Alcoholism

I AM an alcoholic.
I do not understand people.
        Confusing, at best.
Or is it that I AM the confused one.
Bebe de mi copa.  
Come de mi plato.
Esta conmigo.

One once said, 
"I drink to forget,
I write to remember."
What is it I want to forget?
Have I forgot?


My Heart calls out,
Sushanna! Sushanna!

Free Bib E.Z.

People are too much for me

I wanna be free

I wanna be free.

People filled with jealousy

They are not free

They are not free

People want the BIG E.Z.

But it ain't free

No, it ain't free.

The Power of the Symbol

As I lay, with the weight from the stone weighing down upon my chest, I could feel my consciousness  gather beneath my forehead. My eyes shut, I can see a glowing orb spinning and dancing. This orb is aligned with the center of consciousness currently residing near my forehead. The light emanating from this thing dampens and, now, clearly I see two quartz (or maybe it was amethyst) crystals bound together with cordage in a perpendicular cross of maybe two inches--spinning madly yet never faltering from its' intended pattern. My conscious attention is focused impenetrably on the scene. The light shifts, as if an aura of color is being projected out from the depths of its crystalline structure. Now there is no doubting the alignment with my third eye conscience mass pulsating and bubbling beneath the surface of my head--like the law of mutual attraction, these two centers have honed in their tractor-beams on one another. All the while, still spinning at a constant rate, bobbing just barely up and down. The light now is shifting in and out of patterns, and one of these patterns sticks. Circles. Or so they appear to be, and each containing a symbol within; it is these which make contact at the crown of my skull. They spin and spin and spin, and make their way down my head. The feeling I get is nearly indescribable--some divine ecstasy at work. I was paralyzed--no movement--shoot, I coulda been dead for all I knew or cared. All I cared about at that time was the continuation of the rotating cross of quartz, the lights swirling down my body, and the zen of it all; but I had to come back, as we always do. My unconscious mind knew this, for the swirling lights became unbalanced. The rotation not as perfect. This was near my sternum, about where the hematite was lying. Something finally 'snapped' and the connection was lost; however, I arose from the situation with a deep calm. A miracle had just occurred in my own bed.

Lake Captive

Slipped into a dream from the couch, and this is what I seen: I seen a magnificent trailer as wide as a football field, as long as a warehouse, as deep as a lake, and filled with water. At first, the water appeared dark and ominous as a lake; this appearance kept as the woman in our merry band of three flung a gold 'whipping' chain down into the depths--not on purpose. Now to my recollection, she was the going with the third member of the present company--who that was or is is beyond my present mental grasp, so on we go. I asked if she wanted to go down there sometime--me, envisioning myself up next to her in the dark abyss, on our little adventure. It was about this very moment that the rumblings were first distinguished from our chatter. Something was amidst in this cavernous pool. We checked our surroundings: we were situated on what appeared to be a boat dock, the only one in the whole trailer, and this place was big, I mean BIG. There were lights above us, but the light receded the farther from the dock one got. We never got far, for as we inspected, another rumble emanated up from below. The ripples, finally reaching watery surface, were undulating and smooth.  This was it. They found us. We dove into the water, as the whole trailer shook. Whatever it was that had the mountainous force to budge this holy ark of water must have been the size of a continental slag and have the ability to sheer tops from mountains and smoke a carton of reds a day and spew great globs of burning oil across the land and mock G-d. We were beneath the surface of the water, now clear, and could make out the side of our encampment under siege--it kept shuddering. I looked up, into the light, and felt the water being displaced, starting a roll, and off we go. But, the trailer settled once more on it's axle--one final moment of rest before the symphony let in with the horns and hellfire was loosed from her bridle. The whole container went reeling, rolling, over we went, water and all. I watched from below as we all spilled from our trailer. Whether luck or fate, the roof split and we were washed out safely on the ground, at the feet of our captors. Safe at last.


>The deep unconscious mind, contained within, under siege - under attack - from powers without.  

This Means Nothing.

Sólo en sueños.
Vemos lo que significa  
Verdad!

She will remain with me forever, trapped in my dreams. I am fine with this. It's been going on so long I hardly notice. That is a lie, I do notice. And, while I am being honest, I love the dreams she's in. They always feel so right, so at home, and I awake feeling great - and all alone. Then my "real" life seeps back in, and the unadulterated pain is fought back with the booze and the drugs...Chasing it all back down the drain with the metaphysical broomhandle, like a bad cat. 
I don't want her to leave, and she won't. She will stay with me, figuratively. Physically, she is with him. I didn't fight for her. I was caught up in my own life, my own dealings, being a mindless, selfish junky. Now I am lost inside my own mind. The landscape has changed, the set and setting are all different from my memories--what little I hold on to tightly. Grasping for lost and forgotten details. Knowing I may never see them again--empty space. But, I go on living because this world ain't for the dead...and I ain't dead just yet. As long as I am here, now, I have a place. A reason to be. I seek so I may find, discover, remember. What was meant to be is. We are living it. 

'Caught in a Turnstile' by BB

'Caught in a Turnstile'

Steely, blue smoke

Rising up through ash

The foggy Phoenix

Caught in a blaze.

All of to-day

Rolled into yester-days.

I got to escape

this maze--

Before I get caught 

in the turnstile 

of a meddling life.

That's life. 

Bittersweet, nicotine

Blackened coffee grind

A song so sweet,

You'll sing

Melodies of strife and pride. 

But we gotta--

We got to--

We got to escape

this maze--

 Before we get caught 

in the turnstile 

of a meddling life.

That's life. 

There's more to this.

There's got to be--

more to this.

One more kiss

before I take the road

'neath my feet.

Disappear--

down an unseen street. 

 No time for "Good-bye's"

Can't stop for "Hello's"

Maybe you don't,

but every One knows--

I got to escape,

But this maze

Is life.

.Eternity.

--------------------

Written by a-man (B.B.)

Copy&Write

Your own damn poem.

Sick

These people--NO! these talking apes--are making me sick.

Today is a Good Day.

Ahhhh, when it all falls down! Falling down, falling apart is as good a place as any to start.

A Man

Melting faces in caves, hallucinating the end of days.
Is that the Christ, or just another slave?

For am I not a slave to life, until I choose to die like a Christ--
Reborn again, a free-man.

Certainly, most certainly, Amanitas in the Sky.
We all must die. 

If-- (A Poem by Rudyard Kipling)

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a man, my son!