A Pig Rolling in Mud

Jason Murak
20
Poet Laureate of my mind

Constructing a Novel about dreams and slam poetry

looking to attain vipassana panna

Sunny onset

When the city evaporates
Condensed behind fog
I cannot wait to be there-
Keeping my blades sharp
Cutting like a leafs crinkle-
My wheels rolling
Strong young puppy running
Veggies steaming
Sprouts slowly curling from the dirt
Earth as it is
Under the eye of the watchful
Bountiful long nights
Warmer tea-
Soon there will be a group of me
Raising hands
Stamping feet
And I will join them in the chant
To live! Live! To see this cold come to an end.

By Jason Murak

“To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. So do it.”

—   Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country  (via pureblyss)

(Source: splitterherzen, via handpickedgranola)

alexandersuntitledphotos:

My fantastic roommate and his fantastic brother at the Mobash skatepark in Missoula MT. It’s a beautiful city. Thanksgiving morning, 2013.

Palmer Gus Gordan
Missoula MT
Photos by Jason Murak

englandsdreaming:

film meme - [7/10 films] - Dazed and Confused (1993)

"The older you get, the more rules they are going to try and get you to follow. You just gotta keep on livin’, man. L-I-V-I-N."

(Source: motherfuckingriverrun, via handpickedgranola)

Ceremony Circle

Palmer licked the dew from a baby bamboo plant. Darker colored trees and damper earth made it feel like a completely different part of the country; West Virginia or even a lush Buddhist garden in portlAnd. The monk statue smiles as Palmer digs. The hills are furry with cactus. Two fire juggling sticks lay next to a box of matches.
I’m reading this book about a study with acid. I’m quite sure I’ve never taken it.
Except right now, turning the pages they must all be dosed!
Because as I read I envision a ghost
Drawing a book from the library.
Pretending he was interested in the old human sciences.
He is pleasant now, he spent his life passing through walls and under arches.
Today all the plants lay flat. It rained this morning. And the old book was left outside
To wrinkle and burn

WEED CA COPS GUN COME

#hiya #hotplate #basket 

Huddled up

Out there I know
Brothers walk to hide from rain
I offer my dry
Blanketed we all try -
Under a tree where dirt don’t stain

Disheveled and heavy with decision
They crept for years to meet under a roof
Desolate trinkets break the proof
Shackled to the toy chest
The gavel smacks; rest

I was running late for my court date
My jitters roused me from the bench
I dreamt a place I’d rather be-
Middle of the court room
Pitching a tent

Problems excite me
Communities collapse and leave the evidence
Like receipts on Wall Street
Or the fortunes outside Chinese food carts
Blurred by rain

A chef once said
Appreciate the mundane
My pockets filled with Mung beans
Heart heavy headed down Mulberry
And the sprouts tickled up my thigh

A few hours passed and wet became dry
Began observing with my fingers
A foreign thumb rubbed on mine
I’d love a kiss by a Gemini
Cuddled ruckus on the train

driftwhistler:

Shabbazzin it up at Black Butte.

Ogling

driftwhistler:

Shabbazzin it up at Black Butte.

Ogling

(via driftwhistler-deactivated201310)