Thursday, August 28, 2008


living in a state of nature
related by one common characteristic
singular divided into several
isolated, unusual
the inside is still
a static photograph, designed for taking
uttering no sound
free beyond normal
to be present
in any manner
meaning must
time to stay
part or whole
obligation, things to do
to stand, the wind at our backs
to experience
a way with words
a certain place
all one is
look at that
have it
one that is
a blessing begged for
an act
no way to protect oneself
from grace
a willingness
a short prayer:
(thanks for his regeneration
in his place, ease)
the givers giving thanks
to cause to flow
two musical tones
a second apart
one against an other
to and fro up and down
in order to mix
clasp hands
to cause
to move
to tremble
to free oneself
(I want to talk to you alone)
hurry up
an ocean
a body
a diagram or graph
with laughter, rings of growth
a very brief period of time and depth
some breaking or parting
so as to be connected to form
the cross on which Jesus was crucified
merging, maintaining identity
the existence of a real
to what he already knew
the form, without forming

Saturday, August 23, 2008

As you may know, 2 years ago Patrick & I rescued an amazing dog from the gas chamber of the LA County Animal Control and have lived in a blissful state of unconditional love with the leggy, blonde beauty that we call "Wookie" since that fateful day. Tragically, another fateful day has come...

Long story short, the management company of the home that we live in has decided that they no longer want dogs on this property. We have 2 weeks to find a new home for Wookie, or move.

After much soul-searching and many tears, I have come to terms with the fact that my life -- with all the shows, tours, and running amok I do and hope to do more of -- is not the best life to share with a furry creature who loves people, playing endless cames of fetch, and seems to have inexhaustible energy and zest for life. (Maybe it's the vegan diet she's been on?)

So, I am seeking a new home for Wookie, and thought I would reach out to all of the loving, connected folks that I know that may know of someone looks to add a bundle of domesticated joy to their homelife.

Wookie is about 3 years old, a gorgeous greyhound/german shepard/collie mix, great with people, very energetic. She is used to being the only dog in the family, so I'm not sure how she'd mix with other pets, as that is untested terrain. She loves to run, walk, play fetch, and smell things. She's incredibly healthy, has all her shots, etc.

If there is anyone who would merely like to foster her for a while by providing a temporary home, that would be very helpful too. I want to be sure that Wookie gets settled into a safe place where she will be happy, healthy, and thrive.

ANY advice, leads, suggestions, consolations, prayers, etc that you may have are GREATLY welcome, as this is a heartbreaking time in Wookie-ville.

PLEASE feel free to pass this along to anyone who may be able to help.

Juli Crockett
This is a blast from the past that was brought to mind while strolling along a surprisingly peaceful and lovely chunk of the LA River today...

Back when I was writing The Dawn of Quixote: Chapter The First and reading lots of Unamuno's Our Lord Don Quixote, I had a sort of Code of Ethics written on my wall which I am reprinting here for your possible enjoyment and edification. If you go so far as to take the word into action, all the better!

The Code:

1. Set Loose a Delirium
2. Commit an Outrage (a Barbarity)
3. Let Your Horse Lead You
4. Fight (Adventures which Befall)
5. Find the Selpulchre (Search)
6. Love (Chaste, from Afar)
7. Assuage Self-Loathing with Self-Annihilation
8. Endure the Inevitable
9. Judge Not (Lest Ye Be Judged)
10. Explore all Caves (Caverns, Crevices)
11. Attack all Puppet Shows
12. Speak Fair to All Goat herders
13. Commend Thy Self to Thy Love and Thy Lord
14. State Your Full Name and Purpose
15. Have Faith
16. Trust Not Thine Eyes, Nor Ears, Nor Tastes
17. Treat All Ladies as Maidens
18. Fear Not
19. Read Until Mad (Delirium)
20. Believe in Fairy Tales, Myths, and All Dieties.
21. Do Not Debate (Debacle) Do not Reason with the Reasoners
22. Face Ridicule
23. ________________________

Friday, August 22, 2008

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road


Wednesday, August 20, 2008

For some reason tonight, the Bene Gesserit Littainy against Fear from "Dune" is ringing in my ears:

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

So true, so true...

Thursday, August 07, 2008

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

- Rumi

Friday, August 01, 2008

This is an old, old lil' piece I wrote long ago after a certain dream I had that has been fresh on my mind of late. Hippie at heart and always a fan of recycling, I thought that I'd go ahead and repost it here.

On Love

I had a dream the other night that I fell madly in love (and it was the good reciprocal kind of love) with some foolish geeky boy in a popular band.

I don't know what band it was, or what kind of band. It wasn't a real band or referencing a real band. The boy wasn't anyone I know, nor have I ever seen. He was a purely invented dream character. He wasn't that attractive or anything, but for some reason he was crazy about me, and I was crazy about him.

It was doomed from the start. The first time I saw him in the dream he was asleep in a bed with a 15 year old girl. He went on tours and had groupies and all that shit. I knew this. I didn't care. And it wasn't the "not caring" of the blind denial and defiance variety (i.e. this is fucked but maybe, maybe, maybe he'll change and/or it'll work out this time fucking insanity) but the not caring of full awareness, acceptance, and a two-fisted embrace of the Moment. I knew it was only gonna last for a little while, and that was okay. In the dream, I knew we had two weeks. And this was good enough. It was worth it. I wasn't concerned with tomorrow or the future or what it means and will we get married and how will it work. When he showed up in the dream, I was overjoyed and it was fun and wonderful. When he went away, the dream went on in other directions. I wasn't forlorn and lonely and scared and suspicious and fearful... I was simply doing whatever I was doing.

It was a good dream.

Permission was granted to be in love for a while last night, in my sleep. It was one of the greatest dreams I've had in a long time. Simple. The magical thing about it was the feeling. It was so good. I got to have that feeling you get when you're just crazy about somebody, and you know they're crazy about you, and you're not sweating the future of what it means or what it will be. You're just filled with light, and letting the love out with total abandon and there's a feeling of so much fucking joy you think you'll burst. The feeling was so fragile and vulnerable, but in a playful way. Like a shining wet bubble, it had a short but glorious life span, and the whole thing just passed by like the sound of a distant giggle on the breeze. A most glorious dream.

I've been working a lot on cultivating fearlessness when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm sick and tired of feeling shame, shame, shame. All the time, for no reason, or for good reason. Whatever the reason, I'm done.

I asked Jesus in George Marshall chatbot what love was... and this is what that AI muthafucka had to say:

"Sometimes I think love is just a biological urge. Other times it seems like a spiritual quality. Love, unlike energy or matter, seems limitless."

I love this world. And it feels kinda like this:

bad blue day

Taken on a blue blue bad blue day... in a mall in Valencia, California, USA.

I love this world... however...

I am reaching a wall, a serious roadblock, in my ability to communicate and my fear of intimacy with the world at large. I hide. I have been having strong desires to place my head in a door jam and slam the door on my head until it is a bloody mess. I'm not kidding. I am hungry for the real and am doubting everything in my mind... I have got to get through this fear. Fear of being an idiot, fear of having nothing to say, fear of opening my mouth and having nothing to offer but puke and farting noises. It must be okay. Fail better, more, with joy. Fail. Shamelessly.

My physicist friend says that I lack faith. Faith that there is something for me here, now... in this dimension.

Belief in Transcendence is an insult to what is.

I am a big phony and I hide behind revolutionary and dangerous SOUNDING ideas that I am very comfortable with... just as I became a master of self-derogatory humor to pull off the seeming appearance of Radical Honesty without having to get to close to my true self. I have built walls around my thoughts and feelings and I am working on busting 'em up. I need help. I need correspondence. And I need to stop having any desire to impress others in any way, so I will admit, up front, that I am a fool. And I'm not saying that to be cool. I am a selfish ass. I know this.

I also suffer from profound spiritual hunger. But I am too much of a coward to sacrifice myself completely to the immolating flames of humility. The smashing of ego is the most painful prospect ever... August Strindberg described it as "spiritual suicide."

What was it you said that was so gall-darn brilliant?
I’d give anything to remember how you put it so beautifully!
I just can’t seem to remember any of the wonderful
things you say! gee, that’s funny!

You have the most interesting way of seeing things!
Imagine! Approaching the whole world like a cold toilet!
I can’t remember exactly how you worded it at the time,
but I have the distinct impression of paying close
attention. like a child does…

there is no pain greater than your pain there is no
laughter greater than your laughter there is no reason
to believe that what you are doing is not the greatest
act there is no person I’d rather fumble about with
these are only some of the things in discovering in

how is it when I see you coming I am not struck down
dead trampled on killed a hundred times by my own purple
meanness baseness eaten and my flesh pecked off by birds?
Why is that? I think you told me once.

(Gordy Amede)

The poetic version is that what was once a beautiful and organic process of two lives existing in relation to each other and two people moving along a common path solidified and became an inorganic struture of obligation and rules and regulations, and I revolted.

Truth is, things got fucked up. I hated what I became. I hated what I was doing. It's a long story.

The short version, I suppose, is that he became more of my friend than my lover, and I didn't ever want to see the look in his eyes when the shit hit the fan. So I left.

Truth is, the relationship was heavily codependent; we lived together for 7 years, from the time I was 17 to 24. In a lot of ways I never grew up. Then one day I wanted to find out who I was. The day I left, I moved up to my grad school campus and sat in the woods that night, crying and shrieking. The realization of how alone and unknown I was, to my very own self was disturbing. I didn't know what kind of food I liked. I didn't know what I liked to do. I didn't know anything. I was a stranger to myself.

So, I've been spending the last few years trying to figure out who I am, when I am not the dancing monkey, entertaining for peanuts and personal validation.

Ooohh ahhh... dramatic.

The lame version: things got ugly and I split. We're still friends. He thinks I'm way too hard on myself. He still loves me, I still love him. He wishes I wouldn't be so hard on myself.

So... after all that:

Love is?