Archive for September, 2014

Here's a question or few worth asking. How many ways are there to feel the shame associated with not knowing what to do, or how to do it? How many ways do inappropriate acts feed the shame because, what else? The loop has been closed. How many ways do we shame ourselves into believing that some magic mojo type deal will get us through the heated turbulence at our door like a gang of Fiji fire walkers surfing the lava hot waves of Kilauea, brandishing samurai swords and golf clubs, and undoing Evil in all its forms and forces. These things occur to me because while knowing that the tipping point within the singularity surrounded by the string that vibrates in twelve different ways creating everything, could pop right up and go, ready for the 'pocyclypse, here it comes, Wwwhhhheeeeeeee, the meaning of that moment is obscured. By what? By the shame. And so, no focus, no hocuspocus. Its a pearly gates phenomenon. You know, st. pete gives you the rundown, you are naked on every level in his/her presence but by the time you actually get there, you've had the revelation of Truth that not only liberates in hitherto unknown ways but brings with gut wrenching certainty what uncompromising fuck ups we are. This would be a good time to say something like, " listen, Pete, it's all good, right? I mean what with the arthritis and that frump of a wife and the pension devalued. At least I recycled, most of the time." So whether you have rock star status or are a complete schmendrake, you WILL make excuses for the fuck up factor. Don't get me wrong, I'm not lookin' for an answer or heart felt epiphany or nuthin', I personally just infuse the appropriate sacraments into this meat locker and practice my pearly gates speech. I'm thinking "listen Pete", might be a bit cheeky. Not so long ago, in what seemed like a dream I sat on a sandy beach, waves gently lapping the shore and looked out over west maui with Haleakala in the distance. A magnificent sight made even more of a revelation by the feel of the warm water and coarse sand playing footsie with me. Then I realized that there was this yellow greyish blob of cane smoke hovering over the valley awaiting the trade winds to mount a take off.  As fate would have it, not much wind till much later in the morning. I know you're dyin' to know what happened. I was too. So I sat on the beach and watched as the toxic cloud began to spread out and leave its pall over the entire central valley and surrounding shoreline waters. And it hung, and it hung, and it hung. This is the smog that smog aspires to be, thought I. Bbbblllleeeeechchhcchch, as they would say in the halls of Mad Magazine. Where the fuck is the shame? Here's when I decided to cast my fate to the next narcissistic hottie to walk into my life needing an oil change. As I sat and watched the wind line begin to ripple, and pond fronds start to click and clack, the umbrella like shroud of canedoom dispersed in such a way as to cascade its somewhat diluted filth over the WEST maui moutains and down toward the premier touist haven on planet Oyyth. I mean Kapalua would be the seventh chakra of Maui for chrissake........Where, you might ask, is the Shame? We are imbued with a sense of entitlement granted on the basis of myth and flaunted with impunity in the name of Shame. I have, in some ways grown to appreciate the crazyass monsoon weather that has characterized a pattern of remarkable change in the array of choices made by the orchard creatures, rooted, crawling, wwoofing or flying. Having watched this movie for many moons, I can say with some authority that the amount of vegetative growth in the orchards this year matches that of the last four or five years. The amount of biomass covering the land is staggering. I'm thinking of petitioning the Chinese gov't for some part time labor to build a huge methane generator out of the cistern and then petitioning the mexican gov't to give me the addresses of illegal immigrants so I can hire them under the table to cut the greenery and turn it to gas. That way, I can fuel the generator that creates the electricity to keep my Leaf charged so I can go to Fong store for my red dog, Toggi bar fix. In a perfect world, maybe. I'm in a tradition starting mood. Having watched the Burning Man phenomenon take hold in such magical and shameful ways I'm thinkin' that the Rancho needs to redefine itself in terms of providing annual entertainment in the form of several parties a year, attended by some of the most overlooked and underqualified musicians on the island. I was thinking that the kicker would be to have a mini festival for the season finale after the fashion of the great shame on the playa. I would call it Burning Spam. If nothing else, it would smell sublime, down to the last crackling chunk oozing some fat like material from the face of Spamann. We are taking submissions for sculptures and interactive displays. They must all be made of spam, have some kinetic component as well as l.e.d. lighting and an adequate supply of toasted bagels for the aftermath of the burn. See how Eco freakin' friendly. No shame whatsoever. Party on. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp p.s. nurse kristen was last seen diving head first into a large, ripe jak fruit. She has not been seen since.

(P.s. Fanfare followed by rose petals floating to ground...........Announcing the 18th annual fiftieth birthday party of Dame Dorothy the Betz and the jp person. Sunday, the fourteenth at five pm ish. pot luck. The weather has been a bear lately, so be advised and give a call if in doubt and if it sucks, i'll get the word out.) It is a moment, illuminated by some mystery weaving its way and bringing future and past together. And in that moment, no tale is left untold. Somehow all is revealed. Then, gone until the next time and the next form and the next circumstance brings the same revelation, clothed in finery of a different sort. And when we see through the fashion to our innermost passion, it is then and only then that............................... This miniature epiphany has been brought to you by an intuitive if incomplete Flash, triggered by the act of swatting to their doom two mosquitoes, joined in coitu flying in front of my very face. My very face. The Noive...... In my entire life I have only twice had the opportunity to even behold the sight of mosquitoes "doinit" mid flight, no less feel their teensy malevolent life force meld with oblivion in the palms of my hands. Not at all sure if anyone else has had this experience, but it fulfills so many levels of seratonin releasing stimuli that one cannot help but run smack dab into a visionary experience not unlike eating chocolate farina laced with dmt for breakfast, which I promised I would never do again. O.k., now that I have your attention, the small above ground "kiddy" pool whose sole purpose is for the display of young koi looking for loving water features and large aquatic tanks, whose placement was strategically planned under the shade of an Inia tree to discourage the growth of algae and whose filtration system claimed to be adequate to keeping clarity has, after the first rain turned to what could be described as an entry into a lentil soup contest in downtown Mysore. Now solution has turned to dilemma but has already begun to describe itself as solution again. Howizit possible? Where's that shit come from? I like giving up, too. Sometimes. But NNNooooooooo. Must figure this shit out. NOW. Seeing the deeper meaning to the saying "plenty of time for rest when your dead." We are endowed by and indebted to the relentless refinement of life force. We thrive, To thrive so that giving up comes with a certain grace and ease. Embrace and transcend. Our motto should read: "Rancho Relaxzo, we'll get this shit figured out yet, and if not, s'what." Makes for a very layed back, "bring it" attitude. Like bring it, but maybe a week from this coming thursday, eh. If musical notes were bananas, then I be playin' bunches. Been fun teaming up with Grimes and getting our wig on. Miss Meaghan continues to delight and i'm always thankful for the opportunity to get out and get it out. No matter how long one has been immersed in a pastime like playing music, it never gets old and continues to grow in its inclusiveness. I did give up on the grand chicken revision plan whereby day olds would be brought in just in time to start laying when the remaining chowder heads have forgotten their raison d'etre. This will cost me in more ways than one, but there are silver linings popping up all over the place allowing me to, once again editorialize my way to being correct in every way, and profoundly, nay prophetically so. Howizit possible? The wall that separates a certain measurable control from utter chaos is paper thin. I live in that wall. Everything = Possible. On the farm there are so many known variables constantly effecting outcomes. Variables that can be tamed or enhanced or made to self replicate. But there are also the unknown variables vectored in by insect or wind or on the heal of a boot or the wake of a bad idea which can and do change everything in ways that compel us to make them part of the known so that the chaos is somehow re branded and brought into the realm of measurable control. Paper thin. Had a nice skype with the mother ship earlier. She is whittling her way to escape velocity as thirty four years of life in her home is slowly reduced to the essential mah, ready to transport at the drop of a dime. Hard to imagine the floodgates and the memories pouring forth. She is, as usual handling it all with characteristic wisdom and grace. Nurse Kristen has passed the three week mark without need of a psychiatrist, so that's a good sign. She is still "off the scale," although the scale has been recalibrated so as to be able to explain and include such a phenomenon into the realm of the known so that a degree of measurable control can be applied to what would otherwise be delightfully hard to explain. Paper thin baby, paper thin. Yes, I don't want any of your gifts, so bring them anyway and I'll donate them to a charity that benefits me and me alone. It is my sincere hope that at the next writing I will be able to report that we have koi for sale that you can actually see swimming around and that we will, once again have overcome the odds and achieved the "better than a baboon" award for intelligence and inventiveness in the use of Amazon dot com. Week in brief: kind of peaked with the mosquito thing. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp