oh how i wished
my father still knew me
hidden behind a glass darkly
voice scratchy over a bad telephone line
loaded up with psychotic drugs
to make him easier for the nurses the handle

wind whips the leafy branches
swaying violently
eardrums vibrate
with the thick bass of a passing car
people murmur
behind their darkened windows
cats slink
chasing shadows down the alleyway

the diamond cutter draws another line
but there are no diamonds
there are no cutters
there is no drawing
there is no another
there are no lines
this is why they are named
diamonds, cutters, drawing, another, and lines

what is meant by this repeating curiosity?
what is up with this diamond cutter business?
how can you say there is something
then turn around and say there is not that something?

here is the diamond cutter mystery explained:

thoughts are objects of the mind
they arise there
they dwell there
they circulate there
they die there
they are resurrected there
and another time they swirl there
yet
thoughts are not real
thoughts are code
running in the wetware of your mind
when you were a baby
you had no words yet
words were programs
injected into your mind
when you were a small child
you had no judgements yet
judgements were programs
inflicted on your mind
when you were a young person
you had no money yet
money was a desired object
impressed upon your mind

but there are no words
there are no programs
there are no minds
there are no judgements
there is no money
there are no desired objects

this is why they are named
words, programs, minds, judgements, money, and desired objects

do you see?
can you understand?

thoughts are illusions
some programmed very early, and some later
the diamond cutter exposes these illusions
by calling them out
then assigning them their negatives
their antidotes
their non-thoughts
for there are no thoughts
this is why they are named thoughts

any of the ten thousand things
that can be named
are illusions
mind viruses
stealing your mental processing power

if you have a recurring thought
some endless soundtrack in your mind
some emotional pattern
that gets you thinking the same thing
over and over and over again

let it go
dissolve it into silence
let it sizzle into the great clear hot
the all and nothing icy void
and witness for yourself
ascendant tranquility

only when the mind is stilled
can wisdom and understanding arise

i looked more closely at the backpack
it was standard size
grey, faux leather trim
with an extra pocket secured with a zipper

and i paused
for a filthy, tailor-made cigarette
sucked in those horrific
juicy vapours
as i wondered
what was in this secreted backpack pocket?

and i felt the gravity
gravity, gravity
g = 9.8m/s^2
(on this planet, for now..)
brakes slamming on a childhood car
body pulled towards the windshield
ac/de/celerration as gravity analogue
meteorites burning cloudlines to blue noctilucent
aether
sluicing inward, downward
feeding the hungry atoms of mass
clustered into a planet
an invisible eternal waterfall
raining from the sky
gravity

i shook my head
who knows what gravity is?

i unzipped the side pocket
of the mystery backpack
and my eyes widened
at what i saw there

a pencil, like mine
astounding!
who uses pencils anymore?

a surgical scalpel
blade jiggly
half unscrewed from its mount
glinting dimly off the cloudy sunlight

a 2$ coin of the realm

a curious wood carving
circular
hole drilled through the centre
and 10x holes drilled laterally
but not clear through to the middle
it reminded me of a “tinkertoy” from my youth
but more rugged
and 10x instead of 8x holes
the palm of my hand felt stranger
the longer i held it

there was more besides
but i am going to end this story now

after attempting to locate this particular individual
from the wallet ID in the side pocket
i surrendered the backpack and its contents
to the local police
and i hoped
this lovely derelict and his effects
would soon be re-united

and i also contemplated hope
and the uselessness thereof
and i smiled anyways

pulsing modern technos
writhed within our minds
but there were no minds
this is why they are named minds

what’s in the backpack?!
tell us please!!

the top was already open
exposed to the elements

on top was a pair of hiking boots
bottoms scuffed a rusty orange
the filthy smudge of a railroad wanderer
sand clinging to the soles
the boots were wet, damp with water
was it recent?
but it had been raining for days
still, maybe.. one.. two days’ old?

under the mysterious boots
was a black t-shirt
clumped into a loose ball of fabrics
i pulled the shirt out of the backpack
and observed it was caked
with damp muds and sands
with a quick
..>SNAP!<..
i shook the shirt out
to cleanse its earthy contaminants

and the chipmunk
startled at the sudden motion and sound
vanished from view
a slight waver in the aires stilled over that rock
where the chipmunk had been just moments before

i grinned
i chuckled
i noticed the t-shirt was inside-out

the contents of the shirt were racy
sexual in nature
i’m going to spare you the details

and at the bottom of the backpack
was a collection of cans:
coconut water, orange juice, a single beer,
and an empty coffee cup
and i was puzzled because
this was not the abandoned backpack of an alcoholic

i looked about
but there was no one
no hobo
asleep upon the beach
no hiker
along that desolate path
no body
floating face down in the lake
no campsite
of some homeless saint
just the backpack
that wasn’t there last week
and i trembled
along with my chipmunk friend
at something new under the sun

praise
to the mountain
trees carpeting her fertile slopes

praise
to the trees
green finery’d by abundant springtime rains

praise
to the insects
within mossy branches interlope

praise
to that nameless, absent one
when wilt thou awaken from thy slumber?