Turkey Day

Happy T day

Don't have much for you this time guys.

Love All

Peace out
LGG

I am. The world makes of us all that which we should be in the end.

How would Allen Ginsberg see today in comparison to his life time. Free love and drugs at Berkeley. The world that was in some ways consequence free. The life of poet that embraced every aspect of his comings and goings. Friends that got you in as much trouble as you inflicted on them. Life was very Walden simple and yet in chaos at the same time. A man's goal was his and his alone. The world did not have nearly as much fear and loathe for the basics of enjoyment and personal freedom. The existence of real hate was there but the lime light of wars past still loomed in the air like a smoke that would not clear. The true evils were far from sight and sound. The spirit of war was honor and courage. The coming of the blood and guts reporting with the tactical accuracy of CNN's battle front was the end of innocence for the torch carriers of this age.

Thee the why bother generation has given up, given in, closed our eyes to the real view of this plane of existence. Or for those that showed any inkling of independent thought is squelched with narrowness and constant commercialisms of our modern machines of communication. Head on Head on Head on. The chant of the brain dead and dying. Heard throughout our masses the death rattle of the living. Doing and going about the motions of being. The swirl of life surrounds but nothing impresses for moment the value of any of it. For centuries the greatest minds pondered the meaning of so much of our lives and yet we sink into our filth. The filth that we make is rehashed refuse. None of our minds look up to the goals. All of the great themes have been used up and made into theme parks – Pump up the volume. And I agree that we are disillusioned, lost, afloat in our own mess of lives torn from any reason.

I still believe as come back to this to post here and I have days of days that mean more to me. I work hard these days to get my existence back to a focus. Against the wall and exposed to my peers I know they see me for what I am. I live for real and I miss My boy. These things weigh heavy on this man's heart. In the same moment I am driven to be the rock. Driven as bovine beasts stampeding from bees but I cannot change the thing that I am. The world makes of us all that which we should be in the end.

Finding the internal Walden Pond

David took us on a journey into the soul of man. I say man as just that not a specific epithet. He probed into the heart of darkness and came out purer for the challenge. In this universality the hearts of men have not changed. Only the woods and the pond on which we build our shack.
Mine was the temple of family and personal escape. But as did my new england guru I found myself in the wreckage of my life. I was motionless lying in the smoldering pieces. Delusional and misguided wanderlust of soulsore. The soil of this existance is eroded exposing bedrock of foundation.
Foundation - home memories past lives that are dead and gone. But the Tejano rooster still crows in the oranges. And the thump of unbalanced coolers spin without time or use for it.

Love lives between the lichen and the stone. Moss dies and blows away.