"Livin' Like a Lusty Flower" ~ SCROLL DOWN!!! Share Some Life With Me!

"Livin' Like a Lusty Flower" ~ SCROLL DOWN!!! Share Some Life With Me!
"Once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right"





Saturday, December 29, 2007


The Rose Is A Flower of Love - The Red Roses Are For Love Triumphant


Eric Clapton

And how do I choose and where do I draw the line

Between truth and necessary pain?

And how do I know and where do I get my belief

That things will be all right again?

What words do I use to try and explain

To those who have witnessed all my tears?

And what does it mean to know all these things

When love's been wasted all these years

When love's been wasted all these years.

Standing in the shadows

With my heart right in my hand,

Removed from other people

Who could never understand.

I was a pilgrim for your love,

A pilgrim for your love,

A pilgrim for your love,

I was a pilgrim for your love.

It's like living in a nightmare,

Like looking in the blackest hole,

Like standing on the edge of nothing,

Completly out of control.

Now where have I been all these years

And how come I just couldn't see?

Like a blind man walking 'round in darkness,

I was a pilgrim for your love,I was a pilgrim for your love.

Standing in the shadowsWith my heart right in my hand,

Removed from other peopleWho could never understand.

ChorusI was a pilgrim for your love.A pilgrim for your love.

I was a pilgrim.

Pilgrim for your love

Sunday, December 16, 2007

it ain't zappa but it could be

a friend of mine was having an exasperating day
just not good
in his thick Russian accent he says to me:
"you know what I hate selya (celia)?"
"no" i say
"what do you hate?"
he says in his best Moscou
"i hate stupid people, and people who don't listen"
"me too!" i chimed in!
he's been a good friend and he's watched out for me
we are world's apart in our ideologies, politics, the way
we think, we disagree on most things, rather pleasantly
and I appreciate that. I do enjoy his company. And damned
if he didn't nail a sentiment that is echoed in so many of
my favorite artists and my heart as well.
"Think it Over" aka "The Grand Wazoo"
or "Dumb All Over, " "Idiot, Bastard Son", "Andy"
or "Cosmic Debris" ("look here brother,
who you jiving with that Cosmi Debris")
by Frank Zappa provide a much needed
relief, and here I am giggling at Tony now. He'd absolutely
hate Zappa and probably Bukowski if he read more than just
these poems (though perhaps not the poems I offer here).
Still, I can hear him with his best "Russe" Hot Frusration,
shaking his head mumbling "stooped peepul!"
I immediately thought of this poem.
Told him I'd write/type/print it out for him (lucky you!
now you get to read it too!),
it ain't zappa's but it could be...
the same exhausted, frustrated sentiment
both this bukowski and zappa i think are often misunderstood
oh there ain't no doubt, both have serious A$$hole
they also attract butterflies
(read: Butterflies, from "What Matters Most is How You
Walk Through the Fire" pg. 57)
and have a 'bluebird in their heart'
(The Bluebird: pg. 120 "The Last Night of Earth Poems"
I also include
"The Road to Hell"
(pg. 70 "The Flash of Lightening Behind the Mountain"
as they seem rather in the same vein...I hope you enjoy them
Perhaps they seem sarcastic
but to me...simply, nakedly honest...
for Tony.
Jesus Christ,
some people are so dumb
you can hear them
splashing around
in their dumbness
as their eyes
look out of their
they have
most of their
parts: hands, feet,
ears, legs, elbows,
intestines, fingernails,
noses and so
but there's nothing
they are able to speak,
form sentences-
but what
comes out
of their mouths
are the stalest
concepts, the most
warped beliefs,
they are the repository
of all the obvious
they have
and it hurts me
to look at them
listen to them,
I want to
run and hide
I want to
escape their engulfing
there is no
horror movie
no murder
the world
goes on
and they
go on
my guts to pieces.
the road to hell
if only there were more magic people
to help us get through
this strange life.
surprisingly there are a few.
the problem being that often
their magic doesn't hold up
for long
because they begin to
think it's because
they are special
when really it's almost an off-hand thing
like some damned crazy unearned
and when the magic people
begin to misuse thier
begin to use it
in the wrong ways
it vanishes
that's a
it's one of the most
unalterable laws
of the gods and the
and there is
nothign sadder or more
than the once-gifted ones
still trying to work their
for the
which never offers,
but only
I think of all the poets I have ever read it is Bukowski that gives me the most hope about my own writing. He writes about everything, all the time. So do I. When I was younger I was much less afraid to share, but after having received so much criticism, small comments, innuendo, I found myself retreating. For so long I have edited myself, been afraid to show my work (yeah, I know you don't believe me...but trust me for everything I've ever sent...I've re-worked those pieces, cutting, slicing and editing! I am not like Neil Young...very rarely but upon occasion the first draft is the last, more often than not I'll write four pages and throw it away, ah the delete key!...you may not believe it, but Bukowski has given me my hope back. Heck, he writes poems about little old ladies, shopping for groceries! Makes me realize whether or not it may seem important to others, whether it is the smallest of mundane details like "stupid people" in 'Splashing," writing is what I do...regardless of whether I try to publish or not. I'll end this piece with yet another Charles Bukowski musing: "my wrists are rivers, my fingers words"
Who is the Grand Wazoo? "Anybody in any one of those lodge organizations with a stupid hat on," said Frank, adding "actually, the guy with the biggest, dumbest hat is the Grand Wazoo." THINK IT OVER- The early name for "The Grand Wazoo" as excerpted from Roman's www. at http://globalia.net/donlope/fz/index.html
splashing: "Last Night of the Earth Poems" pg. 238
the road to hell: "the Flash of Light Behind the Mountain" pg. 70