Wednesday, November 2, 2011


Just had one of those breakthroughs. We are no us. Like I.M. Nome. Oh, I forgot that how he spelled that. I posted at Facebook I AM NOME, but the former is the correct writing.
I called my sister after a brief spite of suicidal tendency, she was sick and in the emergency room. I called her cell from my new cell that I got for free because I'm poor, not pur, as in purna or purno'ham, though teacher boy keeps telling me that. I wondered that she says she was born in 1938 and not 1939 as I had grown up hearing and calculating though my calculations tended to be way off. I wonder if this is why I suffered in math as it got more advanced. I rounded off my brother's birthdays, 8 1/2 to 9 and 12 1/2 to 13 and somehow my sister went from 14 to 15. Not sure how that happened. Just needed an odd number I guess. I think it is like the hill or mountain in that movie "The Man Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain." This little community in England had a mountain they thought until the fellows at weights and measures or whatever it was decided to measure it and found it was short. Not the perfect analogy, I guess.
So, my sister was sick and at the emergency on her phone. She said to call her home phone but as I had experienced before, her home phone was not connected as I think will soon be the case with mine.
There's perfection and imperfection in that NOT US stuff. I kind of liked us. I found us benevolent and good in many ways, but not being us was good too, because many things about us bound us to old ways, old karma, limiting karma. Like I wonder if I was not so bound to my family would I have hooked up with Stephan's Farm better. They desired no skinny dipping in their creek. My older friend called me dumb when I was not so intereste in a soy dairy The Farm had created. My friend was a graduate in biochemistry, I a fledgling poet, writing gibberish and trying to make sense out of it which was why I experienced in poets like A.E.Houseman and William Carlos Williams. Put that together with all the LSD lunatics and BE HERE NOW and maybe I had something. Still I was sensitive to criticism that it was like a Rorschach ink blot or painting by chimpanzees. Their were enough people out there investigating what they called bullshit to scare me away. There were also people who didn't want any journalistic writing on the drugs we were taking and the good times we had. Journalistic like Hunter Thompson or James Simon Kunen. I was hot in 1971 but maye I was stealing style.
Yeah, so I.M. Nome. Hear of him anymore, or Dr. Arya?
Arya used to write for Yoga Journal.

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