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Larry Bird

When it gets down to it, basketball is basketball.

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Sometimes When I Kneel Down In Prayer

Sometimes when I kneel down for prayer in church
she comes with small tottering steps,
folds her two small arms around me
and for moments the prayer of the chief elder ends
when with Gert, Gert she gives a small cry
and her joy cuts through heart and soul.

It's with a pouted mouth that she sometimes kisses,
looking up with small angelic eyes into mine
when maybe even in heaven there is silence
and for moments I am amazed
when her hand reaches out to mine,
as a small girl sometimes do.

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Nobody Knows You When You Are Down And Out

Well, once I lived the life of a millionaire, spending my money, no, I didn't care
Takin' my friend John out for a mighty good time
Buyin' high-priced liquor, champagne and wine
Then I began to fall so low, didn't have a friend, nor no place to go
If I get my hands on a dollar again
I'm goin' to hold on to it until the eagle grins
Soon as I get back up on my feet again, everybody wants to be my long-lost friend
It's might strange, without a doubt
Nobody wants you when you're down and out
Lord, soon as I get up on my feet again, everybody wants to be my long-lost friend
It's mighty strange, without a doubt
Nobody wants you when you're down and out
That's what I mean, when you're down and out

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Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out

Well once I lived the life of a millionaire
Spending my money, I didn't care
Takin' my friends out for a mighty good time
Buyin' boot leg liquor, champagne and wine
Then I began to fall so low
Couldn't find me no friends
Had no place to go
If I ever get my hands on a dollar again
I'm gonna hold on to it, till the eagle grins
I said nobody knows you
When you're down and out
In your pocket, you ain't got one penny
And your friends, you didn't have any
Just as soon as you get up on your feet again
Here they all come, they say that they're your long-lost friend
Oh lord without a doubt
Nobody wants you
Nobody needs you
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
I say
Nobody wants you
Nobody needs you
Nobody wants you when you're down and out

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When Sunny Gets Blue

WHEN SUNNY GETS BLUE
When Sunny gets blue, her eyes get gray and cloudy,
Then the rain begins to fall, pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
Love is gone, what can matter,
No sweet lover man comes to call.
When Sunny gets blue, she breaths a sigh of sadness,
Like the wind that stirs the trees,
Wind that sets the leaves to swaying
Like some violin is playing strange and haunting melodies.
Bridge:
*People used to love to hear her laugh, see her smile,
That's how she got her name.
Since that sad affair, she lost her smile, changed her style,
Somehow she's not the same.
When Sunny gets blue, pretty dreams will rise up
Where her other dreams fell through,
Hurry new love, hurry here, to kiss away each lonely tear,
And hold her near when Sunny gets blue.
(Instrumental interlude and pick up at Bridge*.)

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Nobody Knows When You're Down And Out

Once I lived the life of a millionaire,
Spent all my money, I just did not care.
Took all my friends out for a good time,
Bought bootleg whisky, champagne and wine.
Then I began to fall so low,
Lost all my good friends, I did not have nowhere to go.
I get my hands on a dollar again,
I'm gonna hang on to it till that eagle grins.
'Cause no, no, nobody knows you
When you're down and out.
In your pocket, not one penny,
And as for friends, you don't have any.
When you finally get back up on your feet again,
Everybody wants to be your old long-lost friend.
Said it's mighty strange, without a doubt,
Nobody knows you when you're down and out.
When you finally get back upon your feet again,
Everybody wants to be your good old long-lost friend.
Said it's mighty strange,
Nobody knows you,
Nobody knows you,
Nobody knows you when you're down and out

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She Gets Down On Her Knees

Ah-ah, ah-ah,
Ah-ah, ah-ah.
She gets down on her knees to throw up life,
She gets down on her knees to throw up life,
She gets down on her knees to throw up life,
Thats the only thing she does it good.
Mm -
Mm -
Room to room, flushing away her memory,
Bay to bay, washing out her history.
Ah-ah!
She gets down on her knees to make up life,
She gets down on her knees to make up life,
She gets down on her knees to make up life,
Thats the only way she has it good.
Shes a mainliner whos never took a main line,
Shes a one liner whos never found the one line,
She goes from one bay to another looking for a liner.
Going down, down, down, down to feel the ground,
Coming up, up, up, up to make the flight.
Mm -
Mm -
Shes a line thrower, dip it in a honey bowl,
Shes a line burner, rub it in with vinegar and oil,
She goes from one sky to another looking for a liner.
Going down, down, down, down to feel the ground,
Coming up, up, up, up to make the flight.
Going down, down, down, down to feel the ground,
Coming up, up, up, up to make the flight.
Ah!
Ah!
Ah -
Blur patches in the clouded sky,
Too high to catch her tears and sighs,
Looking over tenderly.
Ah!
Ah!
Ah!
Ah!
Ah! ah!

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When Love Gets a Hold of You - Reba McEntire

vs.1 It's all around you now, but you don't know it.
It's tugging at your heart, but you don't show it.
It's just a matter of time,
It's gonna hit you right between the eyes.
(chorus)
You'll wake up in the middle of the night,
I'll be the only thing on your mind,
Won't be able to shake it loose,
When love gets a hold of you.
Before you have your first cup of coffee,
You're gonna pick up the phone and call me,
Won't believe what you say and do,
When love gets a hold of you.
vs.2 'Cause it's gonna be written all over your face,
All your friends gonna tell you how much you've changed.
Feeling things that you can't deny,
Going crazy and you don't know why.
(chorus)
Bridge: It gets a hold of you,
It's just a matter of time,
It's gonna hit you right between the eyes.
(chorus 2)
You're driving home at the end of the day,
You'll find yourself coming by my place,
Yeah, you always have a good excuse,
When love gets a hold of you.
Once you're standing inside my door,
Won't remember what you came here for,
Can't control what you say and do,
When love gets a hold of you.
Yeah, gets a hold of you.
Gets a hold of you.
Gets a hold of you.
Oh, it gets a hold of you.

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When Love Breaks Down

My love and I
We work well together
But often we're apart
Absence makes the
heart lose weight, yeah
'Til love breaks down,
love breaks down
Oh my, oh my
Have you seen the weather
The sweet September rain
Rain on me
like no other
Until I drown, until I drown
When love breaks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When love breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
My love and I
We are boxing clever
He'll never crowd me out
Both be free as old confetti
And paint the town, paint the town
When love breaks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When loves breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
we join the wrecks
Who leave their hearts for easy sex
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
My love and I
We were high and climbing
Into the sky of blue
Loud with colours
of a rainbow
A changing view
Changing view
When love breoks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When love breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
we join the wrecks
Who leave their hearts for easy sex
When love breaks down
When love breaks down

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Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out

Once I lived the life
of a millionaire
Spending my money
Oh I didn't care
Taking my friends out
For a mighty good time
Oh we'd drink that good gin
Champagne and wine
But oh just as soon
As my money got low
I couldn't find nobody
And I had no place to go
And if I ever get my hands
On a dollar again
I'm gonna hold on
Till the eagle wins
Cause I found out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Lord have mercy
Yeah, yeah, now listen
Now in your pocket
There's not one penny
And all of them good friends
You found out you haven't got any
Nobody come around
But the landlord and the taxman
Your ex-wife who says
She wants more alimony
Then there's a knock on the door
And it's a woman you don't know
Says she's having your baby
She'll walk on in
But oh just as soon
as the money roll in
Here they all come sayings
That they're you're long lost friends
But if I ever get my hands
On a dollar again
I believe, I believe I'll hold on
Till the eagle wins
Cause I found out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody wants you
When you're down and out
Nobody, nobody, nobody

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When I Go Down

I'll tell you flat out
It hurts so much to think of this
So from my thoughts I will exclude
The very thing that
I hate more than everything is
The way I'm powerless
To dictate my own moods
I've thrown away
So many things that couldn't been much more
And I just pray
My problems go away if they're ignored
But that's not the way it works
No that's not the way it works
When I go down
I go down hard
And I take everything I've learned
And teach myself some desregard
When I go down
It hurts to hit the bottom
And of the things that got me there
I think, if only I had fought them
If and when i can
Clear myself of this clouded mind
I'll watch myself settle down
Into a place where
Peace can search me out and find
That I'm so ready to be found
I've thrown away
The hope I had in friendships
I've thrown away
So many things that could have been much more
I've thrown away
The secret to find an end to this
And I just pray
My problems go away if they're ignored
But that's not the way it works
No that's not the way it works
Any control I thought I had just slips right through my hands
While my ever-present conscience shakes its head and reprimands me
Reprimands me
Then and there
I confess
I'll blame all this on my selfishness
Yet you love me
And that consumes me
And I'll stand up again
And do so willingly
You give me hope, and hope it gives me life
You touch my heavy heart, and when you do you make it light
As I exhale I hear your voice
And I answer you, thought I hardly make a noise
And from my lips the words I choose to say
Seem pathetic, but it's fallen man's praise
Because I love you
Oh God, I love you
And life is now worth living
if only because of you
And when they say I'm dead and gone
It won't be further from the truth
When I go down
I lift my eyes to you
I won't look very far
Cause you'll be there
With open arms
To lift me up again
To lift me up again

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Patrick White

When Rage Broke Down Into Tears

When rage broke down into tears
over the shattered chandeliers of stars
that crashed against your windowpane
before they thawed in the furnace
of a Promethean thief of fire
human enough to burn,
and you cried, yes you did, I was there,
I took the splinter of light out of your eye
with the corner of the sky where Venus
goes down in the west like the crumb
of a radiant dream that wanted to break
loaves and fishes with the masses
only to find you were swimming through glass;
you cried as if all the birds in the world
had died under your windowsill
like the words to the song
you were dancing to at the time.
And you picked them up one by one
and cradled them in your hand
like a midwife with a manger
and stroked their soft bodies with your finger
as if you would give their lives back to them again
by way of apology for being human
in an ice age of rain
that had lost its purpose in life
like the seeds of flowers on the moon.
And that’s when the wind, that’s always
the moment when the wind cools your eyes
like a glassblower dipping crystal blue birds
in the fountains and watersheds of the moon
and strews your path with the flight feathers
of a nightbird that can see beyond a starmap
fireflies shining in the distance.
And you suddenly realize
a thousand and one ways home ahead of you
like a Nazca landing strip
for alien artists blown off course
into the third eye of a spiritual hurricane.
And you can’t help but fly through it
like an open window into your soul
seeking repose and shelter
among the human totems
of more habitable emotions
scratching fish, birds, monkeys, spiders
jaguars, flowers, trees, fallible people out
in the desert plains of coastal Peru.
Zoomorphic geoglyphs of greeting and return
in every conceivable sign of life
as if the whole planet came out
all at the same time to say hello
and welcome back
like a vow they kept for you
until your myth of origin
returned to its fulfilment,
a nightbird singing
in a rootless tree on the moon,
as if love, rage, life, joy,
death, separation and sorrow
were all pilgrims of one voice.
A pageant of medieval notes
bearing the banners of knights
the hoods and habits of monks,
unholy vocables of middle English
on the tip of your tongue
like the wicks
of holy candles at a black mass
where a young girl dances naked
around a pale fire on the moon
as a flower blooms in the flames,
or sparrows on a stave of power lines,
when the music makes its return journey
like Canada geese in the spring
bearing the souls of the underworld back
like the eyes and stars
and new moons of the dead
to the night of the living
making love in the dark.
Pelvis to pelvis,
heart to heart,
crescent to crescent,
two halves of a broken wishbone
conjoined again into one harp,
one cithara, one guitar
in the ashes of a blue moon,
the second harvest of loaves and fishes
at the spring and autumn equinox.
Every year a new zodiac,
the growth rings in a tree.
Something protean about memory.
The dark matrix of the muse.
A wavelength with its tail in its mouth
that doesn’t ricochet off anything else.
Lamentations, bewitchment, rapture,
time in the hold of the abyss
for not mastering your own powers.
You either cast the spell for yourself
or you wind up gilled
in your own sidereal nets,
a firefly in spider webs of dark matter,
and it’s not likely
you’re being hauled into a life boat.
There are realities, there are windows,
some broken, some whole
even the moon won’t dare look through.
And there are rooms in a palace of water
that move like fish on the moon,
and starmaps that are used to start a fire.
Birds that are the sacred syllables of the sky
that nest in chimneys like hash pipes,
every one of them the Rosetta Stone
to a language of your own
only you can learn for yourself
even if you’re the only one
who was ever born to speak it.
Most people sip spit
from other people’s wishing wells
but they’re always two echos shy of an original
and it’s enough if they put a seashell up to their ears
like a hearing aid to listen to the ocean,
a tidal pool dying like a starfish
out of water and sky,
a shore-hugger that’s afraid
to go along with the ebb and neap
of the dream that gives a pulse to the moon,
your own mindstream
returning to its homeless source
to realize that life and death are both redundant.
That whatever passes away, stays.
And that which doesn’t, goes.
And there are places so deeply secret
that everybody thinks they know
what’s happening to them as it unfolds.
But this is just a way of using knowledge
to keep your eyes closed to the world.
Only a fool would build a gate
and live in a guardhouse
of sword swallowers and fire-eaters
to keep the birds out of the garden.
Or a refugee camp for turtles.
True clarity doesn’t know the light
for what it is.
Reality is as blind to its own translucency
as a painted window.
Two blades of stargrass in a hurricane.
But if you were to take them away
like the long and short straws
of something to win or loose
like the luck of the draw
and chew on them like cud
to get to the deeper meaning
you might get a gesture of it,
you might get the flavour of it
like a dry wad of gum
stuck to the bottom
of a school room desk,
but you wouldn’t get the use of it,
for any reason at all
that should or should not concern anyone.
Have you ever noticed
that time might be
an hourglass full to the brim on top
but it always begins at the peak
of an inverted pyramid
stuck like an arrowhead
in a flesh wound of sand that’s bleeding out?
What’s the point of trying
to claw your way up the heap
to the top of the bottom
when even Sisyphus knows
enough about absurdity
to realize the mountain
climbs its own reflection
all the way down like an avalanche
of all those little rocks
you used to roll up a hill
convinced you were getting somewhere.
And it’s true there’s a different universe
in every grain of sand
and every grain of sand is us.
So why go looking
for what’s already been found?
In any universe there’s no up or down.
And everywhere anywhere you are
from the smallest pebble on the beach
to the most radiant star beyond reach
the gates of the lost
are the end of the search.

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Aaron Eckhart

When it gets down to it you just have to act.

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I mean, when it gets down to it I just wanted to play the drums. The rest of it never meant that much to me.

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Leave Or Stay

Well, I stood beside the rain today
And twisted out my shirt
And shes a cooly you could say
When she gets down in the dirt
She puffs her pillow up so high
Its like shes hanging in the sky
She claims it was a crazy guy
Who taught her how to hurt
Yeah kept her so alert
I felt so under sideways down
When she showed me all her prints
I could not help but feel confused
When she threw that heavy hint
Oh she pulled out all her magazines
She spread them out like chocolate dreams
Her eyes were shooting dagger beams
She changed into her silk
I stood there drinking milk
Well I could leave or stay
Makes no difference either way
She said dont listen to her words
As if they were all dead
She said she never made decisions
But the last thing that she said
Just before she turned the bed
She said well I could leave or stay
Makes no difference either way
O.k.
Well I could leave or stay

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I Pray

I can't quote the Bible
I skipped Sunday school
And I can't count the times I fell and broken the golden rule
So I don't know if He listens
Sometimes I wonder if He cares
Maybe I'm just wishin'
'Cause I can't even prove he's there
But I pray
He'll watch over my childern
I pray
Just to be a better man
To find the strength to rise above
To be there for the ones I love
To forgive and be forgiven some sweet day
I pray
Now I confess I don't bow my head as often as I should
Mostly just when times are bad, rarely when they're good
And I don't hold with too much preachin'
But I was raised up to believe
That a man can't ever stand as tall
As when he gets down on his knees
So I pray
He'll watch over my childern
I pray
Just to be a better man
To find the strength to rise above
To be there for the ones I love
To forgive and be forgiven some sweet day
I pray
So I pray
For a world that's gone half crazy
I pray
For every woman child and man
To find the strength to rise above
To teach each other how to love
To forgive and be forgiven some sweet day
I pray
I pray

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Twilight Zone

The rain is all over, its only stopped for an hour
And I stop you, and I stop you
When you go too far
And you stop me when I go too far
And it tried to freak me
But I should have known
Its not the twilight zone no, its not the twilight zone
Yes its just a party phone, pure honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb
You tried to take me in a slow poke draw
Like the cowboy wished
And you got just what you saw
Well, you got what you saw
Didnt you get, didnt you get, didnt you get
So, dont let it freak you
When, when it gets down to the bone
You know its not the twilight zone, its not the twilight zone
Its just a party phone, and honeycomb, honeycomb
Its not, its not the twilight zone
Its just a party phone
Honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb
(spoken):
Its not, its not the twilight zone
Its just a party phone
And honeycomb, ya!
You know its not the twilight zone
Its, its just a party phone
Honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb
You know what it is
Just a party phone, party, phone
Honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb, honeycomb
Hmm, hmm, hmm
Honeycomb, honeycomb
Honeycomb

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Patrick White

Everybody Says I'm Too Intense

Everybody says I'm too intense and I say
you sure as hell aren't.
And since I was sixteen in highschool
and before that in the local neighbourhood
in the bosom of my family
people have always thought I was mad.

My highschool graduation yearbook says
most likely to become
a mad teacher mad scientist mad poet mad.
An oracular assessment of my peers
that has haunted me for years.

But I say crazy is the only antidote
to the extreme chaos of conditioned consciousness.
Look at the world.
Lies lies lies.
A coalition of lies
that calls itself
the history of civilization.
Crazy wisdom.
The tantric insight
into the fact
there is no nature to things.
You're not a very wise human
if you don't understand ignorance
is the clearest expression of enlightenment.

You see what I mean?
It's hard to speak of unity
in the split tongue of a snake
without making an oxymoron of it
at the fork in the roads
it mistakes for a direction.

Regard the dead parachutes of Babylon
no one can understand you
I said to myself one day dying with a sneer.

It's the moral obligation of a writer to make things clear.
I forget who said it.
But he was a nitwit.
One of the lice of literature
that makes your mind want to scratch itself raw
for the next half century.

It's that word moral that bothers me.
Not his preconception of clarity
though when it gets down to that
you smear the mirror
when you try to be clear about clarity.
I said that.
It takes an amateur madman
to be a good shrink
and make reality
try to correspond
to what you think.

But what an impoverished way to live your life.
What a distortion of humanity.
If you're mad enough
there's plenty of room in the asylum
to embrace sanity with decorum.
When in Rome do as the Romans do
and try not to make a spectacle of yourself in the Colosseum.

It's been my experience
that so much of what the world calls mad
is only freedom
with the courage to open its eyes.
Most people look into the eyes
of spontaneous freedom
and it terrifies them.
They don't want to know
what's not there.
The world ends at the back of their eyelids.
Things just get too deep
and they drown in their sleep
like pearl divers on the moon.

At every moment of your life
life is more certain than death.
It's all you can say about
where you expect to be tomorrow
and where this is now.
Everybody always wants things
to look the way they seem.
They want to live the dream awake.
They don't go along with their own mindstream.

They're shore-huggers.
They live at the edge
of the great sea of mysterious being
in sandcastles with blowholes
that burp like tiny volcanoes in the receding tide.
Herculaneum and Pompey
are mummified in the flow
down their pygmy mountainsides
but it's easy to see where they hide
thinking they're out of reach.

But who am I to preach
quicksand to cornerstones such as these?
Everybody always tells me I'm too intense
but they've never been through a nightstorm
far out on the Pacific
where the moon's your only lifeboat
and it's just gone down
like a bright penny in a wishing well
like a last longshot in the slots
of an odds-making hell.
And it's seven to five you survive.

They've never fallen in love with a hurricane rose
that's built like a fortune-cookie
and paints her eyelids
with the blood of ex-lovers
who were sacrificial enough to propose.

If you go looking for the meaning of life sincerely
sooner or latter it will find you
like one fact final enough to delude all the others
into thinking it's ultimately true.

Complete one act well
and you've accomplished everything
because one act begets another
until everything is done of its own accord.
Because your birth isn't terminal,
your death is ongoing.
And the same is true in reverse.
How do I know this is so?
I let go.
I blossom like the memories of a dead branch
in the apple orchards of the Hesperides,
everyone of them
a full moon.

I see how innocent my doubt is.
So even my darkness
is a singing bird on a green bough.

I've looked at drops of water
at the tips of the blades of the stargrass
like the thin-skinned tears of the sky in childbirth
and everyone of them
was the seed of a new world.
Worlds within worlds
whose only conventions
are the creative dimensions of the perceivers.

Not one size fits all.
I don't put my finger to my lips
like an ego-I
to eclipse the great silence.
I let it say me with its eyes.

And we both come as a great surprise to each other
when we're standing
on the same side of the mirror
on the far shore of the mindstream
like two eyes of the same seeing
astonished we're here at all
without lying to the miracle
about our reasons for being.

Have you ever considered the enormous distances
in the body of a small bird?
Or how strangely intimate a star can be
from thousands of lightyears away?
A whisper of lucidity in an oceanic ear.
Something you've heard for a long time
but never listened to before.
Never this near.
This clear.

Have you ever wondered which of two sisters
is the older of the elements.
Fire or water?
Or why spring lies about her age
when she's as old as autumn
and then claims
to be the daughter of the grain
when in fact she's the womb of summer?

Is it insane to wonder?
Is it too intense to fear
living my whole life
as if I were never here
to take a good look?
Is it deranged to feel
the enlargement of my seeing
is not the diminishment of my being
because I opened my eyes
and saw they were both
two ends of the same telescope?

It's one thing to let the light in through the gates of your eyes.
It's wholly another to let it get this far
into the palace of your imagination
without being announced
or scrutinized.

Life's a breeze
when you don't look at it
like a disease you're afraid to get over.
If I'm inspired by the vastness of my ignorance
to turn a leaf over now and again
like a new page in an old book
to avoid being obvious
am I looking for a happy ending
or am I just delighting in my indolence
when I read it like a map of my own lifelines
by running my finger over it as if I were blind
and it were the one who could see?

If I don't believe we appear briefly
to disappear forever
because everything here
is a vast collaboration
with creative emptiness
and it isn't going anywhere
what do I care
if you're confused by my endeavours?
What's it to you
if I'm a mirage on a grailquest in a desert of stars?
Or if I practise compassion spontaneously
toward myself and others
as if we were all the same wound
under many scars
and if my lies heal,
are they not the fruit of insight?

If I'm the dark genius
deeply intrigued
by my own misdirection
that you say I am
though that doesn't change a thing
about the way I can't help being
and not being myself,
what makes you think
there's only one star
you can point out
like the needle
in the impoverished compass
of your last course correction
as if there were only one way to go
and the truth were always
somewhere north of you
instead of under your feet
in all directions at once
like the radiance of stars
before the arising of signs?

Today Jesus and the Buddha walk on water.
Tomorrow Lucifer and Kamamara will walk on fire.
But when the opposites
get their baggage together
and realize they can't lift it
and abandon it by the side of the road
like an outhouse on a trailer hitch
or a hubcap in a country ditch
that's stopped spinning around
and come to rest in an oxymoron
posing as the full moon
that's come to liberate
an empty asylum
they both walk on earth
bewildered by their innocence
when they discover
they've never had anything to do
with the course of events
that made them who they are.

Wasn't the Buddha enlightened
by watching Venus in the dawn
lead the sun up
like the morning star
that once was Lucifer
before he took the fall like a ripe apple,
before he stole fire from the gods like Prometheus
the thief of inspiration,
knowing the moment of his perfection
in all realms of knowledge
infernal or divine
was the best time to jump?

And the darkness will always seem like a liar
to those who don't know the truth.

If I don't see life as just a bag of water
with nine holes in it
leaking out of itself
as I once used to
eras and eras ago
and you still do
when I look at what remains
of the desicated parachute of a jellyfish
you've made of your brains
clinging to shore
next to the sewage drains
that poured you out
and washed you up
and wiped their mouths of the taste of a dead ocean
what's it to you
if I run so far out to sea
from so high up
on the down side of the world mountain
I'm swimming with dolphins on the moon?

I'm teaching blind starfish how to shine
like dark matter with a mind of its own
and no sign of a constellation
with feet of clay
afraid to leave home.

Say what you want to say.
Be what you want to be.
Enlighten your ignorance
and then ignore your enlightenment.
Don't drive the darkness out of your lucidity
like a scapegoat into a spiritual desert
you're afraid to enter
because you're not bright enough to see
that under every threshold
between the inside and the out
certainty and doubt
insanity and the sane
the trivial and profound
the homeless and a habitable planet
there's a sphere
spinning on a tilted axis
in the immensity of space
that's so far out it's in.

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Patrick White

Everybody Knows Why The Children Are Hungry

Everybody knows why the children are hungry.
Everybody knows why the poor give up dreaming
and the rich can't sleep without surveillance.
Everybody knows why this young girl can't read
and the Taliban throw acid in her face.
Everybody knows why this young boy
at twelve years old
feels about as heroic as a statistic
and looks at the future as if
he were already a has-been.
Everybody knows why there's a rifle in his hand.
Everybody knows why
there are people washed up
on the streets of our cities
as if a great ship of state had gone down
like a garbage barge off the coast of New Jersey.
Everybody knows why
women are being sexually colonized
in the Democratic Republic of the mineral-rich Congo.
Everybody knows their atrocities
like serial killers and baseball cards.
You read a lot of existentialism
that prefers existence to essence
but you still find it hard to picture the abyss
that defines being as a special case of nothingness:
look into a dead child's eyes
look into a dead child's mind
look at what she cherished about life
like a cosmology all of her own
a myth of origin
a reason for stars
rejected by the metaphysics of the flies
that gather like punctuation marks all over her eyes.
Everybody knows
why the truth is veiled in spider-webs
that are maintained like political systems
who let the few who know how to spin silk out of their ass
eat everyone.
New eyes for old lamps
here comes this year's candidates
like autumn to the ballot-box
like worms to a windfall of apples
to improve the lives of illegal immigrants
by privatizing concentration camps.
Everybody wants to stick their thumb in plum pudding
and say what a good boy am I
and everybody forgets who they stole it from
and everybody regrets that they didn't get caught
in time to do it all over again
as they address themselves like greed
to a nation of gluttons
about what to do about the hungry
at the back door of the world
living on the leftovers
of liposuction clinics for the rich.
Three quarters of the world's resources on your plate
taken out of other people's mouths
and their children washing your table-cloth
to get the worst of the blood stains out
and you wonder why
you're threatened by the fact
that people are hungry
and all they can see in your indifference
is their destiny.
Hate manipulates
the economics of fate
and the harvest moon is eclipsed
by the shadow of your dinner plate
all over the world tonight
as you go to bed full and happy
you're rich enough to have values
that can be bought and sold
in a free market.
Hell's reserved a table
in the dark corner
of an exotic place for you
that serves just those
who were exalted
by great all-consuming souls
that knew how to keep faith with a menu
that had children with cannibal soup on it.
And if hell doesn't exist anymore
because so many atrocities have put it to shame
and peace is just another black hole
in the eye of an approaching hurricane
then may your soul be subjected
to the same vicious clarity
that cooked the books
like bestsellers in heaven
that always had a happy ending
like a tax return on charity.
The Holy Ghost was first
a Greek lawyer
a paraclete
an advocatus
someone who would speak up for you
who would intercede on your behalf
after you died
and went before
Rhadamanthus Anubis God or provincial court
to see if there was a feather's-weight of good in you.
Now the Holy Ghost is a campaign manager
for a Christo-Fascist rightwing conservative think tank
with the i.q. of a snakepit
running for the office of God
by denoucing charity
as a socio-economic liberal fraud
and a green policy in Eden
as the beginnings of a police state
that will take away your right
to be psychopathically delusional about clarity.
Granny Smith Macintosh or Golden Delicious
Satan invited Eve
to take a big bite out of the apple
just for a little variety
but the neocon Nazis have taken it
a step further than that
and stuffed themselves
like maggots
into the vicious crabapples
they've stewed under the crust
of their North American piety
like a taste of downhome cooking you can trust.
But trust me
they're lick-spittle ass vacuums
that will be spit out
like something nature abhors.
Everybody knows why the children are hungry.
There are people in the world
whose values are the apple cores
of a trickle-down economy
that begrudges the poor even that.
Everybody knows that the game is fixed
and elections are Mexican pinatas
beaten to a pulp at the ballot box
to keep foreigners out of our customs
like the roots of strange lands out of our food.
Everybody knows
why the world is a dangerous place
and the only thing our children can do
is stick needles in their arms
to stay out of harm's way.
Everybody knows why the old
are left to die alone without dignity
in a world where experience
is a kind of psychological abuse
and wisdom the chronic ambiguity of a victim.
I see a war.
Between those
who have nothing to lose
and the darlings of superfluity
who live off the rest of everything
that belongs to everyone else.
Nasty guerrilla gunboat wars
like blood clots in the collective unconscious
ignited by true believers
on both sides of the fence
with the spontaneity
of improvised explosive devices
and the apocalyptic insights of fanatical drones.
More bang for the buck.
More corporate spin
for those who don't give a damn.
Everybody knows why the planet feels
like a sexually assaulted woman
with no shelters or restraining orders
to hear her appeals for help.
We shut our mouths like doors.
We close our eyes like windows.
We stuff our ears with loud music
to keep from hearing
how she screams our names out loud
as if there were still some heroes left
among all her shameless children
that weren't legendary
for their sins of omission.
The planet is one body.
The planet is one mind.
If your little toe gets gangrene like Somalia
and you do nothing about it
given time for the disease to progress
California will go blind
and Tokyo go into cardiac arrest.
If a child loses an eye
that's one less star in the sky
for the lost to find their way back by.
If a student is killed for an idea
by the Neanderthals of creationism
standing up for a time-honoured ice-age
against the proponents of global warming
that's proof that humans
were created in the image of God
like a missing link in the brain drain of evolution
that never flushes the think-tank
after it's done its business
like other species that have gone extinct
abusing their own awareness.
But I've got a way out of the argument.
It isn't evolution or creationism
that governs the direction of events
among all living things on the planet.
It's eliminationism.
Murder in the name of self-defense.
Genocide in the name of purifying the race.
Theft in the name of giving back.
Lying as a way of upholding the truth.
Rape as a way of making love.
Iron pyrite as the standard of the Golden Rule.
Do unto others before they do unto you.
Jesus overthrew the benches
of the money-lenders in the temple.
The Vatican's got a bank.
Wisdom as the think-tank of the fool.
When the meaning of life is insignificant
so is its lack of meaning too.
Compassion as heartfelt as a foreign policy.
Desecration as the true aesthetic of celebrity.
Horror takes a short-cut to fame
and leaves the long way home to the hero.
War as a way of imposing peace.
Starvation poverty disease clean water air and arable land
beaten like old ploughs
into the new weapons
of a corporate arsenal.
Nike owns the rain in Bolivia
and Coca Cola's
the corporate Magna Carta of Belize.
You're the nobody everybody's watching
like the someone they should be afraid of
who's watching you.
Profligate variety the vacillating substitute for choice.
The bride wore black at the wedding
to celebrate her marriage to an oilslick
like moonlight that landed a big eclipse
and the mutant sex life of a polluted fish.
There's honey in the orchards that broke their vows
and money in doing what you hate
for the best of reasons.
One half the world is grass.
The other half is grazers.
There are children who suckle
at their dead mothers' breasts
like Hathor the cosmic cash-cow
when she crashed on Wall Street
like a fall in the price of meat.
The promised land of milk and honey
is a profit margin on the edge of the sea
looking for big returns on its spiritual dividends.
The ends don't justify the means anymore.
The means are the ends.
Like the children
that are dynastically slaughtered
to keep Herod from having bad dreams
about the birth-rate of immaculate Palestinian virgins.
Lord won't you send me an M-16.
My friends all have Mausers
and AK-47s.
The conspiracy theorists
of the justifiably paranoid
look at a tree
and see an underground arboreal organization.
The crazy try to keep the mad from going insane.
Everyone's dining with Claudius on poison mushrooms.
Nero waits in the wings
like the Elvis Presley of emperors
and sings of all the things
he's going to do to the Christians
with a blast from the past
and a little number
he took from the beast
that rose to six six six on the charts
for drowning their children
and drinking the blood of a god
who rose from the dead on the third day
like Marianne Faithful making a comeback.
And everybody knows why the children are hungry.
Everybody knows the big bad wolves
caught up to their toes
and blew their house down
and ate them like little piggies.
Everybody knows where the cradle crashed
and how many millions of children there were on board
when the wind blew the treetops out like candles.
But everybody plays dumb and mute and stupid
and says they're still looking for the black box
to determine what caused the tragedy
and possibly in the future
make sure that it won't probably happen again.
Everybody knows there are maggots in Armani suits
pimped out like butterflies
to misrepresent themselves to the people
in the voice of an experienced apple
who knows how to make the hard choices
when it gets down to taking a bite out of the budget.
Corruption always persecutes virtue
for falling into fiscal arrears
when it should have known
like any good snakeoil salesman
it just couldn't keep up
with the luxurious lifestyle of its tears.
Mirrors within mirrors within mirrors
and not one them bright enough
to reflect the dark truth
of why children just hundreds of miles away
from a supermarket and a health plan
look like the fossils of pterodactyls
in the last stages of late Triassic starvation.
All skin and bones
with big eyes like bat kites
tangled in the powerlines
of the economic spider grid of a world
that separates the flies
the gods kill for sport
from the bureaucrats and politicians
that deny any knowledge of their crimes
in a marsupial court
where everyone else
is in everyone else's pocket.
Wanton boys pull the wings off the fly.
The fly kills them with germs.
Everybody knows why their heart squirms
when they shake out the garbage can
like a cornucopia full of worms
that have grown fat and chubby as commas
on the flesh of illiterate children
that didn't live long enough
to learn to count the dead
without using their fingers and toes.
The tooth fairy's turned into a terrorist
that puts homemade explosives
under the pillows of stone
the children lay their heads down on
shaking in their deathbeds
to scream in their dreams about things
that were better left unsaid.
Everybody knows why the damage to our children
is always a collateral
and never a capital offense.
A prosthetic footnote to a roadside bomb.
A small pale blossom of a face
in the cosmic expanse
of an adult-sized tomb
that casts monstrous shadows
on the walls of the room
she sleeps alone in
without any sign from heaven
that anyone knows she's dead.
All her lucky stars
swept like tragic dust under the bed
where she's hiding
from everyone who knows why
and doesn't come looking.

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God Cries Down Over Head-Only After A Renewed Begin.

God cries when droplets of rain water plummet to Earth.
God exhales and blows his breath downward towards Earth, when
windy breezes are given birth.
God only cries with shame for man.
God painted rainbows from palets of colored pacts with man.
God turns up the heat of the Sun when man gets cold.
God opens his arms to man when he wants to welcome his son back
up to his fold and home.
God welcomes his lost sheep back only when man finds his way back
to beliefe in his father.
God does send down to Earth snow and ice from his dissappointed cold heart, only after man erringly errs from God's ways and laws-to sin.
God is the almighty creator and man's own father...
To be forgiven by Him we must all love our fellow man and commit no sin.
So that on judgement day we will be able to anew begin.

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When Night Seems Long

Its a long night
When sun closed her eyes
Refusing to share her rays
Bidding daylight bye
Allowing darkness in her stead

Its indeed a long night
When cloud gets darker
Silence becomes king
Leaving streets alone
Without soul on the lanes

Its a long night
As tiny creatures sound louder
When lonely paths are tread
Without any company
And rivers of water
Rolled down the cheeks
Without any one to comfort.

Its still a long night
When all roads are blocked
When friends disown you
And you rolled like a stone
Down from the hilltop

The night seems longer
As relatves abandon you
Confidantes switch camps
Leaving you bare naked
You feel the ground opens
And swallows you up

Although the night seems long
It will soon fade away
Sun's uprise will come again
Clouds will become brighter again
So, never give up
When the night seems long

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