David Given Schwarm

Married, Father, United

Author: David Schwarm

  • Fortune Cookie :: October 10, 2005

    You are going to have a comfortable old age.

  • BP :: PJ9

    #This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
    #newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

    The Horror of the 1990 Dope Draught
    psychedelic music feels
    psychedelic music fills the air
    Neil Yong

    I hate poems
    usually about
    poetry
    That don’t talk about
    their
    titles

    <<>>

    I hope they
    Read
    This
    And come to
    Take
    Away

    Everything which I
    Hold
    Dear
    Cause I have an
    Anarchist
    Weapon

    A death pistol
    of
    Mind
    Fearless of their
    Black
    Boots

    They have already done
    The
    Worst
    And pay back will
    Be
    Sweat
    -9-26-90

  • BP :: PJ8

    #This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
    #newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

    Whosh it comes Whosh
    Across prismed
    fleeing

    An orange Bat
    circling Irvine
    A brown rat
    entering a mine
    Wealth Destroyed the
    world –

    Information will not
    Bring it Back

    Apathy, the spiritual anarchy,
    Give it meaning
    lends it support

    No one morn the bat,
    Fangs stuck in
    Ceramic toads.
    The Rat will Always
    Resurface

  • Reading List :: 02005-10-10

    I am still falling further and further behind on my reading.

    Here is what I have on my plate this week.
    Power of Now
    Blinding Light
    Last night a dj saved my life

    and that is all I am going to put down so that I can hopefully get something done.

  • Fortune Cookie :: October 9, 2005

    You will have a close encounter of a serious kind.

  • BP :: PJ7

    #This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
    #newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

    A Poem for Mary Oliver

    Pulitzer Prize my
    Eye
    Frank O’Hara adn I
    can sort poems
    Better with our
    Feet.
    Hour by Hour
    you waste
    Never Tasting the
    Human.
    Open your Ears:
    Feel the Grass
    Tickilings of
    The Hammer and
    Stirrup.
    Charge open Armed
    into the Experience
    of your forgotten
    weakness
    – 9-22-90
    Los Angeles

    <<>>
    Some Questions You Might Ask
    by Mary Oliver
    Is the soul solid, like iron?
    Or is it tender and breakable, like
    the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
    Who has it, and who doesn’t?
    I keep looking around me.
    The face of the moose is as sad
    as the face of Jesus.
    The swan opens here white wings slowly
    In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
    One question lead to another.
    Does it have a shape?
    Like an iceberg?
    Like the eye of a hummingbird?
    Does it have on lung, like the snake and the scallop?
    Why should I have it, and not the anteater
    who lover her children?
    Why should I have it, and not the camel?
    Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?
    What about the blue iris?
    What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
    What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
    What about the grass?

  • Anti Muslim Ranting

    Yesterday, i got into it with Jeff over the Qur’an. I am currently reading about ten verses daily & I find the entire book to be complete devoid of love. Jeff argues that the book is foundational for the faith, that it was written long ago, that I am reading it in translation, etc. He is likely right & there is probably some contempt before investigation going on on my part.

    However, I have trouble applying the principle of AQAL when I am actually in conversation with someone – I find myself yelling & making up statistics, etc. I know that the path to growth is to expand the conversation to the human, but rather then doing that I try to make sure my super clever point is heard. shit.

    I am going to go to a mosque at some point this week and I am going to work more on trying to find the love in the faith – I clearly need to re read the Rumi poetry.

  • No Direction Home

    the scorcesse documentary on Dylan is amazing. Covering the period up to 1966 we see a young man evolve into an artist.

    Lisa responded very critically to the period in which Bob was lying to people about his past – his effort to be something that he was not was seen as disengenious, deceptive, even a rejection of where he came from. Lisa felt that in his description of his childhood he did not show enough respect to his parents as well as the state of minnisota.

    I am not so sure I agree. But I do see some logic in the concerns about authenticity from the beginning. As Dylan continually challanged reality, expectations, perceptions, and even a belief in what is possible artistically he regularily acted in artistic ways that were difficult, controversial, or even flat out unnerving. However, these are all parts of his art and therefor acceptable. When he moves outside of that and confronts these issues in “real life” my response is not as lauditory – what is he hiding from? Does he really need to lie? that kind of stuff.

    All that being said, the show was really first rate, I enjoyed the Baez stuff, the early folkies talking, the stuff with Pete Seeger ruled. Lots of fun.

  • BP :: PJ6

    #This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a newspapaer clipping
    #dated June 2, 1989.

    In an age of apathy
    The poet laurate of the
    pro la tariat
    refrains from classic
    notions of
    “Heartbreak”
    “Rainbows”
    “Albemuth”
    Bethovens violens
    Coltranes Sax
    Hendricks guitar

    Zoom the ear electrified
    A triumerate of noise and
    knowledge
    exploding in perfect
    apathy.

    Boom the mistake Boom
    was letting it take
    so long
    And embracing it too slowly

    Whosh it comes whosh
    across prismed
    fleeting
    up from earth
    through heavenly clouds
    And into the pot.

    Which when smoked
    Rolls all three
    and then some

    Into a single spine
    walking back into the
    sewar

    VII II
    Whatever fuiled Billi Holiday
    is my favorite

  • BP :: PJ5

    #This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a newspapaer clipping
    #dated June 2, 1989.

    Corso

    Inspiration like cursive
    is a means to speed life
    and its duties up a little
    so that death hurst less
    and the sense of this
    reality is appreciated in its
    fly eye complexity. there are
    no adjectives. Aolean harps
    and four year degrees are
    about as helpful as black ink
    instead of blue ink.
    It is all just ink.
    Ain’t that right Gregory the Poet.
    Yet, get it out fast.
    Faster the better – shorter the
    clearer. Ten million cantos will
    not make things simplier, though
    a burrito may.
    Rober said speed kills, yet
    Matt has a lap top computer,
    a personal fax machine, and a
    pool out back. Parsley, sage, rosemary
    and ?