Waymore Random

Music: Al Gromer Khan (“Conga Jog”) Words and Remix: Willi Brown

leaving aside all evidence 

that discipline is a drag

Let’s assume that humans

all want some kind of goal 

Then the question is how we get there

and, the input along the way

that changes your objective 

and modulates your soul

Wish I could claim divine inspiration 

Could unfold a tattered map

Some ragged paper catcher of my dreams

then i could point to some direction

Like I’m the master of my plan

But this is way more Random than it seems

Yeah, it’s waymore random than it seems

14 billion light years argue 

against the limited local view

So I’m of the mind to wonder what’s the point 

But unless I’m in depression 

I’m always rolling somewhere 

Even if it’s just another joint

I claim to be a poet 

and it protects me from the game 

all competitive and thrashing up the stream

I’m all “just dreams and vague directions” (Gorka) too cool 😎 for…  school

But yeah possibly less random than it seems

Oh yeah, totally, less random than it seems

So when your heart begins to notice

Some doubt and hesitation

Just breathe and make a friend with another change 

Whether you march ahead, 

or you juke and dance around

May your trip be light and always long and strange

Climate Inaction is Wisdom

I’ve decided that “it” is inevitable and has momentum like a motor car rolling downhill. Climate collapse – death of water bodies, coasts, forests, humans, animals, insects, etc. – is happening now! And humans holding meetings and legislating carbon reduction targets is just theater arising from collective shame. We blew it. 

It is conceivable (non-zero possibility) that letting it blow is the wisdom action. I could list possible outcomes of that – we get scared straight and prepare, we escape to the stars, we (most life on Earth) just die out – but pondering those outcomes misses the point. We live on a planet in one galaxy that has billions of stars. Doesn’t seem too much stretch to conclude, “big deal if we die”. 🤷 

A dying Earth might be “right” and proper in the evolution of this Universe. The big picture of consequence is too large, distant and complex for us to have an accurate understanding of the universal impact. 

But hey climate action feels good! Working and changing our behavior in order to preserve this magical Eden. It is a way of expressing our gratitude and love of our Mother Earth and compassion for all the living beings human and otherwise who are threatened by climate collapse. Right?

But isn’t it insane hypocrisy to take a bus downtown to participate in a march for Climate Action… or a plane to Brazil for COP30? Our complicity is all pervasive. Just my jeans and tshirt are a carbon footprint embarrassment. True there are big bad players like BP, Shell and Exxon but… we are them. The enemy is us. We buy a gallon of gas (or a tshirt) and the system goes round and round. 

Animals use (and are) energy. The answer to climate collapse is clean and renewable. So get your solar panels and move to the wooded hills and turn your car into a chicken coop. But get ready for wild fires. And masses of desperate new refugee neighbors increasing yearly.

God we want to look hopeful. We want to be seen as cheerful, industrious and positive. A “going concern”. You want to look at your children and feel that you are working to protect their future.

What if a dying Earth prevents the death of 2 other Milky Way planets? Would that convince you? 

“Nope. I’m all about me and mine right now and in the future.”

Again the bias. Even in a hypothetical.

The bodhisattva vows to eschew enlightenment while one sentient being yet suffers. Even if that being is a mass murderer? Yes! Because the bodshisattva can’t split hairs and abide in dualistic thinking. All phenomena is interdependent. The light, the mirror, the dust, the reflection, the eye. It’s called compounded phenomena for a reason.

So, do nothing. You don’t know what you’re doing. But do something.

Beg Forgiveness

It’s no time to complicate

To arrange or communicate

Add more layers to the dress

Consider angles of load and stress

Master techniques, straighten lines

Research approaches, estimate times

Prepare the process or perfect the plan

Apologize or repay the man

No time to add another flock of words

Just time to vanish like imagined birds

No time to worry about what happens so

Just close your eyes and let them go

Vanish (demo rough)

In the thick of this / I miss my drift 

In this crowded city / I cannot gift

 

Try to swallow my life / Try to disappear in the fog 

You can only follow my coattail / I’m only wagging the dog

 

I’m leaving town / Driven by the overwhelm

I’m leaving town / Though my heart just finally got here 

I’m leaving town / Watch me disappear 

Yeah I’m leaving / as I watch me disappear

 

The world so loud / I cannot think 

It all gets skinny / become either green or pink

 

Try to swallow my life / Try to disappear in the fog / You can only follow my coatail / I’m only wagging the dog

 

I’m leaving town / Driven by untreated bullshit 

I’m leaving town / Though my heart just barely got here 

I’m leaving town / so watch me disappear 

Yeah, I’m leaving / as I watch me disappear

 

I reappear, in another place

dissolve into my own form. 

Could I join this party, 

find shelter in this storm?

I’m leaving town…

So watch me disappear 

Journal entry 31oct25 

Who will read this? Me? Doubtful! The urge to write is strong. The drive to tell the story as a way of appreciation, a way of savoring the bright white contrails of a plane, heading east in pure blue – stealing time from the Earth rolling slowly in the same direction – and now, far past the mountain peak, like just the disappearing tail of a cloud. 

Sure, I can sit and look, breathe it all in, the desert hills washed in shrubs, succulents and spiny life. The mountains like teeth, the lower jaw of a prehistoric giant. But pre to whose history? Not mine.

For my passage is so brief and fleeting, like the rare, delicate wind blown yellow, butterfly (moth?) tracing wavy changing trails through the bush. We say, it might as well have never happened. It was without enough consequence to mark.

Sure, I sit here in my camp chair on BLM land, “dispersed camping” it’s called. Boondocking. With my notebook and pen and a good lot of my worldly in my van. Mountain bike beside me like a loyal steed. iPhone 15 on a camp table. It’s just stuff having its own adventure as I pass through the possession phase.

Last week I sold a drum for $150 to a man from Ghana in a McDonald’s parking lot in Hutto Texas. I bought that drum at the market in Bamako in 1995. Hauled it back to Seattle on Air France, checked in its own duffel. Was it worth $150? In my history, it was a millionaire. Having resounded its deep bright voice across the country for 30 years. Drums keep time. I let it go.

Friends I Miss You

friends, I miss you out there / in all the worlds / friends, I miss you

Composed and Recorded 20jan17

A morning like today, like any other, like you say, that coat could have done. that election could have kept you warm. And yet, so this morning, out the door you flew to Washington, to wishful thinking, to those long deep drinks at the bar. No, there’s a flooded street now, high and low emotions. There’s a flooded street now and a long deep drink and a cold, clear mirror, a mirror with no back, which admits nothing, which contains all reveries, nothing. look at the truth and back home to the ground, around us, where a hand reaches, shoulder and a light kiss.

Friends, I miss you out there in the country and the world, and all the worlds. Friends, I miss you. And yet I touch you. right now. through waves, bits, I touch you. Friends, I miss you? You’re right here. We’re all right here together. Round a campfire. You know how it is? It’s. It’s like that. So you bring it in. Throw a little tamborine on it. Everybody’s all… a little tickle.

Friends, I miss you. I know that I don’t write enough, I know that I don’t call. Yeah, well, I could say I’m busy. We’re all busy. We all got our hands full and our arms full and our eyes full and our mouths full.

And damn, if, you know, it when it all comes down to it… shoo, fill my entire life out of one good hug. One good, true and real conversation like I had tonight.

Friends, I miss you. And you’re marching. Or you’re sleeping. But we’re all still around the same campfire. It ain’t them. There is no them, okay? There’s only us.

May all beings be happy. May all beings be free.

[Podcast is brought to you by…]

Sunset on the Malecon deciembre ’24
Willi Chief Wahoo Brown
Chief Wahoo grinning in a sweater Point Richmond, CA 2019

Golden & Perfect

Here, have a hit. I have no idea where it’s from and I love, love, love it and could never play it again a second time the same way ever.

It seems to have been recorded a week before I was laid off from a gig in Nevada City, California in the summer of ’16.

💖 Love to Each and All 🌞

Golden Perfect

There’s nothing to think about

but the sun going down

There’s nothing to sing about

but the sun coming up

It’s Golden and it’s Perfect

There’s nothing to do

but sing a simple song

There’s nothing to do

nothing is wrong

It’s Golden and it’s Perfect

Trump Fucks Ukraine

#TFU25 #trumpsatanspawn

Here is how Trump thinks: USA has already bought Ukraine. They are a now a colony of USA. We will let Russia think we’re gonna share it, but no. And also, no, Trump (satans spawn) is not going to give up that energy and mineral money $ by allowing Ukraine to demand NATO membership. (If he was smart, he would demand Russia give up the nuclear power plants and the rivers. Oh, and pay for the US to rebuild and supply demining robots. ) But Donald Trump is nuts not smart. We all know that. He’s just dumb ass evil dressed in business. Like Putin. But remember, Putin is the guy in the fight with a knife who will use it.

Trump (ss) also believes nothing’ll ever touch him, and he can stay far enough way, or pass away before the real blow back hits the fan. And this is gonna blow back eventually. It always does. Always has, always will. It’s just, you know, probably not on him. His stupid sons, they’re gonna be drowning in the economic, environmental shitstorm fallout of this bonehead “deal”.

Because why would he (Donald Trump satan’s spawn) prefer business with Europe? They just wants us to buy crap from them and preferential prices on our made in America crap. (never mind that eu abide by the world trade organization, the rule of law and mostly secure, stable and transparent banking system and they don’t hack us much) but hey there’s an opportunity with Ukraine / Russia.

Russia’s basically a developing economy again. Fuck we can recolonize them with our consumer brands like Tesla. and the NFL. I can see a Trumpo Hotel in Odessa with a view of all the tankers and fucking pipelines moving that beautiful Russian crude. That rich profitable Russian crude oil and natural gas. Heck, there might even be a somber memorial for the victims of Mariupol and all the other war crimes. #tfu25 #trumpsatanspawn

Love Gives Time Space

Oh …stay my hand that seeks your palm

forgive my ear that longs to sink

into the pool of your voice

which only music

of the purest tone could bear.

your skin is buttered, vibrant

before the crust of my longing

time is now the blade between

this midnight poem and the resolution

of my lust.

and the chime

is spreading outwards

from the central history

of my desires

satisfaction has not and will never

resolve this boy, this pen, this poem chiming

from you and i

rippling back to 1985

and forward to the next line

all so damned archetypal

consummation being both

mythic and mistaken

i can taste you now

from across the many futures,

your delicious moan

echoes back from yesterday and on

and on my lonely hand

pushes time and lust and memory

out into the waves

setting free the myth

and the mistake

to find me when

the winds of change

have changed

again

Queen 👸

She’s got the eye of an eagle and the tooth of a cat
she can drain my swamp in seconds flat
her hair hanging down like old spanish moss
she’s the queen of the river but I call her the boss

long before the school in the heat of the bank
she made gold from a catfish she pulled from a tank
she got the night wired up and it’s playing her tune
hound dog bark giving orders to the moon

she has the judge and the jury drinking mushroom tea
sliding railroad papers in the land of the free
governor flames talking highway slack
she tame baptist preachers with a bullwhip crack

She calls and I come or my head starts to jerk
blood curdling moans dog my guitar work
I got long, jagged holes in the back of my shirt
my hands disappear ‘neath the railroad dirt

no mystery spell gonna break her mind
she take medicine men make ’em wish they was blind
she live in a house that don’t have no walls
she’s the queen of the river and she’ll break your balls