Wednesday, October 03, 2012

How Can I Explain This?

How Can I Explain This?

I cannot. Everything exists
in a state of random flux.

I am here. And I am Not here.

I am not. I am that, which is unstated.
I am. I cannot be.

If this is eternity, then we must ask
where is here?

I can say nothing other than this.

This moment. This reason to be.
I am here. I am this moment.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Three Blind Mice

Mark E Merrill on 5/27/98 with fellow conspirators moments before he spills the party platter face down on the opium colored shag carpet which was later excavated and distilled by the fleeing occupants...

Monday, May 07, 2012

I've been here before
Somewhere between nature
And wanton nothingness
What does it mean if I just sit here?
I am far from nothing yet I disengage
For a moment and everything
Is as clear as my eyes gauge it to be
Here is nature and beneath this
The dull ache of the void
It all comes back as it is lost again
Not until I stand up and walk away
Will I gain insight and appreciation
For what I didn't recognize

Monday, April 30, 2012


Brian Raine & Mark E Merrill reunited after years of contention remembering the Great Spirit even as it moves through the passing of their FATHER who ART in heaven. Psalm 57:1-11

Thursday, December 08, 2011

youtube footage of several speakers at Lincoln Center. I'm the third speaker in [2:41].

Friday, December 02, 2011




Tonight was my first encounter with the OCCUPY movement. Tonight I had a chance to contribute my voice along side the likes of Lou Reed, Laurie Anderson, Philip Glass, and scores of other concerned peaceful protesters. The general assemble of the OWS had placed a call for the peacefull occupation of Lincoln Center to coincide with the closing performance of Satyagraha, an opera about the life of Gandhi and detailing the very causes of what the OCCUPY movement has come to represent. Upon arrival at the square I am immediately confronted with police barricades and officers cordoning off access to the square from the street. The irony here is somewhat infuriating for the crowd, as what was hours ago a public space, is now an offensive police strategy to disenfranchise, intimidate, and even taunt protesters. As the crowed gathered momentum there was a visible tension between the police and the crowd, which makes its intention of PEACEFUL PROTEST quite clear.

What happened next was nothing short of what could be called the 'miracle' of the manifestation of intention. Even though we were physically barred from entering the square protesters call out to the steady stream of Opera goers now exiting the center to join our cause. To the astonishment of some patrons of the Opera, they are met with resistance by the police as they attempt to cross the plaza to where the protesters are gathered. I witnessed a few confrontations with very angry, shocked and surprised patrons and the police. One man actually laid down on the ground in blatant defiance (mind you these are up to $400 a seat ticket holders - the spectacle was beautiful!). During this time Philip Glass the composer (on our side of the line) begins to address the crowd - and this is where the 'miracle' kicks in - in a kind of critical mass Opera goers just overwhelm a-sort-of scattered and confused police presence (on their side) and flock to the barricade - where they join us on the other side.

At this moment Lincoln Square had been peacefully occupied by two separate bodies of people each on opposite sides of a police barricad! For about two and a-half hours the mass huddled. People took turns speaking in the cold, of which I was one. The validation of what this idea is about becomes ever-clearer.


this from the perspective of an exiting audience member of Satyagraha!

Saturday, October 01, 2011

the bicameral mind Pt. 2

Monday night August 1st, 1997 I had a bizarre dream. The imagery and dialog was so vivid and remained so intact in my memory that after awakening I remember feeling somewhat displaced in a somewhat disturbing yet very euphoric state of remembering. This dream's unrelenting visual narrative prompted me to seek pen and paper. The manuscript is written on 10 pages of of white lined paper in a spiral bound notebook. I can visualize these pages in my indecipherable  handwriting as they exist somewhere collected in the debris of my life. This moment is more poignantly remembered as a time I spent in late summer with my lover, David Ford, in a small summer cabin in the backwoods of Thetford, Vermont. A few days later I learned William S Burroughs had died on the morning of August 2, 1997. I cannot explain why, but the idea that I would travel to Lawrence, Kansas upon notice of the death of WSB had been a priority on my mind for several years. Likewise, I cannot reveal the exact rational that kept me from fulfilling this quest, yet I suspect it was influenced by the practical inflammatory need of acquiring non-tangible capital.  A secondary and most troubling concern was the manuscript that was written in haste days before. At the time, my compounded unease was not the statistical improbability of interpersonal knowledge, far from it. I had received some remnant, some last fluctuation of a holy enlightened  mind's bicameral function. I have never uttered or expressed these words before, and i cannot recall the exact impetus today, compelling me to write this.