Poetry is fluid
It can distort your mind
and play with your soul with one simple statement like
you’re never a woman and neither a man, nor your pet dog.

Poetry is a soccer field
where the thrusts, blocks and passes are the same as
an attempt at getting the goal
of one getting their word past a thick fog of judgement.

Poetry is a killer
It can wring you dry and fling you
to the edges of the ocean and have you drinking
your own faculty juices before you know it.

Poetry is ambiguous
to those who hide meaning
or their means to an end
or those who are unfortunate to have been born
into the house of buddha

Poetry is flight
the base-jumping and the soul thread
the kind that leads surfers to the revered pipe
and the ones who slaughter thousands
to get the millions their want

Poetry is ecstacy
and your salvation
the feeling, the drug, the fragrance that leads you
out of your misgivings
and your miseries and your flights of ego
your beliefs in empathy and the one true god

Poetry is compact
it can throw you a curved ball
with a thousand fold more meaning packed in the curve
than the impact of it hitting your jaw

Poetry is succinct
Every century,yet another generation of literati
will squeeze yet another set of realities
from this very sentence.

Forever more, poetry is the essence
of life, liberty, happiness,
of expansion, contentness, society
continuity, survival, ignorance

I would read and write and rejoice.



-lex lapax

if the gods created the oceans
and the rain and the earth
and the skies and the sun
and the mountains and the moon
and the people that walk
and fight and love
and kill and give birth
or live and be lost

where is the purpose in all this
what difference does it make
if i walk a hundred miles
or you fly to the moon and back
or they create a nation
that lasts a thousand seasons
and die out for horses
to graze on it’s grass

it is in the now and the present
my actions today and this instant
my thoughts racing to enjoy
and to fulfil this, my constant
need for union with myself
to experience the lotus bloom
of the expanding horizon that
my mind’s eye is beholden to see

live once, live forever
live like this is my only day
my only chance to experice godhood
love once, love like i was born
just to love and to be loved
the essence is in me, and in you
and in everything i see
and sense around me

the essence is godness
you are god, i am god, we are god
this earth is god, the rain,
the clouds, the airplanes and the birds
the moon and the sun
and the dancing stars
we are one, each and evertyhing
all of us, it is one,
it is the only, it is the ultimate

how could one not love onesself?
spread the love

fear and loathing in san jose

fear and loathing in san jose
a namesake tribute to the movie

The stars don’t shimmer
the clouds are air
the land is dry
sucking up water
the cars pass by
no familiar faces
the promise to keep
this as a token
as a reminder in happier times
things aren’t all good
the hurried feeling
where am I going
what is bound to happen?

the hope of seeing
pretty faces, smiling faces
it’s all fear
like a cloak that descends
and does not let me breathe

some vestige of a nod
the glint of an eye
where is the town square
where are the people walking

content of a family raised
soothing green tea
pacifying, calming
making tame

where are children playing?
dads and sons
moms and daughters
alone in their drivers seats

what is intelligence
and approval and logic
and understanding

everyone’s home bored
listening to the piano
drugged out on tv
smash your radios now

sparkless lost people
with flies on their beards

hurrah for green shoes on black pants
the orange rays of the setting sun
have no counterpart here
this barren, silicon land

hurrah for colors
hurrah for orange shirts

The desert vapors

A tribute to the Burningman project.

The music as thick as pasta
sticking and clinging
to my eardrums
piercing the liquidness
of my body and reaching for the heart

Pulsating and shouting
like a madman on a cliff
Hear me, be me, see me.

The fatness disappears
The dust settles
on beautiful faces
Darkness moves aside
giving way to
the river of emotions
that began when
we first started crawling
and is now beached
at the temple
doomed to burn
and be reborn.

Ecstasy abounds
The sights and sounds
The awakening of
souls through
thunderous grounds
deep in the night
finding others of likeness
and everyone else around

Shakes us to the
inner self, this
layer of confusion
juxtaposed on a simple
arrow of kindness
being offered as oranges
set forth
to raise us
and set us on the
way to the warmth
of the morning rays
hitting the whitewashed
faces, gleaming
with sweet perspiration
bursting forth
fragrance like
jasmine flowers on a full moon.

Bees with bellies full
of nectar heading
home, seven days
seven nights
it pouring dew
and gusts of satisfaction
Legions of colorful
and happy
soldiers of gratitude
pouring forth to paint this
emotionally scarred
and scary landscape

I grok this, I rejoice.
I understand. I’m here
I’m one of the soldiers
and fight, yeah
fight I will.

-by Lex Lapax �(09/01/2005)

Not Even Images

trusting and turning
my head banging
the steely grey wall
just showing
a ripple, a drop
acknowledging the effort
yet not my presence

this utterly alien
construct, changing
and bending into
beautiful flowers
the shy nymph
the blazing sun
the dog from hell
and a child at play

what is the meaning
of all this, i bellow
and pound,
the wall gives away
to let me feel rubble
and chaos inside

I melt, and sit back
in awe of the swaying
behemoth, I speak to it
I cry, I caress.
The wall becomes
steely again
Not even images
reflect on it.
It’s as dark as ever
as if I never were.

-by Lex Lapax�(08/24/2005)

The great grey state

I say, what’s with the learning
and the shovelling of mounds
and heaps of knowledge and
travelling and learning
and then sitting back
in the backyards of suburbia
raising children dreamily
as if in a trance.

Building community.
Building society.
A royal painful fuck in the ass
is what it is..

Go home to your countries,
your villages,
your places of coming into this world,
your barrios and your ghettos.
Build it there.

But I can’t say that
Beacuse I’m one of them
I’m you . I’m us.

We’ve all got mental syphilis
Fucking with our minds,
passing it along
Fucking with their minds
passing it along
Fucking with somebody else’s minds
passing it along

Warts and bruises
and itchiness in the head
Great grey scabs
of browning dirt
in the landscape of the mind.

-by Lex Lapax (6/24/2005)

The River

To think back upon the time I last visited the river
Makes me weep with sorrow over not having gone there
Again and laugh with joy at all the fun I had with it.
To you the reader, the river is just another artifact
Of nature’s working. To me, it’s everything.

It is the giver and taker of life; it is the one that fills
My heart with an overwhelming sense of belonging
And the one that makes me repent.
It is the one that makes me look forward to the ocean
That it flows towards, where I’ve never been.
It is the one that washes me of all the filth that
I’ve waded through, and the one that chides me
For being the indecisive spoilt brat that I am.

The river is pure energy, it lets me draw mine from it.
The river is sudsy boiling laughter drawing
Prankful critters along it’s sides
And flowers that entangle with it borrowing
Colors from it and giving their fragrance back.

I get the feeling the river sometimes yearns for me
I blindly follow the broken trails from wherever I am
Show up at its banks confused, surprised and hurt
Yet calmly elated, expectantly looking forward
To tangle with it and bring out the foam again.

I get the feeling, it’s play with the critters
And the burden of flotsam it carries from points
Long past, and the exchange of scents and non-scents
Tires it so, makes it sad and heavy.
For I can see, it’s not flowing like it should
Towards that great big blue ocean it longs for.

It is then that I give back what I can to the river
I have borrowed, it has given. I will give it will take.
I swim in it and stare at the wonder it
Carries in it’s depths. I caress the treasures that I find.
Wipe grit of the gems, and put them back to glow again.

It is a symbiotic relationship that I have with the river
It knows it, I know it. Sometimes I call for it and it
Comes flooding through and takes me in it’s embrace.
No wonder the river yearns for me.
No wonder I yearn for the river.

Yet I always remember the ocean, the great big
Void down the path. The sense that I get from the
River is that it’s the place of all beginnings
And no endings. It’s the place where everything belongs.
It flows towards it no matter how winding the path.
I get the feeling, the river wants me with it when we
Enter the ocean, together yet apart, yet entwined for ever.
I look forward to that moment when I can finally swim
Along with the river, in the bowels of the ocean
Because the river never swims, it just flows. It cannot yet swim.

All this makes me wonder why I’m not always in the river
Always bathed in the mutual delight that we give each other
All the dirt that I carry from my travels beyond time
and all the other things that float on it along it’s length
Come to the back of my mind.
Yet I still wonder, we could float through time together
And still get dirty, and still water the plants along the way
And still make all the tiny critters happy.
I wonder, and it makes me sad.

Would it not be even more disastrous,
The tragedy to put to shame all tragedies
If, before we went to the ocean together
The river dried out or I got lost
In my frequent meanderings among the stars
Never to come back again?

But then again, I’m not that far from the river, even now.
It can come cover me with it’s shiny wetness
Whenever it wants.
I think I want to go take a dip right now.

-by dédé(08/12/04)