Creative Resistance

You don't have to subscribe to social constructions
but
then you must be be creative
...it's a trade-off

"Creative Resistance"

...it's not that you don't "give a fuck"
it's just that most socially constructed concepts lack legitimate support
and
of course we can argue
historical contexts
religious reasonsings
socio-economics
or the ever supposedly inarguable 'evolution'
and otherwise...

I am alone
in this world
as are we all
we are together
in this world
all functioning
interconnectioning
differentiating
dependent
combinations
of
independent parts
making our own decisions
creating our own reality....
...interesting...
...creative resistance...

Lowrider

Lowrider

This old belt of mine

My father gave me

The day before I left

On this journey

That started so long ago

It’s been everywhere

At drunken steps

In subway stops

smelling the stench of

Kimchi garlic

On elbow filled bus rides

And Touched the salt

In

The Sea of Japan

Been rain soaked

Outside in

Balinese Back alleyways

And heard the dogs barking

At 3 in the morning

Wrapped around me

Fallen into the sea

And binded bags

On backwood hitchhikes

Through the Croatian minefields

On low, flat bikerides

In the lush green german

Summer mountains

Crag hoppin’

Above the boots

Stompin

In the swamp of the chilly

English wilderness

And all this time

Could never keep my pants up… (to be continued)

                       

                                    - Low Rider

On the bus, in the city

I feel so peaceful

Sitting on the bus

Way up high

Double decker

In the sky

Watching the city

Just go by

My head is numb

My body’s warm

And I am enveloped

By the madness of this city

Runners World

Breaking for a moment

In the woods

Thinking…

There’s nothing

like the excitement

of a new pair of running shoes

feeling the freedom

to fly and tumble

through the forest

hopping roots to rocks

or straight away gazelle gliding

down a hot baked country road

sailing past dry wheat fields,

buggy mud bogs,

and ocean blue skies

while every bone, joint and muscle

rotate and push

up and down the hills

like a locomotive.

Enough for now

The mosquitos have found me

Got to run…

The museum in the autumn

Here…

I am all full of peace

in the art museum.

Here

away from the

cold outside.

In here

Surrounded by the warm

mental and physical

friction of souls.

So much movement of the mind

and body

to create

such stillness.

A wish to go down in flames...

I can remember hanging out with my terminally ill cousin

When he was the same age I am now

And I can remember thinking about how fresh and alive he seemed

the energy and excitement that exuded from his every movement in the kitchen as he fried fish and chopped garlic

and the rolling taps of his drumsticks on those tight and snappy metal rims

I can remember how he bit the ass of the day and always teetered

On the edge

Crashing like a flaming 76’ Cadillac Deville

over the side of the empire state building

I remember how alive he was

A pure specimen of the irate, irrational, loving, hating human being

And I wonder now why sometimes I feel so lifeless

Maybe its because of

too many

choices to pick from

opportunities to seize

paths to walk

and so much stimulation

And no foreseeable end

Nothing to kill me off at an early age

no nearing brick wall

nothing too stop me in my tracks

then again

like the Deville

I guess you can only be stopped

once you get going.

I see you shampipupu...

I see you shampipupu...

...Standing on the strasse eck

In the deafening field 

Of the tediously slow

And piercing

Crosswalk signal

On this Sunday afternoon

So stoic and unsatisfied.

Licking this conical mediocre milky mess

With the enthusiasm of a knackabrot

One drop of cream drips down your hand

And your face crinkles with irritation and disgust

At just the notion that the fibers of your muscles 

Will have to arrange themselves in in some formation of self preserving movement

Maybe even knock the dust off your joints 

Your lips are rolled 

Tight, livered, and bitter

And your ear stand back 

Forming your face into a lemon squirted anus

And with a deep and concerning breath 

 finally you wipe

And wait

For the light

What an interruption in a day of nothing

A day of planning 

your feeble attempt to control

This old city, 

Just something

 in this nothing day

This culmination of this nothing week

Which is sandwiched between some more empty nothing holidays

Where next to nothing happened

Map in hand, or mind

To set the path that one should not divert

And disturb the strict algorithm of the circle of stress

In such utter effort to resist

Any sort of action

That may include the option 

To carry on a legal style discussion

to find some kind of psychological paradox in lieu of activity