Cry Saint and the world will shrug Like a nursery rhyme that children don't listen to Because they already know it is true. Truth is boring and tiresome, We want the unthinkable, a shock you never saw coming Cracking like a blue moon To the Buddha-ghost-mind an unthinkable there is Of mushrooms, there is one of which the holy books speak A Saint who can consume them without death, only indigestion, but, (I am serious... or they are, and I try to be... for them... text me for the book title and page number), This part about mushrooms is solidly in the Buddhist Theravada canon, but... As if this weren't laborious enough I want to ask about seriousness, in all seriousness, How can I not laugh about this murderer Pythagoras Who also taught everyone in his cult not to eat beans? Pythagoras who drowned his student to cover up a math proof that "not everything is number"? Archimedes, the archmage who used the law of parabolas to burn down ships at a great distance, enemies of his king. The higher law... was it the parabolas or the burning ships? I am on a burning ship and it is not funny. Parabolas are a silly I-told-you-so entertainment in comparison. We want truth, we want to believe the ball gets picked up again and again, rising higher and higher, But the ball drops over and over. Now we drop it again, staring into a parabolic mirror. Progress is a dream and it is only sad because it is a dream. Otherwise it just wouldn't be at all. Don't the lessons of Mother Goose teach anything About surfing solar waves Or what of clouds is unthinkable?
The Wealth of Heaven Shines in Rain How to own a waterfall? Abundance, do not make a coin from it. The water wheel is less generous than the water The market of fate hurries away when the rain falls May fate be the rain, may it not be the market Rain spilling like a young mother's milk We, her babies, sap her bones... but who? We don't know who we are, we only see something and our hearts-blood moves: A babe at the breast, warm loving gratitude Where is the universe except here? Where is knowing and not knowing without this? Careful with the question "who?" This question belongs to the Owner of the Night in trees quivering in the night wind, you may find Night's messenger. The owl will only mirror your question. It is this emptying that creates fullness Emptying and filling one vessel at the same time, a mystery of our hearts As we yearn for a generous world, For our hearts of stone to grow moss, an endless sprouting, invincible, We as a multitude must spill wine for the gods.
in honor of studio ghibli
Spiller wears the coat of a rat He uses it to fly The Lorelai likes his strength he tried to woo her With a feast of grasshopper leg His manners are non-existent, he is a great survivor, and his friends all need survival, which he shares. Spiller is a small man, tiny, easily missed The great men the Lorelai loved were too big, so she accepted the raspberry An off-hand gift of Spiller Under a hot lustful sun, To the sound of a flute with a golden chip in its throat They floated in liquid passionate lovemaking Over a river of Tea.