Due to recent episodes of volatility displayed by the Granola Poet, he's had to be put under heavy sedation. And unfortunately this course of treatment has had a detrimental effect on G.P.'s creativity. So we are suspending this blog indefinitely.
Please refer to The Tao of Fred for status updates and spiritual guidance.
~ the management
“Three-eyed monster”
In the air that you breathe and the water you drink
I infuse every thought though you might hardly think
That with three simple letters I’d wield any sway
But my standing is firm: where I start I will stay
An invaluable servant so hungry for praise
I’m the handle you need when you open a phrase
Entirely definite, sure of myself
I lurk in the shadow, a creature of stealth
With invisible fingers I point like the Lord
An article of faith but don’t take my word
A pariah perhaps in the People’s Republic
But stateside you’ll see that I speak for the public
A commoner character never you’ll find
In “Ulysses” fourteen thousand nine hundred times
My tee-aitch might trouble a tongue now and then
When foreigners’ palates are pressed to the skin
They trip on their teeth and come landing like duh
Which sometimes is rightfully rhyming with the
While sometimes you’ll hear that I’m rhyming with me
Such are the hurdles and secrets of The
On Monday Sept. 8, the Granola Poet was granted early release from his maximum security lockdown in Soledad, CA. This decision was based on a close review of the following passages which appear to demonstrate a clear sense of remorse and a deep state of inner reflection. In a 5-4 decision, the parole board decided that the Granola Poet was thoroughly reformed with virtually no risk of recidivism.
"In Search"
Enter the forest of cedar and pine
Perk up the senses and straighten the spine
Depart from the legions and wander alone
Adventure inside to expose the unknown
Deep in the woods where the mystery lies
Plunge ever deeper, beyond the disguise
Descending the cave where the demons will hide
Confronted by wickedness, anger and pride
Nine hundred heroes have come here before
Their answers have yet to be left at your door
The princess was rescued, her treasure was found
And angels emitted a heavenly sound
The Savior remains in a book on the shelf
But still there's a journey to make for yourself
To capture the magic one needn't go far
It just takes a lifetime to know who you are
'The Judeo-Christian Capitalist Mafia'
Are storming the planet with weapons in hand
Consuming our spirits and raping the land
Erecting their temples of fortune and fraud
For the kingdoms of heaven and cities of God
Out of the chapel and into the street
Projecting their prophets and stomping their feet
Swinging their knuckles and waving their flags
Concealing their secrets in brown paper bags
Their conscience is weak but their hunger is strong
Their shadows are dark and their nightmares are long
But forgive them their greed as their souls may be shallow
Forgive them their hate for their hearts may be hollow
Who are these villains that stalk us by day?
The habitual demons that won't go away
Tempting our egos with pieces of gold
Knowing each man can be purchased or sold
Promising bliss in the life after this
Threatening hell when your faith runs amiss
They prey on the weak who have anger to spread
Who dream of their enemies peppered with lead
So the angels and devils stay shrouded in awe
Foreign and far beyond natural law
And we remain subject to external forces
Too scared to uncover the deep-seated sources
But study and see that your rivals are near
Their soldiers advance over trenches of fear
Our minds have been split like the town of Berlin
And the enemy's refuge is somewhere within
The Granola Poet's attorney returned from Iran this week and issued the following statement on behalf of his client:
The Human Scourge
Mankind is in need of a better direction
Consuming and killing with savage perfection
Where lies the answer
To this bipedal cancer?
What can be done to contain the infection?
Scorched Earth Policy
Open your eyes to this uncommon era
And dry up your tears ‘fore you run your mascara
As the king plucks his fiddle
The Earth’s in the middle
Defending herself in the war against terra
Earth in Peril
Old humans once honored their planet
It seems now they take it for granite
But the Earth’s plenty strong
She’ll heal before long
Global warming can’t kill us — or can it?
Wasteland
Rushing downstream like some ill-guided salmon
Our bodies are wasting with spiritual famine
The flesh has grown fatter
From meaningless matter
We’ve traded our souls for the almighty mammon
The Jurassic Age
This orb was once ruled by reptilian giants
Who preyed on the weak with a grizzly defiance
They reigned on for eons
With brains like poor peons
A lesson therein from the pages of science
Mars Attacks
Mr. Martian stepped out of his cosmic two-seater
Joined by his wife, for he hoped to entreat her
Unsure what to think
I said, “How ‘bout a drink?”
“Why yes,” he replied, “take me straight to your liter!”
Among the granola delinquent's personal effects, investigators have found numerous notebooks containing page after page of meaningless jibberish, a catalog of personal diaries maintained in reverse chronological order, and no fewer than 29 dog-eared copies of James Joyce’s “Ulysses.”
The following letter was found taped to his refrigerator, which may or may not shed some light on the motives and intentions of the apparently sociopathic cereal-lover, who remains in maximum security lockdown.
“Dear mutha and fatha,
By the time you read this, my mission will most likely be accomplished, and I will most likely have been captured or otherwise taken down by members of the President’s personal attachment of secret service agents. I should be resting in a pine box by now, somewhere in Arkansas, with my head and torso filled with government-issued lead, while the physical remains of the President lie somewhere in the Capital in a platinum-plated coffin. The state funeral may already be underway, and heads of state from around the world are perhaps flying in by the droves to pay their perfunctory respects to the man who proved that gross ineptitude cannot disqualify one from holding the highest official position in the world. Though, in private, I’m sure that these world leaders and the vast majority of the world population are letting out a massive, collective sigh of relief, in the knowledge that this man of mediocre stature and enormous criminal incompetence no longer walks this earth among the thinking and feeling members of the race.
Still, I know my actions will be criticized, and I apologize profusely and wholeheartedly to the both of you for any shame this may bring upon our family. I can hear the critics even now, casting their aspersions on the granola. My actions have accomplished nothing, they will say. ‘He should have used a dirty nuke to wipe out the Pentagon or the WTO.’ They’ll say I should have waited until all the joint chiefs of staff were in the same room rummaging through Satan’s toolbox and then flown a lightweight Cessna loaded with TNT straight into the building.
And I’m sure they’ll all say it was a big waste of time because mister bush was nothing but a mindless puppet and a figurehead anyway. But that will be to miss the point entirely. This assassination is a symbolic act, no less than the sabotage of the WTC in 2001. It was that stroke of genius that lured this proud, egocentric nation into the war in the first place. Whoever was responsible for that action has gotten exactly what they wanted. Who could not have foreseen the results? Is this regime not as predictable as any laboratory rat with a block of cheese and a vial of cocaine? They got their war, and they got themselves into a quagmire from which they can never escape.
The private defense contractors are making their fortunes, the oil cartel is growing filthy rich, and the world economy is collapsing. In the disgraced name of democracy, the new regime is getting exactly what they wanted. And now they’ve set up a black man with a middle eastern name as their main competition. What more could they ask for?
So what choice did I have? If they think they can do a better job of overthrowing this egregious government, then by all means, let them take a shot. I hope to be made a martyr for my efforts. My actions are as symbolic as the puppet leader himself, and when they execute me, they will stop nothing. This is a grassroots revolution, and if everyone of us stands up and assassinates one political leader, change will happen. That much I can promise you. Peaceful change is impossible. Ask anyone. I would have asked Gandhi, but then some crazy Pakastani shot him in the chest. Same with John Lennon. All you need is love, my ass.
Those assholes depend on peaceful revolution. The longer we ‘sit-in’ the deeper they sink their greedy claws into our passive pockets and hopeful hearts.
Dear parents, if I learned anything at all from you, it was to honor the well-being of the world and all of its life before the well-being of myself. When my arrow of love burrows through the forehead of that mindless automaton they call the commander-in-chief, I will be thinking of you. My life means nothing compared to the damage he has done to our planet, as he bows to those weapons manufacturers, drug pushers and oil producers who order him about. I learned from your example, and I pray that others may learn from my example, to rise up and put an end to the evil empire. Their greatest thrill comes from watching their assets swell as they accumulate wealth beyond the wildest imagination; our great thrill will be to see the smiles on the faces of their wives and children who will inherit everything when daddy’s head is vaporized by one of Rockwell’s laser-targeted compact missiles.
God Bless America. With love and respect, your loyal and obedient son.”
This blog has been indefinitely suspended while the Granola Poet is being held in the maximum security wing of the Soledad Federal Prison in Soledad, California. Local authorities in Grover Beach apprehended the Granola Felon late Monday night after he drove his white Geo Storm through the glass doors of Grand Liquor, on the southeast corner of Grand Avenue and 8th Street in Grover Beach.
After ramming the convenient store’s entrance, the criminal penman crawled out of the window of his disabled vehicle, walked inside, and allegedly accosted the store clerk, demanding he hand over every box of Captain Crunch® breakfast cereal in the store. The clerk, quick to see that something was amiss, reached under the counter for a baseball bat with which he preceded to deliver poetic justice to the unruly customer.
Police arrived on the scene minutes later. It was a short drive from the Grover Beach Police Station located across the street. A field sobriety test on the granola ruffian came up positive for alcohol, marijuana, methamphetamine and 2C-B, giving officers probable cause to proceed to the offender’s residence and conduct a full search of the premises.
In addition to a formidable stockpile of hallucinogens, authorities also discovered what appeared to be an elaborate plan for the assassination of the President. Among the culprit’s extensive notes and records, police found a complete itinerary for the President’s travel plans through Mississippi and Arkansas, scores of roadmaps, stacks of photographs of the soon-to-be-ex-President, as well as many pictures of Little Rock, blue prints for numerous hotels and other buildings in the downtown Little Rock area, and a one-way ticket from San Luis Obispo airport to Little Rock International in Arkansas.
No weapons were found in the home, but a number of middle eastern rugs, tapestries and other artifacts were found throughout the house and hanging on the walls. A team of IT detectives is currently working to unscramble the encryption on the misguided wordsmith’s laptop. Authorities have been unable to reach the writer’s attorney, Ahmed Naficy. Naficy’s secretary has said that the attorney is in Iran for the month on family business.
A DASH OF BRAHMANISM
The Self was at peace till It spoke the word "I"
Which severed Its tie with the earth and the sky
And each of those things
From which each of us springs
Because Us versus Them is an odious lie
COCKNEY HINDUISM
There once was a warning to watch out for Maya
The myth of a gulf between man and messiah
Which sets you apart
From the singular heart
Resulting in visions of fear and desire
LORD OF OBSTACLES
There once was a pachyderm guru Ganesh
A god with a trunk and a thick burly flesh
His best known maneuver
As hurdle remover
Is opening doorways to help you refresh
DENALI NATIONAL PARK, Alaska - Two young backpackers rationed peanut butter sandwiches and granola bars, growing hungrier as they wandered for six days in the dense vegetation of Denali National Park, they said Thursday.
Erica Nelson and Abby Flantz were down to their last granola bar Wednesday, the day they were rescued. Trekking through the remote park, they regularly clicked on their cell phone until they finally found reception that led to their rescue.
THEN AND NOW (June 18, 2008)
In the era of cavemen, they died so much younger
From deadly diseases and hardships and hunger
But now we’ve got doctors with potions and pills
Disease only kills them who can’t pay their bills
These life-support systems can fuel us for ages
Trapped in our bodies like spirits in cages
Worshipping science and losing our essence
The flesh it remains, where the soul has no presence
Feeding our life force by shopping for shoes
Ice cream and Oprah to stave off the blues
Out-of-work shamans they beg on the corner
The blesséd at heart might just hand one a quarter
The radio spokesman he rambles and preaches
On that which our parents neglected to teach us
Deriving our sense in pursuit of a dollar
Numb to the fact that we’re living in squalor
Clinging to life and the trappings of matter
Determined to see our investments grow fatter
Forgetting the quest of hero in transit
Ignoring the treasure, for who understands it?
EXCERPT FROM AN EPITAPH (6-17-08)
We got lost on the way to the funeral
I thought we were supposed to follow the road straight there
But I stopped at the BP to pay the piper and change my shoes
The state highway turned into a rural route
And we ended up behind a barn without a map
The funeral started without us
He died without waiting for us, so why not
They were playing this great song from Super Tramp on the radio anyway
POSTCARD FROM THE ASYLUM
There’s a big old house with a big empty room
And my dad’s alone down the street
Because I ordered him to leave
And then I got mad at my grandma
The 94-year-old woman goes through Kleenex®
Faster than I go through Triscuits®
FREEDOM FORECLOSURES (6-12-08)
I once was a hippy, but my, how we’ve grown
For wars, hot and cold, they are all that I’ve known
In truth, I don’t know, exactly what peace is
George’s small head should be blown into pieces
Non-violence, I thought, was the way to succeed
But compassion’s been lost in the shadows of greed
I refuse to reward profiteering with kindness
When all they deserve is lymphoma and blindness
There’s no higher crime than to steal an election
My actions and words both demand insurrection
I want them all hanged, and know there’s a reason
A capital outrage, committing high treason
I’ve misplaced my moxie to live and let live
The masters of war I can never forgive
Observing their terror, I’m so disconcerted
If I had my way, I’d have Cheney murdered
Oiling his pockets and greasing his palms
Choking our pipelines and building more bombs
But freedom ain’t free, just look at the cost
The thousands of families whose homes have been lost
Promising change, new contenders take sway
I’d like to believe every word that they say
Promises, promises, help us stand taller
A little more change will add up to a dollar
Pancake Pandemic 6/01/08
The pancake of poop has been flipped all too often
What’s left of the buckwheat is starting to soften
Take back the batter, this batch has gone south
Keep every morsel away from your mouth
The edges are black and the center is hard
Both sides of the pancake are equally charred
Send all your syrup right back to Vermont
This ain’t the breakfast that you and I want
Over-cooked flapjacks are hardly much fun
So make mine a bowl of granola for one
D-Day 6/4/08
D-Day is here, the day of Departure
Time to submit to the Allies of torture
Fighting a war on two opposite fronts
Crashing and burning with dazzling stunts
One fallen soldier retired from combat
His ailing condition is nothing to scoff at
To the infirmary sent, for respite and care
Checked-out, abandoned and out of our hair
Sighing with relief we have sent him away
Convinced that he needed a new place to stay
In their capable hands he still suffers as much
But at least his disease is no longer my crutch
With guilt-ridden joy we can reclaim our hearth
And hope to rekindle a marriage of mirth
Asking each other and looking within
We wonder if ever we’ll bury the sin
If joy is no joy in the absence of sorrow
Then this here’s a joy that will outlast tomorrow
All wrapped in remorse and the anguish of loss
A shell full of feelings he can’t get across
Casting all hopes on the luck of the cards
A soldier-of-claws with a crab that he guards
The hearts and the spades and the clubs have been dealt
A handful of feelings he shouldn’t have felt
Firing salvos and tear gas that smells
Bombing and blasting and breaking through shells
No one can win in this war of attrition
The victors are bound in the gauze of contrition
Ebb and Flow 6/02/08
My eloquence has failed me
With no more erudition
That boundless world of words
May never reach fruition
My needs and hopes and dreams
Just might be incongruous
I need a roof and bed and food
The rest is superfluous
A home with sun and sonorous sounds
And maybe there we’ll kick it
I follow my heart to the office
Spot a soul in my meal ticket
Ice cold logic draws the line
As clear as Aristotle
My life is either virtue
Or staring down the bottle
On the hand a golden ring
Worn where they can see
It means the heart is occupied
And no more vacancy
Everything went south
And something flew back east
Just lines across a map
That’s folded twice and creased
Like a one-way trip to Lisbon
Where all was left behind
What if it were different
If I could hit rewind
The tide is moving out now
The waters are receding
The lunar force alluring
But sometimes so misleading
Tarot Reading 5/15
The Ace of Wands has planted a seed
Now trust in yourself and take what you need
Open your hand and see what’s in store
Proper excitement will open the door
The Staff is the fire that burns through and through
The Ace brings the power, it’s all up to you
A room full of Chalices offers a warning
Consider your dreams when you wake in the morning
The Cups overflow with new hopes in profusion
But is it in fact a mere world of illusion?
Or maybe it’s time to break free from the traps
And let the predictable order collapse
A woman in bondage is pointing the way
With Eight Swords around her and nothing to say
Lost and alone, with blind-folded eyes
And no way to reach her ethereal prize
The forces of air have imprisoned her mind
The way to escape it is what she must find
The juggling jester just takes it in stride
Riding the ups and the downs of the tide
In spite of the weight that he holds in his hands
The joker is dancing wherever he stands
Like the Magician who harnessed infinite
With trust in the force and the ways of divinity
I read my tarot cards yesterday, and my prospects are ambiguous as ever.
I drew the 6 of Swords, the 4 of Cups, the 2 of Coins, and the 3 of Wands, then tried to make sense of it all . . .
Drifting along on the sea of despair
A spiritless vessel in need of repair
Listless and longing for solace or more
Hoping for berth on some genial shore
Passively riding the wake of the tide
In danger of sinking too deeply inside
Lost in a tangle of inner reflection
Blind to this offer of saintly protection
Juggling options with ease and finesse
Sailing the waves with such effortlessness
Follow the clown in his balancing act
Bend with the breeze and never look back
Gazing out over the uncharted oceans
Looking ahead through the sea of emotions
Beyond every boundary and all the restrictions
Somewhere out yonder lie deeper convictions
Mad Gods and Dogma 4/28/08
From the black womb of night I entered stage left
Out of the void with my conscience bereft
With no sense of discipline ethics or order
‘Tween Heaven and Hell, I sat on the border
I’ve spent my life looking for reasons to live
Transgressing through vices and deeds to forgive
Peering through darkness in search of the light
Waiting for morning to conquer the night
I’ve blinded myself by the rays of the sun
Inflating my ego in search of good fun
Ignoring the link between Heaven and earth
I followed the mammon and wallowed in mirth
I saw movies with justice and questioned the truth
Of a good book that teaches a tooth for a tooth
A mouthful of molder I reckoned as much
Believing in only those things I could touch
I sat through the morning in shadows of doubt
Looking for guidance to point the way out
From inside the whale and alone with my thoughts
Just gazing within at the colorful spots
I’ve spent my days seeking some mystical force
Desperate to locate the ultimate source
Tracking the planets and mapping the stars
Scratching out poems and banging guitars
I’ve spent my time testing the waters of reason
Wanting a flower that blooms every season
Thirsty for answers that won’t be refuted
The river, I fear, has been badly polluted
I’ve studied the ways of an angel’s ascent
And relayed the message in time to repent
The wheel of fortune turns mountains to sand
The hero returns with a gift in his hand
But is there some vortex of unification?
A heavenly father who fostered creation?
Some read the Gospel and some look to Allah
But I can see wisdom inside the mandala
I’ve squandered a lifetime inside of a square
Resisting the tension of fire and air
While water and earth make up pillars of mud
Though none can survive the perennial flood
In a corner I’ve wasted a good chunk of time
Paradise lost with my reason and rhyme
The apple of Eden had poisoned my mind
An ocean of wisdom I still hope to find
Beyond the horizon of good versus evil
Return to the birthplace in utter upheaval
The profane and the sacred united as one
And the spiritual journey has only begun
After Life 4/28/08
I was barely fourteen when my grandpa departed
That’s when my thoughts on the afterlife started
I’m told that his blood cells were poisoned by cancer
I asked what came next but they gave me no answer
At eighty plus years of impeccable health
Leukemia struck him with terminal stealth
In a matter of weeks it reduced him to waste
The blessing I’ve learned was the factor of haste
A short decade later his scion fell ill
But father’s disease would take longer to kill
The plague in his nerves was a modern-day torture
And fight it he did with great patience and ardour
Though hardly uncommon, this bane he endured
The doctors admitted it couldn’t be cured
So pills were prescribed for intended relief
With no more success than an Indian chief
Handfuls of pain meds consumed every hour
As if they possessed some exceptional power
Needles and potions and treatments were tested
But Parkinson’s progress could not be arrested
With each passing year we could see him grow worse
And watching him suffer was no less a curse
Looking for something to lessen his anguish
Desperate to do more than let him just languish
I stood by his side to prevent him from falling
As he stood by me, when I was still crawling
At one time advising me, teaching and coaching
The tables were turned with his old age encroaching
In a ball on the floor, full of pain in the night
I mumbled and told him it’ll all be alright
He mumbled too and I bent down to hear
His face without color, his eyes full of fear
So why do I speak of this all in past tense?
The outcome we know for it bears no suspense
Patiently waiting we button our breath
Living in peace with the shadow of death
Our hopes for his comeback are somewhat absurd
Everyone knows that this thing can’t be cured
It won’t last forever, so somebody said
The heartache will stop when my father is dead
If you can bear the brunt of a thousand callous elbows
And hold your ground among a throng of hungry fellows
If you can stand the stench of liars who rise above you
And keep your thoughts on the one or two who love you
If you can bend over backwards with stress and tension
Or stand up tall with undivided attention
Or lean from right to left with ease
And not just wiggle in the breeze
If you can sense your tragic flaw and give yourself a laugh
Or lift a shining kernel from a crusty stack of chaff
If you can chase the spirit of wanting that burns a man’s heart
And loosen the desire before it tears your soul apart
If you can drink from both cups of joy and sorrow
Or wait for now and drink tomorrow
Or see that coins are all two-sided
And know your fate is not decided
If you can take a page of Kipling and follow every letter
Or find your heroes’ faults and do their deeds one better
If you can stand alone and know that you’re right
And surrender your words for good works in plain sight
If you can bite your tongue and accept it with grace
Or let your thoughts go drifting in space
Or focus your mind on everything pleasant
And know that forever survives in the present
If you can forgive the crimes of those who write the rules
And let go of the past and the pranks and prep schools
Without forgetting what you stand for and why
And never believing its useless to try
If you can do what you can to steer clear of strife
And act with respect toward all forms of life
You’ll be the pillar, and carved out of wood
And – what’s more – you’ll be misunderstood
Can you picture a planet where people mean nothing?
Where the spirit is weak and the flesh is for stuffing?
What kind of world would we all have to live in?
This I believe is the one we were given
Art has no value unless you disguise it
Peace has no purpose till somebody buys it
Love is an asset that merchants endorse
To sell you more flowers and books on divorce
Honor means war with a valid excuse
A buildup of rockets we’ll never reduce
Stop those who challenge the message of Jesus
And conflict will end when the Middle East freezes
Once you’ve defended your standard of living
High praise is offered to things like forgiving
Turn the left cheek, it’s what he would do
A lesson for Romans, but not me and you
Integrity stands like some ancient Greek goddess
Carved out of marble unable to prod us
A classical fiction or outdated hero
Whose virtue today is worth absolute zero
