posted on January 26, 2017 at 10:33 pm
watt ever

watt ever

compound fractured now

the beginning and the end of us

a short spell and we are all off

i hallucinate the humdrum

superimposing it on a magnificent reality

beyond all this illusion and all this maya

glory is unfolding like the darkest vanilla

like a shot curving through the air springs forth spirit

spirit free of mind

mind free of body

body free of death

death free of life

another ten minutes disappears into the gloom like a messenger

my thoughts wander like stupid animals and are run over on the highway of synapse

whether i am an idiot or a poet

whether i am good or bad

whether i am right or wrong

thoughts bubbling up from a babbling fountain of inanity

this and that

so and so

such and such

mind out of control

stop mind stop! i would say

but it would only be mind saying it to itself

mind thrashing wailing kicking trying to escape

mind full of memories

the fading ones

and the ones you wish you could forget

mind full of women and graveyards and weather and facts

mind full of music and books and rivers and morning

and children and friends and bastards youd like to strangle

mind full of paint and film and past lives that can barely beĀ apprehended

guitars and cars and arrivals and transitive meander

the dumb pull of the hand

the blind touch of the tongue

the fiery chakra at the base of the spine

the saint in me watches on sadly

the dreamer awake with fingers full of dream

down another level and everything is heavier

up another level and we just float away

whatever it is i am trying to say

suddenly… it doesnt matter anymore







14 Responses to “travel plans”

  1. Jmb066
    Jmb066 | 27 January 2017 at 12:06 am #

    Ah!! yet it does matter, much of your mind has reached so many and the like minded are always tuning in. Your thoughts, memories have/will touch people for many years to come in song, art, poetry and your bio which is an excellent read sir. So many of your songs spark my own memories as well, some good, some not so good yet always moving me forward/taking me back. Imagine if it were someone else ‘s mind penetrating my own, that could have resulted in such a different life or way of absorbing art, especially music and your thought provoking words.

    By the way Travel Plans had me thinking tour, so whenever you are ready we would love to see you here in US, hurry up before Trump bans everybody from coming in.

    Take care,


  2. avatar
    andy | 27 January 2017 at 7:41 pm #

    a rambling mind, searching for reason…
    who else has ever been this honest?
    who else could even express these feelings anyway?
    very moved by this one steve.
    much love to ya.

  3. avatar
    Chris | 28 January 2017 at 10:08 am #

    o but it does

  4. avatar
    Cocoamo | 29 January 2017 at 12:27 am #

    Well it matters to me, but I don’t matter, so case in point?

    Beautiful piece of writing at any rate. Really beautiful.

    Your Friend in Pennsylvania
    (Now in Cocoa Beach)

  5. avatar
    Bec | 29 January 2017 at 12:53 pm #

    In this age of interesting times, rednecks, intolerance and the doomsday clock being closer to midnight than ever…..YOU MATTER…..we need people like you to stop us from going batshit-crazy…..
    love always…..

  6. kevinbreton
    kevinbreton | 1 February 2017 at 3:32 pm #

    At last the fountains would understand that you must not say fountain. Nothing to say from this humdrum British-gened loser in pittsburgh playing the ebow on his rickenbacker 12 string and a mattel synsonics Especially nothing in this Awful english language that has caught everyone’s mind. I leave you with a prayer from my own tongue. Lash bedonseklas febidi se ladanzka Mi londebas peronses.

  7. avatar
    Ingrid | 1 February 2017 at 6:15 pm #

    You are a great poet and everything you say matters – always has, always will!


  8. kevinbreton
    kevinbreton | 4 February 2017 at 1:19 pm #

    Was feeling a bit weary today with the vanities of my music and “fashion” projects but I just turned on blurred crusade. Just started with track 3 Field of Mars….. Sanctity

  9. avatar
    Cath | 6 February 2017 at 10:36 am #

    true that
    it does not matter

    but to mortals in time
    we still cling and love the transience
    and hate the pain of it

    when i don’t see your posts I have to seek them out and come here
    to see how you are, as even though things don’t matter much in the grand scheme…we are but worm food, you still do matter greatly to me as a source of inspiration and a lovable human being full of faults just like all of us <3 love to you SK hope 2017 brings great waves and wondrous works, all easy to ride and abundance to boot xxx

  10. avatar
    Verdelay | 12 February 2017 at 2:28 am #

    Once, many years ago, I found myself in a library in Oxford, Durham, somewhere like that.
    By a Corinthian pillar in the section on the historiography of cosmology, I happened upon a book that caught my eye
    It had a red jacket, but no words upon the rich burgundy cover or faded pink spine
    I opened this book to a random page and the ossified feather of a wren fell out and drifted to the ground
    I stooped and picked up the feather. It was heavy as a bowling ball.
    I glanced at the page that had been its home for goodness knows how long
    There, written in good English, was a description of the by-ways through and around Tashkent
    Through the Celestial Peaks to Osh, and thence to Kashgar
    The description was rather dull and ponderous, all details of the toll-ways of the Khan
    And laboured accounts of the ownership of watering-holes
    But one detail struck me, right there in the middle of a particularly turgid passage
    There, for all to see who cared to look, was my own name.
    Not only that, but a physical description of me, correct to the last hair and mole.
    Apparently I had been an adviser to a local warlord who had erred in some calculation and caused the fall of a small empire
    So astonished was I to find this account that I dropped the book and lost my page
    I stooped and fumbled to pick up the volume, which dusted and flaked in my hands
    But I couldn’t find the page again.
    I must have looked for hours, but the account was lost.
    I questioned my own memory of the experience. I must have imagined it.
    I still have the wren’s feather
    It serves as a reminder of my own part in the catastrophic downfall of others
    And how such matters are so easily forgotten.


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