I’m listening to this incredible veena raga Yaman and it’s bringing to my vision these images of sweet smiling faces of people I’ve talked with over the years. this is a nice, sweet thing. if someone told me of it I would think that that was a nice, sweet thing.

suppose I wrote a poem about it. anything other than, ‘auuuuuuhm, auuuuh, auuuuh, auuuuhm’ would be pretty unrealistic.

suppose I wrote a contrived poem to get you to give me likes…. ‘such sweet sounds from zia mohiuddin dagar winding its way from my lotus posture and out my third eye.’ — all the sweetness is gone, replaced by refined corn syrup. we’re yoked by content and the only way to transcend transaction is to use the form of the poem as content. that is, make art. that’s the secret of haiku and sonnet and all the forms. it’s the poem that’s brilliant, not the wisdom and stand-up.

the only thing that’s real is to accept sensation and add a new sensation to balance yourself.