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Sananda Maitreya

SanandaMaitreya.com ...

Greetings people of mirth, please take me to your liters. And
if you're looking for TREBLE, you've come to the right BASS.
Take this BREAD, they got no BONES.
Dedicated to Rusty Hinges (a great door man)!
Welcome, IRONY ABOUNDS!
Now have a taste of these NUCLEAR CLAMS.


I am not always looking for the TRUTH, just the right words.


Sometimes, the light in our eyes makes the tears come out.
What light reflects, in time it also clears.


I THINK, THEREFORE, I'm not sure.


Man is born of the concepts which haunt him most.


The best things in life we already have.


The harder you wait, the longer it gets!


The value of time is that even our old arguments can be traded in for fresh horses.


Nature has grown more hostile to us as we have grown more hostile to it, and distant from it. And this places more pressure on the earth which contains us.


In the final analysis, as my old friend SEYMOUR STRAIGHT used to say, the choice is clear: MOAN, OR BECOME A MAN.


Our karma, we breathe in, and
becomes fate, if we believe in.


We suffer being the only prominent animals on Earth who know not who they are. Luckily, we have advertisers and marketers to tell us who we are, so that we don't have to think too much about it.


Good wine helps you remember. The best wine helps you forget.


I play in a trio because statistics prove that the 4th guy, is usually crazy. Safer to keep it at 3. Look at any 4 member band. At least one member is suspect. There are statistics for trios as well, but I try to stay away from those.


I listened one evening to a compilation of the Blue Note label from some years back and were startled to have found among the track listings a song from the master AL GREEN. The man himself. We think it were something like I CAN'T STOP LOVING YOU, though not the country version, or I may be wrong about the title. Anyway, he gives a performance that sends chills up and down the spine like a thermometer vomiting mercury, and in this song, he offers a full bag of repertoire illustrating why he is among the immortal greats. He grinds, he grunts. His falsetto swoops and comforts like a goose down duvet, bracketing you from the howl of prevailing gusts. His growl, tickles all the right bones, and his syrup dipped, serendipitous tenor, soars like a swallow soon to land in Capistrano, having been guided by soft tail winds. His reading of the material has always been among his most gracious gifts. .


The good news is, if I ever get homesick for Britain, all I have to do is watch an American film or TV production, where they are now all over it. And behind it.


A Conservationist and a Conversationalist studied one another across the aisle of a crowded rush hour train, and knew that they'd have something interesting to talk about. And as luck would have it, the Conversationalist were a good friend of the Satirist who almost came to blows with the Sitarist on an airplane a few stories and chapters ago in the ZOOATHALON. Talk about a small world! To get the alligator shoes, ostrich skin belt wearing conservationist's attention, the conversationalist, an English professor from England cried out; O, TO BE ONCE AGAIN, YOUNG, DUMB AND FULL OF CUMBERLAND!


Of some concern to environmentalists (and honey, one mentalist is as crazy as the next), is the fact that apparently, all of the pharmaceuticals we piss into the waters are affecting the oceans and the fish. So we are drugging the fish. Problem with that being, that like all progressive beings, once the fish get used to being drugged, THEY'LL WANT TO BE DRUGGED MOST OF THE TIME. Can we afford to keep up with this? The good news from this is how easy it will be to farm drugged fish at home. You keep a couple of catfish in your aquarium, dump some pills into it, then when the fish go belly up, 'viola', they are ready to cook! Just marinate in librium.It somehow seems to behove the pothead people to begin pissing into the waters more, to equalize the equation somewhat, and to form an alliance with the clear bottled water drinking people, that their urine, being crystal clear, might help dilute the effects of the pharmaceuticals on the fish of the great waters. Otherwise, expect to wander into your local village and see advertised at the fishmongers, YES, WE HAVE VIAGRA SMOKED SALMON!


A helpful key to creativity is to be an early riser. To have your work or meditation, greet the morning sun or close to it. I get up so early, I have to tiptoe past the chickens.


There is at times no greater distance than that which exists between anger and truth.


Strange but true. If you do not listen to them AT ALL, they are more compelled to listen to you.


Marriage is good counsel and a good one will not let you easily walk away from it. The magnetic core will be too engaging. A core that feeds on positive acts and wishes upon it. And what discipline we bring to it. And it helps to believe in a higher power, even if that higher power be the force of love that you brought into the relationship. Who is bored with their marriage is bored with their approach to it. And bored with how they see themselves.


Love CAN be tricky, but especially if we are dishonest with it. If we come clean with it, it cleans us and rewards our trust with new sensibility. Who cheats love cheats their own karma and forfeits a lot of grace. Karma is the path leading to the graces we earn.


Life is like a video game. Your karma earns credits for right action, doing the right thing, though sometimes, that just means, surviving what you witness. Big wrong actions cost us points and sometimes heroics are required in order to recover. Steady is the player in the game. The game of life, the most holographic life like video model yet! Becoming a master of the game is a matter of simple mathematics, putting your time in. And if you can enjoy it, you are already winning.


Sometimes what giants sacrifice in height, they get back in years.
Though the economy of sacrifice may pin back their ears.
If they tumble too far to the right.
I stumbled upon an abysmal abyss and saw ATLAS enraged
and banging his fists into Paradise's stairs, and my head
was ringing until it cleared (if a few more white with hairs),
but at times I think it was staged. Especially when he
pulled a cast of mermaids from his beard. And their fake
blood ruined the ink on the page as the poet feared
it would.


The moon knows how true that nighttime holds the key to what is most true about us. We cannot hide our souls from the night.


YES, WE SELL METHEDRINE OYSTERS! WE ALSO SELL PROZAC PEARLS!
We stock STEROID SEA BASS!


We describe a NIHILIST, as someone who punches and curses themselves, and not the messenger.


Crossing the ALPS might have made HANNIBAL famous, but what got him killed was crossing his wife.


For me, part of the main cultural value of CHARLIE SHEEN for our generations is that he answers the question many of us have wondered. WHAT would HAPPEN IN THE MATRIX if NEO had swallowed both the Red AND the Blue pill ? We suspect master Sheen took them both. And why not? Journey is journey. He is not the only one reporting from the front lines of madness. Sooner or later, it is a trek through the dark forest, that the brave must confront. Unless we change the way we live.


THERE IS ONLY ONE ROAD, but many ways around it. Call it LOAFER'S LAW.


The main factor determining whether our ships set sail with safe and sure command is whether or not it is being guided by the navigator, WILL. It is well that the EGO of the will be strong enough to envision its way through both calm and rough waters, and what swells may challenge it along the way. And this alone determines whether or not we are passing time, passing through, or just passing gas. Like Jumping Jack Flash.


The POLITICAL PRISONERS CONVENTION is being cancelled this year due to not enough invitees getting permission from their governments and jailers to attend. Sananda and the Nudge Nudge had been scheduled to perform. A spokesman for Amnesty International is rumored to have said that next year might focus on a FRIENDS OF POLITICAL PRISONERS platform, in order to anticipate greater participation and donations from those actually able to attend. Meanwhile Sananda and the NUDGE NUDGE will be playing at the upcoming LPSG conference, the featured debate that night is scheduled to be; CIRCUMCISION: DERISION, OR GOOD DECISION? These debates can be attended by MEMBERS ONLY.


If you are a certified friend of a Large Penis Support Group member, you may apply for an ALL ACCESS pass for most OUTER RING events. Contact your local LPSG representative for more details as to how you may qualify.


YES, WE SELL NUCLEAR CLAMS! We also sell Giant Sea Slug steaks for a competitive price per pound!Freshly radiated! And don't forget to ask about our VICODIN pickled Trout!


Too much morality can kill your spirit just as much as not enough.
The earth is a ball and we balance ourselves on it.
Otherwise, each time ATLAS shrugs, we fall.


To the victors go the spoils, to the losers, usually the tax bill.


I went to CONSPIRACY UNIVERSITY. But you don't get to graduate until you can figure out what the conspiracy is. They make a lot of money on tuition.


Who comes prepared and focussed chances to win the VELVET GLOVE, who comes disheveled, late and short gets the RUBBER GLOVE (and in the wrong place every time).


New shoes, new beginning!


The thing about the GUARDIAN OF THE SECRET CAVE, was that he never knew where the cave was that he were guarding. As a result, he were a restless sort. And never moved too far away from home.


Eenie, Meenie, Miny, and Moe were planning on putting a Broadway show together, until Moe walked out. So be ready for (you guessed it), 'MOE, THE SHOW', coming to a theatre soon, near you. Said Moe, 'What do I need 3 other guys for, what are we , the Beatles? Our jokes were getting too old, I mean the 3 Stooges stole from us, the Marx Brothers, the whole lot. How much longer can you get away with lines like; “Whatever the proctologist told the patient, it absolutely RECTUM?” Or; “Some whores, Some whores, my kingdom for some whores”. Come on ! I've got fresher stuff than those old bores, so come on out. I've also got ice skating seals and bare breasted ballerinas!'


Not so fast! Eenie, Meenie, and Miny and their lawyers present; MOE: THE INJUNCTION! Coming soon to a courtroom near you.


The rest of these proceedings are brought to you by our proud sponsors, CROOKED DIRTY SMILE.


Thank you immensely for your response thus far to THE SPHINX, for which we are most grateful. And moved.


I am indebted to the late great ROBERT PALMER, who upon my arrival in Milano, about a decade ago, took me under his wing and introduced me to some of the players who would later prominently figure in my Post Millennium Rock experience. I still feel his influence from time to time. He left a proud and beautiful family.


These writings also dedicated to the memory of one of my grandmother's favorite singers, BROOK BENTON. Sometimes your grandmother gets it right.


The only real truth that matters is the truth that catches you today. Yesterday's truth has already been outgrown. The waves of today may not break the same way tomorrow, we surf the tides as they come. We adjust, as each wave and break of light requires.


What GOD expects of children is to obey
of MEN, he expects to find their own way.


The only thing worse than having your heart broken, is having it ignored.


The qualifying difference between a labor of love and an exercise in futility, is stamina.


Even fear must be gauged, as sometimes we fear most what we need.
Our needs are not weaknesses as much as our denial of them are weaknesses.
And our refusal to acknowledge them, cruel.
Balance and moderation are tools.
And time lets you know when you
are out of school and ready to turn the page.


If they are not my waters, it is not my swim.


The next SEX FOR SANDWICHES meeting will be held at the Elm Street delicatessen at 69th and Elm. Please bring your own plastic bags.


...if you don't object
BYRON kept his hands inside
his embryonic pockets in case
he genuflects for coins. But for
a gin and tonic
His loosened grip around
a pencil necked baton
conducts a supersonic minuet. Only the
string section finds it ironic.
The arthritis
in his wrists regret, the time taken
to shake the fists at time. It may
be that he bruises easily, faces the music
trebling up, his creeping seepage
bubbling up and bursting
to doubt before the evening
sun has set and the night has turned
its love crimes out. You bet he's on the
next cruise. A pocketful
of wry, while then you die
inside portentous proving
grounds that have a mind, but not
to cry.
You rebel as you are moving
around .Then you inhale and grab
the dragon by its retractable tail.
Then fall in with the jailhouse
lawyers that set rabble rousing
tongues wagging with dice that
cover bail when not setting
hailstones traps, and negotiating
with men for hire, and settling bets
with the gallows pole the
executioner laps, where twice
the amount of heads fill buckets
where lice are now loose
and limp lies limbs, unfolded
from desire, such as soon to
fill a hole with not so subtle reminders
that death is kind of gruesome,
fresh grist for the fire.
Though sometimes awesome
and then some. Those moralists
are such scolds! Sometimes life
can be more lonesome. Sometimes the center
will not hold ! This did not
however stop me from picking
at my teeth, while hacking at their
gold. Zebra striped
choirs tell you this, even when
harmonized by liars underneath
and corporate boll weevils
mandated by spread sheets
to deceive us.
You rebel, and with the
fevered backslap of the whale,
CONSPIRE, wailing away, a shadow magnet.
Believe us,
Craven if it's vagrant.
As dry as a vulva
in Baghdad's bloom
looking to make you over
for hire.
A dragnet, careful not
to get caught
between euphemisms
and euthanasia. Both
stagnant. Both prisons.
One never
looks you in the eye,
the other never pays you.
Both a foul as flagrant
as sure as the cliffs of Dover.
And ignorant of the
youth in America.
Absent of mind
concerning ALI, and drawing
a blank on FRAZIER.
One who flukes in various
hues and whose views
are dank and wet. And whose
bank will lock in credit.
The bite marks heralded
on his calender are writing
in oversight his carols yet:
SCRATCH AND CLAW
IS THE LAW!
( and all of life can be sung
between 'Mamma Mia'
and Mia Farrow, before
her fees were set and the
choices became too narrow)
THE BLUES tap dancing
like llamas in broken barrels
of laughs, and lurching from
its pollen count's aftermath
in bloodstains. 'What a ruse'!
Said the Russian above the
roaring din, when his
head got pushed in
by his next of kin
reading PUSHKIN
to him.
Smoking as if their cartilage
would choose to lie steamed
against the marrow of a heavy chin,
over boozed from Tyranny's weighted
testicles and grinding blades, and surrender's
arrested sorrow. Like thumb screws.
Like glass in gum chews,
when you are that stupid to
choose tomorrow,
exactly how many teeth you
plan to lose. It's all so confusing.
Yet, I am going through my
coin purse, to help him
pay his dues. What he does with it
is his choosing. In the time
it takes to wind it down
and settle up his debts,
to rattle at his hissing
moments and rage at
his regrets. His scars
are centipedes of hope
that blanket deeper bruising.
They skinned alive his
rock collection and arrested
all of his pets. One escaped
in a pair of shoes, a rabbit
escaped in a hat we were using.
Neither shall fossils
nor whistles delay
what the waves beneath
the margins prove, as the sperm
foams the ground. As the froth
of the ocean stirs the world around
and attempts to further save.
AND when the glove
hits the love, the leather
cracks to reveal Crocodile tears
wearing Alligator shoes
stepping away from a
pool of envy, a useless
grave, and trying
not to make a sound,
while its footprints accuse
of solitary days.
I were told: If you snooze,
you lose. So WAKE UP!
And set your sail upon
the tide of these neuroses.
The Nile is flooding with
fresh psychosis, this very hour
and losing soil to bile. Relax yourself,
the next eruption might
take a while and unsteady
your hypnosis. This ship
is spinning like a top
in the gyre of its
twilight cruise.
J'ACCUSE!
He stops,
and steps away to brush
his mouth, which stings
of halitosis.


From the 'How Did That Happen?' Files:
YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP !
A friend brought back from a trip
a novelty gift for us. It were 5 TEABAGS, in a set,
each representing the likenesses of these greats:
Elvis, John Lennon, Jimi, Bob Marley and Michael
Jackson. And get this, MICHAEL WAS THE
WHITEST of them all! Masters Marley and Hendrix
were both mocha smooth and light brown. Elvis were
a light pinkish white, while Lennon carried a
glowing orange light beige complexion. And in the
middle, grinning, was Michael, with no tone at all
to his white, just pure plain vanilla, even more than
the others.In fact, I've never even seen whites with
this color outside of marble busts in museums.
What a coup! God bless him. That cream
he used really works!


I tried a skin lightener once. But it made my teeth look darker so I stopped.


Since becoming 49, I've learned this: THE KEY TO TURNING 50 will be getting someone else to pay for it.


Your mother is so cheap, she parties like it's 19.99 ($)


Times are hard but not THAT hard. I saw a well dressed man with a signpost standing on the side of the highway which read; WILL WORK FOR LESS THAN EXECUTIVE PAY. Another fellow, less well dressed, held a sign which read; WILL WORK FOR TV (PREFERABLY A PRODUCTION DEAL).


The truth of most rebels, is that they are not really trying to change the system. Just to be let into it. What systems absorb, they become.


All young blades come of age fully in a language they understand, and must largely invent themselves.


THERE IS NO WAY OUT!
Just love your life and turn
the abyss to bliss. The abyss
won't disappear. You change it
from black hole to head room.


The dead never lament about not having had enough time, but not having had enough awareness of their time.


NINA SIMONE. And her vision was startling. She has powers to take your blues away. If she did it, it were authentic and worthy of your evaporating spirit.


GERRY RAFFERTY were awesome. His voice and sensibility were to me vital, moving and pivotal to the way my ears evolved after being exposed to his craftsmanship and soul. He is back with his angels now working up some new tunes, I am sure.


....he were most known for his masterpiece, BAKER STREET.


We think too much of skin color and not enough of RACE as a consciousness. A mindset.


LANGUAGE CONTROL IS MIND CONTROL.


Again, the dead do not resent not having had enough time. They resent not having paid enough attention. There is always enough time to pay attention. Attention is a choice and valuable one. Attention activates logic.


Acting above our desires keeps us removed from them. Which keeps us bound to them as law.


The grievance among the dead is not that they've died too early but too soon.


And then there is the clairvoyant gardener. He meditates in his garden, but is sometimes drowned out by the SILENCE OF THE YAMS. And they say this; 'Confused?, you call it a speed bump, but even a camel has to get over the hump'. Thus wizened, the gardener began meditating by the cabbages. Who were less annoying and said little if nothing at all.


The main difference between PRIDE and PAIN, is that pride has no limit.


REJUVENATION BEGINS the moment we are excited by new possibility.


The 800 pound gorilla in the room of the CONCUSSION argument that no one wants to mention in NFL football is ASTROTURF and artificial grass fields. Period. It is a fake discussion if it fails to take into account, the unnatural stresses that these playing surfaces place on the skeletal structure of the body, including the spine. And the extra strain it places on the joints. It is like taking a Ferrari and racing it over a street full of potholes. At some point, it will damage the car. And despite all of the tests which apologize for irresponsibility. This is OSTRICHE'S LAW: If no one else will admit to seeing it, I won't admit to seeing it either and if no one admits to seeing it, then it cannot exist.


BACH is timeless. There is no age. His work extends as deep into what we consider music's past as it does its future, like Miles Davis'. Listen to the master Bach's works, they are signposts of things yet to come, and in all of the years since his demise, no music, including 12 tone serialism and atonality, is without a huge thumbprint he already placed upon it. Judge his music as old at your peril. All works are 'classics' if they've found a way to stick around.


Stop and get a hold of what you can of DEXTER GORDON, THE 60'S BLUE NOTE SESSIONS. It is what happened to American classical music. While we were waiting for the right profile to tell us what our classical music was, masters like GORDON, were laying it down, and with felicity, dexterity (pun intended) and chest swelling authority.


The trick in getting dogs to read the newspaper is to keep it close to the bone. Circulation is now going through the 'woof'. Dogs do read, they just like to chew over it first.


The great advantage animals have over us, is not having to explain to others who they are. The law of being themselves being self evident. Cool!


I, like other singers have once or twice been flattered with the compliment that we could probably sing the phone book. That is a nice sentiment but I would much rather attempt to sing, a COOK BOOK! SANANDA SINGS PROSCIUTTO AND MELONE! (and other mouth watering tracks). And if that project goes well, we can follow it up with a drinks menu of assorted mixed beverages, sung by me and other swells. Or, SANANDA ROCKS BAKED GOODS AND PUDDINGS! The only phone book I would want to sing would be, HUGH HEFNER'S.


Next up, Rufus Wainwright (and Chaka Khan) sing EUCLID'S MATHEMATICAL THEORUMS!
Binary Re-mixes by Danger Mouse ! BEYONCE sings the FIBONACCI SPIRAL! Maybe as a service to parents, for a Christmas project, I could record, 'WHERE'S THE WRENCH?' MAITREYA sings the INSTRUCTION MANUELS for your CHILDREN'S TOY'S and GAMES!


My definition of HUBRIS, is running into a marathon, going in the opposite direction and asking yourself, 'Why are all of these other assholes running the wrong way?'


TO BE FOREWARNED IS TO BE FOREARMED. So Woody, the ZOOATHALON'S woodpecker friend is back in the gym, working hard on his forearms and biceps.


'ABER, ICH MUSS FRAGEN, WARUM SPRECHEN WIR JETZT IN DEUTSCH?'
“Because chicks dig it!”


GRANT'S TOMB should be licensed, so that; YOU TOO CAN BE BURIED IN GRANT'S TOMB!


ALLEGATIONS AGAINST ALLIGATORS ON THE next Oprah!


Shortness of breath, asthma? Then try not being so short with yourself.


Finally DEION SANDERS is in the football Hall of Fame where he belongs. Primetime!


Most guitar heroes are over hyped, but not STEVE LUKATHER. If you grew up during a certain time and you listened to almost anything that came from L.A., he were playing on it and influenced so much of how you heard guitar. He can play anything and blow you away. He is one of my heroes (I collect them and trade them with my friends). He once played in the band TOTO with the mighty PORCARO brothers. Long and prosperous be his time line! Rage on!


Also a shout out of respects to PATTI SMITH and GRACE JONES. Artists with balls and vision? Look no further than these two iconic females. Both have made a few great albums worthy of time's seal. Both altered the game forever. They should interview one another and put it on YouTube.


AISHWARYA RAI BACHCHAN: HELL YEAH, BITCHES! Hello!


THE NEW DON WINSLOW: 'SAVAGES'.
Check it out, it's another winner for the Don Winslow worship society, of which I am a most recent convert.


Never explain yourself to your enemies. It helps them gauge you for the next attack. And if you have to explain too much to your friends, get new friends.


Love can illustrate a lot easier than it can explain.


“And THAT is how Papa Gator took command and learned to chastise his little 'Instigator', RENNY GATOR, or as he liked to call himself, RENNY THE RENEGADE REPTILE. Papa made use of the information he'd gotten from a cousin, a private 'investigator', who found Renny and got him home with the help of a 'navigator'. Instigator didn't know that his papa were also quite a nifty propagator, who did not trust being a procrastinator or a delegator for important gator matters. 'YOU ARE AN ICE GATOR, not an ICE SKATER, WAKE UP YOUNG MAN! Said the papa gator, whose name was ALI. 'You are a gator, and not a satyr, nor a traitor, like the crocodiles, those player haters, neither are you a 4th grader. So listen up or my name is not Ali Gator!' Renny straightened out and later became a police officer. He works as a facilitator. His mother was a 'mitigator'. And he married a lawyer, a good match for him, a 'litigator'. So now all is well as we relegate this story to time”. WOODY, THE WOODPECKER: 'Wow, LATE NIGHT NATE, that was a cool story. If you've the energy, tell me another. By the way, how is your head after last night's little bar fight?'
LATE NIGHT NATE, the OWL: “Oh, it's OK, just a slight bump, nothing that a little moonshine and sunlight wouldn't take care of. As for him, I hit the poor guy so hard, I made him remember his wife's birthday”.
WW: 'The way you decked him with one punch was awesome. Mickey Rourke would've been proud!'
LNN: “Well, you've no doubt heard of the 100TH MONKEY SYNDROME".
WW: 'Yes, there is a similar theory about us woodpeckers, but it was said to have been suppressed by WARNER BROTHERS years ago'.
LNN: “Once upon a time, there were an island. And the island were an island of monkeys, of whom there were exactly 100 monkeys, the 101st having left the island to go airborne with the military as an astronaut. One monkey found some money from an adrift suitcase, but spent it before he knew what it was. And then felt silly when he realized that he paid for a lot of stuff he could have gotten for free anyway.
Another monkey found a deserted typewriter, abandoned by the last shipwreck, and began, much to his own surprise, knocking out an abridged version of WAR AND PEACE! The 100th monkey syndrome is the idea that, once one monkey takes up a task, it spreads to the other monkeys and soon, even without prior contact, the other monkeys will adapt and be able to do the same. With this in mind, another monkey came upon the first, asked what he were doing, and were told that he were writing great literature, even if he were not yet sure of what literature meant or its worth to monkeys. The second monkey asked if he might be able to use the typewriter himself, once the first Tolstoy loving monkey had relieved himself of his masterpiece.
The second monkey eventually inherited time with the typewriter and began quickly writing 'A Monkey's Guide to WAR AND PEACE', in order to capitalize on the first monkey's inspiration. And soon it followed down the line. Monkey's eagerly awaiting their own time with the type machine, and then forging new territory for the boundless exploration of the literary beast that is the monkey mind. Extemporizations on the works of variously, CAMUS, BERNARD HENRI-LEVY, and ARISTOTLE were reinterpreted by the simian gang hard at work achieving new consensus for their fellowship.
As it happens, the 99th monkey, upon his turn, smacked the 100th monkey hard across the face. 'For what on earth did you do that?' Asked the stung monkey. Said the 99th, to the 100th; 'Because I am your father, and that is the price of knowing who your father is'. Father monkey took the type machine and commenced to writing speeches for political events, figuring there was money in it. But the 100th had a totally different idea. He knew that he were THE CRUCIAL, ALL IMPORTANT 100TH MONKEY and that therefore the force of destiny, the winds of change, now favored him and looked upon him most fortuitously. He knew that the template for the new monkey madness were now safely in his hands, so he did what it felt best to do in those circumstances, he went to a lawyer and copyrighted himself as LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LIONEL THE 100TH MONKEY! © AND, he made sure to take great pains to find out the practical difference between COPYRIGHT and COPYWRITE, which even most humans fail to distinguish between the one and the other. Before he determined what he might like to write (he were leaning towards something 'coming down the mountain style' like reworking the 10 COMMANDMENTS as 'Ten Recommendations for Monkey Style Living'), he wanted to make sure that it were recognized that as the 100th monkey, syndrome or not, HE NOW HELD ALL THE CARDS AND THE JOKER, and the scepter were in his hands! Tight in his monkey grip. He sat atop the throne of fortune's volcanic ash. And he would have badges made up to indicate his stature. His lawyer Winslow Simpson were most proud of his client's prescience and took care to file all of the necessary paperwork for Lionel's benefit. While waiting for the paperwork to confirm him as the 100th and therefore evolutionary monkey, 'The Leaper',
Lionel thought it might be better to forego the lofty, aspirational 10 commandments route and do a book of toilet humor and anatomy jokes, beloved of simians and their human cousins the world over. One joke he 'd written for his compilation ended up with the punchline being, 'And exactly how big WAS the monkey's penis? SO BIG, that it had to take out a restraining order to prevent KING KONG from climbing up the side of it to swat airplanes.' Another little ditty ended with the lines, 'Said his balls, Before he writes his Magnum Opus, it would be better if he'd soap us!' He diligently worked until exhaustion, until that day when his official recognition via documentation would arrive. What LIONEL didn't count on was that a monkey can never really outsmart himself, nor a barrel of them, and what Lionel hadn't foreseen as THE 100TH MONKEY was, as he were figuring out the need to copyright his self expression, he were automatically influencing the other 99, including his father, and the day his paperwork arrived to acknowledge his station in the primate pecking order, THE OTHER 99 MONKEYS HAD GOTTEN THEMSELVES copyrighted as well, or were in the process thereof, though not all received their paperwork on the same glorious day. The new day one on the monkey calender.
His influence had spread. And when he changed the plan, he changed the other monkey's destiny also. Were kites and keys ever the same again after Benjamin Franklin? So no longer did you simply have an island of Shakespeare editing chimpanzees and the like, but each copyrighted and with their own lawyers and advisors. Many with entourage. One even had a sailboat. And as you might expect, once Lionel had gotten himself an agent for his collected works, it started an explosion of agents taking over the island, telling the monkeys where the market was and how to dress for success. It then began to dawn on some of the elder monkeys that this were exactly why they had let some monkeys escape the island generations ago and mutate into humans, so as to have someone else be responsible for writing literature, while they themselves sat atop banana trees and surfed coconut tops for research, then took long naps in their leaves.
Said one elder monkey, 'THEY'VE BEEN GIVEN EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD AT THEIR FEET, and still they come in teams to study US. As if to regain a PARADISE LOST. Which we, fellow simians, have right here under our well chronicled noses'. Another replied, 'So we now know that you were the one working on the MILTON translation !' Laughter ensued, though did not prevail. Soon, an island of typewriting monkeys would prove useful and irresistible to the scouts of HOLLYWOOD. A boatload were imported there. The rest went back to their senses and decided from then on, NOT TO FOLLOW the 100th monkey belief system anymore. It mainly produced mimics. Now they have a monkey committee, and before the first monkey can even ask a question, the committee tie him up in so much bureaucracy and the filling out of forms, that it has proven an effective deterrent against any further questions or notions being fielded, that might again cause the monkeys to mutate and become something ungainly to their own schematic. There is a strong rumor that another island, a few nautical miles south, were once full of dentist drilling monkeys fond of haiku, who were said to have had a mouthful of dreams that spilled out into fate and raised itself beyond an abrasion. The coverup suggests that the dentist's union, catching wind of a possible invasion by lower wage earning monkeys willing to work longer hours, and fearing that they would wreak havoc on the local economy, used their political contacts to eradicate them. A team of taxidermists were sent in from a naval ship to do the work. But a few did escape, legend has it, and are said to have been hidden in the back offices of certain credit card companies, for whom they calculate rates, but are paid in peanuts and bananas are not allowed to use the phones. As for the 100th monkey, LIONEL, he himself boarded an evacuation boat to another small deserted island, where he would set to work on a translation of a DICTIONARY. All of those other silly monkeys rushing to write grand literature, and none of whom had yet learned to spell. Incredible! But then again, monkeys have a way of getting ahead of themselves, if led astray”.
Woody: What a fantastic tale! Where did you get it from?
Late Night Nate, the Owl: One of the escaped monkeys got washed up on a remote island where the people happened to worship the Monkey Gods, and thought he were sent to answer their prayers. So he lived a long life as their ruler. Got fat and rich. Eventually these people began to have children who moved beyond the island and told stories of the Monkey King who loved them and ruled in kindness and gratitude, before, missing his fellow furry friends, hopping aboard a banana boat one night and returning to the land of his people.
I got the story from his sister, she used to be my piano teacher.


Rock is not a genre but a spirit, an attitude. With that in mind, one of the greatest rock concerts I've ever witnessed were in the late 80's, seeing the great PUBLIC ENEMY at the BRIXTON ACADEMY in London. It were riveting, like an urban rally and soul picnic rolled into one. Like a memorial service for the bereft of groove. Packed to the gills with wall to wall heads from the spectrum of the London and world scene. I went with Chrissy Hynde and Rosanna Arquette, who stood next to me as if I were additional protection against all of the dudes licking their lips at her in the room. Little did she know that I stood next to Chrissy for much the same reason....


Be advised, the world is as round as your swing!


We are slaves to whatever price it takes to keep us slaves. Even in the 'official' slavery days, some slaves commanded a higher price than others. And did you know about the history of white slavery in America? There is a lot of truth to tell and a lot of old chains to break.


WHY DOES PROMETHEUS
THROW THUNDERBOLTS AT ZEUS?
(to keep his pitching arm loose)!
O sullen are the seeds which came
down the mountain to attain.
Because he gets bored, that's the truth
and because no one else can handle him
or mount the mantle of sandalwood
which freighted him at best, that his
attention span remain, focussed. And happiest
of all fools is he who realizes his predicament
and let's it save him, save the spindle of
the mandala which created him, and lets
go of other hocus-pocus. He crafts logos
from crested tools. While his chest
is full of tumbleweed, and his
waistline slim, he hurls his
darts from the vestibule of
crested heights, aiming,
and tossing names at him.
While critiquing how the show goes.
Who could be braver
while cursing at his
own behest, planning
further duels, to mitigate
further behavior?
He stands aloof.
He can tell from
the dark splattered clouds,
when his proverbs have
hit Olympia's proverbial roof. While Zeus
fumes with what could be put to
better use when not dissembling
and questioning his rigid posture,
his nymph assisted youth.
The saints of death and desiccation
bringing in the sheaves to be
sheared with ease. The lions
claim the sheep prattle on
when they hear the jewelry
rattle, shivering in their tenderloins
before the wool is gathered, and snatched
for the battle plans hatched to absorb
the boys riding in tall saddle.
The mules suggest rough going
and bray, in essence to say what
their sweat is showing, what
their sacrifices mutter, but forget
to pray.
Meanwhile,
another bolt is hovering,
covering, hiding in the breaks.
And between renegades
and hand grenades,
the grenadiers on guard
are shuddering.
Who never met a war path
they wouldn't take, if
the numbers fit the brokering.
It were brutal when he heard
the maples branching out
into grief. EXIGESIS CHRIST!
What has become of consecration
and what has it done to his wife?
Stunned and broken across
the bow of someone else's strife
and abbreviation.
Twice, a thief steals the
day, and gives it back as
a weightless pebble. So:
Announcing another level,
Prometheus spits from his mouth
another moistened wedge of
a silver tongued devil hanging
on for dear life.
A changeling who changes
things, for its own sake,
jabbing and circling
before the chance stings,
before the bell rings
vertically straight, though
horizontally cross. A left hook
to your mother and I'm your boss.
Bred like starlings, hung like moss
(I wrote this one in bed,
though that's what he said
while entertaining darlings who
flutter even when they floss).
Immersed,
Even numbers go numb
feeling the loss of things
that go out of trait, and bends
out of shape its dusted wings.
It resembles that which breaks.
That which slackens into a
loosened purse and beer house
poverty sing the polyphony's
of the dead, blackened by
the toll life takes while it forsakes
what between the lines it read
to undo its epiphanies.
Words got terse!
Verbs got assigned before the
vowels were delivered first.
Worse, wasted beyond the
harbor lights that dot the night
shore with lightbulb stars and
wraps itself in fishnet tights,
are the sisters of the swaying bars,
who stutter and lose themselves in verse.
Tongue twisters, a sole rehearsal.
Surrendering their souls
to role reversal in hopes to
someday reimburse.
They'll marry and be covered
in connubial blisters helped
along by soothing butter.
They also serve who sit and wait
even if they masturbate,
though especially if they can enumerate
the difference between
the cash and clutter.
Trash my rhymes, though
leave my dimes to generate.
Never at a loss for words,
though at a loss when
paying the fines, and
that is hard to tolerate.
This train of thought may not have
made much sense, (even as it rolls
out of steam) but it cost
you nothing at all to ride it.
COMMENCE. The light is
green!
AND IT WILL be leaving
again in an hour or less.
Get inside it.
Perchance to dream.
Half an hour to RETRENCH
if accompanied by your
mister's and the veil of longing
they fail to address. Remember:
IF YOU HAVE A LISP,
your lips move slower
when you kiss her!
But if you lick her,
the drool might drown her quicker
than she screams. Try not
to trick her! You picked her!
And to the victor goes the spoils
that doesn't mainly go to the vicar,
the rest goes to the doctor keeping
both seams from getting sicker.
One lies thicker, the other low and close to his coils.
One much closer to labor,
the other closer to the fruit of his toil
that his sweat beads allowed him to savor.
Happiest is he, who as an
idiot, neither knows nor cares
Happiest yet is this scribe,
writing on a dare
describing his own self,
unawares. Writing in
his yellow socks, and
rocking in his orange
striped underwear,
while hoping it
clears his blocks.
Opportunity clears
its throat, and grabs
a nap before it knocks.
You can call it a speed bump,
but even a camel has to get
over the hump. And
thumb its nose at
other ropes. And the
monsters asleep in
various lochs who
get all the headlines
but miss all the jokes.


We were all concerned
when Shiva got the shakes.
All of the apologists gathered,
all the forms it takes
to fill out with nervous
insurers standing by
'lest his epilepsy be used
as an alibi to lower
the interest rates.
His children, unalarmed,
outside on the balcony
perambulate,
while the doctors give
Lord Shiva another try.
Some cry, some delay
as the priests in the temple
stand mute and pray
behind their thick and
perfumed drapes.
And though he plummets
at the weight of a thousand
strings in praise, the rupture
within him brings,
a coiled scorpion's
glance at the vomit of epiphanies
he used to sing. And all the
trees it used to make, dance
with the same winds the night's
truant lullaby betrays.
And entrance with the willows,
the moonlight's shape.
The grapes press on
so why not shall we?
The days filled up well with
Shiva, that's why
I hope he stays.


'Tis not always who is first to the mountain
who is the king of it, sometimes it be the last.
As breaking into diamonds are the coals that
life has already gotten past, it contrasts this
with shallow graves which wriggles through
wrath, its worms and sallow weeds. Entranced in
nuclear thoughts. In abstract math.
While a cyclist rides a psychopath trying
to out pedal his misdeeds.


Seems to me at times that the key to the free trade agreements are to stifle and control individual initiative, dominance of the workforce, and allowing companies and manufacturers to cut corners in the name of profits,which fewer and fewer hands control, without being held accountable to higher competitive standards or better resource management. The quality of our stuff erodes as the price of the quality of life rises. And why is it now much easier for me to buy Chinese made goods in Milan, when the higher quality Italian craftsmanship is being priced out of its own market, in its own homeland? That is ridiculous. And an uneasy sign of things to come. Labor markets benefit from wars, whose escapees drive down the costs of employment, while driving a black market economy which steals from the normal economy and its ledgers. And making divisions in the electorate easier to manipulate and maintain.


Happiest is he who realizes his predicament, and lets it save him.


Most of the evil of the world is cowardly and hides it's face.


Happiest is he who is a complete and total idiot, and neither knows nor cares.


The problem lies mainly with the idiots who aren't sure, what type of idiot they are. And the path to 'ENLIGHTENMENT' is aided considerably when, like your blood type, you know what category of idiot you fall into.


It just may be that the key to achieving LOVE AND PEACE, is first getting all of the love and peace assholes out of the way.


Despite all of the safe romantic propaganda, men and women come together, as much to fight as to love. IT'S THAT WAY, PERIOD. The template was created that way. Still, the love and respect guides the fighting through the barriers to keep its integrity pure. That the grapes may be grabbed without damage to the vine. And a bottle from the grapes of wrath are still better than a bottle upside your head.


Concerning another country, if you use a MANILA folder, with the proper stamps, but without an address, does it automatically get sent to the PHILLIPINES?


IF THE FOODS THEMSELVES DON'T KILL YOU,
then opinions about them will.
One way or another, no one gets out
of this world alive.


Censorship takes the form it needs to take to convince you that it isn't that, while effectively still being that. It is like unto a model with a set of clothes for each color, each time she shows up in the black outfit, we go 'Oh look, there's censorship!' But whenever the same model, wears any other clothes, any other color, we fail to see her as the same model dressed in different clothes. In any other color, she is called a different thing, and gets away with still being censorship with a different hat on and another perfume. Getting the rest of the village to shout you down is an effective form of censorship once they are manipulated by those who do that sort of thing.


Your mirror always has two reflections, even when you are not standing in front of it. Why? The mirror does not just record your IMAGE, but your REFLECTION, and your reflection is a matter less of projection than IMPRESSIONS, which are electro magnetic and register on certain materials, like glass, as does sound on a tape recording. And impressions stick around to influence later projections. Your mirror more accurately reflects your self impressions more consistently than it does your image of yourself that others see.


In marriage, there IS NO RACE. Just, 'yes love', 'no love', and 'I swear, I was totally drunk and only touched her tits!' To look into the eyes of a real person is to SEE them and not what you are looking at. When love looks back, it is the first thing that you see. All the rest is garnish.


THE LESS WE ALLOW OF DESIRE, the more we have of demands and their neuroses.


History is written to favor who hides behind it dictating to it.


You are each better off in the meantime, concocting your own histories. Even much of our individual family stories have been compromised by family politics and social considerations.


The next revolution WILL TAKE PLACE in your pants. I just can't put my finger on it. Stay tuned for more info.


...and don't forget that drinks are on the house. Unless they are scattered out over the lawn.


An idol of my last life's youth were the tremendously awesome singer, multi-instrumentalist, producer, RICKY SKAGGS. High sweet piercing appalachian tenor, what they call 'plaintive', which could sing to Lazarus to keep the flies off of him while he were waiting for Jesus, and with a command of seemingly every country, folk and mountain instrument, he set a standard, not yet surpassed, but which raised the bar. Not just in country music but also in my heart and estimation of how much I would need to joyfully dedicate myself to my craft, to even begin to measure up to my own estimation. A shout out of respect to him and his situation, wherever it might find him. This is a man you would want to sing at your funeral, as then more angels are guaranteed to gather round and lift you. A wonderful arranger, an American original. Master Skaggs is what can happen when you put your time in.


No man ever loses time trusting God. Only patience.


Nor do we have to know WHO or WHAT God is. As long as IT knows, my investment in faith pays back what I pour into it. What we believe comes back.


A shout out of respects to master KEITH JARRET, whose WELL TEMPERED CLAVIER by Bach, and GURDJIEFF PIECES we are catching up to in these days. Speaking of bottles of wine, master JARRET ages like a vintage sherry. When he plays, it conjures in my mind, a delighted but determined child riding a bicycle through a nice sunny city park, while eating at the same time, an ice cream cone, running slightly late on his way to his lesson.


FREEDOM OF SPEECH? Not if you are an athlete, and your sport has commissioners.


Perfection isn't as difficult as our issues with it. It is far easier to attain perfection when you don't know what it is. KNOWING, while an ally to excellence, can be a barrier to perfection, who prefers her suitors to be more lucky, than learned. And more prepared than precise.


A Trojan horse couldn't be a Trojan horse without attractive features. POLITICAL CORRECTNESS, has a few redeeming qualities, though mainly to obscure its greater evil, to silence dissent, and to dull awareness and responsibility for what is. If we can raise men to be men, we won't have to TEACH them much of anything. Manhood and its nobility, looks after its own laws and the natural balances thereof. And honey's, we are all racists and each dealing with it the best we can. We are all a bunch of chauvinists growing up and trying hard to look a bit less retarded than the next guy. And we are many nationalists. Laws raise karma, rules reduce. If we are here, we have all been given a little bit of something to work with. On behalf of the past and on behalf of the future. Even Angels take on human karma and work with the same crap we do. It is what is required, and we get on with it. We are ALCHEMISTS, we take the base matter of circumstance and distill it, until it becomes the gold worthy of our efforts and our claim.


WE WILL NOT BE ENTIRELY NEUTERED! All real men idolize MIKE TYSON. Don't have to know why. He tells the truth, and he is feared more for that THAN FOR HIS FISTS. And has survived all of the usual predictability that the man threw at him.


Leopards may not be able to change their spots, but a smart leopard knows that it can still change lawyers before it is too late.


NOAH'S FALLEN ARCHES
were of no concern to his able bodied crew.
They would forge what papers were necessary
while their mission were forging through.
Though embarrassing to the master previously
mentioned, it were not enough to curtail convention
and blur, and take up more space in his mind, than the space
he had to travel through, bending gravity while
gaining time to get to her, and moving towards suspension.


...and then the rabbit looks at me and says: 'Look, I just escaped from a hat. So you didn't see me, ok?' This were an existential rabbit. He wore a baseball cap, and would lift it up off of his head and say, 'TA DA', and expect that you would get the little joke his sense of irony were making. A rabbit is usually pulled from a deep top hat, though not many are known to wear them. So this rabbit just doffs his cap, as if he's falling out of it, winks slyly and then goes on about his bushy tailed business. He expects, like all nature creatures, that you'll get the irony of it all in your own sweet time. And that you'll laugh, for what is the point of there being ironic head gear wearing rabbits, some favoring bandanas, if not to get you to see the grace of a sudden smile?


Too much pity rivals the emotions for clarity. And makes of sentiment an easy thief.


K.D.LANG and the Sis Boom Bang! Yeah, bitches!


An artist's life, like a black man's, is an exercise in crisis management.


A woman once told me as a much younger man that sleepy eyes were sexy. So I started taking a lot more naps.


We describe FATAL OPTIMISM as being like the RHINOCEROUS who owned an antiques shop and who were certain that as soon as he did something about his horn, business would start to pick up.


My favorite dinosaur in the ZOOATHALON is a THESAURUS.


Yes, young blades, women DO love flowers. But not as much as they love a good cream. Kill two pigeons with one bean and get them a cream with flower extracts in it. AND NEVER underestimate the value of what a good cream can do for a woman. Or a man. The key to longevity? A good cream!


Another key to longevity is a good lawyer.


Sananda's 17th prayer: May you live long enough to grow in love with your values.


A shout out of respects to an old haunting ground, Orlando Florida's CHURCH STREET GYM, where we got our boxing chops together, under the tutelage of the famed JIMMY WILLIAMS. Those disciplines stay with you for a lifetime (or two), and apply themselves to other means. Once a fighter, always a fighter.


What matters in politics ISN'T left or right, since both the left and the right hand are still controlled by the head behind the steering wheel using both hands to steer the car, the electorate, in which direction the driver wills it to go. The only question is which hand do you like scratching your belly the most?


Rape is murder and its punishment should not be taken lightly. It kills a mind which can never again hold the same worldview. Nor water without much leakage. Its dreams forever seen through a cracked prism of quiet self despair and unworthiness.


We are never fully satisfied if life not meet us at the altar of our expectations. Yet we are never really happy if it does. And we are like this. The destination is the journey itself.


The road is as narrow as your mind is. And as wide as your dream.


Also dedicated to EMANUEL DEXTERITY. He keeps his hands in his pocket a lot!


ED LIMATO, clean up on aisle 4, ED LIMATO clean up on aisle 4!


AWARENESS IS CONTAGIOUS.


We have a right to our spirit, a universal right, no matter how strenuously others may pray against it or wish it away as fantasy.


And in time, clarity becomes the witness.


These ARE the dream dimensions. This dimension of our interaction included. Once we surrender to its atmosphere, we belong to it, and the dreams (or nightmares) begin.


Now THAT'S a girl I'd like to get to the bottom of!


One door, however unexpected, still but leads to another. Rusty hinges and all.


To be governed by laws is a higher cause,
to be burdened by rules is the use for schools.
For us fools while we pay our dues in them.


Animals have little to do with rules, they are too busy living the laws.
And not enough time to enjoy, but enough time for us to regulate our flaws.


Never at a loss for words, but always at a loss
when it comes to paying the fines.


We define a fatal flaw as one we would fight to the death to keep.
And a fatal dream as one that never lets go of sleep.


Again, ATTENTION ACTIVATES LOGIC.


To Japan.


COPYRIGHT SANANDA FRANCESCO MAITREYA
MILANO 23th MAY 2011
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED

www.SanandaMaitreya.com