Stop being stupid
Pretty please
Pretty, pretty please

There is not much I ask for;

I give freedom, trust
don’t really pressure
though I am passionate, intense;
I believe with trust
and always, your individualism comes first…

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This guy is amazing
giving me a smile on my face on a Sunday night:

well-dressed in a dive bar
Persian, polished and tight off his ass
harmonizing in (Arabic) scales effortlessly
seamlessly to hipster-electro-pop-rock
fed-up with everyone thinking he is insane
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like a gerbil
my feet churn out the thoughts,
those ghosts that always vanish before I get to the page

more and more, lately
Do No Learn, Explore
such radical thinking
Less Knowledge, More Understanding
although known since a child

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I have grown to hate poetry!

Damn you, poetry…
You demand too much honesty
you force vulnerability.

Why?

These people are cruel,
they all make fun of me
sticks and stones both hurt;
I lied…the rejection stings

Damn you, poetry
you force me to mourn and move on
when I am really in pain,
when I am tired…
You have placed a taboo upon me,
to write or cease living,
and now I can never stop, will never stop

…damn you, poetry!

af

(written on pen and paper, completing my first marble notebook of the project!!!)

Hallways of delusion
warped chaos of sculptures by the modern eye
Abstract three-dimensionality
stretched molded painted from elastic plaster
giggling like Play-doh filled pools of kids

hidden among the gratuity of the humble
buried in a warehouse of unrecognized treasure
in a plain brick building within a forgotten neighborhood
having convinced a city
that the waste, the empty spaces
the artists huddled in corners, out of sight
are the treasures that ultimately
redefine worlds and redirect the course of humanity

to the artist
something broken, torn, stained
is one more opportunity to create something beautiful
for the world;
that creating something beautiful from something ugly
is our purpose

the artist bears the never-ending task of cleaning the
soul of the earth

in these four walls
there is enough of everything
a playground for the kids, the conjurers
making priceless works of art
from the scraps of society;
collected here, gratefully
and taken here, gratefully
for the addiction of creating whatever is not possible

af

(written with pen and paper at Materials For The Arts [mfta.org])

Everybody’s a fucking genius
the louder, the more so

I am just going to drink this beer,
maybe smoke some marijuana,
and pretend to succumb to the idiocy

the world is too smart already;
everybody is right
everybody is, right?

Why bother?
af

(written, dismayed, with pen on paper)

If I am to be honest,
I am angry and confused
most often at other people
most often at myself

the hippies to the egotists agree:
we are a mirror.
everyone in our lives…us
everything…reflections of us
yet
preach
also
our environment is our interpretation
one we must define as opposed to -
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