His ascension came twenty-one days to the day he left his beautiful body. A silhouette was all that we could define through the sun drenched smile he wore. It is impossible to mistake his world-class smile for that of any other. A starlight flurry of goodness blotted out the pain of our broken hearts just as dawn galloped in.

We told each other later that we had witnessed a chariot of gold sutured with platinum thread; a glistening chassis beriched beyond conception with spinning, light-bolted studs & each masterpiece capped with an astonishing precious gem. Some jewels were not of this world. Some jewels were not even of this universe… such magnificence as none of us had ever seen nor would ever see again… a true sweet chariot of the gods propelled by the holy willed power of four & twenty black maned stallions of equal majesty. They pulled the suns & moons from galaxies nearest our own across a royal blue-blooded, yoke-tinged, cobra-laced sky.

Our souls, bedazzled & breathless, reflexively thrust a standing ovation onto the astrolabe of dawn. Only delicate golden orioles could be heard singing good morning to this beautiful day. Alex preferred it this way. In a favorite past incarnation he was a Roman Augur, therefore his heart was rich with fondness for every winged being he ever knew.

Ruby red diamonds, yellows, blues & Tahitian black pearls from yet another sweet time & place rained upon everyone~pulsing unified code~surfing crazy shiny-mind waves of Mother Milky Way. Their mirrors reflected wondrous images. Among them were holy men washing the feet of beggar men & the women who keep the fires burning dancing a fantastic dance, millions of them & more but numbers do not go up that high, especially where numbers don’t count at all.

There were many women dancing a fantastic dance. I was reminded of the Black ladies who sing the gospels; from the hips, hands to the sky, left then right; a supplication out to front then down to the ground and over again.. There were smiles everywhere & love, joy & more joy. If you could get close enough to these mahogany ladies you’d find that there is a lot of space & a great freedom around each one, yet from a distance they look packed together moving in unison; perfect choreography like a water dance; up, down, left, right & happy. Did I mention happy?

This must be the part of heaven God has reserved for poets, from the first poet to the last, from infant poets to great ancient oracles. Everything alive & electrical is heading the same way. Everyone loving the same because love moves in the same direction as our galaxy & the cosmos. It must be the joy of the spiral, from helical strands of DNA to the great spiraling universes. It is a perpetual blossoming. It makes a happy sound. Our nature is a happy sound. Laughter. Smiles. It is a great way to live. It would be a wonderful way to die if there was such a thing as death.

Alex smiled his way throughout the universe just as he had done throughout our lives. He never cared for anything in the world but pure love. God loved him for that. We all did. We all do. More than anything else, more than his mind-blowing mastery of numerous forms of art & branches of science, Alex Johns was a great poet. They say the same about saints who come to visit us. The love of great poets defies profound. Such purity of soul makes you want to cry. I don’t know why they bother with us unless it is because they love us so much… as much as we love them.



alex i



AUGUST 1966 ~ AUGUST 2010







his name is prophet (inspired by a fellow poet’s verse ) Poem by Aprilia Zank

Galaktika Poetike "ATUNIS"


Poem by Aprilia Zank
his name is prophet
inspired by a fellow poet’s verse
I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
waiting for translation.

View original post


In these halcyon days of a brave new world I slip on inconsistencies as much as ever.  Experience is no guarantee that the choices I make>will be triumphant or a fall from grace. If I take a thought wrong-turn,  I end up just as easily euphoric in self-confidence  as delirious with self-loathing. Already raw from a lifetime of wounds unhealed, a stranger might think I would be more careful not to punch myself in the heart. But … yesterday I lost consciousness again. I was seized by a fear petrified with horror, I teetered speechless at the sight of my fractured skull lying scattered on the bleeding yoke of a yellow sky.

I lay down,  immobile, my logic paralyzed – anchored to a mountain of illusion. I could not see the sky in you. I chose not to look. My mind heavy with hallucinations, eyes clouded with imagination, I wished I had never been born. I make myself sick with self-pity.I sacrificed my mountain-blue.Why couldn’t I see the sky in you? I did not do my very best. I’m filled with fear I’ve failed this test. Granite talons clutch tight my heart. Misfit thoughts betray me. What will it take to see me through? If only I could have seen in you. 



The raven caws three times, then the rain falls. Heaven’s sky tears down with a beautiful viciousness. Above my head, I study the layers of silt & dust on the avocado leaves. I think, “This is the accumulated detritus of this past summer’s Icelandic volcanic eruptions.” It was a summer deadened by the horror of war scattered without rhyme or reason upon this pristine cobalt orb we call home. It was a summer of threats against one nation or another by one nation or another… a summer of soccer Moms down on hope but high on Crank, cruising Meth Street USA. It was a summer with Blacks living more & more in their world, while Whites are living more & more in theirs & they never kiss anymore! It was a summer of Polar Bears without homes, Coyotes lying motionless on the side of the road & giant Blue Whales washing up lifeless upon California’s shores. I confess, I confess, I confess, my spine had almost fused with futility … until the rain came.





18.06.2017 LA CA USA 

bridge y
Thank you for the very best time I have had since I blew up that bridge on the River Kwai. I confess. I did it.  1957 It’s been over 60 years. The statute of limitations has passed (I hope). In general, once the statute of limitations on a case “runs out,” the legal claim is not valid any longer.
I  deserve this recognition. I lived long enough to receive my bounty so I want it now. Please? Please, Sir, I want some more. Who can forget my performance as Alec Guinness, or as Oliver in OLIVER TWIST? Huff & puff do you? Poppycock and a pox on you & your tri-plex, too. See if you can win seven academy awards. It is not as easy as I made it look.
bridge tt
A couple of things before I leave tomorrow on another trip. This time, I am gong from the kitchen to the dining room. It should be fun but it is a long ride.
MA by SCUTLEY JUNE 23 2017

A shout out to Ma Shivamayi Acharya, whose quote I had handy during what could have been the beginning of TRUMPAGEDDON, IN A GAS STATION on BURBANK BOULEVARD (of all places), but when I mentioned Her thoughts on the destiny of men, he, a music man & the instigator agiprop, suddenly changed his whole demeanor. Then he says, “YES, IT WILL BE FINE. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE. ”

If not for you, dear Ma Shivamayi Acharya, we would all be homeless without a planet to call our own. Thank you from everyone. Almost everyone. I am sure someone out there is pissed off somewhere.


aprilia zank by scutleu 6 23 2017



Aprilia Zank, did we speak today? We were supposed to when you returned from the spa in Zurich. (Excuse moi.) 

Poem by Aprilia Zank
his name is prophet
inspired by a fellow poet’s verse
I see you
drifting above the clouds
as there is no abode for you
beneath their desultory patterns
you with the patch on your right eye
and the knife in your bowels
you with your rice-paper heart
and the tongue of a hundred tongues
you have reached for the holy light
but it blurred to haze
when you touched it
with your trembling hands
you have walked on soot
and begged for shelter
at celestial gates
but nobody washed your feet
or called you prophet
and when you’re gone
your words will linger about
waiting for translation.

View original post     


adeifi by scutley 6 23 2017


Adeife Adebiyi, how is it that for the past week your face pops up when I open my browser? Not wanting to beat dead a horse to death, I was over at (PLUG) watching the photo gallery slide show reminiscing about the good old days someone must of had, not me though, and who pops up in that gallery? You guessed it, YOU.

And YOU happen to be the only woman of color who is a F BOOK page member of the mostly peach colored people from the deep southern US of A states (on my father’s side), WE ARE THE UTLEYS. That is great, however, it dawned on me …
QUEEN OF EGYPT, NEFERTITI, universally considered to this very day to be the most beautiful woman to have ever lived, on par with SOFIA LOREN & PHYLLIS DILLER & MOTT THE HOOPLE, had a child, a girl, with Attila the Hun I believe, and they named her Adonna Madonna Utley. To be exact, QUEEN NEFERTITI named her, Atilla wanted to call her LOLA LALITTA UTLEY. That is reason why you don’t hear about this much.


nef by scott utley

QUEEN NEFERTITI blew a gasket & Atilla is just dust in the wind to this day. But Adonna Madonna Utley mysteriously disappeared right out of Africa, I want to ask you point blank a question. If the answer is yes, knock three times on the ceiling. twice on the pipe if the answer is no. 
Oh, dear me, a rerun of Perry Mason is on. You must understand, some things, even heaven, can wait and this question one of them.  Good evening then, and fare thee well until we meet again, fare thee well and remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, 20 bucks though, is a latte at Starbucks. It is your call.
PS: If anyone out there remembers my name, would you please tell me what it s? No rush. I am so tired. What a day, what a day. Good evening, goodnight, my dear peoples and good luck. 



waka waaa (2)



A beautiful day is rising in Los Angeles right this moment. Wherever I go today the sun will be shining. I feel unwell though. I am unsettled. Something grabs the soles of my shoes. There is a heavy tilt to the sun today. I can hear it coming. This morning is as clear as a bell but there are invisible clouds concealing pathways to surrender. I feel it more than usual. Would that it were all a dream, poor souls. I can help.

I‘m thinking about others who suffer domestic abuse. What can I do to lend a hand? There are several bully-abuser varieties & lots of them all over this planet.

The primary ones: You know they don’t care for you or themselves. They punch you in the face. That hurts. Brush it off like you always have. You can fix them. You are just like your mother before you, you take in strays.

There’s another type who may touch you with trembling. They wear their hearts on your sleeve yet (only heaven knows why), when you aren’t looking, they punch you in the heart. That really hurts. Either way (& all the in betweens) there is simply no excuse. Both are cruel. They are equally unforgivable.

If you are in one of those relationships just go, go, go, now, now, now, now & take the children. Make sure to take all the children. Just go! Go to a shelter, the police, go anywhere. Just go now.

Forgive & forget? Don’t make me laugh. That’s not what I’m thinking. Survivors are good at surviving because they know when to run. Forget about revenge. Don’t stoop to conquer. “Compassion makes me happy, forgiveness gets me high.” I know that. I wrote it. I can quote it anytime I feel like it. It is true when, “He said”.

Imagine how much they suffer for causing so much pain? You know forgiveness will keep you alive but you’ll never forgive them so go, go, go now, now, now. You deserve the very best life has to offer so go while the sun is still under the horizon (as it is here a few more moments). Say, “Besa mi culo.” Then thank your creator they are out of your life forever, or at least this one day. One moment to moment, right, then left, that’s easy. One day at a time.  

Well bite my tongue! I’m going to hell for sure, I know hell wouldn’t have me so it’s not as if I’m frightened. Heaven or hell is being here now. That’s your call. It’s the principle of satire which scares me. Scares me into jolly.  

I am not going to an imaginary hell for using that tired old twelve -12-step, NA, AA, CA, EA, OA, DOA, ad infinitum, pedagogic phrase here.  Using it in context here doesn’t make me want to vomit… too terribly.

A day at a time. Let go, let God. (I’m a closet cutter making myself ill, sorry.) I know, but I love the pain, the way I am pleasured. Right? Am I right? I know I am. There is no shame in that or anything. Who died and made them God? Tótalos si no pueden tomar una broma. If you need help, you can call me anytime.

Wherever I am, whenever you need me, I’ll be right here. I’m here. I’ll go with you, in fact, I insist … I insist … don’t sweat the little stuff. It is all little stuff except your heart, soul & those who depend upon your generous spirit & abundant love. “Keep it simple, stupid.” Everybody is waiting for you. Go. It is time you step back into the light. He or she will be fine. Just fine. It’s the best that could have happened. You’ll see. 





This life is amazing. It really sucks though. Sometimes. It is like Rosemary’s baby. Her head is spinning in circles in a movie called Psycho. She is screaming out 3-D green vomit into your mind (which was already pretty darn fractured from being alive in the time of plagues), yet still it shatter-cracks like blown glass murals on the day Pompeii died. Right? I know. Life’s a bitch, then you die. I think that is called a cynical statement. Who cares? But  … other times it doesn’t feel like that all all. It is a glorious joy-ride through the heavens of a very beautiful sky of emeralds & diamond eyes that are even more beautiful than that. That is what life really is, the rest is bullshit.




marsha p

In the inner recesses of my deepest being, I have no feeling of separation from all that is or will ever be, in the past, future (&) or now. “It is what it is” isn’t a cliche for me, but it isn’t “all good” either. That one makes my brain stutter when I hear it. I bite my tongue. I live the day to day struggles we all do.  Just likes you, I suffer because of my suffering. Just as you, I also know great joy. What can we do but laugh & keep up the good side of going downhill in a handbasket.?

In the latter part of my early youth, I was introduced to two ideas that remained inside my head and took root. One is, “Like energy begets like energy.” The other,  “Our universe is in a consistent state of flux.” I  see these cerebral constructs now as transformational, transcendental truths. All things change, Constant flux is the only certainty. 

Where is the love of fighting ‘the good fight when regardless how well we aim, it is our own foot we shoot? It doesn’t get us anywhere & never will. Does it sound like the piercing sound of truth? I don’t believe so but what do I know? MARSHA P JOHNSON said it best when she said, “I may be crazy but that don’t make me wrong.”




It is silence. It is the awesome sense of loss. It is the story of life and death itself. It is the age-old tale of lost loves and spirits numbed, but always in the end, it’s the story of our unconquerable human souls. It is the morning light cascading into sunspots. It is the song of migrating minstrels heralding the flowering of spirit. It is the face of a stranger hallowed by purple blooming spears.It is another chance to say hello or say goodbye. It is proof that love sits on a mighty throne,and nestled here in this redwood garden, his lovely heart is shone.

aids ttt




Divine mind is electrical. That may sound as if it is coming out of left field unless it does not, yet to come to this fabulous place where there is no ‘NO’ to fathom (because the universe spirals with a joyous sound), is not something frivolous or sacrilegious nor does it entail separation of any sort. 

It lacks friction ~  because ~ although there is an opposite of yes in the cosmos, G-d sees to it that going against ‘the grain’ of a ‘Sojourner’s Truth’, is fraught with pain … yet … who is anyone to judge the will of the one whose will is at a different wavelength, or frequency, than yours or mine?

Life on Earth: It is actually a beautiful spiritual mathematical equation. I believe a dunce in math-such as I-can see clearer for not knowing the rules, therefore only possibilities. I think words are tools to lead but no matter the language, even one of the four ancient tongues, can never be the end of a journey which does not use language at all.

The universe communicates with itself and other universes using numbers. This is reason why the science of numerology is a holy & sacred way of communicating. If not for the Jewish fathers who seized and ran off with the ancient texts regarding numerology, astronomy, physics, astrology, as well as other texts of excruciating beauty and palpable truths, which were encased in secrecracy at the famed library of Alexandria, Egypt, just before this grand and world renown edifice was burned and ransacked by Roman marauders, we would be a poorer people than we are now.Even to this day, there are innumerable texts of great wisdom hidden quite well in the deserts of north Africa and beyond that will be revealed once humanity sees the truth of its ‘oneness’.

To these people who risked all to save all, to such a people with such passion, love and foresight to protect our legacy as human beings of any epoch, saying thank you is frivolous, moot and not enough. To deny them the glory of their holiness is a sin in the eyes of all God’s children. Feel free to ask me why I know this or how is it the truth. I would not answer that question if I could. You have all you need  at your disposal to discover the truth for yourselves.





My eyes hold their place among the wreckage of my face. I’m thinking, one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab, (paid for twice over, but never to be owned), will not subdue the bestial morning’s sadistic appetite. The secret is out; Fire Island tragedies are lurking under star-crossed pines in paradise. My eyes are held in place midst the wreckage of my face by shear will. I think, perhaps one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab paid for twice over, but never to be owned, will obliterate a debauched morning hangover. What about an aspirin or a bloody Mary? Maybe if I take a dive into the raging blue Atlantic waters of forget me nows, my sins will be erased along with yesterday and my inhuman slurs and beat you down puns. Even if the divine in divine mind could muster mercy for my soul, yes, even if I acquiesce and bow to their Latin liturgies, and I finally see that all my prescriptions are merely the fleeting tonics of a foolish mind, I will never find repose. Consequently, (I will not deny this) a loaded Colt 45’s horsepower is my medicine of choice. What other elixir will suffice when you wake early on a brand new day and your mirror is exclaiming, “You’re old, decrepit and to boot you’re gay? These are but the rage-dreams of a narcissist’s self-absorbed preoccupation. In ephemeral brevity, my spirits rise high as the sun glides its way into mid-day.

I take a second look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of m y eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star crossed pines? My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I’m a silly man. I think I look dashing as my life and times and face decay. I think, “Oh, what’s another cocktail, or a line of coke or two, with this blue-eyed prince of a man; paid for twice over?” The fine print says ‘on loan, ever to be owned.’ Nowhere does the contract state ‘this stud, despite his sublime stature cannot subdue another debauched morning hangover revenge.’ On Fire Island, ghosts lurk scarecrow, screw-faced under littered dreams. Theirs is an insatiable hunger for any soul so predisposed to join their twisted spirits in a ritual of howls.

Paradise Lost Paradise Found Over The Rainbow Smashed To The Ground. My eyes hold their place within the wreckage of my face as I slowly turn to ashes. Please, just one more cocktail with you, my beloved, blue eyed Aphrodite. I’ve handsomely paid for you twice over, could you love me for any fee? No. Not he or any living mortal can subdue this debauched morning hangover. Finally, I take yet another look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under starcrossed pines? My eyes hold their place inside the wreckage of my face. I think, one more cocktail with this blue eyed slab, paid for twice over but never to be owned, leased but never mine for evermore will not change the fact that no mere mortal will ever subdue my demoralized mornings spent between heaven and hell. You see, here on Fire Island, ghosts lurk screw faced under starcrossed pines howling without sound.


frank hohohi









I am sitting on a filthy floor in an emptied room in front of a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I silently marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. For a flicker of a moment I think this is not the war I fought. The war here is so much bigger & far more brutal than the lonely war I fought. A moment passes backwards until I remember this is the place & I am the lone survivor. Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior.

I wonder at the emotions & the crack-hearted questions splattered all over these wounded walls. There is blood on the floor leading into a darkened hallway. I thought I knew where that hallway lead to but I don’t remember now.  As hard as I try to recall, all I see is a blank screen. I am a television turned to mute with thunderous static. If I were not deaf I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I do not get the signal.

I vaguely recall a man’s heart dripping a trail of tears; tears of blood from a shattered heart. That is what these stains in my eyes are. I see that much. I remember that much. I remember a man squatting in the corner of this room, his eyes shut blind & his ears with no sound to hear. He looks like me. I turn my head away as fast as I can. In that moment I am afraid.  I am almost too frightened to breathe, but not afraid enough not to cry. It passes. The moment passes into eternity.

In the next moment the war is over. I am alive. I have been crippled, but I am not lame. I have been forever scared deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but now I hear a song. Now, that war is over. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing once again.

I think this is a bittersweet farewell. I see these snapshots of your mind & I wonder why I even wondered how this debris on these walls and that floor ever came to be. I don’t remember now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. These soul creatures are quite beautiful. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter. You are the most kind. 

You of the many muses remind me that all I have to do is turn the television off. It is as simple as that. That is what I have just done. I hadn’t noticed that the songbirds outside my window are singing as if their lives depended on it. They are so happy to be alive. That must be why they sing as they do.

I suddenly feel like humming a tune. PER ELISA. You loved PER ELISA but you never told me that. I only know it because I saw you in a window early one morning dancing your heart out to PER ELISA. I had to smile. Alicia sings like an angel from inner space. She came to us from the peerless library of our dear friend, Marty Lont, in Amsterdam. Remember? I know you do. I also remember, it is the simple things that matter most. Farewell my beloved. I will sing for the both of us until we meet again.







“Command thyself to be healed, to be loved, to love, to forgive, to be forgiven, command thyself.” A preacher man taught me that last night in a parking lot after the sunset … somewhere near Reseda on Magnolia Avenue in San Fernando Valley. Bingo howled at every passing dog from the rear window of my car. Joel & I ignored him until I finally commanded Bingo to stop that XXXX! 

Let me tell you, there is something true and all-powerful in the words of that young man. I listened to him without effort. I knew what he was going to say before he even spoke. I’ve heard it all before. I listened anyway with kindness.

He held up a tattered Bible when he wanted to drive home a point.  I always thought I could rewrite that book. I’m certain I could have made it more accessible to youth (I was well on my way.), but I was young, just 14, and my F.O.S. (FRIENDS of SAPHO) sponsor said, “No way.  What are ‘ya, nuts?” Turns out it was the other way around. It’s always like that. Do you not agree?  

I was not nuts, not then or ever. I was as sane as you are now. My F.O.S. sponsor was crazier than a bed bug. It is neither here nor there but he was also loaded all the time. It’s just not fair. Anyone can dish out profound advice high on an eight ball. It just goes to show you. Sponsors of anything are nuts by nature, or haven’t you heard?

Although I can often quote the Bible. I have never read it. In case I ever do, don’t spoil the ending for me. Thank you in advance. Now, maybe you do not believe in God. Maybe God doesn’t care. Maybe, just maybe, God doesn’t believe in you. Think about that, why don’t you? 

It’s not like it makes a difference. How kind are you? Are you making every effort to be a better man or a better woman to our world. Are you a being who, when after you are gone, our planet will lovingly whisper to the western wind as she races past,, “I am happy they came. I am sad to see them go but I am happy they stayed as long as they did.”

Now you know the reason why clouds cry. The rains are tears of joy. Hmmm … how kind where you in your life? That will be the only question. That is all that will matter then. It is all that matters now. 

The upshot to this story is:  Trust your instincts & follow your heart. That is where God resides. Maybe you will rewrite the Bible or whatever other scriptures you hold close to your heart & by doing so, change our world for the better … or not … your worth as a living being was measured in full when you were born. Do nothing if that is your desire. That’s what I do. It may be your destiny. I hope it’s mine.



This approaching dawn looks brighter than the others.

The Orioles song  seems sweeter than I remember.

The fog I had resigned myself to living with is lifting with the light.

This approaching dawn is seeded with new promise.

Aquarius is rising & this light is so much brighter.






… and so it is … so it is …






















If you were to touch me now

you might electrocute the both of us.

I am highly charged.

You are gifted with a devouring receptivity. 

The hair along the arc of my forearms

stand like devoted warriors.

Goosebumps from solar flares

tinge the organ covering my being.

I feel chill although it’s 110 in the shade.

My body takes a high dive

into the center of your heavenly eyes. 

I ascend, then glide

into the nexus of a perfect tear; 

A white pearl

choosing it’s own path

under the emerald eyes of an enchantress. 

Naked and empty handed,

I land heart-first onto your wonder-world. 

The truth of your love amazes me.  

I am speechless. I am stunned.







From this primordial cauldron, sulfur & nitrogen compounds fume, ghost-like, up into the ether. This is where stars are born & stars die. Here, a lazy lizard is apt to check you out up & down faster than a rattlesnake can rattle. This is where the trickster coyote crosses my path. No matter how congested Los Angeles becomes, the coyote finds me.

Just yesterday about 9 in the morning I was passing Benedict Canyon in my car when an unusually large doe gallops into my peripheral vision. She charges head-on for my car’s front bumper. Two seconds before impact she freezes… cocks her head from side to side gazing at me with an unmistakable attitude; sweet, sly humor.

Later in the day, a monarch butterfly of uncommon earthly hues glides into our garden circling twice before gently resting upon Alex’s head. I tip my gaze a fraction skyward just in time to catch two mischievous ruby-red throated hummingbirds hover above them… just a moment… before they return to their frenetic game of tag. I think I am witnessing still life in motion.

I rake the driveway free of the purple Jacaranda blooms while our cat purrs upturned, side to side with the dogs; all three innocents hypnotized by the spring sun. Finally, just as I believe I’ve seen it all for one day, a swift & hungry falcon comes charging from the heavens to the top of our avocado tree, then she lunges at a flock of doves cooing blissfully in a chorus line perched on a limb. Feathers come raining down upon our heads. The falcon is stunned. We see it dawn upon her; all the doves have gotten away.



Part of my face is an immense crater.

It is here I spend all my free time,

sitting beside myself sipping tea

on the lips of my cheek bones.

I talk endlessly about your perfection,

and what a profound

defect of character that is.

I then respond ad infinitum.

We compare notes.

We laugh, cry, and wistfully whine

sitting beside ourselves,

sipping tea watching you.



I walk briskly at first.

Shuffling sacred boulders between each foot,

I teeter on the edge of humanity.

I skirt  the precipice of earth’s flaming lips,

I am stunned by this cup brimming over

with an exquisite insanity,

a wondrous mathematical equation 

with all of earth’s treasures scattered before me.

I jump – high – I  rise – I sail &  I soar up & over  

down south into the west then over again

under again then about face and up – jump –  I jump

I  take a high-dive, I skydive

into the heart of this miraculous world.

I am a skimming stone on a great pond

we call the ring of fire 

Image result for ring of fire animated gif




In various shades of suede stood Rex, King of the Galiathans. The Great Dane beauty had lived his life according to the laws of our universe. Kilos of muscle, tendons & fierce intelligence griped the cliffs. Behind him, carrying a pail of lotus leaves galloped Alex, more than a king was he. I loved him for that. I saw a field of Orange Mandarin Poppies bleed into the horizon. I saw both giants lay dying to their earthly vessels. I, witness.

Where the sky meets the raging sea dreams weeped along the mouth of the mourning coast. Big Sur cried throughout the night. Angels sighed as the ocean, lapping needling pines, felt such fiery, scorching compassion that the rain came. As eve dipped into the pitch black ink of night, these two giants laying there gave witness to eternal splendor. I loved them both for that. Frosted lava waves breached the shore where I lay crying.

Morning came without her sirens. All was calm, when before my eyes I saw a dream come misting forth upon the western wind. I looked to where the giants had laid down their heavy journey. On the very mark they had been supinely entwined near the raging sea,  ocean eyes wide open, were two splendid Giant Birds of Paradise. I loved God for that.

At that very moment, a clicking in unison caught my attention. Just where the waves turn to froth, there they were side by side, riding the tide with their Dolphin tails. They shot forth into the sky spiraling downwards then flipping back. They were happy. I smiled. They then waved so long for now. Yes, indeed, until we meet again .. I love god for that. I love god.  I love you.



ALEX & REX at 8 weeks old.  San Diego.





Peace flows through the waterfalls of my land. Hawks with river red shoulders soar upon trampoline skies high above fertile ground where everything grows without asking. On these boulders at the mouth of this river I call forgiveness near redwood groves standing tall upon razor blade cliffs of desire, I keep a company of one. I am happy. Each morning I tend my crops. At midday, I give thanks to the sun. When dusk arrives, I drench myself under blue dot starlight & give thanks to the moon. When my prayers are done, I lend my gaze towards the creatures who are always about. We share a fond curiosity for each other. We are equals. Their love keeps my heart polished. I soothe theirs with songs from my soul. This is the way of the world for a simple man living a simple life upon holy land. It wasn’t always this way.


I am sweaty naked standing over a filthy floor in an emptied room beside a fireplace that has never seen a true fire. I survey the battlefield before me. I am shocked, but I do not flinch. I am wounded, but I do not bleed. I am an atrocity. I am the last hope of my kind. I must survive. I haven’t a choice. I feel shame yet I am proud. I marvel at the accumulated detritus of three years worth of grief. My smug admiration for this excremental no man’s waste land laying prone before me is tempered by a pervading sense of self-deception. Regret crawls under my skin. I cannot scratch this itch. There is no one here or anywhere who can scratch it for me. There are no drugs, illicit or otherwise, that have the power to reconstruct my faulty fractured DNA.

I have my viewfinder set to intricate detail, but something is not right. I cannot figure out exactly what that something is, but I know something is missing. There are no cannons. There are no tanks. There are no rotting corpses here. The trenches were far muddier in my war. The pools of blood were tar black & thicker than that of this battlefield before me. There are orange poppies painted in bold relief upon the fireplace mantle. There are no orange poppies in my war. This war is an impostor. I should know. I have a damned medal of dishonor knifed into my brawny chest. This scene may look dreary enough, but it lacks the heroic brutality I proudly claim I suffered. If I were to tell you it was me who caused this suffering with explosives I had planted upon the dark side of my heart, I would turn to shattered glass. I will not utter another word about it. Speechless or not I remain the same …

… a desolate landscape. Life doesn’t live here anymore. I’m meaningless. I have lost the only war I ever truly cared enough to fight. If I could I would turn back the hands of time, but I am unable to do such a thing. I’ve tried. I can travel without moving through a multitude of parallel universes with you in the room. You’d never notice. I’ve morphed into a butterfly more times than there are trees in the forest, but I cannot go back in time. That would take a miracle. It’s just as well. Why would I want to go back in time? These are the best years of my life, for I have the memories of the best years of my life living, loving & being with you. If this is true, where has the sun gone? Who am I? Who are you? Where are we?


Moments slide backwards then stop altogether. Deep spaces in between billions of misfiring synapses within my skull are illuminated by flashes of electric mind-blowing white. My eyes are mesmerized. My face is paralyzed. My body is now a paradise. I don’t know what this means. All I know is if I don’t allow whatever my mind wants to say flow freely out of my mouth, I shall explode. My body is now a paradise for strangers with no faces. What does this mean? I’m frightened. Time is still but not so my mind as it forges its escape … and …

… I am a blue translucent dragonfly careening through thickets of moss over the rushing creek of this canyon. I am frantic frenetic to find the source of my lovers cries within a crystallized powder blue shroud of mist. The faster I go the further away I am. My consciousness shifts instantaneously. I cannot breathe. I see through my contorted version of reality in a flash of warped time & space. I don’t like this. I hate it! I’m claustrophobic but I never realized this until now. As I spin upward seeking my one last gasp of air, enough room explodes within the implosion of my soul. I remember. This is the place I fought my war. I am its lone survivor. I cannot bear it a moment longer. I can barely hold my head up. Before I am able to screw my courage to the whipping post, this moment is gone forever.


Below me is the exalted grave of a spiritual warrior I could not live up to then, & I cannot live up to now. As worthy as I may seem in the eyes of the unknowing, I am a dwarf star next to a supernova. I know this. I wonder why it’s always me who survives? I have been gifted throughout my life with profound love from great men & women only to sever my spirit’s spine every time.


I wonder at the emotions & the crack hearted questions splattered all over these wounded walls. There is blood on the floor leading into a darkened hallway. I thought I knew where that hallway leads to, but I don’t remember now. As hard as I try to recall, all I see is a blank screen. I am a television turned to thunderous static on mute. If I were not deaf, I would go completely insane. The channel I am looking for has been moved to another world where I no longer get the signal.

I vaguely recall a man’s heart dripping a trail of tears; tears of blood from a shattered heart. That is what these stains in my eyes are. I see that much. I remember this much; a man squatting in the corner of this room. His eyes shut blind between ears without sound to hear. He resembles me. I turn away as fast as I can. I am afraid. I’m almost too frightened to breathe, but not too afraid to cry. It passes. This moment passes into eternity along with all the others.


War is over. I survive. I may be crippled, but I’m not lame. I have scars deeply etched into my soul’s flesh, but I shall sing again. I hear music even when it isn’t playing. I know I shall sing once again.

I see snapshots of your mind everywhere. Wow! It feels like the fourth of July. Hmm… I wonder how the debris on these walls & this floor ever came to be. I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for taking my mind to a different sort of landscape. The soul creatures you create are quite beautiful, but they always were. The ones you have sent to cover my heart in winter are the loveliest ones of all. That kind of living artwork cannot be taught. It cannot be given to anyone as if it were a mere commodity. One must earn it & learn it through lifetimes of service in joy. I know that now. Here comes the sun.


sun am








My name is Prophet, but they call me, “Hey, you!” I’m a penniless drifter shod poorly, diseased & despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I’m gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a knocking on the door of my rice paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner light, my love;, the most powerful force in the universe.

More often than not I possess neither food nor shelter but light never lets me down. My huckster mind tries convince me otherwise.  To that joker inside my skull I say, “Shyster thoughts be damned!” Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real. Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected & filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are the same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster I call dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me I stand hunchback just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders. 

My mother was born & raised in New York City’s west side shanty town; Hell’s Kitchen. My father was orphaned at the age of two under crushing dank Mississippi Delta poverty which knows no equal. Perilous & foreboding omens for both of them, yet they overcame their twisted fate of birth with passion, ideals & love. They had to dig deep to survive, I am certain. I have had to dig even deeper but I had to learn to love getting dirty or I would die. Yet I wonder if even being born deformed & senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul numbing weight? I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents striding between land and cobalt blue seas. When I fear it is because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.







My prophet rises from snow white sands. He is cut & bruised with bloody hands. His metamorphosis is marked by purple flowering feathered wings immaculately conceived. He reaches into the eye of the sky & fondles memories from before my time, back when this river flowed with twice its heart & the sky more volatile with twice its strike. When this desert land was twice as young, He walked along these very skies now dusk’d across my mind like a churning holy electrical explosion.

My prophet rises from the deep blue sea with gaping wounds for all to see. His metamorphosis is marked by the inhalation of deep & conscious breath. His yellow diamonds are draped upon his brawny chest strung side by side with cosmic thread. He is future, present & the past. He’s courage fed by fathers brave & mothers strong. They’ve taught him well, both right & wrong. This world unceasingly expands its view. With opened eyes & a child’s pride, He is my harness. I love this ride.

My Prophet rises. I am He. I’ve wept in pain but now I’m free. Upon this sand my heart is burned. There is so much I have to learn. My metamorphosis is marked by the song of my soul echoing through the cathedral of my mind. I know I am more than looks perceive. My well is full. I have no greed. Christ is here & surely bleeds. He is my lover. I am He.


If you’re mystic, 

come this way & play for me. 

Tune your strings sharp & clear 

with all the pressure I can bare. 

If you’re mystic, 

stroke my hair & kiss my lips. 

Take me to your mother ship. 

Rifle me with your tough grip. 

Anchor me to your bright blue. 

Show  myself to me through you. 

Your platinum strings are clear & true. 

Play your harp, this is your cue. 

I know you’re mystic, I am too.

Say the word, I’ll play for you.




This clip is truly iconic Americana. From the ‘rousing’ of the boys & a nation, to the private sitting between George M. Cohan & President F D Roosevelt, we are given a glimpse into how a great nation truly behaves. If we were to ever let go of the potential of our deep humanity, it would be a great loss, so this shall never happen. When I fall, I get up and keep going, over and over and over and over …. don’t stop believing.




mitch gchg

October Sixteenth 1965  ~ October Eleventh 1995

Here Lies Interred the body of Mitchell Ray Walden,

Who Suddenly Departed This World 

On The Eleventh Day of October Anno Domini

Nineteen Hundred And Ninety Five, 

In The Twenty-Ninth Year of His Age.



Just a boy, he is just a kid,

The most bedazzling spirit I have ever known

Riding the wave of a new generation.



He says

He says to no one in particular,

“Make me famous if you can’.



A towering man,

A child of the sun,

Naive & vulnerable,

Revealing doubts courageously.

He touched our hearts with his wounded palm,

The one which scarred from a rusty nail,


Make me famous if you can.

I need to know my life has meaning.

I need to know my love is real.

Will you still love me when I am gone?


Don’t fear, my dear.

We’ll always love you

even long after you are gone. 

From the beginning of time

To the end of days.


This is simply signed & delivered truth.

There is nothing mysterious about mystical ways.


I pressed my lips upon his brow.

He smiled that smile we all adore

I  wished him a safe passing,


I said

I said to Mitch

I said to him,

I promise you.



Just wait

Just wait I said, 

Wait  & see what I shall do

To make your memory ever lasting.

mitc kugiyu



I believe Johanna was giving me a hint; Johanna my sister; warn me in her own special way, a gentle, caring way. She posted a poem a few days ago… or has it been weeks? I can’t keep track of time anymore… it doesn’t matter… time… anymore… to a guy like me. She called it, “To Edith Failing.” My mother Edith. My Mom.

I am standing naked, drenched with my head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pours into my eyes. The cobra-skinned clouds & the moon are playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part & the moon is crystal clear.

Blue-dot light stars splash across the night sky. Suddenly it dawns on me that peraps Johanna is preparing me & world I know for the saddest moment of our life… lives really …  hundreds …  maybe more. 

Edith is my favorite mother of all time. The first mother walked out of Africa. Edith was that mother. I am grateful she chose me as a son.  She was looking for a challenge. Edith is failing? I wonder if will she return? 



I am shocked to learn of the passing of a man who would be the only guy in my life who’d ever come close to being a role model to me. I may have pretended sometimes not to understand or even hear what he had to say, but I never missed his meaning or his message. I grieve his loss, along with my closest family members & so many other great people made greater for having known him.

Dear Michael, a wonderful father and brilliant husband to my beautiful sister, Johanna. ~ Michael Spoljaric ~ His greatest gift ~ among so many ~ was his ability to make us laugh. More than that, for me, from early on in my life he taught me the most essential qualities of what is required to become a man; walk tall, hold my head up in pride, be true to who I am, never forget where I come from, to know that a real man isn’t afraid to cry … and of course, when the going got tough, run like hell knowing he would always have my back.

I hold these truths to be self evident to this very day ~ over half a century later. What more could a kid who was going his own way long before that notion became popular among rebellious youth ask for? He certainly didn’t have to, yet he did because he cared.

A rare breed is the man whose powerful inner bravado is made of the courage & faith of a ”man’s man”. He never lost sight of who he was; the real deal-a take no prisoners straight-shooting from the hip no-bull man when it came to telling it the way he saw it. He was a king of tough love. Only a prince with a gentle soul can become such a man. There is no irony here, one is the prerequisite of the other.

He found himself when he found the love of his life, an everlasting love in the heart & soul of my remarkable sister, Johanna. With his guidance, we all watched in awe as Johanna stepped into her own power. With his patience and deep love, we also saw her bloom into the woman she is today, a woman who has strength of character so finely etched unto the history of all our lives, who is loved so much by those who are also blessed to be brushed by her gentle heart.

It is a new world dawning, fast becoming a woman’s world. Thanks to the trailblazers & such a one is Johanna. I wonder if Johanna knows this is how we feel about her? To marvel at the two of them together is fitting. There is no Michael as we know him without Johanna. The two are forever one fierce force & fiercely loved in the eyes & divine mind of our beloved creator.

Michael was the rock in our family. He held the demons at bay which at one time had tried their best to get the best of us kids and my beloved mother. How does anyone say thank you enough to a towering figure of such profound impact? I love you? We all did, and not just for the reasons I say above. It bears repeating: Michael was a wonderful father to his children, my niece and nephew, Christina & Michael Jr., and his beautiful grandchildren. He was a brilliant husband to his equally brilliant wife decade after decade, my beautiful and compassionate sister, Johanna.

I am there along side all of those who loved him for being a true human being. “Life is short but terribly eternal.” Some of us are mortal, some of us are gifted immortality. We do not choose one or the other.

Dear Father, who art in heaven, the ball is in your court. Michael has achieved that which cannot be gained without you, dear loving creator, holding his hands from the moment he was born until now, as Michael is born once again. Some people are just lucky that way.




becoming kki


yellow car

I tossed and turned throughout the night, something amiss, not quite right. Thunder rolled across black skies, lightning struck shut both my eyes. My bed lay shattered upon shards of glass. Clouds swirled by,  like comets fast.  I wondered if this night would pass. I prayed to God this would not last. Take me away, my soul please spare this doubt, this pain, this noise I hear. This heavy night I cannot bear. What I can’t see is what I fear. When sunrise creeps into the day, what in the world will loved ones say? Morning came, morning went, my body wracked, my spirit spent. Day turned into early eve,. Deep within my dreams did weave. Finally, my conscience broke into a world where flowers spoke. The life I’d known was all but gone. Rocks and trees sang sweet love songs. I looked around for someone to share this miracle I swear I hear, someone to see the Robin’s egg jump up and dance upon a chair, someone to play that old guitar driving by in its yellow car. I realized then, it’s just me. I’m alone again. It’s just me who sees. I wiped the sweat clean from my brow. Who would believe me, anyhow?

Image result for flowers blomming  animated dif




This clip is truly iconic Americana. From the ‘rousing’ of the boys & a nation, to the private sitting between George M. Cohan & President F D Roosevelt, we are given a glimpse into how a great nation truly behaves. If we were to ever let go of the potential of our deep humanity, it would be a great loss, so this shall never happen. When I fall, I get up and keep going, over and over and over and over …. don’t stop believing.



I think Johanna was giving me a hint, Johanna my sister. Warn me. In her own special way, her gentle, caring way. She posted a poem a few days ago… or has it been weeks?… I can’t keep track of time anymore…it doesn’t matter…time…anymore…to a guy like me. She called it “To Edith Failing”. Edith my Mom.
Edith Utley 21 in 1943 Born in Hell's Kitchen1921 Raised in LIC, QUEENS, NYC
I am standing naked, drenched. My is head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pouring into my eyes. The cobra skinned clouds & the moon are playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part and the moon crystalised clear.
The blue dot light stars splash across the night sky. Then it dawns on me that maybe Johanna is preparing ime and the world I know for the saddest moment of my life… lives really…hundreds…maybe more.
Edith is my favorite mother of all time The first mother walked out of Africa. Edith was that mother. I am grateful she chose me for a son. I guess she was looking for a challenge. Is Edith Failing? If so… will she return?


Burnt onto the pages of my ancient history, is the story of our love; a spiritual decree. Penned onto the memory of my simple, fleeting life, is the epic of our union, quite beautifully described. I am stunned by the depth of your soul. Shall I be forever mystified? And this evening, brazenly confetti’’d on a Hollywood freeway overpass, I saw your initials set upon a fractured heart. While my soul bleeds adoration in silence, I wonder, is this love’s crucifixion? Is this how Mary felt in the garden? No answer is of consequence, for what I will remember long after I have died, is the memory of your face, indelibly inscribed.

AlEX cropped



He says he loves Jesus and Jesus loves him.
He’s a modern day prophet forgiving your sins.
He’s a radio pirate with a cable show too,
A mistress in Paris, an eye out for you.

His brand of religion breeds heartbreak and pain.
He’s a born again Christian with something to gain.
Deceitfully convincing his flock of salvation,
In return he receives a standing ovation.

His glorious sermons preach schemes of division,
Exquisitely crafted to prevent any schism.
Triumphantly pitting his will against right,
He lusts after money & covets your wife.

An unnatural affection for boys under ten,
He’s drugged quite a few on his couch in the den.
He’s suspicious of women and fearful of men.
There’s a gun by his bed marked ‘specially’ for them.

He’s a beast. He’s a monster. It’s sad but it’s true.
His secret agenda keeps Jesus from you.
He’s afraid you’ll rise up if you find out the truth,
Afraid you’ll tip off your wife & your youth.

He’s a huckster, a shyster, and the devil disguised.
He’s a freak who insists only his god is wise.
This prince of invective is consumed by desire.
While preaching forgiveness he’s stoking his fire.







Full  moon silver frosted leaves, glacine dew robed sycamore sleeves. Sagacious spiders (masters of weave), slept snug & warm beneath my eaves. The creek roared fierce with a late spring rain. All things full must surely wane. Perpetual blossoms should not be sad, but I can’t sing when I’m this mad?.Atomic beats drove me insane. The sight I saw played on my brain. I wondered if the sky felt pain? Suddenly a Raven soared in to attack. The Hawk’s quick eye did catch the beast but not before the Raven’s feast. The Hawk chick fell from the sycamore to the rocky banks of the canyon floor. The rest, of course, is etched in lore:

An Angel garbed in feathered dress descended from her perch of rest. The battered babe, his blood now cold, rose from the dead on wings of gold. Miraculous in the Phoenix mold; fell from the sky then resurrected: A God-shot is quite unexpected. For when the Reaper comes it’s time to go. Since the first dawn this has been so. But then again, how would  I know? Heart returned to our beloved’s sky, then the glint in our dear chick’s eye. The babe ascended his lofty nest to the greatest comfort, a mother’s breast. Successful in her Angel quest, our heroine in feathered dress returned to where all Angels rest. And to this day this lore I’ve told delights all children, both young & old.




Painted in Southern California.
Photo by David Blattel 2000



If you’re mystic, 

come this way & play for me.

Tune your strings sharp & clear 

with all the  pressure I can bare.

If you’re mystic, 

stroke my hair & kiss my lips.

Take me to your mother ship. 

Rifle me with your tough grip.

Anchor me to your bright blue. 

Show  myself to me through you.

Your platinum strings are clear & true.

Please play your harp.

This is your cue.

I know you’re mystic,

I am too.

Just say the word,

I’ll play for you.

sco kyf u tufy olyg







I was there at the beginning. I’m nobody special, I’m just an I witness called for jury duty. This time is the only time I have ever headed the call because I remembered you. We met before we were born. You were not much older than you are now. We were always the same age for we were born a te same time from the same meteor shower and teh first to reach beyond the event horizon’s most feverish desires. We knicked it o9ut of teh park and when those saints cam emarching in, we luaghed for an eternal momnet I feel for you avery secondcoming this way.  You fell through the stings of a mystic harp. You said you would stick to the plan but even the best intentions of mice and men and saints sometimes fly into the face of sorrow blown by an envious brezee from the sea islands off Georgia. Such is life when death is a tuxedo glittering diamonds all expense paid by us, not the spawn. I saw this. You saw it too but sometimes dark minds are fascination to watch weave. We both knew that fortunes come and they go and come when we decide wat we intend.

So …. so …. oh ….you died. You were one of the first to leave although we knew the plan was before we ever landed here. Still, such grief is unimainable when a saint goes dancing off into the wild. The whole world grieved but they didn’t understand where that pathos was springing from.  We  all grieved mostly for us,  What would become of us with you no longer here? We took solace wherever we could & in any way we could. We didn’t care. We gave no thought to tomorrow. Nobody had promised us tomorrow. I didn’t didn’t want to ever see another day again. I believed that there would be no future without you, There wasn’t. I was right. I was shocked. I new beter but if you have crossed the great water to success once, you are neber crossing back to what you left behind.


I am right. It is a holllowlifeofnothing but waiting for teh bells to chime again. I promised I w0ould sing if thta was your wish,andyou nodded yes. Did you hae too? Stranded on this island lost inside myslef droewning inmy tears of sorrow was easier i beived than bereathing in the truth of our love.  without you  we lost ourselves inside ourselves everyone drowned in tears of sorrow …. this is now, that was thennow  I am an I, witness called forth to remember YOU who illuminates the entire universelluminates also our hearts ~ so with or without you we shine … so bright … see us  … feel us … we rise togift you a standing ovation into the future forever & ever Amen!on this most miraculous of days in the most miraculous of ways we rise & shine & shine – shine  on you, shine on us swirling twirling oscilating gliter opticalsthere are fireworks everywhere I do declearthat you are the source of all poweryour rays illuminate the entire universeilluminate also our hearts so that we too can do you work and so it is, so it is, it is … 



giphy (2)

I am Christian because I know Jesus. He knows me. I am most definitely Muslim. I am Jewish by proxy, Catholic, Wiccan & Siek. I am Muslim.  I’m proud of my pride. I love souls who strive to become one with all, who love knowledge and share it. I do not care much for nations who are not able to sue for peace. I have never met a nation who loves war whom is not a failed state at an abysmal core all along its watchtower. If you are a leader of men and women who are living in an anxious future, never knowing happiness or peace, then you are the wind without wings behind this failure. I once heard a professor of mine say people,  nations, get the government they deserve. I thought that was true. I fear I still think it is so. 

The only religious instruction I received as a boy was meeting up with my great pal, Darius. God blesses him. My eternal gratitude is always at his feet. Darius’s mother was a slight Irish-American woman who married a tall, beautiful man from Persia (or Iran as that land is now called). Darius’s father was hardly ever in the picture. I am certain I met him only once or twice, then I never again.I suppose I will never know the entire story of what was obviously an ironic & paradoxical match, much like the match between a poor deep south Delta Mississippi orphaned man and a woman born and bred in Hell’s kitchen, NYC. Such were my parents. That man too, I hardly knew. I am thankful that my mother had the balls to leave him when she did. I was only five and my baby sister was two. But my older brothers, three of them, now all gone from this earth and my eldest sister, who was also in that first wave of children, suffered immense pain because a soldier who wields a rifle for his country from WW II to KOREA & VIETNAM with great honor does not necessarily make a good father. Be armed and forewarned.


Darius went to Muslim school. That is what he called it. I would follow him from time to time. On rare occasions he would relate to me some of what he had learned. It was much like pulling teeth but I was a trooper who never gave up just as I am today. I learned about the poetry of the KORAN. I learned that Muhammad was a friend of Jesus. They in turn shared Buddha, Krishna, my Momma, Confucius, Louise Hay,and all their other friends with each other, with all the world just because that’s the kind of sons & daughters they are. No  elitism there, here or anywhere. I have always held in deep reference the holy words of inspired scripture, even if I am an amorphous eroticist knower of Divine Mind. I have had the direct experience. It is so simple that way. To achieve it, you must be it.


In my early years as an emancipated minor I studied & graduated from Laguna Beach High School. There was a professor there who taught us who was a Rabbi. From him I learned that every land has its own wisdom. From him I learned that there is so much to learn and even more we shall never know. He made quite an impression on my heart & those kinds of stains are like blood, ruby red and never coming out & isn’t it a beautiful world? Mary & Buddha are great friends of mine. He is always smiling whether it rains tears of blood or the sky goes on in a cobalt blue hue forever and ever. I dress him up sometimes in drag. I snap photos of my mad creations then I make digital art out of them. He doesn’t mind at all. He is happy to be of service regardless my whimsy. Mary just laughs and laughs as if that is her birthright, and so it is.


I know another god who lives secretly out in the open. This one is everywhere and in everything. I can’t say enough about how beautiful this god is … who can be still & see & hear & know silence as it thunders through the cosmos & not marvel in wonder? ~ I wish for you to understand that there is nothing that separates us from each other but illusion. I wish for you to know that all life is sacred. There is much that cannot be explained in our language but that is not a prerequisite to entering the door of our birthright. The sages say that birthright is to know joy forever. We may face trials that will truly push us to our limits and sometimes over the rainbow and into a void of nothingness, but in a strange yet wonderful land called truth & faith & love there is a place at the table for you & me. There is no division. There are no arguments at all. There is only a sense of pure joy. That you know this to be true is my wish for you.


burn xxxx









I am only human. My voice is powerful so I never shout. We share many of the same thoughts. We come from the same womb. The source of all our inspiration never cries but laughs a lot.


If you abort a child whose heart has begun to beat then that is murder. If you have not, do not worry or force your views for The Great Source of Our Belonging will see to a loving rectification. If you have then remember this: I have seen the light of forgiveness in the eyes of eternity & your story must be told. Your wisdom must find its home so speak your longing.


The Bible has sharp & angry claws yet still great & wonderful truths are alive & found everywhere across its pages. Stay aware of deception concealed with stunning craft. There are lies stitched into the timeless fabric of my clarion call to salvation. They are scattered seemingly without rhyme or reason by infiltrated wicked minds who hate love. There is nothing random or unintentional about these untruths. Do not allow the haters of this world to keep you from me.


Judas is my brother. He loves me very much as I do him. That Judas was a traitor is just one of many deceptions. In truth, he gave the ultimate sacrifice for me. Without him, our Father’s plan could have never come to be. Love Judas as you do me. Sift through the holy pages of The Word. Discard that which your heart says is untrue. I say, ‘listen to your heart’ for it is there I dwell forever. Everything I am is within you. Go there now. Ask if these words I speak are true or not. Feel if what I tell you resonates with the piercing sound of truth. Either way I am the light & I am the way.


Do not take it upon yourself to sit in judgment of your fellow man. A man takes the life of one man & then you punish him by taking his life. Who will punish you for that very same offense? Compassion makes me happy. Forgiveness gets me high.


Be happy. It is your birthright to know joy forever. When pain comes & come it shall, embrace it rather than run away. You will never be able to hide. So sharpen your courage.  Kiss the ground you walk on. Take the path your heart desires. Be kind & love life. This is my devout wish & hope & plan for you.

He smiled a smile of ecstasy as he turned towards the rose dusked sky & slowly walked away.