Creative Collaborative Cagebreakers, Rhino Ravendove [best novels to read in english TXT] 📗

And what were you scribbling?

Eagle: Notes, doodles, insights. Here, I sketched this for you.

Po Tolo: An eagle?

Eagle: The eagle is a great bird that soars. It’s a formidable hunter that seizes its prey with talons and perches on peaks too high for many to ascend. I like to work with graphite pencils. Used to do a lot of artwork when I was a kid. I lost my hands in the First Gulf War. These prosthetic hooks get the job done, but I miss my opposable thumbs. Here is your picture.

Po Tolo took the picture, pondered it, then rolled it up and put it in the sleeve of his robe. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at my hands, blinked at my hooks, looked up at me, and smiled in that way only he could, and left. A few days later someone had slid a rough recreation of the picture under my door. There was something written on it:

We are all relatives. Grandfather and grandmother gave us much. Some of us have paws, some of us have hands, some have talons. Celebrate what you are given and you will learn to use your gifts in surprising ways.

I hung the sketch on the wall in my office. The smudges and pawprints almost blurred the signature, but it is still clear:

To Screaming Eagle: Fly High.
With love, Flowdowg.


Lust, Love, Loss, & Epilogue
By
The Rhino

These four poems chronicle the stages of an intimate relationship. Naturally, each represents an actual incident of lust, love, loss, and epilogue. Aligned with my comments for my second piece, these poems served to handle feelings that bubbled up in the throes of the most basic aspect of life--the Creative arising in the form of sex. It is my hope that since virtually everyone has gone through at least the first two stages, readers may be able to relate. The post-script piece seems to be a work in progress and what I felt to be a finality is really just another step on the unfolding path. Perhaps my next piece will be on the state of pissocity, (low grade irritation).


Lust
Freedom In the Bush
Joshua Tree National Park, CA

Breaking sunset
Sacral chakra orange
Fueling my creative source
Sky of hazy beige
My soul flies to see the sun
Still waiting for my ride

Sweet, succulent, seedy, bushes
Seductive, bright red flowers
Perched on slender spires.
Fear not! They won’t prick
But they will give a roost.
The reception line is sweet.
Welcome home, somebody loves you.
Don’t let me escape my destiny.
I am free in the bush.
She is so kind.
She won’t let me go.
With her flowers and stickers
And her unpredictable shapes and moods.
I am a captive of the love bush


Love
She Gives It to Me
(for the Palaver)
Santa Monica, CA

My soul needs a flushing.
Some old stuff is stuck deep in the super-unconscious.
Where is the metamucil of the soul?

Currently in an intense and committed relationship
And I am discovering the material that was “processed” long ago.
Where was it hiding?
Some how the heat of the union is calling out
neurotic glitches that have been in hiding.

We dance around my reactivity to her reactivity.
We are getting better.
These days instead of an all out break up that lasts days,
We simply go into hiding and fondle that sensitive spot.
She gets quiet and cries.
I get frustrated and cry.
And then we both cry for help.
At $150 per hour we make sure to leave happy and renewed, resolved, and restored.

Now, I’ve got a thing about wasting money, I don’t like it.
For me getting counseling is an investment.
I need a return.
We have the best therapist.
He works hard.
Gets down on his knees imploring us to appreciate each other.
I think that must contribute to convincing her that I am for real.
I wonder if she would be happier with a ring.
It would sure be cheaper.

Do you know what $600 per month gets in the marketplace of professional “relationships?”
This is my proof that men, at least this man, are not completely driven by supermodel looks and young vixens.
The heart is a stronger attraction.
My heart seeks connection, understanding, partnership and communion.
When I think of my queen the sun shines and my soul is home.
If it takes $600 per month, it is a good deal.
My materialistic friends can’t get that from the escort service.
To paraphrase her mother, ‘this girl gives it to me.’


Loss
Telling the Truth That Sets ME Free
Venice, CA

My baby’s gone!
She done left me high and raw.
The world knows and everyone has a comment.

Outrage from the gardener
Insight from the shrink
Support from my bud
Analysis from my brother in law
Maybe from a practitioner
Frustration from my older brother-mentor
Optimism from my street vendor friend.
And me I fall into the love pit where you can’t see the bottom or the top.

BOGUS! She, me, love, relationships, L.A., the church and YES---
God! Dammit! The thousand names of Allah and Ram.
Rumi you lucky twirling mystic.
Leary you psychedelic trickster.
Lennon you dreamer.
Marley you 11 baby mama propagator.
Rajneesh you ‘free’ lover.
Muktananda you devotee user.
Beckwith you agape love surrenderer.
Pollack you expressing drunk.
Ginsberg you howling ommer.
Jesus you crying martyr.
Gautama you mindful fatso.
Erhard you used car salesman who got it.

All of y’all.
Talking your way into smug self conning and
then having the chutzpah to hype it.
Worse than the doctor who promises a cure and then charges when you don’t.
We are talking peoples’ hearts, dreams, souls.

A common line runs through all of y’all:
‘Know the truth and the truth will set you free.’
Well, the truth is you don’t know the way.
And if you do then it is for you, not me.
In Jamaica they say, ‘back off screwface.’
Bob Dylan said it best, ‘don’t follow leaders, watch your parking meters.’
And to paraphrase the Who, ‘I fooled myself again.’


Epilogue
Another Stranger in the Fair of Promises
Santa Monica, CA

Cold and distant day near the ocean waves
Sand blows a chill as she did today
Checking the fair of vendors of original;
Body lotions, African masks, chiropractic, tango, juicing, salvation, oxygen, and
Her POTTED plants

Painful, slow extrication from an impossible fit
Left us bones in the desert;
Bare, dry and dead
Nothing to chew on
Nothing to smile about
Nothing to wax nostalgic
Best left in the attic with those other relics
The spirit has made its transition leaving bones
Brought down from their hiding place
Just old bones, bare bones
Bones of lost hopes, love, desire, dreams, dependence, fantasy, projection and illusion

Today, after 180 days is the day
The day to see what survives in the rubble

Passing one booth of dreams and then another
Til I reach.
Til we reach. Til we arrive.
My words are light, cool, and bland
Her words are jocular, cool, and banal
As I feared
As I anticipated
As I welcomed
Who is this woman who was my queen?
Who is this apparition who can’t even look at me?
Where did the old story go?
A program that rarely played clearly
A series that embodied fantasy projection
By souls who yearned for
authentic, real, soulful, veracious, communion,
oneness

Dead more than 180 days, so dead that
even Jesus wouldn’t lift a hand for
this stinky, decayed confabulation
It is good to see the corpse and
smell its stench, ugliness, and deadness
Where there once was life, now there is
No love,
No feeling,
No attraction,
No spirit,
No interest,
Not a friend, less than an acquaintance, without
even enough juice to be an enemy
Just another stranger in this fair of promises


SECTION 4:
In the End Was the Beginning
Emaginate 1


Inspiration, Collaboration, then Dissemination
by
The Rhino

A dark and dreary day at the local artists’ café and the free lance denizens pass through as the Ravendove and I dive into documents and files. Outside an aging troubadour appears on his bike, with white man dreads, and his guitar. Pulling out paper and herb he rolls a fat cigarette, then fires up and shares with a young compatriot. Strumming his guitar with a sign on the case soliciting tips, his Creative is here and now. For me, it requires coaxing words on to the computer screens, compiling those words, editing those words, formatting files for publication, and delivering the package to you, the reader.

Inspiration, collaboration, work, product, life lessons, creativity all emerged and then merged in this project. It has been a winding and twisting road leading now to completion. A physical trip can be solo, with a companion, or in a group. Each offers different rewards of inner and outer growth and experience. In actual travel a solo trip leads to new connections and much introspection. Traveling with a companion can bring tensions and profound bonding. A trip with a group of three has been very satisfying in my experience. The strengths and weaknesses of the individuals stimulate variety and balance. In this creativity journey we started out as a collective of three and ended a partnership of two. Along the way we encountered bumps and grinds in the road. When we lost one of our members, it totally changed the dynamic and forced a new strategy for continuing the work. The momentum of the threesome kept the project on track and avoided conflicting work styles in favor of the collective. As collaborators we needed to construct new systems to reach the finish line. We opened the door to the Creative and it demanded flexibility in order to continue the work. Stepping into this adventure necessitated following a path without a map. Taking one step at a time and seeing only as far as the next step.

Our journey began as an inquiry into marketing original, creative projects through the constantly shifting sands of the internet. The premise behind the project was that in the modern media artists can find and reach their tribe, their niche, their market and grow an audience. So, this ending is really the beginning of the next phase of the project. Bringing it out to the world, literally from Santa Monica to Sudan, from Exxon to the 212 Café, from Jamal Wilkins in L.A. to Tim Van der Fliet in Amsterdam.

The idea emerged out of a meeting of the Rhino and the Ravendove with a mutual friend, the Techno Mystic at a local Starbucks on how to do a podcast. The stimulating conversation led to a follow up meeting for sharing some of our work. There was a lot of energy and the Techno Mystic suggested we pull together and do a collective product marketed solely through the internet. The Rhino and the Ravendove enthusiastically signed on for the digital express. Not using a map, GPS, or guide we decided to strike out and see where it led.

What happened? What did we learn? Where are we going now?
Lesson #1, Put out an SOS