Mushrooms Trip in Elk, CA 08/21/21

There are
Three parts
Of OM

AHHHH
—Open mouth wide
Release fully
All breath

OHHHH
—Narrows lips
As if to whistle
Focus sound
Drop pitch

MMMMM
—Close lips
Smiling, similar
To satisfaction
After eating

Then silence
Before repeating

>>>

My back starts hurting, usually, when I am seated or standing for a long period.

Why am I seated or standing for a long period? To work.

Why am I heeding the call to work and ignoring the pain in my back?

>>>

Self-conscious

I do
Or say something

As I would
Alone

Without realizing
I am not

>>>

A handle pokes out from under the blanket draped over the daybed. I put the pan beneath the bed before I went to sleep last night, in case of an intruder.

Usually, I write well when I take mushrooms, or at least more creatively. I lie here, on pillows on the floor, having taken them once more, waiting for something to write about.

When I take mushrooms, I sit, lie, lounge, walk in circles, but mostly just wait in between bouts of writing. WHY CAN I NOT DO THIS SOBER?

Mushrooms remind me how to live like a child, but then I go back to living in the adult world. They treat me like one of them because I look like one of them. I often want to do things that are not customary in the adult world, either because they are just not usually done or because the law explicitly forbids it. When walking on the sidewalk the other day, I was curious about a shrub. But I could only see its leaves. I was interested in the trunk and the branches. I thought to get down on my hands and knees there on the sidewalk to have a look, but then these other thoughts came marching one after another into my mind like soldiers. One of the soldiers said, the sidewalk is dirty. The next said, someone will see you. The next said, you are not dressed like a gardener. And so I went, walking on down the sidewalk, not knowing what I would have seen if I had lifted up the skirt of the shrub.

I finish one piece of writing. I want to continue on. I have more to say—things I thought of while writing, but they were unrelated or otherwise wouldn’t fit in the prose, because of the technicality of it, and at the moment I was writing, they wouldn’t fit presently, so I carried on with whatever else and my other thoughts waiting in the queue were forgotten. But I have now remembered some of them! Alas, they are only parts. Their beauty was, and still is, in their belonging to and being placed in each of the appropriate stations inside of the whole. Now, I must forget them, maybe forever. Whether they will return to me, in my mind, is up to forces greater than me. My only choice in the matter is either to hold them and have them as they are for me now, or to let them go and know, twofold—that they may never return to me, but also that new and different others may come to fill their absences. Consistently faced with his choice, how deep shall I go with any one thought? How much time shall I spend with her? Does she have more to teach me, more to say? Or might I learn more from others—different, younger ones? Are my wishes the only ones to be considered in this matter? Now I am thinking no longer of thoughts, but of my relationship with my girlfriend.

On my knees, on the rug, I become aware of the classical music playing. I close my eyes, raise my arms in the air above my head, bend them at the elbow, twirl my fingers, curve the side of my body into a bow, and dance to the music—slowly, softly. I had a thought that someone might be watching. The possibility that someone might be watching made me ask myself, should I be dancing in this way? And now other thoughts come of this. First, we are at a cabin in the woods, just my girlfriend and I, and it is unlikely that anyone is watching. Second, if someone were watching, why should I dance any differently or stop? Third, why is it that someone else watching makes me consider whether I should or should not be doing something? Not even them ACTUALLY watching, just the THOUGHT that they MIGHT be makes me second-guess the way in which I am dancing, alone in a cabin in the woods. Perhaps it is too feminine—the way my side bends into a bow and my fingers twirl. I am a man. Should I, therefore, not be dancing like a woman?

As a writer, I think of myself as such—as being one, a writer. When I write, if it seems like it might be becoming a piece that will be well-received—like a young boy shows early athletic promise and might grow up to become a great baseball player—then the thought that it might be so interrupts me while I have not yet finished with making the piece whole. I think to myself, what if so-and-so reads this, or if they publish me in such-and-such magazine? And then what will that mean for me? Riches, fame, and all the other gifts that are usually given to the main character in a story that ends well. But it interrupts me, this dream of glory, as I am still in the act of making the darn thing.

I worry that I can only write well when I have eaten mushrooms. I don’t believe this is true. I think I write well even when I have not eaten mushrooms. It is the READING that is different after having eaten mushrooms. Everything I read seems to be right and true, fantastic and new. It seems this way whether I have written it or someone else has. When I am writing, I am also reading what I have written. On mushrooms, what I am writing sounds wonderful. I have had this experience several times—eating mushrooms, writing, deeming it well-written. Thusly must the belief, first, and worry, next, have arisen.

Now, as an aside, being an aside because I believe my previous thought has concluded well where it has, still, I might add: I have read, while on mushrooms, what I wrote, while NOT on mushrooms, and found it to be the work, not of a genius but, of one relatively advanced in their craft. I have also read, while NOT on mushrooms, what I wrote, while on mushrooms, and found it to be the work of a lunatic who aspired to write, discovered mushrooms, thought they might aid in his writing process, ate them too often, and never stayed sober long enough to master the intricacies of the craft, which can only be learned by long hours of bored, tedious, and frustrated trying-and-failing, interspersed with reading the greats and wondering—of some of them, why can I not write as well as this myself; of others, are they really as great as everyone says they are?

While writing on mushrooms, many thoughts come to mind while I am already engaged with writing a specific one. Some of these I can forget easily, as they showed a little promise of extraordinariness. Others, those that show more promise, make it difficult for me to decide—between cutting short my current engagement (writing a thought that, before, what the same as this other one than I now consider, a question mark) and ignoring it to delve deeper where I am already standing, up to my knees in disturbed dirt, digging deeper still, to find any stones unturned. They linger, like a first taste that forbids a full bite. With one hand they wag a finger in front of my face that says “no, not yet.” The other hand they hold out, palm facing up. They are asking for something. A price. The price I must pay if I wish to bite into, chew, and mull over the thought to which I have not yet committed. The price is the one with whom I am already. Both, I cannot have. I must place the one I have, still an infant, into the upturned palm. I will never know what the youngling might have grown up to be. But, oh! Here is another, newer, brighter. If only shining its light to attract, if the flame cannot stay lit, if it proves to be no better than the one I had before, then I will go searching once more, and again—the two hands: one, wagging its finger; the other, an upturned palm.

I feel that one of us will win, and the other must then lose. Why must it be this way? I read recently that, based on our evolutionary predispositions, the man desires to spread his seed far and wide, while the woman wants to retain a man to provide for and protect herself and any children they may have together. Is this true? How can I say? But let’s pretend that it is. The desires of the man and the woman are opposing. The women cannot retain the man while he continues to spread his seed. Or, maybe … Already I see margins of possibility in which the man and the woman, in the context of a monogamous relationship between them, must not necessarily be opposing forces. Alas, here I am on the ground floor, writing my own thoughts, while my girlfriend is upstairs writing hers (I can hear the keys clacking on her keyboard), and we are breaking up. It’s not a surprise. We’ve been talking about it. At one point, she wanted me to pack my things and leave that same day. Somehow we ended up here together in this beautiful cabin nestled in the forest of Northern California outside of town called Elk. And I return to my beginning question: if we are to separate, why must it feel like one side is winning and the other is losing? Because one side chooses to end it while the other wants it to continue. There is the opposition: one wants it to end while the other wants to continue. In this situation, both cannot have what they want. Unless, maybe the relationship can transform. One wants it to end, but maybe it doesn’t need to end on the whole. Would the other be okay with a few modifications, in part? Could the relationship still live on, after the modifications? This makes me realize: relationships are always transforming. Because they involve individuals who are always changing. What happens when one changes in a way that the other doesn’t want them to? Then it becomes complicated. She asks, were you this way when I met you? How could I not have seen it? All my other relationships were the same way. Blaming—me, herself, past boyfriends. But the facts remain: people change, relationships transform. Now, the question is: how do we navigate the transformation?

I thought I heard her crying. I couldn’t tell if it was just the music or if she really were up there whimpering, sniffling. I got up and walked over to the steep steps (almost a ladder) of the old-water-tower-turned-cabin. I grabbed the railing and climbed up. There she was—her caramel skin in contrast to the white sheets, her curly hair slightly frizzy (as it gets when she’s been rolling around in bed). I asked how she was doing, if she was okay, or something like that (I forget exactly what I said). We skated, as we tend to, like those water bugs, along the surface, before descending. Then she told me that she HAD been crying. I told her, oh, I’m sorry, well, that is why I came up here. Then she said oh, did you hear me? You couldn’t have. It was only a tear. I wasn’t sobbing. I told her about how I thought I had heard crying in the music. We marveled. I must have FELT her crying, somehow, even though I wasn’t actually hearing her. She was crying because she read a few pages out of a book she found on the steps by a Vietnamese author about how he was thankful for his mother and for memories of when she would take him to the mall. My girlfriend’s mother is Vietnamese. I suspect that is why she felt a closeness to this particular book. She said, “I realized I want to cry more. I want to have things in my life that make me cry. Not just shallow melodrama. You know? Like (and she preceded to describe what she meant and how she felt in words that were perfect, but all I can remember is …) things that make you feel like you’re on the brink of being alive.” The moment was sublime, terribly so. I, knowing our relationship was ending, one tear already on my cheek and more welling. Her, being beautiful in her body as she always is, but then also the depths and intricacies of her emotions, as well as her lexical prowess to communicate them. The trees through the window behind her, bending in the wind, a glint on the glass making their green look red. Ah! What is a man to do? Other than audibly call for his deity, cry more than he already has, and shield his eyes, only to pry them back open, unveiling the portal to his heart, inviting in the moment that is more than can be captured by any artist, no matter how skilled, nor how numerous his forms. Only I, as I was in that moment, the material world as it was, chakras balancing, energy fields in opposition, formless feelings floating, angels singing—all conspiring to torture me, as if all the potency of life were distilled down into one drink, one swallow. As soon as it touched my lips I sputtered and spat. If it were spread out and watered down, so that I could have had time to process, make rational, cram into my own understanding—then I could have taken it. As it was—me, her, and the trees through the window behind her—I had to run. In this case, I slowly descended the steep steps, holding onto the railing. It took some willpower and a great deal more conditioned concern for my bodily well-being not to suddenly fling myself down them as fast and as recklessly as my heart and soul were fleeing. But no matter the manner in which I did, I ran, nonetheless. I ran like I always do. I ran like a thief into a field clutching above my head the bouquet of flowers she had given me, petals flying off of them as I went. See, I’ve never been able to stay put there and just listen to her. As soon as she starts being beautiful (which is immediately, and always) I run away with derivatives, hand-me-downs of her to render into my heart, so that others will pay me, praise me, or whatever will validate the male equivalent of female beauty. I do this, even as I am somewhat aware that I am running in a wide circle, the path of which is laden with obstacles, deceits, let-downs, repetitious exhaustion, self-loathing, and various other trials which must be faced by a man working his way up through the world to be worthy of a woman at the top—all of this, I persist in putting myself through, even as the woman of my dreams lies here in bed asking me, why will you not listen to me? Why will you not come to bed? Why will you not stay?

*** This prose above has the same idea as the poem, HER HONEY. I need to return to that poem. The idea is there. It is true. But it is not yet well-written.

When I forget to breathe, I cannot make up for it by taking rapid deep breaths, which is my habit. I failed, was resultantly worse off, may even suffer lasting damage, but there are some mistakes in the past that I can’t set right presently. I can only learn from them and avoid making the mistake again.

I am realizing, now that I’ve come down from the mushrooms high but still writing, that STAYING PRESENT is important for writing well. This is a partial answer to a recurring question: why do I write better on shrooms, compared to being sober? When I write sober, it usually goes like this: I am inspired by some sensory input, thought, or feeling, and then I formulate an IDEA thereof. I thus interrupt the otherwise seamless flow from stimulation to words, by having an IDEA of the stimulation before I begin to write. I end up writing about an impostor, the intermediary idea. While on shrooms, I stay present. I write about whatever comes up. And I write honestly, rarely second-guessing.

Posted on August 23, 2021August 23, 2021 by Cole

Selfish

I am too eager. I claw at the earth with my bare hands in search of precious stones. Who said that the stones are precious? Why do I care that they said so? What do I seek by acquiring the stones?

If I would wait, the stones would unearth themselves. A river would divert its course to flow over this land and move away the sediment. The wind would blow away the layers of sand. But I do not have enough time. I have only a lifetime, and I do not know how long even that will be.

If I am to have the stones for myself, I must act quickly. I cannot wait for the forces of nature to do my work for me. I will not live long enough to take possession of the fruits of nature’s labor. So I go to the toolshed and return with a shovel. I start to dig more effectively than with my hands.

Why must I have the stones? Why am I not satisfied that someone else should have them? Why do they need to be had by any human? Why can they not stay in the earth where they are?

I am selfish on two levels. First, I think only of myself. Second, I think only of those who are like me; I think only of the human species.

When I remember that I am one with this world, then progress and development, especially economic, seem silly.

There are two wills at play. There is the collective will of humanity and there is the will of the natural world. As a species, we have grown strong and capable of bringing our will to bear, to great effect on the natural world. In many instances, the will of man overpowers the will of the natural world.

Then again, maybe this is the way of things. Maybe the surge in humanity’s power is not at odds with the will of the natural world. The will of the natural world will curtail man’s power in time.

Originally written: Friday, July 9, 2021, 11:28 AM

Posted on August 19, 2021 by Cole

REMINDER: When I can start pulling content for my next book: June 10, 2021

I don’t think I added any content to The Art of Sidewalking that was written any time after June 10, 2021. The last content I added was “Drench warfare,” I think.

It was basically after my trip to Big Sky, Montana with Kyle, Lake, and Krys that I stopped adding new content to The Art of Sidewalking.

As I’ve gone back through a lot of my content from the past two years, I realize my next book should be SHORT PROSE. I have a lot of good content in the format of 50-to-200-word prose pieces.

Posted on August 15, 2021 by Cole

Still a child

How sincerely
I wish

For what
When given

I forget
So easily
To be grateful

August 12, 2021 at 03:31PM

Posted on August 12, 2021August 19, 2021 by Cole

I am writing, I am, me

I am writing
The way
I know how

Which has changed
As I’ve
Gone on

When I read
And enjoy, a writer
Who writes differently

I think to myself,
“Gee, maybe
I should write like that”

But then I read
Another writer
Who writes like me

I think, “Well,
The way I write
Is just fine”

But neither
Should affect me
I know

I should just write
The way
That I do

August 12, 2021 at 12:14PM

Posted on August 12, 2021August 19, 2021 by Cole

Struggling

I struggle with my work
And feel sorry
For myself,
But then I see

A fallen leaf
In the soil
Of the potted plant
Atop our dresser

A construction worker
With dirt and sweat
On his shirt
Leaning over, exhausted

And I realize
I’m not the only one,
Which makes me feel
A little better

August 05, 2021 at 10:36AM

Posted on August 5, 2021August 19, 2021 by Cole

Self-image

I look alien
In the mirror

In the instant before
I recognize myself

And my preconceptions
Load
Like a computer file

But in the instant
While the pinwheel
Still spins

And I am seeing
Beneath the veil

Splotchy skin,
Lopsided pectorals,
Crooked jaw

Rectangular prism,
Cylinder,
Cube

Color,
Light,
Dimension

Who am I
When I forget?

July 20, 2021 at 10:00PM

Posted on July 21, 2021August 18, 2021 by Cole

Pain and death

My pain invites me to grapple with my mortality on a daily basis. For all my life, I have been healthy. More than that, I have been strong and capable. My dad used to tell me, “I was too rough on my body when I was young. Now I’m paying the price for it.” I’m starting to pay the price too. What is life without a strong and capable body? What really is dying is my old way of life. Maybe I’m still a ways away from my ultimate end. But I will die several small deaths before then.

Posted on July 9, 2021August 18, 2021 by Cole

What’s the point?

There is no point. First, what does have a point? Survival seems to be the most widely accepted point of doing anything. For a long time, there was no point in doing anything other than what was required to survive because, if we did not, then we would have died and we would not have been able to carry on much longer with the pointless activity upon dying. But we are past that now. Can we now begin to spend our time on pointless activities?

My parents would feel better if I get a job. They would prefer that to me being a poet. Where does this obsession with working come from?

I myself feel a little guilt when I spend an entire day and all I have to show for it is maybe twenty or thirty lines of poetry. It seems like very little compared to the economic production of which I know I am capable from having worked a job before.

Posted on July 9, 2021August 18, 2021 by Cole

Tear it down

To tear myself down
From these heights
Up to which
I have built

Thinking to myself
All the while
Sweating, toiling
That I was really
Doing the right thing
Building myself up
To achieve something great

Only to meet
A fat, smiling Buddha
Appearing to me
As a curvy, curly-haired beaut
Who said to me
In her sweet, seductress way
That I had to now
Tear it all down
Brick by brick

I was wrong all along
Or rather
The ones whom I listened to
Were wrong
But it didn’t matter
Either way
I had to tear it all down

July 02, 2021 at 02:48PM

Posted on July 2, 2021July 7, 2021 by Cole

Well spent

Like all the money
I made
In my short tour
Of the working world
Was for naught
But to buy
As many mushrooms
As our dear grower
Could grow,
Take them,
Trip my balls off,
And write poetry

July 02, 2021 at 02:37PM

Posted on July 2, 2021July 7, 2021 by Cole

How to lose it all

The world seems wide again
As I’ve just narrowly
Avoided disaster
Yet again

The allegations
Were not as serious
As I trumped them up to be
In my head

I can hold onto
My precious world
The way it is
For a little while longer

But each
Of these near-disasters
Are teaching me
How to lose it all

June 10, 2021 at 09:37AM

Posted on June 10, 2021June 11, 2021 by Cole

Deep breath

I was so worried
I wasn’t breathing

I realize now
As I’ve gotten the news

That what I feared
Isn’t true

And I take my first deep breath
In a while

June 10, 2021 at 09:12AM

Posted on June 10, 2021June 11, 2021 by Cole

Myself

The man
Whom I write
Over and over
Is me
You see
I cannot escape from him
Even when
I look at others
I see myself

June 04, 2021 at 08:16PM

Posted on June 5, 2021June 6, 2021 by Cole

Mirror

I look at myself too long in the mirror and start to have an identity crisis. But it’s really just like anything else. I read the same word over and over and forget its meaning. I eat the same food over and over and forget its taste. I hear the same noise over and over and it starts to sound like silence.

But with my own face, it’s just slightly different, because when my own face starts to look like nothing, then I start to wonder, who am I? Maybe I identify too much with my physical form. Anyway, all of this is just to remind me that I really shouldn’t be looking at myself in a mirror for longer than ten or fifteen seconds at a time.

Originally written: April 30, 2021 @ 10:59 a.m.

Posted on April 30, 2021 by Cole

Hard words

The hard words are too hard. They are too specific. How can you really mean what you say when you are using them? Maybe I say this just because I’ve never read a dictionary cover to cover. Maybe the exactness is necessary in some cases. But do we really experience life so specific, exact, and precise? I am happy and that is it. I don’t unpack it any further than that. Especially not in the moment. In the moment, I usually have no words at all. It just is what it is and I am in it and that is it. This relates to what I have said before about there being one word to describe everything. What do we gain by being more exact with our words? One of the experiences that I have tried to describe over and over as a writer is the experience of euphoria. And there I go, using the word “euphoria.” Breaking my own rule already. What is it then? What am I trying to describe? Maybe the exactness is necessary. But I just can’t help feeling that more is the wrong direction. If I could just sit with you and hold your hand and not say a word that might mean more to you than a thousand written pages.

Why do I write at all? Why do I not just go out and live if there is more communication in the wordless moment? Maybe because I am polyamorous and I want to commune with many instead of just one in one moment. Maybe because I want to live on in some form after I die. Maybe because words are what I was taught in school and I am still breaking out of this way of interpreting the world. Maybe I don’t know enough of the specific words to say that they are not good. Maybe I need to go further in the direction of more before I can say that less is the way.

Originally written: April 15, 2021 @ 10:02 a.m.

Posted on April 30, 2021 by Cole

Force

I carry with me
Force
When I write
Walking
To the bathroom
For a break
I bump
The door frame
With my hip bone
And almost
Knock
The house down

Posted on April 19, 2021April 30, 2021 by Cole

What brings me joy

I was watching a movie about a jazz musician and there was a scene where he wins the role of piano player in a band that he admires. It made me think of my writing and how excited I would be to publish a best-seller. And then I compared that to the excitement I would feel if I were to make a lot of money from a more traditional job. I think I would be way more excited about the best-seller, which is an interesting perspective for how I’m spending my time. I spend a lot of my time working and not as much time writing. But if writing is truly what’s bringing me joy, then why am I not spending more time doing that?

Posted on March 23, 2021 by Cole

Self-conscious but in charge

I dreamt that my teeth fell out last night. I spit a handful of molars into my hand.

I don’t think I am as worried about my appearance as I have been in the past. As I get older, I’m more concerned about my actual health, rather than just how I appear. I also have a girlfriend, so I’m not trying to impress other women.

Still, I think this is a sign of self-consciousness. Maybe it’s because I’m going to the hotel in Napa with K and her friends next month, and I haven’t gotten my hair cut.

I also dreamt of being in charge. I dreamt that I was in a board room. People were presenting to me and I was correcting them.

Recorded in dream journal on: July 17, 2020

Posted on March 23, 2021 by Cole

To avoid restarting

I stay longer than I should. Shaping myself into my surroundings. Gathering what was once useful but will soon weigh me down. Holding onto the life I have, unwilling to risk it for what may be. I dig myself deeper and deeper until I can no longer move. Leave me buried here. I am happy.

Originally written on: August 27, 2020

Posted on March 22, 2021March 22, 2021 by Cole

11/11/20

As our plane ascends into the sky above the clouds, I am reminded of the heights achieved by man. Not one man, but many. One can only play his part. He cannot hope to achieve the whole of it on his own. Man is necessarily a social animal. They say, “If you want to go fast, to alone. If you want to go far, go together.” I am growing to understand this. My girlfriend is teaching me emotional intelligence. I cannot think only of myself. “To whom much has been given, much is expected.” I would be happy working for the good of others, and not just for myself.

Originally written on: November 11, 2020

Posted on March 22, 2021March 22, 2021 by Cole

Damn editing

I really touch it light like, afraid to overwhelm the original with too may edits. Like coming into a museum and looking upon the work of another, I wouldn’t dare step over the partition and reach inside the glass container, ignoring the “Do Not Touch” signs. The piece is beautiful for my eyes as it is, and there is nothing more for me to add by putting my hands on it. I have as much respect for my former self as the artist. I come now as the editor to do the necessary evil. It is my own, even the mistakes, and that is what makes it art, I believe. Everything that happens afterwards, with editing especially, is a derivation of the original. I am thinking of rules and the opinions of others when I edit. I am no longer thinking of the source of inspiration, which can only once be passed through the lens of my perception and, in that moment, recorded.

Originally written on: December 13, 2020

Posted on March 22, 2021 by Cole

What I believe

To become eloquent enough in my own worldview, that I could tell a stranger, when asked, say, at a party, or some other event where I would meet strangers, what it is exactly, that I believe, would require much remembering, of memories not even fully formed, or able to be remembered accurately, and depending on my mood, at that moment in time, and what I had heard or been convinced of recently, and so on. But the point is—and now, I cannot speak for all, though I wish I could, because I believe it to be true for all, but I will save myself from arrogance by speaking only for myself—my beliefs are fickle. They change often, even though I try to put them all through rigorous testing. Blah blah, not sure if this one passes the test.

Posted on January 19, 2021March 22, 2021 by Cole

Never boring

I feel it all oppress upon me in a moment, getting in through the pores of my skin. As if the present reality weren’t already enough, my past memories add a film over my surroundings, like a projector movie playing on a canvas that is not white, but already has something painted onto it. The physical feeling of sensation combines with the emotional feeling of something other than sensation, like the difference between being touched being physical and what happens when you’re falling in love being something else. I suppose the materialists would tell you it’s all physical if you get down to it, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like there’s just so much and I can’t swivel my head all the way around like an owl to see everything. So I sit here on my hands looking left out the window and all the bustle on the street, and right at our white wall inside the apartment that is almost more interesting with all my memories playing on the movie projector screen. And the black pepper from the tuna salad that I ate for lunch tingling on my tongue. I wonder how I ever feel bored.

Posted on September 17, 2020March 22, 2021 by Cole

Lose myself for good art

I have to lose myself if I’m going to create good art. All these poems that start with “I” are worthless. It was when I was meditating and putting unconditional love out into the world and remaining unattached to my material pursuits that I was creating good and honest art. Now I’m all caught up in my job and trying to make money and so focused on myself that my stream of consciousness is ego-obsessed. That stream is where I get my art. It’s no wonder I can’t get any art from a stream full of only one thing. I need to open myself up to the world, and lose myself, and stop writing so much about “I.”

Posted on August 4, 2020 by Cole

Here now

I have this habit of thinking forward, forward, forward. Until I retrace my steps and think, it will have already started at this point, and this point—earlier and earlier, until I reach the present moment. Then I realize, it has already started, presently. I am living, now. All that I seek in the future—joy, entertainment, wealth, love. It is all, to some degree, here with me now. Possibly, it is in a form that I have more difficulty recognizing.

Posted on August 4, 2020 by Cole

Fast and slow

Moving fast and slow
I move
Without a thought for
What I’m doing
When it’s fast
In the middle of the day
And I’m working
Washing dishes
While my lunch is on the stove
To get back
To the desk
Faster
On weekends
I slow down a little
For my meals
And eat
Without doing anything else
At the same time
Or sleep
Without an alarm
It’s nice
Every once in a while
But I need that go
Fast
Multi-task
Most of the time

Posted on August 3, 2020 by Cole

An orange peel in the park

I was doing my exercises in the park, when I noticed a piece of orange peel on the ground, no bigger than a child’s palm. The inside of the peel was full of ants. Most of them were dead. I could tell because they weren’t moving. I’ve never seen a live ant sitting still, have you?

I wondered about how they died. Could something in the orange peel be poisonous for ants? Maybe it wasn’t poisonous in a small amount, but the dead ants were gluttons that ate too much of the orange. But I didn’t think this was probable either, because I’d never heard of ants being gluttons, only about them being strong and hard-workers.

I noticed there was a trail of ants leading away from the orange peel. It was a little hard to see because this part of the forest floor was in the shade and the black ants blended in with the dark dirt. I put my hands on my knees and leaned over to get a closer look. I saw the general direction of the trail of ants and started shuffling my feet to follow it. I followed the trail for a few minutes. It went a long ways. I was hoping to find an ant hill at the start of the trail, but I got bored and went back to my exercises.

Posted on August 3, 2020 by Cole

Closing my eyes after a shower

I close my eyes and lose track of the reality that returns when I open them again. Standing in the shower, light-headed; I almost fall over. I close my eyes again. The longer I look at the black in the backs of my eyelids, the more animated it becomes, with figures I might learn to name if I were to look long enough. The black doesn’t always strike me. Sometimes I close my eyes and open them without noticing. The world returns and it makes sense to me, seeing again the same thing that I saw just before blinking. Other times, the black catches me, at first in its simplicity, in a reprieve from the physical world, full of complex optic details. Then these animated figures start to appear, moving with a life of their own. I wonder if we could adapt to that blackness, given enough time to evolve and get used to it. What would that black, close-eyed life be like?

Posted on August 3, 2020 by Cole

Speed walking

I walk fast like I’m trying to get away from something, but the truth is I’ve already forgotten where I’m coming from and can’t think of anything else other than where I’m going. Wanting to be there already, walking around slow walkers on the sidewalk carrying groceries or just lollygagging, looking around and enjoying the scenery. I can’t lolly, gag, or anything other than focus on keeping my stride as long as possible without dislocating a hip. All for where I’m going, I know I’ll be satisfied once I get there. I know it will have what I need. There’s nothing here for me anymore, except for what quickly slips behind, and what lies still ahead, representing all the hope in the world.

Posted on August 3, 2020 by Cole

Growing old

For me, it was sudden. One day, you’re young and pushing the limits, and the next, your back hurts and you’re trying to keep your job. I don’t think it was actually sudden. Looking back now, it seems to have happened over time. First, you’re so young that you don’t know what it means to be young. Then, around the time you start to rebel against your parents, then you’re young and you know it. Finally, five or ten years further down the road (even later for some), you start to understand what your parents were talking about—this is the mind growing old. The nail in your no-longer-too-distant coffin is when your body starts to ache. That’s when it all really slows down. You can’t drink like you used to. You’re less confident you would win a fight. If you need to bend over to pick something up or put on your socks, you have to do it real slow to avoid hurting yourself. From this point on, there is a certain amount of deliberation that goes into every one of your physical actions, which causes you to think twice before listening to what your raging free spirit is telling you to do. It is scary, seeing death as near as you ever have, and growing nearer all the while. But it is the way of things, and a lot more makes sense now.

Posted on August 3, 2020 by Cole

Clogged shower drain

I turn the shower to cold, briefly, and then off. Standing in water up to my ankles, I turn and face the white shower curtain. Watching water drip from my nose into the pool gathered around my feet, I wait to dry. Standing thus, waiting, I remember my girlfriend hates it when I leave the drain clogged—this being the cause of the water up to my ankles. It’s my fault, really; being my hair, mostly, that clogs the drain. I reach down and scrape my fingernails along the edges of the indented mesh gate that covers the drain—this produces a mess of hair the size of a small mouse. Then the water really starts to drain. I resume my former position with my chin against my chest, holding the mouse, water dripping from the tip of my nose with slightly less frequency. The water line recedes down the slope of my foot. The drain makes a sound like rain in a gutter. I am caught up in hearing this and not much else. There is no other pressing concern, waiting to dry. The water finishes draining. There is no noise now; not the shower, nor the draining. It is over then. I prepare myself to pull back the curtain and find something else to do.

Posted on August 2, 2020August 2, 2020 by Cole

Self-conscious

I step away from my desk to stretch. I lean over to touch my toes. The sun from the window behind me shows my shadow on the hardwood floor. I see that my hair is disheveled. Previously unaware of my appearance, I am now self-conscious of my appearance. What if I go to see people later? What if someone comes into the study? My hair should look kempt. I fuss over it, using my shadow as a mirror.

Posted on August 2, 2020August 2, 2020 by Cole

Cutting vegetables

Cutting vegetables for soup, I learn lessons like “a dull knife requires more power to cut” and “one cut across three carrots is as good as three cuts.” I start to chop slower as I am learning these lessons, until I am learning from each chop. It is simple—the vegetables, the cutting board, and the knife. I am enjoying myself. And the smell of the chopped celery. Soup is a simple dish—everything in the pot, with some broth and water.

Posted on August 2, 2020August 2, 2020 by Cole

Caught

I got caught peeing in public by the park police today. My girlfriend and I were walking on the sidewalk through the Presidio on our way to the beach. I stepped off and took two or three steps into the trees. When I turned around, the unmarked police car was making a U-turn in the middle of the street with its lights on, but no sirens. When I saw the car, without even thinking, I said out loud, “Oh man, are you kidding me?” I looked through the passenger-side window and the officer was motioning for me to come closer to the car. I walked over and bent down with my hands on my knees. He rolled down the window halfway. He said, “If you’re going to urinate, walk back far enough into the trees where people can’t see.” I said, “Yes sir. I apologize.” I tried my best to look scared. Truth be told, I was a little scared. I didn’t want to get a citation. He nodded, seeming satisfied, and rolled up his window and drove off. I stepped back onto the sidewalk and kept walking with my girlfriend.

Posted on August 2, 2020August 2, 2020 by Cole

Inspiration from sensory experience

Changes in my sensory experience are a main source of my inspiration.

Sitting at my desk in my apartment, I am experiencing the same senses. I can hear the sound of traffic on the street outside. I can see my computer screen and the white wall behind it. I can feel the cushion under my bum and the wood against my back. I can taste my saliva. I can smell the bland air. I am experiencing the same senses. I am bored. I am not inspired.

So I get up and put on my sneakers and go for a run. Now my sensory experience is changing. I see new storefronts every block. I see new people and new cars. I hear conversations and children laughing. I smell the pollen from the summer trees. I feel the wind and the sun and the cement beneath my feet. My taste is about the same—just saliva.

Now, this is not to say I could not have changed my sensory experience in my apartment. I could have turned on some music. I could have taken a heroic dose of acid. I could have punched myself bloody. I could have sat down and tried my best to enter a deep meditation.

What comes in through your senses is already art. Life itself is art. What you see is a painting. What you hear is music. What you feel is dance.

As an artist, I am more of a translator than a creator. My life, my sensory experience—this is already the art. It is like clay given to a sculptor. I take the sound or music and the sight of the sky and turn those experiences into words. But in some sense, they are already words.

I am like a kaleidoscope or a prism. The experience of life is light. I am not the creator of light. Nor am I the creator of myself. I am merely a vessel.

It is still work. It is not as passive as standing there and letting light pass through. But it is work already set into motion by forces greater than me, and I must merely play along.

Posted on June 26, 2020 by Cole

untitled

I get nothing done

All day

At my desk

Double guessing

And triple checking

Like I’m still in school

So I get up

And go outside

To run

And clear my head

And all my problems

Solve themselves

One after another

Somewhere

In the back of my mind

While I focus

On not getting hit

By a car

Posted on June 26, 2020 by Cole

untitled

I run all over town
Without a notebook
Practicing
How to hold
A hundred poems
In my head

I pick favorites
And sometimes
Have to forget one
To remember another

The trouble is
I get a full head
Halfway through
As I’m still out and about
And seeing and smelling
And so poems
Keep pouring in

Which is when
I have to run
As fast as I can
Repeating every poem
Silently in my head
And looking down
Until I can get home
And start writing
To make some space

Posted on June 26, 2020 by Cole

Statistically speaking

I make these

Small calculations

For my chances

Of survival

Like whether to walk

On this side

Of the sidewalk

Or that side

And wonder whether

The time I take

To make

These calculations

Is greater than

Or equal to

The time I save

Surviving

Posted on June 26, 2020 by Cole

Run

Now I remember why I have forgotten why it is that I do what I do. Upon realizing recently, that I do not know why it is that I do what I do, I remembered this. Because I went about trying to figure out again, why I do what I do. Which is a funny thing, because I have been doing things all this time, but I cannot remember exactly why.

If I think of any particular thing I’ve done I can usually come up with a reason. For example, I ate breakfast this morning because I was hungry. But for all my decisions strung together, I can’t put my finger on a common theme, just disjointed ad hoc reasons.

So I started to think about it. I thought for a long time and took down notes and read some passages out of books. That is when I remembered why I have forgotten. I am not saying I know all. I do not.

But it seems there are some grim answers if you look hard enough, about why we are and what we should do. Upon thinking this thought, I was very depressed. And felt that I had experienced that depression before. I had, I knew it.

And that is why I have forgotten why I do what I do. Because at the point of my last depressions having stumbled upon these grim thoughts, I blindfolded myself and spun myself around and whispered a Truth in my own ear and pointed in a direction and said to myself, “Run.”

And so I ran. It took me a couple years to realize I couldn’t remember why I was running. So I’ll spin myself around again and whisper another Truth in my ear and set myself off running again.

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Cole

White tiles

White tiles
Take time to turn
Into something
Noticeable
On the shower walls

My fingers rake
My wet hair
Not even washing
No shampoo

My mind
Is someplace else
In fact, many
Other places
At once

Until I open my eyes
And see white
Tile walls
And return
Realizing

I’ve been rinsing
My hair
For some time now
I don’t know
How long

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Cole

Searching for my muse

I woke up early today to find my muse. It is almost summer so the light was up before me, peeking in between the drapes. I got out of bed and rolled the rug away to make space for my mat. I did my stretches and put on the clothes and pack that I had set out the night before. I opened the door and locked it behind me and stepped onto the sidewalk outside to find the peace and quiet of the morning.

I walked on a street with shops. I walked in a forest. I walked across the bridge. After almost four hours of walking, I began to despair. My muse had been missing for some time. All this past week she has been missing, and I had only caught glimpses of her a few of the weeks before.

I stopped overlooking the ocean. I took a drink of water and ate one of the bars I had packed in my bag. I walked to the beach. It was still foggy and the beach was not too inviting. But I was tired and wanted to lie down. I did, and after finding a comfortable position in the sand, fell asleep.

When I woke, the sun was shining. The clouds had separated for the sun to shine through. It was then that I found my muse. I searched in my pack for my phone and began to write. I wrote some poems and then I wrote this.

My muse will have to go again soon. I have become used to this, her coming and going. But I am grateful to have found her. And will be grateful to search for her again.

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Cole

Stain dream

I had a dream last night

That I stained a shirt

With what I stained it

I can’t remember

But the shirt was ruined

And I was worried

About people looking at me

And the stained shirt

I was wearing

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Cole

I write when

I write in the shower
With my eyes closed

I write at work
When my mind wanders

I write during conversation
When my friend writes for me

I write at the park
Laying in the sun

I write in the middle of a run
When it gets hard to breathe

I write after a dream
That I can barely remember

I write when I read
Stealing words for myself

I write at night
When I can’t go back to sleep

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Cole

Run to write

I run to the park

To pick a poem

Like a leaf

From a low-hanging

Tree branch

Or a lyric

From a bird’s song

And then run home

To write it down

Posted on May 25, 2020 by Cole

my muse

All at once

It rushes forth

Ready or not

My muse

Does not wait

For anyone

Posted on April 19, 2020 by Cole

inside jokes

I see jokes

Sometimes

Without anyone

Saying anything

And laugh

To myself

—I must

Look crazy

Posted on April 19, 2020 by Cole

Ishmael

Ishmael says the world is not created for man. This is the creation myth our culture tells us. So too, I am not made for myself. This is the creation myth that my ego tells me.

I may be created for uses other than my own. Thinking of this makes me realize how selfish I have been.

Posted on April 19, 2020 by Cole

Shadow ribs

Standing next to the light

That shows shadows

In my rib slants

Shirtless

Knees against the mattress

Staring

At myself in the mirror

With a sideways glance

Observing

Parts of my body

That I hadn’t noticed before

Posted on April 4, 2020 by Cole

Stagnant

Sedentary

Starting to stagnate

Sitting inside all day

With the drapes drown

Sulking

So as to further feed

My worries

When an open window

Would do me so good

Posted on March 21, 2020 by Cole

Highs and lows

Just as I am

For certain

That it is all done

And gone forever

For sure this time

It all comes

Rushing back

Reviving me

Once more

To go on high

And then soon after

Subtly low

When I will again

Be for certain

Even more certain

Than the last low

That the revival

Will not come this time

Until it surely does

And I go back to soaring

Though I know

And of this, I am sure

There is one low

In which

I will lie for good

And not soar again

Posted on March 1, 2020 by Cole

Into a groove

The same things I’ve seen

For some time now

So my thoughts

Are mostly deja vu

Like the same lights

At the same times

And the same habits

Wear this groove deep

Where I’m happy enough to be

So subtly

This groove creeps deeper

Being worn

By my own passing

Back and forth

Over and over

For I enjoy it now

Almost completely

Except for the small fear

That the deep wear

Caused by my repeated enjoyment

Will make it difficult

To climb back out

And wear again

Elsewhere

Posted on March 1, 2020 by Cole

Age as motivation

I see age, and it makes me want to live faster. I see an old man with long white hair in the coffee shop. He walks with a cane and holds onto the counter. It seems like he has trouble seeing too. I wonder what it would be like to lose my own sight. I think of all the things I could no longer do. I must do them now! Quick, before it’s too late. Run! Get up. What are you doing sitting down in a coffee shop? You must use your youthful abilities while you still can.

Posted on February 29, 2020 by Cole

The steak I ate too late

I wake up in the middle of the night, I think because of the steak I ate too late before bed. I have this energy now, as I digest, keeping me up. At first I am annoyed, wanting to get back to sleep. But then I think, I might as well take advantage of this energy and spend some time waking now, and then surely tiredness will come again, once I’ve digested and used up the energy.

Posted on February 15, 2020 by Cole

Meditation about meditation

As I mediate, I stand with the point of my nose touching a surface that is black as night. The surface is like a wall that extends as far as I can see in all directions. If I only look forward, there is only this black. If I look side to side, I can still see some of the world outside of this black in my peripherals. I can see some light and non-black colors reflected on its surface. This is at the beginning. For as I breathe, with my eyes focused forward, looking “at” the black, I start to see “into” the black. Then my nose starts to permeate the black surface, as I take long, deep, and even breaths. The non-black colors in my peripherals narrow on each side of my field of vision until my eyes are completely submerged in the black. My nostrils and mouth and breathing are also in the black now. My whole focus becomes this black world that is beyond the surface, like it is to see the surface of water from far away and only be able to see it as a sheet of one color, until you are submerged beyond the surface and see all the sea life and depth underneath which contribute to the surface color. In the black I start to see mirages – abstract shapes of varying colors and textures, often moving off into one direction and eventually out of sight, like odd, slow shooting stars. I am not sure whether these are real or just my mind playing tricks on me. Perhaps memory scars of the lighted world that I left behind the black surface. I strive to step deeper into the black, but it is a viscous atmosphere, even more so than sludge, like rock that I can only move through very slowly, and by remaining focused on my breath. Otherwise, if I began to lose focus, I am pulled back out of the black. Sometimes I teeter back and forth, on the verge of the black, at the point where my eyes are just on the surface, and some of the lighted world remains on my peripherals. I wonder what it would be like to step all the way into the black and then turn completely around, so that instead of looking into the black from the outside, I would be looking back out at the colored world from the inside, with my nose pressed against the surface of a multi-colored world. But that would take much focus and time, to step into the black world and turn completely around. It might take days of meditation.

Posted on February 15, 2020February 15, 2020 by Cole

working too much

People in my dreams tell me I look tired. I wake up and wonder if I am working too much. It is 4 AM so I try to go back to sleep. I sleep until 5 AM but then cannot sleep anymore. I wake up and get dressed while my girlfriend is still asleep. I fumble for my things in the dark. I step out of my apartment and start to walk on the sidewalks that are empty. I prefer it this way, but I do wonder if I am working too much.

Posted on February 2, 2020 by Cole

me

Anything that starts out

With I as the object

To which the attention

Of my poetic diction

Has turned

Is bound to be

More subjective

Than an actual object

Outside of myself

(Like a cloud or a car)

To which readers can

More easily relate

Unless I can make myself

Objective enough

For readers to see me

As themselves

Posted on February 2, 2020 by Cole

Stage fright (1/22/20)

I perform better under vigilance from others with feats involving strength whereas sometimes self-conscious like with speaking I can do better alone or at least I perceive hard to hear myself as I ramble on wondering about the push from others in some regards and in others hand clammy getting nervous can’t so much as utter a word stage fright if only I could lift the podium off the stage and toss it into the crowd I could do that just fine

Posted on February 2, 2020 by Cole

speech-to-text back and forth between apartment and laundromat 1/4/20

walking so fast I can’t say one way or another what I see clearly wanting for some clarity supposed to be separating safe from dangerous getting somewhere to satisfy hunger finding love of forcing me on primal being the main driver but being able just briefly on a Saturday like today to walk on Fillmore Street before noon sun shining in every darn thing looking gosh darn perfect that dog leashed to a traffic meter majestic that bookstore with all the books I would never want to read on its shelves each restaurant and café serving all the foods that I would want to eat every person I passed smiling seeming like they want to have a conversation with me and having all these thoughts that I wish I could share with the moments when my creativity Waynes But needing now just to get down as much as I can and bottle up this feeling or at least put it in art to remember a gosh darn great Saturday like today

I want to find her gray hairs fondly for her to see that there’s not much time and understand why I believe it now is the time to live and we must press on and not relax too much laying in bed all day need to get out and go while we still can for what seems good and satisfying on its face is sticky and alluring slowing you down seeming to go slowWhile really proceeding quickly to old age

I like a little let loose crazy longing for the void only after some time structured set in my ways and nailed down long enough to let sit like clay in the oven or metal in the mold just to be cast back into the fire and barely kept form melting to reshape refusing to stay same sending forth like a god trying to be many and eventually all once obliteratedAnd nothing anymore

swearing to myself to stay sober so as to avoid a sudden left off like last night leaving earth so suddenly that I look down it is only a marble not even the oceans able to be distinguished from the land forgetting everything I knew out here in the black space void truly creative having nothing to draw from like God before originClosing my eyes and making something out of nothing but if I am truly being honest what comes behind the black clothes dies was for another life still like the God that came before ours

Pumped full of fumes filling my Freudian with fear feeling that it is really the end this time having run on planes for so long looking up towards the sky not expecting to step and land on soil no longer falling framed by the cliff face falling is all that is leftAfter plane running and before jagged rock crashing

Knowing when to stop not the morning no that is the time to go after a restful night for the energy rise with the sun at work getting into it and excited waiting to go on even for getting lunch but at some point must slow down must eat rest and relax and get ready for nightfall when the natural energy leaves and must slope down into sleep if the same cycle is to repeat itself tomorrow

if you get to work producing too much at once then Sam gets lost and might have even been better off not produced in the first place the two worlds work together preservation and production producing when energy is available to be spent and even benefits the system as a whole to be spent rather than conserved but sometimes need to conserve like needing to rest at night If only we had something as simple as the sun rising and setting to instruct us went to work and went to rest and all other areas of life

it should be done by now having had ample time to dry the timer telling me this chiming in go and check it says someone may be there waiting with their wet clothes counting on you to come timely like I say what I said a timer if you were going to wait anyway

Posted on January 6, 2020 by Cole

tea affecting me

I think its when I start to think that I’m supposed to feel something that I feel at all otherwise just going along thinking mostly and acting instinctually unless I do something like drink a tea that’s supposed to affect me and all of a sudden I’m wondering has it hit me yet looking at my hands more closely and putting my palm over my chest to feel my heart beat asking am I sad happy excited calm when it’s really just an herbal non-caffeinated tea and I’m doing this all on my own

Posted on January 6, 2020 by Cole

blunt tooth

v1:

i tongue this tooth

in my top row

touching

its blunted point

worn down

by my crooked bite

v2:

i tongue this tooth

in my top row

blunted by

my crooked bite

tonguing over

its point

sharp previously

now worn

Posted on January 6, 2020 by Cole

untitled

i didn’t write much

looking back

through the log

and start to worry

that i won’t write

anymore—

which is when

it’ll really be over

Posted on January 1, 2020 by Cole

icicle identity

coming into myself

like an icicle

freezing into form

once fluid

and dripping along itself

now believing

what others think of me

and agreeing

to go in this direction

settling into the mold

like sculpture clay

hardening in the oven

formed by the artist’s

left nurturing hand

and right natural hand

then set into stone

by the fires of time

now staying the same

as what others walk by

in the museum and say

reading the placard

and seeing other

statues nearby

this is a statue

of such time and place

you can see clearly

because of this and that

Posted on December 29, 2019 by Cole

truly seeing

sometimes i look at something

not really paying attention

and accidentally start to see

the space in between

sparkling in broken fractals

going off into gradient corner

abstract offering to me

all sights other than

what makes sense

giving my mind a break

to see without thinking

Posted on December 29, 2019 by Cole

jockeyed

i’m in the system

more so

than i’ve been before

standing still

sitting here

taking orders

jockeyed

with a horse

on either side

and one behind

so all that’s left

is forward

and fast

Posted on December 21, 2019 by Cole

singing in the shower

i rung here

a chord that

resounded

ringing

my ears

out clean

hoping to glean

at least some

satisfaction

from a choir

of voices

but quickly

found myself

one of many

and so

went back

to singing shrill

all alone

Posted on December 21, 2019 by Cole

talking to myself

i talk to myself

until i’m hoarse

at night

and wonder

in the morning

if it was worth it

because

i can’t remember

a thing i said

Posted on December 21, 2019 by Cole

think of others

sitting in the car

thinking

of my own problems

realizing

the driver

is patting his knee

and must also

have things to do

other than drive

and another rider

gets in

out of breath

and must have

been rushed

this morning

soothing

to think of others

and take a break

from myself

Posted on December 21, 2019December 21, 2019 by Cole

stretch

i used to

lose my footing

with my head

in the clouds;

a little older now

i’ve grown taller

and can keep

my feet in the dirt

at the same time

as i stretch

up high

Posted on December 21, 2019 by Cole

undoctored

i feel alright

undoctored

by my own doing

like usual

seeing a symptom

and writing

my own prescription

like coffee

in the morning

or a walk

for my anxiety

having

to self-diagnose

but this morning

the universe

saw my need

and helped me

on its own

Posted on December 1, 2019December 14, 2019 by Cole

be more selfless

you’re not only working for yourself; you’re working for your clients, your team, your boss, and your future family. these people depend on you the same way that you depend on others. you have a responsibility to contribute as much as you can. you have your possessions, abilities, and life itself because of what others have given you—both from your nature and the atoms that were not yours until your soul enlivened your body, and from the nurturing that you received from your family, teachers, mentors, and peers. give back to this system with all that you have been given.

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Cole

how

i see how

these things

would happen

now

having seen

what i hadn’t

when i wondered

how

these things

could

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Cole

thank god

i keep thinking

this is it

like the end is near

or the sickness

won’t cure

this time around

making a promise

to god

if only just

a little longer

i look back

and realize

i’ve made many

of these promises

and god

has let me live

all this time

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Cole

walking on divis

walking north

on divisadero

in the morning

once i climb

to the top

of the hill

and reach broadway

that is when

i first see

the ocean

out in front of me

and then

a little further

downhill

to vallejo

is when i can see

presidio forest

to my left

and i start

to feel better

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Cole

walking to heal my anxiety

walking is healthy for me when i have anxiety. just to get out and see some new spaces and get exercise without too much risk or danger. the longer the walk the better, getting into a sort of meditative state just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. especially if i can walk from inland out to the coast to see the water and horizon, reminding me there is more and i am small and it’s alright.

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Cole

questions for an artist

i think one reason for depression of the artist is that any good feeling must be immediately expelled into the receptacle of the art form, quickly before it passes.

art is about feeling—and for most, feeling cannot be controlled. so when a good feeling comes, the artist jumps to take advantage of it, by translation into her art form. while good may be produced in the art, there is none leftover for herself. this can lead to depression when the good is constantly poured into the art and never left for herself.

this idea, however, i now realize, is partially due to my own bias as an artist, as i am the type that produces only when i am feeling good, maybe because i think this is what is preferred by those to whom i will show my art.

but now, i wonder, what is it like to be an artist that produces from the bad feeling. does the same effect take place where the bad is expelled from the body and mind, and absorbed by the art? is this why art is sometimes used as therapy? is this the type of art people will want to consume? is that type of art, consumable art, the art that should be created?

Posted on December 1, 2019December 1, 2019 by Cole

ups and downs

i don’t trust my ups

when i know

there’s a down

right around the corner

ready to

pull me down harder

if i get higher

gaining momentum

during the fall

Posted on December 1, 2019 by Cole

rest

it all is

what it is

and will go

as it will

lying here

not there

trying to wonder

what i can do

while resting

there is nothing

and must rest

sometimes

and let go

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Cole

checking

i check things

that have been checked

two or three times

already

sometimes

just moments before

zipping up my bag

just moments before

boarding my flight

and unzipping it

to check once more

that my laptop is there

or the front door at night

turning the knob

and pulling

to make sure

the bolt is latched

before bed

or opening and closing

my wallet

counting cards and ID

putting it in my pocket

then taking it back out

to open

and check again

opening the alarm app

on my phone

to ensure the alarm is set

for my early shift tomorrow

checking my schedule

over and over

to confirm the flight

is this week not next

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Cole

can’t let the beauty go

sometimes

just laying here

there’s no art

to be gotten from it

necessarily

with a forearm

behind my head

laying on the couch

looking out the window

wishing i had a typewriter

on my lap

to write what i am feeling now

suddenly

not expecting to

or looking for

this tree that i can see

through the window screen

moving so slowly

in an imperceptibly

soft breeze

that catches me

here laying

not expecting anything

from this moment

that has become so beautiful

all of a sudden

that i am forced

to get up and grab my phone

and come back quickly

to the couch

back under the covers

to resume right into

what struck me suddenly

and tried to enjoy

alone and unwritten

but couldn’t

just too beautiful

and had to

start writing

robbing me

of these moments

just to be enjoyed

silently, wordlessly

i can’t

have to capture

something in me

can’t let the beauty go

and can’t see the value

in keeping it for myself

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Cole

honesty

like seeing yourself in a mirror, not knowing it’s yourself, and judging your appearance objectively, thinking i am beautiful or i am not, and then realizing it is yourself, and also realizing what you truly are

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Cole

when life gets good

it’s when life gets really good that i’m most afraid to lose it. other times i get drunk and couldn’t care less. the foolish part is thinking during the bad, that good times won’t come again; they always do.

Posted on October 28, 2019 by Cole

bad dream

I keep having this recurring dream that I have missed a flight that I have paid a lot of money for. It upsets me and I wake up in a bad mood. I think it is because I am so conscious of being frugal and saving my money recently. I want to make economic progress for myself and for my partner. I am also worried about my job. I have worked hard to get into this position and I don’t want to lose it. I feel conflict with my lifestyle outside of work, both my social life and my artistic life. I struggle to maintain these other lives that are important to me but could be detrimental to my professional reputation. Like my friend Lake said, everything seems to matter more now. There is more at stake and more going on at once, and everything has to be balanced in relation to one another.

Posted on October 14, 2019October 14, 2019 by Cole

run around

i used to run

when i was young

to get out my energy

my mom would say

run around the house

but now

with bad knees

i have to find

new ways of tiring

enough in the day time

in order to sleep

come bed time

Posted on October 14, 2019 by Cole

second dimension

i try to get the coffee high

with the weed don’t worry

and baby pushing me forward

while meditation holds me present

so ending up in the middle

of a four-direction compass

staying steady on the first dimension

while riding all the time

on the second

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

i wonder if

feeling is the same

as being felt

i wonder if

movie actors have time

to be themselves

i wonder if

those who run the world

know that they do

i wonder if

work will go by

fast or slow

i wonder if

our landlord will finally

fix our fridge today

i wonder if

baby

really loves me

i wonder if

the company

will make it

i wonder if

my brother

will be alright

i wonder if

sleeping with baby

makes my back

better or worse

i wonder if

or when

my body will start to fail

like my dad’s

i wonder if

my dad was like me

when he was young

i wonder if

my mom

still has hope

i wonder if

i’m doing the right thing

i wonder if

i’ll feel the same way

when i’m older

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

three things

there are three

thing i need

phone, wallet,

and keys

—so long as

i have

these three

there is nothing

bothering me

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

mirror image

i look at myself

in the mirror

in the dark

for long enough

that i wonder

if it is really me

or just another

dark object

in the room

—i stand still

for as long

as i can bear

thinking

i may no longer

be myself

but have become

something else

—until i can’t

take it any longer

and raise my arms

to see

in the mirror

the almost unidentified

dark object

do the same

—and so can

crawl back into bed

with less fear

of waking up

as something else

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

care about what

i used to care about surviving, then i cared about truth. now i care about art, which i’ll hold onto as long as i can, until eventually caring about nothing, whether by death or an ascetic buddhist spirituality.

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

self-reminder

you don’t need

to write it all

i remind myself

—write some

and leave the rest

for later

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

here it is

here i am at the top

of this great peak

having come for myself

and found everything else

Posted on September 14, 2019 by Cole

untitled

here i am at the top

of this great peak

having come for myself

and found everything else

Posted on September 2, 2019 by Cole

most creative

i’m most creative when i wake up early in the morning around 6am and have one cup of coffee and don’t eat anything and just see how long i can go before i get light headed from not eating because once i eat the creativity stops

Posted on August 24, 2019 by Cole

meeeee

i feel light

like i left

my bracelet

and rings

at home

or maybe

forgot

my jacket

less

to weigh

me down

but that’s

not it

inside

more energy

maybe

Posted on August 8, 2019 by Cole

abstract face

looking at

what was

a mirror image

of myself

that now

looking too long

has become

un-

identified

and broken into

constituent

crooked teeth

and an un-

recognizable

smile

Posted on August 8, 2019 by Cole

alone time

i used

to do nothing

all the time

now

just a chance

to lay on the rug

alone

is a novelty

Posted on August 8, 2019 by Cole

world > everything

if the whole world

didn’t exist

i’d still do this

but if i had to choose

between this

and the whole world

i’d still

choose the world

Posted on August 8, 2019 by Cole

routine

everything

is done for me

because i’ve lived

the same life

the same day

many times before

—so my shirts

are form fitted

from having been

washed and worn

on the same body

and the same people

i already know

just say hello

and less

nice to meet you’s

and i still

remember

the way to where

i usually go

so less looking

at a map

and trying

to figure it out

and i know

what i like to eat

so i push my cart

in the same path

at the store

and only stop

when something

is out of stock

Posted on August 3, 2019 by Cole

gone for good this time

reaching into a thoughtless mind wondering again if the poetry has gone like i know i have thought before and without fail the poems return but for some reason like before i think again that this time is different—that it has really gone for good this time.

Posted on August 3, 2019 by Cole

flashing lights

when i turn my head

too quickly

and think

oh god

am i tripping

Posted on August 3, 2019 by Cole

wasting away

i feel myself

wasting away

when all

the attention I’ve paid

is to the out and out

on going out side

of myself

where most

meaning is made

and drives me on

but a body can only

be driven so far

by meaning alone

until physical matter

must be upkept

Posted on August 3, 2019 by Cole

chin freckle

worrying about

the freckle

on my chin

that will be covered

by a beard soon

anyway

Posted on August 3, 2019 by Cole

two ways to write poetry

there are two ways to write poetry. one is to write words as they come to you, somewhat randomly. the other is to try to think of what makes sense or what is true or what people will like—and then write that. even when i use the second method, however, i find that sometimes it will doesn’t work anyway. and on the contrary, with the first method, i can write something random, in a sort of stream of consciousness, and it turns out great. so with my poetry at least, i’ve given up control, and resolved to just keep writing.

Posted on August 3, 2019August 3, 2019 by Cole

cocktail poem

i write it

again and again

learning

nothing new

shaking

my head

like a cocktail shaker

with the same

few ingredients

Posted on July 30, 2019 by Cole

poetic thoughts

i think

in terms

of words

that sometimes

sound poetic

Posted on July 30, 2019 by Cole

karma

give some of my

energy and love

to baby

and some

to my work

and even some

to strangers

remembering that

none of it

is mine to give

—i am returning it

to where

it came from

Posted on July 30, 2019 by Cole

present specifics

at once i think

of future possibilities

and hope forward

for the next thing

working myself up

to be let down

which is when

i try to find

a real specific thing

right now

like the crystal knob

on the bathroom door

or the semicircle

archway

over the hall

and the morning light

or even just gratitude

to see another morning

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

uncomfortable writing

this is where

i can write

albeit

uncomfortable

it is the

discomfort

in fact

that picks up

the pen

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

who is that

seeing

my reflection

walking by

glass

storefront

windows

wondering

who is that

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

back to the city

waiting

for the plane

to board

back

to the city

and take

a car

to the office

and resume

the life

i was living

before

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

night shift

working

in the night

as long as

i am

breathing

working

creating

is what

it is

for me

to be

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

walked into a mirror almost

everything looks the same in a store with rows and rows of clothes so i’m confused when i want to walk through and take a step then have to stop when i realize it’s a mirror reflecting the rows of clothes behind me so on the next turn i’m hesitant even though it’s really a row that i can walk through this time

Posted on July 24, 2019July 24, 2019 by Cole

writing on my phone in bed at night with baby

writing at night

on my phone

with baby

in my arms

and only

the light

of the screen

in the dark

and my fingers

noiselessly

tapping

baby breathes

and i can focus

comfortably

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

back there vs. out here

back there, i’m building

out here, i look back

and see, what it is which

i can’t do while in it

like being unable

to figure out the width

of a river

while underwater

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

vertigo

seeing flashes and feeling

movements in gravity

or the ground beneath my feet

so i almost say woah

and topple over

unless i’m seated

then

i just get a weird feeling

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

art is like an egg

just needing a good sun nap

to forget everything i know

and fry my brain like an egg

so the art comes back into the void

from all around where it lies

in wait even when i think

it’s all gone but it’s really just

because i’ve been hard boiled

and in need of a scramble

Posted on July 24, 2019July 24, 2019 by Cole

sf vs. la

after so much time in the dark shadows of buildings and fog walking fast on sidewalks always getting somewhere most often to work crammed into the bus with everyone else doing the same and so feeling the same and so thinking nothing of it or of doing anything differently or least of all leaving but staying concentrated where a desk lamp or an office light makes clear the paper or computer screen to be focused on in contrast to the dark overcast often sunless and cold where the ocean water is freezing so even if you make it to the beach you stay on the rocky sand and still think about work because it’s really not that far away both in terms of space on the coast of town and in terms of time over a short weekend and all of this contributes to quite a lot of production and ego building and economic growth until you get on a plane because your girlfriend says it’s time for vacation and drive in the night so you can’t see up to a house in the mountains and fall asleep exhausted from the work week and stress of travel but then wake in the morning to find a different world where the sun sets higher and brighter and drive down to the ocean where the water isn’t as freezing and the sun not dressed in fog shines so that everything seems to be one and the ego is less of a concept not because of any spiritual realization but just because you can see a thing other than the brightness that melts it all together and makes you want to close your eyes so your not even seeing but just feeling the warmth of the sun and then before you know it laying back onto the sand with a smile on your face and waking up hours later well rested having forgotten everything you left in the foggy working city and thinking my god i could cancel my return flight and stay here with baby and let my landlord figure out what to do with my stuff and be like one of the beach bums that live in their cars that line the pch and haven’t moved for years

Posted on July 24, 2019 by Cole

burglar

there will be

one night

when i get up

to use the bathroom

at 2:21am

or some other

middle of

the night time

and check

the front door

to find

it is unlocked

having forgotten

to lock it

before bed;

i just hope

it is not

the same night

that the burglar

finds it

Posted on July 23, 2019 by Cole

maybe

it was the head trauma at 267 N. Sumac that caused the migraines that discouraged me from pursuing anything technical like air force academy or wall street because i’d have the migraines any time i’d get too stressed even though i could handle the stress before and just push on through without getting the migraines

Posted on July 23, 2019 by Cole

love and sexual energy

having baby allows me to put my sexual energy into my art; my sexual energy for her is extra and overflowing, as it comes from pure love. i suppose my love for my art should be the same way. this is interesting. not motivated by popular opinion for my art. just by love for the art itself.

Posted on July 23, 2019 by Cole

art is dead

i’m dead and all the art is out of it and there’s nothing to be said

(when i write this into the blog they seem kind of funny because i see the art before and after it and know it certainly wasn’t all out; but i treat these seriously because i know i was really feeling down at the time and had to push through to get the art out)

Posted on July 23, 2019 by Cole

messy hair

my outward appearance

isn’t my art right now

while my aesthetic attention

is placed in painting

and moving words on pages

so i look like a bum

with my hair disheveled

and my baggy shirt untucked

Posted on July 23, 2019 by Cole

everything stops

judging my life

only by production

so when

the production stops

everything stops

and ceases to matter

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

self reminder

when you’re sad inside you have to get outside and live in the joy of others and the beauty of your surroundings

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

writing depends on my feeling

i write something

when i feel bad

even though

it might be

the same thing

i would have written

feeling good

i’ll throw it out

and only if

my good feeling self

digs in the trash

uncrumpling and

exclaiming, framing

everything that my

bad feeling self

threw out

but the point is

the lens is more

for both reader

and writer

than the writing

itself

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

anything new

anything i’ve seen

or heard before

makes me

want to jump

out of my skin

and into

something

anything

new

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

depressed painting

there’s no way to describe

with exacticity the melting feeling

of depression other than

the paint that i drop in globs

on the canvas and let run

by titling the canvas side to side

wasting my time

and dreading the morning

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

all of me

i don’t have the energy

to pour out like that

leaving nothing behind

while all i’ve got

is just enough to get on

nothing extra for art

that requires survival

and then some

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

worldview right

i have to get

my worldview right

before i can make

art out of it

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

dual identities

i dip in and out

dancing over lines

that separate

trying to be

two people at once

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

both sides

i get overwhelmed

on both sides

thinking it bad

sometimes

and other times

thinking it good

as long as i don’t

go too far

in either direction

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

happy poet

i was as productive

as a poet can be

those months in san francisco

with baby supporting me

in her apartment

on the corner

of california and divis

on top of the wild hare

a bar that shut down

and the bakery with

a constant twenty person line

i say months because

it has only been five

or maybe a few days more

but not even a half-year

and i talk in the past tense

from the perspective of

an old poet

in another city

having lost baby

because i see that to be

the probable outcome

by no will of my own

but the will of the world

that has moved my life

up to this point

for the most part

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

selling my books

walking around the mission

with a backpack full of books

selling for 50% consignment

which is about four dollars

expect for the store that

told me to sell for more

so i got five dollars there

and not counting the copies

that got damaged either

in my backpack

or from baby thumbing

through the copies at home

—those copies i gave

away for free

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

higher headspace

sometimes i step

up onto a chair

just to get into

a new headspace

a little higher

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

trying to be myself

caught up and moved along like a pebble on the ocean floor stopped being myself for so long and just went with the waves that are my emotions and the luck of circumstance and the demands on me from others and ended up here now as a product of all that which is also what some people call the self and not really sure if what i was trying to do before being myself apart from everything else was any different or superior in any way or just unnatural and spinning my wheels against the way things are

Posted on July 13, 2019 by Cole

fast body slow mind

i get out and into

a slow mind

before returning

to a fast body

with feet

moving somewhere

that a slow mind

has forgotten

Posted on July 8, 2019 by Cole

fine dark duality

in my finest

moments

i’m good as ever

in my darkest

moments

i wonder if

i ever was

Posted on July 7, 2019 by Cole

poetry for me

poetry, for me, is more of a lifestyle. it wouldn’t work as a job. i need my life to gather inspiration. it is a commentary on everything else more than a thing itself. it is a lens through which to record things and express myself. i am not so much a poet first off as “i am” and then that is defined in terms of poetry – whether that makes me a poet after the fact, i don’t know.

Posted on July 7, 2019 by Cole

looking for data

i look around for data

for something to process

to let me know i am

where i should be

catching a glimpse

of the driver’s clock

on the dashboard

and looking out the window

at street signs

to make sure i’ll get to

where i’m going

or putting

my hands together

for one to tell the other

that they’re both

still there

or waking up

and looking around

to make sure

i’m in the same bed

i went to sleep in

or answering a question

with another question

to make sure my friend

is still here with me

wonder what day it is

and how old i am

to make sure that i am

behaving appropriately

looking at my

business cards

(that i never use)

to check my title

and see if i am

in the right office

trying to remember

a memory to see

if it was mine

or just a dream

or something else entirely

Posted on June 29, 2019 by Cole

productive flood

all that time

i could have been

a little more productive

if i could have

channeled the flood

between river banks

Posted on June 29, 2019 by Cole

deep art hard work

the deeper you can get into your art on the weekends the harder you can work during the week

Posted on June 23, 2019 by Cole

something i read from a critic that i should emulate

“keeps his focus not on the man who speaks the poems … but on what that man sees and on what he can hear”

Posted on June 23, 2019 by Cole

how i started writing poetry

Honestly, I tried writing a novel. Tried a couple times actually. But I was too young and impatient. Even now that I’m a little older I’m still impatient.

I kept trying to write scenes and character descriptions in short amounts of time. When I was out at a bar in between conversations, on the bus on the way home, in the middle of cooking dinner. And then I’d sit down on a Saturday and try to put all the puzzle pieces together into a novel. But it wasn’t working.

Until I realized the puzzle pieces were actually pretty good on their own. So instead of trying to cram them together into a novel, I just left them alone and started calling them poems.

Posted on June 23, 2019 by Cole

right direction

i spend all my time

trying to keep everything

moving in the right direction

when all along i could’ve

let go and watched it all

move along just fine

all by itself

Posted on June 23, 2019 by Cole

give back

you are only taking from the universe lately; give back to the universe. give unconditionally without expecting anything in return

Posted on June 21, 2019 by Cole

money and time

I only care about work because of the money. I only care about money to buy back my time.

Posted on June 21, 2019 by Cole

constant joy

find your joy in the little things that won’t go way: sleeping, breathing, working, all five senses, being grateful, giving love – these make happiness within your control

Posted on June 21, 2019 by Cole

spent right now

i’m spent right now

emptied and over

unable to push

no strength to create

head down

shoulders slumped

scowling

trudging

neither energy

not creativity

visit me

stranded

waiting

to start

again

only

a matter

of time

all i can do

is rest and wait

Posted on June 16, 2019 by Cole

travel self

in the morning

sitting at my desk

in the office

after a long

weekend

out of town

is is difficult

to remember

who i am

and what i do

i pull fragments

of my travel self

left in chicago

to reconstitute

my working self

in san francisco

Posted on June 16, 2019June 16, 2019 by Cole

language art

half of being a poet for me was unlearning the rules from grade school language arts; knowing just enough about words to feel how others will feel but also knowing nothing at all so as to not be afraid of putting words together in new ways

Posted on June 10, 2019June 12, 2019 by Cole

i am therefore i should

i am what i am.

i am human.

of all things, ideas and intellect are highly human.

language is our tool for communicating ideas and intellect.

writing is the art of language.

i am a writer.

Posted on June 10, 2019 by Cole

being yourself

part of having an identity is constantly choosing to forego other identities. the same goes for success; succeeding in one opportunity is largely dependent on committing and therefore passing up on other opportunities. successful people often say, just be yourself. it takes time to learn yourself and improve at being yourself. the same as any skill or profession. if you started with piano, then switched to flute after six months, and then picked up violin after a year of the flute, and so on—then you’ll never be the best at any instrument. you’ll just be mediocre at a few. the same goes for being yourself. if you are constantly seeing other la and saying, oh, i want to be like that. and starting to model that person until you see another person that you want to be like. then you’ll never be the best at being yourself. you’ll just be mediocre at being like other people.

the more i mature, the more i see the value of commitment. at its core, i think this is a deep issue. there is a competing duality between being ourselves and losing ourselves. we read self-help books and meditate to be ourselves and then get drunk or have an empathetic conversation to lose ourselves.

Posted on June 10, 2019 by Cole

change

i can feel the change at first
but then i completely forget
what my life was like
before the change occurred

Posted on June 3, 2019 by Cole

Slow down, it’s alright

My flight from San Francisco to Kansas City is delayed.Tthey said our plan is delayed from Everett because the FAA regulates the amount of planes that can arrive at SFO when there is low cloud coverage. Looking out the windows, I can’t see a thing, except gray foggy mist—so I don’t really blame the FAA. It must be hard to be a pilot in this weather.

I don’t really mind the flight being delayed at all. It’s been a stressful week at work, and I’m headed home to see my family. It’s like a pocket in time has opened up. So I just have to sit here and write poetry and read and wait on the plane. There’s nothing I can do about it. My boss knows I’m taking off work tomorrow already anyway. And my sister’s graduation isn’t until the evening tomorrow night.

I love the parts of travel where there is nothing left to do. When you’re hurrying out of your building to catch a car, and you press the elevator button and watch the numbers going up and down—there’s nothing you can do. You’re in the queue. You’ve already fulfilled your responsibility of pressing the button and earned for yourself this small pocket of time. No matter how late you are, or how important the meeting is that you’re going to, you can’t do anything but wait and relax, and the burden of moving fast is lifted from your shoulders.

Posted on May 20, 2019May 20, 2019 by Cole

Planetary weight

The weight of the world strikes me all at once. In fits of anxiety, I fear death the most, trying to hold onto what I have. Hungry and leaning forward, I try and wait to eat, to take advantage of my dissatisfaction. Food sickens me, even—as a threat to what I am right now, adding anything might change it. Like everything depends on this moment, and there will be nothing soon after. I become more serious and careful about my survival, thinking now that it is important to go on living, if there is to be more in the future of what I am experiencing right now. I think of going outside, but worry about what dangers lay in wait there.

Posted on May 20, 2019 by Cole

Selfish

Look outward more, no more writing about yourself. Readers are bored of it quickly. Write about the world. What you see. What you sense. Not these derivative ideas that fill your mind only when you forget to meditate. Float up above your ego and take in what’s around you and put that into word.

Posted on May 4, 2019 by Cole

Grit

I have K and my job now but I’m stuck on go-go-go and be excited about everything more and can’t just settle down and enjoy what I have; I want to throw it all away and go travel to find myself. But i’m not really finding anything, just throwing it all away to begin again. I need to learn to build consistently and commit to long term goals even when they stop being fun.

Posted on May 4, 2019 by Cole

Good morning

Everything I touched turned to gold this morning. I was daring and the risks paid off.

Posted on May 4, 2019 by Cole

when you feel sad

A few things to remember
when you feel sad and lost:
you are part of everything;
you can think of nothing;
and be grateful always.

Posted on April 22, 2019 by Cole

not being myself

sleeping, doing drugs, dancing in a crowded room, looking deep into someone else’s eyes, meditating on nothing, meditating on one thing, dreaming a dream I don’t remember,Slipping and falling accidentally into a daydream, or otherwise not being myself, even if only for a short while.

Posted on April 14, 2019 by Cole

.

i could just as easily be a beat as i am a sellout

Posted on April 13, 2019 by Cole

none

I have no ability to edit my own work; it has everything to do with how I feel.

Posted on April 13, 2019 by Cole

writing outside of myself

when i’m sober and anxious, things are more specific and less hazy and time slows down – i realize immediately that i made a promise to start writing “outside of myself” after this last book. i need to start looking outside of the feelings of my ego and into my experience of the world around. i think this will be therapeutic but also full of more material.

Posted on February 28, 2019 by Cole

feel better now

pushing over boxes
to sit with my back
against the couch
in the morning light
that comes in
through the window

something changed last night
i feel better now
noticing things i didn’t before
appreciative for small things
for no reason

this is what i forget
when i feel sad and lost

Posted on February 28, 2019 by Cole

Thinking of what will be

Experiencing what is, thinking of what will be, wondering how what is will affect what will be, letting your thoughts about what will be define your experience of what is, letting your feelings about what you are experiencing be good only in the case that they are good for what will be, only allowing yourself to be a certain way, which is to say only allowing what there is to be a certain way, as you experience what is, and making these requirements for yourself based on what you want yourself to be at some point in the future, which is to say making requirements for what will be in the future—in other words, trying to control the future. All the time doing this in the present, to manipulate what will be in the future, instead of just allowing the present to be itself, and thus looking deeper into the experience of the present with your full self that also exists in that present, letting water run together with water, instead of always focusing the attention of your present self on thoughts of the future, letting oil try but fail to run together with water. Future thoughts are merely experiences of a reality that has yet to pass and thus are less clear and beautiful than the thoughts of a present reality that exists right in front of your nose and overwhelms your appetite for attention over and over again if you really look deep enough and never run out of things to see.

Like just now, I am high, unable to function too well in terms of what my experience will demand of me in the future, especially when I have to return to work, but I don’t have to work for four days, and all that my present experience demands of me is that I relax, and so I ask myself, why let thoughts of the future change my experience of the present? Especially when my current state of being high is actually better suited for this present reality and will certainly change, many times perhaps, before the future experience of going back to work according to which I am now judging my present self and for which I now prematurely try to change my present self, and as a result would make my present self more ill-suited for the present experience in favor of being better-suited for a future experience. Why does that make sense? It does not, I don’t think.

Or, with my writing, I paused because I was going to write something but forgot, so I stopped writing, and started thinking of what I had forgotten, trying to remember, thinking of what the writing would be if I could only remember what I had forgotten, thinking of the future of the writing and ignoring what I was thinking in the present, restricting my experience of my present thought process so that I could pull a thought forward from the past in the interest of a future version of the piece that I had conceived of only in my mind.

Posted on February 25, 2019February 25, 2019 by Cole

theories about yourself

you create these theories about yourself and take them as truth before they’re tested; with only so much time to test, however, you don’t really have a choice. but you do have a choice to remain humble and remember that most of your theories are untested, especially when someone challenges you with good intentions.

Posted on January 2, 2019January 2, 2019 by Cole

a writer

i have been many things, but always a writer. even before i told myself i was, and even when i wish i wasn’t. less so when i’m happy, because it is hard to do anything else when you’re happy other than be that way, let alone to write.

Posted on December 26, 2018December 26, 2018 by Cole

going in a circle

it is in the passing
from one moment to the next
each of which i fill
with the results of my desires.

the desires themselves, 
however, 
i can never remember;
only the results of them.

so when i end up in a mess
and feel the desire to change it
i can’t remember
if it was that same desire for change
that got me here in the first place.

Posted on November 24, 2018 by Cole

look out more

can i resist doing drugs when i’m bored? i test myself. my poetry continues to be egotistical. look out more, i tell myself. forget about yourself.

Posted on November 24, 2018 by Cole

Baby

I get scared and say to myself, lean into it you great big baby you’ll be fine.

Posted on November 16, 2018 by Cole

My parents

My parents were for me certainty and steadfastness. It didn’t matter that, as I later discovered, they weren’t right. I needed to learn how to keep with the same principles and remain loyal. It gave me a worldview that I could hold onto, a sense of identity and belonging.

Posted on November 3, 2018November 3, 2018 by Cole

Metaphysics of individualism

There are two forces. One that wants me to dissolve, and one that wants me to stay glued together. Both have bearing on how I am to understand that word “me.” My metaphysics are either that I am an individual, in some way distinct and apart from everything else, or that I am a dynamic part, my molecules intermingling and only temporarily belonging to the body and mind that I call my own.

You can see how each of these metaphysical views have great bearing on how we behave as individuals as well as in society. For example, a capitalist model makes more sense if we are actually individuals and our gains are the losses of someone else, and vice-versa. On the other hand, a more socialist model makes sense if we consider that we all partake in the same Source and all gains and losses are counted only as part of the net for all humans (or all beings, depending on who you consider to belong to the Source) such that actions taken for personal gain are simply irrational if they result in a net loss for the whole.

Posted on November 3, 2018 by Cole

Losing myself to the system

Anytime I drink a coffee to stay awake, fall in with friends to not feel alone, drink to lose myself and have a good time—I lose a little more control myself and start to depend on the system. Each has their corollary; The later I stay up at night, the more coffee I need in the morning. So I lean farther and farther into the system until none of the energies are coming from my own natural body and mind. I want to keep the powers within myself. But alone, I am weak. I must wield my environment to achieve more than I’m capable of alone. It is a subtle balance before my environment starts to wield me.

Posted on November 3, 2018 by Cole

Pick me apart piecemeal

They pull me apart piece me and pick what they prefer; she for how I like and he for my mind, boss for my obedience and stranger just for me being there, brother for our past and mother for my being hers; but none of them, not even myself, get me for my whole.

Posted on October 28, 2018 by Cole

Sunburn

I laid on the roof in the sun too long and even fell asleep, me eyes are fried like egg yolks in my scramble brain and my body floats like the burn carries it, too hot to remember, I wander in the shade like nothing here powers me. Even though the sun would have melted me apart if I stayed, the shade and the rest of the world in its muted colors seems alien to me now, I’ve thought of returning to the roof and the bright burning apart anyway.

Posted on October 28, 2018 by Cole

Most excited I ever was

Like those times of my childhood when I lived with my grandparents in the summer and I had nothing to do but lay out in the sun on their back porch, dreaming easily and worrying only about what I was going to do with my friends that night—that’s the most excited I ever was.

Posted on October 28, 2018 by Cole

Satisfied to die

Sometimes I feel so satisfied I could die; other times I feel so anxious I don’t think I ever could, willingly at least.

Posted on October 28, 2018 by Cole

Wide enough work

I used to throw out what wouldn’t fit, until it became a wide enough work that there was a place for everything.

Posted on October 28, 2018 by Cole

Visceral commons

I’m more concerned with what is visceral and common rather than with what is scientifically correct but esoteric. You can throw bigger parties with the visceral commoners.

Posted on October 28, 2018 by Cole

A leaf in the wind

I live these lives that all of a sudden pick up their own Will. From the new place and people, their motivations and the motivations of nature take over. The weather will do what it will do. The molecules in the air will do what they will. My friends will gently and kindly push me along in the direction that the group is already moving. So I get picked up like a leaf in the wind and it requires nothing of me at all expect that I do not resist. before I know it I’m part of the mob that moves on its own; the universal Will is supplanted in place of my own.

Posted on October 22, 2018 by Cole

Poetry

Poetry does something to you. It changes your mind and makes you consider more.

I go out to get a poem. I meet people and shake hands and dance. I look at things and tilt my head to change my perspective. I lean off the edge and feel danger and see if new words pop into my head to describe the feeling. I let myself dabble in love if only to get a poem of pain out of it in the end. I hold a leaf and let it scratch down some words on my palm. I get home and go to sleep, too drunk to think of poetry, then wake up with a mind full of it at four in the morning. There are no poems I won’t consider. There are many parts of the world I haven’t seen.

Posted on October 22, 2018 by Cole

Mixing things up

Recently I’ve noticed I use words at the wrong times. I am self-conscious about sounding unintelligent. But sometimes I still can’t help but think it sounds musical, or that it makes sense in some odd way. When I look up the word in the dictionary, I’m usually wrong. I know what I’m trying to say, but we’ve agreed on the dictionary, so I have to abide by that if my intention is communication. I consider a world my only intention is communicating with myself. What would that sound like? I’m sure that crazy people sound perfectly sensical to themselves. They’ve just stopped checking themselves with the dictionary, so their words are only their own.

At some point soon I need to return to using language the right way. I’m too young to go so deep into poetry like this. I need to stay close to everyone else and their language. I love humans too much to go off on my own. Not yet.

Posted on October 22, 2018 by Cole

Cooking up some good mind

I feed contents into my mind like ingredients into a pot of stew. They mix and mingle and seep into one another. As long as the ingredients are each individually appetizing, the whole stew will turn out.

Similarly, poetry that visits me in the night or whole stories that tell themselves in a daydream or bits of arguments in philosophy that make sense all of a sudden—these are composites of my readings, experiences, and thoughts.

The order in which these regurgitate in my writings doesn’t so much matter as does the quality of each individual mental input so that no matter what combination, my writings are composites of ingredients that are high-quality individually.

Posted on October 22, 2018 by Cole

Good life

The universe has conspired to grant me a good life.

Posted on October 15, 2018 by Cole

Why I love nonsense

I like nonsense because I don’t have to worry about being wrong. It’s the closest thing I can get to being completely myself without apologizing, filtering, or being careful in any way. I go recklessly in whatever direction no matter what. You learn a lot about yourself this way.

Posted on October 15, 2018 by Cole

Art diamonds

I feel best when I’m putting out art. Emptying myself of everything I’ve worked hard to cultivate. Giving back to humanity the art diamonds that I have salvaged from the soil of my experience. And as a result art diamonds come back to me from others and the soil of my experience grows richer and my next diamonds are more readily refined.

Posted on October 15, 2018 by Cole

Frictions

Frictions define me. In the smoothness I hurtle fast along, not noticing much. It is in the transitions—changes in direction, slowing or speeding up the pace, transporting to somewhere or something else. This is where the friction comes from. Travel is never instantaneous. And I can never stay doing one thing in one place forever, so the frictions are inevitable.

Posted on October 15, 2018 by Cole

Kansan identity

Growing up, it was all about where you were from. Your friends, your tastes for food, your sports teams, your religion. Everything was largely homogenous with the people you grew up with.

Now that I’m grown up and out into the world, people ask me questions about who I am and what I like and where I’m from and I’m less sure of how to answer. I try to talk to any of my experiences based on I’m with and what they’re most familiar with.

So much chaos inside my soul, had I not been born into the basic, safe life of the plains and homogeneity, I might have lost it too soon. With my Kansan base, I can lose it carefully, consistently, and still always return afterwards to a static set of rules and sense of identity, then set up to take off again.

Posted on October 15, 2018October 15, 2018 by Cole

Dark and light

There are dark times and there are light times, always. There is never only dark, and there is never only light. Even at the same time, the dark is light in some ways, and the light is dark.

I say this because sometimes it gets so dark that I think to myself I’ll never again see my shadow apart from all darkness. And other times it is so bright that I think it’ll be light forever. Always, things change. And things come up that I never expected—this keeps me moving forward, through good times and bad.

Posted on October 8, 2018 by Cole

Texting myself

Writing to myself, I used to feel dissonance when deciding whether to refer to myself as “you” or “I.” Now I’m more comfortable referring to myself with different pronouns. I think because I feel more a part of everything.

Posted on October 7, 2018 by Cole

I need

I need a life where I can share.
I need open space for my deep breaths and soil for my roots.
I need pages for my words, the ones I write and the ones I read.
I need human bodies to animate the hearts and souls I long for, both mine and others.
I need canvas for what I paint and what I see.
I need stage for when I perform and for when I’m in the audience.
I need a pillow and a dream world to rest and let my tired mind roam.
I need a plot of land to rest forever, eventually.

Posted on October 4, 2018 by Cole

Irrational fear of death

My fear of death has almost become irrational. I imagine someone smashing me with a hammer when I’m not looking. I imagine someone coming in through my locked door when I’m sleeping. I imagine everyone has a weapon and everyone that looks at me funny wants to hurt me.

I think it’s irrational. But then I think of people who were killed by surprise. In hindsight wouldn’t it have been rational for these people to worry and watch out ahead of time?

Posted on October 4, 2018 by Cole

Sexed and drugged

I come back to this sober world where I care for my physical body, my survival, and my future. Back from a whole month or more so sexed and drugged that I forgot who I was and just became a part of and in love with everything. I didn’t even realize I’d misplaced so much of my ego.

My meditation, too, served to lift me up and out of myself so that what I was concerned with most was everyone else and everything around me.

Now back here, more in my body, my thoughts are more often of looking better and maximizing returns on my investments, rather than poetry and dreams that came to me constantly while I was open to everything.

I was looking up into the open sky and overwhelmed by it so probably processing the same amount as I am now looking very far into a deep, narrow hole. They are either both lenses to the same thing or they are opposites.

Posted on October 3, 2018 by Cole

Only me

It’s only me that stops myself. It’s only me that tells myself that I’m unhappy. It’s only my mind playing tricks on itself. I’m smarter than my biology. I should start acting like it.

Posted on October 3, 2018 by Cole

Meditation saved my life

Sometimes I get all caught up and drugged out and so deep into my art that I can’t see back out. I start to break all my good habits and hurtle headlong into the furnace. This is where meditation has saved my life. I stop and remember to breathe and return to my true nature and everything is alright. I breathe in everything and let out everything and remind myself that I’m not supposed to hold any of it. I’m just a part of the whole flow. All that matters is I do my best and respect and love others.

Posted on September 30, 2018 by Cole

Creative flood

After I finish a creative flood and get a lot down on paper, I like get drunk to kill all my old thoughts and brain cells and start rebuilding new ones. Probably not healthy but definitely helpful for my art—this is a larger them I’ve noticed: art is often not healthy.

It includes everything over and beyond what is allowed by our survival, everything over and beyond our physical bodies in space and time, on the far side past the veil of death.

Posted on September 30, 2018 by Cole

My worst enemy and toughest critic

It’s only me that stops myself. It’s only me that tells myself that I can’t keep going, that I’m unhappy. It’s only my mind playing tricks on itself. I’m smarter than my biology. I should start acting like it.

Posted on September 30, 2018September 30, 2018 by Cole

Brain damage

I’ve been destroying my body over the past couple days. It’s just a phase. I drink and smoke and get punched in the face, trying to empty my brain of all the old cells to make room for new ones.

Posted on September 30, 2018 by Cole

I’m really just a sieve

This afternoon I ate a cashew like I was a prisoner in a cell and it was the only food I had. The things you notice with such focus! I turned a page in my journal that was full of reminders, little poems, to-do lists, and notes to myself. I turned to a blank page and felt a sense of freedom.

Not only the page but everything is blank and brand new like all I’ve written here is all I’ve got—which is nothing. My memory is terrible lately and I’m a little worried but really I think it’s healthy not to have so much stored up in my mind all the time. Even that journal page full of reminders and lists was starting to stress me out.

I’m really just a sieve. My only function is to have things flow through me. And when I’ve caught too many big rocks, I need to be turned over and dumped out.

Posted on September 29, 2018 by Cole

Killer god

Sometimes I get sick for a week and I imagine it’s going to be the end soon. I get irrational anxiety about having brain cancer or some disease. Then miraculously the next week I’ll be healthy again. I tell myself that God was about to off me but then he decided I’m not really done yet and I still have work to do. I’m doing everything to find out what that work is. But if I knew what it was I’m not sure I’d actually do it, even if I could. Because I want to stay alive. If god found out I was holding out on him he’d probably kill me anyway.

Posted on September 29, 2018 by Cole

Much further

Looking back at where I was
to where I am now
makes me believe in 
really how far we can progress;
even with all my stumbles and detours
I’m so much further now than before.

Posted on September 23, 2018 by Cole

Poetry on my iPhone

I write poetry on my iPhone
and everything is great;
I wait for a time when it won’t be
when I won’t be as creative and in love
when the same lights will seem darker
and the same routine won’t be as happily productive.

I try to breathe deep and drink it in now;
God, the sunlight looks good 
coming in through the window 
and reflecting off the walls 
and my tanned skin.

It’s because everything 
has made upward progress, I think;
not so much up and down over time
more up and up and up lately.

Posted on September 23, 2018 by Cole

My whole apartment

Sometimes it seems small. When I’ve gotten used to it and I know every square inch so well, it seems to fold in on itself. When I’ve come back home at the exact same time and cooked the same dinner and lighted the same candle and meditated on the same cushion, I get claustrophobic and push on the walls to let in some air.

Other times, right after I’ve gotten back from vacation or when I’m having a friend over and showing them around, I have to stand a little taller to touch the ceiling, my bookcase seems to have another shelf, and the artwork I have hanging up opens my walls out into the world. When I start to look closely enough, it’s really myself that starts to feel small, like I could run for miles and never traverse across my whole apartment.

Posted on September 12, 2018 by Cole

Easterner in the West

I am Westerner by birth and Easterner by self-education. I wonder if I would have educated myself on the West if I’d been born in the East? Seems I was doomed to live in the middle either way.

Posted on September 11, 2018 by Cole

Small, stupid lie

I lied today. It was a small, stupid lie. I lied about something that happened in college. In truth it was a story that my friend told me. I lied and said it was me that was there. I feel bad about it now. I wish I could take it back. I said it just to impress the person that i was talking to. It wasn’t worth it.

Posted on September 11, 2018 by Cole

Problems

I lay awake and suppose there isn’t anything I could have done differently with a day like this one which happened to be full of all the things with which a day is usually filled except for the feeling that anything was really done that hadn’t been done before.

That feeling irks the god in me. I let it go; content to lay here in my bed at night and breathe it all away. Tomorrow is a new day and my memory has gotten so bad recently that I rarely remember what I was worrying about the day before. I was worried about this until I realized that most of my problems aren’t really worth solving. They’ll sort themselves out or come up again slightly more dire further down the road and I’ll have to deal with them then but there are only a few of these that come up again.

Most of my problems don’t need dealing with right away. It’s only that other people don’t have it so good that irks me about this. Not everyone can lay up in their bed and just breathe and be safe and fed. So sometimes I think I’ve worked out a good system for dealing with my own problems but then I think I better get started on everyone else’s.

It gets messy when you consider some people create their own problems. It’s the ones that really had no choice that I want to help first. But then again I consider maybe the people who create their own problems don’t have a choice either.

Posted on September 11, 2018 by Cole

Mistakes

I made several mistakes today. I am trying to part ways with the anger and learn from them. Mistakes are relative, I suppose. For example, I bruised both my big toes playing soccer today. My cleats were too small. Now my big toes are black and blue. This mistake is relative to a world where toes are not supposed to be black and blue. This is the world we live in.

Posted on September 11, 2018 by Cole

Too late wisdom

I am learning how to live, finally. But my body will be too old soon.

Posted on September 11, 2018 by Cole

More to lose

The more safe and secure I got, things got less flexible. I lost hope for potentiality. My art suffered. The more I was given, the less I was willing to give up. As I was happier, I was less likely to up and leave for something else. I had more to lose.

Posted on September 5, 2018 by Cole

Needs

I satisfy my needs until I’m all out of needs and then I wait for new needs.

Posted on September 5, 2018 by Cole

I am many

If you refine me down into one-pointedness, like a cog in a gear, then yes of course I am limited. But the things I am are many. They are spread wide. They don’t mix, like oil and water. To refine me down to one-pointedness is like cutting off a piece of me, as small as the edge of my fingernail, smaller even. Not even I can appreciate all of me at once.

Posted on August 30, 2018 by Cole

Command+F

I pour out all of myself and all of my thoughts into words and I put the words in the computer. There is a function in the computer, Command+F. It allows you to search. I can search inside myself (I think that’s funny), when I’ve forgotten what I once knew, or when I need an old light in a new darkness.

Posted on August 20, 2018 by Cole

There’s love and there’s novels

When I’m in love, I write poetry. When I’m alone, I write novels.

Posted on August 20, 2018 by Cole

Huff

I huff and huff on this glue that keeps me sober and grounded in reality.

Posted on August 20, 2018 by Cole

Glue

I go to this other world, I’m addicted to it. So that the real journey and true test of my life is making the journey back. The other world is toxic in the most sweet way. It is entropy and chaos. It is also creativity and love. I know it will kill me someday. The length of my lifetime will be determined by how many return journeys I can make.

When I return back to reality, the real reality that I have learned to stop calling “real,” or at least not any more “real” than my beloved other world. But this reality, of names and concepts, is what sustains my physical body. The principal commodity in this reality is a very certain kind of glue that keeps all my molecules together and maintains the cohesion of my sense of self. I huff on this glue, walking in straight lines on the sidewalk, learning and obeying the laws of nature, being careful and avoiding danger, eating and sleeping enough. I huff and huff until I’m strong and together enough to travel. At which point I step off the sidewalk and the earth tips upside down so I fall through gravity into outer space.

Out here, in my beloved other world, which I should stop calling “other” if I have stopped calling reality “real,” a new creative force pulls me in all directions. It is only the glue that keeps me together. I revel in being stretched, and right before my molecules are spread over the entire universe, right before I achieve omnipresence and thus make permanently impossible the return journey to the reality of sidewalks and safety. That is when, with all my strength, I pull myself together and return.

Posted on August 13, 2018 by Cole

Tattoos

Let’s split the body into two categories: dynamic and static. The parts of you that are dynamic: your hair gets longer, you can get piercings, your muscles get larger or smaller, you get tanner or paler. And the parts of you that are static: you have two legs and two arms and a mouth and a nose. My biggest argument against tattoos is they’re static, they’re permanent. But if I have static parts of my body anyway, parts that the Creator decided on without asking me. Why not add my own static art to my body?

Posted on August 12, 2018 by Cole

When the light hits

I go through stages. If I can keep from killing myself in the dark, I’m a god when the light hits.

Posted on August 7, 2018 by Cole

Today

I spilled candle wax on my rug today. I was depressed and psychotic today.

Posted on August 5, 2018August 5, 2018 by Cole

Philosophically motivated

I’m philosophically motivated; the wisdom, just knowing it, gets my heart racing, and drives me to make it real.

Posted on July 31, 2018 by Cole

Mental god complex

I identified with my mental either because my body was not great enough to satisfy my god complex or because of the idea that my physical self was not my true being. Now I discover the spiritual and find that even my mental is probably not my true being. Still I persist in my mental identity, probably because of my god complex.

Posted on July 28, 2018 by Cole

I wrote this book

I wrote this book because I’m afraid of dying.

Posted on July 28, 2018 by Cole

Sober

Stay sober tonight. I have to remind myself.

Posted on July 27, 2018 by Cole

Death night

I run away from death and into the night, not realizing they are the same thing. Drunk and high I forget and just focus on the present. When I get sober again I remember that time is limited and there are things I want to achieve.

Posted on July 21, 2018 by Cole

Send it

You can’t constantly be doing utility calculations to figure out what you’ll enjoy most. Sometimes you just have to send it and you’ll find things that you never expected.

Posted on July 21, 2018 by Cole

Selfish hedonist

I am a selfish hedonist. I do what feels good and what’s best for me. Justice, religion, even charity—I’ll do whatever as long as it feels good. But most of the times it ends up being the obvious things: sex, drugs, wealth, and fame.

Posted on July 20, 2018 by Cole

Kansas in the Summer

The sound of sprinklers
The smell of fresh-cut grass
The feel of humid air

Seeing the distant horizon over flat plains
Remembering what it was like to grow up here
And how much has changed

Listening to the priest’s homily and not believing a word of it
So different from a liberal San Francisco
The bedrooms are dark and quiet

My sister is so young and excited
My parents are getting old
My brother can beat my dad in a wrestling match now
My mom wants me to get married

Posted on July 20, 2018 by Cole

My ego is stretched

I start to get anxious as my identity expands. My ego is stretched and afraid for its survival. My recent metaphysical view has eased this anxiety. I believe in a Will or a Self that is universal. Something that we all partake in. A driving life force that animates our bodies and minds. What we know as the individual ego or self (lowercase ‘e’ and ‘s’) is merely a manifestation in time and space of the One Self-at-large (uppercase ‘O’ and ‘S’). So that when I feel my self stretching beyond its limits, I first remind my physical and mental self that I am only what I have experienced in time and space, then second focus on my breathing and remember that my true nature that shares in the Self-at-large as well. In this way, I am still comfortable to expand my self and try new things and assume new identities while also committing to the spatiotemporal reality of my experience and existence.

Posted on July 19, 2018 by Cole

Lately I just pay attention

I question myself less. I am flying home tonight to see my family. It’s been six months since I’ve seen them last Christmas. I am happy and excited and hopeful. I know it is base and emotional. Normally I try to rationalize or remain stoic and avoid future expectations. Lately I just pay attention. I appreciate the feeling for whatever it is, with child-like curiosity and gratitude. If it is what we call “good” or “bad,” either way I pay attention and express gratitude.

Posted on July 19, 2018 by Cole

Outside my comfort zone

Coaxing the whole truth to reveal itself, going past where my ego is comfortable, breaking myself apart to see what remains, if anything.

Posted on July 19, 2018 by Cole

Like a child

I can recreate a child-like enamoredness by pretending that I know nothing and treating all sensory inputs as novelties. I remember nostalgic moments and ask myself, why am I so fond of them? They were new in the moment. I knew less about the world. So I try to go into experiences saying wow and ahhh and asking everyone, why? And saying ohhh when they answer. Like a child.

Posted on July 1, 2018 by Cole

I

I am what I was and will be what I will, always.

Posted on July 1, 2018 by Cole

Outside of your comfort zone

Coaxing the whole truth to reveal itself, going past where my ego is comfortable, breaking myself apart to see what remains, if anything.

Posted on July 1, 2018 by Cole

Drunk writing

When I’m drinking I can’t ever write anything coherent but I like to see what spills out of me.

Posted on June 30, 2018 by Cole

Filmmaker

I love to watch movies. Maybe I’ll be a filmmaker someday.

Posted on June 30, 2018 by Cole

Control

I have various experiences, some of which I like and some I don’t. I’m not sure that I have much control.

Posted on June 30, 2018 by Cole

Listen to desires

I listen to my desires, and pay attention to the overwhelming ones, which are not always the first ones I hear. I have to sift through the base and biological and social, down to higher desires.

Posted on June 30, 2018 by Cole

Inconsistent

My inconsistency bothers me. I wish to be principled and constant, unwavering in my motivations and beliefs. But I change long-term as I learn, and in the short-term I am weak for the moment.

Posted on June 19, 2018 by Cole

Sickness

I have the sickness. One day it will kill me. For now it makes me live.

Posted on June 17, 2018 by Cole

Need it new

I can’t have what I want. I need it new. It gets older and older every time.

Posted on June 17, 2018 by Cole

restless

I can judge from my bed in the morning, how soundly I slept. Either my sheets are tossed and my pillows scattered, or everything is neat and tucked in.

Posted on June 11, 2018 by Cole

Death

When my time has come it will have come, and that will be the end of it. I will not fight it. I will do my fighting before it comes.

Posted on June 11, 2018 by Cole

Life and writing

I live and I write. I live because I have this lifetime, no matter what. I write because I can’t shake the need to do something more. I do not live to write. I do not spend my time to achieve some earthly goal. I spend my time for itself, for enjoyment and curiosity. Sometimes I make the mistake of thinking I spend it just for writing, or for something else ulterior.

Posted on June 11, 2018 by Cole

Watching

I am amazed by the diversity of my experiences over the span of just a few days. I am healthy then sick, satisfied then wanting, in touch then out of it, hungry for love and people then alone and fine with it. The only consistency is that I am watching always. Now I question even that, for if I weren’t watching, would I know I wasn’t? I can’t know i I missed something if I did. So maybe then: I am watching then not watching, until I am watching again.

Posted on June 2, 2018 by Cole

I do this to myself

I do this to myself. I get so caught up with everyone and fall in love and make friends until I’m not myself anymore. So I go away to be alone until I’m sick and tired in cold sweats in bed on Saturday night and I say to myself, I need to love again. And so I go out and the whole song and dance starts over again.

Posted on June 2, 2018 by Cole

Solo trip

I trip in my room alone on a Friday night and make these discoveries. I look at my hand and say, where am I? In my mind in my brain? In my hand that I can see? Can you see me? I ask myself. I encourage my awareness to be open to sensory inputs other than just sight. Can you feel or hear me? I ask myself

I’ve studied myself all these years; I’ve studied all my individuations of time and space, just as I’ve studied my sensory inputs. It’s all sensory inputs.

My body is the small part of the physical word over which God has graciously granted me control.

I feel healthy and fine to not be my body or my brain. In other words, I am no longer worried about losing my identity, mostly because I feel now that my previous conception of my identity was wrong.

But I wonder why can I not access everything. Why can I not be a palm tree on an island I can’t see. I can certainly be myself, even when I close my eyes and plug my ears I still feel my hands. And when I open my eyes I am in some sense what I see. And when I unplug my eyes I am in some sense what I hear. But I am limited spatially to what I see and hear around me. And I am also limited temporally to what is around me at this time. I can extend elsewhere and elsewhen in my memory, but it is more vague. Can I make it more clear?

Posted on May 26, 2018 by Cole

I fail

In my meditation, I cut through my shallow purposes, and realize that time and time again, I set goals and do not achieve them. For example, tonight around seven o’clock I started to read East of Eden by Steinbeck. I promised myself that I would read fifty pages before I went to sleep. I read six pages. Now it’s almost ten o’clock. I’ve just had dinner and I’m getting tired. I think to myself, maybe I’ll just go to sleep and read more of the book tomorrow.

Similarly, my later goals have slipped away. This happens for two reasons. One, I lose sight of my ‘why,’ my deeper purpose. Two, I rationalize that the goal is not essential to my purpose, or that it can be adjusted in timeline or magnitude without harming my progress toward my purpose. I rationalize that I need to be relaxed and healthy, not always so determined and gritty. I give into my desires for sleep, pleasure, and social life, instead of staying committed. I allow short-term feelings to supersede my long-term goals. Three, my goals are not specific enough. For example, today after a 7-mile run, I’m tired and feel like laying in bed and reading. This isn’t necessarily against my progress because I haven’t set a specific goal for today. I need to set specific goals for Saturday and Sunday.

Why do I want to write a best-selling novel? How do I do it, and do my current goals and habits align with this?

Posted on May 26, 2018 by Cole

What to study

When it came time to decide what to study, I thought of mainly two options: the human species and the rest of the natural world. At first, I wanted to master the whole of everything, to know math and biology and natural history. I said to myself, “Our lives are determined by the world in which we live, let me learn it.”

But each discipline uncovered a vast abyss that refused to be mastered. I could not learn all of math. I could not learn even the full life processes of a fruit fly. Or the recorded events throughout all of history as they actually happened. I felt small and ungodly to not be able to know, especially at this time in history when to know is so valued.

I focused my efforts and what seemed to matter most. What mattered most, objectively, I did not know. What I did know, or at least so I believe, is that I am, ironically, because I think. And because I am, and I am what I am, I thought that is was what I will study, myself and my species. This is the abyss, which I have found worth the time to struggle to know. Because even though I may not be able to master all of it, or even a tiny fraction of it, every small smidgen of progress is a journey and adventure into myself and the people I love.

I used to think I needed to know more truths to make more money, but money is a man-made thing and truth is not; what I need to know more of is man.

And so too with love: I used to think I needed to get stronger and more attractive and richer; but I really needed only to know more of love itself.

Posted on May 21, 2018August 6, 2018 by Cole

Healthy

See all the thoughts and dreams you are having now that you are sober and healthy.

Posted on May 21, 2018 by Cole

Forward

My anxiety about failure and fear of death keeps me awake and drives me forward.

Posted on May 21, 2018 by Cole

Saturday

It got very quiet last Saturday night. I realized I didn’t have much to do. It was nice outside at four o’clock in the afternoon so I went out on my balcony and laid there for about a half hour. Then I came inside and read a chapter on the couch. Then I laid in bed and watched some videos about fighting and getting in shape. Then it was time to take a shower and get ready for the night. But I realize now that instead of thinking about what I really should have been doing all afternoon, I let my mind just barely avoid it by finding the next lazy thing.

Posted on May 20, 2018May 20, 2018 by Cole

Balcony

I lay out on my balcony, perfectly fine and alone, minding my own business. A pretty girl steps out onto the balcony across from mine and robs me of my peace. I can’t just lay here anymore. Now I’m thinking of her and how to get her attention. I imagine telling her my room number and her coming over and getting into bed with me. I can’t think of anything else. I have to go back inside.

Posted on May 20, 2018 by Cole

Satisfied

I haven’t written much lately because I’ve been so sedated and satisfied with the city. Funny, that even satisfaction becomes dissatisfying. I can’t write without a reason to put my pen to the paper. And when my hands and eyes and heart and mind are so preoccupied with what brings me joy, I think to myself I could live on like this and die and never write again. But then I wake up on Sunday morning with blank pages and not even memories of the last couple days. I am dissatisfied and so completes the circle; I pick up my pen and begin to write again.

Posted on April 19, 2018April 21, 2018 by Cole

Honeymooner

I live a life of novelty. I cannot rest. Anything good I have is soon gone, by my own doing. I am a honeymooner. I eventually push away what doesn’t have the quality I desire most of all: being for the first time.

Posted on April 15, 2018April 15, 2018 by Cole

Writer

A writer is what is, because language is what is, as we perceive and communicate it.

A writer is the character in his own story, as he lives and sees other live. He is the dreamer in his own poetry, as his subconscious mind wanders. He is the lover in his own romance, as his heart feels. He is the trees and the river in his own landscape, as his eyes see. He is the prophet of his own scripture, foreseeing as his soul receives.

I am a writer because of my god complex. I could never decide on any one thing to be, rebelling against my spatiotemporal conditioning in this particularity; this lifetime. I only ever wanted to be everything at all times. So I am a writer, and thus, here and everywhere, I have written.

Posted on April 15, 2018 by Cole

Nirodh

I did as I was instructed from what I read: once I had achieved one-pointedness, I turned my concentration onto my own mind and said to myself, “I will watch as the mind watches whatever it will.” And so my mind first watched my heartbeat. It listened to my heartbeat from the inside.

And this so pleasantly surprised me, just to watch my own mind watching my own heartbeat and nothing else, that I accidentally stopped breathing. and I would have started breathing again if I did not notice that, as I watched my mind listen to it, my heartbeat slowed, and the intervals between each beat lengthened. aAnd I held my breath for longer and longer and remembered what I had read in my book about nirodh, the state that may come after nirvana when many functions of the physical body cease. I wondered if i could go on without breathing and not die.

So I held my breath, and the intervals grew longer and longer between breaths. Until I waited for the next beat but there was none. I should have wondered if the interval between beats had just grown exponentially long, but I did not consider it at the time. At the time it was clear that my heart had stopped. And so I wondered if i had just killed myself by watching my mind listen to my heart. But I did not want this thought to interrupt my meditation as I was starting to see flashes of light and visions. Until I breathed again. And at first, my heart did not resume beating. And with my eyes closed, again I thought I might have died. But then, softly, my heart began to beat again.

Posted on April 15, 2018 by Cole

Lover

With a lover, I go farther in walks of life I would not tread alone: up at night beyond exhaustion; out in the city dancing styles I don’t know; in conversation for longer than I spend thinking to myself; and, of course, deeper in love—with someone other than myself.

Posted on April 7, 2018 by Cole

The time is now

The time is now. Which has me simultaneously excited as ever and scared as hell. Our minds and bodies are fully developed. We have money, in a city with brilliant and beautiful people. We have the resources and time to go after it. This is the peak of life right now. I’m just so worried about not doing enough, and missing our chance.

Posted on April 7, 2018April 7, 2018 by Cole

Ego

I’m ego-obsessed. I want power, intelligence, and love. I’m constantly self-focused to make myself better. Even my relationships are conditional on that person making me better.

I wonder: Does this keep me from loving to my fullest? And from truly empathizing with others and writing characters other than myself?

There is a tension: Between me, as separate, acting for the good of myself, and me, as connected to the One, acting for the good of all unified creation, of which I am part.

I must die to myself. It is not my true nature. My true power to do good comes from the One. My highest happiness comes from connection to the One. I’m cut off from the true nature of existence when I’m trapped in my ego self.

It doesn’t matter what I do, as long as: I do it with love, and to the best of my ability. Returning to reality the potential energy inside of me, and letting it return from reality back through me. Remember, that we are all One: every human is you, with you, in the same unified whole.

Posted on March 25, 2018 by Cole

Artist

I really do believe if I were just slightly more attractive to the world, I wouldn’t be so interested in art and counter-culture. At some point I realized that even though I was good at their game, I was never going to be the best. Because I wasn’t born with perfectly straight teeth to just the right family. So at some point I said forget it, and started to build my own worlds.

Posted on March 11, 2018 by Cole

Money and Love

I used to think I needed to know more truths to make more money, but money is a man-made thing and truth is not; what I need to know more of is man.

And so too with love: I used to think I needed to get stronger and more attractive and richer; but I really needed only to know more of love itself.

Posted on March 11, 2018 by Cole

Ability and desire

My abilities are not so much determined by the ones I have as they are by which desires happen to call upon them. This makes it very difficult to write a consistent novel, as my desires change and so too do my abilities, specifically my style of writing.

Posted on March 9, 2018 by Cole

Death

I‘m artistically, rather than scientifically, interested in death; it is the artistic argument which almost has me convinced to try it. But of course, I like to live, and science says I cannot have both.

Posted on March 9, 2018 by Cole

Creativity

His creativity comes from somewhere else and visits him at night. It works on it own and knocks on the door when it has something. His only job is to keep reading and experiencing and meeting interesting people and feeding all this through the door to his subconscious so that the creativity wizards have more materials to work with.

Posted on March 3, 2018 by Cole

Meditation

My mental meditation is similar to my spiritual. For mental, I make coffee and sit to read; for spiritual, I light a candle and sit to breathe.

For mental, I watch the words and count the pages; for spiritual, I watch the gates of my nostrils and count the breaths.

For mental, I arrive at a place, inspired and thinking, like my mind takes a step up, into a plateau on a higher intellectual level, where I am free to move about with increased brain function, pulling memories from this and that book, making them debate one another, picking up the winner and putting it down in my own words, writing more and more notes in the book’s margins, until there is too much and I must move onto my own blank pages that I fill with what seems to fill the gaps between the books I have read so far, though my fillings may, unbeknownst to me, live in a book I have not yet read.

For spiritual, I arrive at a similar place, after having watched my breath for some time, I can see the candle’s dance play through my eyelids, I make this my drishti and watch until my senses let go, and now travel to a plateau through my third eye where I can play without a sense of space or time.

Posted on February 24, 2018 by Cole

Games

I play games with my mind. Young and western, a student of philosophy in particular, my physical self is pushed forward by my mental. Running on the treadmill, I chase after a goal: a certain distance in a certain time. Until I realize I can certainly achieve it; in fact, I am almost there, and my body is not tired yet.

So I reset the goal, and reset my mind to push my body to chase after it. My body knows no better; it forgets completely the former goal, though admittedly more tired than the start, it chases after the new goal with the same ardor as the original. But now my mind has caught on to what may be an infinite regression of goals, so O focus it on a drishti: a paint speck on the wall, and just watch it and listen to my breath, and avoid looking at the numbers for distance and time on the treadmill.

For my whole young life, I asked why. I would stop in my tracks and ask why and not keep on going until I was satisfied with the answer. So you can see why it was a problem when at some point in college I asked my philosophy professor why and he told me for the first time that there may not be a why and that was the first answer that stopped me in my tracks instead of starting me going again.

And ever since then I’ve been playing these mind games, inventing up answers and getting along that way until my mind figures out the trick and wants to ask why. Only I find fewer and fewer who can provide an answer of any decency. Most of the time they have not asked enough why’s themselves. And so I am stuck answering my own why’s but most of the time I don’t have any reasonable answer so I just invent up a new game to get me along for a while.

Posted on February 24, 2018 by Cole

Create

I need a little of the sickness, sadness and depression to create; otherwise I just float along happy and smiling.

Posted on February 23, 2018 by Cole

Fiction lives

I like to read fiction characters as possibilities for lives I’m not yet living.

Posted on February 23, 2018 by Cole

First and last

I want to experience it 
like it's my first and last; 
first, with all the curiosity 
of a newborn baby, 
and last, with all the gratitude 
of an old dying man.

Posted on February 23, 2018 by Cole

Genius or insane or both

Did you not see the brilliance all along, or will you say I’m a sham when the time comes?

Posted on February 23, 2018 by Cole

Myself

I consider that 
it is only myself 
that is hindering myself; 
so my latter self says 
to my former self: 
come on, let's get going.

Posted on February 20, 2018 by Cole

Back

I’m back for a while.

Posted on February 19, 2018 by Cole

Vacillate

Schopenhauer says we vacillate between distress and boredom. I think of this when deciding whether to move to Monterrey Bay and live a quite life by the ocean, hiking occasionally and thinking and reading, but also risking boredom and lack of inspiration. Or, to stay in San Francisco among so many people and new ideas and work and energy, but risking distress and the occasional anxiety. Of course, it would seem there is a balance between the two, which is why we drive back and forth on the pacific coast highway.

Posted on February 19, 2018 by Cole

Phone

I want to take a picture of my phone in my hands. But I can’t. Because my phone is my camera. So I can’t. Unless I get another phone.

Posted on February 17, 2018 by Cole

Sick

I like to be sick and lay in bed all day and escape the world and obligations of a healthy person.

Posted on February 17, 2018 by Cole

Dreams

If I read a novel with romance and conflict I have western dreams about sex and violence; if I meditate and lay in shavasana before bed, I have Eastern dreams about nothing.

Posted on February 14, 2018 by Cole

My philosophy of time

The philosophy which will improve my life, which will give me the courage to exhaust myself with every most minute unit of time, is this: this time, for the next however long of a moment, will pass no matter what, and I, as a dynamic spatiotemporal creature, have the power to do anything within my power, and the only sure way to find out what I should be doing, is to do. Whether to think, act, create, love, or be; I will, because I can, and therefore I must.

Posted on February 12, 2018February 14, 2018 by Cole

Moved

I didn't just get moved into this;
I got up above and picked it. 

But I wonder if my having gotten 
up above in the first place, 
was moved so by something else.

I want to say it's all me
but I'm starting to believe 
it's everything else
of which I'm thankful 
to be part.

Posted on February 11, 2018 by Cole

I

Here I am
there I was
where will I go

Posted on February 3, 2018 by Cole

Here I lay

It was all of it still
as it was from the start;
alas, here I lay, dead,
buried with my art,
never having 
gotten hold 
of it.

Posted on January 16, 2018 by Cole

Utopia

A utopia 
is subjective, 
of course. 
This is mine. 

Not necessarily 
my mind’s 
nor my soul’s, 
but at least 
my time and place’s.

Posted on January 16, 2018 by Cole

My own character

I am constantly trying to live up to my writing.

Posted on January 16, 2018 by Cole

Time

All we really have is time, and it’s what we do with it that makes up a life. So I never take time for granted; I’m always trying to slow it down and fill it up with as much as possible.

Posted on January 16, 2018 by Cole

Crooked Jaw

Most of the time I am changing. This way, in a professional setting, wearing a suit, shaking hands, and smiling. That way, writing on Saturday morning, frowning, one hand of fingers in my hair, forehead in my palm, and the other hand holding a cup of coffee, haggard, bags under my eyes, trying to get it out of my mind and onto the page. This way, for my girlfriend. That way, for my mother.

Except for my crooked jaw, which stays the same always. Because the doctor told me they’d have to basically saw off my teeth from the whole top half of my face, sawing right under my nose straight back to my ears, and then move my whole jaw two inches forward and drill it back into my face with screws that will be permanent and set off the metal detectors at the airport. And so I said, no that’s okay. My crooked jaw can stay the same.

Posted on January 15, 2018January 21, 2018 by Cole

Work

I’m not working hard enough to be thankful for not having to work.

Posted on January 6, 2018 by Cole

Clocks and mirrors

I try to avoid
clocks and mirrors;
I try not
to check myself
with time and space.

Posted on January 6, 2018 by Cole

Be

Don’t create all these ideas about who you are and what you do just keep doing and become.

Posted on January 6, 2018 by Cole

Conversation

It’s about when you trade the responsibility to talk, and the tone with which you finish your turn.

For example, if I ask a very intelligent question and end with a very clear and resolute tone shift up, versus asking a convoluted question and trailing off without any clear indication that it’s the other person’s turn to talk.

Posted on December 16, 2017 by Cole

Dream

I dreamt the dreams of so many 
and walked the blurry lines 
between them all.

Posted on December 16, 2017 by Cole

Heeby jeeby

I was a little up and out of it and insane at the time. So when I look back it seems a little heeby jeeby, gives me the creeps and make me wonder what will people think.

Posted on December 2, 2017 by Cole

Hike

How many deaths have been caused by a surreal misunderstanding of reality? The mountains pinch away into one point as I hallucinate.

These woods give me energy to write. I feel my mind overwhelmed, begin to worry, then redirect my thoughts to writing. As my friends capture the moments in photos, I capture them in words.

The energy of nature fills me and I empty it back out. It fills me to the brim and I spill over. I give the energy back. After all, I am a vessel.

Let myself teem with it. My body is weak for the strength of my soul.

The mountains clearing up. Nah, just rolling in a new face. Like the mountains change cloud cover, I change my guise.

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Cole

Spending time

I am not yet good enough at maximizing the time I do have in the present to start worrying about how I will spend my time in the future.

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Cole

Memory

Meditating in yoga my memory cuts through the shallow recent into the deeper past. When I deny my mind its easy present bias, still it wants something to hold, and is not satisfied with just a simple focus on the breath.

So it reaches deeper and wider, dodging the defenses that protect my meditation and pulling memories from my childhood which I didn’t even know I still had, memories which are much more poignant and effective at breaking my concentration and occupying my thought.

Posted on November 25, 2017 by Cole

Natural drugs

It’s the trippiest thing, after a lethargic Saturday, I wake up on a Sunday, and fight to return, not artificially with coffee, but naturally by sitting up straight in the early morning and enduring to do my work, for two hours; my back hurts and I am not enjoying myself, then all of a sudden at 9:45am, the whole world returns to me, and the art flows through me, so that I can write again, and the edges of everything that were blurry are sharp again.

Posted on November 19, 2017 by Cole

Handstand

I stand in my apartment, on my hands; and let the blood rush, from my heart, to my head.

Posted on November 4, 2017November 5, 2017 by Cole

Bad writing

I must take my hyper-self-awareness, and turn it on others; if I’m ever to write, anything other, than loves stories, to myself.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Coffee

I drink enough coffee, to fuel a factory—which, for me, is a few tablespoons.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Safety

Ever since 11th street, I’m more conscious of the vulnerability of the back of my head, and always want to be looking around to make sure somebody doesn’t come up with a shovel or a wrench.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Swim

It all wells up and gets me so anxious, when I’ve not flown a kite or been with friends at the surface and resisted my conditioning long enough to swim deep mentally and grab at something new and original.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Cut

A couple of years ago I made an incision but couldn’t cut all the way through and so left just a perforated line; today, I cut all the way through.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Tourist

I get up and out of it,
focus on something else,
live another life; 
then return
like a tourist 
and find it anew
—to read 
a different writer,
my past self.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Anxiety

I drink coffee in the morning and write poetry and get so worked up and anxious and have a panic attack and think of so much at once that I’m thinking of nothing at all just feeling a great worry and so think to myself about my artist friend who after a day of creating has real men in her real bed and so think to myself: I just need to fisticuff tonight and I’ll feel better.

Posted on November 4, 2017 by Cole

Consciousness

You look out at the space in front of your eyes and wonder if it’s real and three-dimensional, or if it’s all just a two-dimensional painting right on top of your eyeballs, or if your eyeballs and the rest of your body are just a projection of your brain, or if your brain itself is just a projection—so that it’s all just the manifestation of a consciousness that’s really not physical at all.

Posted on October 29, 2017 by Cole

Change

I grow up and move around and change too fast to make consistently accurate observations about myself.

Posted on October 21, 2017 by Cole

Lost my mind

I really lost my mind today, and so lay up at night, not hungry or tired, but perfectly comfortable; I know I’ll be fine in the morning.

Posted on October 21, 2017 by Cole

Write

I write as I’ve read.

Posted on September 16, 2017 by Cole

People watching

I watch people watch themselves in store windows.

Posted on September 16, 2017 by Cole

Body need and soul satisfied

I am lucky that my soul is subjected to needs that my body can satisfy; but then I wonder if my body just satisfies the needs that it can, and these are those which my soul accepts as its own.

Posted on September 7, 2017 by Cole

Her

There once was only I and everything else. Now there is only me and Her; she is everything else.

Posted on September 4, 2017 by Cole

I

I was the first character i ever wrote … and still am.

Posted on August 27, 2017 by Cole

Curious child

Just like my child body, my child mind used to run all over as fast as it could in and out of smaller spaces and up and down big spaces; now my older mind, like my older body, conserves its energy—sitting on the shore with binoculars watching ships, waiting for one with treasure and worth the swim before I neatly undress and efficiently swim out. Only some ships keep their treasure beneath the deck, and those are the ships I boarded when I was young. Creativity is surreal. When I was younger, I created, because nothing was too surreal to inhibit my chasing after it. Now, I conserve my energy and err toward real pursuits.

Posted on August 19, 2017 by Cole

To think and write

First I am a classic thinker, and then a contemporary american writer as a natural consequence.

Posted on August 19, 2017 by Cole

Free train

Are you really free? Do you remember boarding this train? Did you choose it?

Does it not bother you a little that your political views align exactly with where you come from? And that your natural abilities are from your parents?

Does it not make you a little dubious as to who invented you? Don’t you want to invent yourself? Or are you fine to merely board the train and watch the pretty views out the window?

For me, I want to build the train, the track, and the whole planet it’s tracked on.

Posted on August 19, 2017 by Cole

Glass me

I see myself in glass on storefront windows.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

Pinched

I like to keep a job so I stay pinched in a world of angles and boundaries and numbers; if I’m an artist all day I float away.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

No worries

I’m usually very clean and fed and safe and satisfied.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

Little space

I carved out a little space for myself, for my thoughts reflected inward; and that little space turned out to be the densest little cannibal that sucked in the whole universe.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

I need

I need a better enemy than death. I need more motivation than my own survival.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

Needing nothing

I wake up with my best friend and make breakfast. We party all day in the forest. In the morning it is clear and sunny and at night it is dark and foggy. We eat. We are tired. On our way home, I think I am needing nothing. When my best friend leaves I set on the edge of my bed and wonder what to do. I am tired but not sleepy. I look at some things. I read a little. I live a whole lifetime in a day. Accidentally, I fall asleep. I wake new and with refreshed needs. I get out of bed curious about my new life and the change of scenery.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

Like a god

My hair is fairer when I’m with you; my skin is complected like a god’s.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

Coffee

The reason the coffee affects me so is that I treat it so damn serious: I feel the surge and look inside and multiply the effect.

Posted on August 16, 2017 by Cole

The same sureness

For a while when I was young in the time between after I gained my intellect and before now, I was depressed. Because I learned enough to believe that truth was important. But began to doubt the truths I had from before.

See, before I was just a physical young boy and went with my instincts. As I learned, sometimes a thought overwhelmed my instinct. The only trouble was that there were so many thoughts, all of which did not agree with each other. At least my instincts were consistent.

So before I learned, I was happy. And after, I was troubled. But now, I have found consistency in some thoughts, like love and balance, and I am happy again. So that now I feel the same sureness of my boyhood.

Posted on August 11, 2017 by Cole

Stimulants and depressants

I naturally feel like I’ve had stimulants and depressants at the same time and my baseline swells, like my undulations normally strung along in time have been crunched down into one tick at the origin of the x-axis and my emotion goes infinitely up and infinitely down the y-axis.

Posted on August 11, 2017 by Cole

Bored

I know we have all these natural mechanisms for motivation and I tried to order them and reward myself but once I see it all out in front of me I just get bored; the only good stuff is brand new but of course that’s ephemeral so I go on creating.

Posted on July 30, 2017 by Cole

Go-between

I live this weird go-between life in the middle of sane and insane, artistic and scientific, alive and dead, in between all these things.

Posted on July 30, 2017 by Cole

a daydream journal