Poems in Rage and Love with Crazed Sounds Pushing Beyond My Beyond


Do not turn up too loud. Be careful. This goes from gentle to classic earsplittiinloudenbangin one note to the next and if you have heard live Tibetan Bowls you know that they can be taken to the lowest low to a shrill thought impossible, well it is not impossible.

I had a blast recording this. It has a few of my most published poems two I think are personal masterpieces. Can you tell? Probably not. But that is not why I made this recording. I wanted to go beyond even my most experimental capabilities with live instruments. I did. So I Om’d and Namo Abitabha’d a bit just to settle the back heart into motion before an ear explosion happens. Or maybe it is not as risky as I think. Who knows? I don’t. If I did it would sound completely different and that is not why I did it this way.

Stupid background noise had me trash the first 24-28 minute version. So there is some aggression going on. We all need a little aggression.

This is not an easy piece. I would in fact call it about as experimental as I have gotten which is to say Beware Crazed Sounds Ahead. So enter at your own risk. I just wanted to go beyond anything I’ve heard and it may be because it is simply awful or that it just needs work while still being something unheard. I don’t know. Stupid background noise had me trash the first recording so this version has a bit of venom to it. Better to burn on the wing than stooped upon a ladder with some Moloch prince in a three piece suit…

Peace, Lord


Please Lord, lead me by your Love l that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that i may express your will in this this world
Please Lord, Lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your willi in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world
Please Lord, lead me by your Love that I may express your will in this world

Personal prayer that God may lead me along the many paths that I may learn through wisdom, led by his eternal Love, wisdom that my words express will, obedience and active Love in both will and action upon the world around. We should all pray or meditate for the wisdom of Love, for the power of the Will against the many evils that have always lived upon this world. We will never be rid of the asshats who live to steal, cajole, try to trick, play upon good nature and think they have accomplished something. But all they have done is open another door to the probability of an eternal soul locked in silence where it may only lie to itself and the ever molding walls enclosing damned souls. ATT, yes, I have the desire for battle and vengeance was in Psalms as the author begged, prayed God protect and strike down his enemies. ATT needs to go first, then we take the 3 levels of government come November. The Vote is your armor, your weapon, your shield, and if you do not vote or vote to the will of the Great Deceiver then you have struck another blow against America. Please leave. Find a nation that adores at your feet those who hate our democratic republic, those in office who think there are “too many words”, who if they act sane for a day we all get excited. What fools. We have become nothing but fools in the wave of ignorance that flows along the winds farted up from hell, from Mar A Lago, from the tunnels of lies and deception that plague and divide our nation. Do not give in. Lead by God’s Love that we may all express His will in this world. If you do not pray, fine; then ACT. We have been played for fools. Who will stand for Our Land?

Song Above Demon Lake In Milarepa’s Cave (revised)


Meditation Song Above the Cave of Milarepa
A darkness rises upon your soul. There are many paths
A darkness rises upon your soul. There are many paths
A darkness upon your soul rises. There are many paths
A darkness upon your soul rises. There are many paths.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
The first with rotted scalp and beautiful face says his
prayers and meditations are folly.
The first with rotted mind and fallen face says his prayers
are all wasted and drawn from lies.
The first with love for the Great Deceiver tells me my prayers
could be turned to ways of disordered mind and deceit.
I say no. Leave me or listen. You have the choice.
Listen.
Demon flesh is not sexuality. It is destruction of self.
God gives us compassion I say. I can only wish they find the
path that leads to God and frees them from this demon flesh.
God gives us compassion I say. I can only wish they find the
path that leads to God and frees them from this demon flesh.
God gives me compassion I say. I can only wish you find the
path that leads to God and frees you from this demon flesh.
Love, I say. When is it not enough? We must Love.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
Choice. We are given Love. But evil rules our land.
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger.
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger.
Evil fucking evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger.
I know who lies.
I know who lies. What names you choose is up to you.
I know who lies. Our dharma is our choice we build upon.
I know who lies. All that is solid melts. I pray my eternal soul
melts and flows endlessly flowing in and out of Life’s plan.
I know who lies.
They dream on in phantasms of a dirt soul and only of ends,
never the continuation of action and reaction.
They dream on in phantasms of a dirt soil, only of ends,
never the continuation of action and reaction.
They dream on in phantasms of a dirt soul, only of ends,
never the continuation of action and reaction.
In all our oceans and the streams that feed them life changes
and adapts, many die, as will we.
In all ahr’ oceans and the streams that feed them life changes
and adapts, many die, as will we.
In all our oceans and the streams that feed them life changes
and adapts, many die, as will we.
I see the finite and hear their shallow heartbeats, thinking sin
and salvation does not apply to them.
I see the finite and hear their shallow heartbeats, thinking sin
and salvation does not apply to them.
I see the finite and hear their shallow heartbeats, thinking sin
and salvation does not apply to them.
It does.
It does matter.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
She worships deception and a larceny of faith.
He worships deception and a larceny of faith.
You worship deception and a larceny of faith.
They worship deception and a larceny of faith.
Thinking it a win to deceive those who offer trust, all you do
is dig deeper into coal mountains, death your lover.
Thinking it a win to deceive those who offer trust, all you do
is dig deeper into coal mountains, death your lover.
Thinking it a win to deceive those who offer trust, all you do
is dig deeper into coal mountains, death your lover.
I know. I must repeat. I must chant.
I know it is easy to say anything at all and not believe a word.
I know, I, it is easy to say anything at all and not believe a word.
I know it is easy to say anything at all and not believe a word.
I know you. I repeat because I see you.
I was you. I destroyed that “I”.
Even as I pray and meditate you think new ways of harm.
Even as I pray and meditate you think new ways of harm.
Even as I pray and meditate you think new ways of harm.
I know your lies. They are known. Leave me dark spirits.
Many paths. One God. Shut up you gossips and fools!
Giving over to the home of Siddhartha, hammered singing bowls of seven holy metals that ring then vibrate me in to sleep and Awake!
I sleep upon the floor where I console and sing, feeling your
song vibrate through me, I love you my friends, I love God who
makes it possible to love my friends and family.
I sleep upon the floor where I console and sing, feeling your
song vibrate through me, I love you my friends, I love God who
makes it possible to love my friends and family.
I sleep on the floor where I console and sing, feeling your
song vibrate through me, I love you my friends, to love God who
makes it possible we love friends and family.
Holiness shimmers through each ringing bowl as I stretch
aging flesh across these thick, slow barley and bamboo mats.
Holiness shimmers through each ringing bowl as I stretch my
aging flesh across these thick, slow barley and bamboo mats.
Holiness shimmers through each ringing bowl as I stretch my
aging flesh across these thick, slow barley and bamboo mats.
I see the growing thunderheads, heat lightening striking.
Oh, I stretch because I see so much beauty, so to love,
so to thwart the minds who think to fight for life is sadness,
but that is to have it wrong, so terribly wrong, we live to live,
to strike back demon Mara’s devils and those gone to fight
old strong and holy wheel of fire spinning Ezekiel;
for beauty is daily and daily reward we live as grace as eternal.
To strike back Mara’s grinning evil and risen dark angels, do it!
New paths for beauty and skies seen like ocean tides as wind.
Each path begins from suffering and evil, and each path ends
when skies are sky and beauty becomes us; not as struggle
but as gift, each path begins where Life has suffered, yet pure
heart and pure intention is not enough to paint sunsets orange.
Never stop, always never ever stop, for if we do then it has ended, with ends come dreams of was, when what we need are times of is and then the works of yet to be. I could say, to the glory of God I cannot help it, this I love. I beg, in your own wisdom to understand we must scare the demons away as Milarepa sang enchant the devils as Ezekiel fought that they die this very day . . . There’s a reason these stories exist and live.
And yeah, that’s it . . . yeah, that’s it.
(and this crew for conversations with my beloved friends, Carter Gilles, Aaron Wegelin, Jarad Blanton, Don Chambers, my sister Lynn Buckhalt, the table I dream of as last meal and conversation because you all inspire me. My dream of life and our own last supper those I want to have debates and discussions, poetry and beauty

A Chant (all speech is confession)


And Most of My Loves Turn and Run
I Say Please Stay It is my Life that Loves
I Cannot Help It, This Compassion

A darkness upon your soul rises. There are many paths
A darkness upon your soul rises. There are many paths
A darkness upon your soul rises. There are many paths
A darkness upon your soul rises. There are many paths.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
I meditate where the Lord places me and all evils return
to laugh at my trials.
The first with rotted scalp and beautiful face tells me my
prayers and meditations are folly.
The first with rotted mind and fallen face tells me my prayers
are wasted and drawn from lies.
The first with love for the Great Deceiver tells me my prayers
could be turned to ways of theft and deceit.
I say no. Leave me or listen. You have the choice.
Listen.
God gives me compassion I say. I can only wish you find the
path that leads to God and frees you from this demon flesh.
God gives me compassion I say. I can only wish you find the
path that leads to God and frees you from this demon flesh.
God gives me compassion I say. I can only wish you find the
path that leads to God and frees you from this demon flesh.
Love, I say. When is it not enough? We must Love.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who contemplate upon the Sacrifice.
God does not waste his love, he maintains and holds strong for
any who come to him, who pray and meditate upon the Sacrifice.
Choice. We are given Love.
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger.
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger.
Evil dances across the land and the fallen worship hatred,
here stand the enemy and the will to love is yet even stronger.
I know who lies.
I know who lies. What names you choose is up to you.
I know who lies. Our dharma is our choice we build upon.
I know who lies. All that is solid melts. I pray my eternal soul
melts and flows endlessly flowing in and out of Life’s plan.
I know who lies.
They dream on in phantasms of a dirt soul and only of ends,
never the continuation of action and reaction.
They dream on in phantasms of a dirt soul and only of ends,
never the continuation of action and reaction.
They dream on in phantasms of a dirt soul and only of ends,
never the continuation of action and reaction.
In all our oceans and the streams that feed them life changes
and adapts, many die, as will we.
In all our oceans and the streams that feed them life changes
and adapts, many die, as will we.
In all our oceans and the streams that feed them life changes
and adapts, many die, as will we.
I see the finite and hear their shallow heartbeats, thinking sin
and salvation does not apply to them.
I see the finite and hear their shallow heartbeats, thinking sin
and salvation does not apply to them.
I see the finite and hear their shallow heartbeats, thinking sin
and salvation does not apply to them.
It does.
It does matter.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
It does matter for all we do is wrapped in cause and effect.
You worship deception and a larceny of faith.
You worship deception and a larceny of faith.
You worship deception and a larceny of faith.
You worship deception and a larceny of faith.
Thinking it a win to deceive those who offer trust, all you do
is dig deeper into coal mountains, death your lover.
Thinking it a win to deceive those who offer trust, all you do
is dig deeper into coal mountains, death your lover.
Thinking it a win to deceive those who offer trust, all you do
is dig deeper into coal mountains, death your lover.
I know. I must repeat. I must chant.
I know it is easy to say anything at all and not believe a word.
I know it is easy to say anything at all and not believe a word.
I know it is easy to say anything at all and not believe a word.
I know you. I repeat because I see you.
I was you. I destroyed that “I”.
Even as I pray and meditate you think new ways of harm.
Even as I pray and meditate you think new ways of harm .
Even as I pray and meditate you think new ways of harm.
I know your lies. They are known. Leave me dark spirits.
Many paths. One God. Shut up you gossips and fools!
I sleep upon the floor where I console and sing, feeling your
song vibrate through me, I love you my friends, I love God who
makes it possible I love my friends and family.
I sleep upon the floor where I console and sing, feeling your
song vibrate through me, I love you my friends, I love God who
makes it possible I love my friends and family.
I sleep upon the floor where I console and sing, feeling your
song vibrate through me, I love you my friends, I love God who
makes it possible I love my friends and family.
Holiness shimmers through each ringing bowl as I stretch my aging flesh across these thick, slow barley and bamboo mats.
Holiness shimmers through each ringing bowl as I stretch my
aging flesh across these thick, slow barley and bamboo mats.
Holiness shimmers through each ringing bowl as I stretch my
aging flesh across these thick, slow barley and bamboo mats.
I could say, to the glory of God and most of my Loves turn and run
I say please stay it is my life that Loves I cannot help it, this Compassion
I Love, I beg, in your own wisdom understand as I try to do so in return.

For Roscoe Holcomb, Vocals Banjo


Fifth poem for Mendocino Blues
This is about Roscoe Holcomb one of the most transcendental, high pitched, claw finger banjo and guitar players discovered by accident in the Kentucky hills. One of the most moving musicians found in those early years of the 60s when people were searching our mountains for singers and story tellers who connected us back to Scotland and Ireland to the folk songs older than folk.

Mendocino Blues


These are the first set of poems for a re-edited version with new poems, poems deleted and poems perfected. I hope you find something of the heart, the spirit in my poetry. It is alive.New recordings, edited and new poems out the life of Southern traveler, alone, searching out life in every avenue and spring, ocean side and old oak forests, redwood and ferns, lazy mountains, love on fire, the soul, life itself and what it is when the spirit rises

Love Song A.M.


In The Morning So Fair,
Towards My Love (w/classical guitar, osmanthus incense)
In the morning
you were fair
I felt towards you
this love
this day

(there’s a voice only version one as well

Screw it, nothing shared in a while, silence and me, and please for all spirit if you have hate to share then silence please. Sad people tend to think me mad, then read John Donne and say what is. I only want to share this love, gently, oddly only towards the angel of my sleep (share if you wish), really are not that many I feel close enough to to share beyond here but also that’s more work that the work,the art, the life of an artist singing good morning, that’s all. Sharing is a good thing. Please share. I fear raising the ire of too many again. I don’t mean like “screw it'” to you all here in lovely Word Press land. I have been in WP a long time and FINALLY more fearless poets and scammers are showing up It is heartening to read as many good and hopefully good poems as I have in the past month.  Peace and Art on my companions. In Arr I love you all.

Please share

oops, towards the save for timeline later or straight to delete, and it is cool, it really is, live John Donne, Waltlvi Whitman, Saint John Perse, Novalis, Stefan Georg, Ambrose Bierce, Richard Brautagen, Kazantzakis, Hesse, Shelly, Keats, Byron, Tom Robbins, Patti Smith, Sylvia Plath, writings of Milarepa, Jim Harrison. I will not name all because they are vainly skipped across a lake while most having read and felt maybe two poems but hey, it’s all who are what they are, I’ve been called mad/crazy/weird since I was nine so what does it mean to me today, just more of the same from people who don’t try to read or understand, much less open the buried box of pain, but do try and they just cannot see my heart beating when the words strike and hurt or give me power, come, wave the wand and climb some climb walls to say 3 words, or leap from a second story window afterwards, yes I am guilty of all. We who are touched upon the forehead at birth have no control but to do our very best to create Love in and as Art. Yes Jason Biggers, I write a lot but I am also a fan of your work, your bloodless big brother, so what does that say my beloved one?. I have stood for your work many times. And will stand again in the future, no matter what. I applaud your brave ventures and the process of becoming. I wish more did.

Chromebook Facebook hates me and just deleted all I wrote for the FIFTH damn them! So if you received repeats hI aate the machine not me, though I know many just enjoy the man hoohaaa.

Coyote, Today the Sun Itself Howled and Yipped


This is a piano and High Lonesome vocal from a poem titled Coyote. You can find the poem itself here in Word Press. One my most frequently published and noted poems, so no doubt it will bring derision and repulsion here as it is FB, or it may be liked, I really don’t know. I never know. I write and play in darkness, sleep through the day, the summer sun hurts, my green eyes burn, and the holy find me to be an animal, so: Coyote. The song style is High Lonesome so don’t be put off by the vocal style as it is a style, southern Appalachian. Seems it is becoming lost today. So, I try to do as many as I can in this form, that of being in the low hills, fog eating up the elms and pines, of walking down to the empty and even more lonesome town just past midnight……not a soul in site just me and the street lights downtown cowtown 1 a.m.

Coyote Prince Today


Song from a poem I sent through dozens of rewrites. It became my most published poem, maybe; I stopped making notes on publications when it hit 600. I love poetry. When I move it to music the same thing comes out, my voice.
Now, this is a rebellious song, sick of the moments that pretend to be, the people behind those moments, so the soul of Coyote prince runs deeper into hiding to be spirit guide for those driven to extinction.
The headstone is a six foot tall granite piece, smooth as can be. My dearest friend Dan had died when his twin engine beechcraft exploded on takeoff, mere seconds in the air. I waited for hours at the air port but rules are rules so that could not tell me. I found out the next day. So, they asked me to write a headstone poem, and donated a bench overlooking one of the Delaware battlefields with a two line part from another poem on brotherhood. Dan was like a brother to me. They keep dying a lot lately. It has me scared.

Coyote
COYOTE (2014)
Yeah, and the night limped around like it was trying to go somewhere,
like out of Carrol County, but it didn’t and neither did I…
so it’s just me and the street lamps downtown cowtown 1 a.m.
Not a star in sight and nothing’s open all night but there’s some
eggs at Casa Huddle, been waiting all day by the week-old bacon
by the grease geyser and a tarnished Maxwell pump.
Home is sounding better by the minute, out there, self bound,
out there by the pines where the stars always shine
and the insects call and chant to the night.
Yeah, like this never happened before and the phone rings on time.
Let the darkness rain down on the rascals and rogues, on the land,
on the caverns of the coyote prince; I have tasted the clay,
chewed upon the sunrise in a dozen cities and found nothing
so sweet as the southern summer moon.
As though baptisms were not pure ritual,
as though I’ve lived this course in southern mysticism past,
yet past the prime of indecision into action and desire.
Me, alone with my solipsism and a thousand constellations,
where animal heart is an echo growing stronger in my lungs,
growing out of the chronic dreams of misalliance and master races,
seeds sown in the groves of neophytes and fisher kings, suicide kings
where the world is nothing but reflections and fear…fear…
yeah, fear keep’em all from climbing.
In the black hour those owl wise swoop down on the bell ropes
and burn in the light of the dying mirror sun. Better to burn on
the wing than stooped upon the ladder with some Moloch prince
in a three piece suit, better to screech in the storms
with a new vision of life, alive with all that lives in the treetops
and shadows, in gulf stream and prairie, forest and hill, yeah,
dreams of the beasts on the edge of extinction, they come.
They cry. Dreams of the coyote prince seconds before the snare snaps.
Naturalist, rattling the cages of a language that’s forgotten salvation,
when animal rhythm passes so shall we,
asphalt concrete glass and steel…poof! memories of the land…
a getaway from the lights, from engines’ rhythms, blood in the sand
for a moment before the buildings rise and it’s all just city,
but never open all night. . .And the dirt roads shine.
Well, the night limps around kinda faded and gone,
bird calls in the dawn and the distant combustion howls,
cities rise and fall in the dust, but out here,
out here in the back roads, my heart, all red clay, pines and spring fed
really is open all night, is the one direction unadorned with death.
Loving the land and the hammer that nails it down.
Loving the Rising when our own mortality strains,
pulls upon the bell ropes and finally begs for mercy.

High Lonesome Sound of A Bad Son Trying to Be a Good Son


This is a simple yet complicated hillbilly kind of thing, High Lonesome if you will. I was surprised to find few knew the history of poetry, narrative, stories, singing around a fire, or just the singing that overlaps and develops through repitition and changes in pitch and range. As an overeducated redneck who frequelty seems to say, “look, I have over 600 published works and taught master classes in poetry during Pablo Neruda Literature Conference”; and sometimes I feel bad saying it. I feel like I am putting the other person down when all I want is to say speak freely, please, I starve for articstic conversation, for knowledge and exchange of experiment of idea and method. Some of us write and publish in the same style to the moment of death. I change stylyes and technique as a way of keeping from off the cliiff’s edge. So, this said, I am limiting to whom it is sent but am posting to FB anyway. If you have a pulse and there is venom within it please stay away. This ballad is in as ancient a style as I can possible reference. There is no older way of history, of religion, of sharing our lives than in those songs and stories we tell with FRIENDS. Back when life was different it was one of the favorite things a group of us would do which was to sit out at night with weed and a jug of Mountain Red Burgandy, and make up songs or expand with new lyrics our favorite Dylan or Young. It was a way of communication, and it was for me a way of developing poetry which I would later publish. Today we think of High Lonesome as a strictly Appalacahian thing with our Scotland and Nordic heritage in the hills. I like to sing it all the time. So, lately I have been recording them. Hate or love, or indifference, it’s cool. Everyone has a theory and each of us has a “thing”. It is just that for me I find this thing limitless and am at my struggling happiest when taking on new projects in the Arts and different forms of music. Yesterday I spent 20 hours on Klaus Schulze inspired Dark Side of the Moog, Michael Shrieve type drums, I was mad with intensity as I tried to get the changes because the style was out side my range. Today, was a hard day of too much money had to be spent, mine, credit, family, and it really tore me up. The loneliness of devotion is often tossed off as being weak in faith. OK, fine. But we all have feelings and if we do not have feelings then I guess we are dead. This High Lonseome ballad in three parts is all me cause no one will endeavor such a horrid act as collaboration with me. The horror is that I understand. This song is about prayer, devotion and love. 3 things surely to scare away any art and Catholic friends who remain. PLease if you dig on American music going back to first man and woman relating their day over a steak mammoth and fern grill, then you’ll know what I am doing. I feel bad gogn to such length to explain a work in progress, but I change styles on things so often it confuses people and they become agitated. I have changed my publishing poetic style 3 times since I was 16 when I first began publishing, each change came about from discussions and criticisms from my editors and regular ol’ life changes. Yesterday I spent 20 hours on a Klaus Schulze and Michael Shrieve style of early techno using Logic Pro X, an Akai MPD32 and my midi grand piano.
It was fun but wow was that taxing trying to maintain straight chord changes and beat progressions. I am a modern classical composer in the world of Arve Part, Reich, Cage, the evil Philip Glass, Brian Eno and Krautrock of course. Yet still in the classical range and as a pianist the setting it all up into various instrumentations for a symphony is an amazing and tedious experience I recommend to any and all who love the challenges our world of art offers each day. I live in praise of THE Buddha and his Saints as Mahayana Buddhism is a religion and I was devoted for all my life up until 6 or 7 years ago when I had THE Jesus Christ experience of being spoken to from the Cross. It was strange and unexpected. I knew in that momen, a Saul to Paul type scene, that Christ was hurt as I hated him and his religions so much, but the more I returned to my youthful studies in Alan Watts and his gang of world religion to Lacan and his gang of Post Freudians I began to understand exactly what was happening and it relates to Thomas Merton. That’s all. For anyone bold enough to try to make it through my often turgid prose and even more thick music, I thank you. As a Poet, my primary source of Being, it is an adventure that language turns into clouds and waves, earth blooming and earth dying, so when I go into the unknown I expect people to express some pretty serious hatreds, yet all I hope is that we love.