Sunday, March 30, 2014

Someone Else Wrote This

In a bus from Liberia to Playa Flamingo
west costa of Costa Rica
six rows back
not including the side seats
there are no side seats
unsure of route, stop, or destination
Window a free-per-view screen of stars
The heavens pulled back
A pantalla abierta
Cortina quitada
None of these expressions sum it up
It was as if in this privileged place a miracle occurred
And the privileged few in a place without privilege were privileged to witness the entirety of heaven
The entirety of truth
Seven veils shed
Eternity revealed
There are two basic viewpoints of eternity
From the left, you die and forget
From the right, eternal knowledge
Horror stories, both
And every tale a variation
The same, and don’t let anyone tell you differently
Tonight there was no tale
No narration
Because a tale is a cola is a camino
From ignorance at the start
To wisdom at the mecca
Tonight a wormhole
A bending of time and space
No need to devise or narrate
The tv is tuned to channel 3
And there on the pantalla
A free broadcast
Without deception or ego
The perilous emptiness that is
That undeniably is
And like skin in the unprotected sun
It went right through me
A sudden bout of eternity
One with the stars because we are one with the stars
When I was young I saw a piece of wood and felt the world from the tree’s perspective
I was in gym class
I am still young, and I felt the world from eternity’s perspective
From a star’s view
Through the eye of chaos which is the order which governs our chaos
I thought, “One day I will forget you.  One day you will forget me.  It will be as if we never were.  Our memories will die with us.”
Only time stands between us and the stars
And time is a spongey and unreliable buffer
I grew sad
I wanted to fight but there was in all apparentness no fighting to be done
There is a balance beam we walk
A piece of wood
Everything forever on the right
Nothing forever on the left
And we wobble
Tonight I fell
But clung
Crawled back up
The bus driver taking turns like he was racing
Time had commissioned him not to be late
A 10-minute program, this
Sneak preview
Don’t show your hand
The couple in front of me
Younger than me
More time
The man two seats in front to the left
Less time
An aging specimen of health
The two of them maybe sixteen
Looking at each other, not the stars
The bus empties
With time
The couple gets off before the viejo
The anciano
I was distressed
How could I forget you?
How could this not be part of eternity?
Every human action fell off the beam in the face of channel 3
Pure and simple
Cliché perhaps
The sponge of time
The sponge of time
The beam no longer would
How could I not be me anymore
How can my memories die with me
Taking you too in the great flush
You’re stored in blood
Which flows with the heart’s rhythm
You will run out
All of this
I panicked
I’m building my house on a bed of clay
On an earthquake’s fault line
On a volcano
This is the wisdom I hoped to obtain
A parting gift
Turn in your memories at the door
Here is a sponge
Channel 3 announcement
Attention all viewers
You are eternal
You are nothing
Put your investment in everything
Put your investment in nothing
Time is a sock market
Woolen waste
I changed the channel
Unable to aguantar
Which is used for respiration
And turned my attention quite by accident to the two
The jovenes
She too turned her head to him
Pressed her forehead against his nose
Showed him her teeth
An exuberant maladapted animal
Kissed him
Every true action is a part of eternity, I reminded myself
But I didn’t
Not in that moment
In the flow of time
A few steps back on the sponge
Kissed him
My thoughts bled out of me
My memories
My concerns
Kissed him
And here too was truth
Kissed him
And I won’t forget
Kissed him

And I didn’t worry about eternity for one more second.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

So I Ate A Crocodile

For the second time in the last six months, the press has written unfairly about me.  This time it’s more than just the Chicago Reader.  It’s USA Today, the BBC, the Huffington Post, the Brisbane Times*.  None of them asked me for my side of the story, or an interview, nor did they request permission to use my image.  I’m striking back. 

For those of you wondering what I’ve been up to since early January, there is a lot to sum up.  First, I left Chicago for Boston, where I substitute taught-acted for three weeks for the organization Urban Improv.  That was back when I was a working artist.  Boston was fulfilling, but I knew I needed more.  I needed to grow and change.  I needed to dig in to my true self. 

So, in early February, I went to Costa Rica.  That was more enriching.^  Casting myself out into Nature was good for me, and I began to build basic survival skills.  I began to get back in touch with my true self, the part so often buried under elaborate socialization.  I shook hands with my heart of darkness in the shadow mirror of jungle life.^^

It still wasn’t enough.  So, yesterday, I turned myself into a python.  Then, I flew to Australia via Chicago.**  Then, I ate a crocodile. 

What’s the big deal? 

This is exactly what it’s like to be an almost-famous artist.  Everyone has an opinion on everything you do.  Even when I sit down to have a meal, someone wants to tell me how long I had to fight for it, how easy it was to sneak up on, even how long I’m likely to be full.  Can’t I have a meal without somebody turning it into an article, a youtube video, a media frenzy?  Can’t I have a few hours to eat a crocodile? 

Frankly, I’m done with this thing people call “civilization.”  Tomorrow, I’m going to fly somewhere else and turn into some other species.  Right after I digest this thing. 

USA Today, BBC, Huffington Post, Brisbane Times, etc:  You’ll be hearing from my agent.  He’s an armadillo in Panama.  And before you ask:  Yes, he’s nocturnal.


* media behemoth

^ Who needs an artistic career when you can have a kitchen full of roaches, a backyard full of poisonous snakes, and the chance to clear out spiderwebs with your face? 

^^ Still got it!

** Sorry I didn’t call while I was in town.  I’m a python.