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Guerilla Poetry...

Cmor — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 02:07:26 GMT

I may as well call this one spam art, or terrorist limmericks, for I have been rolling on my own floor from leaving confounding comments on my MusicNation friends' sites... To keep myself laughing is the goal, while actually communicating is far less important... Still, it gets hilarious reactions, putting the freak into frequency... I see people reaching deeply to echo my expressions, while others get frustrated from the confusion caused by a literal interpretation... All in good fun, I say...

The reason I say spam art, is because I have indoctrinated myself temporarily with the copy/paste creed... I am involved in a rock and roll contest, which I have treated more as an anthropological experiment than a possible career change... The dynamics of this contest bewilder me, with aromas of community and sporadic backbiting and even infighting... It's a circus of politics and glamor that I wade through by staying objective... After all, the person with nothing to lose is the most dangerous...

So I have intelligently crippled myself early on with my bluntness, though also winning some friends amid my honesty... It seems when a person hears my words for the first time, something clicks inside them and they respond quite well... They are drawn farther in and more enjoyably when I nonchalantly go about my creative business... Therefore I have been putting myself out there, so to speak... I have called a nation, and they text me back saying they have another call... But each honest glimmer I allow to show through is usually one more soul who connects and hopes for my best...

The terrorist limmericks are all part of it... At first I was leaving these unique rhymes and clever word twists for each individual person... I would concoct from whatever tools at hand, leaving a gift of words in my trick-or-treat way... But usually these original gems were quickly overshadowed by some 'Look-At-Me' guy with a two-foot message about nothing... I would get lost before I ever got to crawl, let alone fly... And trust me, my messages are about nothing, but I don't make assumptions while making you laugh... Some folk just take up inches on a random Wikipedia article or self aggrandizement... I have only ever copy/pasted my own words, at least...

So the guerilla poems... They are all original to when I sat and made each comment first... I like the flow I get into while intuiting the hive mind... It's earned me the rewards of scattered praise and even a hint of respect... I try to keep it fresh and not go for convention, and for me, even quoting my yesterday's brilliance can be conventional...

So here are some of these spontaneous quips which have raised the eyebrow of the all-seeing-eye...

Cloak and Jagger joke on a folk for hire...
Genre bending splendor, engender the choir...
Richochet ballet for a matinee...
Don't mount your poultry before they lay...

Strange, to reach into the beyond...
And pull out unknowing, like a glowing wand...
Where I wave it, words may sprout...
Tis true, I've no clue, what I'm strewing about...

See yourself...
CMOR

and then a couple days before that...

Full of hot errand all pumped to capacity...
Trying not to care, gettin' nowhere with tenacity...
Each right-click is how I glue my CMOR schtick...
Theatric like a hat-trick with a snicker of audacity...

May all your clicks be doubly fun...
All your copyrights left in the sun...
May your hell become a hello...
And may your smell remain smellow...

CMOR

I am obviously caressing some people's buttons... Not pushing them, mind you... Just a tickle so we know the tender spots exist...

Funny don't come with money...
Anybody get happy if the rap is sunny...
Look in the future and dance toward forward...
Don't let love become an ignore word...

I have an opera lesson soundtrack today... My next door neighbor is giving lessons, and it drifts through my window like prime real estate in the land of Surrealtor...

Have a day to remember then forget it and have another!!
Craig Morrison
CMOR

p.s. All rights copy/pasted in pursuit of further irony...

And another...

Sparks fly is down as we are zipped along...

Ready and willful, a fill full of song...

Pleasant peasant knows no difference...

But this one'll roll the whole circumference...

Gettin' Round,
CMOR

*This message was copy/pasted for your pleasure!!

As pressure mounts, poetry is the one thing that cuts through all the red tapedecks... I try to put my funny where my mouth is, so to speak...

Hot pursuit and tie exhibition...
Metaphysician, get into position...
Open your mind and pull out a plum...
Competition wishin' and then some...

Spotlight scorches the flower petals...
Plant a flag where the dust storm settles...
Turbid serenity, urban amenity...
Life is heavy when it meddles...

May peace hunt you down,
Craig Morrison

And another quirky missive...

I will now attempt to blatantly manufacture creativity in order to impress you and get attention... Even to show some love...

My prescription needs no description...
No directions on invisible labels...
Visceral connections, sleeping encryption...
Egyptian mummy's boy, rapping in fables...

Best I got this eve...
CMOR

The contest ends Friday, or at least the fan voting melee part of it... I am wondering how many people will still be around when the dust settles? How many, 'Love-Yer-Stuffs' will I see when the blues ribbon is awarded? I can't be certain, because several of this band of merry swanksters are very tight-knit... Collaborations are happening and even authentic discussions about real issues... Like I said, we'll see next week who is for real, when the string don't carrot all...

Tibet, Or Not Tibet...

Cmor — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 23:08:40 GMT

Tibet, Or Not Tibet...

India was the best three weeks I ever savored... Full of life on every level, the country offered detailed uniqueness and piety with variety... The people, the history, the music, the festivals, the colors, and the food... Above all, the food... It was an adventure at every meal, with potential to either nourish me eternally, or debilitate my body with some exotic amoeba... Some dinners were better than others, yet the best stories all come from the outlandish and grotesque realm that we call reality...

It was my final night in Goa, and my life travel partner was at last feeling well enough to eat solid foods again... She had heard about a cute Tibetan restaurant nearby that had great momos... Why she would go from bedridden upheaval to Himalayan medieval was beyond me... But I prefer to imagine myself as open minded, so I told myself, "Hey, what the heck?" We ventured out into the sultry supper air, fully aware that each and every bite could be tempting some food-borne illness to obliterate our stillness...

As we entered the establishment, a very cozy atmosphere was strewn before us... Everything was outdoors, with straw mats on the sandy dirt... Limp cushions were strewn about on the earthen floor, and various tables were set up, about a foot off of the ground... Several Tibetan kids were scampering around a filthy, scratching dog... This really put the finishing touches on the atmosphere's authenticity... There were a few, 'Free Tibet' posters on the partition wall that hid the kitchen...

This appeared to be a very popular mantra in India... The general hubbub was that China had invaded Tibet, and ought to give it back. But having lived in and just come from China, my Tibetan food tasted more like Chinese than Indian... This made it more difficult to fully believe all the, 'Free Tibet' bumper stickers I had always seen in the states. Finding no resolution to this quandary, I set it aside and turned my attention to my surroundings...

Having overcome the visual aesthetics, we sat at a table on the floor... I raised an eyebrow toward my partner to ask, "Want to get out of here?" She opted to stay, and I settled in... Almost immediately we began to find fleas nipping at our ankles... The cushions were infested, and the leaping little bloodsuckers are one of my worst pet peeves... I muttered, "They really want to carry on with the village unfulfillage theme, eh? Agh, I think I might have altitude sickness!" She ignored my sarcasm while staring at the menu...

I noticed a lone hippie enter the place and sit down... He had the look of someone who'd been around Goa for awhile... They get a grizzled sort of leathery seriousness to them... This one had all that and much more... I really wanted to get a second opinion of the cafe's cleanliness before I tried the food, so I crawled over to his table... He seemed to wake from neverland when I approached... Somehow, amidst telling me that this restaurant had the greatest food in the world, he ended up at our table... I fretted to myself, "Did I accidentally ask him to eat with us?" I decided to go with the flow, and so we all sat down together on the flea mats...

We began a conversation, though it was more his monologue than any dialog... He explained that fleas were part of the universal cycle of life, one of nature's tiny miracles... Then he talked about the Mayan calendar, the heads on Easter Island, and UFO's... He gestured sadly to the 'Free Tibet' posters and echoed their sentiments over China's occupation... To him it seemed a preoccupation... Then he pointed out one of the Tibetan kids who bussed tables... He revealed to us that the child had great magical powers, and was actually a very old wizard... Or something like that... I took it all in stride, paralleling long enough to survey an acre or two of his mental landscape...

I was relishing the man's surreal stories, so I kept him going with, 'yeahs' and, 'uh huhs'... I patiently bided my time, watching and waiting for an opportunity to point out that he was scratching his own flea bites... Which seemed to be a huge contradiction to his universal cycle of life, and I wanted very much to unravel his whole ball of yarn... Yes, that was likely a very cruel notion, but someone so wise is just asking for it... The man told us he'd taken lots of drugs in Goa, including the notoriously destructive DMT... 'Okay, that could explain a lot' I thought. As he pulled out his pack of very corporate Marlboros, I decided to get to the heart of the man... I offered him one of my Indian-rolled bidis instead, inquiring as to his name... He said he was called Metri, after some such Hindu god or goddess... I pried deeper, asking what the name was on his passport... He seemed sheepish after looking down and saying, "Dimitri... I was a journalist... But now, now... maybe I just want to go back home to Moscow..."

As soon as he spoke his true name, he became real to me... No more wearying cheer about sacred fleas, or spider webs of spirituality... Instead he became very scared, telling us that the local trance-dance party-ashram overseers were after him... I knew Goa was a raging scene of revelry, though Dimitri was convinced that behind it all was a Mafioso type-of 'Party Illuminati'... They had telepathically threatened his life while he was on acid, causing the poor guy to go into hiding and lucid paranoia... He said that they had later poisoned his food and even caused him to crash on a motorcycle... How Goa's 'Party Illuminati' got the coconut to fall from the tree onto his bike at that precise moment, I couldn't guess... But I decided to skip the midnight rave on the beach...

Dimitri was extremely worried for us, like someone in witness protection who had just endangered someone's life by spilling all their secrets... I had to think of something to quell his agitation... I told him not to be frightened for us, that we were protected... He became very rapt as I said, "We know someone..." With that, I let the matter go, probably giving him one more thing to trip out over... He must have assumed that we were in India on behalf of whatever was good in the world, ready to take on the partiers to vie for the freedom of his mortal soul... Obviously comforted, he rose to leave...

As we parted, I gave him my pack of bidis, and he hugged me richly in truest hippie tradition... I still don't know fully what to think about that guy... He and I had connected for a brief time span, and I'd felt genuine pity and concern for him... Whether the Party Illuminati was out to get him, or whether he was a paranoid schizophrenic, I'll never know... I can still love the dude, because he finally gave me something real to love... I only hope that all the thousands of Dimitris still in Goa can get some kind of help, some lifeline to follow towards hope and freedom...

The wizard kid's magic sure didn't help our food arrive any faster... We finally got our momos, an hour after we ordered them... My partner, in the meantime, had been to the Tibetan-style outdoor restroom, next to the Tibetan-style outdoor kitchen... It was a 3rd world backyard cookery, with utensils hanging off of tree branches, or simply laying on the ground... As the dogs yapped for scraps, we gradually lost our appetite... Still, I tried one momo, having waited an hour for the closure... I didn't like it at all... Much too close to the Chinese cuisine I sought to escape, having eaten ten lifetimes' worth already... I wanted No Mo' of those momos... They didn't go to waste, however... As we left, the scratching dog wolfed them down in two and a half bites, thus providing sustenance for all the fleas, which completed the universal cycle of life...

Taipei Personality...

Cmor — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 20:05:52 GMT

Tapei Personality...

You are living in China... At least, that's what billions of Chinese people around the globe believe... I know this is a strong statement, but taken with a grain of assault it is humorously ironic, and even highly profound... The very nature of what it means to be from China is wrapped up in a brand of ancient nationalism and modern disaster-inviting-arrogance... If China had missionaries, they have been well entrenched for generations, into every continent on earth... Slowly, each culture of this planet is being terraformed, into a Neo Feng Shui state of Confucius...

The signs or obvious to me... If clothes make a man, you are already Chinese... We have Chinese goods and products everywhere, which are so entirely pervasive that the mind can hardly grasp the scope... Chinese cuisine has become common in many places, sometimes more than the original local fare... I find this very ironic... When I lived in China for a year, I discovered the food to be nothing like the Chinese Take-Out I was accustomed to Stateside... To say it tasted bad would be a judgmentality, yet 'Good' has lost its meaning for me... We use the word 'Goods' to describe the weapons of mass production we consume daily, promoting China's long march from Karl Marxism to Richard Marxism...

Take Chinese medicine, for example... On many continents, especially in the west, traditions like acupuncture have managed to earn respect and trust over the generations... It was tragically humorous to find that in China, the medical system is a bit more like our old images of witch doctors and superstitious granmothers... There was also a strong aura of vending machine, know-it-all-dispenser doctors... A medical degree can be purchased nearly over-the-counter... This tempts colossal bluffers and other dollar predators... Pregnant women are ordered to eat a whole chicken every day for fertilitarian reasons... For me, this calls the entire school of thought into question... Although for the record, I do believe that there are good people EVERYWHERE in the world... But when all these 'Good' people move as a massive-aggressive, passive-progressive force, we may as well call them, 'Goods'...

While living near Hong Kong, in the 'Special Economic Zone' called Zhongshan (pronounced Jong Shan...) I befriended some university graduates who were only just joining the work force... I observed that these types expressed the most freedom with their tongues... They were willing to share their beliefs and opinions, their debriefs and dominions... The most absolutely shocking revelation I ever heard, and I heard it everywhere after that on several subtle levels, was what is taught in all schools, to all children, at a very early age...

"China is BEST country!!!"

Plain and simple, no skirting the truth here... This is so fundamental to being of Chinese descent, that I often felt alienated unless I tipped my metaphorical hat to all the 'best countrymen' in placid agreement... Considering the context of the old Chinese saying, "We can always fool a foreigner..." the best-country dogma leaves one feeling either Chinese and happy, or definitely-not-Chinese, or hardly human at all... This extreme ethnocentrism was always made more tolerable by the generous smiles of the people behaving nationalistic... Always a grin when announcing with profundity, "China is BEST country!!!" In a philosophical way, This guided me to the idea that everything should be the best while it's on our radar... Practical distractions such as this are essential for western residents... One either loves this best country, or one slowly goes insane from the incessant flaunting and self assured piety...

At this point I must attempt to state clearly that I love China... It's a beautiful place with sincere people, this Disneyland of the Tao... It's been a long journey for me, to fully appreciate saying that, but it's really the only way I could ever enjoy my experience there... I guess it takes me the longest, to learn the basic lessons... Most people already know that if you like something or someone, the feeling is generally reciprocated... When I was good to China, it was good to me... I now know this to be true in many other areas of living, which is how I find contentment in daily life under ANY flag...

So there's a little bit of China in your heart, and in mine as well... Whether you like it or not, simply getting dressed in the morning means you are promoting the ideal of, "China is BEST country!!!" It's only a matter of time before the statistical laws of averages have us doing things in a much more China way... Soon it could be white guys employed to run the Chinese cafe and dry cleaner... The idea doesn't really bother me, because China is not out to conquer the world... THEY DON'T NEED TO... That's what makes it hilarious... We have already given in with no resistance whatsoever... Our cell phones and clothes and airplanes and all the other myriad conveniences have bound us to our surrealtors... The products are already preaching the 'Goods News'...

This may threaten the ideals of your innocent, everyday, Tao Jones Industrialist... I am sorry that my brand of honest humor is sharply pointed... When China is concerned, it's difficult not to attract outrageous attention... When one of the oldest and largest culture on the planet does ANYTHING, the rest of the world should hold its breath... I wonder sometimes, will our planet eventually grow lopsided from so much mass moving, one hemisphere to another? What if that made our orbit askew and sent us careening into the sun? Probably not a likely scenario, though worth the synapse forgery...

Why do I indulge this entire line of pondering? I simply woke knowing I needed to air a viewpoint (which I don't actually cling to that tightly)... Seems more like a great way to begin a healthy dialog than a conversation killer... And as usual, I hardly know what I am saying, ESPECIALLY when it comes to China... Anything so vast as China will inspire every person with different facets of the same thing... Each witness tells a unique story, and they are ALL valid and worth hearing... Even the extreme nationalism... Because, if China is best country, as is taught and adhered to, and if China is every country, as I have made a case for, logic would suggest that every country is therefore the best... We can all then dispense with wars and feel good about our lives, knowing they are the best citizens, and that we are as well...

I Think, Therefore I Amtrak...

Cmor — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 22:56:10 GMT

As the not-so-subtle snow began to fall, he clambered onto the train with a shiver. Quickly slamming the door to barricade the cold, the forgotten father had to grasp its icy handle as the train departed. With a noisy lurch it lumbered toward whatever destination. He didn't care, so long as he was stowed away from the terrible cold. Only a wisp of wind intruded through a small hole in the boxcar door, and a family of rats nestled together for survival. The irony of freeloading made him wince, for he could have purchased the entire train in times past. He had jetted round the globe dozens of times, yet riding the rails was still his favorite method of travel.

He'd been sneaking aboard them much of his sad life, hopping a train whenever the need for freedom overcame all else. He always found the noise immensely pleasurable, drowning out the sound of his own quixotic thoughts. Gone suddenly were the memories of a perfect spouse and her perfect house. Fading quickly after was the faces of his offspring, who had sprung off towards distance and disaster. 'Shuck-A-Whucka, Shuck-A-Whucka' was all he wanted, drowning out the recollections of squandering his soul for a business edge, of the friends he never made and the mistresses he never laid. There was only 'Shuck-A-Whucka, Shuck-A-Whucka' repeating over and over in his brain, until the train's rhythm was the entirety of his life.

It'd been a while since he'd felt the need to ride any trains. He'd found a routine to rule the world, or at least his version of it. Power and self import were for him like exquisite delicacies, and as the life-chapters accumulated, his addiction to this fiction grew. The trains became just another baggage compartment in his skull, and every person he interacted with flattered a pleasant accolade. Now he wondered if the train in his brain had derailed the little emperor facet, or if it was simply cruel fate, or even worse, karma.

Even above the 'Shuck-A-Wucka' the regrets and self-judgment hounded him. The stowaway's universe had imploded, and nothing could ever bring it back. His spirit of momentum had become a crash that culminated into an all-encompassing breakdown. Escape was his only answer, to the trains that had taught him how to relinquish the cares of his sad experiences. So he buried the memories of his past months into a deep corner of his mind, unaware of how persistent they would be. His fear, doubt, and pain were his only friends, like stalkers who would remain loyal to him on his journey. His final omen to follow through and hop the train was when it had begun to snow.

He clapped his hands and performed the frostbite dance, to keep warm inside the train car. He had become soft to some of the harshness of jumping these trains since he'd moved to the penthouse in the banking district. He had hunted the rail yard for something better than a coal car, and most of these cargo cars were filthy, with the sort of grease that stays more than awhile. He was finally rewarded with a cattle car as his berth. Now, the breathing of the animals around him created an eerie fog in the dim red light. It was nearly too cold to smell.

Lost in the noise, he thought this was a fine way to travel. Lots of fresh hay for bedding, and the livestock permitted him to snuggle against them for warmth. He laughed bitterly, thinking that these cows smelled better than some of the vagrants he'd traveled with in past chapters. At least the animals wouldn't talk his ear off, or pick his pocket while he snored. But this night he found he couldn't sleep at all, and even the Shuck-A-Whucka of the rails could not keep his mind at peace. Minutes aged into hours and still he was haunted by his worries.

A shaft of pale moonlight was beaming from the peephole, and illuminated on the livestock's breath. 'Nothing like a cow to create a natural smoke machine.' he chuckled. Creeping over to the hole in the door, he peered out. The countryside was reflected in moonlight, and he gasped at the beauty of it all. The moon radiated off of a perfect sheen of the purest new snow, glinting from whitened tree branches. This caused him to smile, his first in many months. Without caution he opened the big door with a frozen heave, causing the disgruntled livestock to moo in complaint.

Tiny specks of moonlight shimmered everywhere in the falling snow. The sparkles caught his eye like glitter, and he was drawn into it just as a child is enticed. After a few deep breaths, his elation was akin to euphoria. He wondered what it would be like to look out through a mirror ball as it rolled down a hill and became a snowman. He took mental snapshots of the distant, freshly gilt trees. Each one seemed to beckon to him as he sped by, and his sense of self-preservation abandoned him. Behind him lay a life of ruin, and dread thoughts which threatened to hound him to the end. Before him lay heaven on earth.

Suddenly he desired to know this serenity, to achieve an intimacy with all the purity he beheld. Without fear or even a second thought, he leapt far from the train and tumbled into a snowdrift. Not quite unharmed, he laid inert where he landed, a smile on his face and snowflakes melting as they alit on his nose. The cold-cut cattle and the Shuck-A-Whucka of the train that carried them faded slowly from his ears as he passed in and out of consciousness.

After what seemed like hours, he tried to move his arms and let them find their feeling. He did the same with his legs, though he had no desire to get up. After a few minutes he gave it up. The struggle for sensation seemed a pointless diversion to his baptism of wintery oneness. The snow, he discovered, with its numbing beauty, was all he ever needed. The trees cast shadows in the moonlight, stark silhouettes of uncompromising awe and splendor. A warm bliss enveloped him, bringing with it a perfect stillness. The longer he lay there, the warmer he became, until he became nothing at all.

He finally arose, though the stowaway felt nothing like he'd experienced before. He wasn't cold or afraid or excited, he couldn't even remember his own name. Everything around him was perfectly still. Not even the sound of his heartbeat or breathing disturbed the snowy hypnosis. This was purity, a clean, new existence he could try his luck with. He turned and glanced behind him, noticing a man lying in the soft snow with a smile on his lifeless face. Around him was the shape of an angel, carved out of the very snow that made his deathbed. The cherub appeared to be cradling its frozen friend, watching over him as he lay adrift.

fin

Skating On Thick Ice...

Cmor — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 16:30:52 GMT

I believe I have twisted my neck... It's such a funny image, to twist one's neck, sending me recollections of the possessed girl in the excorcist who could perform a 360 degree 'twist'... But my twist is not a Chubby Checker dance, it is simply a tight-muscle thing due to participating in an obscure youth group type sport... 'Ice Blocking...' I was neither prepared for it, nor was I too successful at it, but to let gravity suck us down a hot grassy slope, riding nothing but a block of ice, now that is livinig!!!

I just went to the park to write a poem and soak a little sunshine... Besides noticing that the most animated people were not those flying kites or playing frisbee with their dogs, but the negligent moms on their cell phones, I guess it was a mellow evening... I sat on the water side of the big hill in Gasworks Park, completely unaware of any Ice Blockers on the other side... The hill has a small bowl shape on its side, which I discovered amplifies phone conversations, but also my guitar... I played for an hour or so until I grew weary of the new FOLK STRINGS I put on my beach guitar... They make it sound like a kid's toy, though it really sounds like Beck's cheap twang sound as well...

So I hung out, wrote the poem, played guitar, etc... I even saw a friend, Lacey, and waved to her, telling her I was busy writing so she wouldn't have to ignore the friend she was with to come talk to me... When I was ready to go, I climbed the hill to check the giant sundial atop the hill's crown... Sure, I don't really know how to read it and know the time, but it brings out the Fred Flintstone in me... I was just beginning to descend the other side when strangeness greeted my eyes...

First, I saw a girl drawing a chalk line silhouette on the paved path before me... She had decorated it with flowers, which intrigued my artistic eye... Then I noticed a crowd standing around, in a semi-connected yet spectating way... Finally, I observed the block of ice laying in the grass... I still did not put it together at this point... I descended, and further down it hit me as I witnessed a few slabs launch and shoot down to the bottom... My grin widened...

Not having a block of my own, I stood near the group but not quite in its midst, in case they were exclusive or official... I casually asked what the hell they were doing, riding ice down the hill... They didn't really give a good answer except, "Would you like to try it?" That was the answer I wanted to hear... I cast my guitar and poetry bookbag aside, kicked off my shoes and shot the chute... Instantly I was on a hillside roller coaster with no brakes but the friction of my ass on the grass...

It's like riding on an inner tube in the snow, but more vulnerable... I gladly accepted the defenselessness in exchange for less cold and wet... Each block of ice had a towel on it, so as not to freeze the bum it carried... I laid upon a block the next time and felt like I had it down... I imagined strapping a block to each foot and skating away, not realizing I had begun to show off...

It was when I attempted to mount it like a skateboard that I went down the hard way... I love how we unconsciously teach ourselves to not be so full of it... I earned the 'Bruised Buffoon' award that time... I did manage to ride down the hill while crouching on my feet, only being thrown into the air when I tried to stand up near the bottom...

There is one element of risk which adds to the entire run... At the bottom is a fire hydrant, placed by the parks department for God knows what reason... I have never seen anyone collide with it, but it does really spice up the downhill activities!!! I haven't had a grass burn for years, I think... What a joy to be green skinned once again!!!

The experience reminded me of when it snowed five years before... I went to that very same park with several friends, and observed how people who never get snow play in a winter wonderland... Pots and pans were being used as sleds, and hefty bags or car hoods were called toboggans for a day... I vividly recall that some brilliant fellow brought an aluminum rowboat from the boatyard nearby... I got to be one of the first five or six people to descend in that beast, though more because I was brash and dumb rather than brave and intrepid...

So snow or shine, we find a way to have a blast... Mostly I just use the tools at hand to have good times... I guess because someone else brought all the ice, the blocks became those tools at hand... I got to enjoy the best that spontaneous life has to offer, and it woke me up that moment... Of course, this happens so much more often than not, when I allow it... I am learning not even to qualify an experience with the question of whether I can write about it or not... The photos I posted here today are just pulled off the web to show what I am conveying... If I had had my handycam with me this day, I might have demolished it with a stupid stunt... Even so, I escaped with my body mostly intact... A jilted thumb and a sore neck is good payment for a new synapse to tickle my brain...

Even the final revelation at the end didn't taint the experience... I was resting amid the group, nearly ready to go, when I decided to probe in my journalism way... I wanted to know what knit the group together, as I am also thinking a lot about group dynamics and the various roles we all play in them... Groups have always been a challenge for me, and one that I may learn yet how to thrive in...

But suddenly three of the girls and I were in a little foursome, with the others more than twenty feet away... I could feel the atmosphere changing, from total freedom to, "How do we break the news to him?"... I resisted the urge to run as they revealed that they were a group of Latter Day Saints on an evening outing... My spidey sense going off was more old programs kicking off inside me, feeling cornered or dogmatically threatened... I forced myself to wake back up and stay present, after all, their whole thing is Christ, right? That should mean selfless love and enlightenment and lots more I couldn't begin to fathom... But to focus on the differences instead of the fact that we is all peeps wanting to have fun, well... That would hurt my body more than I could have if I hit the fire hydrant...

But I am still not so good with groups, and didn't have the natural resources to love three women at once who all meant to convert me to CMormonism, by the compassionate but predatory looks in their eyes... I thanked them for the ice rides and bid them all good evening, strumming my beach guitar as I walked home... I felt inclined to write the experience down, though waking up with the stiffness definitely reminded me to communicate the joy before all I had was neck pain... I wouldn't trade this day for any other!!! Although I realize now that I say this daily!!

Maybe someday we can all ice block down the hill of life with no creeds and beliefs to run into... Dogma burns worse than friction and blades of grass, especially when we cling to it more than we cling to the point it... It's just a random guess, but in my experience, all the sacred texts in the universe are different languages speaking the same simple word... Love is Love is Love is Love is Love, and everything else is just that... Beyond sitting on the ice block of love and riding down the hill of physical existence, there is nothing else but resistance to supernatural laws... And anybody who's ever seen Star Trek knows that resistance is futile!!!

Communicable Ease...

Cmor — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 21:23:17 GMT

Communicable Ease...

I have no community... Or rather, my community is so vast and spread so thin that it resembles the emptiness of space, though it be filled with stars... My community consists of anyone who chooses to connect with me for any given length of time, whether by sharing of themselves, or by hearing or reading my thoughts... It's an extremely loosely knit group that spans my past, present, and future, bringing to mind the song by the Beatles, 'In My Life'... Sure, I have friendships, but these seem to come and go more often than the seasons... A more fitting analogy would be to say that they ebb and flow like the tides... It raises questions for me, such as, "Whether it is a good thing or a bad thing?" and, "Is it simply because of who I am?" or, "Does everybody share this experience in their own life?"

This causes me to look closely at the word 'community'... Not in an ivory-tower-of-power manner, but in my red-eye jedi way... To gaze at the word, 'community' with my intuitive eye, I notice it must be closely related to the word, 'communication'... I have found the word, 'communication' to be almost a holy word to me, because it just didn't come naturally for me... In my life I have ever endeavored to learn better ways of communicating, by listening on many levels, and being as authentic and spontaneous as I can be in a given moment... Every new human encounter teaches me yet more about communicating...

Throughout my experience, certain people have 'popped up' at just the proper time, thereby providing a lesson or three, depending on the level of connection that either one of us was ready for... It mostly happens naturally, which means it's amazingly fun, or at least very real, in the fresh and dynamic sense... At times different individuals cycle back onto my radar, as I certainly must for theirs... They become like faces on a carousel, waving and grinning as they pass briefly... I have learned to drop everything and run alongside their merry-go-round for the sake of community, just as I have taught myself to savor being alone...

So community has become for me a nebulous cloud of whoever is around me... This might seem shallow, or distant and even aloof, but imagine someone staying open to a lifelong connection, with EVERY soul they ever met... This has been my approach for as long as I can remember... It makes me wonder if we are all just fated to live out our hello-melodramas, pausing at commas and laughing with lamas... I enjoy people when they have free emotional space, and when it's time to go I follow suit... Making each connection a possible lifelong bond has expanded my awareness over the years, and allows all people to grow with me and myself to grow with them...

But the only way I could ever find peace with such undying loyalty to every connection is by letting them go when they exit my stage... Truly I say, not giving a damn is an act of divinity!!! To love someone completely is to let them go completely, freeing them to fully be themselves... In the past I would become attached to all number of relational traps... Needing approval and acceptance are among the strongest of my community-oriented addictions... Others pitfalls are trying to help what I think is going on, or even missing a person when they are not available...

This last thought is related to my countermeasure for grief of lost loved ones... Hypothetically, if we truly savor every instant spent with another person, then when they are dead and gone we will not miss them... We will suffer no regrets due to wishing we could have loved them more fully or more intensely... Like I said, it's purely hypothetical, and I realize that dabbling with another's pain is not always community minded...

At this point I feel a need to mention that I am human like everyone else, which means I get it wrong a lot... At times I get a hunch and attempt to manufacture or force a connection, discovering the person to be completely walled off to my brand of community... Even from one moment to the next this can be true... Other times, like in my disastrous marriage, I don't get all the information, and am left confused, with no footing to hold onto... I do feel fortunate, however, that I got to face this bewilderment all at once, as it helped me to appreciate life's knack for perplexing mystery... It also gave me a hopefully inexhaustible patience for situations when folk baffle me with their actions, or lack thereof...

When I was first learning about concepts of community, I held beautiful fantasies of people living and working and breathing together... I imagined it working on every level, with the food tasting better and the children growing up to be fully functional humans... I thought that if people chose to be present to one another, and to themselves, that all problems would disappear and that ripples of peace would reverberate throughout the world until everybody 'got it'... Happiness would become the new currency, yet nobody would need to sell anything... Even the mosquitoes would only take what they needed, and love would rule with an open hand...

Pretty rich imagination I have, eh? Holding ideals like these can lead even the most romantic of us into eventual cynicism and perennial frustration... Yet the ideals actually do work, if only for once in a moment, and the trick is to let go of expectations on what community means... I keep getting images of real life goodness... Like fertilizer, or bloody babies straight from the womb, or a gentle post coital mess... I end up holding the fantasy at one pole, and then I juxtapose it with the obvious fact that the world has problems at the other pole... Does this make me bi-polar? I guess I don't care...

I gave this article the title, 'Communicable Ease...' for a few reasons... Besides my infatuation with wordplay, I observed how communicable is another variation of the word, 'commune'... With a communicable disease, an illness is transferred from one body to another, with all the implications that accompany it... So I thought about the word, 'disease' and unconnected the dots... Disease, unease, ease... A communicable ease might therefore be a transferable sense of freedom and contentment, such as a highly contagious smile or a winsome laugh... Each person contains their own unique properties when it comes to their communicable ease, and by patiently giving space to anyone I could learn them all...

So, we are all here on this planet, living together and getting along... Whether it's getting along 'well' or 'poorly' is totally up to us... Nevertheless, the global perspective may be all we need to loosely define community in this 'one-soul-at-a-time', 'day-to-day' way... Through intention and self-acceptance every smalltalk interaction can become a lifelong connection... People just want to feel okay, and the more we allow them space to grow, the more we can appreciate them, whether distant or in-our-face... Even in solitude we can experience community... If we bring that element into our everyday communication, our life becomes a fascinating story we watch, like surreality television...

The Stretchiest Day (In 2-D)...

Cmor — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 22:49:41 GMT

I have lots of Solstice photos... The video I made from the same parade is in the "CMOR's songs" section... It's called 'Levitation'...

A great portrait shot... I seem to get lucky a lot...

This one I was trying to set up a shot with the giant puppet hands poking out of people like angel wings or devil horns... This is the best, though the woman in the photo may never know I gave her antlers... heh heh...

You GO, bot!!!

The dunce caps cracked me up!!! They provided a fun visual, with long angles jutting from people's heads... It was like being in a Dr. Seuss cartoon!!!

I love this portrait for its own beauty... But also notice the words in the top left corner... 'Buzz Style...' It's those happy accidents that are my forte!!!

Makes me wanna climp to the top and enjoy the view!!!

Sweet innocence makes for spectacular portraits...

This costume was fabulous... The wind helped me enjoy the wings, but made the shot difficult...

Chicken Soup For The Solstice...

Cmor — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 22:28:09 GMT

Part 1: The day before...

All I wanted was a photography press pass... That would give me the right to step into the street during the 2008 Fremont Solstice Parade, thereby becoming part of the parade, in my own upstream way... I arrived on foot at 2:00pm at the Powerhouse, which is the name of the headquarters for all productions related to the Fremont Arts Council...

A flurry of artistic conversations echoed throughout the room... I was nearly invisible until I realized I simply needed to announce my desire to help... "I am here to work!" I softly shouted to nobody in particular, "Does anyone need a hand?" I was quickly given the task of painting the detailed lines on a Ganesh puppet... I stared in awe at the blue 10-foot tall elephant-god from India, wearing colorful clothes and adorned with jewels... I had arrived thinking I would sweep a floor or some other grubby chore... But this was an honor...

"How did you know I did detail painting?" I asked Rob, the lead artist... His answer was mumbled, and ambiguous at best, leaving me to feel like he had reached deep into his pouch of intuition and pulled out the lucky lotto ball called CMOR... I am the son of a mural artist, and have such an eye for detail that previous employers have described me as 'slow' and 'meticulously nonproductive'... I laugh at this mentality, for they could never see what I see... I believe it was Picasso who said, "God is in the details..."

So, after a 5 year hiatus, again I found myself diving into a world of 'giant art meets the upset apple cart'... It's an atmosphere of gold glitter paint, googly eyeballs, and naked, recycled values... I watched people work in harmony to create something far greater that a single human could achieve... It was amazing and inspiring... Also, this was the 20th anniversary of the Solstice Parade, so it was only fitting that myself and all the other wayward children should return home to the solstice nest...

I quickly found my feng shui and my focus... While working, everywhere my eyes glanced there was an incredible paper mache puppet face, lurking with a smile... Even under piles of rubbish one might find napkin poetry, a sculpture made from the ashes of an incense stick, or a cast-aside hand-carved stamp, waiting to be reincarnated into some new artistic expression The music on the stereo jumped genres more than an A.D.D. chameleon on a rainbow... I couldn't help but wear my silly grin, on the surface and within... This was like Burning Man in my backyard!!!

The hours wore on, as the longest day of the year became the longest dusk... Some folk began to show subtle signs of exhaustion and deadline stress, which helped me feel like a transfusion to keep this baby alive a little longer... Food was provided by a local caf, along with bread and water... Each time someone acted a little emotionally stunted, I reminded myself that they had been at this for weeks... Also, my ideas of serving involve being a positive light of love... Service with a smile, heh heh... I want to shine, not be a shiner... If I bruise easily then I bring the whole vibe down, and the art becomes a thing to avoid instead of a life-giver... It must have been noticed, because at one point Lead-Artist Rob got my telephone number and told me he wanted to work with me again... Another guy snidely remarked that I had a dorky smile and then turned and walked away... These are the memories that make life worth living!!!

I almost missed the meeting to get my photo pass... So focused was I, it came and went before I found out... So I signed the info sheet and got the pass, then promptly went back to work... I must point out that I did all the work because it was a hell of a lot of fun... That's the way it SHOULD be... Life should draw us in, to engage it with curiosity and zeal... Also, there was SO much work to do that it was nearly overwhelming I was then re-tasked to do detail work on the Aztec god Quexacoatl's head... At this point I was beginning to slowly lose steam...

There were still people coming and going constantly... Men in ostrich costumes, birds in man outfits, unmarried marionettes, and human puppets on stilts... This is maybe as close to the circus life as I will ever get... I can imagine children fantasizing about running away to join the Solstice Parade... It's outstanding that the entire event remains free of charge to the public, for I heard the number bounce around as to the overall production cost... Fifteen to twenty thousand dollars... And from what I saw, the level of efficiency is such that the U.S. Government could take a lesson in cost cutting measures...

After a break to roll the parade floats down the hill, I returned to the Powerhouse once again... This time it was due more to loyalty to Rachel's artistic vision... She was lead artist on the Quexacoatl puppet, which was a lofty vision... It had several segments with people inside and multiple moving parts... She had explained what she needed from me, and I knew there was nobody else left to do it... It was 11:30pm, and although many people still poked around doing their various tasks, the general feeling in the building was fatigue and somberness... Luckily, there remained one or two jokers who were like joyful cattle prods to keep us going...

I hit my wall-of-complete-exhaustion around midnight, finally washing my brushes and walking home by 12:30am... I wanted to get SOME sleep that night, knowing that if I slept through the parade I would feel like a dumb schmuck... Some of the lead artists hadn't slept for a couple days, but I wasn't willing to pump myself full of caffeine or sugar just to crash later on... I went to sleep with a nice anticipation inside my soul... My dreams were spiced with blue elephants and feathered dragons, tiny paint brushes and costume jewelry...

Overall, this was the most fun I had all weekend... More fun than the actual parade, I now understand why people get addicted to the synergy they experience within the Powerhouse's walls... I hope to bring that energy out into my everyday life, to discover the solstice parade in my heart, and in yours as well... Why wait till the next Fremont Arts Council event to display the peacock feathers of creativity and love? Community is as community does, and the parade is simply a symptom of a beautiful state of being for this loose knit collective of individuals... The days are only getting shorter now, from here until the winter solstice... Yet today that seems so far away...

Chicken Soup For The Solstice...

Cmor — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 22:20:16 GMT

Part 2: The Parade...

I awoke with a rejuvenated sense of well-being and expectation... Birds serenaded me in a welcome back summer song, sunshine found its way into my north facing room, and even my eyelids were happy to rise... It was a day of promise, and already the streets were scarce for parking... As I walked the mile or so toward the parade route, I saw all manner of cartoon character types already on their way... I kept wishing that every day could see such colorful costumes, that we could all be free enough to express who we want to be for no occasion at all...

Also, I wondered where all the weirdos were coming from!!! I don't believe all the strangeness comes from Fremont... Many were driving into the neighborhood, clowns getting out of BMW's and buckskinned old men wearing nothing but an iPod... I must have seen everything from zombies and their newborn kids to Elvis in drag... Yes, I know it's a very subjective matter... I know it all too well, as I am often the freak in any affair... This day I stood out for appearing normal, or at least I felt that way...

I made a bee line for the Parade's staging area... This, I have discovered, is the absolute BEST place to take photos... People are not trying to nonverbally shout, 'Look at ME!!' and thus a better candid shot is possible... Also, I can snap a portrait of the waiting game... Some people prepare and then stand around anxiously, while others go through the entire parade with their fly still unzipped... I like the particular energy just before the parade... Everything is moving all at once, but much like 3rd world rush hour traffic, one never seems to collide with calamity...

I exchanged hello's with a few people I'd met the night before, though most were occupied with getting ready... I got some really fun photographs, and then put the camera away for a bit when I realized I was viewing the whole world through its lens... Everywhere I looked was some bizarre mental conundrum... Like Papa Smurf talking to the Hari Krishnas, or the Egyptian dog-God Anubis' collar, that quietly resembled what modern chiwawa's wear to not bite their fur... After so many of these surrealist synapse-ticklers, my analytical prowess simply shut down for the rest of the afternoon...

As I squatted in a random place to catch a few good shots of the parade's opening, I heard a squawk from behind me... "Why don't you MOVE?!?" It was an elderly woman who was already angry before I even got a chance to piss her off... Now, I had my press pass that I had definitely earned the day before... It was certainly within my rights to either ignore her or even tell her to go back to Kirkland... But I suddenly remembered the whole community thing, and how the whole idea of the parade is to bring arts to the masses... Some people get there especially early so as to be certain to get the best view they can... Press pass or no, my responsibility was to pacify the public and not incite a solstice riot... I smiled gently at the old she-ra and found another spot...

The parade itself is extremely visual and stimulating on many levels... I will not attempt to report everything that I observed, float for float... I'll leave that to the newspaper or some other blog... This story is more to convey the experience I had while at the event... By being allowed to step into the parade route I almost became PART of the parade, albeit sometimes ducking under large swinging puppet arms or bicycle-scorpion tails... Trust me that I was conscious of my place in the performance hierarchy, and I hope I didn't spoil anyone else's photos...

I did have a few favorites for the ensembles, however... Of course I liked the Ganesh puppet, as I had invested part of my life on him... There's also something quite profound about a giant blue elephant with human-like emotional features... I kept resisting the urge to run up and hug it... There was another ensemble I really enjoyed... The robot people, or R2D2 gangbangers, were by far the most hilarious to watch... They scrambled around frenetically, falling over and bumping one another in a robot-slapstick... Genuinely entertaining!!!

I ended up walking the parade route 2 or three times, going back and forth for more pictures and then running to see what the robot troop was doing... If I had had to move through the crowds on the sidewalk I would have been hard pressed to travel ten yards... The crowds followed the parade all the way to Gasworks Park... I did not... I felt a bit fatigued, so spent most of the afternoon meandering between friends' houses and also enjoying some sacred space... I wanted to save some energy for the fire show, to be held after sunset...

When the dust settles from the 2008 Fremont Solstice Parade, it will have been one of my favorite... Not only was it the most memorable thus far, but also I realized that by making it mine own, I helped to bring it to life... By engaging in the community, it became much more tangible and fulfilling... Every moment since has had some of that same magical quality to it, as if the artistic flavor has rubbed off on me... It's great, knowing that there is a group of great folk out there promoting life, chaos, free expression, beauty and love... It both bolsters my resolve to achieve optimum creativity, and succors my soul as well...

Chicken Soup For The Solstice...

Cmor — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 18:00:13 GMT

Part 3: The Day Aftermath...

Late that night I went to a fire show at Gasworks Park... It was a related event, thus I feel it worth including in the aftermath story... I got to see the floats all parked in a row, seemingly abandoned in the twilight... Dozens and dozens of bamboo shafts had been planted at the park's entrance, with banners streaming in the wind from the top of each... Luckily I had heavy clothes with me as the sun went down, for the temperature soon dropped like an arctic wind...

I think the fire troop was called, 'Inferno...' In such strong winds they were hampered, and only did about half of their usual routine... Still, it was quite a spectacle... There's something arcane about watching people blow lamp oil into a flaming plume of bright fury... The poi, or 'fire-spinning' was skillfully executed, even though they were slipping on their own oily stage... I went up front for a good camera shot, diving on the ground to avoid the audience's wrath... But this earned me the ire of the Tom, the troop's safety guy, who was the lead performer's dad...

Before I went home I helped push some floats back to Fremont... About 30 people huddled in the dark, like a skeleton crew for a midnight procession... We joked about what the other few hundred paraders must be doing right now... Getting laid or paid, or simply afraid? But altogether we moved 5 floats back from whence they came... It must have been 11:30pm by then, but there were plenty of inebriated people watching us and cheering us on... We had our own mini-parade in the other direction as the daytime event... It may have felt like work, but it sure seemed like just another brick in the foundation of community that the Fremont Arts Council has been building for years...

I discovered soon afterwards that my cell phone escaped me while somewhere at the park... Aaargh!!! Much like Gollum's magic ring, it simply slipped away when it was done with me... I decided not to stress about it, though my little brain kept returning to the issue like a gift that keeps on giving... I went back to Gasworks well after midnight, searching with a flashlight to no avail... I finally went to sleep around 2am, periodically alternating between fretting and forgetting...

The next day I was needed to help move the rest of the floats back to their permanent storage I agreed to this duty, in exchange for the press pass... It seemed like a fair trade, and also was another opportunity to serve and have fun simultaneously... I did seem to be the only photographer there to help break it down, however... Maybe they were busy in the dark room, or extracting film from their digital cameras... Once again there were about 30 volunteers, though not the same crowd as the midnight parade the night before...

This time it was all about, "Break 'em down and get the hell out"... People were far less patient than the two previous days, though I floated in between people's dark clouds as a good volunteer should... If someone was completely rude, I simply said, "I think I am going to go work on that OTHER float... See you later!" With no emotions wasted, I had lots of energy to spend letting go of my phoneless circumstance... People I mentioned it to were sympathetic, but nobody offered to let me use theirs to call my number... The highlight of the float-disassembly process was salvaging a cool foam heart that was going to be thrown away... After I got one, people scavenged the rest till they were gone... Funny, I never mean to set trends, I just live my life...

I got home to a note on my door... Tom, the fire show safety man, had found my phone where I had dove on the ground for a good camera angle... He had called my friend Adam, 1st on my phone book due to alphabetical order... Ironically, Adam was one of my few friends who actually knew where I live, which made it cosmically easy to call Tom and arrange to reclaim my telephone... Who knows why we have to go through some things? Whatever the reason, my day without a leash was rather liberating...

Like any ebb and flow situation, the day after is usually a backwash compared to the climax... A body simply cannot sustain a peak level of ecstatic bliss for extended periods of time... I have felt jet lagged and muddle-brained for three days since the parade, and all I did, officially, was get in its way... Yet I can't wait for next year... So much can I not wait, that I will continue to make a solstice parade spectacle simply walking down the street... I may not have 20-foot marionettes to take for a jog, but by always using the tools at hand, I shall conquer the day, one world at a time...

The Power Of Cower...

Cmor — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 16:45:51 GMT

I'm not afraid to back down... I'm not afraid to back down...

I'll get smacked down, let down, let it get around,

That I'm not afraid to back down...

I'm not afraid to back down... I'm not afraid to back down...

I'll be a circus clown, ultra-sound... Ear to the ground...

But I'm not afraid to back down...

Why do we fight so hard for non-violence?

Why do we scream our heads off for silence?

We turn the other tongue-in-cheek...

But we cower from the power of appearing weak...

All in the name of justice...

We never ask why the world don't trust us...

Peace is not the absence of war...

It's the only cause that's worth not fighting for!

I'm not afraid to back down... I'm not afraid to back down...

It's a dogpound showdown, in my own hometown...

And I'm not afraid to back down...

I'm not afraid to back down... I'm not afraid to back down...

It's profound, dumbfound... Bury the mound... I'm not afraid to back down...

I'll be selfless, on one condition... You gotta accept my total submission...

It's fusion, not fission, the great commission... And I'll be a total omission...

Anonymous is ignored, it's unanimous...

Geronimo's find it hard to be magnanimous...

So what's the secret to co-existence?

The message is aggressive non-resistance...

The trick is not to make love political... Speak it too strong and it's hypocritical...

I'm not afraid to back down... I'm not afraid to back down...

Unsound off the rebound... Cuz' I'm not afraid to back down...

I'm not afraid to back down... I'm not afraid to back down...

I'll be loose wound, lost and found... Put me in the ground... I don't care!!

Because I'm not afraid to back down...

We'll never argue if I agree, Love's got room for idiocy...

We'll never argue if I agree, Love's got room for idiosyncrasy...

Nobody likes the squeaky wheel... Not a lot of people wanna see us get 'real'...

But if you shine the light in the face of bad news & bad blues, ya might lose...

But before long they all axe your views...

Love is a puzzle, can really confound...

So please step away from the 'Don't back down'...

Love is a puzzle, can really confound...

So please step away from the 'Don't back down'...

CMOR '06

No rights reserved

'Heart Beet' by CMOR '06

The Biking Viking...

Cmor — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 03:34:54 GMT

He was a true Norseman... At nearly seven feet tall, his presence was enough to overshadow the most intimidating of souls, and his long blonde hair only seemed to emphasize the 'Thor in his flesh...' He was truly staggering face-to-face, though like any inhumanly proportioned individual, he was as good-natured as a teddy bear...

Rune was his name, and I am so accustomed to irony in life that the poignant significance almost flew right past me... Because he pronounced his name, "Rhoo-Nay!!!" and I must place exclamation punctuation after everything he said, for this is how I remember his manner of speaking... Everything was big and friendly and boisterous!!!

Runes are symbols of language, of power, much like the hieroglyphs of ancient Egypt and Sanskrit in India... Let's call runes the 'alphabet of mystery', as I know not-much and maybe never will... Still, a man by the same name would register on my awareness radar for even this reason, let alone for the fact that he was (and still is) bicycling around the world...

I first met him when visiting a friend of mine... I was approaching the front porch of my friend's house, which has 3 apartment units inside... Right before I rang the bell, the front door opened and out walked the most impressive long haired Thor I have ever seen... He was followed by a reporter and camera crew... It was quite a production, to see my meditative little world suddenly be in the middle of an interview...

I hung about in the background, simply wondering what could be so phenomenally interesting about this man... A bit later the television crew had left, and I heard his tale... He had been biking for 9 months prior to arriving in Seattle... He came up through South America, and across the United States... Many a story was glossed over due to the climactic crapola which greeted him in Fremont...

He has merely stopped at the nearby corner store for some juice, and while inside his pannier was invaded and robbed... Someone had absconded his passport and wallet with $500, and cute photos of his family back in Norway... My friend's neighbor took him into her home and called the local paper and TV stations... They were suddenly all over it in their seeming desperation to find real 'human interest' stories...

The word went out It spread like a California suburb fire... He got several newspaper stories about him, and no less than 4 television stories aired... During the time he stayed in Seattle to wait for his passport he became a minor celebrity... Because of proximity to my friend I got to be close enough to befriend him without getting caught up in all the media hype... Rune was very casual with the entire affair... He had a boyish demeanor that simply couldn't be conquered by the loss of some special or expensive papers...

The first time we were hanging out, I offered to show him an alternate side of Seattle... To give him a taste of what others might disdain or avoid altogether... I knew he'd biked alone all that way, so had an idea that he was up for anything... I told him to call anytime and I would show him the 'Seedy UnderBelly' of Seattle... And when I said it I had no idea exactly what I would be showing him, but I have a funny way of attracting the strange and half-ass miraculous... I said it with no doubt in my mind that we'd find more than a day's fun, if only we put ourselves out there...

Time went on, and a month later I had only seen him one time... He had locked himself out of his benefactor's house, and called the only number on his person, the one on my card which I had given him... I was volunteering at the food bank that day, so I arrived with a special bag for him with hardy grubs for his food-furnace... He was happy to see me, though I could tell he was getting antsy to be biking again... His life was filling up with guest appearances and shaking hands while receiving various donations... His benefactor was extremely good at setting up a way for him to be sponsored and receive kindness for his cause...

But he needed a diversion... I will never forget the way he said it... "I shtill vont to shee dah Ooondar Bailey"... It was classic, and highly impressive because he knew several languages... "Oooondar Bailey" had lodged in his brain like a romantic notion of something he wasn't getting being a public figure... So we set up a time to explore the Sheeedeee Ooondar Bailey...

I had to bring my truck on the day we went hiking through the city... He had a lot of gear that REI had donated to him, and he needed to exchange it all for a tent that would stand up against the deadly Canadian winter... That was his next destination, and that crazy Rune did eventually leave Seattle at about the perfect time to get his ass frostbitten for life... But maybe crossing desolate winter wastelands with nothing but a bike and a few nerves are what it means to be from northern Europe... I grew up with a Swedish step-dad, and he's a wacky one as well... So we stashed the super tent in the truck and walked into the Ooondar Bailey...

I had to let go of the idea of providing his entertainment... He and I were similar in the notion that life happens all the time, and one need not LOOK for it but only stay aware... Of course, for him this also meant stopping at several pubs along the way... It was hilarious how people would notice his presence, and by the time they figured out that he was the guy from the news story, they were giving him free beer and a smile... He didn't appear to take advantage of them, though he NEVER refused a good microbrew...

We ended up in Pioneer Square, with all the shoppers and homeless sideshow stoppers... He became a mini-happening wherever we went, so we went off the beaten path while trekking back across town... I think it was him who discovered the trail along the interstate freeway, while on one of several public potty breaks... We hopped a fence and began walking a cute little foot path that paralleled I-5... This was totally new for me... I always try to find what's to be found, turn it upside down and shake it till there's pocket change on the cround... But I never knew that one could walk this unique route...

I soon realized why... Before long we were quite the object of another sort of voyeurism, for we were in the sleeping quarters of many of the destitute and forlorn... Suddenly there were hammocks and large cardboard shelters, the homes of urban campers and liquid food stampers... Some folk were milling about, watching us, but obviously in no mood to do more... Maybe it was good to have a huge Norseman at my side, if only to alleviate my irrational fears... Those people wouldn't have hurt me unless I begged them to... And Rune was completely at ease... I remember when he found a bent pair of sunglasses on the ground and put them on for a moment... He looked like Elton John after a fight with a plastic surgeon...

More miles and many beers later, Rune finally had seen enough Ooondar Bailey... We returned to the safety of his benefactor, and I went about my life... I saw him once or twice more before he left, most notably on his farewell party... I discovered then that he has a twin brother who is the same in stature and behavior... God, what a pair! I think back on all the great norsemen whom I have read about, conquering or discovering, and seeing Rune and his identical twin confirmed the truth behind the history (His twin brother sails around the world... Viking Sailor...)

I lost touch with the Viking Biker over the last couple years, and today I googled him to find a photo or three... What a pleasant surprise to read that not only did he survive the Canadian wilderness at god-knows-below-zero temperatures, he is now in Africa doing more of the same... I get the impression he never stopped biking... Probably there will be some cool documentary someday about this lovable fellow, though I guess he would only watch it from the seat of his bike...

Statistics from Rune's blog...

13 countries
3 continents
112 flat tires
17 tires
2 wheels changed
8 chains
6 chain rings
3 pairs of pedals
4 air pumps
2 seats
1 time robbed
1 time attacked
4 crashes
3 different sets of bags
3 times at the hospital for my ass
2 front rack changed
4900 M is the highest I've been (16,076 feet)
-50 celsius was my coldest day (-58 F)
41 celsius is the warmest day (106 F)
3 donations on my paypal

To follow the awesome travels of this adventurous bike-splorer, visit his blog at: http://www.vikingbikersdiary.blogspot.com

photos borrowed from the VinkingBiker blogsite... Thanks Rune!

Moral Fixation...

Cmor — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 21:27:23 GMT

"Life is too true to be good..."

These are the words I wrote in my song, 'Entropy And Irony' (hear it in SONGS section!) last winter, during a long and difficult chapter of dragging my soul's feet... When I sculpted the phrase it rolled so easily from the tip of my brain that I often overlook its basic profundity... I tend to get so caught up in the glamour of rhyming and timing that I forget at times what I am supposed to be learning... My creative thoughts can pop up from nowhere, and I long ago stopped needing to know what they mean before I use them where they seem to fit... The more obscure and bizarre the concept, the longer it usually takes to decipher what I meant by it... Though these are always the thoughts that slam me with waves of joy when I finally 'get it'... Or waves of any real feeling...

But my creative process is best left to another blog... Today I aim to open up about the nature of good and evil, right and wrong, chozen and frozen, judgement and 'can't we all just get along?'... It's a huge subject, and one to which I have no real answers... But if we dive into this as playful puppies seeking to enjoy yipping about, we may discover new pathways to living more freely and even win a smiling debate with a happy rebate...

And this particular day I haven't prepared a grand diatribe on justice and mercy, etc... I just woke up with a great title idling in my mind, Moral Fixation...' and I knew instinctually to give it some attention... Hope I haven't instinct up the place... heh heh...

"Life is too true to be good..."

What does it mean to me? Well, there seems to be a very natural essence to life, and I don't just mean MY life, though I admit I am limited to my own perceptions... But as I look around and experience the wonders in every direction, I observe a realness that I simply cannot place an evaluation onto... I mean, I could, but need I? Let's play a scenario out with something I cherish most highly... Fresh fruit that nearly falls into my hand as I gently tug on it is one of the simple joys of having a mouth and some tastebuds left...

I know deep down that a beautifully ripened peach is still delicious and life giving, even if I do not judge the process and label it 'good'... If the peach somehow contains some e coli bugs, and I suffer debilitating bodily trauma, does it truly help to evaluate that experience as 'bad'?!? And if said debilitation kept me from going outside, where I would be gunned down by a misunderstood teenager with an assault rifle, would I feel better for having dodged a mullet and judge it as, 'good'? If I then became an evil dictator of the Altered States of America, and brought calamity to everyone alive, would I call myself, 'bad' in the end? Do you see where the judgement game may lead? We humans like to be commentators in this game of life, like a sports announcer with a big white wig... And yes, I admit, it's a fun distraction if one has a lifetime to give to that pursuit... But there are other options...

Life just is... I mean, check me if I am wrong, but the more I honestly accept what is and not what I wish life to be, the more arbitrary the universe seems... Please understand that I find this to be an EXTREMELY personal benevolence that all beings appear to be connected with at various levels... When we strip away all the labels we apply to life, it's like both a newborn baby and a tempest tossed ocean... It is constantly inviting us to dive into the unknown and experience what there is to be... And that's where it gets more fuzzy... Language doesn't help, especially when folks want to be right, or feel right, etc...

Whenever I am okay with me as I am, when I just catch myself acting in all manner of human behavior, I notice that it makes me laugh to see myself... It's a form of self love that I denied me for so long... Fear and doubt and other crap usually chokes out seeing, and so we live our life... But when I accept me for who I am, a greater sense of me, a Be More CMOR rises to the surface and flows like the All-Knows...

At these moments I am fully free and blissfully content with who I am... Also, I am then most inclined to behave in a selfless way which creates ripples of peace in my world and existence at large... This is why I feel that if we all could grasp staying in love with life and each other on an indefinite basis, we would need no laws or money or even names... But one thing at a time, eh? I like to 'Imagine'... Yet I also keep it real, for balance's sake...

Let's go back to scary creation myths that so many react to because they are touted by people who so often miss the point of what they are touting... There was a garden... A couple... A tree with fruit called, 'Knowledge of Good And Evil...' The couple ate the fruit and it screwed up their perceptions... Bang!! Yer fed!!! Now if you wanna get theological I can cast my pearls before swearing... Though I would prefer to just explore a highly interesting concept that is maybe overlooked because of fear... And fear is huge!!! It's real... But I use it as my teacher, to show me where I need to shed light on in order to make ALL of existence my comfort zone...

If we apply our good/bad faculties simply because we have the capability, doesn't that make us more like fleshy robots that can't even piss in a toilet without being trained to? We are conditioned creatures, so it naturally means we either need more conditioning, or need to UnCondition... Hmmm... Something I remeber about Unconditional... Wow!! I am having a CMOR moment, but it's too raw right now...

I hope this is making some sense... It takes a full acceptance of reason as well as a gentle denial of belief, or what we think it means to believe... Once again, I can't tackle theology right now... I love when people are loving for the sake of their creeds and values, or any other sake... Bottom line... But based on the logical outcome of what I am aiming to convey, I would also say that I would love those not loving at all...

It then becomes each person's responsibility to discover who they are and what it means to them to love in the moment... My mom, bless her heart, once told me, "Craig... God KNOWS I love him..." as if that was enough for all time so that she could go back to watching the news... Now I probably sound judgemental of my mum, yet is loving an action verb or a state of being? One thing, as a noun it gets bogged down by gratuitous definitions and unattainable idealism...

G.K. Chesterton said, "It's not that Christianity has been tried and found wanting... It's that it has been found difficult and left untried..." Now, most church goers may smugly quote this and draw security from their comfort zones, but I find it far too easy to aim that quote right back at the entire religion... And not in a divisive way... It's simply that maybe most folk wish to just get along their own way, whether in a church or not... So they easily become the ones leaving it 'untried'...

Because the same doctrines talk about not judging as a way of life!!! That's black and white, folks... I remember lines like 'Judge not, lest you be judged...' and used to worry about a freaky afterlife tribunal like the phantom zone trial in the first Superman movie (1980's)... "Guilty!!!" resounded from each glowing face, until General Zod was banished for all eternity... How did I get these bizarre concepts? Really?!? I have never been dead, so I have zero actual knowledge of such things... To make claims is to remain in the realm of Santa Claus, the Midgard Serpent, and, well, the everyday hell that we call earth...

I fully accept, however, that if I judge I will be judged... But I often notice it is ME who is doing the judging!!! I am an overbearing bully with myself, literally crucifying me for the slightest not-okay-ness in any given situation... I have a hunch it is a universal human phenomenon, and I don't even care if it came from ancestral fruit ingestion, or a prometheal theft of fire, etc... We all judge ourself first and most harshly, which then causes us to rip new assholes in varying degrees in the lives of those around us... Whether in our hearts or out in the open, it always comes back to greet us with more self-judgement...

So, I just wanted to point at it so we can look or not look as we are inclined... I am not out to change the world... Or I am, but I told my dad last week,

"The only time people have ever changed was when I chose to see them differently..."

This is pure CMOR, and you can quote me on that... Everyone is okay when I withhold my judge... It's difficult to imagine never judging, so just have one moment free of it, then another and so on... Pretty soon the moments connect like a dot to dot, and this becomes a lifetime of sainthood, in any or no faith...

Think about it... Recall a person who you knew to be a trustworthy and openhearted individual... If you ever simply observed them to see what makes them tick, they were likely very patient with just about anyone who crossed their path... Maybe they appeared to be comfortable in vastly diverse circumstances, free to enjoy their everyday life... Maybe they had profound answers when asked for their opinion, though maybe they seemed quiet most of the time... I don't know how your particular role model was or is, though the people I adore for their objective love of all things and all folk, they were living in a heaven on earth... Forget the afterlife, peeps... The kingdom of heaven is at hand... Um, maybe you know who said that?

So all this I could just as easily let go of for the sake of loving and being open to learning new things... I find that wisdom comes back when we need it... That I don't have to carry all these tools for living well around in my head like a refrigerator on a one-day hike... If it's real wisdom and truth, it resonates within me and super-energizes me... If I cling to it I may miss the next one that comes along... It's the exact same way for my creative process, because it's all just the art of living... I have described it humorously as the 'drunk jedi' role, not quite looking but always finding... Always seeing yet never minding... That's what makes it so fun...

I don't have to wake up on Sunday and go to a sacred space... I can simply 'Wake Up' and be in a sacred space anywhere... Yes, some spaces are more fun than others, but by not judging right from wrong I have expanded my boundaries until they meet on the other side of the globe... I mean, that's an ironic thought about directions, that east and west are relative to the one pointing... When I was in China, an 'eastern country' would have been The United States... Hah!! If we ever just made the whole world our home, we could live here like we were on vacation!!!

Um, I have no ending to this posting, as it's not so much the culmination of a fully developed thought process, but more a slice of, "What's Inside My Head Right Now?"... So I will close with a poem I wrote for a friend recently... Their spouse basically rejected vows and took off for another country, leaving my friend to feel abandoned and hopeless of saving what once was... As this person related a perspective of resentment mixed with honest pain and suffering, the statement arose that there would always exist a feeling of having been 'wronged'...

Being the foolish fixer that I can be, I attempted to shake and wake, to apply my wise BS onto them... Maybe it IS a path to freedom and healing, to hold no wrongs so closely... Maybe it IS a key out of all prisons, to not look with a critical eye... Though I freely admit that my attempts to 'help' were met with walls and distance... I awoke the next day with this poem, which was meant as an encouragement... May it help you right some wrong, or even wrong some right!!!

Righting Wrong...

Do you wanna feel alright,
Or do you wanna feel all wrong?
Brother, do you wanna light?
Love is how we get along!!!

Do you feel right and true,
Or do you feel left behind?
Do you wanna piece of me,
Or do you want peace of mind?

You wanna feel right as rain,
Or maybe just justified?
Wanna take pride in pain?
Verify you're terrified!!!

Do you wanna feel alright,
Or do you wanna feel all wrong?
Do you see the end in sight,
Or do you see the end in song?

You want to feel right like an angle?
Or maybe just a few degrees shy...
Do ya wanna be mighty, or mangled?
It's all about loving the lie...

You wanna write the Book of Life?
Wanna judge right from wrong?
Does selfless ever suffer from strife?
Does selfless even need to be strong?

Don't you love to feel alright?
Is it within your rights to hold wrongs?
Don't you wanna shed some light?
Your Beloved always belongs...

I hope we are all still friends after this here posting... Like I said, it's not coming from judgment of you or the rest of humanity... I just thought it'd be a great time to share what is fueling my newfound strenth to be the freest I have ever been... I mean, life is definitely working for me right now... So if even one person finds a kinship with even one sentence of this writing, then posting this has been worth going postal... If I sound opinionated, I am stepping on your fears and attachments... Oops! I didn't know they were so strong!! But I am first among men for flaws and blah blah blahs... Though this is a bit too critical... And so was that... And that? Hmmmm...

Remind me not to GOOGLE my titles... I just did a search for 'Moral Fixation...' I guess I didn't create this title after all, though I believed it original when I thought of it this morning!!!

The Lizard Prince...

Cmor — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 00:39:10 GMT

The Lizard Prince...

I am the son of Jim Morrison... And I am being absolutely honest... My dad's name was Jim, and he passed away in the early 1970's... But before your hopes get you up, allow me to clarify that although I had my fantasies in high school about being the progeny of The Lizard King, as far as I know I am not quite...

My father was James Robert Morrison, who died in 1973 to my knowledge (same year I was born...) While James Douglas Morrison died in 1971, (to all of OUR knowledge)... True, I haven't been able to locate my birth certificate for as long as I can remember, but I don't FEEL 37...

Half my life ago I wanted it to be true so badly... I read biographies and owned all the albums, indoctrinating every word simply because he was my hero... I would wave my arms in the air and moan, "I am the lizard king... I can do ANYTHING!!!" Soon after this point I would be nearly passed out by a flagpole or trying to choke on vomit to no avail... That's the irony of believing one can do anything... They either do or they don't, yet they certainly don't usually talk about how they can do anything... Unless, of course, you are Jim Morrison...

He inspired me to grow my hair out after being quite a conservative teen... I dug through an old album and found my own wanna be Morrisom shot... It's very likely that every male teenager since the 70's has a barechested shot of themselves with their arms outstretched, so I feel normal and healthy in this regard... I had several, though this one alone typifies my near obsession with swapping dead fathers...

Maybe Mr. Mojo Risin' was why I began writing in the first place, but I don't actually know... Part of me hesitates to give him that much credit... But from about age 13 to 19 walking in his footsteps certainly caused me to do some crazy mischief, simply to prove to myself that I was worthy to have him as a dad... From throwing bowling balls out of moving cars onto interstate highways, to randomly relocating all manner of crucial objects to places where you'd least expect them... I hadn't yet clued into the idea that a person should have some real talent before they take on the world... I just wanted to float on the name and go straight to the lifestyle... Which is why I should now mumble something like, "Youth is pasted on the young..." Meaning that we project youth onto young people, but I was acting like a curmudgeon as a teen!!!

I let go of the obsession around the early 90's, in a very Morrisonesque way... I was on psychadelic mushrooms, and I'll skip all except a dramatic moment where I knew I had to let it go to free me... At the time I didn't really know what exactly I was letting go of, for a body rarely grasps what is holding it back until they get far enough away... My 20's were spent wandering aimless on various metaphorical paths, until slowly discovering bits of myself here and there... Even now I have to 'discover' the me who wanted another father... I reunite myself and thus become a whole human being...

So if I was Jim Morrison's son, it would have been quite a scandal... More like a clandestine cover up of CIA proportions!! I have a grandma on the east coast, and aunts and cousins from that side, and it's a mindblower to imagine them as actors on my own private truman show... Wow!!!

And it also seems like if the lizard king did have any offspring, they would have conquered the world by now, or at least convinced us they had... This blog post was inspired by a mice pace friend who asked me if I was indeed the son of Jim... I replied with a skeleton version of what you read above... She says there is a guy out there somewhere who is a progeny, but somehow remains undiscovered and untapped, though she has a demo CD that sounds just like his dad... I am saving my opinions on it, except fot this... If he is, he should observe what celebrity did to his pop and stay in obscurity... If he isn't, he should cash in on the name and hope that the DNA at the grave in Paris is too tainted with illicit chemicals to get a n accurate mismatch...

One thing I can say in all tongue in cheekness...

I was the Lizard Prince!! I can do anything since!!