helmet now doff

She knows all the shortcuts and all driving tricks for she is the roadway goddess Ganestryx. Each turn that we make on the footpath of living relies on the protections that she is giving so do pause to give thanks ere you now set off and to her good guidance your helmet now doff. Much like fair Ganesha – her longtime good mate – can she set up obstacles to make you late or make them all vanish and make your road clear and help you to smile from left to right ear. We here in Grigovia worship her much with festival dances and prayers and such so praise this great power with whom we all mix: the mighty wise merciful great Ganestryx.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

I am enough

Now what is the origin what is the cause of this tendency to balk hesitate pause? The girl is right there her intentions are clear and yet I can't seem to grasp what is so near. I talked and I reasoned my way out of getting and giving a bit of genital subletting. The root of this failure sits deep in my core but slowly I'm learning to know it some more but slowly I'm learning to not let it win to allow such healing that's needed begin. Though it may sound sappy and like cheesy stuff I say here once for all this: I am enough!

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

like burbling brooks

Without much confusion held there in his heart he sat down to hammer away at his art. The words they flow at times like burbling brooks at times he must search for them in reference books. Perhaps the true purpose of this here existence is to keep creating with patient persistence at something at anything ne'er before seen is to keep on finding what's hidden between those everyday notions that stand there and rust that lie around collecting mountains of dust. To distill some truth from the essence of nuance is all that the artist desires and wants for this is the highest that he can achieve – to pull the decisive card out of his sleeve to bring forth some thinking from minds sad or dull to fashion for fledgling dreams a solid hull. So take up that pencil or take up that brush and set aside due time for art can't be rushed yet do it not for you do it for our race for all humans living in every place.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on forces' awakening

I went to see Star Wars VII, and cried. The last time I'd seen a movie from this franchise in theaters was in 1983, at the age of 6, when my parents were still alive. As soon as I saw the opening text-scroll and the opening music came bursting out of the speakers, memories of Mom flooded into my heart, and it was as if she were there with me. The theater in which I sat was in Bali, Indonesia, and most of the theater-goers were middle-class Indonesians, yet, for a couple of hours, we rejoiced in a common love for a galaxy far, far away, one that exists only in our minds. Thankfully, the wooden dialogue of the first six movies was largely absent, and, with a brown-skinned as well as a female main character rather than such characters being relegated to racially-stereotyped bit roles, the movie was fresh and modern without ever sacrificing its roots. A weak-willed antagonist too puny to live up to his grandfather's legacy rounded out the film, giving new hope to a franchise that is among my earliest memories. Thanks for being there to enjoy it with me, Mom. Requiescat in pacem, and mahalo.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

and effort long

Time is short and effort long and thus I'll keep short this here song. From the start back to the end the ego one must learn to bend and break upon the rocks of silence with pure love not ever violence.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on vegan killers

Over the weekend, I engaged with a staunchly vegan friend in heated debate about the taking of life. At root, my argument was that in order for us humans to stay alive, something else must die. Each living human sends tens of thousands of living bacteria to perish in a lake of his stomach acid every time he swallow. Each vegan takes the life of a broccoli plant when he lops its head off; he denies the soy plant the ability to live when he eats its beans instead of planting them; he kills countless bacteria every time he washes his hands with soap or spills a drop of vodka onto a wooden bar-top. Hence, the only thing a person can do to avoid killing other living things, every day, is to die.

In my experience, certain vegans rationalize their dietary and life choices according to the 'cute and cuddly' argument: since a cow can turn supposedly doleful eyes back at its butcher and certain emotions can be interpreted into its gaze, it should not be killed. Another is what I call the 'flight' argument: since a chicken can run away from a person trying to catch it (whereas an onion cannot), it wants to stay alive and must therefore not be killed. A third argument is 'it has eyes, and a mother, and should therefore not be killed.' My vegan friend made extensive use of the 'it has eyes' argument; indeed, it seemed to sit at the core of his very existence. That, and saying that since he can't see bacteria with his own eyes, I could not prove to him that they were alive, fled from danger, or even existed. Oh, and trying to shame me into admitting I would eat the liver of a human baby if one were served up to me mixed up in a bowl with the livers of other animals. (For myself, on the day-to-day, I choose to eat only plant products, but since I will eat whatever a host puts in front of me while a guest in his home, I without shame admitted that I would probably – but not willingly – eat a member of my own species...) When I made the point that potatoes have eyes, my counterpart argued that this was only a matter of definition, to which I countered with something like, “So, if we started calling the sight organs of animals something other than 'eyes,' would it be OK to eat them?” He responded by launching back into shaming mode and accusing me of wanting to eat babies. After nearly an hour of cyclical conversation and me admitting to being a monster and a (potential) cannibal, I brought things to a point, asking my vegan friend if he agreed that by eating a tomato, a soy bean, or an apple, he was a taker of life. A killer. He responded by saying that, according to what he referred to as the 'food chain,' it is natural for humans to eat not only plants but also the products of plants. That, for him, eating the seed of a plant is not killing. That, since plants cannot run away and he cannot hear their screams of agony (certain pine trees scream at frequencies inaudible to humans when they're dying of thirst), they're freely giving up their fruits, and their lives. At that point, we ended the conversation, agreeing to disagree.

In my opinion, since a chicken's egg can grow up to become a chicken, it contains life, or at least the potential for life. In my opinion, since a soy (or any other) bean can grow up to become a soy (or any other) plant, it contains life, or at least the potential for life. Therefore, for me, there's no difference between a chicken's egg and a soy bean. I am a vegetarian primarily because I like the way my body and mind feel when I'm vegetarian. Also, I do not wish to support an animal husbandry industry that causes undue suffering to the lives in its care, destroying Earth's environment, and overusing antibiotics. Plus. I find that eating a lot of meat causes my blood-chemistry to become unbalanced. Before each meal, whether it should contain meat or plant products, I try to take a moment to thank the food for sacrificing itself so that I might live. George Bernard Shaw once wrote: 'Animals are my friends... and I don't eat my friends.' Every time I hear Shaw's quote used by a vegan person to self-aggrandize his or her dietary and life decisions, however, I want to add this: 'But plants? Fuck plants – I'll kill and eat the shit out a fucking plant.' I will write more on this subject once my passions have subsided and my tone is more rational. Essentially, however, all life is precious, and we would do well to be thankful for everything that dies to keep us alive, no matter how stationary, unattractive, or small it may be. In this way, we can start to develop compassion for all things living, not just those we might want to cuddle.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

just before dark

We leave our rented house in southwest Banyuwangi prefecture, East Java, just before dark. Our mount is a Kijang sports utility vehicle borrowed from a local Hindu man, big for the skinny roads. Fast. Nimble. Gold-embroidered sergeant's chevrons hang from the rear-view mirror. The car's radio doesn't work, but its suspension system is solid enough to propel us in relative comfort over the ruts and pits of the poorly maintained roads. To stay awake after a long few days of competitive surfing, Bob and I chain-smoke cigarettes and chat, leisurely, sweating in the evening heat. With a six hour round-trip drive ahead of us, not counting the time we'll spend at temple, our talk meanders from one topic to the next as he guns our ride past pushcart-vendors and men riding motorcycles with large bags of cut grass balanced on their heads. “Don't worry, bro, I'm not going to kill you,” Bob says when he sees how tense I am after a few narrowly-avoided collisions with other vehicles driving just as recklessly as we are. I adjust the belt securing to my waist a ceremonial kamben, or men's Balinese sarong, and light smokes for both of us.

Half-way there, we run over a cat, its pelt white with black splotches. From the driver's side darkness it leaps suddenly, directly in front of us, straight under our wheels. We pull over to check the undercarriage for signs of blood or fur. Nothing. Lights go on in a couple of the houses that line the road. We ask a resident if he knows to whom the cat belongs, but the man claims not to know of any cat, goes back inside, and turns off his porch-light. In the night sky above us, a full moon shines radiantly. We spend a few more minutes peering into the sparse and roadside bushes, but neither hear nor see anything. The faint aroma of fresh cat-shit hits me as we are getting back into the car, however, and I suspect that our journey to the temple of Kali, the goddess of destruction and renewal, on her birthday, under a full moon, required a death sacrifice of some sort. The Universe, as always, provides.

A few kilometers before we enter the national park within which Kali's temple sits we pass some dragon-fruit plantations, neat rows of small trees strung with lights, one suspended above each tree, eerie grids of brightness that stand out along the otherwise unlit road. The path that leads to the entrance of the national park is worse than all others before it, potholes a half-meter deep, thick paving stones that kick up and bang against the car's undercarriage. A cluster of eyes flash red in the darkness ahead, a herd of deer that quickly moves into the brush as we approach. “Where there are kijang, or deer, there are big cats that hunt them,” Bob says, “so while we're at temple keep an eye on the trees above.”

Once we've payed our entrance fee (around $1.50 each) and have parked in an otherwise empty lot near the temple grounds, a monk's attendant comes sleepily out of his quarters and approaches us, to see what we're after. I make the mistake of placing the plastic bag containing our temple offerings on the ground in order to shake his hand and bow to him properly, whereupon Bob goes into the concession stand to buy offerings, or upakara, untainted by Western ignorance. Somewhere nearby, a large diesel generator pumps out electricity; the temple sits at least 8 kilometers from the nearest settlement. After a quick wash of foot and hand in a nearby row of water basins, we meet the monk, or mangku, who agrees to be our psychopomp, and lead us in ceremony. The attendant, older than the mangku and nearly deaf, lights a kerosene lantern and walks us over to the outer temple while the mangku rides over on a motorbike so that he can open the door and have a look around. Faces peer out from the red-brick outer temple's swirling facades, and I pause, briefly, to feel if I am allowed to pass the stone threshold guardians, or raksasa; since my heart is pure and my body washed, I sense I am welcome, and follow the others up the steep stairs. In the outer temple's courtyard, which can easily seat 300 people, Bob speaks with the mangku in Indonesian, talking about family and religion, desires and wants, concerns and delights. I understand perhaps a third of it. Upon the monk's chest is a round, golden pin displaying a swastika, and while standing across from him and listening to them talk, I imagine that swastika – a more than 10,000 year-old symbol that brings good luck and repels bad – shining at my third chakra, the diaphragm. I settle down into a butterfly seating position and am soon overwhelmed with emotion. Memories of my dearly departed fill mind- and heart-space. First, visions of mother and father, then more, countless ancestors bubbling up through eons of genetic transmission, and I weep, quietly, there upon the uneven paving stones of an East Javanese Hindu temple. Once various things have been fetched from different parts of the temple and the accouterments of worship are prepared, incense has been lit, and Bob and I have arranged our upakara on the sandstone before us, the monk begins the first ceremony, his bell ringing into the still, dark night, his voice uttering Sanskrit mantras foreign to my ear but on some level comforting, protective. I keep crying as Bob coaches me through purifying my hands in the rising incense smoke and choosing the correct flowers from the upakara at the correct times, which we wedge above our ears once we've held them between the fingertips of hands pressed together in prayer. The attendant sprinkles first our heads with holy water and then our outstretched, cupped hands. We sip it four times, but on the fifth sprinkling the deaf man stops me from sipping, incorrectly, a fifth time. I follow Bob's lead and wash my face and neck with the water, instead. Then, we take grains of broken rice from a proffered woven basket and dab them to forehead and throat. Soon after, the mangku's bell stops ringing, and we rise. As the mangku puts all his tools away, Bob and I stuff donations into a box near the exit. The tears dry upon my cheeks, and the swastika in my chest has begun to spin, its colors turning from gold to black, gold to black.

Once again, the mangku drives off into the darkness. Once more, the attendant lights his lamp, and we follow him through the darkness toward, I assume, Kali's own inner sanctum. Above us, the brilliant moon winks and dances through gaps in the treetops. Somewhere in the forest, a bird starts up its song, then stops. The night air is pregnant with energy. Curiously still. And then it's into the main temple, this one far smaller than the first, room for maybe 20 people to sit. A massive banyan tree, or strangler-fig, grows from one corner, its black and white checkered sarong stained and frayed. The monk walks to a dark, irregular stone topped by a wooden framework supporting a golden curtain, which he draws back, revealing a row of smaller dark stones arranged atop the larger one. (During the drive, my companion had explained that the temple is one of the holiest shrines in all of Indonesian Hinduism, the stones the holiest of holy relics.) With upakara before us and incense lit, Bob and I sit down just behind our psychopomp. He launches into chanting and bell ringing a bit too fast for Bob's liking, who interrupts his labor to ask him to slow down. I settle into meditation and feel for the swastika, which is now spinning so rapidly it's almost torquing my torso physically. A few minutes into the ceremony, Bob, to my right, stars groaning and cackling. I slit my eyes and see him bent over at the waist, frothing at the mouth and speaking with a voice I've never heard him use before, a voice as old and dauntless as time itself. The beast-like grunts escaping him cause the hairs on my neck and arms to stand up as I shut my eyes and settle back into Self. I sense an profound agony in him and resist the desire to reach out blindly and pat his back in reassurance. Such are the whipping beams of null-energy lashing out of his fourth or heart chakra that all I can do is sit up straighter, bask in their tearing escape, and taste of their hue, onyx-black bands with brilliant white edges. The beams seem to be simply passing through the mangku, who in my mind's eye is but a fog of focused obeisance suspended in prayer. Bob's agony increases and I let a deep love for him well up in my heart of hearts. I'm shaking from the energy coursing out of him and into the swastika at my diaphragm, which is now completely black and seems to be exponentially growing in size. I summon up every ounce of loving compassion I can muster and feed that love into him, closing the circuit with whatever channel, whatever force or god, he opened, whereupon he stands up, shuffles over to the irregular rock, and falls to his knees before it, weeping and groaning anew. As the energies escaping him diminish, my swastika shrinks in size but not in strength. I feel it sear and settle into my soul's matrix, jet-black and brimming with power. The mangku enters the 'Om' phase of prayer, signaling its imminent end. Next to me, Bob starts breathing normally again, and the ceremony ends. As the mangku is gathering up his rite-making implements and chatting with Bob about the state of life and religion in Bali, I notice a change in the attendant, who turns on a hand-held torch with which to illuminates the treetops above us. I remember the warning about big cats but, for some reason, am not in the least concerned. After a haphazard scan of the canopy above, he switches the light back off and goes outside to lead us back to our car.

As we are driving back down the pitted track, I connect with something, or someone, out in the inky-black woods, that I cannot even see with my physical eyes, and the intensity of our exchange makes me smile. “What happened back there?” Bob asks after reminding me not to throw cigarette butts out of the window until after we've left the park. (I've been collecting all my butts in a small plastic bag the entire time and thrown exactly zero butts out of the window.) “I don't remember anything,” he says, “after we sat down in front of the stones.” I explain everything I felt and heard and saw and did, and he admonishes me for reaching into him the way I did, for completing the circuit, as, he explains, a part of my energies now live inside him, which could lead him to become sick, or die. I apologize to him, thank him for taking me along, and light up a few more cigarettes. The bright moon overhead gives us a dim sense of the road ahead, but we're no longer in a hurry, cruising along and enjoying the cool night air. The seed of something vast and immutable pulses inside me, its contours bent, black, old as mankind itself. I place a hand on top of my belly, smile, and silently thank goddess Kali for a strange and wonderful night.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

prepped and willing

It was with much joy that he opened his soul to one and all each of them brave timid old. They peered and they prod at its outlines and depths and oft at the sign of compassion he wept. For they were all giving and all needy too; to pierce at his shielding was all he could do; to pry at, keep open, the covers he'd made upon heart and gut-space where they'd too long stayed. Now he's got a gemstone set there in his core that's prepped ready willing to give out much more that can soak up energies dark dim or bright and keep out bad forces from morning to night. To find it he had to move through past regrets and let go of memories huddled and wet and step from the darkness that had kept him down to take up his terrible world-rending crown. In him burns a fire too black yet to see that smolders deep inside his tender belly that will set injustice and hatred ablaze and leave men who steal from us wary stunned dazed. The big fight is waiting before him somewhere but with his new powers he'll righteously stare straight back at the evils that now plague us all to render them helpless weak shaken and small. It's there in his sockets it's there on his chest and he does forthwith pledge to give life his best for all of the children and babies unborn he'll march on the citadel freed of his scorn but filled with conviction and justice and Light to all who hate Freedom a terrible sight.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

dream-state writing – Bali

I was standing on a white, sandy beach that stretched roughly a mile into the distance. Before me was a fence of finely-meshed metal, eye-like segments kept upright by slender, silvery poles. On my side of the fence were shallow pools and small waves crashing upon the sand but little vegetation or other signs of life. On the far side of the fence, however, was a lush, thick, dark jungle whose tendrils, here and there, had crept through the fencing, low green feelers. I then became aware of a figure standing directly opposite me, on the far side. Tall and fit, she had dark brown, almost black skin, and breasts without nipples. Upon her shoulders were epaulets of some sort, golden metal covers attached to one another with a golden chain or rope. About her waist was a belt of some sort, round and golden segments that shimmered in the bright sunlight. What appeared to be wings sprouted from her back where the center of a human's scapula would be, sharp edges with concave endings and eye-like adornments similar to the fence's meshing, too many of them to count, moving so fast they could also have not been moving at all. Her dark and unblinking eyes were scanning the horizon behind me, but then she turned to match my enraptured gaze and suddenly her head grew tenfold in size and all I could see was her enormous, dark-brown face between the thin mesh links of the silvery fence, and there was something in the center of her forehead I could not fully make out and her great mane of black hair appeared to shimmered in the dazzling light but all I could really see were her eyes, dark pits of impartial nothingness, as inconceivable and deep as the cusp of an event horizon, yet they contained a certain spark, or presence, an essence that while invisible was nonetheless there, nonetheless, on some level of my consciousness, tangible. Her head shrank to its former size, she turned, and in her wings was that same impartial nothingness, that same pregnant and chaotic void I had seen in her gaze, but there were also innumerable eyes looking back out of the unfathomable darkness there, eyes I could not really see but feel as they probed my spirit and all that I am and ever was. She turned to look at me once more then vanished and reappeared perhaps 200 meters down the fence, turned again to look at me, then teleported two more times, each time a bit further down the far side of the fence, four times turning back to look at me. When she had reached the farthest point of the island I could see, she vanished altogether.

I awoke deeply moved by the experience, humbled before the unimaginable power my dream-visitor possessed, and knowing, somewhere deep down, that she had been and would forever more be watching me, my every thought and feeling, that if I chose a path of Light and Truthfulness I might one day join her on the far side of the fence but if I chose a path of Darkness and Deceit I would forever stay upon the barren sand, burned by the brilliant sun and denied the riches the far jungle had to offer. I thank this mighty force for paying me a visit and love her beyond mere words can say. Mahalo, suksma, namaste.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

my or mine

His time he did offer for that's all he had and no one could call that there sacrifice bad. To give up not money or gemstone or cash but rather the thing that is gone in a flash is to show to others their true worthiness to bring out their smiles and their very best. So stop for a minute or stop for an hour and share in the subtle but unbridled power of spending a moment of your precious time on something quite other than me my or mine.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

this shit again

With World War 3 looming on Syria's plains we think to ourselves: Please not this shit again. The powers that broker this conflict are such that they do not care for mankind's freedom much but rather would bomb out and fully destroy a people and nation with war-making toys. They'll trumpet the reasons and cry foul and shame when what really happens don't match with their aims then build some more rockets and make some more tanks while at home poor children give for little thanks. So long as politicos stranglehold truth and cheat us each time we enter voting booths we'll never have peace and we'll always know want while they with their riches our worthiness taunt. Let's not spend on weapons what could keep us fed and provide for all who lack a home and bed and send us out into the vast scape of stars instead of just sitting there stuck in our cars. As it stands the system of wasting crude oil to propel us slowly to places of toil where we then do labor to make others rich has turned out to be a right and proper bitch for it keeps us warring to cobble up crude and acting like children too old to be rude. The role of the U.S. must change and right soon for we are careening toward a high noon with those we have bombed and with those we have not who scream at us: You've your true virtue forgot!

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

madmen to date

Ho Ho who's that calling? It's ISIS / Daesh but they are not bringing a flash Xmas crèche; instead it's that nasty old bringer of death – their old-timey favorite suicide vest. These cunts got their start in a cesspit of hate that has trained up many cruel madmen to date, Bin Laden and Saddam (but they are now gone) and those that threw over the Shah of Iran. Central to its mission are ladies and gents who lack of most true signs of Intelligence – instead they use sick people, lame ones you see, who've relinquished love's long-lasting Agency. Each time it's not different each time it's the same their backstabbing spy-bullshit overthrow game: the Ynki think 'Oh, we don't like that there prez, but this guy will do just what ever we says,' then they fund and train him and all of his mates and duly release them at the palace gates. Trained up to maim torture and not care a shred how many civilians are left lying dead the new cunt then goes in and uses his tools to make Ynki look like a bunch of weak fools. Embezzling billions from his country's riches he (most times) turns loose his foul suicide bitches and flies into buildings some planes that he stole then crawls into a tiny earthen-bound hole. Each time now the Ynki says, 'Oh, who's to blame for that man who brought upon mankind such shame?' without ever looking into a mirror and seeing that he is the cause of such horror. They're probably coming for me as we speak my limbs and my spirit to pummel and break but I say: fuck terrorists of ev'ry stripe you won't steal a wink from my sleepings tonight for I do not fear cuntlings such as you are nor bombs or bugs that you might put in my car but voice my thoughts freely and sovereign too and bid you much failure in all that you do.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

type of terror

With heartbreak and torment they wanted to do the trite type of terror that only they knew. With bomb-vest and rifle with knife caltrop tweet and seeking to rip up society's sheet they woke up that morning and spoke the due rites to all that is Evil both daytimes and nights. With sadness before them and cruelness behind they sat there then brooding all trapped in the mind aloof to the madness that would be their act their thoughts turned to all of the corpses they'd stack. Then off for the market or off for the game they went seeking Islam to slander and shame to murder their victims whose only real crime was being alive at wrong place and wrong time. To counter these madmen with bomb missile round is a policy far from both solid and sound for they can then paint us as murderous apes who blow up things then go back home to eat crepes. A simple solution is to first show love to second stop praying to forces above to third starve their bellies and stop buying oil then fourth maybe put these fools under the soil. With all of the money we've spent making war to now find ourselves with such cunts at our door just shows that our efforts to date weren't true wherefore we'd be wise to go try something new. By opening doors to each poor refugee who flees Daesh violence by land or by sea is to prove to ourselves that we are still kind that we can leave all of our anger behind and then stand together united as one until war and sadness have finally gone.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

like blue snakes

Awake on a moon's day asleep on the Tues with money depleted and liver abused. With sweat on the brow and coarse sand in the gut he pulled himself out of the alcohol rut. Without much meat eating and no cheese or egg to clog up the vessels down in his right leg that fled from their housings a few years ago and now like blue snakes through his skin there do show. Then yoga this eve a full session at that he'll squash things that have kept trajectories flat and show to the powers that cannot be seen that known such qualities, virtues as cannot be shown.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

by saying Wednesday

The blessings of Wotan are here for to stay since Westerners praise him by saying Wednesday. Some claim to be loyal to a single power and walk 'round with miens set in dark hateful glower yet always do give up to Wotan much fame by saying and speaking each week his true name. It isn't surprising that they keep on giving much glory and honor to forces yet living and thriving because of this one simple truth: to speak a god's name is to firm up his youth and firm up his force so that they endure, providing us humans with sadnesses' cure. The Allfather's knowing wise never aloof of which his longevity must stand as proof so open your doors to whomever should knock and never desire his entrance to block for when Wotan shows up we surely won't know but must to all beggars our kindnesses show. By proving our hearts are devoid of all fears we'll be granted many and bountiful years especially Christians who speak of Odin and teach selfsame speaking to children and kin for uttering gladly his name every week is the highest honor a human can speak.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

as he pleases

He cares not if opinions do not match his own wherefore he oft wanders by himself alone. The others though cluster to talk away doubt then find themselves empty within and without for they cannot stray from the mind of the pack and will keep on fleeing there, keep coming back. The loner cares not though he does as he pleases and always speaks kindness when somebody sneezes and always helps those who cannot help themselves to cross busy roads and fetch items from shelves. When the group's foul thinking resembles cement which cannot be broken or mended or bent then free-thinking people must flee from its grasp releasing their life-long and stifling grasp upon such cruel notions as hate bigotry and that there are differences 'twixt him and me. There's nothing that divides as well as mis-thought so fight and deny it with all that you've got and take up with boldness a path much your own – it will be with all roses of Happiness sown.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

bright shining light

Too loose with the tongue-flap too tight with the reigns and magnified will be all worldly-bound pains. To give up all semblance of want and control and let the self grow wise without growing old is the highest peak to which one can dare climb while keeping humility first in the mind. The Great Magnet directs each flux and each wane and metes out all glory and every stain and he must abide by its energies who should seek with his lifespan much goodness to do. The evil within us must be understood but not let to dictate response speech or mood for it's not as strong as the bright shining light that clears out the bosom of anger and fright. These shells these our bodies will decay anon and yet the life-spirit will keep shining on when old and decrepit we sink to our graves as lords dressed resplendent or poor dirty knaves. Therefore give up searching and casting about and create deep within the sought-for redoubt of calm and of kindness of humility of love laughter happiness soothing and mercy. For life will keep handing out lemons and shards so best not to curse at the draw of the cards instead keep on glowing quite brimming with glee at all you can feel touch taste smell think and see.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

slowly too slowly

Oh thank you dear Bali for all you do give for letting me within your confines to live. I love your green meadows your tall soaring cliffs the way you know how my flagged spirits to lift and how you do mete out your punishments justly upon we who waver 'twixt shining and crusty. Oh thank you for hosting my feet and my hands and making sure I see your coveted lands and making sure I don't forget what I came for – to drink in your beauty and taste of your camphor. Please let me stay longer please don't let me go to places less awesome to places more low for I am your son born in a distant land which slowly too slowly I now understand.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

Batu Bolong, south coast of Nusa Penida, Indonesia - 2015

nary a tank

Now up from the depths of the deepness arose a great mighty creature in some deathly throes. It thrashed and it walloped and beat at the boat that upon the heaving waves did try to float. With heaving and straining the men finally could wrestle the big fish up out of the sea and it did then lie there its own life-force spent its pierced bellies bleeding its scaly hide rent. Then off for another the brave men they dove while currents and hunger their wanderings drove in search of their quarry they surfaced and sank with just mask and snorkel and nary a tank.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

bright and bent

He got in the depths of the jungles of Java a symbol as old as the sun – our great father. Its angles are bent to four different directions yet of the Vast Nothingness it's a reflection for such is the might of the force it contains that it his own lifeline has forever changed. To bear such a symbol is power and blight but if it all else should for him turn to night that will be the cost of the horror he's wrought of all of the sadness he himself begot. For at his fourth chakra it sits bright and bent and until his chi shall be too-fully spent to bear up its beauty he'll have at his chest a swastika unlike most all of the rest.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

first ever spy

On this day of Wotan he'll venture anon to there from which rises the bright mighty sun. It's not sure he'll make it or fail in his task but there in its glory and might he will bask and stare at the mountain that's been there since man did first let his footfalls ring out on this land. The trek will be long and the path will be rough but he will not pause for his spirit is tough and up to the challenge and down for the pain since none but he himself stands something to gain. With shoes strapped on tightly and a woolen cap and some minor sundries stuffed in a knapsack will he soon ascend to the top of the peak that daily does challenge the strong and the weak that has been first foremost before his mind's eye since he its steep outlines did first ever spy. Enough with this talking let's go without haste the high mountain eddies to sample and taste – this journey must start at a logical rung so off to climb soaring and mighty Agung.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

talents to flaunt

It's not so much worry need lust pride or want that causes each of us our talents to flaunt. Now whether it's clothing or a fancy car or standing just right at the edge of the bar or lighting a charlie with a single match – it all boils down to entering some snatch. This one single impulse drives all of mankind for it is first foremost on all of men's minds and leads them to look for a home for their dicks in bodies male female thin fat skinny thick. To spend time just chasing and impressing tail – is that now a solid and honor-full trail to follow and stick to and keep on repeating or is it a hobby that's not worth repeating? If something ain't broken why search for a fix so delve-dive back into mankind's oldest mix, embracing such patterns as have proven right from sunset to sunrise from morning to night.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

outlines and glory

Soon off to the island and its reddish clay will he be returning in its waves to play. A bus it is waiting and soon will depart but he will not advance too far from the start. The others competing are good and well-trained yet failure in winning his honor won't stain for in him a kernel of self-love does grow too small yet its outlines and glory to show. It's more for the fun and the camaraderie that he will be braving the roads and the sea wherefore he's not worried wherefore he'll just smile upon every breaker and every mile.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

but her peace

Now as these things happen she wants but her peace and all of my missives sent her way to cease. She's off in a city doing who knows what and to my love energies she's herself shut. This is why I don't date or oft give out feels or make many romantic partnership deals; I catch them when they're on the cusp of a change then watch them waltz out of my presence again then watch them find love with some far other man – it seems that for me this is the standard plan. I thought at the moment that she and I met that we would together some happiness get that we would together take a few more paces and not be here living in two different places. Her visage is lovely her heart it is kind and thoughts of shared moments still live in my mind but I must release her to take her own way and hope that she finds joy next week and today. Oh well what a pity our fun it was short there's not much else I am can now add or report for she's on her pathway and that is just grand and I'll keep on wandering from land to land.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

vanish and cease

The miles ticked by and his muscles did hold and he would keep moving lest sweat made him cold. His steed was another's that he'd borrowed when his own mount was stolen from a downtown fen. The sun on his skin and the wind in his hair reminded this whorphan both sullied and fair that his was a path unlike most others take that his was a fortune and a name to make. With fleet wheels inflated and well-applied grease his troubles and worries did vanish and cease as he made his way from one side to the next of this vast wide beautiful bright metroplex.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

knows neither wrong

This one is a winner her head is on right she'll lie there and stare at me half of the night. To cure this we'll camp out in a forest glen just me and a beautiful caring girlfriend and make us a fire right there on the heath to cure us of such ills as cellphones do wreak. With some luck we'll do it and grow us both close and give to our mingling a good healthy dose of care that's tender and often rough too but hey that's what couples who sacrifice do. Some things are imagined while others are real and there is no telling how persons might feel should they spend their time in much separate spaces with only few meetings done faces to faces. That Which Is Unnameable knows neither wrong nor right far near good bad cold hot weak or strong yet shelters the lover who gives her heart whole who loves from the depths and the shores of her soul. This touch will be gentle but later I'll grab pull spank shove choke fondle her, making her glad, and tingling such sensors as life in our flesh, our finely-tuned amazing miracle mesh.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

naught and hard

His yoga was surfing his language was naught and hard was the peace and the leisure he'd bought. His clothing did fit in the general surround and soft was the voice and the scent of his sound and dogs didn't bark when he would pass them by and kind was his handfall and soothing his eye. With but a few actions he'll reduce stress and set himself up for to just do his best as each of us humans here stuck on this tilt must do well with all of the cards we've been dealt.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

quick magical slide

Uncanny and welcoming hectic and vast is road-grid and heart of this city of class. Los Angeles friendo is where it is at where fortunes can change at the drop of a hat where a simple gesture can upset the tides and time does a fluid quick magical slide. Its highways and ocean its palm trees and dust its holy points one time to visit one must and bow to the fault-lines deep down and above that threaten with shaking yet embrace with love. It's fine to be back but there's not much left here that I haven't witnessed before through the years so where does that leave one who roams far and wide? To find within truth and to find it inside...

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

fingers fret fleetly

Now questing for glory now resting his bones this whorphan spoke softly in small quiet tones. His days they were dwindling his comfort was much he longed not for riches or jewels and such but to just sit simply in simple abode alert to the voice of the Vast Central Node. His fingers fret fleetly across his keypad for which he was thankful overjoyed and glad and hot was the taste of her grasp on his thoughts with little the chance of her meeting he'd bought. One article's finished the other awaits and loudly do bay all the dogs at their gates but silence their whimpers when he passes by but not even they know just exactly why.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

much murky water

There is now a bucket that Paris oft uses to clean hands and wash off his washing-off brushes. See he rents out surfboards down there at the beach and must keep a source of wash-water in reach. The stray dogs that live near the waves in Canggu do come by to drink from its warm salty dew then run back out past us to bark at some strangers and bark at (to humans) invisible dangers. With all the salt, dog spit, and much murky water is there one more denizen of this container – a spoon used for eating by humans whose hunger cannot be ignore for much shorter or longer. Should its use be needed it is taken out and given a rinse from a bottle of stout or from a pale lager, whatever's around, which washes its filthiness off to the ground. Once cleaned the thin spoon is then dipped into food after which it's thrown back to wallow and brood there in the wash-bucket where dogs come to drink – would you use this spoon do you or not think?

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

down his roll

The listing of grievance in the Declaration was written at founding of the Ynki nation. It talks about tyranny from distant king and says that his actions did start the whole thing – the war and the splitting of people in twain which is celebrated again and again. But reading the listing now now and today is just like a reading of how Ynki play – his actions are those of the tyrant of old his lust it is brutal his justice is cold. He harbors great armies in his peoples' middle subjects them to hardships by foul ardent spittle that shoots from his orifice day and day out; he is on the world-stage a poor-losing lout. His need for revenge for a few buildings' falling has led him to do things so brash and appalling that when in the future we speak of his name it will be with hushed tones small lowered in shame. To act with impunity and then complain that all other countries are acting the same is to be a sourpuss bully and dolt is to stir up many a sweeping revolt. Therefore old man Ynki must slow down his roll lest he should incur Fate's most surefire toll and wind up both crippled and sick from within and this he must do now and this must begin.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

time to burn

The deadline approaches to leave this fair aisle and he does accept it with a patient smile. He wants not to leave here and head back stateside for there has all freedom and Liberty died and there awaits conflict and hard conversations with all type and manner and shade of relations. But oh well that's living and life at this stage perhaps this will better and mellow with age perhaps they will improve but he knows not how for he's got all that he could ever want now. So print out that ticket and board up that plane and hope that these shores will be soon seen again and weep not for leaving but for the return for there is not money but just time to burn.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

auto or stick

By sitting there with them day in and day out did he slowly savvy what they were about. Their talk boiled down to four topics which were the four that now follow that now follow here: 'twas pussy and drinking and jokes about dick and crashing a motorbike – auto or stick. That's it and that's plenty to have talked about to have recreated with hand gesture mouth to have now repeated these woebegone days in more than one language in more than one way. And though he spoke none of their small-island talk he let no restriction his listening balk but sat there and laughed with them at the punch-line for from a few snippets he could read their minds. Not really mind-reading but cleverness that to distill from nuance a semblance of fact to sit with Brown People and merge with them well and learn how his own Bali stories to tell.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

in simpler fonts

The western convictions are seeking a hold but will they prove stronger than conventions old and conventions proven to balance the realm with not good nor evil affixed to the helm? With haste there comes greediness worry and want and seeking one's riches to display and flaunt and this all runs counter to what the gods know and this does lead mankind his hatred to grow. Is it therefore better to while away the shortest and finest of each wasting day, to wallow in a job ones hates and despises in order to earn only long-delayed prizes? Or should one much rather live life to the full and cast off possessions and ignore the pull of all that the media says we should want and write our life stories in simpler fonts? We cannot take with us the things we now hold and will not still want them when we have turned old therefore we ought spend all our riches and hours on memories unique to us and to ours. Who am I to offer this foolish advice? And can my poor warnings be shown to suffice? There is now no telling wherefore we must wait and look at this writing at a later date.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

an hypnotic daze

The swell of the century does sound its call and all of us surfers come hither enthralled to stare at the beauty of the pounding waves to dare to wade out in an hypnotic daze. This isn't a lie here it's not a tall tale about those Grigovian high-mountain vales so please do just skip this one, give me a pass, forgive my glaring and base lack of class. The surfboard is mounted the gas-tank is full and such is the majestic incessant pull of those big-old breakers there pounding the sand that I will now bring this here piece to an end.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

hollow and lame

The moon and her phases oft dictate what's felt what people one meets and what hand one is dealt. When her face is waning life often seems drab but when it is waxing everything's ab-fab and corks they get pulled and ladies' hides get tanned and there is a party all across the land. As soon the mask of moon-sister gets smaller those bright happy people lose their rosy pallor and slink back to hide in their cool comfy caves to await the return of those waxing days. Then all's once more better and times they are grand and every gesture deserves one more standing raucous ovation from everyone pleasant and every moment's a gift treasure present. There's no man immune to her regular pull for each market is at once bearish and bull and bullshit and clap-trap and hollow and lame just like this here poem – here we go again.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

inside yet strong

The lefts were on fire and so were the rights and quick was the coming arrival of night. The next day did blossom much like that before and still were no publishers lined at his door and still was no wife laid there with him inside yet strong were the walls of his small-nurtured pride. He'd gone out and done it and ridden that surf and proven to none but his own self his worth and surfed not in front of where people could see but where there was just about, oh, nobody. Now he must make payments for bike and for rent and see that his dollars are consciously spent not on bull frivolities or worthless junk or on things to lug in a big steamer trunk but on things that stay with him up in his mind – his need to own trinkets he has left behind. With strong waves approaching tomorrow he'll drive to Bingin to test if his wits are alive and ready for shredding this big-boy boss swell or if he should just stay at peaks he knows well. But time will reveal what the Fates know by now: there's some who write poems some who work a plow but each man his pathway must follow anon and mind his own business out under the sun.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

deep with toes

The tea has been drunk and the yoga is made and now is the time to breathe deep with toes splayed. The thoughts that are swirling up there in the brain will just keep on coming again and again and will only stop if the life-thread is broke or the swirling ego is brought under yoke. Acknowledge them kindly don't ask them to cease for they are to humans what pigs are to grease but if they're not given the power they crave then they will retreat back to their ego's cave. With stillness and silence all battles are won while sitting unmoving through night day moon sun while quieting angriness giving up greed relinquishing sadness want lust worry need. This process takes practice; indeed it's just that – it's small daily steps all conspiring to get to Nowhere with Nothing but with all chores met; now is there a way life much better can get?

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

feathers or mane

He lives by one principle – one iron rule – which is of course quite simply: Maximum Cool. He's let go of worry and shut every gate and he's not concerned that he's early or late but just does him wholly and fuck all the rest with a bright badge of pride stuck firm to his chest. Not word or deed ruffles his feathers or mane for he just retreats into himself again and wallows in Nothingness all the day long with a pure vitality vibrant and strong. So please do not fight him for he'll always win he takes jibe and insult straight onto the chin and shies not from using his most favorite tool which is of course nothing but Maximum Cool.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

foe angrily bark

With discipline, practice, and some devotion a life of Happiness can be surely won. One need not much money or fine fancy clothes or wireless access or paint on your toes – just a place to rest the head when night arrives as well as fresh food and clean water supplies. Now gather these things in a pile at your feet and learn how to contain and hold back and mete the fury that's brewing out into the dark and do not at a friend or foe angrily bark.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

at early waking

Here is hope and gone is sorrow but they might return tomorrow lingering at crack of dawn and haunting him with weakened spawn. With the yoga and the 'tation he can ponder situations and prepare his mind to take all slings and arrows life might make. So is now and such is folly here upon this sun-baked trolley taking us from spots unknown forever drifting all alone. Oh the well and oh to wander through the stars twixt here and yonder that do make up all we see that still reside in you and me. So rejoice at early waking though the knees be soft and quaking though the hair be white and slow for there is nothing you don't know.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

not neither be

If all permutations of a single god designed to help humans as we drag and plod were given a name and that name were well-known then how on this green earth could True Faith be shown? By speaking such things as can never be spoken we worship the smallest of cheap shiny tokens of a vast grand majesty whose name is Naught whose essence can neither be known nor forgot. Now have done with learning set judgment aside and rejoice as need want and loneliness die for right where you're standing is where you belong so long as your heart-line is ringing with song.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

soft healing light

To worry about things that one can't control is to allow fear to commandeer the soul. Such worries are prayers for evil to come and theirs is a weighty and terrible sum for once they've been thought they do not go away and darken the brightest most cheerful of days. When thinking such bad thoughts one tends to look down and to the left, but try to flip things around and look up and to the right, see what you find – for me this clears out and enlivens the mind. So next time when sadness and similar moods do make one's thoughts turn dark and one's actions rude then try looking upward and then to the right to quickly discover a soft healing light that gently and kindly can guide one back to the still tender silence that makes one anew.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

flesh and tighten

He stands at a crossroads he cannot defend for they who use violence meet a foul end. His poor dedication to that which is True must now be made vibrant and lively anew. It's bye-bye to drinking and stumbling around to making decisions neither wise nor sound to hurting his essence with lies and deceit to not really caring what foodstuffs he'll eat. The Way is quite level and easy to walk – it's doing away with all manners of talk and shedding all worry and thoughts from the past and building foundations on concepts that last. Let him now return to deep humility and let loving kindness the day of light see and let him not waste his great treasure on that which again eludes him in two seconds flat. With foresight and patience he can reach this goal before his bad habits take a lasting toll and he finds himself without much left to give and his mind resembles a poorly-built sieve. So set aside things that but concern the flesh and tighten the spirit's resilient mesh and repeat the patterns that work without fault with words in the mouth that the Mother exalt.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

my daily trust

My cells are mere vacuum with little inside but maybe two atoms around which do fly electrons and... well... yes, that is about it – if deflated into a thimble I'd fit. They are animated by something unseen by something unspeakable vast humble clean that cannot be tarnished by word hurt or rust within which I place most of my daily trust. To call this great power a name such as 'god' is to commit folly both daring and odd is to try to force what's vast into a box that must be then guarded and kept tightly locked. Now cease with such naming now give not a name to such Mighty Might that shall never be tamed but cultivate stillness deep within the soul and hum in the cranium / head / singing bowl.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

ranks are swelled

Our borders pose refuge for all who must flee regardless of origin or enemy. We house them in our homes not outside in shacks nor ghettos nor abandoned apartment tracts. We believe in all humans' deep dignity that people contain more than you or I see that they are most righteous who are gave hope to drag themselves back up a slippery slope. Now our ranks are swelled with man woman and child come in from the dark and cold in from the wild they are now our brothers and our sister too we teach them the tricks that our grandmothers knew. They marry our siblings and start families of laughter and joy frolicked under the trees and fight with against the forces without that seek our high stronghold to harass and rout. Come one and all 'fugees come quickly anon and start a new future here under our sun and find hope once more in the love we've to give for here in our bosom a good life you'll live.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

lost but won

There is no sense drinking oneself into fits – such behavior ruins the chances one gets. 'Tis better to have but a small beer or two before then retiring and awaking new before one's too blind to the women around before one's so drunk that one beds on bare ground. For drinking is costly to liver and purse forsooth it is mankind's too-gladly-met curse forsooth it is foolish to spend one's time drunk – at least that's what some quite wise people have thunk. So cast aside bottles of brandy and wine and find better ways to spend this fleeting time; with surfing and writing and meditation will many more battles be not lost but won.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

the anarchist model

The anarchist model is replete with rules that serve us as guideposts and lodestars and tools. Although they're not many and not hard to learn they help us our freedom from rulers to earn by making each one of us beholden to ideas and notions both ancient and new: do but unto others as you would have done; protect fellow creatures each and every one; live simply; stay active; don't pollute or waste; avoid judging others on action or taste; do good things without thought of merit or reward; this Earth is our common home – be a wise steward; clear the mind of worry hope want lust and need; avoid the twin pillars of hatred and greed. By acting with honor and integrity and knowing not fearfulness or boundary we step onto pathways once walked by the gods and balance the pendulum weight of our odds.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

better can get

On this day long ago to me was gave birth and now here I sit after a good short surf. I already met friends and laughed with them much; already our hearts and our souls they did touch; already I saw me a fine girl or two; already I worked on bad habits I do. Some incense is burning in my kitchenette as I wonder if this day better can get as I write a poem as has been my wont just to stay in practice not talents to flaunt. With a Nine Dog Session foremost in my mind I leave all my worries and all cares behind and prep for a lifetime of laughter and calm here under volcanoes and tall swaying palms. Already did yoga and already ate and left a small offering there on my plate and high-fived a child whom I'd never met – forsooth I don't know how things better can get.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

with her hair

His rump-steak was punctured by some wayward glass upon which he'd sat down too blindly and fast. Then he made some errors that caused his connection to effect an angry and ruddied complexion that disturbed his cash-flow and threatened his stay – at least he'll be still here on his next birthday. By saying I'm Sorry for his past transgressions he hoped his bad karma to soften and lessen and so far his efforts have not been for naught and things aren't so bad as for weeks now he's thought. He'll pull him a cork on the day of Odin and go out for surfing and maybe a swim and take him a maiden back home to his lair and take off her trousers and play with her hair. The pains of this life are not really so bad and we can all choose to be happy or sad and we can decide to wake up now or not to sit about lazing or improve our lot. There is no improving what cannot be touched – the heart soul chi karma and so on and such – for these things are left to Unnameable Powers that today might heap shit tomorrow leave flowers.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

stifle and smother

When one feels the pressure of urine and stool there is but a single and unfailing tool with which to return to a clear-minded state and that is to let loose from either flood-gate. It helps not to ignore the pressures inside for they will not lessen and the pent-up tide must exit the body one way or another unless it the head-space should stifle and smother. So please do not tally or tarry or wait until just before it is almost too late but release that torrent and let it run free; just trust me on this one – it's time to go pee.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

stifle and smother

When one feels the pressure of urine and stool there is but a single and unfailing tool with which to return to a clear-minded state and that is to let loose from either flood-gate. It helps not to ignore the pressures inside for they will not lessen and the pent-up tide must exit the body one way or another unless it the head-space should stifle and smother. So please do not tally or tarry or wait until just before it is almost too late but release that torrent and let it run free; just trust me on this one – it's time to go pee.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

gemstone or glass

Desire drives many a man on this plane and causes him torment again and again. If it's not more money or fame that he wants it's to chase a girl back to his quiet haunts and drink of her bosom and lie in her lap and then bed her down for a long sweaty nap. But lust and things wanton do not often last and they are transparent as gemstone or glass and they lead us dummies to spend all our cash on some pretty features and a firmed-up ass. So next time please ponder the fault of the ways that lead to temptation and leave minds in haze for they pale compared to the silence that's found when one has built structures on more solid ground. Unnameable Forces influence our lives and see through our trickery and all of our lies and know what is best for us so we must hear what they show our blind eyes and tell our deaf ears. For all things will work out and we'll heal up right and we will see well in both daytime and night and we'll find the cure for our poor human ills and be sunk in Happiness up to our gills. Relax and sit back and let things come along and build in the heart-space a kind loving song; rejoice in the beauty that is this here life and set aside anger greed jealousy strife.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

honor and glory

We now gladly welcome the great massive peaks that we've been expecting now for many weeks. Much caution is urged to such persons as try across their steep faces to skitter and fly for these waves are angry they do not let up and will break epoxy sponge long-board and SUP. So wax up that plank and get ready to churn and make sure to protect that skin from a burn and make sure the keys aren't still in your motor and that you're not riding your favorite board. Rehydrate with coconut, buy a trinket too, and stock up on betadine and some wound-glue, then launch into whitewash and head for the break for there is much honor and glory at stake.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

letting him stay

Devoid of temptation his choices were wise and few were the usual confusing lies. He woke on the first ring of his mobile phone and was not surprised to find himself alone in the double bed in his small but clean home whereupon he stretched out his tendons and bones. His yoga completed he then showered off and watched as the grit and dirt from his skin sloughed and checked on the forces that he had set up and refilled the electric water-boiling cup. Into a glass mug he dumped some coffee grinds – the Balinese loose strong and toe-curling kind – then poured in the water that he had just boiled before making sure his clothes were not too soiled. First one then another he put duly on and praised himself for the battles he'd just won and set off for glory on a sunny day and thanked his dear island for letting him stay.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

ӝ_Ʉ.Ŧ^ƗƆº-×·Ʊ·×-ºCƗ^Ŧ.Ʉ_ӝ

he slept for an hour and an hour more and twice had to relieve his own urine store

edge of tomorrow

Awake at the crack of this newly born day he spied a small kitten that soon ran away. Then off for some surfing just him and a mate who hoped that the lack of swell would soon abate then off for some brekkie at a local spot where good food is tasty and coffee is hot. Then later more surfing if sets should appear then tonight some dancing and fifteen cold beers with many a blow-in to ease his duress to clear his mind and to alleviate stress. Tomorrow's a day off and then he will rest and prepare to do what he knows he does best which is to stay lucid soft free of sorrow here on this bright isle – the edge of tomorrow.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

more friendly knot

Some men in the gamelan put wide happy smiles on when they spied the tourists' trance there within the close expanse. Dressed not well but sloppily next to many Balinese whose outfits were neat and fine for to prepare they'd taken time. The white intruders shook and raised their hands up in a mocking praise but did not pray toward what is holy rather worked their bodies wholly and did cause me too to grin while sitting there with feet tucked in. Soon the man whose dress was crude espied us all and thought us rude and leaped right up from his tight spot and fled to a more friendly knot. There he stayed and met and stared at a young lass whose hair was fair and no more ventured from his group but settled down upon the stoop that faced the altar and the priests who soon upon their rites would cease. When came time to take the blessing gone were they of poorly dressing – just a few of us remained who'd made the trek who wore the same as all the people of this isle who share with us a hearty smile and welcome us into their arms where we'll be ever free from harm.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

sits now alone

To delve in the deeps of his pineal gland he undertook tasks that much tested his sand. There was of course surfing and learning new tongues as well as his efforts of climbing the rungs of his new profession – a writer he is for print publication and local business. And there in a small room he sits now alone his laptop is tethered to his mobile phone so he can access the vast inter-network (the life of a stringer is replete with perks). It's off to a café for some noontime bites to eat a few morsels and drink something light then back to the small room for more work and play on this bright fresh glorious productive day.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

more bountiful way

There rages a silent and internal war inside of this mendicant pitiful whore. Where once he was OK with drinking at night and bedding down many a wandering sprite and sleeping well into the next painful day he now sees another more bountiful way. For there is a fire that burns deep within by whose light he'll fail to lose and start to win but it must be stoked by soft warm discipline should he on this new track his journey begin. This human life rushes, a flash in the pan, and his shall be glorious instead of wan for he has begun his own patterns to know – the ones their dark faces refused him to show. Set aside that bottle and reach not for smoke but see that this fire is tended and stoked and see that the weeks and the months whizzing by are filled not with sadness but joyous war-cries such as his blue-neon and still-writhing spirit has been now expecting for about a minute.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

to lovingly pray

When asked by another to pray for his mother it is very prudent to go follow through with all of the things that one said one would do. If it doesn't work out however don't fret for much opportunity will follow yet to prove to the people who forever watch that this is one mission that will not be botched. So sit there in silence and keep in the mind the persons who've gone and left us all behind who've entered the realm of the Warm Vast Long Sleep for whom we must rejoice and no longer weep. To be there in spirit is almost as swell as fighting through miles of truck-traffic hell so take out a moment from this splendid day for his deceased mother to lovingly pray.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

aggressive and casting

Some people they harvest much fear from the masses that lick at their bootheels and ream out their asses by being aggressive and casting much blame then acting surprised when they're treated the same. To trap oneself inside mental aggression is about as useful as it is good fun – it foments and fosters a hatred inside from which love truth honor soon turn tail and hide. But ones who are angry are really just sad and fed up with all of the problems they've had and really just want to be hugged patted praised for the rest of their paltry few waking days. So answer not anger with anger in kind but to such behavior stay watchful but blind and share of compassion with persons whose rage seems always to put them on a central stage for their souls are crying and begging for help albeit with sometimes an acerbic yelp. Keep the heart-lines open and share of the love that flows in from outside and from up above; embrace the tormentors whose actions are cruel and show them such useful and soul-rescuing tools that all of us get from our mothers who give us room in their bodies so that we might live and heal all our brethen – everyone who basks in the light of the moon and the sun.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

a surfing safari

It's off on a surfing safari we go and just where we'll end up we can't as yet know. There's talk of Balian and high pounding waves upon which to ride out these halcyon days but maybe we'll sidetrack and visit a spot where we will be be judged on what chutzpah we've got. Our mount is a yellow VW bus that will easy carry our boards without fuss within which we'll ride through the paddies and fields within which we'll discuss our hopes and ideals. So pack a small bag and do come along please for ours is a majestic palpable ease for ours is the glory of an endless chase a goal we approach will a calm measured pace. The sun is now shining and so are our hearts we hope that the old girl will get up and start for wave-crests are waiting for us to explore on this verdant island that we so adore.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

notion of silence

There rose from the center of his shining soul the notion of silence eternal and old, the notion of nothingness that's known as Wu without which there's nothing that no one can't do. To flush out the thoughts from the mind every day and allow but nothingness therein to play is much like the finding of a treasure lost – one beyond the notion of value or cost. Sit for one half hour and one minute more and make sure to open your heart- and mind-doors and let in the forces that are all around that if ever sought for will never be found. Then bask in the beauty of life's subtle graces and let go of each of the up-welling faces that spring from the banks of deep bone-memory and let love and happiness be all you see. In silence the majestic soul-fires burn; with time many truths and much patience you'll learn; for there is a nothingness is each of us that forms with its vacuum the strong central truss upon which we build up our hopes and our fears each day of these fleeting but wonderful years.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

nothing but lame

This author's a preacher he thinks he should preach and thinks he's a mountain of knowledge to teach. In truth though his wisdom is hardly worth sharing hence why so few people do seem to be caring that he has been posting and blogging for years whatever's fermenting up between his ears. There shall be no moral to this here blog-posting that by all accounts should be duly composting out in a dark bin where no man it can see and read by just one person – him, only he. Huzzah then for living and for writing too it seems to be something that all people do but they do it better and put him to shame by proving his talents are nothing but lame.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

and constantly brace

This land is not burdened by widespread restrictions on what people sell from their counters and kitchens. One must simply trust that fried foods one receives were not cooked in vats of automobile grease that all items washed were not washed in a stream of discarded plastics and bovine urine. When did the cook cooking last wash her own hands? In what kind of soil grew all of these plants? Is that waiter trained how to keep himself clean or is he ignorant of all things hygiene? Defenestrate caution and throw out also all that you once were sure that you knew you know and reach for that spoon and just drink up that soup and wonder not whether that chicken was cooped up in a small box or did wander and range or whether it suffered from physical pain. For nothing is certain and nothing lasts long and each of us decides how to get along with all of the chaos alive in this place toward which one must daily and constantly brace. To choose of the option of not eating meat will help one avoid past mistakes to repeat, so order a salad with tofu and nut and forthwith jump out of foul suffering's rut.

​© americanifesto / 場黑麥

longest one solo

It was late last night when he sat there quiet the longest one solo he'd ever done yet. He'd spread out his mat on the hard tiled floor and slid the bolt shut on his room's only door and said seven times the word Ong quietly there in his dark quarters where no one could see. For thirty-one minutes he kept his eyes closed where-after he duly and quickly arose and made himself forthwith all ready for bed with a heart devoid of need want fear or dread. The thoughts had kept coming while he'd meditated just before the end though they had slowly abated and left him a meat-sack containing a soul with Nothingness ringing in his singing-bowl. That bowl is the dome of the skull and within its small but smooth confines is where one begins to let go of worry and search for self-love while much rushing beauty comes down from above. One must first find anchor deep down in the guts in the second chakra is the holding-platz for soul essence spirit lest it should escape and leave one a mad and wild-eyed guttersnipe. So sit for a moment and let go of all dark thoughts that cause trembles bright ones that enthrall and know that the purpose of man in this life is not to make babies or get him a wife but to just sit silent in humble abode and reach without reaching for the Central Node.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

with clanging grace

He was overwhelmed by the forces in play that did whirl around him and through him today. The compound was filled with kids women and men all dancing and praying amongst their dear ken and playing the gamelan with clanging grace and joy in their heart and delight on their face. Men did laugh and murmur kids slept smiled stared the women bore goodies that they had prepared as votive offerings to gods seated high on empty chairs lifted high up in the sky. With tones as yet unheard by these foreign ears did this vibrant theater placate his fears and awake within him the urge to start praying in order to lessen childhood demons' baying. He saw a sea turtle spread out on the grass and his dressed-up image reflected in glass and lifted his hands when the priests did say to and felt himself reborn both shiny and new. He drank of the waters that fell from their cups and thought not of hygiene or other such stuffs but went right along with the rites Balinese that left his soul buoyed bright bursting and pleased. What's next for this whorphan? is what he now asks and knows that this heightened sense only will last so long as he keeps up his daily practice – with one hand on heart and the other on kris.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

his deep hunger

The hungry was powerful it did not cease – for nigh on three days it had him on his knees consuming what nourishment that he could find except for the tantric or spiritual kind. He stuffed himself full with grains cheeses and fish and ate from most every available dish but still his deep hunger he could not abate no matter how much food he piled on his plate. A few dozen beers also entered his guts but he knew he'd never reenter the ruts that he'd long been trapped in that led him astray that had turned to pewter once-pliable clay. And so he now sits in his small tidy room with thoughts turned to liberty fate beauty doom; the future is his who can harness himself who searches not outside but inside for wealth.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

starting from birth

There are friends who want what's good then those who are concerned just with bellying up to a bar. To conquer the ego and harness its faults; stand up, face the music of this fragile waltz; revel in the beauty of our tiny Earth; is all one can hope to do, starting from birth. When others attempt to control dictate lead concerned not with joy but with merely their greed they just satisfy what they feel deep inside and then drag some others along for the ride. To not face one's demons is a faulty path, for one will soon incur Miss Fate's patient wrath and wind up without much to show for oneself beside empty bottles lined up on a shelf. I reject this method for dealing with stress and would rather do say try and attempt less and sit by myself in this room made of flesh – this mortal warm bloody mobile living crèche. Thank you sir but no thanks, I must say more oft and keep all my energies lifted aloft and learn to stay focused in the here and now and wrap up my fleshy pulsating man-plow. No amount of liquor can quench this here thirst; to drink so much sugar just makes most things worse; so throw down that flagon and go take a walk; enough of this rambling self-righteous talk.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

fortunes and luck

At 4 in the morning was when my clock struck to signal a shift in my fortunes and luck. I'd sprung from the bed before it could sound twice and switched on the light-saving overhead lights then sat in the small room for maybe fifteen producing a paltry intermittent stream. With a five solid minutes I buffered my quest yet when I arrived just one other did rest and woke not in time to head out with the group which duly out toward the chauffeur did troop. With no cars in our way we sped through the dark and walked in while their local driver then parked and met with a manku (or monk, in this tongue) who brought out dry sarongs for everyone. Thus clad and all ready we made for the spouts and entered cold waters with nary a shout and opened our chakras and relaxed our souls and let ring our innermost balancing bowls. After those 5 outlets had washed us off good we changed into dry clothing in which we could sit for a long period down on the stones and pray to many gods in varying tones. We lifted our bare hands up to chackra 6, washed them in smoke rising from red incense sticks, then prayed once again but with flowers between our fingers which had been so recently cleaned. After that was done sat for meditation and two of us felt a powerful sensation of energies flowing in down out and through repeating and flashing with patterns we knew. Once finished we went then to view Shiva's rod, the rock and stone member of a mighty god, then left by a side-door the groomed temple grounds and reflected on all the knowledge we'd found. We sped back past rice-field and workshops for wood and sought out a café in bustling Ubud and made there new friends with a small group of men. They had on their chests round devices which blinked which caused us to wonder pause inspect and think and caused us to jump in the leader-dude's van and speed right back out to the country again. The price-point was high for what we would have got wherefore we did not buy anything on the spot but pledged to meet up with him a few days hence when passions had cooled and our minds were less dense. My nap didn't happen for now I must ride to find me a resto with decent Wi-Fi where I can complete a task started last week before my eyes flutter shut tired and weak.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

churning far side

With frothy peaks mounting atop the deeps black he ducked under wavelengths of ceaseless attack. When surfaced once more on the churning far side a perfect one coming ws all that he spied and turned for his takeoff and nailed it anon and without much effort was surfing and gone. When its forces were spent his exit arrived and his was a purest joy to be alive and he turned once more and once more paddled out while sounding his loudest and sharpest war-shout. A maiden was nearby and she turned to look as he from his forelock the briny drink shook but with a few stokes of his lean mighty limbs pulled past her and toward that one sweet spot did swim. Through haze sun was setting and sending up steam it watched as he kept getting up on his beam it watched as he sped through the oceans atop the great mighty breakers that never did stop. When his forces left him he aimed for the cove and thanked all the gods who looked down from above and thanked all the gods living under the sea in a short swift sincere surf ceremony. With aplomb he wormed slipped and dodged all the rocks and ignored the nay-saying beer-drinking jocks who piled on the shore-front to stand there and leer whenever a surfer-type came them too near. His heart though was pure and he kept his mouth shut and kept right on walking to his meager hut where he took a shower too brief and too cold then vowed he'd still love the sea when he was old.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

dandy and fine

With just a wee portion of tasteful delight she ended what started as an average night. Her mate he was slender and didn't much care if she had long pretty blond straight or short hair. Their tryst was not lengthy and he didn't stay but quickly at sunrise went off on his way and never did call her or drop her a line which she found OK splendid dandy and fine.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

lyrics to mete

I'll keep this one simple short tender and sweet for I have been given some lyrics to mete. The words I'll keep simple but they don't come free for they will require much effort from me. It's off to a roadhouse for its wireless as well as a well-cooked and boned chicken breast. The life of a stringer is not hard at all, so long as I stick to my own wherewithal and don't fall in cozy with drinkers and thieves or mistake my wants for my few paltry needs. My fingers will fly over all of these keys and then I will relax and do as I please and stand back and rejoice that labor's been done – that for just today I've a few battles won.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

my small victories

One way that I keep mood and spirits buoyed is by satisfying their everyday need for order, cleanliness, and propriety – these together make up my small victories. The world that I live in is not won or lost by me calculating just profit or loss but by me composing and building up slow the projects and databases that I grow. I'll throw in some yoga six days out of all – it helps me stay limber and ruddies my pall – then be sure I hang out with old or new friends, whom I then rotate through again and again. In this way I augment the work that does pay for this my long lengthy vocational stay upon this here island below the equate whose surf-spots are plenty whose fun won't abate. This life of a human is full of defeat unless one always gets back to one's feet and marvels rejoices and praises the self with wee tiny victories for mental health. Without such small successes one shrivels up and merely inhabits a cracked leaky cup that oozes out oodles of life's precious juice, such the stuff as one must do one's best not to lose. So celebrate those small important occasions or struggle with constant and daily frustrations that start on the inside but soon emerge – with your small victories these you'll soon purge.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

just three conditions

When habits emerge they are duly subjected to just three conditions or else they're rejected. Occur these new habits in moderation? With love and humility toward everyone? Do they increase waistlines and bring the mood down or are they the toast and the talk of the town? If they have an impact that is quickly felt then they must forthwith an ejection be dealt or molded and shaped so that they then do cause not sad bad old loneliness but proud applause. The doing's not hard but the starting sure is – to pull oneself back from that gaping abyss that is a new habit takes grit marbles sand as well as conviction and a simple plan. Analise your conditions and ask yourself this: Will this here decision make me feel remiss? Or will I rejoice when the piper comes calling, demanding such payment as I find appalling? Then cut out the dead weight and start you anew, to make small change daily is all you can do, for that is how all those bad habits got started – when you got too comfortable and your brain farted.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

moves and stretching

With thoughts just of serving the weak and the lame he started a practice that he hoped would tame the misled convictions that lived deep within that caused him to lie cheat steal hate curse and sin. It was a short series of old moves and stretching that kept his limbs limber and his waistline fetching with bookends of breathing meditative thoughts that saw him there sitting and thinking of naught. He then read his Tao Te Ching, bowed to Agung, and swept up and tidied his single-bed room, and dove into writing a screenplay or book while an holy fire his soul-lines it shook.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

ourselves and alone

There remains for substance a palpable need in this time of spacial and temporal bleed. No one is sure just what is now going on – all that we can say is a battle's been won that has long been raging between light and dark since that one old codger did built him an ark. The fight is not over, there's more yet to come; it rages inside each of us, everyone, who deals with temptation lust want hate and greed and laughs or rejoices when his fellows bleed. Cultivate compassion and right the heart ​true and hope will spring always in your life anew for there is a well hidden inside the soul that runs deep and bountiful, pure clean and cold.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

from yesterday's fears

I learned at a young age that all people leave but not so much how and for how long to grieve. I sank into alcohol, wallowed in pity, and wasted a lot of time being plain shitty. Fourteen years now have passed since my Mom did die and here I sit still with a tear in my eye and reject the errors, the faults of my past while looking for meaningfulness that will last. I find that it helps to have people nearby who care for me and do not mind if I cry or sit there in silence and keep my mouth shut and trust in the Truth that lives deep in the gut. It is the small victories won every day that help me to get back up and onto my way, that help me keep learning from yesterday's fears the long solid wisdom that lasts through the years. Rise up from the pit now and reject what's false, there will be more obstacles and higher walls, but using the lessons I have learned so far I swear to keep for Hope my soul's door ajar.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

all by my

Sometimes I just have to sit back and unwind all by my poor lonesome for weeks at a time. I am I think guilty of giving from nil, of letting these others to drink of their fill and drain siphon empty the gifts that I share with all and with everyone, ugly or fair. I learned to watch out for this when I was trained but since have slipped into it now and again because I am careless and let habits grow instead of just sticking to good things I know. To keep doing yoga will save this here life and help me to quiet my internal strife and see me now blossom with recovery, with brightness and laughter and wondrous discoveries. Each day is a choice, then, each day starts anew, to make good decisions is all I can do, not wallow or pine for days or people gone but celebrate the tiny victories won.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

thankful in two

There has been an anger stuck deep in my brain that's there because the past cannot come again. When I make the mistake of thinking too much and brooding on images I cannot clutch, and missing dead people like Mom Dad and Grammy I suffer a jaw-clenching, swift double whammy. I yearn for the people I see in my head, then remember – Oh yeah, that's right, they're all dead – then feel like I want to just tremble and break and scream from my lungs with each breath that they make. Instead I'll go surfing and bob in the waves, and try to be thankful in two or three ways, and beg for the souls of my ancestors dear, who are always with me, up between my ears.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

a few rules

There are a few rules that I follow when sick before I break down and take antibiotics. So long as I'm capable of breathing well, I'm able to move up and down a stairwell, I'm not losing blood at a furious rate or have diarrhea that will not abate, I have an appetite and can keep down food, then I will just sit there and suffer and brood but not dare resort to such powerful drugs that bomb nuke and destroy both bad and good bugs. We humans must wait and let our bodies tick and not simply reach for those antibiotics to make ourselves feel better so we can then smoke cigarettes, drink beers, and ab-fab with friends.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

drink while swatting

While walking to pick up my moped last night I came across a no-so-puzzling sight – my previous landlord and current good friend with a whiskey bottle in his soft brown hand. He raised the flask upward, let contents rain down (he drank so much booze that I thought he would drown), then saw me and called me to join him and drink while swatting the butt of a woman in pink. I shambled on over and took off my thongs and mingled well into the Balinese throng of men and one woman who lay or just sat; some of them were skinny, the others were fat. We sat then and drank there for almost an hour discussing the chance of a nightly rain-shower then heard from his wife who said my bike was fixed at which point we removed ourself from the mix. I hopped on the back of the nearest dirt bike and we hit the road with the speed of a shrike and made without incident his fine compound where his wife and in-laws soon gathered around. They looked at my moped and laughed when I showed the method to cover my pipe that I chose which involved six brackets, one length of bamboo, that stopped it from burning legs surfboards and shoes. Then off into darkness I sped without pause with sauce in my veins and a smile in my jaws and slept really poorly (because of the moon?) – believe me I will not booze again too soon.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

learning to ignore

This whorphan is aging but not getting old is learning to ignore most that he is told. There's an epidemic in society the outlines of which aren't easy to see which manifests itself when talk turns toward such things that can never be wiped from the board. To use the phrase 'should have' is to presuppose that someone can go back and change what arose ten minutes ten years or ten decades ago when each of us but toward the future can go. To say to another what should have transpired is a foolish habit both worn-out and tired for hindsight is perfect and often misused as passive-aggressive temporal abuse. Small minds discuss people, average ones events, the brightest among us though do seem hellbent on maintaining ideas and ideas alone deep in their gray tissues and fast in their bones. Please avoid the habit that's mentioned above and instead use mercy compassion and love to guide others gently onto the One Path that thwarts conquers celebrates Fate's patient wrath.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

our Lombok excursion

The peaks they were shifting from forward to back and horizons cluttered with churning whitecaps. Alone in the water, just me and my mate, we arrived right on time, not early or late. The surfboards were waxed and the camera was primed, our Lombok excursion seemed perfectly timed to capture the rising and powerful swells that this wee green island delivers so well. While riding on scooters that would not go fast there were many farmsteads and herds that we passed, dirt compounds and groups of water buffalo that moved with gaits plodding and measured and slow. Ekas and Gerupuk were our favorite bays, we surfed and we played in their waters ways, we drove motored explored them from east to west in search of such waves as would propel us best. Fried rice did sustain us and keep us alive, did fuel our unending and incessant drive to keep right on paddling, injured or whole, with joy in our hearts and hope deep in our souls. There were many rainstorms and thunderous peals that woke us from slumber and made children squeal but they didn't stop us from mounting our steeds or quieting our daily water-time needs. Goodbye then, fair Lombok, we shall meet again, farewell to the women and children and men whom we met and played with on your verdant hills – thanks for the love friendship food surf and goodwill.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

toned shapely slabs

There lies at the middle crux center and core a bright brimming majestic powerful store where most intuition and much knowledge lies in that sweet region twixt navel and thighs. Behind all the nether and lower-most abs, those chiseled tight granite-like toned shapely slabs, is a spot of strength knowing and density that controls and speaks to the lower body. To access it is to be one with the self for it is the fountain of youth truth and health; where once mine too hid behind layers of blubber I am now removing its shielding and cover. When delving deep into this curious place remember to relax the jaw and the face and sit with the feet crossed or up in lotus then breathe well and clear the mind of all its fuss. The power gained from such a meditation will outshine the photons hurled off by the sun, allowing the person to go venture soar without ever opening his house's door. Now put down those donuts, set coffee aside, and let your brave spirit some vortexes ride, and watch as greed avarice pettiness hate do suddenly vanish diminish abate.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

dream vision thought

Oh darkest of night and oh brightest of day we ask that you prolong your too-fleeting stay. You come and visit us in dream vision thought; without your due influence we would be naught. The light of your passion does touch on our souls, we use it to plug up necessity's holes, to fill in the gaps that our minds cannot fill, to invent the future and cure lasting ill. Now people on far distant parts of the globe do wrack activate puzzle with frontal lobes in search of solutions to what might well be the means by which our race can reach apogee. Without ever talking to one another these people do stumble upon and discover the wealth of 'formation that fleet flits about to which they are known a Eureka! to shout. Some mighty good scientists did once propose that what our poor species should think that it knows comes down from the aether to infect the pan of truth-seeking woman of curious man. Just look at calculus and the pyramids – were not these developed in separate bids by people kept distant by vast furlonged leagues when now-shining cities lay covered in weeds? The secrets of airborne, mechanical flight that we think as merely a new modern right was thought of in Egypt and in the Near East when we in Europa were seen as just beasts. Keep therefore the brain-stem devoid of cruel pride and the blessed third eye consciously wide and think not of glory or long-lasting fame but feel for the burning of that holy flame that comes to the seeker who does then lets go whose guts are the kind that let her say :Don't know.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

them to fly

Without ever leaving the confines of this my house in the alley I have found some bliss and have found in writing my tranquility yet still my relatives can't see what I see. I have but few answers, the ones that I do would rarely be seen as quick clever or new, they're all mostly poached from the texts old and wise – just wrapped up in modern and crumbling disguise. I've no one to prove to that my path is good that I am now doing exact as I should, that I am now living here in this far land without vast resources and with fewer plans. I'll let them keep puzzling about my game and keep on repeating the eternal name that sounds without hurry from window and sky that gives my dreams wings and allows them to fly.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

drops and ruddy

Pain it blossoms pure and bright as I there sit and hold my fright and hold my twitching keeping small my sweaty drips and ruddy pall. There is much that I can take except the cruelty others make but now I'm learning not to look for faults or errors when I'm shook. Breathing deeply, staying calm, reveling in swazi's balm, I want for nothing but my peace and my sadnesses to decrease. This I must do, this I will, not with potion or with pill but rather with my steady breath and letting go till nothing's left. As it sit here watching vids while outside shriek the neighbors' kids while inside there is much hot heat that stalls my efforts to complete the process started long ago when I sat lonely in the snow. All is changing night and day so I will lock my mouth up tight and keep opinions to myself to maintain sanity and health.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

through quarters cramped

I've been to some death-camps and seen some mass graves into which were hurled chucked tossed innocent slaves; I've stood in the oven rooms smelling their reek and wandered through quarters cramped barren and bleak. The stories and tales of Survivors I've heard; did soak lap and sponge up each soft quiet word; did stand before mountains of shoes and shorn locks; did witness the stolen gold teeth and arm-clocks. I've been to Jerusalem's own Yad Vashem, examined the causes from which hatred stems, examined the lessons that our past imparts and struggled to understand cold callous hearts. This world we now live in is once again filled with racist small-minded and misguided swill – we see it in Europe and in the U. States where there are hot heated and brutal debates. These are though concerning the Islamic creed and ask if for tolerance there is still need and ask if the people who've made it their own should be whipped and murdered or just left alone. I know not the answers, my mind is too small, my intellect lacking in due wherewithal, I will though say one thing then leave well alone: Let he who's not sinned pick and cast the first stone.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

from the start

With a lukewarm greeting and hardly a wave there swept in a rakish and dastardly knave. He knocked over dishes and upset a cart and swore at the helpers and staff – from the start. His clothes they were made of the finest of threads and he quick demanded the softest of beds and he quick devoured a soup meant for all who sat there nearby him him in our greeting hall. His stay quickly ended however when he did molest a young girl – a terrible deed – whose father'd been hired to keep us secure from outside intruders and rapacious curs. We'd endured his rudeness and his faulty ways (each human among us can choose what he says) but when he did force himself onto that lass the attending women joined to beat his ass. They hauled him straight out to the foremost courtyard and hit him with fist and foot and hit him hard and left him there bleeding and made a photo of his face and broadcast it so all would know that men such as him were not welcome no more to sit at our table or knock at our door.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥