The Artist’s Way Morning Pages 3/28/2016


“All the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.”

“..there is always soma, delicious soma, half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon…”

“Benito was notoriously good-natured. People said of him that he could have got through life without ever touching soma. The malice and bad tempers from which other people had to take holidays never afflicted him. Reality for Benito was always sunny.”

  • Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

     Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in Dr. Bombay’s Underwater Tea Party waiting for my friend Liz to show up for a conversation about The Artist’s Way.  She did not show up, the art’s way.  Being an artist means being disciplined, you write in your calendar the next ice climb of spirit.  What ice chute you going to risk your life to climb next?  The Guardian has an article today about how America took pornographic photographs of terror suspects in their counter-terrorism efforts during the Bush administration.  They wanna give me soma.  Lithium to numb the pain of seeing America going to hell.  Zyprexa for that feeling of seeing my step-father cursing Muslims.  Risperdal for the fact that he listened to Rush and said Palestinians are baby killing child murders as one of the first things he ever said to me.  Ativan for my father cursing the Jews.  Those white Jews, Ayn Rand loving…  White Trash.  Bob “KKK” Stovall.  Dr. Ahmet “ISIS” Erbil the Black hood nigga.  I do not need soma for that, I need a pen and a microphone.  I need a camera and a piece of paper.  I need some red paint for my face.  War paint.  Peace.  It ain’t no peace time my friend.  On my electromagnetic pulse weapon (EMP), my encrypted iPhone 6s, is Boosie Badazz.  In “No Surrender, No Retreat”:

     No surrender,

     No retreat,

     In the penitentiary…

     I cannot afford living today.  That man sitting next to me yesterday, as he was complaining about his violent schizophrenic mother.  Never knew love ’til I found love in you.  The schizophrenics are honest.  They live in their own spirit worlds, somewhere in the Upper and Lower Worlds.  For manic depressives like me, they give us a taste of psychic mania all the time, every time.  I turn around and with a single icy stare say, “Have you ever been to a mental hospital?”  I write, I cry…  I ain’t trying to go through war no mo’.  I ain’t gonna be no victim no more.  I am going to fight.  Yes, my friends, this is war.  In World War II there was the French Resistance.  They needed poets for sending cyphers, poetic cyphers to send across the airwaves to activate terror cells against the Nazis.  Did I see that same spirit on Fox News this morning?  Il Duce walking across the state the same way Erdogan and Netanyahu do?  Do I look so crazy to American psychiatry in 2016 as I did in 2010?  Here are the reports, the papers, the poems, read it all.  Read it all carefully.  … or else. 

     …or else what… you might write another poem?  …you might write a novel about war?  You might not trust me deliver you soma?  Soma costs money.  I know you want to help doctor, I know you do.  However, have you been to war?  Have you had your white daughter raped by ISIS or the KKK?  Your precious ten year old white jewel, that angel you send to ballet at the Decatur YMCA.  Have you seen poverty?  Have you seen tha trap?  Have you been there?  Have you been attacked by a trap lords dog?  I do not want to take my soma because I do not trust you.  I do not trust American psychiatry.  Restore my faith in you, the institution that is supposed to protect and help the weak and the insane.  I give you my poems and my medical records on one condition.  Read them carefully.  Every fucking page.  Tell me then, only after you have read my poetry, and my writings from the past seven years… take your soma.  I would rather die than take my soma.  Why do I say that? 

     What if I need to leave Atlanta?  What if I need to get help?  What if I run out?  What if my kidneys fail?  What if I gain weight?  What if I need to fly to Syria to fight in the war for real?  What if I want to die in war?  What if I want to go to the east of Turkey and deliver aid to my people, the Kurds?  Do you know what love for a bloodline is?  Do you know what it is fight in world war?  Have you read any novels about it?  Have you felt it in your soul?  The blackness of war.  To hate everything you see in your country.  To be crushed by debt.  To see nihilism even in the Christians?  Reading Revelation as if it were real.  This is the end of an age.  Fortunately, it is the birth of a New Age.  Seven years of your soma and I am an anarchist.  Seven years of mental health treatment and I am a poet.  Seven years of the bullshit you have given me and I am checking out. 

Death  to  America

Do what you can, and so shall we. Just wait!—we too are waiting.

    Qur’an XI. 121-22

1. The Great Satan


The inhabitants of the earth

Are drunk

With the wine of your fornications!

You have given birth

To terror, hatred, hysteria!

Your people are sunk

In stupefaction.

Darkness has come upon you.


You think you live in the light.

Your eyes have been blinded.

Your people stumble in darkness.

Greed has undone you.

Pride and lust are your blight.

God’s sees, and has minded!

Miserable crew, forever whining

About 9/11 and your precious virtue!—

As if you alone had known pain

And the world were under obligation

To kiss your feet and court you

And approach you with shining

Eyes—you blot, you stain!—

You object of utter detestation!

Country of murderers and thieves,

Bloodsuckers of the Third World,

Devils with smiling faces—

My curse on you for ever!

May your land be reduced to a wild

Desolation, may all that lives

In your tainted spaces

Never know peace—or joy—ever!

2.   The Coming Doom

Where your people once lived

Secure in the illusion

Of their superior virtue,

There the bison will roam

Again, the frog spread confusion

Over the marshes, the vulture thrive.

There’ll be none to hurt you

There, buried beneath your slime!

Another people will possess your land

Taking your place, a race

From beyond the sea, superior

In virtue: one that practises

What you only preach, showing a face

Of kindness and compassion and

Care for mankind: a race far dearer

To God, and less prone to vices.

You brew trouble, you foment wars

So you can peddle your arms.

Pain screams

From the mouths of children so

That your hatchers of harm

Can trinket their whores

And live the American dream.

That way lies hell, and there you go!

You defile all the regions you rule,

You scatter your bases and rob

The lands you begrime and bescum!

Who helps to kill children for kicks

In Palestine? May Abu Ghraib

Gnaw away at your inmost soul

Like a maggot! The time will come

When your backs will be beaten by sticks!

3.   The  Holy  Land

Israel!—an American colony

Disguised as a Jewish state,

Deliberately planted to destabilize

And drive entire races demented!

A country whose main product is hate,

Whose raison d-être is to make misery,

Where peace would be the only surprise!

A country not owned, but rented

From the Arabs temporarily, by force—

Where the rent is always in arrears.

America, the day will come

When the rent will have to be paid

With compound interest. You’ll reap in tears

What you sowed in joy! At the end of this course,

You will pick up the tab and become

Chief debtor for the monster you made!

See, the betrayer of the Jews—

The Jews themselves! Or rather

Those who call themselves Jews, the pseudo

Ashkenazi Jews with their blue eyes

And blonde hair! Could any race be further

From the true Semitic Jews whose

Blended blood has been poured into

Other bloods under alien skies?

These are the ones, the hocus-pocus

Imposter Jews, who now blow the trumpet

For Zion, stigmatizing

Their critics, and heaping abuse

On those who object to the rank armpit

Of Israel!—Oh, how we loathe these bogus

European Jews whose devisings

Were all learnt from Hitler’s hellcrews.

4.   The Day of Reckoning

September 11? That was just

The beginning! Prepare for more

Of the same!—for further contingents

Of “cowards” hell bent on suicide

Flying in to your hated shores!

How can you win? You’ve already lost!

You’ve lost respect: the moral argument.

You are universally despised!

Invincible America, aren’t you glad

You’re so strong? What “courage” it must take

To skulk behind the clouds and rain

Cluster bombs on the weak, without peril

To your own skins! Yes, it’s a piece of cake

Killing women and children in Baghdad!

Congratulations, America! You win

First prize for shooting fish in a barrel!

Hear now my message: Depart

From our lands: you have your own.

Don’t steal our oil! It lies under

Our sands, and there it shall stay!

Get out of our sight! Leave us alone!

Practise the torturer’s art

On your own people! I wonder

What Christ would think of Camp X-ray?

Nation of impudent parasites!—

Supervirus of the world!—

So you think you hold all the aces?

Hear now my curse: May all your bones

Be broken, your ashes all whirled

To the wind! May you who delight

In sowing tares in all places


     Now, give me my soma.  What soma do I try now?  Mindfulness is a conscious awareness of being in the world. An aim of mindfulness is to be fully “present” in any action that an individual engages in during his or her walk through the day. Delivering a spontaneous honest talk about my struggle with bipolar disorder is an example of how mindfulness facilitates inner peace and tranquility. I would not have been able to deliver this address without the incorporation of the mindfulness practice of honesty. As a person of faith, I feel the presence of God in mindfully performed activities.  Can you help me with that?  I need some help with meditation.  Can you give me access to the new Tibetian meditation protocols you have secularized?  I want to learn it.  I want to meditate and let the black bile come out.  Lord God, doctor, help me.  I do not want your soma.  I want world peace.  I will throw Bob “KKK” Stovall under the bus and send him into the cage against Dr. Ahmet “ISIS” Erbil in my new novel.  Maybe just writing every day three pages of stream of consciousness truth will wake America up to realize that Bernie is not such a bad idea.  Basic healthcare is more than soma.  It means listening to the poor crazy poet sitting before you and realizing he is a prophet. 

About kayaerbil

I am a Berkeley educated chemistry Ph.D. who is moving into the area of working on developing appropriate technology for communities that are subjected to socio-economic oppression. The goal is to use simple and effective designs to empower people to live better lives. Currently, I am working with Native Americans on Pine Ridge, the Lakota reservation in South Dakota. I am working with a Native owned and run solar energy company. We are currently working on building a compressed earth block (CEB) house that showcases many of the technologies that the company has developed. The CEB house is made of locally derived resources, earth from the reservation. The blocks are naturally thermally insulating, keeping the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Eventually, a solar air heater and photovoltaic panels will be installed into the house to power the home and keep it warm, while preserving the house off the grid. A side project while in Pine Ridge is a solar computer. I hope to learn about blockchain encryption software for building microgrids. In addition, it is an immediate interest of mine to involve local youth in technology education.
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