built

that reflects the thought-form whittle-down 

man-made manifest . . .

duality’s mirage 3/18/19

collapse is always a mindset away 

from catastrophe or creation, 

disaster or blessing, 

tragedy or wonderment.

when the steadfastness of grip

turns into the genuineness of grasp.

when the experiment of life

is profoundly self-inclusive.

is when the point of view

turns into self-revelation’s presence.

the myth of eventfulness 3/17/19

eventfulness is an audience addiction.

so many skills used for observation

feature an assumption of separateness,

a sensory passivity as a witnessing style.

for there is the big world

and then there is the personalized 

small world sense of it.

there are all the noted take-aways one can glean

but behind all of that,

are assumptions that harbor discretionary terms…

terms like; distinctiveness, complexity, dissimilarities,

distinctions, peculiarities, uniqueness, rarity,

idiosyncrasies, and stand-alone uniqueness.

these all posses an assumption 

of separate-from, in observance

yet they are the constructive elements of events

all of which softly feature

insolation, isolation and separateness of being.

experience makes a bucket list 

of memories out of these first-person takes.

easily life becomes audience featured

as a frame-break from daily life’s familiarity

until life is a mental equivalency 

of an audience sense of being,

where events are needed to replace 

the distance memories of previous events.

the ambience of life is lost 

in the search for the eventfulness of living.

one alone among many goes along way

as unsaid to oneself 

but forever thirsty in this search.

every moment is the same,

is a lost concept of being,

does not exist as a state of perpetual witness,

makes no rational or logical sense.

who could think like that and live?

what would be the point 

of having a deep awareness-residence like that?

maybe this is the difference

between being and doing,

where by doing is not really being

and yet being, this kind of being,

can be inside of doing . . .

self-efficient (haiku) 3/16/19

a four day old beard

is like an emory board

scratch itch, back of hand

quips thoughtfully applied 3/15/19

fear is trust in drag

blame is complimentary accusations

cursing is when the sound means more than the annunciation

judgment is a coded measurement of from here to there

bickering is a form of low self-esteem yodeling 

retort is both having the same meal 

but getting a different sense of taste for it

lying is always coloring on the lines

happenstance is emptying your mind in front of now

victimhood is an allegiance to suffering realized as intangible 

character is a wardrobe check for the wear of principles

if I am being truly honest, I have no more words to say

humans with earth (haiku) 3/14/19

our relationship 

as humans with mother earth

is, substance abuse

‘try' is excess mental baggage 3/13/19

“I’ll try”

is the point of verbal entry

but the presumption of inherent logistics

is already deeply in place

I’ll try presumes an audience of self

in that I will be watching myself

do what ever that be

bound by some behavior in action

‘try’ is a guaranteed fallback position

guarding against future criticism 

for effort made

it implies that I also will be watching myself

do whatever it is 

as if both a participant and also as audience

it is the introduction of self-conscious

into the depths of the experience

as if watching while doing is a protection necessity 

so that the effort at focus is divided

the defense for whatever the attempt

is already being in place

account for one’s action is weighing heavily

as a built-in 

by the nature of the announcement

“I’ll try”

this is a form of sabotage

self-inflicted and then,

in an original sense, personified

all of this is mental baggage 

to the physical action to be taken

try implies audience of potential account

and subsequent criticism as account

under the devotion to apprehension

one learns the position of the phrasing

“I’ll try”

so much of a deeper self philosophy 

has to come into play

for “I’ll try” to be dismissed 

from the attention directed 

and the effort put forth.

everyone has to face the seduction

some will conquer and dismiss

others will shun and be at affect

self-consciousness has so much baggage

as if the journey of life requires it . . .

the myth of worth (haiku) 3/12/19

the best way to prey

for success versus living 

is predatory

the unknown 3/11/19

I am a servant of the delicate 

and intricate unknown.

I have a nose-ring of subtle devotion

and reality is a graze and a cud.

what baffles is an orientation forward, 

as if future awaits.

recognition rides in the side-car, 

catching the breeze of it.

and of course ‘it’ is a recognition term

for a one word vocabulary, 

for the next thing in frame.

the unknown possesses me 

but won’t tell.

all I get is aftermath 

which is the homework of experience.

details work like flashcards

as if I alway need more practice

at anxiety and expectations.

when I am swimming in the unknown,

surface disappears.

the embrace has no contact of limitation.

immerse is ever the hug, so to say.

I find the rabbit of me,

comes out of the hat of me.

and the magician of me 

is no wiser 

but presented with the feel of serene. 

no one turns this into an event.

passage is ever the flow

as if time is the only audience

and it has it own version of indifference,

privately and for amusement.

I await for a yawn and sneeze 

to come to me

at the same time,

as an expression of my soul

and an amusement of being . . .

talent (haiku) 3/10/19

the mask of talent

as the projection of worth

hides the self from truth

the telling 3/9/19

self-consciousness is the theatre of oneself

experience provides the personalized viewing 

one’s mentality is an audience perspective

we all pay extra for concessions,

a presumed better view, 

and choice of movie-versions to watch

sequels seem to be habit forming

time makes expectations a keynote inner speaker

the narrative assumes some sense of account

dualistic thinking is an obliged presenter

suicide may end a chapter but not the big screen

whoever of me wrote my script for the day

may not have had me clearly in mind

if I am fully in character 

then I am essentially lost to me

no wonder it appears

that I’m always acting out 

reality seems to be composed of make believe

as if documentation and subsequent evidence 

really tells the story of my soul . . .

anger (haiku) 3/8/19

telling the story

while standing close to the fire

makes one sound angry

the feeling of before 3/7/19

before emotion has meaning,

before dawn is soothing 

with the approach of light,

before fullness is completely reached

and emptiness is absent of mind,

before the future of stimulus 

or the bravery of enhancement,

even before, before had occupancy

as recognition having itself as residence,

that feeling, that can’t be named,

that feeling that is

either the background or the backdrop 

to everything that becomes

feeling formalized into something,

be it pervasive 

beyond the reach of search,

that which takes on the deep of questioning

as ripples in the superficiality of the moment,

that which has no surface

and will not respond 

to the request for composition’s makeup or source,

that which can’t be paraphrased

and will not be seduced into giving quotes,

that feeling that challenges 

the notion of texture or tone or timber

to be the feeling as such,

even humbles any of recognition’s attempt,

that feeling that makes solemn

appear to be delightfully softhearted, 

that which makes its recognition 

very distant by a ponderous view,

yet molecular 

inside the actions of intimate,

will not be intimidated 

by the use of language in the surround

for breakdown or breakthrough, 

will wear any human convention 

of labeling as wardrobe

and yet no sense of fashion 

will ever be declared,

has no sense of any logic

for anything other than oneness,

to consciously know that feeling 

is to realize that that feeling

is the forever 

that knows and lives as you . . .

sleep 3/6/19

I change my sleep patterns

the way beach sand scripted recovers 

from the constant wave action 

of all-time re-sweeps

day life relentlessly surrenders 

in the beachy-prone of moment’s passing

over and over again

until the wakefulness is of another dimension

and the rhythm forthcoming is ever encouraging

lucid dreaming in the becoming 

a day life of its own

in a prejudicial way

it is called sleep

but honestly, 

as seen from the other side,

it is another life

fluidly on its own . . .