Reflections
There comes a Watershed Time
THERE COMES A WATERSHED TIME when the truly evolving person will finally cease from the daily mêlée of conditioned madness: openness to brainwashing and deception, ignorant contending, struggling, thrusting, grasping and sniping; unstable posturing; desperate gestures; self-deception; empty virtue-signalling; getting offended; being stuck in destructive relationships; having easy-to-press buttons and being easily fazed; placing all hope in human institutions, lovers, coaches and gurus… and, instead, will go within, find the centre (the eye of quietude in the midst of the storm) and b r e a t h e while smiling gently and knowingly (sometimes laughing bemusedly) at everything swirling around us in this crazy, temporarily broken world (even though that world will call you mad — a compliment, if ever there was one! 😉 ). When that time comes, one will know that there is no need to be anything other than authentic, joyful, loving and pro-actively creative. From that point on, everything else of worth will follow and, linking minds and souls with like-minded others, in the fullness of time [and not without a great deal of global turmoil] a new world will be born. {PS: It’s already happening}.
Dear Friend
DEAR FRIEND: THANK YOU FOR YOUR EMAIL COMMANDING ME TO REPENT for my allegedly pornographic use of the word “cunt” in a poem on my website. Honestly, I would normally ignore such an email but I interpreted your message as a cry for help; so I hope you’ll bear with me as I respond to your words. First, let me say that I am not a pornographer but a poet. This is an important distinction in the context of this poem. It would seem that you are a fundamentalist Christian. If I may say so, it has been my experience that many who share your religious affiliation are not very well-versed in the panoply of historic literature and the arts in general and tend to have more than a streak of anti-intellectualism. This may account for your unfamiliarity with the usage of the word “cunt” in history and literature. May I suggest that you read the works of Geoffrey Chaucer (1343-1400) to begin with. Chaucer is known as “the father of English literature”. He used the word “queynte” (the Old English version of “cunt”) a great deal in his “Canterbury Tales” — a classic work of English literature which appears on just about every school syllabus in the subject and has done for at least the last 70 years! I think after reading his works you will see that the single use of the good old English word, “cunt”, in my poem, is quite trivial when compared to some of Mr. Chaucer’s interesting turns of phrase!
Life is a Gymnasium
(in which even what seems “bad” becomes good)
EVERY MORNING WHEN I AWAKEN (after feeling gratitude for a life still lived and some considerable amazement that I’m still alive!), I make this affirmation: “May I be open to *any* experience which comes my way today?” I always place the accent on the word “any”. It’s easy to be open to pleasant and familiar experiences but how open are we to unexpected ones – even what one might think to be “unpleasant experiences”. This is the space where I want to be. Every day. Even though there are some days when I say it with some trepidation and wonder if I’m going to bite off more than I can chew (though I never do)! To be continually able to regard every occurrence, no matter how seemingly “bad”, as an adventure and a boon in my life.
Reflections on the Changing of the Year
There is absolutely no reason anyone would want to read this dreamy little rhymey New Year timely train of thought of mine! It comes as a stream of consciousness outpouring torrent from a tiny speck of dust (called “me”) in a thermodynamically-doomed imperfect universe [one could say “DeathStar” too, you see, though that must be understood aright, and not be confused with flights of fancy from a moving film]. That speck of dust is always bursting into flames, has nothing left to lose (or gain), has wept more than a stream will know (for, as the poem goes, “I’m never far from tears”), has conquered fears — its fuel has peaked at overflow and laughing all the way to fullness through the tank. But that speck of dust cannot help but move its mind and write; and if some eyes (just two or none will do) should happen to alight upon this written page (some eyes, that is, which gave up living in a cage [or long to do]), that speck of dust will take delight in meeting minds {I hope it will be you!}.
The Secret of Small Things
AFTER I ARRIVED IN TENERIFE LAST WEEK, I bumped into someone who I’d met briefly a couple of times before in the past and who knew I had just been in Stockholm for some time making a new CD album. The first thing she said to me was this: “So… did you make lots of money then?” She wasn’t the first person to make that kind of statement. (It’s what I call “an old aeon blurt”; and you’ll see why below). This little piece here is my “official” reply to her.
Oh Bob (Zimmerman aka Dylan)
OH BOB (ZIMMERMAN aka DYLAN)! YOU’RE JUST A SHADOW OF YOUR FORMER SELF! I remember buying your album, “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” in 1963 as a fragile teenager and it woke my poetic soul and filled me with heartfelt passion for truth, peace and life. Why don’t you go down to that slaughterhouse of the world, euphemistically known as The White House, and play your masterpiece from that album, “Masters of War” (lyrics below), to the present murderous occupants (who received a Nobel Prize like you, for nothing)? Then use your great wealth to fly across to Sweden and visit the Saab Dynamics Corporation in Karlskoga (where most of the world’s battlefield weapons are made) and play it with passion to the board of directors, not for entertainment in concert circuses like you usually do but to sear consciences with its laser-like lyrics and tear down walls round hardened hearts. Then see if they would still give you a Nobel Prize!
e. e. cummings
My favourite poet ever… I’ve been in love with his work since 1963, when, in school, I discovered the sledgehammer of his writing.
“How can I Deal with All this Shit?”
“HOW CAN I DEAL WITH ALL THIS SHIT?” this man said to me with tears on his face. Then he went on: “I just can’t take it anymore. Sometimes I wish that I was dead. There’s always something waiting right round every corner just to slug me from behind as I go past. So many nasty people. How am I supposed to deal with everything?” His forehead fell onto my shoulder as he sobbed his heart out desperately. I put my hand on the back of his neck and held it firmly, as if the power of my grip would give him the strength he needed. My mind was razor-sharp. There was only one thing I could say to him. For there is only ever one answer about how to stand in the face of even the worst hurricane (human or otherwise). “With love”, said I. “Just handle it with love. It’s the only way”. I felt him stiffen up at the mention of the word. He scoffed into my shoulder: “Love?” Then he drew back and looked me full in the eyes. His face was distorted with anger — puffy and red with his veins sticking out on his neck and temples. “I don’t even know what love is anymore. Everything’s bullshit!” Continue reading…
Basic Facts about the 2016 US Election
I HAVE BEEN WRITING AN ARTICLE ABOUT THE UPCOMING US ELECTION because so many of my friends seem to be in a fluster about it and this has concerned me. But it has got rather lengthy, so I thought I would make a bullet-point list of the essential headings in the article and place them in an image which can easily be shared. So here it is attached. Please click on it to read the smaller print and then, if you wish, please share. Thank you!
Variety of Questions and Messages I’ve received in Recent Weeks
HERE IS A VARIETY OF QUESTIONS AND MESSAGES I’VE RECEIVED IN RECENT WEEKS, which I’ve concatenated into a single paragraph, since they all dovetail into each other. (Then please see my reply below). Here are the questions and messages: “It’s all hopeless, man! The world is totally cracked! Everything has gone crazy — so crazy that I can’t even recognise the world anymore as a place that I want to be in. I’d rather disappear in a puff of smoke forever. It’s just not worth writing anything anymore. I try to talk to people about what’s really going on in the world — the manipulation, lies and stupidity — but they just treat me as if I’m mad. The level of people’s gullibility right now (especially in the countdown to the pretended US election) is STAGGERING! There is so much virtue-signalling and hypocritical posturing by folks wanting to big themselves up. Ugggh! Your lyrics and poems are very beautiful and noble and all that stuff. But what is the point of writing them? Seriously Alan, why bother? Hardly anyone looks at them and those who are interested in them already understand what you are saying, so what’s the point? All genuine artists are simply wasting their time. They’re banging their heads on a brick wall. Do something else in life and benefit yourself. Go back to Tenerife and bathe in the sun and sea, while writing an occasional candy-floss sonnet to titillate the masses. Any serious message today will be almost completely ignored, while anything irrational, superficial or nonsensical will flourish hugely. If I was to photograph my cat or my tattoos, or criticize Donald Trump, I would be inundated with hundreds of “likes” and ridiculously flattering comments. But when I’ve tried to start a profound discussion about the essence of true spirituality, there is a wall of silence. It just makes me want to give up on everything. What’s the point of anything? What is the world coming to?”
The Naked Troubadour 