Too much ayahuasca made me think it. I've got to stop experimenting...

On going to Mars: "Come on you guys let's have a space race with China and win cuz we are the most amazing people on earth. And when we get there we can look around for the roadsters we sent and build a place like Alaska right there on Mars. And while we're at it we can put life there the way God wants us to do everywhere in this great universe. So let's get goin NASA.  Woooo!"

On using the military: "Like everybody I don't like to use war with its battles and strategies an' stuff but I also know its always gonna be glory, people. Other folks on this great globe of ours can always leave messages with me and if they have a problem I will get back to em real quick. But if I see them rear their ugly head they will regret that because we are the greatest nation on earth. I want everyone to have good values and stuff and really guys and gals that is my doctrine of success, tolerance and good will for all of us."

On big government: I am always stayin out of your way. You better believe that. Interventioning is not my style. I know what keeps this country great. Yeah I do.

On ceding Canada: Many of you guys in Canada where I have always been fond of asked me if you could be part of this great country. Sure! I think it would be fun."

On the Democratic Party: Most americans know that we have always had the best party and sometimes they forget that cuz the Democrats are upset about stuff. But that's what makes us a democracy, ya know."

Location:A stage in a theater somewhere in the land of Faulkner and Welty and the night sky.

Overhead in the night sky a young Chinese man  was just coming up on Biloxi, As he glided by he reconfigured the stars, forming new constellations above the theater below him. It caused consternation among the people waiting to enter the theater.  No one could make sense of the dark sky. Even familiar arrangements, the bear, the little dog, and the crab were broken. We all wanted a sign and now there was none discernable. The man in the sky watched the blue slowly turn to black, Now there were stars all around him, The earth began telling him a story, a secret. He had nothing to write the story down with so  he could only hope that he would remember. "Lights out", said the earth. "Sleep now."
  Meanwhile the people below had filled the theater. The lights dimmed as the two leaders came out onto the stage, one from stage left, and one from stage right.  In the dim light we could not tell much about them, not their age nor the color of their skin. It had been decided that this debate would be a pantomime. We were beyond words at this point. No one knew what the other debates would be like. We were sick of talking. We had summoned them here because finally we wanted to know what it was that they wanted. We knew the stars were changing and so we looked to them for answers. The moderator cleared his voice and asked the only question of the night. "What do you want?"  The taller man, slighter than the other, stood about arms length from the shorter, stiffer man. He, the taller one, reached out and touched the shorter man's shoulder, trying to hold him with his eyes. Many of us wrote the word longing on our score cards. The shorter man turned his head quickly away, with a hint of silver flashing in the dimness. They remained in this tableau, the one with his hand on the other's shoulder, the other looking away. A few of us wrote dance? with a question mark.  The taller man slowly lowered his arm. I scribbled regret. The woman next to me wrote rejection. The taller man seemed to become darker. He slipped out of the light,  receding into the shadows. Now we turned to the shorter man. He was clearly visible now. Pain. I found myself writing the word pain on my scorecard. His hands came up, palms out. But they stopped at about chest level. "Don't", I heard the man behind me whisper.  Now he looked up and out towards us.  Like a shifting stage light his pain slowly changed to sadness.  With his whole body he said, "don't forget me." I looked down and noticed I had written"remember."  His arms fell and his head dropped to the floor. Again the taller man, stepped forward from the side, placing his hand on the crestfallen man's shoulder, a look of pleading on the taller one's face. Many of us wrote the word "please".Both men exhaled.  The moderator said "thank you for coming." The stage lights went down and we realized that we had been outside all this time, under the stars.  We looked up and noticed that our confusion was gone, the stars were as they had been.  The man in the sky moved out over the Atlantic,  looking down into the dark blue air below.

I guess as I watch myself  get alternately sucked into the political experience and then spit out by its repetition I keep coming back to my education. My education served to bind up my spirit  as well as my mind. On those rare occasions when my mind was blown so to speak I cherished that sensibility like a talisman. Today I am aware of the struggle that goes on inside people in whom the take did not occur properly. Family, church, and school, our very institutions, serve to conserve.  We are expected to not question. in family it was patriarchial and authoritarian, "because I said so". In church it was and is unquestioning faith. And in school all required information was to be assimilated pronto. Thus in our society  the illusion of propulsion could easily replace the static nature lurking behind things such as politics and the economy. Life then is not about experience as much as a linear sense of movement, always forward, whether in competiton, success, goals. This is what we are told . This is what we are taught.  Today the power of holding in place, of binding us to sets of criteria that separate us further and further from what is actually present is still what turns this country.  Only in those moments when everything stops, or even nearly stops, do we notice the illusion that binds us. The questions began to flow from east,west, north and south. Who are they? What were they thinking? What is this experience that is going on? But circumstances, fear based circumstances, have always manhandled the present, and sent it flying to the side of the road. The moment may pass over you like the shadow of a great bird and then it is gone. It may appear to be nothing more than fear. But each sighting, each experience always contains the kernel. Maybe the ultimate illusion is that we don't change anything. And finally change comes and transforms us.

I have watched this trick from behind the curtain
Since I was a small child. I always wanted to
Wear a cape. And I would rather make things appear.
Appearances are so important I thought. But  still
There was something I didn't understand.  If only
He would turn from the audience toward me, backstage.
The knowing never really helped me, it was the seeing
That I longed for. Once, outside the magic theater,  I had
A moment where I remembered, that all along, it was me
Facing the audience.  I remembered how they raised their hands,
Tentatively at first, then vigorously. So many questions that
I thought I would never get off the stage. How? Why? Where?
One night I dreamed that I created a trick that left everyone  filled
With questions. There were no declarations left. Only questions
Questions and silence. It was the end of answers. Gradually
Everything distilled down to one question and silence. But I can't
Remember that question now. It left me with the morning light.
But I still would rather make things appear than disappear.

I can't judge blueness or A ring of air on a stone Finger.  Everything we Know is in the ring. Nothing We know is in the ring. I break open a walnut With an ornate silver Cracker. Inside is a tree That I can eat. Does the Creative occur upon breaking Or is it in joining? Two tigers chase each other Around a palm tree until They become butter. Still I can eat this. The smallest Thing I know is a thought. But then it sleeps and I Can't be certain. Where is Something I read? Principles Come together. Rain falls Into leaves and becomes Applause. I forget something And push my way back Down the escalator. All the While there is still rising. Where is that first moment For me? It is not anywhere And yet I keep showing up Everywhere.

I am in the body of something,
I know not what.
The clamoring is gone. I see
Peoples' conversations and
They are steady. They are all
The same. There appears to
Be breathing and something
Else. Something I cannot know.
Where am I? Someone is trying
To pass something to me but
I can't notice. Somehow I am
Moving, but not my arms, not
My legs, not my head. I must
Be somewhere. I have passed
inside of something, an articulation
Of a place that remains hidden.
Later I stand in front of the sink.
The weak light looks me out
Across the drive, through the trees,
Where I have been. It doesn't add
Up, that I grow things, that sleep
Is the secret. It is believed by some
That the songs of birds stimulate the
Growth of flowers, of trees. The light
Runs back to me, passing through
The glass, forming my arm, building
My legs. And I hear the first note,
Deeper than memory.

 In this dream I had J.L. Borges was pitching and I was up. My bat was made up of a series of convex mirrors. I knew Borges had a wicked fork ball and I was ready for it. But when he released it it just kept coming. I wailed away at it striking out over and over on the same pitch. As the innings went by I began to realize the catcher had stepped out and was trying to intentionally walk me because runners were on second and third with first base open. After the game I sat in the dugout looking at my reflection in my bat. Instead of a ball cap I had on a little cone shaped party hat. On the bench next to me was one of those little kazoo-like things you blew in and they uncurled like a snake. I heard a voice say, "shake it off, tomorrow's another game."

The loggerheads left for deeper waters-
Not so this fellow by the side of the road.
He lives in his head here,  at rest in roadside salad,
A monument I can stand over.  I study the
Mustard and tar glyphs in each panel along his back.
There I see his landing, what was conferred, and
His decision to stay.  But I worry he may change his
Mind and try to cross the road. Maybe not in time.
But there is something final about his withdrawal:
The seamless hatch, the archeology of his helmet.

Later in the barbershop I ask the barber to shave my head.
I close my eyes, purse my lips and pinch my nose. The
hair fails like clumps of snow and I hear myself say,
"This is the new world."  Later still my phrenologist 
Runs his fingers across the braille of my bald head.
"There is nowhere to go," he says. "You are already there."

I know it's arbitrary  when I face you,
But just the idea that you are there
And I am here sends the left into words
And my right into color and smile.
My mind is in my head like that note
In my wallet, a reminder to get juice.
When my mind is made up it is the only
Instruction there is. That that point is listening
Is the only point. That that point sees is
The only point. That that point knows is
The only point. One at a time I stand there.
Not in the east, not in the west, but just north
Of south, and south of north...

My education lies there
on the table, a cooked
ham. I will eat it slowly.
Maybe over the course
of several days. Then
it will be gone. "Now
what?", I say to me.
The landscape I will
remember included a
ham and then it didn't.
Out there on the empty
plate lies the loss. But
then I feel sleighted
enough that I think
that memory belongs in
here. Where? In this pup
tent with my flashlight,
pop, and comic books.
Where? In this card
board box that once
held a refrigerator. Now
I have cut a window
into the blue green rest.
But all around me in the
dark I breathe my
memories, scooping and
packing them onto me-
Wet mud. When they dry
I will come out through the
side flap into the bright
colored world, squinting,
wearing the earth.