Middle Ground

Thoughts streaming and beaming,
striking back in a weave
of interpretive meaning.
Depriving eyes of their times
to internalize the vies
of our different lives.
Can't seem to convince
my self confidence,
of the truth that hides
behind my longing-to-be blind eyes.
Quiet with no thought,
and speaking with only sound,
allows my true opinions to be found.
One can only stay in Limbo for so long,
when not knowing the intentions
of all who are involved.
Bright Eyes may help me see
whats inside of me.
But Sweet Sugar Plum
will always be with me.
My need to be free
comes striking to me.
Since all I know
is what I allow it to mean.
How long can I wait
until it wont come back to me,
and I see myself
for what I allow to be seen.

Buddhism

'The Four Noble Truths':
1. All life is suffering.
2. The cause of suffering is desire.
3. Desire can be eliminated.
4. The way to end desire is the 'Eightfold Path'

'The Eightfold Path': "VISCLE MC"
1. Right Views
2. Right Intent
3. Right Speech
4. Right Conduct
5. Right Livelihood
6. Right Effort
7. Right Mindfulness
8. Right Contemplation

Old Rambles

1. The sun bleached man's
declaring Sam on a man.
But to young to fight right,
jus' lookin' for a bed bite.
Window creepin' stare tall,
Hidden 'bove the border crawl.

Stuck inside the opaque,
now lookin' for a clear break.
Still free inside of me.
Can't come back, or let 'em see
this mountain man that's come of me.

2. I sit back and watch myself go crazy,
listening through my eyes -
and speaking through my ears -
to my peers. And see as they talk -
with their ever so dears.

Naked under their clothes,
but covered up so -
I can feel them dripping from
their soles as they crow.
Now I'm hearin' them thinkin'
as they roam 'bout the globe.
Then they stop and wonder as their buried down low.

Then they dream what I've seen,
and I see where they've been.
But to me that they'd dream,
proves to me that I've seen.
And accomplished my dreams
of who I wanted to be.

Time's Are A Changin'

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall..."

This section from "Howl" defined a time and a culture, that is still apparent in today's society. As long as there is a society, and standards among economic classes, there will be a visible divide among people. Walking down Queen Street West you cant help but notice the 'anti-conformist' hipsters, rubbing their vintage bottles, and waiting for their 'skinny jeanie' to appear in a cloud of Marlboro smoke. To grant them wishes of 'unique' American Apparel clothing, and musty ol' jackets covered in their Great Grandmothers perfume.
In today's society every non-conformist-hipster teen seems to 'leave to follow.' Leaving traditional trends and fashion, to follow a larger, easily spotted corporation we call 'Trendy'.
I'm lying you say?
Then ask the narcissistic 'man'ikin standing out front Abercrombie why he chooses "AnF" versus the latest attic find. Unfortunately to your dismay, the reasoning boils down to much more then what appeared under his Christmas Tree.
But whose complaining, I'm just making it apparent that its too bad our lives are run by such a meaningless thread.
And of course I'm going to speak/type my opinion because the "I'm going to write a letter" line, has now become, "I'm going to write a letter - many of them - on my blog - for no one to read."

A Rolling Stone

A Rolling Stone
by: Robert W. Service

There's sunshine in the heart of me,
My blood sings in the breeze;
The mountains are a part of me,
I'm fellow to the trees.
My golden youth I'm squandering,
Sun-libertine am I;
A-wandering, a-wandering,
Until the day I die.

I was once, I declare, a Stone-Age man,
And I roomed in the cool of a cave;
I have known, I will swear, in a new life-span,
The fret and the sweat of a slave:
For far over all that folks hold worth,
There lives and there leaps in me
A love of the lowly things of earth,
And a passion to be free.

To pitch my tent with no prosy plan,
To range and to change at will;
To mock at the mastership of man,
To seek Adventure's thrill.
Carefree to be, as a bird that sings;
To go my own sweet way;
To reck not at all what may befall,
But to live and to love each day.

To make my body a temple pure
Wherein I dwell serene;
To care for the things that shall endure,
The simple, sweet and clean.
To oust out envy and hate and rage,
To breathe with no alarm;
For Nature shall be my anchorage,
And none shall do me harm.

To shun all lures that debauch the soul,
The orgied rites of the rich;
To eat my crust as a rover must
With the rough-neck down in the ditch.
To trudge by his side whate'er betide;
To share his fire at night;
To call him friend to the long trail-end,
And to read his heart aright.

To scorn all strife, and to view all life
With the curious eyes of a child;
From the plangent sea to the prairie,
From the slum to the heart of the Wild.
From the red-rimmed star to the speck of sand,
From the vast to the greatly small;
For I know that the whole for good is planned,
And I want to see it all.

To see it all, the wide world-way,
From the fig-leaf belt to the Pole;
With never a one to say me nay,
And none to cramp my soul.
In belly-pinch I will pay the price,
But God! let me be free;
For once I know in the long ago,
They made a slave of me.

In a flannel shirt from earth's clean dirt,
Here, pal, is my calloused hand!
Oh, I love each day as a rover may,
Nor seek to understand.
To ENJOY is good enough for me;
The gipsy of God am I;
Then here's a hail to each flaring dawn!
And here's a cheer to the night that's gone!
And may I go a-roaming onUntil the day I die!

Then every star shall sing to me
Its song of liberty;
And every morn shall bring to me
Its mandate to be free.
In every throbbing vein of me
I'll feel the vast Earth-call;
O body, heart and brain of me
Praise Him who made it all!

Explanation

This is now my dumping ground, to spew the thoughts, opinions, ideas, poems, and pictures that flow in and out of my day to day life.