California, things I have learned so far

Kooks may be smuggled in

Peak experience is just a bob down-river at Andrew Molera

The 5 roars all night

Never drop in on Sarlo or that other old guy

Not to feel too bad about driving a 2-litre car

Velo hangs in Morro Bay shop rafters

The health food labyrinths of Santa Cruz have no Minotaur at their heart, only granola

Anza Borrego moonlit pales against suburban hikes

Home is a painted memory

Cars have grilles as big as buses, yet buses are empty

Cool longboarders have tattoos

Esalen is super free, so long as you pay

Only the very poor or healthy walk

20 Ventana Wilderness miles in rainbows hurts

Declarations of political allegiance are made by bumper sticker

Bull elephant seals are as big as bulls

Hermetically-sealed existence breeds paranoia

The biggest fucking loser in surfing is a Four Mile local, 48

Piss bottles are a gritty but integral aspect of van living

Making shit yourself feels better

The Meat factory

Moments before demise
An intervention
Surprise
The transposition swift
Chickenman
Man chicken
An alchemical
Interchange of souls
The chicken, suspended by claws
On the abbatoir line
Suddenly heads a boardroom
Trapped in a fat
Pre-corpse
Shades away from
A
heart attack
Eyeballs become beady
All-perceptive
Shrunk
Meanwhile, floors below
The startled CEO
Is bound
Ahead a rack of
Products
And death
Behind a still-live
Battery line

Evoluted

This automatic flesh
Concomitant
Endless limbs and limbs
Concrete bodies
Sagging seams
Weighed down like weary sacks
Mutely groping
At the receding backs
of dreams
Skin
Drawn tight or
Drained in
unpursed folds
Ventricular prisons
Elaborate
schisms of the corpse
Wrapped wholesale
In hope
Leached, beached
Soaked in the opaque
Blood of the march
Matchstick arms
Snapped
Utopia on trial
The hell-lit face
Of gravity's smile
Grinning at
The gate
Those nimble eyes
Fevered eyes
Blinking
hate
Rapid dilations
Some symbolic rhythms
Undulations
In the gorepit
Bowel of earth
Sin songs
Chanted
Spat
Rebirthed as law
Toweled through the teeth
Of chatelaines
horsewomen
The walking, being dead
Then
Routed morals
Flee the farce
This bloody fate
This wretched dance
And who now?
To Ford this flooded world
Parse these broken limbs
Conjoin this weary flesh
Wherein our Salvation?
Youthful dreams
A
Hoax of freedom
Tarrying amongst the
Discarded
The discordant
Truth
damned to dally
In endless toil
And tally
The spoil of commerce
Free Trade
A bountiful phrase
This communocapitalist
Hoodwink.
Blink
And you missed the gravy train
Missed the chance
To sit amongst the
free
engorged
brains
The wisdom of the rich
An insane Insane
Joke
Meanwhile
we choke
On pure intentions
Salvation for
My generation
A departed hope

Some shops have been kind enough to stock the KooK - Shelter, Thalia, Almond, Surfy Surfy, Mollusk SF so far. The Kook, Alex and I, are very grateful for the support. Kook II is a distinct likelihood for Winter 2010...

Keeper of keys

The old fugitive

Holder

Of road tales

And

Now forgotten

Songs of the wayside

A teller

Tinker of the wildland

Drummer

Of the free forest

Composer of

The

Unpublished, unheard

Roadsongs

Scum they tag him

Waster, freak

Softly he Speaks

Without prompt

or

inhibition

A crisp memory

Of snow-fed

streams

Brittle dreams

Of mountain passes

Threaded seams

This

Lunar man

Ascendant

Thinker of little

No-mind explorer

Gleaner of much

Walker of blacktop

Before that

Untracked

Knower of forest heights

Silent plateaus

Of the mind

And uplands

Outcast they call him

And vagabond

Straggler

Another that fell

Through the cracks

Was damned

Bather in Klamath

Labelled

inclement

Yet

The keeper knows death

In complicated dreams

He arrives

To prompt a shudder

On remote sand

Under bridges

Beyond

Somehow

youth

Refuses to abscond

Mazed in by

Forest thickets

A believer

That this

Is

not

it

Confuddled by cars

The logic of money

Elusive

This, spread sheets

Pocket change

The sum of evolution?

Instead he departs

Once more for

The path

Holder of knowledge

Keeper of keys

Dreamtime scholar

Bagman they call him

Vagrant

Bum

Desert the

Sacred holder

Of birdsong

Plant lore

Ancient structures

Now hogtied

By strictures

Butterfly

Stitches across

The brow of the earth

Decorations garish

All our manifold

Baubles of

Destruction

To beautify?

To improve?

The keeper

In disgust

Rubs polluted soil

through

Worn palms

Then gone

Dissipated with the wind

Disintegrated under light

Evaporated into air

Come nothing

And with his loss

Goes ours

With his loss goes ours

Bu is a scientific term used to describe a twisted human experiment - perfection and total chaos