endlesskools-blog

[endlesskools-blog]

The joy and wisdom of creating through the kaleidoscopic vehicles of the arts is a birthright. We, the humans, are gifted with a choice to accept that birthright. Blessed be the one who is brave enough to make that choice. The creator is granted opportunities to communicate with the love-divine omnipresent in all things by embodying that universal love through the process of artistic manifestation. All seems well for the creator who is laborious in harvest. 

In the present iteration of our world, there are unmet needs in systems of our planet, communities, and self. We are imperfection seeking to experience the perfect. Thus, we must be imperfect by the indisputable decree of our very nature of being. And as we journey towards our impossibility, our perfection, the ubiquitous law of impermanence shines through all answers to those problems. Solve them as more arise. Love in a divided world created to know love.

What is apparent to me now is that art and love must be shared, and if possible, with the care of gems unearthed from holy mountains and the absolute obligation of presenting them to the world. That is the choice I have made. 

In return, with sincere, eternal gratitude, I will move the mountain that moves me so.

[endlesskools-blog]

self-assessment january 4th 2022 - i always think about the journals people release of famous people’s and how they’re filled with gold and glitter throughout. even colbain’s chicken scratch is iconic and irreverant. but i always think there is another one tucked away that makes no fucking sense what so ever, full of outright contradictions and weakness, really unpolished, unconstructed even, not even pleasant in the cliche chich unpleasant sense, basically some shit nobody wants to see, and some shit people will put off and say, “na, that’s fake, van ghog’s real journal is the one you can flip through with white gloves next to his ear in a glass case.” that’s the journal i have. that’s the journal i am so reluctant to fuck up even more because i have thoughts of publicity, that dreary nightmare of being seen in booger-picking bliss. this runs parallel with another chain of thoughts, that some guru, christ-like, tony-robbin’s like, is waiting patiently or fervently, respectively, for me to arrive at the conclusion of these endless wanderings. it just ain’t gonna happen. that’s the message of this self-assessment, that all the lessons i’ve learned have been the same lesson with a thousand faces, and it will most likely continue to be that way, so i can choose to be at peace and just paddle the boat down the river instead of swimming upstream and trying to be a damn salmon.

god’s love, again and again. surrender is the wheel that must be turned by nothing short of pure love.

so here’s an entry from the journal that no one will ever see, a giant middle finger tattooed with a bunch of hearts. i can’t remember a definitive beginning and there seems to be no end. i’ve done fine to keep forward so far and i’ll be fine until i do meet the end.

the end is not the answer to a question. the end, a momentary thunder. the way is found in stride.

[endlesskools-blog]

Animals

There are two ways to get to know a city right off the bat, like asking a blind date how they eat an Oreo. You go for the art museums and get the scoop on progressive culture. These aren’t foolproof methods like time, but are solid indicators for the cities I’ve lived in. The other way to start drawing links between some seemingly arbitrary cultural monument and the city’s people and lifestyle is by visiting the zoo. At the zoo, you will know everything.

When I was young, I went to the zoo every chance I got. I loved animals. I love animals, and now in a much deeper and mindful way, not just because they look cool. I never noticed how shitty the animals were treated in the zoo until I got older. Now, I know a jail when I see one. No one builds a menagerie of different ethnicities, keeping each specimen in well contained little sections for visitors to come peruse at their pleasure, without getting called out for it. They try. It tries, the ethereal “it” that is pervasive through the fabric of our communities in each thread. It and its minions, whoever they may be at the moment, but we, the equally ethereal we that make up the heart of the community, try to stop them because it is too obvious when someone tries to build invisible cages around our lives. And we do it because we live in our communities and we persist because we can.

For the very reason we cannot see the animals who are co-authoring our stories together as equals with needs and feelings of their own, we are unable to see that other people, distant others, not of the same name, creed, clan, also deserve the same rights we deserve. Actually, we are lucky if we don’t deny ourselves of those rights.

It may be a good indicator or perhaps a cause even, that the way our animal friends live among us shows us how we treat eachother and ourselves. They live on our dinner plates, inside our unthinkable and glorious deep friers, as slaves in commercial campaigns where they advertise their own demise against their unrepresented will, as pets to be tossed around like ragdolls, as fashion because politics cannot bare to work out their differences for a shit furball who can’t give them a vote. They live for us, it seems, not for themselves. So who do we live for and who has to pay with their lives for our dreams we can’t seem to justify in the highest judgement? It’s a good question to ponder as you stroll through the zoo.

I hope one day we don’t have zoos. I hope one day we realize we don’t have to kill animals by choice. I hope one day too, eventually, we realize we don’t have to imprison each other, ourselves. I hope one day we realize that every action has an equal and opposing reaction.

I do not like the saying “do onto others as you wish to be done onto yourself.” It places the “you” at the center of the Universe, marking the divide between the many parts of the great self with sinful temptation and righteous foolery. We can at least do onto others as they wish to be done onto themselves. And maybe one day, we can just be bold enough to love strangers or leave others the fuck alone.

[endlesskools-blog]

After an hour of droning on the highway, dipping in and out of sleep, a warm welcome, of old friends and new ones, causing a ruckus and laughing about god knows what. I can’t resist the urge to share the goodies I have in my bag. I can’t help but ask for a plate. Then, no one accepts the offering and I wonder what kind of gathering this is. I caught up with my urges and popped a pill as I got in the car to return to the hour of highway droning. I’ve timed it perfectly that I would enjoy the tail end of the drive high, and be in the perfect mood when I got home. 

Some unknowable time later ~ 

I’m stuck in a very particular endless loop of nausea and dreariness. It’s as memorable today as it was yesterday to the day before. It feels like insomnia. Is this what insomnia is like? I do not have control of my hand, as it slams this ball over and over again on the wall. Catch, throw, catch throw.. Same as the thought that comes back around and around, leaving just enough space in between messages so I know it’s me. It’s me controlling it, or someone that can hear what I hear in my head. This thought, “what are you doing with life?” It’s doubt with a disguise. It’s that hand, after it’s chucked the ball into the traffic, waiting for me to run after it. It’s that hand, now around my neck. My head bangs; I feel each pulse from my chest to my temple, knocking, knocking. And you know, here’s an answer. Fuck your question. Just as I’ve thrown the suggestion box into traffic, now I fling these limbs into the on-coming eighteen wheeler, hoping it has enough height on it for me to slide under. This delirium makes me suicidal, but the hope that it will eventually pass keeps me afloat. These clouds resemble the ocean. This ocean rocks like the cradle. Beyond a meal before dark, I can’t hope for much else. That seems as irrational as making human contact with the clique to my right. And so as I ramble, the fundamental spirit of my existence tumbles out uncontrollably as I let go. So perhaps the first step, or maybe the second, is to just let it all go.

[endlesskools-blog]

home

home is this park

and that park

home is with these bad thoughts

and pleasant thoughts

home is her black hair

home is her blue hair

home is her green hair

home is her pink hair

home is with this sale going on and these overpriced groceries

home is with a crooked cop

home is with a good cop

home is with these mindless idiots

home is with my forgiveness

home is my family

home is being true to god

home is these tricks of the trade

home is trying to impress you

home is riding down the block screaming world versus

home is forgetting where home is

home is dance

home is being exhausted

home is the joy that comes after all that

home is too much coffee

home is my liver quivering

home is a stroller for babies

home is a stroller for old people

home is sitting still

home is a mosquito bite

home is a tunnel that opens to itself

home is trying to do too much

home is my shadow

home is my story tomorrow

home is a headrush

home is the watering hole and your perfume

home is waiting in line for the ride

home is getting over myself watching you watching me

home is where i lay my dizzy head

home is the pigeon flying over head

home is bite size

home is the youngen peddling way too fast for the chains then smearing his smile along a good two feet in the cement

home is a little bit of that

home is with my limits

home is my total disregard

home is shade your eyes

home is dead

home is chugging along then turning around then telling yourself “damnit i wont”

home is turning around

home is strawhats

home is beaten sneakers

home is your warm hand cold hand sweaty hands dry elbows beer’d up potbelly

home is picking your head up then putting it down

home is where you say “did anybody else see that”

home is where you let the thing you judge most teach you your biggest lesson

home is spiralling out of control then giving up way too early

home is smiling through all that

home is going crazy

home is what you thought love was

home is forcing yourself to get up there and stay up there

home is inevitably falling

home is that kite way up there

or is that a plane?

home is their scornful glances saying they will never understand until the day they die

home is closing my eyes

home is the black and white ocean at night that we think is blue

home is the upside down pine made of clouds wedged between two rightside up pines

home is your whole life spent trying to be yourself

home is this hallucination that you are not yourself

home is on a leash

home is walking up and down the street and not smelling the flowers

home is a broke watch a nose bleed a missing tooth a bad dream an itch on your ankle a rat you love too much a set of twitching wings a slaughter

home is putting a dress on and giving you a show

home is these floaters i get when i shut my eyelids tight that ive neglected for way too long

home is country grammar

home are these crutches that you blame for not letting you get down

home is a little girl jumping up and down and up and down like she just woke up

home is when the wind hits a wall

home is total surrender

home is here

home has always been right here

home is these old-timers thinking they the shit

home is taking the time to inspect every leaf and cutting them up with the kind of freedom and care that no man can refuse

home is savory

home is taking a good ass bite out of the pie and saving it for later

home is seconds

theres always an old home

theres always a new home

home is the first time

home is what i can see in the distance

home is what i can feel everywhere

i have faith that home is somewhere

and then you go and take that one pm out of terminal two and leave me here to discover what home is all over

[endlesskools-blog]

[endlesskools-blog]

Om

It was the first time I saw the soap in the sink. I feel cleaner just moving it out of there. It was probably Nesha the mouse, always up to something.

[endlesskools-blog]

An uncracked nut on top of an elephant foot print.

[endlesskools-blog]

Currents

These painters paint me all over and I’m trying to get a sense of who I am in the smudged mirror. Thanks for the cleanse. The whole room is full of the paint I lugged in here, nested in the hidden pages of the diary and tucked away in a mop to be discovered as it slithers a rainbow road from the sink to the mattress. The lava lamp stays the same. It only knows to open up and let the psychadelic roar caress the radiant space around it.

These musicians, they run the gamut and put me through it all, dragging me along through their crack-houses cracked and splintered wooden floors, all the way up to saint nic, where he holds the doors opened for the revered masters and the surrendered who won’t even be postmortem heros, in this life time and the next. A generation of lost poets wrapped up in their own medicinal gauze tape, waits to be rolled out and have their scraggly wings confetti’ed from below. I play my femur flute hollowed and carved from my father’s overworked left leg, hoping to finally put it to rest along with the rest of me someday, but not today. Today, I hold the thing under my breath for the dancers as they trample me down to a dead sleep, so I lay there inside the concrete feeling the street beat beneath my skin.

At night I glide over to the local watering hole wearing my conversations draped in a way for the animals to see the mystery and the thick of my intentions. They chop my ear off, one by one, until I ride home with the incomprehensible ringing of fragmented truths, theirs and mine.

Then a great silence instills me with the serenity needed to deal with all my influences. Drenched in unforgiving pleasures, I return my wandering soul to the cosmic river.

[endlesskools-blog]

Recall into rememberance the memory of flight. Every now and then, embrace the perched observer and rest those wings. The journey remains beyond the horizon. Through each cycle, doubt. Through each cycle, undoubt. “What I write is true because I believe what I see.” Jack Kerouac

[endlesskools-blog]

July 4th 2019

Cheers to the death of the personal diary. Tonight, we celebrate God getting the exclusive rights to private conversations with myself. The rest will be broadcasted loudly, albeit sometimes unclearly, to the world through the various means of communication. I will spill profane and ludicrous atrocities to the unsuspecting passerby. I will not only wear my heart on my sleeve, but tear it off and smear it all over the sleeves of others. And just as our forefathers set sail for a new world, I too am venturing into forever uncharted lands, lush with surprises which can only test my faith further. The only words I have with myself now are observations for I am only the watcher and the listener. Until the moment when truth cannot be contained, I remain vigilant under a healing spell, one which pats me on the back and brushes my hair back like mother does.

A full glass of water stands next to a half glass. You will not know which glass I drank first, unless God decides the Universe depended on the divine information. I chose my thirst and I chose my water. But I’m too thirsty to remember which glass I drank first.  I gulp it all down and let the moon rock me to sleep.

Happy Independence Day, a day to be remembered as freedom from yourself.

[endlesskools-blog]

Hitchhiker

I picked up a hitchhiker once. After we got introduced, he started to take his pants off and jerk off without any warning. I didn’t say anything, pretended I didn’t noticed, and kept driving. I turn the music up. Up the way, there was another hitchhiker. He was already jerking off on the side of the road, so we thought he was good and kept driving. 

[endlesskools-blog]

o

The pulsating narrative races towards the fringes of sanity. My voice has woven into shape from fragments of unborn intention, and it too will return to silence. This puzzle we call the world pulls us apart and glues it all together, but your swift hammer cuts through your brother’s blank stare. And it all replays, again and again.

[endlesskools-blog]

Mind Rape

Do you fantasize about her?

There are some girls who are just off limits. It’s like mind rape.

But that’s our minds. It’s the only sanctity we’ve got.

I won’t feel right about it in my mind. Besides, I can’t even get hard when I think about her anymore.

So think about her when you’re already hard.

You mean use somebody else to get to her?

I guess.

Na, I want to get hard off her and bust with her, with her permission.

You’re pathetic.

So?

Just sayin’.

It’ll just be some empty momentary pleasure.

That’s what life is.

Life is not empty.

You tell yourself that. It’s what we got, so get with it.

I’ll wait for what’s coming to me.

You worry about shit too much. Just go get what you want. I mean, yall never watch porn together? That’s getting hard or harder off somebody else then bringing it back to her.

Stretch.

Stretch my dick.

I don’t need no bust with her like my life depended on it.

You missing out on all the possibilities that is your mind.

Oh no I ain’t.

[endlesskools-blog]

Quitter

Still trying to quit?

I don’t know, my gut says so, but I don’t really know why. All the reason are so small, I just don’t care. My teeth are pretty white, my skin ain’t bad.. Except the health thing, but I’ll probably be fine, my grandma lived a long time and she smoked all her life. Then again, she did die of lung cancer, and my dad just had a heart attack, and he didn’t even smoke for that many years.

Dam, but smoking is so dam cool though.

I know. I think I’m looking for a new cool.

I like smoking by myself and socially. I guess I like smoking all the time, on the balcony with some drink, alone, or shooting the shit at the bar with the boys.

Yea but you know that guy that doesn’t smoke but still hangs with everybody?

Rare… And the cool ones, gem.

Yea, all my heroes smoke. It’s like a rite of passage of the cool.

Right.

Been feeling nauseous off the buzz lately more than ever. I feel it killing me, little by little.

Yea fuck that noise… Maybe you’re waiting to have a kid or something.

I wanna do right by myself before that shit happens. I only think about quitting when I don’t feel good, and when a new day rolls around, my mind flips, and I’m lighting up again. I’m just sick of smoking, tired of the whole ritual.

You sound pretty bent on quitting, just waiting on something.

I ain’t trying to have a heart attack first. And if I don’t, I could have been coolin’ this whole time.

Yea and it feels so dam good. It’s like you can feel yourself breathing; that smoke going down and rings coming back up.

For sure. Maybe it’s the things that feel good that end up killing us. I’m not about to give up pleasure so I can live a little longer.

Spoken like a true junkie.

Yea, maybe I’m looking beyond this road, excited even.

How you gonna handle going out and not smoking when you’re drinking.

That too, I wanna do less of.

You getting old, man.

Maybe, well definitely. I don’t know if that’s why I wanna quit. I feel younger everyday, like there’s more to it.

You’re always gonna have Bokowski drinking two bottles of wine a night, chain smoking, calling you out in the back of your head.

Yea, a whole army. Guess I’m not quitting til I say “fuck em”.

At least you know you’re quitting.

Yea, just trying to get some more in before I gotta start dealing with it.

How many more?

Shit...

[endlesskools-blog]

Jazz Night

On the way back from the food market,

the wine had crushed three of the eggs.

I wasn’t sad about it,

until I remembered, after the bottle was empty.

Tonight’s a good night, for jazz alone.

I took a shower in the dark, with the kitchen light on.

I looked at myself in the mirror while the water poured down my head and dripped into the pail.

I thought about breaking the mirror with my knuckles, but the jazz was nice, real nice to me.

Somedays I chug straight from the bottle neck like a fish. Tonight, I’m a lady, and drain the bottle one cup at a time.

The smokes smell foul on my fingers, but delicious beyond the senses.

There’s nothing to it; just sit there and wait for the beep.

The washer beep, the text beep, the sext peep…

There’s always a message after, and sometimes you have to wait a while for it,

maybe days, even years.

When it’s done and through, you sit there and wait, for another beep,

confused if there was a beep at all and if it’s the same damn message.

There ought to be another character in this story.

That’s the part that gets me out of trouble and puts me back in the dump every time.

I sit there, and wonder if I piss and sweat out all the blood my body makes each day.

If I cry today, maybe I should drink more wine, and listen to more jazz.

I don’t know what a story is, but I sure make up a good lie to myself from time to time.

I could break every bone I have if I tell myself I could fly.

I sit here, lumped and slouched anyway, looking for some kind of truth to jazz night.

[endlesskools-blog]

Be Cool

Be cool, man, stop sugarcoating everything.

What’s so great about being cool?

People like you, chicks especially. On a deeper level, it’s what life is, taking honest feelings and making more in others. Aestheticism, my dude.

I feel you, just there’s more ways to be cool than talking shit.

What, you don’t think she’s annoying?

I do.

Then you’re not being honest with yourself when you say shit like “I don’t vibe.” Fuck euphemisms; say it how it is.

There’s more than one way to look at something, I just try to be positive.

You a coward. Stop caring what other people think.

I do care what people think, it’s communication, but I’ll always do what I think is right, no matter what the fuck everyone else thinks.

I… I can’t even. Anyway, why don’t you just say, “she’s annoying as fuck”, because that’s how you feel.

That ain’t my style. Everybody’s gotta be blunt all the time?

Na, I’m just saying you’re afraid to confront your true feelings. And you’re afraid to let the world know how you really feel.

We all have that initial pulse that hits us when something happens, like every time she brushes on your arm and you know she’s trying too hard. But how you verbalize it and react to it, that’s style. Just because you go with the default doesn’t make that honesty. Just because you go another way, doesn’t make that dishonest. Honesty is embracing, and I embrace the shit out of what I feel by spinning off that. And yea, she is what you would call, “annoying”, but I ain’t let that shit distract me.

Yea, that spin is what I’m talking about. If she bugs you, tell her off so she ain’t buggin’.

That’s what I’m saying, I’m straight. It’s not offensive and barely in the bothersome category. Yea, that spin is what we’re talking about. We just spin different.

Na, you spin like a chump. You know nice guys are just punks to the cause right?

What cause is that?

The human mother fucking cause.

You trippin’, there’s so many ways to be human.

Cowardice ain’t one of em.

I really don’t give a fuck if you think I’m a coward, I’m doing me.

Alright, nice guy.

You talking pushover or nice?

Same shit.

Then I ain’t a nice guy.

Sound like one.

Fuck you.

Yea, that’s what I’m talking about.

Yo, she asked if I wanna get grub.

Haha, dam she asked me too. What’d you say?

Hell naw.