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 25 Dec 2005 @ 03:36
Aumn
morn
aum mane padmi hummmm
thunder cracks the dawn
awakening the conscious spirit
we are one, i an ion, the ion i
far from separate
the breeze of daylight slowly permeates
aumn
dreams drift asunder
again rain showers the earth
dark sidewalk glistens
my thoughts find a gem
all together
silence warms the heart
again a fear lurks - will electricity be my partner
or hide in the mass of no charge
aumn
what does it matter
words into emptiness
empty mind
brings empty sounds
i am not my tapping fingers
this i ceased to exist a second ago
i a vessel for the happenstance of this moment
aumm
dan tien circulates
a chakra spin starts slow
kundalini dances upwardly
slow, slowly goes the energetic snake
movement of chi, a gentle spread
morning meditative
aum More >
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 20 Dec 2005 @ 17:47
Graham first started photographing Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso back in the late 50's in Paris. He was there as a Vet, living as an ex-pat, in the Beat Hotel.
I first met him on Litkicks.com [link], a site that was then dedicated to the Beats and all that surrounded them. Now it's changed format, but there are still rich archives of Action Poetry, articles about Ginsberg, Kerouac, Corso and Kesey, to mention a few.
Graham Seidman was a brother to me, a cousin, a relative, a true blood connection. That's how it felt, anyway, from the first time I asked him to share his photography to the active e-mail interaction we shared. He was putting together a book of his stories and often I'd get to proof-read. (How I loved it when he asked if I'd care to see his latest story!)
When we walked the Village in NYC that summer of 2003, he told me tales of Ginsberg picking up one-night stands and the irrepressible Corso, who would just leave the flat and come back with beautiful women who offered to pay his rent. Unfortunately, I had no tape recorder so I had to write it all down from memory a few days later. He corrected every detail before he let me post it on Litkicks. How I wish I'd taped him.
He was a sweet, brilliant man. Highly political, blessed with amazing good sense and courage. He went from American to Parisian to Puerto Rican to Floridian.
He was a man who could not resist a triple-thick pastrami sandwich, and me, my partner and my son dug into impossible sandwiches with him at the 2nd Avenue Deli. I took his picture, he took mine. That's him you see wondering if his camera was going to cooperate at the very moment he was hoping to strut his lens for us.
I wonder if his family will carry on with his projects - photography exhibits, including huge photo montages of the holocaust, and his book of Beat Tales.
Here's a link to an article I wrote of our meeting that day, posted at Litkicks:
Graham Seidman
and here's the link to a site I put up for him to preserve his photos and stories: Graham Seidman's Eye on the Beats There you can see the famous Beat Walk for those who want to visit Paris and see the sites.
Maybe Jeff Starrs ran into him one day. I believe he and Nicole, a sculptress, hung out in Toulousse.
Rest in peace, dear Graham.
Zichrono l'vracha.
May his memory be blessed More >
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 17 Dec 2005 @ 05:19
...............
frustration
sits in the stomach till it blasts out in a scream
CDs fly
shoes untie in the middle of a rampage
telephones answer in electronic drones
nobody homes when somebody's needed
time runs out when a little more would suffice
a pile of obstacles lie in one's path
frustration takes on weight of wrath
calm cool
sounds like a fool
when life is so obviously urgent
too many balls juggled
too many falls
too much
too loud
too impotent
frustration cloys
air passages clog
impossible choices
again come the voices
you should, you could've
you need, you didn't
you, you,
the voices nag
the voices, the chorus of voices
frustration
like a claustrophobic cubby hole
joy withers, the walls close in
frustration
judih
(dedicated to my son, A)
dec 14/05 More >
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 12 Dec 2005 @ 18:59
..............
lookin for a miracle
lookin for a miracle
been down so long
lookin for a miracle
playin Parker down the dusty road
truckful of shit pours its load in my way
it's all the same, brother
it's always this way, sister
lookin for a miracle
lookin
long shot sunset spills her tomorrow
fog engulfed future teases her tonight
it's painted by number
it's a cartoon on a bender
lookin for a miracle
lookin for a mirror
lookin for the high priestess high heyday
lookin for the mt. olympus in the valley of yesterday
Dizzy spills his guts and guzzles peanuts in the crowd
while folks spill their bourbon, passing bullshit
laughter in backwater bistros
lookin for an answer
lookin for an answer
the feet keep on goin
while the soul's lost in dreamin
with tractors pointed nowhere
plowing fields growin nothin
and we're lookin for each other
and we're listening out for voices
and it's gonna be a miracle
if we make it through the day More >
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 9 Dec 2005 @ 10:48
____________________
a flaming sandstorm
screams maelstroms in my mind
fire–eyed phoenix wails
re-birthing through infinity's scales
a wild-eyed artist
overturns paint cans from mountaintops
a sunset with no conception of time
begone the beige of blandness
forge pigments where no colour's found
turn it on, blast it wider, sing the sky alive More >
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