I used to think my life would be so significant.

As if I, represent the microcosm within my world, of this universe.
In part it is true.
But now , I now. All these days, are lonely ones.
The divine mother listens but none else.

We are always walking, mother.
I neither see your face ,
but for the wet remembrance coursing my veins.

Each day gets closer,
my knee is got a cramp from sitting too long.
I stare at the screen waiting for the next day.
Forgetting the simple sequence,
my meals sit cold and lonely.
The computer fan whizzes away the hot steamy in puffs and billows

suddenly, a stolen glance

and I remember what it was like.
To be by your chair, as you petaled away in laughter
.
Every night
Every moment

Death is parting kiss.
Until, we meet again dear mother.

When I searched for you,
I found only despair cased in empty sounds
Searching for myself,
your beaming smile

I feel an endless emptiness
in each day

My thoughts come running down like water,

by the time everything 'loads'; the intensity of the moments sputters out like a dying firecracker. 

The glory of spontaneity is lost in our pre-ordained society.

You call yourself a free spirit 

but what about you is free ? 

like O.E. said, you don't know where your going so your quest/goal remains elusive.


we chase the same rabbits in different costumes and bemoan our serendipitous moments, or lack thereof. 


I am a stranger here,
sometimes I long to go back, go back where, I do not know.
Somewhere, to a culture, any, the East , or any consort of 
peace.

Will my grave be marked amongst the shallow ditches
of men who lived only through their senses?
Whose ideas of constraint tossed in reckless abandon
in aimless pursuits?

I would rather, scatter my ashes to the wind.
I belonged to no one.
I was nothing
I was the eternal sky in space.

Waiting for you all my life,


fills the empty spaces.
But I never see faces, only shadows. 

The Riddle of Epicurus, or Problem of evil, is a famous argument against the existence of an all-powerful and providential God or gods. As recorded by Lactantius:
God either wants to eliminate bad things and cannot, or can but does not want to, or neither wishes to nor can, or both wants to and can. If he wants to and cannot, then he is weak - and this does not apply to god. If he can but does not want to, then he is spiteful - which is equally foreign to god's nature. If he neither wants to nor can, he is both weak and spiteful, and so not a god. If he wants to and can, which is the only thing fitting for a god, where then do bad things come from? Or why does he not eliminate them?
—[1]

Came Home and it smells like fucking incense.

Picked up my dad yesterday from the airport. At 72 or whatever his exact age , is he looks decent. Just now, getting some receding spots on the scalp from which hair gets thinner and eventually all falls out. A part of life, for everyone, just a rate of speed in travel , or en route. I was never too terribly fond of my father. He was in our youth not particularly, a kind of person you wanted to become like. But as you age, hey, your family kept you together, and your fate was outline in the stars by your previous actions across many births, which we remember not.

To deny the divine substratum,is not say one has no tongue.

My skin looks like its patchy, all that oily food. Looks like I'll have to start cooking, rather than my Mum's. If my hair is falling out, then its a new need. Imagine that. All my long long locks, all thick like a wild beast; hell, at a time, that upon there was, I could not even attempt to curb the swell with a hair band. It always popped off. Shit, now there isn't any, almost, yet. .. close.. ah, at this point its unclear. A diet of alfalfa seed sprouts might work, have started on that. But more than 70% is gone. Its just a shadow. People don't notice, well they themselves had very light hair. I had monstrous hair. I think many women appreciated it. Yes, they did sir indeed. Ah, alas. To the highest heights we go, before we or this body breathes its final hour.

Decadent, I dare say I have not been. Who remembers death, like a mouth full of pearls,

Due to the hair loss, I've recently stopped working out, especially my crazy routine of ~50 miles per week or so, after I got a slight hemorrhoid (that silent O).  

It is a complex and myriad of vegetables, spices, and herbs that promote and sustain a healthy lifestyle (hence why my father didnt experience hairloss until 71). However, in our modern problems of the first order, we lack serious commitment to spending time consuming food in a leisurely fashion. All passion rests in getting to where we want. What is left to enjoy, but the rush. I've never hard an absolutely stunning meal in SF despite, the dozens of eateries I have frequented (desserts are another matter, as European style- desserts are simply the most well prepared and thought out), that said, hence the cuisine of the east blows in comparison the untimely, ill-sought, ever-seeking American diets and their contributed share of diseases, propagated by a disease of capitalism in its un-benign form , crony, sanguine waters spreading far as shops,malls, stores , designs and patterns of thoughts- --- The Indian subcontinent has ....(for another day)..

Only, now at the age of 29 ; do I look back and see all the misguided anger, the hurried rush  ; the hedge against the emptiness. The follies , which bloomed with the rage of summers. My hair, slowly pushing out, age filling the cracks of all my mishaps , my miscaulcations, my dreams, my castles in the sky, so to speak, the musguided steps , the overlooked. Ah, indeed the overlooked. If failure was a noun, it would (come before, eh..pre-something) my name. But, what the fire doesnt burn, it hardens. (props to O.W: some whitey  authors are okay; a brown boy growing up in America and pretty much being North American still is opposed to the brain-washing numbing quality of American literature and how they teach all things religious, historic, spiritual, and literary; being drowned out in the loudest of voices. But, I was an angry boy. Its a good thing I never really let it express out in terms of words or language directed at another. No like a chemistry set, I kept the beaker boiling high, my hands trembling to hold even a pair of tongs momentarily still. But, I am sure I passed up many pretty dames, much of which would never see me now, alas, with all the wild forests of my hair being mowed down, near extinct, the last of the locks stand. As I prepare one more battle, with general alfalfa and lieutenants mustard & turmeric, as well sublieutenants  spinach, pineapple, oats, and pepper. We may never see the end of this tunnel. This is a losing battle. Fighting for the sake of the body or these senses is a inevitable slippery slope down. You cannot fight this pull ; the gravity of this situation, is most difficult to humor ourselves out of.

Reading Dorian Gray ..
Oscar Wilde's only novel.
There are some good sentences in there (well phrases).
Part of the context, You Know.

My english was par, but my ideas flowing through were par-par-above-par.
What we cannot express, never dies, it takes rebirth.