A monk asked, “What is Buddha? What are sentient beings?”
Joshu said, “Sentient beings are Buddha; Buddha is sentient
beings.”
The monk said, “What, on earth, are sentient beings?”
Joshu said, “Ask, ask.”
NOTE: If you do not ask, you may not understand, but as long as
you ask, how can you understand?
- Radical Zen: The Sayings of Joshu
Putting together the October(ish) issue of my #dada #poetry #zine this week. Hoping to have it available for download/purchase by next weekend. As always, digital's free, print edition more or less at cost.
a familiar sense of doom
wake up, get out of bed
seem to notice a change
it doesn't know about us
fingers are trembling
the earthquake struck
something surprisingly large
turned northward and landward
a certain asymmetry to his real face
the gleam of interest
the world looks no different
finding it is a stroke of luck
clinging to the edge
should he lose his footing
a glimpse of a sun
no sign showing, no seam
pages curled in on themselves
the names of the dead
cold wind came whistling down
every afternoon, downpours
the night before, nightmares
#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem #dada
Chaos is silence, not noise. Noise is sound, structured in waveforms, inherently ordered. True chaos is only heard in stillness.
Realize that stillness as a feeling, and hold it in the center of your chest. Gradually, begin to radiate that feeling, expanding your single point of chaos into the world around you. Radiate silence, be a shining point of perfect chaos.
in tawdry imagery, I wondered
a shift in the shadows as he entered
like the din of a single huge machine
whatever the fuck that means,
the boy also rode with tumbled locks
until a sea mist fell and the land was finally lost
a hot little circle of such rib-crushing love
with less surprise than he might otherwise feel
its accompaniment and its opposite face
i am to be the unwilling chorus of this tale
on the vast absurdity of the cosmos
the beginning of the ripper's killing spree
she steps from the prison's entrance and blinks
"you be sorry you don't shut your mouth"
a thousand pieces of gold for one smile
all was still for the night
shoo her in, darling
shoo her in
outside a cricket screeches like there's no tomorrow
still a long time
let me sleep
#dada #poetry #dadaist #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem
the only place in the world
managed to get the blood out
heard the clock on the mantel tick
before that key event
felt a little like crying
laminated picture of the virgin mary
with one strand of her long auburn hair
wood drumming a funeral march
wrapped in her worn shawl
supposed to drink it, not snort it
the clean air of a small world
there’s nothing to feed on
in a pit of caustic lime
promise of a much more painful fate
their chests are going to implode
unwounded despite the ill will
what's wrong with this place?
something better than this old ruin
this sticky heat - it chokes you
eating dust all the way
three miles from the wall
none moved, or made any sign
just a cramp in my chest
that feels like
a giant hand
squeezing
#dada #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaist
lethe, or the chiming of the bell
the pastor called me to the podium
you're not taking this seriously
with hands tented over flames
i no longer think about it, i am
a deliverance which does not deliver
a full moon that hung luminous in the black sky
eyes locking on the thick oak door
my heart skipped a beat
too fond of irony and cosmetics
lying still, eyes closed, ears prickled
and in the sunlight the distant peaks
watched him, intrigued by his appearance
summer came and spread herself over the countryside
ill-omened - i was unable to come round
more complicated than a simple yes or no
no. i am dead. and dead i shall remain
these are the ones that really hurt
can you see your name in that lot?
woodworm infested the posts in the back porch
strange insects scuttled from under rocks
such things are forbidden. and yet . . .
if only you or i were innocent enough
#dada #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem
Today is Bureflux in the #Discordian calendar. It is the highest Holyday in the season of Bureaucracy, and the greyest of Holydays because the forces of Bureaucracy hold sway. However, we celebrate the passing of the day, because from here, the influence of greyface diminishes and we move toward the advent of blissful Chaos. Did you pie a politician in the face today? Don't worry, you can deliver belated Bureflux pies to politicians' faces any day you want.
isn't this where
no other time, no other feelings
i knew i couldn't chase it
tonight, i walked outside
and here is a village crouching in the mud
that was to end soon
panics, riots, burnings, twice cannibalism
i'd already seen and learned more than i needed
there used to be only a few things
the rings and pins and badges
i must have escaped from it
two complementary lonelinesses
blowing out the candle
wars, famines, plagues, shootings, hatred
probably seems like a little thing
in retrospect it was
there is nothing left to know
blood sticks between your fingers
deep as a threat to existence
ready to spring, in a harrowing silence
a move rehearsed a hundred times
the great gray prairie on every side
a low wail of the wind
hundreds of fluttering candles
seemed to still
this was a bad idea
i forget everything between footsteps
it began as it always did, in the middle
#dada #poetry #dadaistpoetry
@60c14f8e Bizarre? Discordianism is the most honest and sensible religion I've ever followed, and I've followed a few! If the supreme absolute truth is to be found anywhere, it MUST be in the absurd.
triptych
1.
i'm alone at last
not so very far away
that sky was bluest
2.
wandering shadows
carve me open with their words
past-tensing my heart
3.
thin threads without sound
startled by the reflection
on the road beyond
#haiku #triptych #poetry #dadaist
I generally avoid politics here, but I feel too strongly about this to keep quiet. In 2024, I'm voting for the Sixth Mass Extinction. It's really the only way out of this mess.
@f8064376 I'm a STEM person. STEM's important, but holy damn humanities are for everyone.
I'd not even argue about including mathematics in the humanities. The study of math - really to study it - encompasses art, music, history, and philosophy. You cannot really understand math if you don't understand these things.
I was a musician before I was a mathematician. Music theory made me interested in math. If we don't have humanities, STEM is meaningless.
Better late than never. The new issue of my (sort of) monthly poetry zine is finally available on my shop. I've had the physical books from the printer for a bit, but just haven't had time to list them. As always, digital's free, physical more or less at cost, pay what you want optionally. https://ko-fi.com/pope_tin/shop
I stayed up all night keeping an eye on our injured dog. Already depressed, I decided to watch _Tick, Tick... Boom_. This was a mistake and I may never recover. 😭
shan't sleep it away
outside the snow is knee-deep
a wild, cold, blowing day
red rag in her hand
someone in the hall
photographs on the walls
drunk all of the time
a cold panic shooting through
like an inebriated batman
in a struggle with death itself
over an old, half-sunken grave
in the cemetery of the chapel
a diagnosis of neurasthenia
scrimshankers and degenerates
hands burned red from wringing
it was becoming a tic
like the astrological signs
the empty sky and the stars
not a sound in the world
i wish i could be at home
but you don’t get to choose
#dadaist #poetry
the rumor
a ritual affirmation
floundering helplessly
a pink shimmer in the trees
a bang, a whimper
symptoms, not cause
horrifying, hellish loneliness
surrendered, blamed
a clock, fallen
in a filthy puddle
laid with gold
riddled with holes
darkness staring forward
haunted, torch‐lit, suffocating
unchanged and unchanging
atlantis and lemuria
heaven and hell
comings and goings
gone, gone, gone
and everywhere
fear overshadowed
the will to live
just like every other sunday
#dadaist #poetry
the child is not a child
i'm rambling now
a cluster of pill bottles
on the bedside table
like a tunnel to shangri-la
the funeral pyre of the poor
now fades the thunder
time now for the bits in between
locusts eat the wheat
there is an early frost
strong winds, abnormal currents
the dull toll of an iron bell
keening, grieving for ourselves
while the red sunlight settled in
a morose and sullen cast
which is to last one thousand years
i belong. belong. long to be.
but another part of me
a quiet and buried part
is trying to break free
in the sun of a hot september
#dadaist #poetry
@c188e6a8 Quark is best summed up in his own words:
Moogie: "Quark, don't you ever think of anyone but yourself?"
Quark: "Of course I do! ...I just thin of myself first."
A few fine people have picked up copies of Transmissions from the Chaos Buddha lately, and I'm immensely gratified by the support. I wasn't sure when writing began that anyone else would ever see it, and even less sure that anyone else would "get" it.
It's a (largely stream-of-consciousness) personal exploration of my own faith, an amalgamation of Dharma and Discord, with a particular emphasis on the liberating value of irreverence and rejection of spiritual authority.
If you have strong feelings about the fundamental nature of chaos and find peace in the meaninglessness of all things, you might enjoy it too.
You can read the whole thing at https://ChaosBuddha.org, or get your own copy at https://ko-fi.com/pope_tin/shop. Digital's free, print editions sold at cost.
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