Reprieves And Lost Causes
Let’s get this straight, people who seek simple answers are stupid. The ones who say, “Just repeat this mantra, just take this pill, go to this church, become a vegan, do yoga, read this book, join this party, attend this meeting, be affiliated, be indoctrinated, surrender yourself to a cult, follow this preacher, prophet, shaman, sacrifice your individualism, follow these steps, support this program and on and on into perpetuation. If anyone offers you simple solutions to the myriad of life challenges, immediately run in the opposite direction. Nobody’s gonna save you———except you!
Get this through your complacent brainwashed mind, “Life ain’t simple and surely not easy”. It’s filled with tough decisions, difficult questions and complex choices. Furthermore, life is unfair. Innocent children unexplainably die while evil murders on death-row live out long heathy lives——it’s infuriating! These dreadful thoughts keep me up at night. What kind of god creates a universe that approves such horror, inequality——such depravity.
There was a time many years ago when there were only three TV networks to choose from (ABC, NBC and CBS). There were two types of bread, white or wheat. You were either a Chevy person or a Ford person. You were a Beatle fan or a Beach Boy’s fan. You either watch CNN or Fox News. There was a time when we only required one hour of nightly news to cover the local and national fresh batch of calamities.
Nothing is simple anymore. Is “more” always better? Maybe the Amish have it right with their horse-drawn buggies, silly bonnets and goofy black hats? Maybe enlightenment is more achievable for the Zen Monk living alone in a cave in the Himalayas, no distractions, no facebook, no TikTok, no porn. Is ignorance bliss? Was Socrates right when he said “unexamined life is not worth living”. Are the stupid people happier than the seekers? It’s so much easier to be stupid and happy rather than struggling to find yourself, to be “woke” (whatever that means?)
Now a days, we want to see, hear and know everything. We watch with glee as our heroes fall from grace. Does the tragedies of others make us feel better about our lackluster lives? Life is no longer lived, it’s processed, deep fried, homogenized, propagandized. We watch life through a porthole, secretly peering into others Social Network realities. We seek out others in an echo chamber that supports our beliefs. We’re overloaded with conspiracies, truthiness and artificial intelligence (oxymoron). There are now computer apps that can be programed to write college thesis papers, compose music and create original paintings. I don’t know what original means anymore. Is there an algorithm for originality? For beauty? For reality? For Love?
What’s real, what’s illusion. What’s true and what’s bullshit? It’s all up to you because the future is up for grabs. There’s no longer a truth filter or bullshit detector. We live in a world of contradictions and complications. I don’t know about you, but I’m pissed off. Why you might ask?
The rich pay no taxes while the rest of us fight over table scraps. Politicians sit on their asses and do nothing while our children are slaughtered in another mass shooting. We have resources to better feed and house the homeless but yet there are more starving people living on the streets than ever before. We have better medications available to save lives but pharmaceutical companies charge more than what the sick can afford. We have science that has revealed the imminent dangers of global warming, yet our governments and industries fail to implement changes that will reduce the greenhouse effect.
This one life given, should be better lived.
Sometimes it’s a curve ball
A dear John letter
A tire with a slow leak
Ruble and ashes
Cold left overs
Prayers and futility
Potholes and apologies
Leached out success
Players and fakers
Death by loneliness
Waiting on nothing
On no one
Watered down desire
Reprieves and Lost Causes
Don’t wish me a good night
I too suffer from insomnia. The night can be a prison for the over thinkers and senseless worriers of the world. So much empty time to recount all my failures, follies and faults. Things I should have said and done, opportunities missed, loves gone ill-requited. The red numbers on the bedside digital clock appear frozen in time. I consider taking a half of one of my Ambien sleeping aides, but the after effects often leave me drowsy for several hours the following morning. So, I’ll bravely stare down my meddling ghosts.
Time is so precious but at this tortured hour time takes on a different meaning. I have what the Buddhist call monkey mind. This is when my thoughts jump from one unrelated thought to the next. What a silly ass thing to say “Good Night”. There is no such thing as a “Good Night”. there is only darkness and solitude awaiting me there. Night is where my demons and devils churn out boogiemen that hide under my bed or breathe loudly from behind my closet door.
Are you a believer in ghosts? Do they come from within us like a dark psychoses? Or, are they materializing out of the night ether? Have you ever seen one? If god created all of the universe, then he/she (binary?) surely could include ghosts in this odd ball thing called reality. Reality is malleable, depending on whose version of reality you choose to subscribe too. There’s a fine line between reality and illusion. And, I don’t give up my illusions easily, they have sustained me up to this point.
I hope my rants don’t scare you away my dear old friend. Maybe “scare” is too harsh of a word. Perhaps the way I connect my esoteric thoughts is too confounding. I’ve even grown tired of my own ruminating thoughts. You’ve peaked under my covers and seen my nightmares. I didn’t formally invite you in, but now that you’re here, feel free to make yourself comfortable. I offer you my friendship and therein my condolences—–as this is a package deal.
Love Is In The Small Things
I hold her hand
So nervous like the first time
She offers me a gentle smile
It hides a trace of pain
2 Days mean more
When they’e numbered
I can’t imagine my days Here
Living without her
3 She use to make my meals
Use to mend my clothes
Now there’s only shadows
Where she made a small house our home
4 The sounds of laughing children
Once filled these empty rooms
The best of times in our life
We danced and laughed and struggled through
Those were the days
Even if we didn’t know it
Love is in the small things
Seldom seen and often go unnoticed
1 She wants to walk in the garden
But her legs have grown weak
I help her to the window
She shuffles her feet
2 Holding hands in silence
Siting in the setting sun (ya see)
Love doesn’t belong
Only to the young
3 Sunday drives in the country
Picnics by the lake
It doesn’t seem that long ago
But time moves on, refuses to wait
4 Whispers a Hail Mary
Tells me there’s angel circling
She can hear them calling
Calling her name
5 I kiss her forehead, and say
If you must go, I understand
What will I do without my sweetheart
Who I shared my life, hand in hand
Those were the days
Even if we didn’t know it
Love is in the small things
Seldom seen or noticed
Hand Me Down Dreams
A spoken word project about bullying.
One of life's greatest mistakes Expecting to be loved Expect is a word best not attached to love There’s many versions of love Few are lasting, and even fewer are memorable Some covet it as if it were property Others wear it on their arm like a flashy bauble Or, proudly tattoo it permanently upon their skin Oftentimes vanishing before the ink dries At times it’s confused with sex You can have sex without love And you can have love without sex After all the gyrations and moaning Even if she lets you put it where you want? You’ll still need to find things to talk about at the end of a worn-out night Humor is the best aphrodisiac Honesty is the slipperiest of lubricants It's naively offered up with open arms Like a soon to be broken Vow Vows are for love-struck suckers It’s a fabled belief in security and sincerity Sometimes, it's a broken record that skips and pops All noise and no melody Like a sympathy composed for the deaf Most want love to be soft and tender Like sappy verses from a smarmy poem But it's none of those things It's a prize fight, a spectacle of blood, rage and courage It can suddenly switch from an endearing hug to an enraged choke hold It begins with a polite first kiss, ending up in a dark room that reeks of raw savage sex--that is--if you get lucky Yet, there are those rare flashes of something Some may call it love, but that's an over-used euphemism It stirs an ancient ache that resides deep inside us all Where does it come from? Why does it go? Who knows? It's a vexing enigma It comes with no warranties, no guarantees It’s fragile, so handle it with care If ya break it, you'll have to pay for it Once shattered, you’ll never be able to put it back together No glue or counseling can dull its painful shards Once the shelf-life has been reached You’ll need to decide——should it be thrown out? Or painfully watch it continue to curdle and sour Salmonella is a bad way to go The trouble with love—-is It’s what happens between life’s otherwise mundane moments It has no soul or conscience No sense of right or wrong It makes fools out of it’s gullible victims
At The Speed Of Foreverness
In spite of our long days and the swiftness of these passing years We’ve reluctantly grown old Old as in running out of time The potholed street of aging leads to a cul de sac of convalescence Age robs us of youths vanities It rubs our hair off, dulls our eyesight and deafens our hearing We slowly cave in on ourselves We can no longer get by on our sexiness or youthful bravado We’re left with a fading wit and the shreds of a once charmed personality This leaves some bitter, while others are liberated There’s nothing more attractive than someone who no longer gives a shit about what others think of them Shriveled skin, brittle bones, hemorrhoids and varicose veins ain’t so bad It’s the fading of memories and the onset of feeble mindedness that leaves us befuddled There’s that moment of confusion when we enter a room and forget what we needed there, or what we were looking for, or even why we came there in the first place??? But, I’ll fight like hell to forever remember your face
Tigers Or Table Scraps
The universe keeps trying to convince me that I’m mediocre, but I refuse to give in. All the greats have had to fight that urge to shrink and fit into normalcy.
Crazy is better than normalcy, going mad is better than normalcy. Do something, do anything to prove that you’re still alive—-that you’re a worthy opponent. Release your bullshit on the world like a tiger ripping into a fallen gazelle.
Kill or be killed—–most are already dead and feeding on table scraps. The true holy ones aren’t afraid to climb free solo—they know that no one is tethered to security.
Make fear your best-friend and nothing will ever scare you again.
Song For Jeanne (behind times cruel walls)
A song about a son visiting his mother in a rest-home.
No one can scarcely remember much about Benedict Arnold other than it’s a name you wouldn’t want to be called. It became an adjective for being a “traitor”, a “hypocrite”, a “two face” and a “loser”. History has a way of putting people like Mr Arnold and others of questionable character into proper perspective. For example, how about the term “Soup Nazi”? Or, the unflattering comparisons related to being a Judas, or a Jim Crow or an Uncle Tom. Then there’s the infamous cliche of drinking Jim Jone’s “Cool-aide”. And who could ever forget Ivan the Terrible or Typhoid Mary. It’s true, our actions ultimatly dictate our epitaph.
In a hundred years from now the name Trump will be remembered synonymously with someone who’s a liar, a cheat, a bully, a racist, a narcissist and an over all unsavory character. In the future it will be common to substitute “Trump” for expletives or curse words such as, “He’s got his head up his Trump.” “Go Trump yourself”. “You really got Trumped on”. “That’s a bunch of Trump.” “You can kiss my Trump.” “I gotta take a Trump”. Children will have their mouth’s washed out with soap for calling someone a low down “mother Trumper”. Graffiti artist will tag subways, buildings and walls with “Trump-isms” such as “What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening.”
Someday there will be Heavy Metal Bands bearing his moniker, for instance “Trump and the Dead Dictators”. Insolent teenagers will wear black tee shirts bearing the face of a sneering Trump. These bands will make Ozzie and Slip Knot look like Lawrence Welk..
He will become one of the most famous anti-heroes and will be known as“Terrible Trump the Orange Menace.” His superpower will afford him the ability to turn lies into the truth. He can turn peace into chaos and tranquility into drama. He’ll have the power to throw lightening bolts of hate and create divisiveness with his loud mouth thunder. He’ll make the Hulk and Godzilla look like Pee wee Herman and Mary Poppins. His kryptonite is truth, humility and compassion.
As the saying goes, “Careful what you ask for”. Donald got what he wanted——— eternal fame—-but I’m sure not in the manner he had expected. But, if the shoe fits the mouth, then insert it.
Well, it’s time for me to stop “Trumping” around and get the “Trump” out of here.