There is a car accident happening and I'm not sure if I've left my body or if I'm an onlooker connecting with the tragedy...all I know is my form and the forms of those around me appear to me as fireflies above the city even as I am aware of my physical hands and feet in the car approaching it... or leaving it, or swimming through it, or anchored to it, in the realms of tragedy where lives are shattered and moments are broken open to reveal a greater continuity time itself with its sense of determination to make it up the hill with its unending momentum; has to take a smoke break.


In this era of unknowns, in this new year where all things are still whitewash and blank in the back alley of all of our emotional discontents where the details seem lost in the tide of refuse that spills out; this oncoming traffic can seem in of itself like Russian roulette.

I look back and past the lanes in which the wreckage makes the onlookers into the cattle call railway track and hope that I too can clear the street in some kind of  near miss fashion that will not leave its everlasting function and not be a smoking brand of pain and road flares amidst the steel glass and plastic bumpers.

I wish that i can make a mark on the chalkboard of continuity or etch my truth on the changing sands of the deserts wind, where horses scream and primal muscles burn, past the unending heat of a thousand grains of argument past the burning pressures of struggle and hopeless heat.

I know I am not the most capable person sometimes I make many mistakes at once, like an athlete in the zone of fouls or a car without breaks on a movie set forcing the hands of fate to take a paddle to my ass or the pedal to the stunt doubled body I just lost, I missed the oasis and still I trudge on but if you think that I cant learn in the infinitesimal wisdom of the universe, where all time and space stop at a bus station and discuss politics, and the nature of the color salmon, that you are sadly mistaken, I may be down and out and my clothes may be disheveled beyond recognizing the true nature of cloth vs skin or earth vs stone, I may make enough money to breath the air around me and nothing more, I may swim in the small world of possibilities for a betterment, or feel the ground beneath me sprouting with the layers of all of our ancient ruin and secrets, to grow a new seed in the soil to watch the roots branch out in switchboard fashion. I may see the connections to all of this and still be able to do nothing as my hands become hog-tied and my foots in mouth again dance around pogo stick animations become the lethal weapon in the homicide you are witnessing, sometimes chaos is its own sitcom...

 There is a diamond a shining jewel that caresses my skin from the inside.

That pierces me from within, my whole body from cells to veins  to lungs is turning to polished carbon , and whether you see it or it is seen by the world it matters not, I am a glowing jewel of a human, who wants to reflect it in all those who I have met or will meet so that we too can be perfect reflections of all of our pressures, heat and black soot.

I may be flawed there may be inclusions, certain scars that cant be undone cant rearrange their molecular house, that's a part of the charm of the individual isn't it?

If I wanted to be born a machine i would have asked for that back at the factory when they were issuing bodies and souls. I would have asked for the precision of the industrial wave that even now is crashing down upon my head hurting my skull with the metronome like power beneath its every move.


I am floating above the city, not sure if I am dreaming or if I have checked into the realms of cumulus permanently, I have left the skin and apt complex of my genetic human suit and fly free as a kite tied to a string, who's hands are these?

When I look back at the moving screen that my life has become I can breath easy, many people chanted I wouldn't amount to much of anything and so far they are right, but that's just one turn and the full span of my existence has not come to pass there are still stoplights u turns and freeway overpasses, so grab the wheel and wax strong...

this is a moment of clarity where I ask for the onlooker to polish the stranger, buff the bad man, and apply care and caresses to those that have wronged you, only good can come of it, only good can brightly appear. We are a world of turmoil where the confused and the heartless can become the enlightened and the informed.
How we brighten the world with the crayon box of our forgiveness..

How I shine How I long to shine and create a stream of thought from jewel to you so you too will drop this charade of mustiness, you too will see the wonder in the black dark recess of this personal moment.

These things are placed on the earth so that will remember how it can be vs how it is currently.

I see the buildings down below me as I sweep myself up in the graces of understanding something greater than my personal lifetime, in the continuity of a trail of ants to queen I see maybe for the first time the collective mosaic of our plight as a species and I laugh, high up in the sky as stars fade into my new skin or I fade into them and become the heavens as heavens become me and the opaqueness of it all is funny because the lives below are transparent and I am more alive than ever now..

This life all this pressure, the collective diorama of human suffering that if focused on becomes a radio station for all the ills inside me, this too will pass by me as if in smoke, this pressure is only helping me to become more of a symphony than I once was. I will see it burn burn the way the chemical reactions in the test tube break down and dissipate, I will become a simple arrangement of a single purpose, I will shine, you will curse me I will shine , you will take up arms I will reflect the sun, you will shoot and I will bleed butterflies.

Inside of me there is a jewel a shining bright beautiful gem of rarest form and maybe you or the world will never see its dawning where the sunlight grasps the hand and brings the full glory of the symphony into existence.

I can sing my self to sleep with mouth like utterances of violin or cello, and tears can drop from my eyelids and rain the world down with my sorrow and timpani accompaniment and create the tropical conditions for all to be born from my unflinching heart beat , but why be like clouds, When I can be the ground that soaks them up.


How many of us have become, to be receptive because lately all I can do is transmit and what i receive in return is static radio stations that speak of change and the collective diseases of the planet, help  me be silent like Grey whales as pine needle perfect as the snow topped mountain flowers, where do silence and ignorance meet?

I have met few people who do not talk all day long they stammer and jolt and electrify the air with their ceaseless movement, where is the language of cellular movement where no speech can fathom its walls?


My kite is drifting now and the winds that have picked me up move me down guide me the way that ships are guided by the breezes of forces beyond man made power or control.beyond the necessary means or the wanting desires.

there is a patience in the simple and the profane and sometimes chaos can bring with it closure, maybe this cacophony that we are surfing is leading to something profound as well..

All I know is I am tired of waiting for patience to find me and rescue the bloom.

I am an orchid that blooms once every 35 years, and when i bloom the world is recreated in the trumpet noise that is emitted from my stamen, you are the surrounding galaxy that is breathing me to life..

Sometimes we only bloom once, sometimes we have only so much and the chains that bind can exhaust and the flood pouring out can not be stopped and the tide can not be turned and you just feel like giving up and saying complacency is the way to be,
But the concrete wont hold me down and I may be impoverished but I'm rich in my self and I can be as delectable as chocolate on an ice cream day, and as deserving as a lottery winner after a long night of bill collector harrasment or the beggar with no limbs to hold me up and create structure hopping up on the phantom limb..

I too deserve a hidden moment of rectification and deserve a moment in the sun to feel my skin warm and perfect, and not cold lifeless skin

I float above my wasting form as I pass by the damage and see the life of a woman no more than 23 visiting me from my car window her heart is pieced together with the thoughts of all those who have wronged her and her ghost is a constant siren in otherwise empty traffic and she is in her own private crucifix, where agaony and vitality meet and pray with each other.

I want to reach out to her and polish, buff the scars away, take her ephemeral spirit in my burning palms and wash the idiocy and dissapointment off of her.

I want to break the spell of human folly and triptied shoelace, I want to sit back and counsel her and say to her

"Really we all know nothing, we scramble and hurt and we dont know why , we are all the same."

I want to say this but I just tear up, as I watch her ghostly image creep along the highway in blunt disorder and disbleief that she is gone, and as to what is next...

 I enter my eyelids and cry tears of aliveness and feel the salt soak my clothing and warm my legs, I remember why I am alive if nothing more than moment to moment to touch feel and be.

I realize I have escaped the crash that it is not me at all, and yet, even that is a lie isnt it?