The Artistic Abstract Adjective Beat Movement

 March 27th Sunday Casper Early morning Casper Wyoming.

Morning sun rises in early spring.

The town is quite with empty streets.

Stillness with a head full of thoughts and a simple smile.

Lost time, and found frame of mind in open spaces.

Breakfast with friends.

Late nights coffee with Kerouac vibes,

Of distant memories that are still alive.

The scribbles and rambles of coffee drip writers

Pours like perfectly pommed verses.

Artistic happenings of life unfolding on the pages of grand stages

Mit Dir Habe Ich Die Perfekt Tasse Kaffee.

Mit dir habe ich die perfekte tasse kaffee

Die perkfekt tasse kafee habe ich mit dir

Zwit tassen kaffee mache ich am morgen

Wo ein neues bild malt eine neue wirklichkelt

Eine Tasse perfekt

Und

Eine Tasse nicht Perfekt

Ich träume vor einer perfekten tasse kaffee

Und

Die imperfect-tasse von kaffee ist kalt

Am verrückt morgen treffe ich zwei füchse

Einen deutsche und einen französischer fuchs, beide habe gut antowort für mich

Angst hast du, deine lebenszeit mit klein problemen zu verschwenden ihr habt kummer

Wir haben leben

Und

On ne voit bien qu’avec le Coeur l’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux

Wirklichkeit holt fantastische ein idee, und machen eine perfekt wahreheit in den neuen tag

Aüf meinem tisch kipp ich meine zewi tassen kaffe

Der kaffee schwappt mit poetic über mein kleinen worte und grosse ideen

Wahrheit in wirklichkeit fliesst von dem kalten kaffee

Ohne angst spreche ich die worte, die ich für sie in meinem einfachen gedicht

Es ist die zeit die wörter in meinem herx zu sagen

Ich fag emit einem kleinen wort an

Ja

Du brings mich ja zum leben zu sagen

Du brings mich ja sagen su meine trauma zu sagen 

Mit dir habe ich die perfekte tassee kaffee

Die perfekte tasse kaffee habe ich mit dir

Le café parfait

La tasse de café parfait, c’est qand le monde arête

Et nous partageons un moment au café

Nous parlons de nos rêves et nous partageons ce que nous savons

Et quand je pense à partager non seulement le café.  Mais aussi le moment

Je pense seulement de vous

Le monde est assise n face de moi

Une réalité que nous partageons

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you…

Capitalist fat-cat oligarchs

Do not bit the hand that feeds you

Do not show your teeth with discontent. Do not growl with anger and do not bark with malcontent.

Do not bit the hand that feeds you

Do not whimper after being scolded and do not cower when your feeds you

Do not think ideas and do not have opinions for you are a dog who does not bite

Do not bite the hand that feeds you

Lye there on the floor until told to fetch by the cats that lye there in the window until your alone and left to kvetch

Do not bit the hand that feeds you

Be thankful for the scraps your feed and never mind the thoughts and feelings that you're left within your head

Because in our bourgeois lives and with our proletariat eyes we can see through the fat cats’ lies

Bite the hand that feeds you.

Do you have the time.

Yes it’s a little past 4:51

Life, do you know it?

No, I mean I passed though it once

Did you see me? Standing there on the corner, holding my sign that said who is john gault

Cheeky

I mean what did you expect?

Atlas didn't just shrug he drooped what he was doing and walked off all together

And where did that leave me?

Working on Maggie's farm, and for what?

Being whipped until I become a dead ass.

Pleasing a master in hopes of one day I get the gumption of setting out on the road in search of my Margarita.

But how could I?

Not when people are more concerned with their naked lunches than they are anything else.

That and their new profound sense of freedom with soilent green.

They might as well be clock work oranges, without the orange falling from the rookers of bog.

Sure, I left the farm and what did I find other then misguided boxers, and howls.

And yes I had my share of milk plus, I mean after all I have the heart of a dog.

I mean it's hard to imagine that the tropic of cancer and capicorn are anything new, and to replace the farm with what the jungle. 

 The more we pear thorugh the looking glass into humaties soul the deeper we find ourselves in the heart of darkness

Life, you talk about it as if you lived several lives rather than just passing though one.

What do you really know about life.

It's absolutely beautiful, but its over in the blink of an eye.

Our lives pass before us as quick as we thumb though the pages of a book we pick from the shelf

Judging it as if it will be our next read.

Like a flip book, lasting ideas become brief impressions, whimsical notions really of moments strung together in hopes of telling a story.

With our own books, we are all to content with the blank pages we leave by the assumptions we make, allowing for the lies we tell ourselves of the stories we leave behind and untold. 

Have you ever taken the time to gaze at this impressionist piece of art and truly attempt to understand it,

And have you ever stopped to ask about their life before Margarita said anything.

You see at night when we slumber we take for granted that we will wake up and remember who we are.

That we can pick up that book and find our place and continue on as if we were the same person we were the day before, that there's still time

You can pretend to be apart of something and yet be apart of nothing, a background character or supporting cast to preforming on the stage of someone else's play in some somber fray. 

But What changed for you?

I sought to experience life in a particular way

And so I waited, watching time pass bye, day by day

Finally it was Theo who came and asked

Have you had enough sitting by in your idle lie or

Is it too cliché to live your life in tripe

His words echoed in me, like the opening notes to Chopin's opus # 23

Played with such adagio I could feel the anxiety, the fear come over me, like some Thompson like charter narrating,

 I could hear his voice; the horror the horror the horror

It as the fear of living a Kafkaesque life that frightened me most of all enough to get up and set out before I too was crushed like a bug.

I would leave behind everything I thought I knew to be true in search of something I wasn't sure that exited, but I knew was out there.

In line and in verse over wine you conversed

and did you find what you were looking for

I was thrown into the muse of space and in it I found my place

Like the blank canvas of the panels of the pages

Life is only limited by the spaces we produce

In those spaces I begin writing my own novella  

A place where the forth wall doesn’t exist, have you ever been to such a place

A place where your free to be yourself set against the different themes and tropes

I had to travel half way around the world only to find what it was I was looking for was right in front of me the whole time

And I would have know that place if I hadn't listened to so much of the white noise

And , I would never have found it if I hadn't left

But your back, what now.

No, not what now, the question you should be asking is what is to be done. 

I never understood the old saying “It is better to have loved and lost than it is to have never loved at all.”

Today I say good-bye to another place that I came to know in my journeys while in Tokyo.

I was left with more questions than I had answered, leaving me wanting to come back and find the answer.

So many places have no become a thing of the past and as I attempt to hold onto how I knew Japan I have to remember

“All things change in a dynamic environment, our efforts to remain what we are is what limits us.”

I am forever changed because of what I know, may I find my answers and context in explaining them.

Tokyo 2024 March here I come.

Another day of random coffee drinking at my favorite places led me to discover the downtown annual side walk chalk experience. I had an amazing time drinking coffee seeing all the people out and the amazing works of art. It was a beautiful day filled with sunshine good vibes and no wind. A perfect day to be out and about. 7-9-2022

This was the poem I read for the bad poetry slam the other night 8-8-22 and had a good time with it. The group is amazing, the energy is incredible, a space where people can grow and heal. I love being there and being apart of the happening.

You wouldn't know this about me if I didn't tell you,

But I'm the son of the fifth Beatle, the love child of Magnum P.I. and the spawn of Dracula just to name a few

Having a father who believed he was the drummer for the Beatles was surreal to say the least.

I would spend countless hours listing to him drum out Beatle tunes on his Oyster Peral drum kit while I sat there and drank root beer.

I got to give it to him, he was good, he didn't just have the left handed drum technique, he also had the iconic mop top, rings and Cuban Beatle boots, and collarless suit.

This was my first impression of my dad, and instead of having traditional family photos we had Beatle posters with Ringo Starr's pictures cut out and ones my dad taped in. 

I can only imagine what his class mates must have thought considering this was the time of bands like Gun's N Roses Poison, AC/DC and people were jamming to Masters of puppets.

When the band scene wasn't it cutting anymore and his ego loomed larger than his legend he was on to new and bigger things.

The posters came down, the drum kit was sold along with his iconic George Harrison Rickbacker.

It was a Tuesday when dad came home with a crew cut a mustache and Kakie shorts and a ball-cap with gold dolphins. 

No longer were the days of dreaming of being a rock star, now we were going to be a Lt. Commander in the Navy / Private deceive.

When I asked why don’t we drive a fancy car and live in a nice place, he told me was undercover and that I and the rest of the family were rented in order to keep up the airs while he was on a big case.

I can't say he sold his sole to get into the navy but for someone with health conditions and pushing the age restrictions he got his shot.  Maybe it was the Senator and Congressman that got tired of hearing from him on the daily and finally told the Navy to shut this guy up.

But, I'll never forget that full midnight moon when I went with him down to the river with him. I headed onto the rope with the lve vest as he waded into to the river to finish casting his spell. 

I was to stand by, to throw the rope in and get help if things went wrong, but I didn't know if we needed a priest or an ambulance or both but there was no way in hell I was going to get his dad.

Two week later he was hanging out the door of a bus making his way to boot camp.  I heard him say as he waved good byre, "see you later suckers" and never looked backed. 

His sister just stood there and said I don't know how he can just walk out on everything. 

His dad remarked I give it a week before he's calling us to get him out of this mess.

That call never came.

A few days Later I went back to his childhood bedroom.  Long gone were the days of the Cavern Club, an empty room now expect for the massive alter with pictures of Magnum P.I., Hymen Rickover, Erich Topp, Gunter Prim and Otto Kruchmer along with hundreds of submarines and surface warships models not to mention dozens of candles and other runes painted on the walls.

My mom’s dad knew that I absolutely loved space. He got me a book from the library he worked at depicting the space race in beautiful color pictures. 

Shortly after I started to run around with a five-gallon white bucket on my head pretending it was a space helmet, until my dad’s dad turned it into one of sorts for me. it even had the iconic CCCP written across It just like the one in the picture of the first man walking in space.

My mom wanting to make my dreams a reality she helped the best she could.

Finally I was ready for my own mission. 

Although there were troubles from the get go, as I climbed the capsule it was smaller then I could have imagined and there were no windows to peer out.

immediately after liftoff I started to spin violently out of control and the mission had to be aborted

The heat shield failed and the temperature started to rise.  Before I knew it I was back on the ground with an abrupt stop and a loud bang.  There was  my dad cussing as he ripped the dryer door off from its hinges rescuing me from a failed mission. 

The heroic journey of Vostok 0 only lasted several minuets and never made it into the history books only into the hearts and minds of those who were thankful I had made back safely.

Sad that I did not make it into space, this one flight was then end of my space career

I guess you could say that I grew up in sort of a fairy tail. 

We had on neighbor who had a wolf hybrid dog, the kind of dog that bit at the fence as you walked by from the other side of the street. 

My dad use to love taking me for walks by the house. And as I held his hand he would ask me if I wanted to pet the puppy.

All the while Inching my hand closer and closer to the fence.  Barking and snapping it was a terrifying expecting petting the wolf dog.

Screaming and in hysterics my dad would pull my sleeve over my hand and then jerk it back only to scream out loud  "OH MY GOD It's EATEN YOUR HAND." Both of us would be screaming as we ran home.  When we walked in mom would be asking what's wrong with Terry.

In a cool calm way Dad would just say, I don't know I guess it just isn't his day.

Safe and back at home with both of my hands all I could think of was those poor little pigs never had a chance.

My mom wouldn't fid out for years why I had such anxiety over putting on anything with sleeves.  She didn't know that I believed that just maybe it had been eaten by the wolf dog.

Our landlord was a crazy eccentric old lady who lived in a ran down house.  

At night me and my dad would turn out the lights and peer out the window and watch her dig though the garbage and take home her many treasures. 

Once a month I would go with mom  to pay the lot rent, and going into the house you could tell that she had been collecting trinkets for some time and hording for even longer.

One day my dad sat me  down and set me straight and told that this was the witch form the story of Hansel and Grettle and that all the trinkets were actually things she had keep from the children she had already eaten.  

He knew this cause he helped one boy escape but not before taking from him a trinket, and that if she should ever try to give me something that I was next kid she was after as a way of luring me in.  He told me I had to be carful that mom might be under a spell and trying to take me to the witch for payment. 

My little heart sank because I thought she was just being nice and giving small toys and junk like my great grandmother did ever time I visited.

Finally it was time to pay the rent again, and mom came and asked if I was ready to go.  Instantly I started to cry and scream please as I hid under the bed yelling "Please don't feed me to the witch I'll be good I promise."

I never had to go with mom again to see the witch and luckily we would be moving away from that fair tail place.

I had an impressive collection of die cast cars and vehicles along with hundreds of plastic soldiers. I would spend hours in the summer and in the winter building roads, and carefully setting up the plastic soldiers making towns of sort.  Even thought my dad was busy with being a Beatle, or on some detective case I always wanted him to play with me and my cars.

I only asked him a couple of times, each time thinking it would different.  He would say sure, Ill be out in just a moment.  Ironically enough he still had all his toys and models from when he was a child. 

Our family never got rid of anything.

Out he would come with a Junkers JU 87D Stuka dive bomber of the German Luftwaffe.  Making Air Plan noises and along with the iconic diving siren in a matter of moments my hard work was undone before making more airplane noises and flying off back into the house. 

Standing there in shock and awe my dad would come back out and say well that was fun. 

I learned the horrors of war and the effectiveness of blitzkrieg at an early age

Today it would be easy to say that my dad suffers from dementia

That the super model wife he is married to is really just the live in nurse that takes care of him

Or the jets engines that he makes is him really just the models he builds at the dinning room able. 

I mean the family all knew he was resentful that he couldn't shrink himself down to play with the equipment that came with his 12 in GI Joes as a child

So when he talk of his army we might just figure it's his +500 plus collection of 12 Gi Joes taking orders and it's just jeff talking to himself again

Or when he talks about his church and his message that it's just really a gas leak in the house that he needs to get checked.

And his claims that he lives for ever and doesn't age is just his denial that he's push 60 years now.

In reality my dad really is married to a super model who is younger then me. 

It will always be a bit odd calling her mom. 

And as for building jet engines when he did his interview for his company, he exclaimed that he did work on a lot engines and had extensive knowledge, mostly on the Wasp R 1830,  R 2800, and PW J58s.  A phonominal fact considering that the J58s went into production the year he was born. And the others were engines used in world war II

And although one part of his house is dedicated to his action figures his army is real. 

Like stepping out into a time machine and landing in mid 40s, My father is known as the German in the forest. 

He had upgraded from playing soldier on the floor to Live Action Role playing the real thing.

or at least as close as you can get with a Uniform, Stug tanks a couple half-tracks some other heavy equipment along with 300 men.  For some the Eastern Front has never gone silent and for a few the war has never ended.

His home might as well be called Caren Hall, decorated with the 30's in mind, it's easy to forget that just outside the front door is the 21st century.

As for his church I got to hand it to him when avoiding getting vaccinated he simply said it was against his religious beliefs.  Rather than singing up for a church that doesn't believe in vaccination he formed his own and sat down and wrote his own book, the book of jeffifice.  He then went on and argued that it was left out and that it should fall somewhere between the books of Mathew and John.  Needless to say he was one of the few to get an exemption

The story he told us about living for ever is a familiar one.  Although we thought it was when he sold his sole to get into the navy he said, that when he was in romaine on.  He leave he had been bitten by a bat and that his aging process has been slowed.  That is why he still has those devilish good looks.

He can still be found in the early mornings with his jack boots steel helmet and razor-sharp spade shovel checking the bear traps on his property has he eats his brought worst weinner making his rounds to see if anyone was foolish enough to trespass before getting ready for work

On the weekends you can find him out in the back yard living his best life hunkered down in his fox hole with his men waiting for the next big battle to begin. 

I got to go the National Finals College Rodeo with my mom over the weekend June 16, and it was a blast. I have regret of not doing thing with my grandparents, and so now I am making up by not missing out by doing things with my friends and family who are now much older and don’t go out and do things as often as they might like.

The first night I went was June 11th, 2023 opening night. I got to sit in the balcony. My job had bought out the entire thing for it’s employees which was super awesome. I felt like a Roman Senator eating good food and drinking from an open bar with Cesar, especially with the events that would continue to conspire throughout the week and into the following ones.