the one eyed man

D. poured another glass of wine...lit a smoke and spoke into the mic... -cut- the one eyed man a common motif in the american rush...

john wayne with six gun blazing over yuletide...

history written by the victors...

and the rain comes down

pouring over my self awareness...

from the dream long ago

humor over an ice cream sandwich...

were it that simple

the brown skin people cry.... -cut-

shelter from the rain...

-cut- the night enclosed me as the tv took away another slice of my dream...

gimme, gimme shelter...

before I fade away... -cut-

football rain dream...

D. read a poem into the mic... -cut- football rain dream...

here in this wood of imagination...

sure your jeans aren't too tight?...

hhmmm...

I thought you say that...

you're not the first you know...

football rain dream....


american whiteboy salvation... -cut-

yes indeed one more time...

-cut- into the night with a copy of celine...no one reads anymore...what's the name that's on your label...it's so pretty into the cold yawn I nod... -cut-

happy christmas

D. took a drag off his cigarette and then spoke into the mic... "happy christmas everyone...so what..."

bluelight sunlight

into the cool blue morning Tyler Sid wakes into a world full of labels, tags and status...in the isolation of his moment he sees all too clearly his situation...lighting up a cigarette, he cracks open a fresh beer and begins to fingerpick his song, "bluelight, sunlight" as he always has done...

napolean...

the years past by...memory a distorted image of the past...here in the now...as a blues man, D. was about travelling into the night...for the beginning of this podcast he would sing one of his compositions about a love affair he had had with a young woman decades ago... -cut don't look now baby, don't look now santa claus is coming, he's coming to town he's bringing his gifts his big wide smile his little girl has been waiting all this while -cut-

there goes another one

-cut- i never see anybody..cloaked by my subjectivity, my vision is laden with bias..we are not on the path to salvation...more like masturbation...the powers to be have seen to it that there is plenty of that...it is not in their interest to have us informed...with our heads full of fluff and lies, they can achieve their aims... -cut- Zack never spared any expense for the entertainment unit of his operation. While he got on the television and announced to the population austerity measures, he privately lavished funds on this unit...

the one eyes man

D. spoke into the mic... in the land of the blind the one eyed man is king. Echoes of the pelopenisom war reverbrate through the land while no one reads Mailer or anything that matter...the shit of life wiped clean by people magazine as we struggle for dignity under the onslaught of the walmart gods...it used to be lines like that would get me laid...but that was a long time ago before the one eyed man came around and fucked me up on some really fucked up shit...so it goes and there we are...I know no other way to be...I see ya down in hell everybody....

podcasts, film noir and other madness...

D. got ready for his podcast...he was going to start off with a poem... podcasts, film noir and other madness...

(I just like the way that sounds...very new journalism....long live hunter...the king is dead)

mixing the 2nd camara angle right now...

Robert Mitchum in film noir drag on the television...

raja snoring...

thick snow outside...

alan calling all night...

something about herion...

getting ready to crack the first cold one...

top of the morninig to you son...

gonna attempt to mix the podcast after that....

podcasts, film noir and other madness..

well, well, well

D. sat staring out his window into the void...there was a snow storm today and there was a beautiful timelessness unfolding in the woods...he loved how the snow gathered thickly on the branches...the schools were closed and the agora down below could not be seen...a sense of timelessness unfolded...he had for the longest time been wanting to step his game up and put his podcast on up on itunes so to give it the chance of more exposure...not that he thought this would work...there was already so much information exposure why would his piece of information be any more important?...still, it looked good and one never knew if something might take off... "well one of these days it's gonna download to the itunes....hhhhmmmm," he said to himself as it seemed not to work.

"That one didn't work," he said to himself...

D. uploaded the video podcast to his server but after he typed in the url in his browser he got the the 404 error. "That one didn't work,"he said to himself. But this did not phase him. He was a man on a mission. He had this insatiable appetite to express himself. He had been ahead of his time. Back in the day before the web explosion this wasn't such an obsession. Now everyone and there brother was involved. But that was okay with him. He believed his inner need would carry him through the indifference. Most blogs, podcasts and other such shit just fizzled out. Very few were successes. In this day and age there was too much information overload. Everyone tuned everything out. Attention was the new currency. This was okay with D. It was letting him perfect his craft.

videopodcast attempt...

"okay...let's see if we can get this thing going," D. said to himself as pretty pictures in the void of the now flashed before his eyes...

echoes from long ago

The artist always faces conflict between his inner truth and the greater demands of the public reality. The artist knows the public dialogue is a sham. He feels this very acutely knowing what is real and what he sees to be. It's a fine line because it can veer into self delusion or at the very least extreme self destruction It becomes a dance between being faithful to one's vision and self survival. D. thought these thoughts as the cold dread from the miasma of the American stink drifted through his veins. He thought about self medicating with alcohol but really that was no choice. The buzz wore off and you woke up the next day in the same spot you were the day before. Despite this uneasiness decided to move on with the podcast and read his poem. echoes from long ago drift over the empty white snow...

we're not going anywhere...

mockingbird shot by our own self importance...

see ya' d0wn the empty street to nowhere...

hope you're having fun...

in your hustle...

in your lie...

I won't tell on you if you won't tell me on me...

book signing

The book signing(my first) at "the second story" bookstore in chappaqua, ny went pretty well. Mostly my parents' friends as expected because they went to school with the store owners Mr. and Mrs. Mills and Joan Ripley. I sold 10 books and signed about 5 others who had already bought them through Publish America. It was good, real good to see a bunch of people who have stuck together since high school and really love each other as dear as friendship can be. The people I knew in high school are strangers to me now. None of them support each other, write letters, nor send emails, all on the lost highway of self-indulgent marijuana psychosis. I invited a few of them who are still in the area but none responded nor cared to show up. I was disappointed but not unexpectedly it was the kind of treatment I've been receiving from my so-called peers for a long, long time. They're just not on my level intellectually, spiritually, artistically, charismatically, dimensionally, nor emotionally. They lie even to themselves and are obsessed with belonging and creating the "other one". I am 'the other one" to them. Anyway as an added plus one of my parents' friends who sends out a lot of christmas cards is putting my poems "Christmas" and "My Church Shall Have a Fireplace" on their card.
peace and love and merry christmas to all who read this blog and all that don't. I love you all from the wholeness. more later....

the adjacent possible...

the radio dream is about the adjacent possibile...that is, an idea can not become possible until the materials for it to exist abound in the environment...then when fused with a liquid environment, it comes into the being...it is then it is time to update the technology...

another podcast

voices from the past...

the indians spoke to me through the dry wood

in the illuminated darkness...

garrigue on harp...what a pleasure...so it goes....

He was getting his new podcast ready...

"into the shade of cheever's dream I wade through the hallucinations upon my third eye....

expression in America...

wrapped in contours of economic being..." D. spoke into the mike. He was getting his new podcast ready.

Welcome to the Dharma Palace...

"come in...you're welcome," Zote Zeebe said as he greeted the guests to the Dharma Palace...

"Let's see," Tyler said.

"Let's see," Tyler said, "where most Americans get their information from."

snow falls in the 'qua

"more poetry for you tonight, folks," d. spoke into the microphone. He had been feeling the creative inspiration of late. As time past he could become more objective about his emotional reality thereby seeing more which gave his writing more depth. snow falls in the 'qua...faint whiffs of barely seen flakes felt against flesh smoking in the midnite moon...

orion stretches his bow as I think how we are all in the hunt...

Bill was on from the 'qua on a heavy political discussion about the intersection of culture and politics...

the forum was the kennedy school of politics in honor of jfk jr...

they were lauding him for being so foresighted...

it made me want to puke...

anyone with those connections could be easily foresighted...

how cush to have your opinions listened to with all the financial muscle to back it up...

then came ken auletta and a bunch of other heavies at another forum this one on why the media isn't trusted...

if they could see their karma they wouldn't have to ask that question...

still, the cigarette went down smooth as thoughts of personal glory past me...

and the reflection of the faded ghosts of thanksgiving pasts and the different selfs I have been...

there is in the still moment of the midnite 'qua...I could feel it...the old power rising up from the quiet movie set below...the ol' indian magic that comes out to play at night when the current naticves have gone to to sleep...

rain in the 'qua

in the still of the qua night D. prepared to read his poem for the beginning of the night's podcast. With the advent of Facebook all the noise of his youth had come crashing back. He didn't give a fuck. It was all about expression and the journey into the night and how far one could take into the realm of the imagination before snapping before the onslaught of reality. rain in the 'qua listening to tangled up in blue with the itunes on channelling out the superflous noise of America...

reading about how to channel information...

with an angle...

for a buck....

...fighting off the thought that no one cares...

one more time into the poetical dream...

brown hues of golden leaf written on poetry...

darkness going hand and hand with thoughts of glory...

which way is it gonna fall?

it's about the information, right?

it's movement...

the way it is marketed...

the way it is shooked down....

is your information important or has it gone stale?

Do you work with your hands for an honest living but move no information so you're barely making it?...

america at fantasy in a cowbody movie...

shooting everyone up...

unfortunately, these actions have consequences...

I hope I don't get the mess on me...

Missile Silos

The Radio Dream is about sustainability. They seek to reclaim the land from the destruction of Zack Smiter's development plans. The missile silos, abandoned after Zack blew up the world, have been reclaimed by the Radio Dream to hold house parties. They would find cool musicians, if not themselves, to play beats and create images in a Jungian symposium of mood and feeling. Tonight it was Mad Happy.

Imagnary Radio Dream Podcast...

the line between reality and fiction was always a dubious one for D. at best...tonight he was constructing an imaginary podcast...

Into the drink D. goes...

into the drink D. goes...he was supposed to get a new podcast done...but he was feeling it...the stink of america miasma with it's awful breath clogged up his soul with an awful sense of dread...D. decides to stay in the safety of the cocoon of his home and get wasted thinking of some excuse to tell himself...

Communication In A Digital Age

the radio dream is about stateless communication.... Nite In the Qua

More Than Just Ashes...

More than just ashes when your dreams comes true...keeping on the path of personal version despite the darkness and others lack of faith in you...imagery exploring personal dynamics fire burning light shining....

I dream the dream of the radio dream...

i dream the dream of the radio dream.... ...I hear you my fellow radio listeners...do you hear me?...voice from the heart of the American darkness...this ain’t Howard Stern...this ain’t Imus...I’m just one more delusional motherfucker creating more noise in this dissonant world...I work for master...as you do too...master, master...we all work for master...the jobs, they come they go...full of backstabbing assholes and non descript monstrous bosses...”

the radio dream...

in the still noise of my mind I take a moment to see the sunset the hovers over the blind heard to dream the radio dream....