My brother is in the bathroom making noises. He won’t be out in any time soon.  He’s lost it…when he gets high he loses it….,when he’s not high, he lies in bed depressed. I didn’t judge him least not much. When he gets high he likes to talk. And touch. And become overly sensitive. Who am I to judge?…I live most of my life in fantasy. It’s grander there. A world of magic….mystery…sensitivity. When it wasn’t on the dark side with its irritability….self doubt…cruelty…I am in love with the aesthetic.  Broke, with nothing do I escape into breath and shallow devotion to zen. In the woods I tell myself I am getting closer to nature….detached, things become noticeable….like the soft rustle of the wind or the cry of a bird.  The robust belch of a passing locomotive becomes a huge sonic event.  Like  jets soaring above.  The sound of its engine begins in D. But ends in E.

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In the womb of now I dissolve into cool

Splashing words real cut images deconstructed into montage 

from found objects discarded

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Love minus zero...at the window with a broken wing...songs in silohuette....shadows of memory cast their nostalgic perfume..the fragrance takes me back to the Dharma palace…with its view of light in the morning…the sun witnessed from every conceivable angle through glass sectioned off like a Kandinsky painting…train rides with its history of mad insane engineers...yodeling hobos...classy pullman porters...cowboys and indians...the Lone Ranger and Tonto...swapping blues licks with the boys...backdoor man..., the good times that make one say wow...sun licks the qua...time to write yourself into the movie...