Yogi Fire

Dodgertown serial fire burning up the Astronauts during re-entry. The fire is everywhere, it never ends. It starts with part-time Kundalini yoga students stealing all the street parking in your orthodox Jewish neighborhood and ends up with semi-professional yogi’s hogging all the hot water at the gym and drinking up all the complimentary coffee. Serial competition from an aggressive species. You can jump into the Kundalini fire if you want to find a way out. If you jump into the human fake fire, you will never be free.

Kundalini Fire

Who’s that six a.m. freak all dressed in white at the Bay Club Howard Hughes Center?  Why can’t he be a good Negro all dressed in black like the Chauncey Dennis devotees?  Rainbow meditation Germanic Mexican Yogi hybrid motherfucker.  That’s me.

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Eight hundred years ago I was an Aztec plumber. It took me 44 lifetimes to get this far and there is no turning back. Hindu love God hoodoo guru flying around on a magic fucking carpet watching bootleg live streaming of World Series Game Seven on his iPhone.

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Dia de los Muertos and the City of Angels is finally mine again. Free of the supplemental tourists hogging all the space at the beach and del Rey Lagoon. The Fall weather liberates the beach every year. Flying around on my magic Yogi carpet, this city is mine. My beach, my sand, my waves, my chicks, go home!

Breath of fire stays with me now. I have fear of becoming a Kundalini teacher now. Divine Providence, RI has guided me once again by withdrawing from KYTT. I must stay the eternal beginner. In a little while I will practice yoga in the Bay Club Redondo Beach Steam Room. Another “locals only” beach city vibe, especially from the fat old women out at the jacuzzi. Vibey vibe my skinny yoga body. You fat cows. I am a body elitist. Yoga elitist.  Skinny little breath of fire yoga bitch obtaining value from my $150/per month gym membership.

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