March 30th, 2008
Groonkly Bit: Nostalgia Tricks Your Senses
I’m having trouble describing this tune.
It’s more raw emotion than anything.
It transcends words like love and hate.
Like the end theme to an awesome movie.
April 15th, 2006
Inundation
Water, water everywhere,
Those drops I dare not drink.
The water comes from I know not where,
Yet it sits beneath the sink.
The fan blows,
Time slows,
And sleep comes rare or never.
October 10th, 2004
Groonkly Bit
The conditions of a solitary bird are five:
The first, that it flies to the highest point;
The second, that it does not suffer for company,
not even of its own kind;
The third, that it aims its beak to the skies;
The fourth, that it does not have a definite color;
The fifth, that it sings very softly.
—San Juan de la Cruz “The Conditions of a Solitary Bird” , Journey to Ixtlan
June 25th, 2004
Gmail proficient
June 8th, 2004
Ode to Jack
Four dogs went to the wilderness,
Only three came back.
Two dogs died from getting worm,
The other died from you…Jack Kerouac.
—Hunter S Thompson
Every time I hear that poem, I laugh.
I wonder how many poor pooches ole Jack killed.
February 5th, 2004
Samurai Jack
The man learns the ways of various cultures.
He trains for the day he will return to his land and rid it of the infesting evil.
That day comes and he is nigh victorious.
Evil’s treachery is forever vigilant.
The man now lives in the future and seeks entry to the past to complete the task he was denied.
The man is hunted.
The man forever adventures.
The man is Samurai Jack.
January 29th, 2004
Shiny
It’s good to be clean,
If just for a while.
It’s good to be clean,
Cause then you get smiles.
freshly-showered groonk
January 14th, 2004
all about a monkey
The monkey shines.
He has no rhymes.
He’s bittersweet.
He has no course.
He’s all remorse.
So bittersweet.
No idea why I’m writing more bad poetry except that it’s 2:30 in the AM and my mind has wandered off into oblivion.
-groonk
December 18th, 2003
Balancing monsters of love
MedicMike shares a bit of Leonard Cohen:
What is a saint? A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is the caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape. His house is dangerous and finite, but he is at home in the world. He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love.
– L. Cohen, Beautiful Losers (1966)
Balancing monsters of love. As you can tell from this post’s title, I like the sound of that.
