I spoke to Alan Ginsberg Last Night

 Alan was an overrated poet in my opinion but he had some moments, some lines here and there that resonate. Anyway, he let me know, 'they' omitted the last stanza from 'America,' that he wants you all to read now. 

America!

a juicier bigger carrot!

the Muskrats announce with a blow of their Trumpettes.

you 

cheer at the prospect

despite the same old s(ch)tick it dangles from

you

still the donkey, 

schlepping toward it

fruitless

carrying a combed-over sack of shit

one step at a time

toward oblivion

It all comes back to the slash and grind club

 

 

Meeting David Lynch in 1979 just North of Malibu

 I met David Lynch in 1979 just outside of Malibu California. I had just finished up surfing at Malibu with my friend Mickey Donta and we were famished. Mikey was stubbornly sticking to surfing old fashioned longboards and I was exploring the new dimensions offered by shortboards. And we were having a friendly debate about he future of surfing as a result. Mikey said, “There is no future in surfing. Just now.” I said, Mikey I’m really hungry. Let’s get some food. 

So we loaded up Mikey’s 1967 Karmann Ghia and headed to a Jewish Fish Taco place, up the Pacific Coast Highway a way. We tied down the boards on the roof of the Ghia and I briefly worried about the roof caving in but Mikey didn’t seem to care. I hopped in the car and as we sped North he said, “Maybe my friend David from Montana, will be there.”

Sure enough, David was there. He wasn’t eating tacos. He was drinking black coffee and smoking a cigarette. He was sweating a little bit, probably due to his attire. He was wearing well worn khakis, and a white Gant shirt that was buttoned up to the top and an unstructured black sports coat. 

Mikey and I ordered three tacos and a lemonade each and we sat down next to David. I’m often a little uncomfortable meeting new people but David was very nice and welcoming. We had a nice chat about the future or lack thereof , in surfing and then David said he was working on a script for a new film about surfing. Wild, I thought. Just wild. 

“What’s it called, David?” Mikey asked.

 David shouted very loudly back, “What?!” 

Everyone else in the restraint turned to look at us. 

Mikey didn’t seem surprised, “I said, what’s your new surf movie called?” 

David stared at Mikey for an endless minute and then replied, 

“Elephant Man!” 

We both nodded with approval at the title of David’s new film. 

Then David asked about our weekend plans. Mikey said, he was going to do what he does every day. Surf his 10’ long single fin surfboard in a straight line at Malibu. 

And what about you Pete, “What are doing with your weekend? David shouted. 

I said, I was going to watch the new Star Trek Movie at the Tower Theatre.

“That’s a nice cinema, Pete.” David said. 

And then another long silence. Mikey munched on his tacos and I was hoping David would continue the conversation but he was very comfortable being quiet. I wasn’t so comfortable and felt compelled to break it.

“And David, what about you?” I meekly asked. 

“What?! David again shouted at an even louder volume and people were visibly getting uncomfortable in their chairs, shifting around, except Mikey who must have been used to David’s speech patterns.

I nervously repeated myself, “What about you David, how are you going to spend your weekend?”

“Oh!” He shouted again. And then continued in a slightly more tolerable volume.

“I’m going to spend some time observing my mind.” He said matter-of-factly.

I frowned at his response and then, 

“Because the mind is the Final Frontier, Pete. The mind.” He said. “Oh and I might set out to find some good-fitting pants also.”

We finished our tacos in silence. David, his coffee and cigarette. 

Until Mikey said, “Well great to see you David. Hopefully catch you again real soon.”

“What?!” David shouted even louder than before, again unnerving the other patrons.

And Mikey repeated himself, “Hopefully catch you again real soon, David.”

All three of us nodded and Mikey and I were  on our way, leaving David by himself.

I never saw him again and Mikey and I went back to that Jewish Taco place many a time. 

not if 

but when 

the apocalypse comes

let it not be too far on the horizon

when the fires spark

the riots erupt

the volcanoes blow

and the round ups begin

let it be mercifully soon

so

there's enough of the earth left

to bounce back

and

i am still strong enough to go out

fighting

be reasonable

demand the impossible

utopia now

or

dystopia forever

is the only platform

on which to party

your tax dollars paid for the horrendous deaths of thousands and thousands of children

beg for a raise

so your $weat can go further toward

shredding babies to pieces

in far away lands

Cape Blanco

death is a beach

sitting on damp sand 

morning dew on the beachgrass 

sky and sea the same color for now

cold bum, underwear about to soak up the moisture 

perhaps the now light variable wind will pick up at some point 

and the fog will burn off in an hour or two 

and maybe we will also

and maybe

death is a beach

That's All Folks

This is your sneeze 

This is your orgasm 

This is your enlightenment 

This is your death 

This is you 

This is the universe 

This is now 

This is everything 

This is nothing 

That’s all 

You are all 

All is you

That’s All Folks 

Please come again. 

 all my poetry notebooks

have become work planners

the first few pages have some kurt vonnegut quotes

and then the scribbles descend

into 

to do lists

reports

maintenance requests

 

it gets much worse

 

poetry does not pay

at first 

the Camilla tree

you never noticed blooming

sheds its leaves in a wind that springs back into a pre-pubescent winter

you enjoy the moment as if it never happened before

but you let it go

even if it will never happen again

 

if there is a next time

you ignore it

almost incapable of seeing it

fixated on:

ambition

desire

regret

panic

and many other things that are not falling blossoms

 

but it will bloom again 

and you will slow down

contemplate

over-intellectualize it 

and turn it in to a bad poem

 

and

 

if you are lucky

blossoming camilla

wind

raining delicate pink

could be spring