my
Electronic pen
April 1998 
my
Electronic pen
April 1998
MAY 1998
Lyrics of Life ... continuation on the
other side of the mEp
our first and last bike ride along the shores of southern
california brought many images framed by the setting sun and the santa
monica mountains.
persons young and old, intricate and beautiful, moved past us.
a family, stood in a circle reading from a book, fathers, mothers, children
united in prayer. their silouettes art, over the dune of orange sand.
a scene only to be appreciated by the very free, as i do feel in my last
cherished moments in this golden state. this city may very well be a haven
of industry - violence - and hedonism, but never outdone nor shadowed,
by the canyons and mountains which surround it. not by the fire-red poppies
lining the freeways, the constant triple-waves caressing its shoreline
for miles upon miles upon miles.
no, the real riches are not to be found within this city, but outside of
it.
the moment of leaving provides such a different perspecitve.
is it real, i don't know, nor do i care.
the sadness i can afford to feel is meshed inextricably with the power
and confidence and hope that moving forward brings. they are a very odd
marriage of feelings, and proof of many things i had thought i knew, earlier.
all of a sudden, it's not a place to leave.
in a flash of desparation, it becons me.
i am thinking, that perhaps in a very infintetissmal sense, it needs me.
crazy to leave or crazy to come, who knows.
april 18
cannot sleep my head's adaze
of persons places things i crave;
i'll never know just what's the best
when everything i want's a test.
before we came-a wonderland
awaited us, a place of sand
where palm trees grew
and sunshine reigns
that view so dear to me, of fun
was quickly landed from the sun
when day to day, life still is life
one lesson learned, but overnight.
these buildings odd, of stucco bland
seemed worlds away from something grand
our beaches close, i counted paces;
lined with factories, what disgraces!
the days we spent a roaming here
seemed futile, wasted time
where nothing clicked or caught our eye
and when it ends-as all things do,
perspective changes every view
the ugliness which was this place
is now a beauty, with a face
i do not see the oil stained streets
the mountains are so crisp
the beaches which were nothing
are havens, now of peace
conclusions come when things are done
and not while life is lived
when looking back
what's white was black
and what we saw now is.
it's not each thing, it's not a place
it's not what we define
it's when we leave or change our view
that things seem so sublime.
and now my vacation dreamed was real.
april 13
i can't say any of it is written with anyone in mind-
it speaks very loudly, and very clearly, to me.
i'd like to say it's a shame but i won't.
i'd like to say that this is a secret-decret place where i can write my deepest darkest
and i'd love to be able to write the real thoughts in my head
but i cannot.
alas.
even the parts that i finally decide i can write, i cannot.
about moving to a foreign city and hopes of becoming something i am,
someone i'm not,
and the person i want to become.
i'm everything, sometimes.
i'm yin, i'm yang- i'm black and i'm white-i'm wholistic and i'm materialistic.
would it, could i, ever become any one of these? i don't know yet.
unfortunately, you'll never really know the inner process and i, the 'real' outcome.
that is a shame says i - or will it have to wait until someone mirrors it more inherently
more honestly
more deeply
but even that is up to me.
it's all up to me
as it is you, and he, and she.
the mountains which get climbed, friendships forged and work schedule permitted.
it is we who tolerate, refuse, accept and deny. listen.
april early
we went to california and we bought a mug
what i mean is everyone's got mugs. from starbucks to disney land
everything can fit into a mug of one shape or another.
let's face it, we're not kids anymore.
and the original land of the beatniks is nowhere to be one, anymore.
neither is the country too, because the days of 'hangin' out are gone,
people talk about weird stuff and they think what they talked about twenty years ago was weird.
it's all weird, yeah.
but i miss the days when girls had pony tails and mugs had pretty little floral designs
because they came in soap boxes or from the garage station.
none matters anymore and flying around the world is a piece of cake.
even if you're twenty everyone pretends like nothing happened.
in effect, nothing did.
but if you want it to it can and if you will it to it can.
maybe it's only my memory that fails me, maybe it's just me who doesn't know what the heck is going on. somehow, know what? i don't think so. it's been a great big metamorphosis and we're the oned who morphosed. and the older i get the more i want that marshmallow.
and the more angry i get about not getting what i want. and the more excited i get about knowing what i don't want. i don't even think anybody knows what i am talking about and i still don't care.
i'm still left staring at the shoes at my feet and it's always one big challenge, figuring out what they're doing there. why did i get these shoes? why do i have this computer? is this my beautiful wife?
is thi