soo, my life is complicated, yet simple.simple- I don't work as of yet.complicated I'm living with a family of five.simpler- my wife got ou of jail after 74 days.complicated-we're still fighting much more than I would of imagined while she was away. I miss bein homeless in Cali. nothing to do all day but smoke high-grade pot.now I go weeks or months at a time without smoking anything. I'm very unsure of what I want right now. Hoppy is working as a phone sex operator wich isn't making massive amounts of money, but a lot more tan nothing.there are no jobs anywhere out here.I want to have fun, but I'm unsure how to go about that.sorry my entry is such a drag.

so wow, LJ kinda rocks. I'm at annother nat park working as a cook, eventually. Me and Hoppy are still together, though we fight more than we did before. I realy miss you all. I'm well, so don't worry.

So, in case you were wondering, I am still alive. There is some realy lame shit here (people, mostly, if you consider rednecks to be people). Things are going verry well with Hoppy & I, though working together is hard. It helps that she's better at her job than anyone else.I'm sorry if I haven't called or written you in a while, Comunications can be Hinky at 3800 feet.I'm making decent money and have even met a handfull of cool motherfuckers out here. I re-hawked my hair and I'l try to post a pic. I love and miss those of you who I love and miss (you know who you are).

rick

Working so hard just to stay afloat.tragedy so deep and personal that it can not be chronchled here.I miss Texas and am beggining to wonder why I left.lost touch with my sister three months ago when she burned me for some cash.Trieing so hard to kill the rage that wells up in my gut.Despite my best efforts, people her still don't get me.The last boy scout in a sea of barbarians.I miss her. I hate her. it all comes back to the words of the king.Same Shit Different day. At lest there is some truth in that.

Brief post for all of you out there. I'm livink with ariel in a tiny room on the ocean. life is good, money is bad and i just haven't had time to post. I'm about to finish my second trip to the top of the dark tower. well worth the effort. I miss you all nearly as much as I miss my sanity. But , shit there are other worlds than these.

The days are clickin' like balls in a Texas poolhall.Money's mostly not sucked, and I've actually mannaged to save most of it.Everyone's going a little crazy(too much so to account for).A went to Asheville, NC a week and a half ago, and I miss her like hell.She's supposed to be coming back at some point,if only to gather her gunna from this place. She finished The Gunslinger and is raring to get into The Drawing Of The Three. I'm proud as fuck of this. Rick always leaves his mark, in some cases the impression gets deep indeed. I have no idea what's going on with us...I hate distance and phones and shit almost as much as i hate dependency, complications, and obligations.She feels the same way as I do about these and most other things. So sum it up to mayhaps further down the path (hopefully before the clearing at the end).But, let's not get over-dramatic about this thing.Ive only got four major goals right now; a stable, cheap, and comfortable place to stay, A motorcycle (or other means of cheap coneyance), a couple of grand in savings, and last but not by a damn sight least, getting the fuck out of this lame assed town! I miss austin like hell, and would like to go to Texas. Travel to unfamiliar places would be cool too.I'm going to make a conscious effort to write more in the next few days, there's lots to be done now, though.Stay Up.

I may have had satori-esque epiphany; the Rose is that 1 thing that the Jack Palance charecter in city slickers. In The Tower Cycle There were three things that made up the supports of reality, the most perfect of which is the Rose. It brings such joy, such peace. It is a archetype for all that is perfect about existience. Ther was a poet that I heard a few years back that said " God sometimes likes to twirl the drumsticks between the two and the four" he was talking about the beauty he had witnessed personaly, with no device but his own memory to chronicle it.I thought of it once as secret heaven. There are these small moments of limited occupancy. It happens all the time, but the most vivid example I can think of was in the summer of 1999 in scottsdale, Arizona. The festival had been over for a few weeks and Amber (my girlfriend at the time), Richard, this kick-ass Canadian who is still one of the best friends I've ever had, and kalindi, this vegan chick who was born a hare krishna and had never eaten meat. Amber had two friends who had rented a nice apartment in scottsdale. They left for the month proceeding the festival, and since we'd been in tents and vans for two months, they let us use their place.
One day, around dusk, Kalindi and Amber were down in the courtyard of the apartment doing yoga together on a blanket. Richard and I sat on the balcony watching the light fade out of the day, not really talking all that much. He did say, "you know this is really nice."
"Yeah," I said not needing a definition of his meaning.Perfection in an absolutely intangible sense, save that of the memory.
I had one of these experiences today...but that's a story for another day.

"May your Luck rise, Roland."
"May yours rise twice."
Stephen King
The Wizzard and Glass
Dark Tower IV

looking for a cheap place to hang my hat.And my dose four in the moorning come on cold and boring.thems the breaks. sometimes up, other times down, lately in half. I got my head up, though. Head above water, water out of the mouth, as I like to say. A left for asheville last night. I miss her, but
I'm not that sad. AShe and I met at a very strange time in our lives, but not at the end. I want to see her further down the path when we both have our shit together.That would be better than this duckin' and divin' shit. I'm unsure of what to do. that seems to be a commonplace lament these days. Therer's a short-term plan in place and that will have to do for now. I should seek refuge in the jewels as they are the only thing in wich refuge can be sought, that and the Tower, to be true.

I photograph and record what I see and what happens to me. I am not
a guru or leader of any sort. I am not a man who looks for
solutions in God or politics. If somebody else wants to do the
dirty work and create a better world for us and he can do it, I
will accept it. In Europe where my work is having much luck,
various groups have put a claim on me, revolutionaries, anarchists,
so forth, because I have written of the common man of the streets,
but in interviews over there I have had to disclaim a conscious
working relationship with them because there isn't any. I have
compassion for almost all the individuals of the world; at the same
time, they repulse me.

--Charles Bukowski

The days have taken on this bizare finality, the reason for wich eludes me. Ignorance, sloth, apathy, poor,simple over-optinistic judgement?Trust? Is that it, could it be?Everyone is on the precipice of some great unknown."I just don't know what my next move is."Their unsurity echos my own. I've seen it go both ways before, sometimes there's good fortune over the edge looking to cradle you tto the ground, sometimes there are rocks and broken glass just far enough down to make the impact fuckin' devestating. But still, I am here. Who's laughing now? I'm close to someone now who believes that one's general goodness or badness has nothing to do with the kind of luck or treatment they recieve. She believes that all things in life are the result of the pre-determined machinations of fate or destiny. all things happen for a reason or a purpose, therefor one's actions or intentions have nothing to do with their karmic inheiritance.I'ts close to the KING'S concept of KA from the Dark Tower cycle.KA serves both It's own purposes and your's.It takes you everywhere, brings to you everyone you will ever love, hate, or become fascinated with. It holds the universe in it's cold, fantastic, Wise, and sometimes cruel hands.It brings us all our life's joy and pain. And it will always be it's only master.So, this all leaves me trieing to believe in life's
great mystery.

Stand And Be True.

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs into you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.

I was alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and night swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.

But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the pink roses of the pubis! Oh your voice, slow and sad!

Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark River-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.


thanks, nat

was bored tonight, and couldn't sleep,so jenn came over and we went to the beach. The water was still a little crazy after yeasterday's storm. There was lots of cool crap on the beach, and I started to get in the water, but the ground was real loose and i didn't like the looks of the waters. I found some more cool shells (mostly the ones w/ the little holes ate in them.)had fun gopt home in time to tape BeBop again tonight. There's a funny ep on tonight.I feel better, I had a bad case of the blues earlier.I want to write a poem about the rose tonight and do some band graff. if I can I'll post it on my space @ http:/myspace.com/deadmonk.

check it.

dead to this world
and
just
a
little

tipsy
I nod like a junky
with too much time
and income
on my hands,

but I know what's realy

on these hands.
brunettes

blondes

too many
redheads

staggering down this
casual causeway

I pause to
pull the purpose
briefly placated by this
one-man
show

thinking countless
dreadfull
conclusions

stuck in this infinite
dance, unsure
of how or who
I'm stepping


pick up and recieve
no connection
this mechanical
hum
brings all the
answers

in a way wich
can only be called
old

i
ask the skies
what the dawn
tastes of.

Once again I can't sleep. I'm so sick of this, mayhaps I should see a dr. about it. I've decided to stop smoking.It's such a waste of time and money, and I've been doing it for 6 years now.If there is anything to learn from this habit (as I once eloquently claimed) then I've learned it.Now I'm straying into the land of junkieism. A baby hurricane is about to hit here.I'v got an amazing woman in my life, but I'm going to keep her under wraps for a little longer.She's mad perfect for me, though.Half of me wants to leave this place, the other half wants to stay.My home life has been tense, but I found work today wich should ease up some of that.I'm going to try to sleep now.Love Y'all.

I love Jack.

The air in here
Is slowly circulating
My air is cleared
by a narrow margin
This silence
Is shooed away
By the echos
Of your laughter
The little ghosts of fingers
That test the depths
Of my warm symetry
Bare and deeply rooted
In this late-afternoon
Space
The light vaugely registers
In our affluent eyes
You stand un-adorned and
Glorious
Some deeply archived piece
Of dream literature
I run along your
subtle
personal
geography
sweet cream spilled on
a cluttered surface
you encompass
all
this fever pitches us
violently about
In this bloodless exchange
Our emotion is all
Motion
Pursueing this
Plauseable reaction
We are all places
At once
In this intimate
Omnipotence
We see what
They
Can
Not.



9.5.5-3

Amid this kenetic
Flow
Dismal and bound by
Ka
Fucked because
That's what was written
ultimately tied to this
Roundhouse of un-being
I lower and submit
Just another weary servant
The last of my kind
A praetor of lead
I lay this blessing of blood
On all the beasts this world
has to offer
Death is only the
conduit of this becoming
I remain still
But not nearly harmless
A pounce coiled in my
throat
On the lowest floor
of this time-torn
Tower.

A dusty wild Rose
And the guns of my fathers
Serve as sigul
To the light I serve
From this side
Of the Castles board
Small persistent lights
And spreading feral shadows
Leave this path too dark
for this scarred face
To be seen.

Bow and say
Thankee-sai
In spite of
Our father's faces
Or, mayhaps,
Because of them
The peace comes only
from my Peacemkers
They leave my hands
so weighted and ready
For rest
just another number
In this veiled
mystic
bloody
Equation.

I come at last
to this field of
Random and infinite
Beauty
Armed to the teeth
With hell and honor
On my bastard's breath
This inevitable apocalypse
Fills me with inconceivable
LIGHT
And a hellish heat
Brought about by the friction
Of this world moving on.

-Gunslingers, to me!-

"I've been reading Whitman, know what he says, Cheer up slaves, and horrify foreign despots, he means that's the attitude for the Bard, the Zen Lunacy bard of old desert paths, see the whole thing is a world full of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn't want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to the mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of 'em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason..." (The Dharma Bums, pg. 77-78) KEROUAC

"you're not punk
and I'm tellin' everyone.
Save your breath
I never was one
You don't know just what I'm all about
Like killing Cops and reading Kerouac!"
Jawbreaker- indictment

The sky is split
By the dark fingers
of "holy" hellions
Those bastard boys
Who beat us down with
Our own legs
The cocky cowboy came
To Towers Turned to Temples
To stomp the earth
and misdirect
Our wrath
In this new world
we're shoved and
Ordered to
shut the fuck up
"Daddy's got the wheel,
Who The Fuck ARE YOU
anyway?"
This dismissal unbecomes
a land of free-thinkers
turns our times
into a joke
with bloodied punchlines.


freestyle about 9/11

All things flow
from here
to here
all is known
to some Level
Or another
this mystic beam
nets
A circuit
of being
Synapses on the
Dark Tower node
Invisible networking nows;
I know this
Because Tyler knows
this.
I load up my
Hard Calibers
with the face
of my father
And a will to power
Squarely in mind
This posse of parables
lay me an ambush
Try to get and drop
me
I pace my battlegrounds
Waiting to war
I shoot with my
heart
as Jericho burns out
below me,
These red on white
sacrifices
all serve Ka's will,
We feed or fight
her wolf cubs.
Times and telemetry
all of these assholes
and assassins
must balance on this
Beam
and the rest of us
must bear them.
Hoping this wind
will not best me
I lay low these
Low Men,
who look to
lip-serve the way,
Marking their stuffy
Effigies
and faceless agression.
firing only from
the hip,
I track their types
In ones twos threes
Make long coffins of these
Big Coffin Hunters.
Load up my Irons
calculate these chances,
find Fire for
every
last
foe.


For ALL MY ESC Gunslinger crew.(ka-tet) rick