Writings: Dear Sons and Sisters of Sevens…
Dear Sons and Sisters of Sevens…
A cheetah had been raised to believe that if he outran the hyenas he was raised with, he was being unfair. This sat well with the cheetah while he was young, but as he began to mature and stretch, began to realize that keeping his speed beneath the radar was in fact increasingly unfair to him. One day, stricken with the madness of potential, he took off like a shot. The hyenas laughed, although for the first time uncertain whether they laughed at him or at themselves. Not liking this uncertainty, the hyenas had cheetah killed. By the grace of sweet nature, he was shot down while running at full speed, which means in essence that he just dropped his body like a shawl, and kept on going. Cheetah’s head now hangs above the door of the hyenas pub for all to see. A holographic thought-form hovers with it, expressing gratitude that finally it got a chance to live, however briefly, and die as what it really was. The grace being neither in the living or the dying, but in the simple truth of being.
…You’ll pardon me, some of these scribblings are pre-medicinal.
We are pleased to announce that ‘The GUILOTEENS’ CD: ‘Too Sharp For School’, has shipped platinum! The heads at Treehouse are rolling with glee! This release is being distributed by our ‘PUN’ label of friends.
A cheetah was running to catch a bus before it dawned on him that he could outrun the bus. After the cheetah was pulled over by the cops, he was fined for breaking the law of outrunning buses. Frustrated and bored with over-crowded buses, the cheetah decided to return to the jungle, only to be dismayed that the buses were now running through the jungle as well, not to mention that, the ‘Beware of Cheetah‘ signs had gotten more prominent.
How does cheetah preserve its speed?
To rest, they dream of Turtles.
Cheetahs aren’t really trying to outrun anything,
They are merely attempting to fly.
Even lions dream of cheetahs,
Who seem not to have to,
Work so hard.
Until Mrs. Cheetah comes around
Young felix can only stretch
Those mutant spots accompany he, Each one, a game of ‘fetch’.
Some cheetahs dream of Walcott
and writing with a muscular hand.
Other cheetah dream of masturbation,
For this is the ink that they demand.
A cheetah once dreamed of Lord Byron
And instead of running, wrote,
Yet as a writer, only wrote of running,
Then ran out of words, so ended up broke.
The difference between monkeys
and lions is that monkeys like
being challenged, Lions don’t.
Monkeys like puzzles because,
In being challenged they
‘Grow and Expand’
Lions saw through
‘grow and expand’ ages ago
And use this time to
For a lion, one can only grow into an older lion, there is no where else to go.
When the Lion loses its roar
The jungle loses its heartbeat.
When the lion is unsure,
The whole of the jungle is.
In whatever you do, aim always for clarity. Ambiguity breeds mistrust.
What do Mexicans call America? Their border with Canada.
Cheetah chase chatter away from the mind
that would attempt to change and challenge its flow,
speed is not concept, to cheetah it’s law and stretching its spine
to deepen its pulse is a task not left to somebody else, who can
only outrun their last ambitions, and whose breath can yet bare
the weight of their own confessions, so banter to and fro,
as if all one needs to know is vague impressions
of the counter weight of time and the hammer that it throws
this is the hammer chased by cheetah, who is not a cheater per se,
just because he ramps his speed by chasing his demons away.
I swear in an un-drunken stupor
I once read ‘pomes’, written by gnomes
Who tapped out the verse with their gums
The words were actually quite super
And fit quite well in my thumb
I got back in my mini-cooper
And mini-cooped my butt back home.
…and in these poems written by gnomes
Some letters were syllables and some words were stones
Some vowels danced at the tip of the tongue
And they love to use the word ‘montague’
(this is where I take my cue) and their consonants are sung
Compared to which Beethoven wrote drones and subtitles for ‘pas de deux’
(this poem has a crush on you, and doesn’t know how to end, I recommend)
A BIG BIG SNEEZE; AT YOU!!!
Cheetahs chase chances more than dreams
Who has time to sleep, when the savannah is waist deep
In binoculars, road signs and constantly shifting paradigms
And hunters who value its rugged hide, soft on the inside
And still expensive where the rules are more flexible in the game
There isn’t the space in the wild bush to fumble
Foxes have holes, cheetahs have rumble.
An antelope, an interloper in these neck of the woods
Met his fate at the end of the strike of a blur stretched
Out in space. Who knew it was a race?
He crashed into the butt of a tree, now etched
With both the blood of defeat, and the gains of victory.
The antelope let out his life with a gurgle
Death after all is no hurdle, life wears tight its’ girdle
But then lets out its’ hem when breathing its’ last.
The future is far more fertile when forward fires
Burn the blueprints of an aborted past.
A cheetah once sought an editor
Who took it for a predator
And had it shot on sight
And this is why cheetahs read,
But cheetahs never write.
Lions and cheetahs aren’t too fond of one another
Yes they belong to the same race, but ‘whatever’
One hunts by day, the other by night,
But in the magic hour both hog the light.
A lion will kill cheetah if he isn’t cautious
So cheetah move with stealth, and sidestep like
Warthogs snort their willingness to breathe
Whatever of life they absorb, meanwhile the
Bows advance, the crimson waste of open wound
Soon to find its mark. Then it goes dark
And then a fresh spark. Now it swims in menacing
Circles in the high waves as shark.
Stranded in the high grass,
A cheetah is perched with poise
Ready to pounce in whatever direction
He thought he heard the noise.
His teeth write final epitaphs
Which carve themselves in stone
With whatever is left over
Of the carcass and its bones.
What is tough for cheetah is to see other beasts
Rewarded for their proximity to he, while for
Being he, he takes the heat, while lesser
Beings feast, then puffy chested, walks
Into parades of bilious calamity,
Meanwhile cheetah stalks and fumes
And outwits taxidermists furnished rooms.
There is no drama when cheetah leave home
He just point nose, sniff air, and go.
Break off easily
Poet limps and
Is spotted from a
Distance by the
Cheetah he’s been
Writing of. Will it
Attack or were his
The poem ends
Either way, does now
Old cheetah knows, who
Eat storyteller dies verbose,
The vowels get stuck
In their spots
And the consonants
Settle where dreams
Are not. Chase
Is to cheetah
As word is to pun
Poet to drop
His pen and run?
It was time to switch identities when I realized that I was no longer working for spirit and its inspiration, but for the identity, and its corporation.
Let me be the water for your next wave……
We are the only animals taught to label our habits and enjoyments as addictions and pathologies. It is largely why we suffer so deeply our neuroses and illnesses, which are but the receipts of our self judgements coming to fruit.
Life is habit forming.
There is no greater spell to fall under than accepting in your adulthood that others know better than you what is best for you. This would only be true if you were an idiot.
Master WALT WHITMAN, America’s HOMER, was ostracized during his lifetime because he wrote about more than just daisies and lilies and geese. He heard the song of life and wrote it, and even his mentor, maestro EMERSON turned his back on him as he grew. He wrote the life he saw which is all that any poet can do, if they are to last. He even had to self publish and even under false names, self review. He was mocked. Name another poet more important to the American spirit. Had Abraham been American, he would have written like Whitman, whose language even now, still gurgles through ponds, lakes and streams.
GOD FORBID THAT THE PEOPLE SHOULD GET TOGETHER AND CONFUSE THE DEMOGRAPHIC DATA!!!
‘STEELY DEAD‘, the Steely Dan tribute band announces that Doug Deeper, the drummer has quit to join the K.D. Lang tribute group, ‘Kind of Pink’. They expect to have new dates announced soon.
….Now, just stare at it for 6 more seconds and you’ll have the world record!
We are not independent to be independent, we are for the sake of the music. Were we able to find space for our vision amongst the myriad of artists proposed, matters would swing differently. We are merely surfing the waves which are. When racial profiling matters less to the market, the music will take a bold economic leap forward. Until then, it will continue to sputter and cough until it finally clears its throat of the hayseeds choking it.
The Space Cadets record ‘We don’t have a title yet’ will be released in August. They can be seen on tour in Sept. opening for platinum artists, George Washington Stoner. Available on Qwerty records through UIOP distribution.
The first single, ‘WE ARE ‘HO’S TO OUR TOES’ is already receiving major airplay in 401k markets. The follow-up, ‘POPO ZUDA’ comes out in Sept.
Doubleday announces indefinite postponement of its previously scheduled fall title: THE LENNY KRAVITZ GUIDE TO DATING BRAZILIANS (and where to find them). In its place will be slotted ‘PARIS HILTON: MY LIFE AS SAINT TERESA OF AVILA; the Jailhouse Channelings. We also have scheduled for Christmas, ‘THE BOOK OF COMMAS’, by Zen.
Blogs reveal that a lot of great poetry and writing exists out there. We are a nation of great writers poised to revolutionize literature. Writers are the new rock stars, spread the word!
Poetry is the new songwriting!
Songwriting is the old songwriting!
Today is the first day of the rest of some more bullshit. Count on it!
This is a space saving idea:
Seasons of self pity are. Too much self pity wounds us, again.
Limit feeling sorry for yourself. Rather feel really sorry for those who just don’t get how awesome you are. Feeling sorry for others is a subtle form of revenge.
Another space saving idea: !!
2 monkeys are atop a tree. The first monkey says to the next; ‘Hey, are you not also rather bemused by all of these presumptuous monkey jokes?’ the 2nd monkey replies: ‘That’s because you don’t get them’.
It must always be earnestly remembered that who kills the eagle must die with the eagle. It’s the law.
The great gift offered to man from the angels which programmed us is spiritual perspective. The gift of flight whereby we may see beyond the template of our fear and instead see the cloudbursts that precede miracles, gathering not to threaten, but to celebrate. The great maestro Krishnamurti, says that we must come to see that nothing is too good for our soul. Spiritual perspective is what allows a man to see crisis not as final judgement, but as brave new beginning. The fire comes not to condemn, but to release. The best thing to do when trapped within the fires of release is to do as any sane person would; dance around it like a madman. The ashes you stamp out today, are tomorrows blossoms companion.
The degree to which we allow ourselves to manifest our true worth depends largely on whether we see our anger as a judgement (weapon), or a blessing (tool). I am not angry because I am a lesbian (yes, I am a lesbian trapped in a man’s body!) or because I am mixed race or because I am a bored house-wife in Des Moines, I am angry, period. Anger fell out of Pandora’s girdle and each takes their turn at the tit. There is no actual reason after all for my anger, and it is far too valuable as focussing fuel to so sleepily give away. Who fights it saps their own source, who forges it taps their own source and stays much closer to winning.
Anger is not negative. Wasteful use of anger is.
The point is the hammer as weapon or the hammer as tool. Many nails exist, and with some, you will have to butt heads. Focus your anger and you will focus your pride.
LIFE MADE ME A LOVER and a FIGHTER: otherwise I’d be just a lover.
True race is not about complexion but consciousness.
We were dressed for our magical wedding by the late great maestro Gianfranco Ferré, and for a spell lived next door to him. He really was a great artist and his designs betrayed a real love of the body and its expressiveness. He gave to women a sensuality mixed with sensibility that was even a little sly and cheeky.
He had instead the presence of a great and renowned chef. May his spirit finally find its rest. A few short weeks ago he invited us to attend an event close to his heart, and we were unable to attend . I am not much one for guilt, but I feel a little now. One moment you are saying NO to someone and the next moment they are dead. Party on, life is short.
The PRUNES new live DVD: Life in the Pits, will be indefinitely postponed while the drummer is in rehab drying out. Their debut CD, ‘Wrinkled and Shrink-wrapped’ sold over 60,000 in the Ukraine alone. The DVD will include a rehab documentary as a part of the Bonus Features.
Punk-pop group ‘the bonus features’ will be releasing their live DVD in September. Bonus features will include self interviewed members.
When quarantined, remember this déjà vu, I love you.
The new release by ‘The PERTURBED’ titled “LIFE IS SHORT; BUT FORTUNATELY, MY DICK IS NOT”, is being postponed until a new distribution arrangement can be coordinated.
No man can be happy who looks down his nose at himself.
The man who looks up to himself finds allies easier to command.
We were pretty much designed to survive our own interests.
One mans apparent self destruction, is another’s cleansing process.
We clear our demons the way we do.
….to paraphrase the great one ‘this above all, to thine own self be true’. No man who has tasted freedom can labour for anything less.
THE BRAZIL NUTS tour has been cancelled as we were not able to secure their work visas in the current political climate. We will attempt to re-book some dates with ‘the Pecans’, an American group who share the same songbook and an uncanny resemblance to the members of the Brazilian recording sensations. They will not be made available for interviews. We kindly ask that you not attempt to speak to them at all. For more info contact Jorge Vainos.
Temperament is what makes a Republican, philosophy a Democrat.
Let me just say this; if Abraham Lincoln were alive today, he’d be very, very old……….
Never let anything come at your spirit wrong. Learn to tune out what does. The value you hold for your spirit, is the value life returns to you.
Be divas of your own value, just be simple divas. The simpler the game plan, the more secure the victories.
What divas teach is respect for self value. A true diva would never let anyone hold their value beneath their vision, better you should die than their value lessen for who they are.
A true diva never apologizes for being one, it lowers their value. What lowers the value, lowers the vision.
An eagle can never be happy with pigeon dreams, who are you?
The deader the economy, the more burden it places on its citizens to sustain it. The more alive the economy, the more it invites participation.
One man’s groupie is another man’s spy.
In your quarantine remember this: AS YOUR MEMORY RETURNS, SO DO I.
I trust nothing like I trust my instincts, which I trust above all other facts and figures.
There is a turning point in a mans life when the fear of death is replaced by the even greater fear of not living.
Because we are no longer encouraged to seek spiritual wisdom (as opposed to the opinions of other elders) we lose touch with the simple healing graces of earth. The risk of food poisoning decreases AFTER one remembers to say grace before eating. These prayers were designed by the angels for these very purposes. Again saying grace before eating helps ward off disease just as saying prayers before bed helps to alleviate nightmares. Tell the children that angels exist for that very purpose, to help rescue them from the vampires of sleep. This is irrespective of religious belief, we remind you that prayer preceded all other lusts, including the lust for religious worship. You do not require a prayer card. “Please God bless my food and thank you!”. “Please Angels bless my sleep and thank you for the day”. You can see the difference in the quality of your sleep after including this simple and effective meditation. Namasté.
Indolence is what kills most families, rich or otherwise.
Never has a wit like BILL HICKS been so missed.
In much of Europe, it is taken for granted that one can enjoy MOBY on a Saturday and MOZART on a Sunday. The musical maturity of much of the audiences here are a welcome respite from the over-commercialized rape of music yet on display. The music now is to music what spam is to glazed ham, just enough meat to call it meat but not enough to call it a meal.
…and then there was the politician who, upon being told that he had a mandate, wondered aloud what he would wear…..
When you can love yourself with the same passion when you lose as when you are winning, you’ll stay closer to winning than losing, and come to know victory as more than just the tally of the final score.
..anyway, take this word; there is no true final score, just your own final count, which upon the tremors of sweet death we are invited to release and let fall away.
Day to day, tide goes in, tide goes out. Life goes on.
Governments hold most power over those who most lie.
The simpler the man, the simpler his truth, the less he needs to confirm it.
It is said by some that today’s smoke is 10 x stronger than it was 20 years ago (though for cauliflower it would be noted as an achievement). Thank God, ‘cause in 20 years we’ve gone from Paul McCartney to Jess McCartney and the smoke NEEDS to be stronger.
The great crime against black humanity weren’t that they were made slaves, but victims. A man can if true to his nature prosper as a slave. No man can in the long run ever prosper as a victim. Life avoids victims, for fear that it too will be accused of harming and conspiring against them.
If your father
Was a premature
Does it predispose
2 guys, a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar. Then they realize that it was the wrong joke and walk out again.
…or the 1st chapter will be called ‘Orange, the fruit versus Orange the colour’.
There has never been a suicide rashly considered, no matter its appearance to the outside view. There is pain we understand, and then there is pain we can never understand.
…this is not to encourage suicide. It is to encourage compassion for suicide.
The great news about global warming is that it focuses us more on responsible use of resources. This will in turn fuel new economies and create in its wake, a new rationale. Sometimes great news comes wrapped in bad news.
The new ‘Death By Asteroid’ record, ‘Bottoms Up’, now available!
Singer Urso Vein will be greeting fans tomorrow at 1 o’clock in Perineum Park.
POSTER: Huge white back, with big black writing; THE BEATLES, PERIOD.
Cryptics for sceptics; Jacks occur, Queens happen, Kings are.
The Conflicted Convicts have announced a prisons tour! Go to their website for details! www.Dot.Com
…..their manager, Mr. Amos Newman will be available for pod-questioning tomorrow from 11 – 11:05 A.M., from his office in Van Nuys California.
The deeper we go within ourselves, the deeper we go into life. To ‘know thyself’ is the sum total of the game.
Perceptions and preferences change. When I were younger, the older the wine. Now older, the younger the wine .
Morality is more flexible than we care to admit, especially the closer it gets to money.
What is implanted into our minds becomes a part of the holographic imagery that we project of ourselves into this reality now. Let someone implant in your mind that you are poor, and you will stay poor. Fuck poor, be rich instead!!!
It is your maintenance obligation to your spirit not to let others program for you a reality which you do not wish to see yourself in. You are as rich and successful on your own terms as you allow yourself to be. Mind-games go on because mind games work, or they wouldn’t be invested in and played. An equal mind game is diligently insuring that nobody else’s implants are controlling your destiny, and that no one else’s karma is cancelling out your own. It isn’t about how many lives you’ve lived. It is about how much of yourself you were.
Our beliefs imprison, not our realities.
Wherever you are now, and in exact proportion to how deep the shit is, is the new starting point from which your miracle will be measured. The dirty truth of us is that despite our protests, our demons flee instantly the moment we grow bored with them. We are not in truth, these beasts designed by angels, haunted by our ghosts nearly as much as we are entertained by them. Ghosts too being vain, will also flee the vicinity of those grown tired of their amusements. Get out of an old head, an old head keeps us old. Get into your own and this day plant fresh new seeds of optimism and joy!
Just as you watch one reality on one tv station, then switch stations to see another, so can your reality alter just by switching your mind to a better idea. It doesn’t manifest as quickly as it does when turning TV channels, BUT IT BEGINS TO.
You can use your beginnings as an excuse, or as a point of pride. We all come from somewhere, and where you start is nowhere nearly as important as where you see yourself.
What you see and hold in your mind, somewhere sits and waits for you.
Dream on! Those who dream, draw the cream.
When I grow up to be a man I want to be in the Dixie Chicks. I’ll be the tall dusky one in the middle.
Rest assured that disturbance takes its toll, but it also leaves credit for time served. Focus your seasons of disturbance and put that beast to work for you.
Sometimes the greatest nemesis of power is its own curiosity.
One man’s shareholder is another mans’ slaveholder.
There was a man with a forehead so big, beneath his hairline it read; ‘to be continued’.
Most celebrities are now promoted to the extent that they not raise their head above their images. Once substance is shown, the door is shown to them.
No man can invent anything from thin air as all inventions have preceding airs. I ‘invented’ Post Millennium Rock from all the strands which helped to invent me. Neither did I erect a garage for my car alone (please bring yours!), but to have a shelter for my inspirations that would not be turned away. We aim to create an umbrella whereby the more curious of our brethren, may have fields granted to them according to the size of their imaginations and not be penalized for their daring, but be slapped on the back like studs, who scored the winning touchdown. Post Mil will accept your resume of reasons why the way you express your life urge is as vital as any others, just as it exists, in this moment, now. We are certain that future songs will move us that sound expensively produced. We are as certain and even more excited that songs will bend us that sound as simple as homework, as transparent as air. It is not the money which moves a great production, it is the idea. The more good ideas you have, the less money required to realize them, that is the post-millinium equation.
As a child, I was confused by Wild Boars. I used to think, how can you be wild and a bore? If you were a wild person, would it not preclude you being considered boring? This took a while to figure out.
The MILFS’ next release ‘Slap My Baggy Ass’ will be available in stores on Oct. 8.
All habits have their veil of choice.
All is relative, we are still but a bunch of immigrants to the native –Americans.
Image is a short story told in pictographic language. Who controls our imagery, controls our destiny.
The world heart is a big heart and I come from its rebel portion.
Another shout out of respect to great Maestra Maya Angelou, a living poet like no other and in this fledgling’s opinion our greatest scribe of her grain since Edna St.
She reinvented a language which didn’t quite exist before her, a bridge tongue between masculine and feminine, between the Queens’ English and her native gerbil tone. Her immediacy rivals Whitman’s and scratches with less tension yet no less mystery than Dickenson, Emily. She’s the bomb and leaves bon-bons on the pillow of your mind. It’s not as if you are reading something excellent now. Her books exist, get to purchasing.
…. Ok , I see, you are waiting for Oprah to tell you…. (excuse me!)
The rebels are not against life, they are against its bondage.
Bondage presumes not to remember that it inherits the burden of whom it would bind.
No system can ever work in America which does not validate work ethic and encourage ambition as well as testify to its rewards.
It were Dennis Miller who inspired my writing ‘Losing becomes too easy’. During my last year in Cali, asleep on the couch, a Monday night football game introduction captured his wit announcing, concerning one of the teams recent losses, that’ if you don’t feel the pain, losing becomes too easy’. I’ve always enjoyed Miller’s jawing, but never knew that he was also a songwriter. Big mojo ups to DM. Say something else songwritable!
The next ‘Orpheus in his Underwear’ project is postponed due to a threat from a mysterious group calling themselves, ‘AL-playa-hata’. Any connection between them and former splinter group ‘the player haters’ is said to be entirely coincidental.
My teeth are covered by ‘incidental’ insurance. My coincidental coverage has meanwhile expired………..
The Latin Mass was encoded by Angels billions of our years old. It must not be underestimated the degree to which IT was the solidifying and stabilizing tonic which gave to all tribes a thread of identification which served to unite Christians under a rubric of unity and community. One can yet be an African, a Paraguyan, a Canadian, after the mass is said. Liberalization for its own cause often disrupts more than it dispels. The restoration of the Latin canon will be seen to have plausible impact on the effect of re-centering the church within her center of gravity, the hem of her garment re-threaded and renewed. Bravissimo to the Papa
Benedictus for his insight and courage, and may the lord give him strength.
The Latinate was what provided all of Christian civilization its ‘lingua franca’. We mustn’t forget the high value of a language itself derived from the tongues of angels and the return investment it placed on the raising of our consciousness. Restore the Latin Mass, or Mickey Mouse may as well be leading the prayers.
Philosophy makes a leftist, temperament a righty.
I learned a great deal about myself while a veggie. I mainly learned that I am not a veggie.
BE YOUR OWN CHRIST, you are going to die anyway.
I no longer care who I offend. I only care who I move and that I’ve done my service.
The greatest question of our time is not; ‘Is God real’, but ‘Am I’?
God is ok either way, whether or not we invest faith in him. What matters more to him is that we be willing to invest faith in ourselves.
I love watching birds, they are a great meditation. The thing one notices is how hard they work. When they play, they really play, they even rough-house a little. I have a strange karma whereby I seem to attract dying birds. On a number of occasions , in various residences, they find me and spill what’s left of their heart into my hands. I’ve yet to save one. (except once, a hummingbird, but then the little bastard died again!) My wife freaks out and can’t look. I used to freak out a little as well. Then I came to see the sweet compliment that it was, that our dear air borne neighbours saw me as a solar window and just wished to leave a few flight patterns in my brain. I love eagle, majestic he. I love hummingbird, magic is he. I love pigeon, fair game is he.
I am also reminded of moving to the beach in California and the very first day upon arising seeing a dolphin pushing and nudging along a dead dolphin compatriot who obviously might’ve washed ashore right upon my sandy doorstep. Only the lord knows the degree to which I would have freaked out completely to be greeted on my first day in a new space by a dead dolphin, and on my stretch of all possible places. The presence of the other dolphin insured a less harrowing outcome, and it was breathtaking to witness the effort of the living dolphin to properly escort his friend to his own grave, beneath the waves no doubt. As a Piscean, symbolized by 2 fish, I never quite shook the chill from my spine that it was but nature foreshadowing the last portion of my journey in Cali and indeed, it took the presence of a living dolphin in spirit to attend to the resurrected heart of the dead one he was sent to raise. I have always to friends contended that the song, ‘Dolphin’ from A&V vol. I, was given to me in my sleep by a dolphin that I have had dreams of since a scared little boy, uncertain of his roots. In times of great life stress as a youth, my dreams would remember swimming with him, and the quiet resolutions it washed up on the shore. I have always loved dolphins, I always will. They are true friends of God. We protect them because they have earned it.
Reincarnation, reinvention, what’s the difference?
The balance of our psyche lie in our shadow worlds.
COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA
MILANO 7th JULY 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED