A Parlor In The Town

You can have your riches,
All the gold you saved
Ain’t room for one thing
In everybody’s grave

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Vamonos! Vamonos!

Electric Worry
Clutch (2007)

Enjoyed the company last Saturday of a small group of people I did not know. Nice enough day with only a little pain. Usual sort of chat around kids and relationships and the motives of murderers. Lots and lots of skulls and little statues of monsters around, along with some crayon drawings of boats taped to the wall. Nice replica of a battle ax next to me.

A guy comes in needing money for food. He has some cd’s to sell and a Cannibal Corpse tee shirt. He’s a regular with the group and my friend gives him $35 for the lot. The guy is happy and hangs out for a while. He says it’s good that he has gotten rid of the tee shirt, because he’s at a place in his life right now where he really shouldn’t be wearing tee shirts that depict dead babies hanging from chains.

My friend tells him he’ll probably hang the tee on the wall.

He tells me privately that he’s found that lending money to friends is a bad idea, so he’d rather just give him the money for the stuff even though he already has the cd’s and he’ll never wear the shirt.

A couple of the men are reading the news on a laptop. They report to us that a well known public individual is reporting that the Boston marathon bombing is without doubt a false flag operation of our own government.

The public individual says that he has proof and will present it unless the president comes clean.

The company greet this news with only slight skepticism.

The lady in the group calls the sitter to check on her kid.

My wife brings me lunch from the restaurant next door.

A Devi I know has told me that I should recite mantra during the day to infuse the work with holy vibration. I try, but I can’t isolate the mantra in my mind.

Instead the work is infused with seven hours of Metal…

Corrosion of  Conformity

Mantras of the place and time.

You have no doubt surmised by now that I spent the day getting a large tattoo on my upper left arm.

The tattoo refers to the story of a yogi – Bharat, by name – who so loved his pet deer that he could not bear to be parted from the deer, even if it meant another round of samsara.

This makes me think of the gunas and whether the elements of our lives are in a war to determine which shall prevail, or whether it is all a dance of inscrutable harmony.

Are we to discover
the divinity that we have always been…
or are we to become from a seed-potential
newly divine?

Was Bharat’s love strong enough to bind him, yet not evolved enough to free him?

Tat shop sangha.

I should say, too, that the members of Clutch say that the Bang! Bang! stuff has nothing at all to do with guns. It’s emphasis for the Vamonos!




4 responses to “A Parlor In The Town

  1. I want my yoga practice to inspire me like I was inspired by the man playing the harmonica. Wow! And sometimes it does! I clear myself enough to remember that I am music from the harmonica being played by the universe. Bharat, you facilitate that, even without the new tattoo, which I am sure will be very beautiful, and worth the small amount of pain. Like the deer that keeps you here. I think it is ALL divine.


    • Thank you, Martha. I, too, find harmonica music inspiring. Inspire comes from breath, and living life and blowing harp both take skillful use of the breath.


  2. Friend, I’ve been on the rat’s wheel, finally jumped off and almost broke my neck but took a minute here as I’d only given a quick glance before to know I liked it .

    Metal mantra for 7 hours sounds about right. Just wanted to tell you it’s going through my head too. Even meditation has become a metal death roar. ARGHHHH no way will you silence me. I’m here to fuck you up. Like Jung says, we are our dreams or at least the main characters and we are our metal. Maybe the pain of the tattoo was you setting your hair on fire. I set mine on fire but no one noticed so it didn’t give me any relief. What I wanted was someone to put it out. I had to put the damn thing out myself.:) Your party there sounds like a scene from an Indie movie. Or that old show Northern Exposure. You paint a great picture. We are really funny.


    • Yeah… going along in a scene from Northern Exposure thinking I’m the sane one and everyone else is nuts. Sitting in a chair for seven hours of cookie monster vocals at ear-bleed amplitude while a guy draws on my arm with a needle and it comes to me… Shit. What if I am the crazy one?


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