the soul

The soul by fargo kantrowitz

We all have a soul. Some of our souls are rotten. We can’t see out of our own eyes. Why are they rotten? Because we are afraid to see out of our own eyes. Why? Because if we see we see or expect to see something horrible. We were disappointed somewhere along the way by something.

 There is ultimately no way to stop not just the next word but the next place to go, the next step in the feeling of your soul and when times get hard, sometimes one’s soul clenches down underneath the flesh of the person’s body and sits there while their body fights for them and sometimes ends for them. Then what?

 We like to think that the soul is forever. But there is no going there where the answer is. Past mistakes make people want to live better, to make them want to send out their best stuff to the best people, all of the time. But there is pain and confusion and their rotten souls, which aren’t really rotten, it’s the person’s life that is rotten and that can be changed or made worse depending on numerous soulical and physical and social things.

The body clamps down hard on the soul against the world.  That’s where you see people and you think that they are rotten. That they have rotten souls. But they don’t. Their soul is hidden. It is just that they are afraid and they automatically close up like clams. People always know when someone else is going through a bad trip and they pretty much just stay out of their way. Everybody has some memory that makes them close down and if they don’t, which some might not, they are lucky beings. I wish I was beautiful said the Counting Crows.

 Allow yourself to be. And you will start to become. Even if you are flawed. If your soul seems sometimes rotten. Allow yourself to be. With your words which are your actions. Allow yourself to be by being the best person that you can be and fixing yourself where at least you know for sure that you can be fixed and do it.

You’re going to get muscular if you actually do exercise and what they say is actually true that the better you feel the happier that you are. Elementary science. Believe in science. Believe in you, your soul, even when you are in your body. Even when you are in and of your soul in your body.

As you are aware that you are a spiritual being in a physical clamshell and sometimes people who seemingly have bad souls are just like those clams too, they just shut down quick and sometimes it hurts others or maybe you are the predator, oh, yes, that’s right, you are the predator, oh yeah, you forgot. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

This is when the world rises up without you and you float down further and further from enlightenment and, yet, it is all untrue. You have been gaslit you have been made to think that you are CrAzzY! Wonderful way to steal. That’s why I’m poor actually.

The world is alright today, today the world is alright. If the world weren’t alright then what would be the point? Why would we want to be here? Oh. Because we must go on. It is true! We must go on, but must we? Could we stop? This is something I find most people don’t want to talk about because they don’t know about the extent of the mystery of existence and you just confuse them about everything. Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. Stay happy. But the soul is real.

But what if it weren’t. What if the soul was nothing at all. Was a dump truck on the way to figurativeville. Everything made up. In fact, we are various glands and brain tissue and organ that makes us who we are. Hey bob hows the hypocampus going today? Pretty good, Stan, how’s the amagydala? Makes you feel like a giraffe sort of, sort of stilted and stuck. So, we have souls. Well, well, well, welcome to the party.

Now you may not want this soul but you got it and how do you know you got it, why, you got it because you know you got it. Simple. I’m am because I know I am. What does to know mean then? To, uh, know that you know that you know. But what if you forget the question? Uh. Cut!

We exist. We do. We actually exist. And we all process it differently and we all get stuck and we all do our lives in the exact opposite of how we wish we were doing our lives and we’re just plain stuck. But don’t fret. For 14.95…you see, we all want simple solutions. We all want to just go home. There is a world of wonder and a world of glee and we just want to go there. Just want to be free.

So, we know, but we don’t do. We are clamshells all waiting to be clammed up. Quick. Some of ‘em even carry guns out there in these here United States. I say here because I know that people with country accents are proud of it. So, hail! Heck. Am I doing it right? Well, nobody knows.

There are fewer of us in the world, but we exist too. The ones who are silently watching on from the sidelines, making jokes to ourselves to amuse ourselves, waiting for more quiet or more noise, always waiting, silent, nice, respectable.

But we don’t know our task in this life. We hover over what is real and don’t know where to enter. So we see and we feel and we drift and we hide and we get lost and we get found and we get scared and we get anxious and we fear so we clam up.

And sometimes others fall off our sides. We are Gods in that way, psychologically speaking, we are gods in that we are giant clams on which civilizations build cultures and when we clam up we shake some off our sides. Some want to shake everything, psychologically clamlike off their sides, like anti-social/pro savvy win at all costs business people.

We must recognize the power that we have when we consider our own needs first. Yes, we can go off in our own direction, but we cannot sacrifice others to get there, to our safe space, our Gary Vaynerchuck’s New York Jets or Elon Musk’s little home on Mars.

If you’re scared all of the time you can’t do the things that you want to do and when people seem like they have rotten souls it is because they are chasing their dreams and being chased by their dreams too and the results of their attempts: family (payments) haunt them. They must make money! But remember that person making money is the outside you. You are hunkered down for the ride on that one. You like to think you steer the ship, but you’re being bumped around just like every emotion in this big clunker’s head. He won’t listen to you.

Do you expect the monster rotten souled person he’s talking to to listen to you? Don’t be daft. You are you your soul, your “cool guy or gal.” But you don’t know that. You’re not stuffing your face and worrying about money and wondering if your life is over, you’re all washed up. Do you stink? But you? You are sitting there in your essence picking at grapes upon red plush pillows and wondering when you’re going to have a good view again. Will this person ever calm down? Seems like you’re in it for the long haul. But you’re always nice. Get it? You. Are always nice. It is the wrapping around you that gets confused.

 True, you control the wrapping to some degree by keeping its view steady, making it know that you are there just like a stupid dog its master. But when stuff goes down, well, hold on to your grapes. What to do? What was the question again? Do you have a rotten soul. Can your soul be rotten. No. But your life can be rotten and drive you to doing things with rotten consequences hence the idea of a rotten soul can be transferred back to you in others opinions of you.

For all intents and purposes, socially, you have a rotten soul because the anger of being a victim of a hasty, unthought out, malevolent action does not allow the victim to overcome their anger very quickly and when you secretly hate somebody you hate everything about them, especially their damned soul. We try to be “Christians” in that forgiveness is required, but we can’t get over it. We were wronged and somebody with a rotten soul did it to us. We can’t shake the image. Perhaps with time people learn how to forgive, truly forgive. I imagine when they do they will feel of great relief that the anger has truly been washed away. They no longer care, truly care. They are free.

But life goes on. You forget what you were going to say. We are not always connected with our consciousness. We are blind. This is where the questions come. We are trying to come back into contact with ourselves. We realized that we have lost our way and that we need help and we seek out our true selves to find the way. Some may have become so cynical that they refuse help from themselves and that’s why we see all of these people with their heads in the sand these days.

We are kind. Don’t fear kindness because it leaves you vulnerable and you don’t want to cry out loud for everybody to see. Allow your kindness to overtake you, to enfold you, to embrace you. Say a kind word because of it and don’t feel ashamed. Kindness is not weakness that must be destroyed.

And when we recognize that we’ll all be alright. We will accept ourselves and feel free to come out of our clamshell. Then good things can happen again and hopefully we learned from our lesson that it isn’t fun to be mean because you think kindness is weakness. It all sounds like preaching, I know, but it isn’t. It’s for your own good. You can’t live in that clamshell forever. Think about it.

You like to think that you can come to an end on a subject like the soul, but you can’t. Your soul is immense and it never ends and when you think just know there will always be another thought. We fill our world with dreams that we paint in our minds 24 hours a day. After we are safe and taken care of then it is our turn to open our clamshells and enjoy the world all around us.

Published in: on June 28, 2021 at 4:34 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Deal by Fargo Kantrowitz

The Deal

Ive had enough. Enough is enough. U got guys carrying guns in their larynx’s. you got people doing stupid things for people not you but them. Our representatives in congress on the Republican side are ALL working for corporations without admitting it. There is no other explanation for the tax bill.

You can’t win the argument on the street because nobody is watching the same program. But you’re ready to pick up a pitchfork and make it out into the streets anyway because supposedly there is an enemy there and you have to pitch in and join the fight. But you don’t admit that you didn’t see that internet show and realize that you don’t know why you are holding that pitchfork. You pitch the fork anyway. You wait. Why, you wonder. Why did I do it? But now it is too late, you are part of the plan. They will tell you what to do from here, in the meantime the elite, not the liberal elite, but the conservative elite, are going to eat. They are going to eat your children and you better smile and say yessir if you want your crust now. Without now then how could you have then, you imagine. But then comes and you watch the leg go down. Slurp. The deal you made with Donald Trump.

Jimmy ambled down the road. Not much going on with jimmy today. His official stance pertaining to his state of mind was left open. Of course, he was unconscious about so much but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try. You had to pull from the pit the sustenance that you need. It all feels so empty, like there is nothing going on anywhere that matters. Hopeless, pointless it is. Pitiful. Over. So what then? What then? What then? What’s the point and what is the point of thinking about then? When there is no now from which to grow a then.

In another sphere above the fear that he was aware of was a huge blue sky with birds flying and breezes that held meaning. Beauty, he supposed. But enough about that. The thing that everybody wanted to know about Jimmy was whether he would become a success. He too thought of this and it ultimately disappointed him greatly until he stopped doing anything that would make him a success. He was too put on the spot.

He made it down the street but didn’t know to turn left or right so he just kept walking. What’s the point? There was no point. Might as well keep walking forever, he thought. His feet kept moving. His mother was dead. His family was gone. His love hopes abandoned. The blue world above him or meaningful beauty always lived there, but it was impossible to connect to. So he walked with a fake blue sky above him as he did. Fake clouds. Fake birds. No accompanying feeling, the one thing he wanted. Nothing that mattered could permeate his skull. His skull, not heart. The heart was just one big lament by this time. Something that didn’t matter that much at all. Life didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing.

Ii

Of course some things mattered, like sunshine and the best next word. Why would Jimmy want to cry? Post modern writers were all fools. That world wasn’t real. Only the real world was real. You know, that one. But then, you don’t want to say that, that the world is near one pickle shy of an empty barrel. Done. Nothing matters anymore as they say in this era of Trump. Nothing matters anymore. Exactly what jimmy was saying and feeling. Who cares? Who cares? You? Do you?

Published in: on June 23, 2021 at 8:10 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Slander Artist

 

     the turn of events precluded me and

sunlight where now?

bitter aftermornings of you and me

where this afterglory now?

Firm handshakes on glories be known

where glories when the sun don’t shine?

Glory be! It’s a morning of translucent meditation

gripping satiety.

Published in: on September 6, 2020 at 10:39 pm  Leave a Comment  
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We Are the Killers – Albert

 

 

Dear Americans,

 

 

You yourselves are the killers. You who desire a home, a car, a family. You are the killers. All of those who choose to live this life with a smile. You are the killers. All of those who accept the mechanisms that place money into your pockets. You are the killers. All of those who live life day by day and are happy. You are the killers. All of those who make a nice living. You are the killers. All of you who watch the news. You are the killers. All of you who travel. You are the killers. All of you who stay home. You are the killers. All of you who curse the travesties of society from your living room. You are the killers. All of you who eat. You are the killers. All of you who dine. You are the killers. All of you with children. You are the killers. All of you without children. You are the killers. All of you who live in a society that appreciates law and order. You are the killers. All of you who side for the good guy. You are the killers. All of you who allow things. You are the killers. All of you who can’t afford lawyers and therefore have no voice. All of you who desire medical care and have no insurance. You are the killers. All of you who do not run for office. You are the killers. All of you who run for office. You are the killers. All of you who drive by bums. You are the killers. All of you who are human. You are the killers. We are the killers.

 

Published in: on July 21, 2020 at 4:59 am  Leave a Comment  
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Letter to a London Literary agent (never sent)-Albert

 

January 17, 1998

 

Dear London Literary Agent,

 

I have written a musical play tribute to Princess Diana. Initial reaction to the script has been very positive. I am seeking a British agent as I wish for London to be the place of my musical’s first showing. A pair of British theatre professionals in the U.S. are interested in the project, but I am hesitant to hand it to them as they seek Power of Attorney over it, I suppose, to have a greater hand in it creatively. I am not yet ready to give this power away.

I have no better way to explain to you the premise but by showing the script to you. If you are interested in the script at all please contact me soon. I have enclosed an SASE in case you are not interested. The story is fantasy based upon the events of Diana’s final day at the Ritz Hotel in Paris. I do not know what the feeling in Great Britain is towards such a project, but I can assure you, the play was written in a spirit of love and respect. The first draft was written in less than two weeks time, a mere two weeks after Diana’s death while I, like the world, was still in mourning.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Albert Jones

 

Published in: on July 8, 2020 at 12:33 pm  Leave a Comment  
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hey hey whoa whoa

 

hey hey whoa whoa after petals on albert jamz goes into let it be. The end of Petals. I sing I hope you didn’t hate my play today. Jed backs me up. This song actually turns into “don’t fight” drop curtain. Jed peaks his head out of the curtain while the applause is still going on. He steps out. He has a tshir tthrown over him that says Operation Smile. He goes up and taps on a microphone. Hello, well, then whatever he’s going to say and then they’ll all go into a jam of chuck berry’s johnny b goode. The armed guitar brigade.

 

 

Published in: on July 8, 2020 at 1:50 am  Leave a Comment  
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What’s Happening?

There is a lot of stuff going on these days. Stuff. Can something actually happen? What does it mean to happen? If something happens what does it become, the thing that happened? An ongoing happening? A million consecutive and fluid happens? Anyway, I guess we’ll never really know whether or not something can happen. Anyway.

 

Okay, so people say “this is happening” as a joke. This is happening, Stephen… I get it now. Something that happens can take time. It must be some sort of strange sort of thing where time is mixed in with space and within that funnel is a happen, but it can be long, years maybe. Maybe there is a larger bit of space rather than just the moment that something happens. Maybe a happening can last thousands or even millions of years. It’s good to think of time like that…long. It releases you. The Hindus have calendars in the millions of years. Time. This too shall pass, they say, this too shall pass.

 

Mostly it’s darkness. Clouds whispering in winds cooly wrapping round vents in the waterless sea and falling. You see. You don’t see. You keep going. All that you can do is just survive. All that you can do to help yourself is stay alive. Rush.

 

But I know there is more than that. I know this. This world is not meant to be wasted and family should not fight and that goes for extended family which means everybody in America and the wider world. Everybody. Everybody love.

 

 

Published in: on June 20, 2020 at 9:05 pm  Leave a Comment  
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the fargo kantrowitz’z literary campsite

Before the night fell the grasses swayed. All life was somber and still. A cricket bleeted alone as crickets always do, this one, too early to sing, waiting for night as the orange sun disappeared behind the mountain. The water of the lake was smooth, not a ripple, grasses grew out of there too. Tall grasses that sticking up like trees with thick stems and the brown, very brown, dark brown almost browner than the trunks of the trees on the shore stalks, as I said, stood perfectly still. What happens when the stopping begins. Eyes wide open we seek movement. The poets always sing of themselves in the whisps of winds and sways of leaves, but when selves disappear the remaining former proof lives on, soulless, unknowing, lost.

Too much silence can kill a man says huxley. But huxley doesn’t know anything. He cuts corn down when seasons of corn cutting come. He rushes out to strip the land and comes home a richer man for a season, the good season, in between the times of waiting and loneliness. The poets are always looking for friends in nature. Somehow they know how to relate. Sunshine becomes God and moon the almighty mother. Loneliness doesn’t grip them. They don’t need the flesh and blood of their soul sisters or their brothers. We all fall down.

And stories, expanding in underwater silence, our talents bubbles bursting upon the water’s skin.If we could tell our stories, let our stories come up and be as real to each other as they are to all too often unknowing selves, then we could breathe. But breath is but another dream, another wasted thought to the drowning man, his story and his being watching the round orb of the sun blur and decrease. Eyes on deck. Keep watching says you, but the poet knows that even the underworld is there for him to relate to. Even then.

 

 

Published in: on May 1, 2020 at 5:31 pm  Leave a Comment  

Of Psychonaughts and Perspicuity

We’re in the middle of something and then bam, wow, watch out! Here comes something totally random. Ooh, just around the corner a long word that makes no sense, a portmanteau word is what they call it. He wishes so that he could have made up the word portmanteau because it is the near perfect word, but alas especially after Joyce he knows he is just another psychonaught on the way to perspicuity. Ah, c’mon, man, you say. Perspicuity? Really? And then you laugh and you go on your way and say mommy did you see, he said perspicuity and you’ve got your brownie points and so you’re all over a cheeseburger or something whatever you do at the fargo kantrowitz’z literary campsite sort of thing and all that, but anyway, the moral of the story is this: the fklc delivers some of the finest (see I’m trying to illustrate it to you) writing per se in the world today. The fklc is proud to present a whole plethora of writing plethorianations that will tan your hide. Find out more. For $14.95 you too can make all the difference in the world. Suport the fargo kantrowitz’z literary campsites fund for cool words that will never, ever matter to anyone) or something ike that. Gaaaawd!

 

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Published in: on September 18, 2019 at 11:24 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Make America Love Again – Joey Kantor

 

 

 

My mother was born again in 1973, the same year she opened a Bible store in Las Vegas where I grew up.  When Jesus’ love walloped my mother, boy, did it hit hard. I grew up with a mother who praised Jesus all day long and quite openly.

 

Hence, being eight years old at the time, I was introduced to the Christian religion. I was immediately saved, of course, and Jesus took the place of my “word” which was a part of the practice of transcendental meditation that my mother had been involved with just the year before.

 

It became Jesus Jesus Jesus. Jesus loved everybody. I mean everybody. He loved His enemies even. When people got mad at him for telling the truth they actually put Him on a cross, hung Him there to die, and He still asked God to forgive them. He had a lot of patience, this Jesus. So I followed Him too.

 

When I became a teenager in the early 1980s I occasionally attended a non-denominational church, Calvary Chapel, at Rancho and the freeway. I remember one day an associate pastor telling us something that just didn’t jibe with what I thought I knew about Jesus. He said that unless you became a born-again Christian, you were going to go to hell.

 

Think about it. You’re going along -love love love- when suddenly, boom, hate. Jesus would throw you into an oven! Okay. Now, did Jesus condemn other religions of other cultures? If so I must have missed it what with all of the talk about love. What about the good Samaritan? It just didn’t make sense. I later took a two-year Masters degree in mythology, other people’s religions really, to find an answer.

 

What I discovered was interesting. Time after time the religions that I studied said the same things that Jesus said but in different ways. I saw the game clearly. The loving God I had known wouldn’t be so stupid as to condemn everyone other than Christians just because they spoke a different language, had a different mythic vocabulary if you will. The heart was what mattered.

 

Along came 9-11 and then Iraq. It was a mad rush to war, and who was cheering it on the most? The right wing evangelical Christians. The swiftness with which they abandoned the command not to kill, but love only, was breathtaking and very sad.

 

Now, of course, we have Donald Trump. Eighty-one percent of evangelicals voted for him even though his actions, even before the election, were blatantly vile. The evangelical Christians wanted to acquire the worldly power that Jesus Christ himself would have vehemently disagreed was worth having. Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s…

 

Evangelicals have drunk the Trump Kool-Aid because it has been in Trump’s best interests to say and do whatever this sub-culture wants even if he has to lie.

 

I’ll stick with the loving God instead of this politically motivated facsimile of Christianity that feeds off of the notion of tough love. Love isn’t tough. Love is love.

 

Perhaps someday right wing evangelical Christians will once again embrace the idea that their worldly beings are nothing, that there is no greater thing to do than to give your very life for your brother, that you should give your enemy the shirt off of your back, that a real Christian cares for the “least of these,” that kindness is actually not weakness, as some would have you believe, that must be destroyed.

 

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just make America love again?