Ellensburg, Washington

Kapala Press is the Vajrayana tributary of dPress (www.dpress.net) which is a literary press, established in 1967, to produce books of my own and my friends' writings and now has over 300 titles in its backlists. At present, the main focus is to create saddle-stiched, short-run, 20 to 40 page editions with color covers utilizing the modern copy machine.     

            Jampa Dorje, aka Richard Denner






Today, I have pure vision. There’s an angel in the park chasing leaves. Another angel on the corner, talking on a cell phone. An angel in Sprint making a copy of an article from the New Yorker turns and speaks to me.

  “What is that you have? It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s the cover for my poems, Talking Trash.”

  “Do you have a mailing list?”

  “Well, I guess you can be a part of my small audience.”

  “I’m a writer, too. I’ve been working on a novel, but I don’t have a publisher. I don’t know what I going to do.”

  She has auburn hair, features I like, a delicate face, a bright expression to the eyes, not wearing a wedding ring, casual clothes, a sweater with a heavy knit yet revealing the contour of her breasts, loose fitting trousers, sensible shoes. Venus rising from the sea foam in her invisible clothes.

  “I’m surfacing,” she says.

  “I can see that,” I say. I’m trying to make my best impression. I know I’m liable to download too much, so I try to pace myself, yet she is excited and finds space in my sentences to interject her view.

  “What do you do with your books? Sell them?”

  “I sell some, when I give a reading. Give them to friends, trade other poets for books of theirs. Mostly, it’s a way to finish my poems, to get them out there, so they’re not stuck in a drawer in my desk or in a box in the attic, to complete the circle, and at the same time it forces me to edit and make the poems stand up on their own, so when I stand up to read them, I stand by them with  conviction,” I said.

  “There are readings at Lucy’s every third Sunday at 3 p.m.”

  “What’s that? Where is it?” I ask.

  “It’s a café down the street.”

  “Have you read there before?”

  “No,” she said, “I’ve never read before strangers before. Among friends. In the classroom. I read one time in a class at San Francisco State a long time ago, and I must have said something to remind some of them of having been in the insane asylum, and they came completely unglued. I don’t know what I did. I must’ve hit a chord of some kind.”

  “That’s kind of the idea. To touch the audience out there.”

  “I know, but I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction.”

  “Like the time I read the Bible in jail and commanded the inmates to repent, and they started banging on the bars with their cups. There’s always the fear they might start throwing rotten tomatoes.”

  “Or your own version of the fear—I’m afraid of getting boxed in.”

  I’ve been waiting for a phrase to prompt me to write an inscription in her copy of my book. I say, “Let me write something for you here. What’s your name?”

  “The Mysterious Woman. Some call me Muse.”

  So, I write, “Oh Muse, not to be boxed in/except by friendship.”

  She writes; I write; everything is written in our eyes. Dialogue developing; cut to the chase. Nectar starts to drip; time expands; space swirls and opens. We’re waving our arms, talking a mile a minute. We’re drawing attention.

  “So, what did you read in your class?”

  “I can’t remember, something political. Sexual politics. Today, it wouldn’t matter. You could sleep with an elephant and no one would say anything. But then...”

  “It’s the fear of rejection. It takes a pro to feel safe in their skin, naked, before an audience. I watched Laurence Olivier in The Entertainer last night. Powerful. At the end, there is a scene where he is with his daughter looking out at an empty theater, and he speaks about his life on the stage. I mean, Olivier is one of the greatest, and he’s playing this tatty, old musical actor to perfection, and he remembers an important event in his life, a moment which makes him feel that if there ever was a moment where he had a belief in the strength of the human race, it was hearing by chance an old Black woman sing her heart out about Jesus— ‘just making a pure, a natural noise’— that he would have been all right as a person if he could just once have ‘lifted his bosom and made such a fuss.’ He’s definitely down on himself and is trying to live up to a life of failed hopes and faded dreams. He says, ‘When you’re up here (meaning the stage), you think you love all those people out there, but you don’t.’ He says his ‘face can split open’ and he can pretend to be human, sing and tell stories, but that it doesn’t matter, behind his eyes he’s as dead as the ‘shoddy lot out there.’ This is kind of nihilistic, and I’m kind of getting off track. I guess what I’m trying to say is that poetry is more than entertainment, and you can’t just rely on technique to keep down the fear and trembling. A drama coach told me to turn the nervousness into excitement. Infect the audience with anticipation that something grand is about to happen rather than transmitting your fear that the experience will be dreadful.  If they perceive you as nervous, they feel it too. If they feel you’re confident, then that’s what they feel. Beyond this, there’s only the raw exposure of your soul.”

  “I know...I look up there, and I’m glad I’m not in his shoes.”

  “What size shoe do you wear?” I put my foot next to hers. We do a funny little side step and giggle. This is getting intense. “This is getting intense,” I say.

 “This IS getting intense,” she replies.

  “Maybe, we should get back to work here.”

  “Maybe, you’re right. Can we exchange cards?”

  “We could if I had one. Let me put my number in your book. Maybe we can get together, and I could read some of what you’ve written. Do you work?”

  “I’ve only recently moved here from the Sonoma area. I work at my art. I’m an artist also. Here is my card, and it has my number on it. Where do you work?”

  “At present, I’m taking care of my elderly father, and I’ve been writing about it in a memoir I call The Episodes. We could read some of our stuff to each other. Mine began as a means of processing my relationship with my father—the generation gap, you know, the ties that bind, what’s beyond all the political and intellectual differences, what brings me home, but then it began to be a retelling of my story and moved beyond the original intent and local scene, and now it cuts across time and place, zigging and zagging, zagging more than zigging.”

  “Mine’s like that too, no plot or characters exactly. I don’t know what it is, but I’d like your opinion, I think.”

“Well, it would be nice to get to know you. It helps to have other artists to share your work with because they get to know your whole cluster of work. A dialogue develops, and constructive criticism can occur since they’re not making snap judgments on a one-time basis. They know where you are and where you want to go and how to tell when you make a breakthrough or when you fail.”

  She nodded, “You’re right there. Not like seeing something out of context.”

  “I’ve been reading Emily Dickinson lately,” I said. She stayed in her house and wrote her verse. She sent a few poems to a guy named Higgenson and asked him if he thought her poems ‘breathed,’ and he replied, ‘spasmodically.’ She’s exceptional. Outside of those few poems, she didn’t publish. Amazing. She had absolute confidence...she believes, ‘A Word that breathes distinctly/Has not the power to die.’ Absolutely beatific.”

  “Let’s get to work.”

  “Yes, let’s.”





horses in wet blankets

“Mornin’ ladies, survive the rain?”



all talents driven into one discipline


here I mean to separate the functions of metaphysics

from that of epistemology

recognize rational mind, intuitive mind

see ground of each


break down, deconstruct

first, intuitive divination, not one, not two

secondly, rational, perceptive


                two Canadian geese fly north



near, intimate

shut, verb

secret, oppressive

path of English driven by devils

non-rectification of names


words burn bright in the tunnel of delight


Lulu, a scholar’s view

first, search for truth, second, search for fame


                paint or perish



Athenian, Spartan

The Great Mexican War at end of Aztec Calendar

Bible Code, 3D tic tac toe

Rubic cube of history

Inner galaxy of data


                Planetary alignment of consonants


Pythagorean view

3 as a structure of U

3 as an organizing principle


                “Fill in the boxes; we’ll fix it later.”


Volume 9

Title, then subtitle

                with preface and introduction



8 hrs sleep

6 hrs dharma

2 hrs movie watching

6 hrs write and art

2 hrs maintenance


Three dogs


Serin, Willow, Lady Gwen


Photos, combination of Ansel Adams and Avadon






first, space=time continuum

next, teaching about the human condition

then, natural state

                500,000 years, galaxies of meditation

thought and dream




Jesus Tantra

first, purification

then, refuge

raise Bodhi

prayer, 100 syllable mantra

mandala offering

guru yoga, manifest as Mary Magdeline


Dirty Bomb

Al Quida group finds martyrs

to remove radioactive material

from a dump in Uzbeckistan and

hand off to Jihadists to transport

via container to another point.


                Where in the mandala are you?

3 kayas

6 realms

9 galaxies

5 famlies

100 dieties






practice and daily life

8 hrs for rest

8 hrs for work

8 hrs for God


In the Zone

do you see the glory? the temple

not built with human hands?


Tantra wants all your stuff, your baggage,

your neurosis, your psychosis,

your passion

to transform this into virtue

Tantra like Einstein’s theory of relativity


Sutra like Newton’s physics

Juice for neuro-anatomical re-programming


Zogchen like quantum mechanics

You = U

“as above, so below”




2 values

3 values

5 values

creates unrest in the “self”

a carousel combined with bumper carS






Lifetimes to

Human form

Found Dharma

Found Guru


Tantra takes in all your stuff

uses everything to polish

your Buddha belly


It all boils down to

virtue and purification

                Use your senses

common sense and nonsense



Turn shit into fertilizer

                Spread it on the concrete floor

Dry it, cool it off, plow it in

That Garden of Earthly Delights

That Garden of Horrors Untold


grandure of grey dawn

miramids of restless, weary wanderers

playing the harpstrings of youth

                Canto beery pilgrims


Finding occult knowledge

hidden in gambling games

tarot, dice auguries

Blackjack, Stud


My eye—Jody, my cousin,

on my mother’s side of the family,

threw sand in my eye


Jody, six months older that I,

only I was adopted, probably felt

there was a fox loose in the hen house


A small scar, but the scar is in a bad spot


Magic as an artist



                music=you are a note sung




                perception, means

                object of observation



analysis, logic

                data to support hypothesis


Close (A.C.D.)

to stop, obstruct

to shut, surround

to bring together, join

to get rid of at a reduced price

to bring an end to

to come near

to grapple, engage in

to agree

to come to an end, terminate

to be worth at the end of trading

lacking freshness

confined, narrowly confined

heavy, oppressed

secretive, reticent

stingy, parsimonious

scarce, as with money

not an open season

near, near together

intimate, confidential


a juncture, a union

not deviating from the subject

short, near the surface

not deviating from the model or original

strictly logical

strict, searching, minute

end or conclusion


narrow entry, alleyway

(British) a piece of property w/o buildings


Power of 3


Bhrama, Vishnu, Shiva,

Creator, Sustainer, Destroyer

Father, Son, Holy Ghost


View, Path, Fruit

Body, Voice, Mind

Truth, Beauty, Goodness

Id, Ego, Superego

Inner, Outer, Secret


Adzom’s Dutsi

                wherever I follow him

                there’s dutsi falling, he

                doesn’t mind if I pick up

                the jewels on the path


Trustfund Buddha


“Voluntary house arrest

has the stink of Liberty.”


Yes, Dewey, movies can be seen

as Sambhogakaya

                pleasures, qualities, 2-D

the realm of the imagination

creative mythology

Scorsese and Eastwood shoot it



Battle in the Captain’s tower

The Passion of Christ and Hotel Rawanda

go unnoticed

                “Didn’t Passion of Christ get

The Oscar

                for best make-up?”

“I thought the flesh could have looked a bit

more torn.”






after all is said and done, about the only thing i’ll miss after i leave this samsaric shit hole is my mother tucking me in when i was a kid, and other than that,

after having been stabbed, shot, strangled and shit on for 70 fucking years, i can truly say, the only thing i’ll miss is the movies

my favorite flick of this year was "white chicks" flat out, that had to be the winner

million dollar baby? the title says it all

the aviator, only scorcese would make a movie about such a neurotic human being after making one about the street gangs of new york, which he made after making one about the his holiness the dalai lama, i love it

this is the movies, remember that, this is not about anything but the movies which only touch on life in a very gentle way

here and there, very tangentially

the same chick who plays queen elizabeth plays katherine the fucking hepburn and does a good job in both, while hilary swank makes it to the top from a trailer court

this is the movies

howard hughs lets his finger nails grow and pisses in milk bottles

the aviator is a love letter to hollywood , a dead letter, and the great scorcese gets passed over for the coveted phallic symbol


a dead letter is the same even if it is never


lumet gets a lifetime achievement award, so scorsese will just have to wait, since there are still some greats in the wings

as i remember it, the hollywood badboys, sean penn and his crew refused to stand when kazan got his award because kazan had ratted on his friends during the mccarthy era

finally, even if no one is acting at the oscars, remember, the oscars is the movies



going up in flames

gets two thumbs down

What would Homer say?

“I liked Brad Pitt in the part, buff, quirky, the fancy footwork 

                Wrath of Achilles on the battlefield, his name reverbing down the corridors of time on the cover of every Tabloid, and Agamemnon got stabbed in his bath at home,

not in the sack, or at the Sack of Troy—

so much of the read is in the details,

 who gives a fuck about the Mirmadons?—

plenty clickity clack of swords,

a funky horse, Paris was right,

they should have burned it,

                 but then,

there’d be no sequel.”


Aviator  gets 5 Oscars,

Baby gets 4,

baby was a top flight

B movie in the Warner Bros

gritty style, made in something like

6 weeks, fast and dirty

whereas Scorsese labored like a

Renaissance painter, more

in the style of Felini


East coast movies

West coast movies

O, where are our Kansas movies?

“I nominate:

The Ferrtilicrome Cheerleader Massacre.”


Adhere to the samadhi of equanimity

when it comes to Beauty

                BUT retain the option to weigh in

on a dualistic analysis


It’s easier to box

than to throw rocks.


“box” means to catagorize

methodology=psychology of movies

                more than aesthetics

                vision rather than __________


Allegory of quinine seed

as a path to samadhi


Sky walking with the Dakinis

they help give shape to my world


Lulu, “You have to have an ego

if you’re going to get rid of it.”


Get rid of something

that doesn’t exist


How get rid of


Point to it

Come to the point

Point to the coming

Integrate the personas

                the Self disappears


Take a chop at it






discover value

binge eating

binge mantras


Libeniz, monadology

Spinoza, geometrical values

Orpheus, orphic creation


Out of the tip of the branch, making buds

                moon spheres, mind spheres

                                cyclic, sickic, samsaric

just say, “I’m sorry.”


help others, so all may rest


going to

so that

all my rest

                helps others

find the four

boundless states


“Elegant portrait of y’all

wrapped in myrtle,

calling a SPADE a spade,

leading us into this tale of

a relationship’s travails

and triumphs! A pure

pleasure to move through.”


Arrive, May 19, in Newark

Return, May 28, to San Francisco


Civilized dogs

“My dog”


Description of The Ave in 1959

Corner of Haste and Telly

Lucky Store where Ginsberg saw

ol’ Walt Whitman

across from a Texaco gas station, now Cody’s Books

The Berkeley Hotel across from Able I, the Garden Spot and Cinema Guild/Studio

The Med next to a Laundromat

“What’s behind the Green Door?”


stop at See’s Candies, look in the mirror to see what time it is on the Campanile

check out the Picassos in Nicole’s, skinny Scandinavian furniture in Frasier’s, lunch with Jon Springer at Robbie’s Cafeteria and beer in Larry Blake’s Rathskeller, tea at The Black Sheep, two cigar stores on the corner of Bancroft and Telegraph


Flatworm as a proof of God


we inherited a predator’s intelligence on the food chain

or we would have remained a sponge or coral





                leave tracks on the moon

                and on the ocean’s floor


“Like moons in water”




                Blue Ragger, YMCA

                Camp Gualla @10 years

Angel in a hollow redwood tree


Surprise baptism @14 years

in basement (catacombs) of High Street

Presbyterian Church in Oakland


Bertrand Russel controversy at U.C. Berkeley @16

bought Why I’m Not a Christian in a Sausilito bookstore


Atheism leads to Mysticism


“Like moons in water”


Like moons in water=adverbial phrase

Sights=subject, deceive=verb

Us=direct object


We of second clause=subject

forever roam=verb and adverb

in cyclic chains= prepositional phrase

modifying “we”


So=conditional clause

all may rest in their clear mindstreams


in 4 boundless states





                two needs complete


Three views





Zógqen Presbyterianism

Passion as a Chöd Feast

Immortals, rainbow body, ascension


                H.G. Wells, Jorge Luis Borges


Alchemy, chemical, elemental

Divination, intuitive mind

Yoga, union of mind-body


Karma cleared up with prajna

via dharma

                slows the wheel

enough to step off

but not enough to be detached


Monk stand-up routine

Monk can joke about death

Monk can deny existential dilemma

Monk can deny existence of creator

Monk can use dirty language


Form is an extension of content

Content is an extension of form

Emptiness is form

Form is emptiness


Shit is gold

Shit is not gold

Shit is rich as gold

Shit is not as rich as gold


There is a war

There is not a war


Monk can talk about fucking

Inappropriate sexual content


Yogi and consort

enter Tantric path, drink Ambrosia

                Menstrual blood, semen

long life practice, Mandarava


“Why not fly off to Madagascar and pose for tsunami relief?”


“You’re my dog”

Dog barking in the neighborhood

strawberries creeping onto the driveway

dog at Willit’s ranch

                overanxious sheep dog

                acts up during artificial insemination of old cows


foreman shoots dog

                draws from the hip

                only wounds the mutt

Dad disgusted with Wild West behavior

                orders the vet to put down the dog


 Dog mauling in general

                The Andulusian Dog in particular


An education on the streets and in corrals of Larado

POLICIES with Universities for children’s education in future years



look at the numbers

Kant 476a-79d

there is beauty in the moral order

and Bacon who should

be in Everyman’s Library

knew Augustine confessed


I have a friend who says

there are 3 principles

the good, the bad

and that which is neither

good or bad


as for the whichisneither

my friend told me to stop

smoking, which changed my life

for I do smoke 2 to 3 packs


I write this sitting

on a Persian rug with a base

viole pointed threatenly

toward the victrola behind me

wrapping a harpsichord around

partia no. 2 in C Minor

Schmieder 826


478 79 3 2 3 2 826

in the bottom of the 9th



And a Grecian rug to lay before the fire

Compiled 11/21/2006 6:42:21 PM GMT



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told the old and new workshop members

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