Again this place with the horrible trees. I stumble in quite often now the power’s out, and the lines are down between me and elsewhere. “Where do we go but inside,” said the last-printed remnants of the world before, “when the outside disappears?” The printed words I have leftover from that time are mish-mash, it makes me wonder how my mind made sense of it when it was made of screens, or if it was hallucination in the electric.
The Cactus Father speaks. He tells me there is room for another breath of that life electric, but that it must be made of different circuits this time. I ask him where we’re supposed to go for motivation for new circuits, since the last ones fell so sharply on our heads. He says, “you don’t have to find motivation, you have to find movements.” …
The crow on High street says there’s more to come. I’m just a wandering salesman with nothing else to do these days than listen. Fourteen miles I walked, taking one pace every day. Progressing through the muck of my indeterminant will, the sea swept breeze over my face til I fell over.
The fountain maps the valley, maps the area of sky to pay attention to. The waters crystal, the oceans pure. The listener of the galactic tribe remembers thousands of articles to the effect. The juice tastes randomly these Latin hours. The filament abruptly snaps in half.
The patience in my house wears then, the fireplace burns the wrappers on the candy we saved for latter day. The letters from seven years ago burn steadily in the flame, its heat makes us firey, its heat makes us candid over our strain. …
Good morning, planet.
You’re surviving a lot better than some of us lately.
It’s alright. It’s our turn. We’ve been asleep for epochs.
We admired you while we turned down the lights on you, good for us.
Today is Saturn’s purging. Deep in thought, macro microscope.
Eleven bushels of grain, each for the taking. The overslept took more than was their share one time, but now the air is clear. The thoughts keep drowning out their competition, but we still find ourselves right here.
There are so many soldiers now, so many minstrels in waiting, gardens at ease.
All the missionaries come to call these days, like a light switch has been thrown. …
The mountain is mighty, the mountain is here. Sprung up from ground, engulfing skyscrapers, but no one can see it yet, only the birds change their paths.
Its electric colors burn the sky, its peak tunes in for signals from the stars. Eighteen acres wide and forty deep, this range blasts through the sand and water, brings with it fire from far beneath where tread the human feet and speak the human deeds.
That fire is purple and unknown to all our sciences. It whistles as it drifts through amethyst mines, glowing as it passes by crystal bears and cave rats, till it funnels to the top of mount entropy and releases a tune, smoke as loud as rainbows, illuminating the sky with the darkness of unmet shadows. …
In Search the Pure Motivation
This is a zig-zagging journey, realization to realization, to a source of pure motivation. Pure motivation means energy not contaminated by fear, obligation, guilt, or any other egoic tricks. Pure motivation is something I never would’ve known to look for, if I hadn’t gotten a clue from a dream to start looking.
It all started shortly after I realized a new way to interpret dreams.
There are plenty of dream dictionaries out there, and methods for interpreting dreams. But the way I’ve found, and my favorite way, is to ask the dream directly. How do you do this? As you wake up from a dream, you ask the dream, as its fading away, what was the most important part of that? And you trust whatever vision pops into your mind. If you’ve still got your dream’s attention, ask what does that mean? And you trust whatever answer pops into your mind. …
There’s never been a better time to stop caring what others think about you
If you’re anything like me, your entire lifestyle’s been overturned in the last week or so.
It’s not comfortable, there’s things I miss. I miss the cafes and coffeeshops very badly right now. There’s a gap in the normal way of doing things, a lot of things just can’t continue as usual. While things are paused, now’s an ideal moment to look at normality from a distance, recognize what wasn’t working out so well, what kinds of things we might prefer were “normal.”
One of the things that holds back almost everyone, is caring what others think. Caring what others think is something a lot of us do unconsciously, and to a worse degree than we realize. The problem with caring what others think is that it spends a lot of our energy, it restricts our freedom of movement and our ability to be who we are, and it’s utterly pointless. …
How Affirmations Work, and How to Use Them
Affirmations are positive statements that one repeats to oneself, with the eventual aim of improving the conditions of one’s life. Some generic affirmations have started floating around the internet, such as “you are a strong, confident woman” or “My body is healthy, my mind is brilliant, my soul is peaceful.” Statements like this these might be helpful to many people, they are somewhat one-size-fits-all. However, the most affective affirmations are custom-designed to take on your negative beliefs, because its negative beliefs that create obstacles and interference in your life.
This article was prompted when I heard someone ask on a podcast the other week, “how do affirmations work, anyway?” How can repeating a statement to yourself change the conditions of your life? What sort of magic is implied with this, what influence can statements possibly have? …
A Poem about Moving Forward
Everyone’s after my original name, a gruesome hologram equation. My life in a rudderless canoe. Where are we going, sang the raven? They sing to me these days, out here on the seas. I am a fountain of diseases but none of them had a name until this time. My boat floats west and I go with it.
Here’s the mountain, here’s the masterpiece. A forklift moves my dreams a little more. Ochre waves hit basins of relief. We’ve been this way before, but not like this. This is a gateway, not a sharp drop. Everyone’s own book holds the records, what it is and what it wants to be. In the background, music plays, a steady sound, a noise to make the records weep like they did in the 70’s, in the 90’s. A guitar grinds out the songs we grew our corn by, we wore our jeans thin to the tunes. Factories spit gasoline into the sky and monsters play games underground. We are fortunate to play in this time, I insist to the bluejays walking. We are fortunate to know what this is like. We are on the stage and all those not alive yet and not alive anymore are watching this time. …
Last week I was drafting an article for Medium about my love of coffee shops. Today, my favorite coffee shop across the street had its last day of letting people sit at tables, before reverting to pick-up only, and closed at 2pm. This entire city is going to sleep, and this is the city that never sleeps.
There’s a theory called Moore’s Law, which states the number of transistors in a circuit, and thus available processing power, would double every two years. Silicon Valley cheerleaders would often use this law to illustrate that progress would increase speed exponentially, until we reach a point of singularity, a point at which processing speed is doubling at an infinite rate, and we would reach the ultimate form of progress. …
I learn a lot from plants these days.
I was minding my own business when a fern broke into my subconscious and made it clear there was more to my existence than I’d believed.
“Examples of life, ways of being, are also examples of ways of dying,” it whispered in my mind, “Animal is only one way of being- there are as many other ways as there are stars.”
Always these things happen on my coffee break, in the Privately Owned Public Spaces where the tables are free, the plants are imported, and the whole place is sheltered under glass. …