Truth

I think the movie was right. We can’t handle the truth. That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. We see the truth and then we spend time trying to deny it or change it. If it is the truth, it is your truth and that is all that matters. Some will get it. Some will not. It does not matter if they get it. It matters if you get it. If you do, live it or spend your time doing anything and everything but living it. Your truth is your either/or.

We seek the truth and then when it is in our hand we want it to be anywhere else. Want some truth? You are gonna die. Just like everyone that already died, everyone that was born and has yet to die, and everyone that has yet to be born. We are all gonna die. No one gets out of here alive. You are gonna die. It is not an if. It is a when. That is your truth. Wrap it up with a bow and pretend it is something you can put in the closet and open when you are ready. This birthday present opens itself whenever it is damn ready. Surprise! You’re dead.

So the fuck what? You can spend time in that closet and hope no body finds out you are worried about dying. You can go through life with one foot on a banana peel and the other in designer shoes. It does not matter. You are gonna die and the sooner you accept that, the better off you will be. That is the truth.

Take the box out of the closet and put it right in your face everyday. Jam it up your ass and carry it around all the time. Take it deep cause you are pretty well fucked either way. Own it. Claim it. Dance with it. Celebrate it. Begin each day celebrating that you ain’t dead yet. Maybe tomorrow, next Tuesday, or forty-three years from the last time you got laid. It’s a coming, boys and girls. It’s a coming. The only surprise is how and when and, for some of the more mysterious among us earthlings, who. So let it see in the light of day and move forth with gusto.

Live. That is the truth. Honor that truth and all the other truths fall right into place. Don’t wish. Do. Don’t watch. See. Ride the ride and know that it will end when it over and you are just along for the ride. Keep your hands in your own fucking car if you want. Mine are raised on the steepest drops and I scream “Shit!” at the top of my lungs as we drop into another abyss of not having a fucking clue. If I didn’t do that, I might as well be dead. That’s my truth.

About Time

The clock speaks less.

Time is more in my hands.

What is done when moves behind what is done.

Up at such and such.

Sleep at such and such.

Less and less than such and such.

The flow schedules itself.

Fluid movement just in time.

Eating what feels right when hungry nourishes.

Now happens between what just happened and what will happen.

Does anyone really know what time it is?

Can we be late when we are right where we need to be?

How important is exactness in the scheme of things?

Do you take the time or give it away banking on tomorrow?

Hitler ensured the trains ran on schedule and moved dark secrets very effectively.

Stress is free with the price of your ticket to the big show of commence.

Rolex ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.

Timex marks the liver spots.

A sweep second hand. My Kingdom for a sweep second hand.

Meant to.

Should have.

Would have.

Could have.

If I had known.

If I had it to do over.

If I had a second chance.

If I had known.

Happiness is now, later is the ultimate unknown.

Time is on my side.

I am the no man it waits for.

It is measured in cycles of light and dark and warm and cold.

A few Winters we have and this is just after one and maybe before another.

Time is a second away from forever.

Sloppy seconds make for minute lives.

Sundials, Hourglasses, Egg Timers, and Mickey’s hands.

Time is in the moments.

Here is my kiss with Twelve o’clock high hands.

Marking this moment forever.

Cliff Notes

Can you ease off a cliff? Seems so. One minute you are there, the next minute, the cliff is far behind or above or wherever the heck it went. Freefalling is like that. Is it free? The true price is back on the cliff. Those that look into the abyss but choose not to jump. It could mean death. It will mean change. It might not fly. It might not be a cliff at all. It might just be a stopping point. The either or place most see.

There is a big settlement at the fork in the road. Many do not take the fork. They settle there. Settle for meeting travelers who happen upon that fork. Travelers that came from other places yet ended up at that fork. For a bit. A respite. The settlers like to be with them. Like to hear of their tales and how they got there and what they did. The settlers look at the cliff again and long. Not for too long though. The settlement needs tending. Yards to mow. Gardens to hoe. Chores to do. Things to stew. Meetings to run. Committees to chair. Lectures to hear. Examples to give. The cliff is for others. Wonderful view though. Would hate to miss out on the view. The travelers pass through. Must be hard on them. Never having the same stuff. Not knowing what the day holds. Having to deal with so much variety. They live like emotional hobos. Bums that take the train openly and ride the rails without even knowing where the rails go. Selfish. Self centered. Hurtful. The fork in the road is a good place. It is safe and warm and people know your name. It is good to have roots and forks and things. The cliff is for the ones with wings. Those that fly. The grounded ones celebrate them but have to tend to things. Have to do things. Have to…to accept things. Wingless.

Can you ease off a cliff? Easy for some. Harder not to ease off of the cliff. Harder to be with those that get to the fork in the road and then take the fork. Why don’t they stop somewhere else? Why did they come to this fork? Why did they come and remind us about the cliff? Why couldn’t they just have jumped off some other fucking cliff? Why did I invite them to stop anyway? Why did I start to believe the cliff was something to jump off? Why?

There is an echo deep in that canyon. I hear it when I howl. I feel it when I howl. I howl a lot. Feels good for a second afterwards. Just for a second. Sometimes seconds are all I have. Seconds. Sloppy seconds that pass so quickly. So I howl. Wonder if they hear me? Are they right down there? At the bottom of the canyon? Not likely. They are likely far gone. Deeper and deeper and someplace exciting. Someplace with strange animals and dances and sounds and dark ceremonies and dirty things that feel so good there. Someplace I cannot go. Someplace I know. Someplace beyond this fork in the road. If I jump, they will not be there to catch me. They are gone. I cannot see them. Cannot feel them. Wish I did not know them. Let me get back to the fork in the road. The road untraveled. Maybe a bit traveled. Back there. Before the fork in the road. Maybe there is something back there. Something that is not the fork in the road. Something that is easier. Makes me feel good again. Maybe the answer is back there. Maybe I don’t have to take the fork in the road. Maybe I don’t have to jump off the cliff. Maybe.

Howl. Howl. Howl. Hear me? Feel me? Hear me? Please. The cliff is nice. Come back and visit. Please. It gets dark over the canyon. The stars show better over the canyon. The stars at night are big and bright. Deep in the heart of wishing. So long. Howl. So long. Howl.

Wonder when the next traveler will come. Wonder if they are a traveler or someone searching for the fork in the road they will not take. That is what we look for. Our fork. The one we will not take. That is when we settle. Explorers see the fork and take it. Settlers see the fork and settle. Settling is good. Had to explore to get here. To know about the fork. Had to choose to stay. Had to find my way to know when to stop looking. Had to choose not to explore. Had to. Howl. Too tired to howl. Someone might hear me. Shhhhhhhhh. Time to sleep.

Litha 19

Reunions are special things. Tribe will have many reunions for tribal energy spans time and space. The energy that forms when family reunites is even purer and stronger. Blood energy. The purest and rawest of energy for links in flesh are links forever. This is what tribe does. The layer of complexity links.

Tribe merges as family as place for tribe and herd clarify for each. The energy of tribe is the energy of family and calls to those that seek family but know not of it by blood nor bond. This feeds the very energy and it spans out further and further like a beacon of hope. Soon it beams not just in this realm but across time and space and calls to family of tribe as well as family of blood. It draws them. It bridges chasms of separation.

This is how tribe links. Members find family in the tribe and the herd. Family of energy. Sometimes the link is of blood as well and that accelerates the radiance of the energy for others to see.

Many move to tribe and herd now. Many. Many more will. Be open. Be tribe and herd.

LItha 18

The tribe learns to work with the herd in balance of dignity and power that both tribe and herd need to further the place of both. The tribe sees the herd thrive as rulers grow in confidence of self and tribe. Tribe does not, and never should, take their power over the herd for granted. In proper use, the power energizes the Feminine in rulers as well as all in the herd. Places shift. Titles change. The joy of the dance of ruler and slave sing to all on the dance floor of this new life.

This same power in the wrong hands can ruin it for tribe and herd. Power can be abused when not in check and balance. Dignity can be lost for those that kneel and crawl if the ones knelt and crawled to see not the offering therein.

That is why tribe as well as herd are known to each other in openness, love, and acceptance. The community and knowing are the check and the balance.

The tribe moves to title and name as sure as the herd moves to number and full exposure. With check and balance, this will only move quicker and energize the changes already underway.

Coma

How long was your coma? Mine was forty-two years long. The answers were back there. Behind me. Waiting for me to wake up, caught up, and do something. Waiting for me to do the things I knew were right in 1968 when I was fifteen years old. I am that man now. The one I thought I was the year Elvis did his Comeback Special. Today, I am that man. Doing those things that were right back then. Those things are still right now. It is just the stuff in between that screwed things up as bad as they are now.

Things were screwed up back then too. It just would have been easier if we did what we said we were going to do back then. Those things we have to do now. The tree hugging, fuck the politicians and the machine in Washington, and who the fuck needs war things that had kids born under the red, white, and blue burn the colors in front of their parents, teachers, leaders, cops and robbers, and whoever the heck else said to just shut up and color. Those things we started and then let fizzle once we got laid regular and got a real job that paid real money.

Then they threw money at us. Money out there. On Wall Street. In Wal-Mart. They put our backs up against the wall and hit us right in our wallets. Jeans got tighter and then looser and more designer. Flowers went from in our hair to out there in those parks where bums slept at night and drugs oozed like memories that haunted us. Haunted us with “there but the grace of god” bullshit and “shit it just might be easier in those parks” conflict of purpose and place and gotta get to work cause the bills ain’t gonna pay themselves justifications. They threw money at the problem and the problem was us and the problem went away. Into a sugar and credit card induced coma that kissed the 70s hello and raped the planet with a vengeance. It never looked back. We sleep walked the rest of the century and heard Mayan whispers of a wake up call that sounded a lot like Abbie Hoffman, the Momma and Papas, and Dylan at his best. We opened our eyes and voted for a black man that felt like we did at our best. He was beat up and sent to his room with the threat of no dessert after one term.

Now the screaming has started. Luckily we are screaming louder than the idiots who want to pretend we didn’t fall asleep at the switch. Enough of us are screaming inside where we woke up first and realize that Rip Van Winkle ain’t that far from the truth. We took our eyes off the ball, let them keep their fingers on the button, and now we have to pay the piper. Peace, love, dove, motherfuckers. We got things to do. Things that feel like 1968. Only this time I will do them, am doing them, and don’t fucking care who likes it or who doesn’t. My coma was forty-two years long. My hair didn’t survive the trip but I like the whole shaved head, beard, kinda look. Maybe I should have done that in 1968. Oh, well. Better late than never.

Litha 17

The tribe glows as sure as the Sun on a summer day. The Sun of morning as a new day dawns. A new day followed by another new day and another new day in a season of change long overdue. The Summer of tribe and of herd. The Summer of SOURCE. The Summer of connections and links. The Summer of Love. The Summer of Hope.

Spirits soar on the wings of destiny. All sensing this is it. All believing that this is finally for real. All knowing the connections are true. All enjoying the season for what it is and seeing the seasons ahead in a whole new light. The light of insight. The light of kindred. A light seen with eyes that are not lonely anymore. Eyes that light from within by what goes on there thanks to tribe and herd.

Summertime. Litha. Season of change.

Litha 16

Each is more joyful as place becomes real for all and loneliness becomes a thing of the past. The community of tribe is one of kindred. Acceptance. Love. There is power in the community as purpose and place link freely.

Watch as those that rule as well as those that serve blossom. Both fulfilling destinies long sought, often underestimated, but now becoming reality. The Synergy flows freely and has an exponential effect on happiness for all. Feel it. One flexes and understands power as it sees another kneel and taste place. One smiles joyously and feels the juice of such things while the other whimpers joyously and feels the twinges of understanding and acceptance. This fuels another flex and another and both move to glorious place. This is what happens and this is what should happen more and more.

.

Tribe links to tribe and shares the successes. The herd links to herd to share the joy. Tribe and herd link to work in tandem and all else follows.

Litha 15

There is joy in power now and that is as it should be. Needs long ignored are now addressed and capabilities long suspected but never really tested are in play. Each in the tribe has changed and each feels the change in self as well as sensing the change in each other. This change is beautiful to see as well as to feel. This change is what fuels place as well as passions.

Question it not any longer. Withhold from self no more. The energy flows forth but will build even more with more usage and then will burst forth is a torrent of joy for the all and all. This energy is the energy of power. True power. Power of self living destiny not just accepted by self but by tribe and herd.

This energy is raw but natural. Link with self and link with tribe to harness and use it. This is the place of tribe. The herd sees the tribe as tribe now. The herd sees each in each other. You taste not just your own power but the power of the Feminine and the power of the SOURCE. Synergy. Synergy long overdue and much needed.

Litha 14

Laughter and pleasure should fill the tribe and all around. Laughter and pleasure confirm balance as well as progress. This is not silliness and does not distract from power and place. This is confirmation of linkage on levels of comfort that empower. Kindred in laughter send signals of connection to any who hear or see the mirth. Sisters in laughter advertise their bond as sure as banners and posters.

This laughter should fill the tribe. Let it ring throughout the hills. Let it warm the homes of all and ensure even the beasts in the cages and the pens hear it. This shows joy at events and connection. This shows linkages that most, if not all, will envy. This sets examples of how joyous every action can be.

First Day of School

On the first day of school, I wore a tie just like Wyatt Earp. It was way cool. A crisp new red shirt, rarer than I knew at the time, along with new black pants, new shoes, new socks, and new underwear. It was a day of newness. Yet it was something other than newness I felt. It was special. Yeah, that’s it. I felt special. Even the haircut was fresh but looked kinda out of place on the normally crew cut head. It was combed hair with a part and everything. Just like the big boys. Not quite Wyatt or Roy but more grown up than a crew cut to be sure. On that first day, Mom even walked me to school. Along the way, we stopped and had a photo taken with Mrs. McGuire.

The picture became my most prevalent memory. Me cuddled to Mrs. McGuire on the front stoop of her house, just three houses from good old 1 Maple Avernue. Mrs. McGuire was a key part of the neighborhood. She was a wonderful, Grandmotherly woman that kept an eye out for me. She was like that. She was the one I went to when I broke my arm in a fight. She was the one who had the nickel candy bar stashed away when I came trick-or-treating to the door. She was a wonderful woman that made the boy feel special each time she watched me pass. That picture became my key memory of the first day of Kindergarten.

Yet, it was my mother I felt. She was there for Kindergarten and the first days. She might not have been working or might have arranged time off but the key thing is that she was there. She walked me to school. It was her that had the camera and took the picture of her little boy and Mrs. McGuire. It was her that thanked Mrs. McGuire for keeping an eye on me when she went to work. It was her hand I loved to hold and remember as the special thing that helped me make it to Kindergarten and onto life. It was her that made it all work and all worth while.

The picture is my memory of a wonderful neighbor. The feeling is my reality of a wonderful Mother. She got me to school in one piece and somehow I am where I am because of that hand holding, along with the occasional boot in the butt. My first day of school was long ago. I still learn. Everyday. Thanks, Mom. I am still that kid…just a little bit older and maybe even wiser. Still love that hand and reach for it in my time of need. It was there today on my walk. School seems to be in session for this kid more and more. I learned a lot, Mom. I still have a lot to learn.

A modern-day warrior

Mean mean stride,

Today’s Tom Sawyer

Mean mean pride.

Though his mind is not for rent,

Don’t put him down as arrogant.

His reserve, a quiet defense,

Riding out the day’s events.

The river

And what you say about his company

Is what you say about society.

Catch the mist, catch the myth

Catch the mystery, catch the drift.

The world is, the world is,

Love and life are deep,

Maybe as his eyes are wide.

Today’s Tom Sawyer,

He gets high on you,

And the space he invades

He gets by on you.

No, his mind is not for rent

To any God or government.

Always hopeful, yet discontent,

He knows changes aren’t permanent,

But change is.

And what you say about his company

Is what you say about society.

Catch the witness, catch the wit,

Catch the spirit, catch the spit.

The world is, the world is,

Love and life are deep,

Maybe as his skies are wide.

Exit the warrior,

Today’s Tom Sawyer,

He gets high on you,

And the energy you trade,

He gets right on to the friction of the day.

(Rush)

Out Of Closet

Another day, another walk. I thought about Jesus. Grew up with him. Learned about him in school and at Catholic Church. Thought about where he was. He was in church and in school and at weddings and funerals and stuff. Some times we brought him home in picture or statue form and then he was in our house. On the mantle, if we had one. Maybe on a little altar of some kind. I brought him home as a kid.

Somewhere along the way, I moved him to the closet. The closet of my mind. Maybe my soul. It was a closet. The front of the closet but have to admit it was still the closet. He was in there whenever I needed him. Break glass in case of emergency. Available upon demand.

He was always with me though. I could pull him out of the closet any time. Car slid out of control and my “Holy Shit” was “Open Sesame”. Out popped Jesus.

Along the way, I started just talking to him. Seeing him in other places and other people. Jesus came out of the closet. Kinda snuck up on me. Saw him beyond what I was told to see. Embraced the Trinity…him as Father and Holy Spirit…Daddy and Spooky in the juvenile version. Saw those were our way of defining him and them and realized he could be anything. Male. Female. He could be She. Animal. Vegetable. Mineral. Arab. Jew. Atheist. Wow! A Higher Power so powerful it could be something that didn’t believe in itself. WOW! Jesus got way bigger for me. SOURCE.

Walked the other day and thought about that. Just me and Jesus and his many forms. Me and SOURCE and things about churches and states and things written about God and Jesus and governments. Thought about the separation of Church and State. Used to think that was to protect churches. Living in Utah, I see that also hopes to protect the State. Jesus popped back in and reminded me of some words from one of those books attributed to him. “Render unto Caesars what is Caesars and render unto God what is Gods”. What is Caesars? Where are the universal things? The things for all citizens.

Helped me know what I expect from governments. It is applies to all, do it. You are there for the citizens, government. United we stand, divided we fall. I am a simple guy and things get much simpler to see the more simpler I get. I am glad Jesus came out of the closet. He helps me think when I am on walks.

Litha 13

Be open to those that approach you, both of the herd and tribe and approaching herd and tribe. Your energy cries out to many as the SOURCE reaches to the surface and beyond. Many will be drawn to it that you would not suspect but you still must see. In regards to sharing of self in words and actions, you are of the SOURCE as the breeders are--Planting seeds that will incubate and be nurtured over time. Seeds of knowledge and insight as sure as embryos that will birth sometimes days or weeks or even months or years later. That is how hungry many are and their very barren and empty nature brings them to you and yours for the understanding of the Feminine and the energy of the SOURCE.

Do not question. Do not evaluate. Merely plant the seed of knowledge and let it grow. Perhaps they will ask you to help nurture it. Perhaps they will take the seed and go elsewhere for nurturing. This is not of your choosing for your energy is to be shared with the tribe and the herd and any drawn to it just as sure as breeder’s seed is used for purposes the SOURCE decides.

The energy sings out already. You feel it as strangers, friends, family, and all reach to you. You feel it as this happens in tandem to all in the tribe and every beast in the herd. This is how Litha is. Seeds longing to be planted. Wombs of knowledge longing to be impregnated by the Energy of the SOURCE. This is your place. This is the herd’s and the tribe’s place. The SOURCE will thrive and multiply in this fashion.

Sea of Life---Course Rules

One person-one boat.

Each boat is different.

Everyone can win.

End the race in your own boat. (No exceptions.)

Finish Line will differ for each boater and will not be known in advance.

Plug your own leaks.

(Recommend your leaks are plugged before trying to plug others’ leaks.)

Some leaks will require other’s help.

Damages you inflict to your boat or others’ are your responsibility.

Some parts of the course must be sailed alone.

Some parts of the course are easier traveled with other boaters.

There are enough supplies on the course for everyone.

Some of the things on your boat are intended for others.

Some of what you need is on other boats.

Everything you gather along the way will be redistributed when you leave the course.

The course is constantly changed so maps are to be questioned.

Bon Voyage!

(Wish I had these when I first got on my boat.)

Litha 12

Sharing is a key indicator of tribe. Look at the tribe and see. Those that share willingly are learning of self but also of kindred and community. Rulers that do not share are not the truest rulers. Others that do not share are likewise not the truest regardless of their station and place.

Look at the tribe and see how sharing has already changed and linked members. What is shared is what was horded prior and sharing is of things not only horded but not ever considered for sharing previously. The deeper the sharing, the firmer the link. The more significant the sharing, the stronger the community.

This is not just of resources and of herd but of all things. Information. Comfort. Abilities. Experiences. Questions. Tribe shares with tribe. This sharing makes tribe more of the place for all for each of any place and position have invested of flesh, heart, and soul.

Rain Man

They ensured I was up just before the first lightening flash. The flash surprised me. The rumble confirmed it was real. Raindrops came. Big ones. Pounds. Rat-tat-tats. Drew me to the windows. Upstairs. Me and the night and the once quiet world. The storm came quick and sure. It let me know more followed. The announcement that I would be inside. Would be writing. Would be reporting. Did I quit looking before it left or did I just head to the keyboard? Wait. The rain is still out there. The first two pieces are shared. This one is embryonic. It is raining more. Writing less and feeling more feels right.

I woke up in love. Loved. Loving this. Loving you. Loving all of it. Especially the rain. Especially having no place to go and all the time in the world to get there. Over the bills. Under the radar. Right now. Right now is enough. Right now it is raining and the world has to adjust. Has to roll up the windows and get to work and be inconvenienced. Has to miss out on this moment.

I am braver at 3 AM. Always have been. Now I am braver more and more. Three AM is even more important now. I AM at 3 AM. I am what I am. I am what I am for real now. The old Three AM is me. The new 3 AM me is almost me. Three AM. Three AM. Three AM. Beetlejuicy. Juicy Fruity. Root Toot Tooty. Here I am at Three AM. Popeye. Rain Man. Dustin off. Robin eggs huddled in nests. Wings hearing the knock knock knocking at the door as raindrops keep falling overhead. Its Three AM and I am here. Lightning up the skies. Lightning up the load. Cinching up the harness. Toting the barge. Bailing the hay. Hey, Hey, Hey. We are the Monkees. Monkey man. Monkey Man. Monkey shines his light on me. Its past a quarter to three and I am the only one in the joint and now you see. You see what you get cause I am what I am. Rainy days and Mondays and Karen died too soon, Richy is a lot different, and that one Carpenter really nailed it. I am braver at 3 AM, have friends in places I have never been, and settle in for the storm.

It is just rain now. The rumble is away. Saying remember me. Touching that other slave in that other away. Waking that other one that finds peace at Three AM and lets the rain ease inside hard, or soft, or easy. Spreads wide, thrives, dies, survive. Resurrected again and again. Rained on, in, over, through, to, towards, under, up and with. The one hand dances quicker than the other. The other hangs on to 3 AM long after 3 AM kissed me awake. Prepped me for usage. Filled me with words and the bravery to speak them. To show them. To live them. To let them whoosh from up there to down here through there and out across time and space. It’s reigning men. Its about time. It is about space. Imogene Coco was a lot funnier than pretty. She was what she was. I am what I am. Especially at Three AM. Especially when it rains. Good morning, Sunshine. Rise and Shine. Here I am to start your day. Mighty Mouth roared in the middle of the night, split some infinitives, talked about Jesus and Buddha and that guy from Laugh-In who creeped me out. What’s the Buzz? I tell you what’s happening.

Litha 11

It is not about self. Once that is understood, growth and connection are true. The journey onward must begin inward. Balancing and mastering self so that true abilities are ready for all the outside work to be done. Yet the inside of you must be addressed with others help and that is a bold and daring step. So bold and so daring, many do not take it. This is true of tribe and herd. Many choose the delusion of self healing. Many focus outward in full denial of self. This is sometimes effective but only in the short term and almost always on shallow levels.

Going in the core of self is a journey of discoveries. Some light but many dark. Very dark. Do not look in the dark. Do not look in there alone if you even dare to look in there. Doors left unopened win in their very existence. What remains behind those doors becomes far greater than what is actually in there. The unknowing feed the issues and the monsters therein.

Find the one, or ones, to be there as you open those doors. Do not do this alone for that is not what tribe does. Tribe uses the help of tribe just as tribe helps tribe. See the beasts. This is natural for them for they have accepted place as they enter the corral, stay in the pen, work in the cage, await the mark, and live as herd. These beasts move to each other and to tribe for help and guidance with an openness that should be example to tribe who have withheld of self and thus diminished the tribe.

The beasts have no secrets for tribe does not let them. The beasts have no hiding places for tribe does not let them. The beasts are seen in all they do for tribe makes it so. In this total exposure is freedom. The beasts are naked, inside and out, to any who look. The beasts thrive in this. This is not just for them but for tribe. Freedom from the burden of secrets and lies of the worst kind---secrets and lies to self.

Litha 10

Times and events can try the soul. Things seemingly callous and random tear at flesh and soul. Unfairness of what happens to whom push even the strongest to fear and doubt. The purest and the innocent suffer and protectors, lovers, and nurturers watch with a seeming helplessness that frustrates and angers. This is when truth is told.

Some will need comfort, others silence, and even others just ears to hear anguish voiced. It varies and is often at conflict with the norm for the ones in the need. The one sure thing is this is when all need someone. If not in view, in heart. If in view, perhaps in silence. If not in silence, perhaps in soothing tones. Gauge what is needed and be that for the injured. Look in the eyes to see the hurt inside. Masks always have holes for the eyes for nothing masks the eyes except to blind.

Tribe rallies to herd, herd to tribe, and kindred to kindred regardless of place or power. This binds forever as the moments are handled. Together.

Rambling Rising

On the cusp of the abyss near the edge of the precipice. Wound so tight. Reigned in so well. Touching rage. Feeling the festering boil of anger that separates passion from something darker. Clearly muddled. Hearing drama chase itself up the tree. Reserving comment for what would spew forth would be disproportionate to the venting.

This is where I am. Dangling. Hung. Meant to feel all the movement and see catalysts, protagonists, antagonists, projectionists, contortionists, cartoonists, balloonists, buffoons, macaroons, legumes, pantaloons, bufferers, sufferers, and duffers.

This is where I learn.

Force fed. Jammed to capacity to test my veracity.

This is where pain meets pleasure.

Stand by for ram. You’ll love it. Most likely. In time. Given time.

This is where the globe is placed on my shoulders and I am dared to shrug.

This is where I go when I no longer resist, the urges persists, and I begin to insist.

This is Agony.

The line forms to the right.

Pick a card, any card. Put on your asbestos suit and hope it retards. Hoisted on your own petard. Reap all the rewards. That’s the point. The point of your own sword that snuck up when you were behind in payments. Now, that we have your interest…let’s crank up the voltage, press a new whine, and toast to the meal we are about to receive.

Skewers, anyone?

There are pitchforks in the corner.

Let’s throw another shrimp on Barbie and see how she handles it. All dolled up and no place to go. Hoe, Hoe, Hoe. Hidy, Ho. Show us your hiney hole. Tee up, drive it deep, and don’t bother keeping score. See you at the clubhouse. A few more holes to go and that we will compare notes.

Dangle. Jangle. Jingle, jangle. The bells are ringing and tolling and trolling and rolling down the hill with jack and Jill.

Up is down, inside is outside, and the cat ran away with the spoon.

Where’s my spittoon? Who’s a maroon? What’s up, Doc? What’s up with that? Who’s phat?

Take that and that and that and that. Splat. You, dirty rat. Rat-tat-tat-tat-that that. Rikki-tikki-tavi. Lucy and Penelope.

Who do you wanna be?

You can be all that.

Paradise Lost

Triple crown molding and glass doorknobs.

Black and white memories in Hollywood style.

Speeches into comas, prayers from aching heart.

She returned for a while and softened depart.

A piece of her is me although she really died.

The boy still misses Mother and has been known to cry.

It was only a movie. What state am I in?

What delivered me this angst? Why’s it feel like sin?

Keep all your pity. I’ll dry my own tears.

Addictions

Everyone’s addicted to something. The ones in the programs have it easier. They’ve named their demon. Hope they got it right. Did the gamblers in that anon bet on the right addiction? Did the Alcoholics really cork their demon in the bottle they left on the bar? Did the crack heads crack the right code? Did they pick the right “…I am a” fill in the blank? I’m cheering for them. Go, team, go! Rah, Rah, and shish ka bob. They’re heroes. Every one of them that stepped up to the mirror and said I got issues and I can’t fix them by myself. Heroes. All of them. I hope they got it right, get right, and stay right.

The ones in the programs are working on getting better. Quite frankly, that is enough. Working on getting better means not getting any worse and sometimes that’s a damn victory. The twelve steps are fucking mountains. Each one of them. I speak from experience. It’s a long climb up from the highs. You gotta know how low you really are just to get started. Mountains. Twelve of them, each an Everest without any rest. This shit ain’t for the faint of heart. It keeps you outta trouble though. When you are busy climbing mountains and facing demons, there ain’t a hell of a lot of time left to screw up other people’s stuff. The folks in the programs are fixing what they broke and doing the best they can. One day at a time.

Then there are the addicts that know they addicts but are too busy being addicts to do any healing. You know them. Various degrees of denial, stupidity, arrogance, and whatever the hell else you call bad choices about shit that will kill ya if you don’t quit. These are the boozers, shooters, and tweakers. So far gone they think they are going make it somehow when their world shrinks to nothing but moments between highs. They limbo in their own hell finding out new ways to answer the question how low can you go. Those folks are not in denial. They’re in fucking pain. They’re in the trap and they are pretty much useless to themselves and harmless to the rest of us. Sure, they lie, cheat, and steal to feed their habit. That’s life with you’re in that death trap. I’m cheering for them though. Hoping they wake up before the big dirt nap closes the lid on their pain. If not, they are pretty much screwed just like the folks that don’t even accept they are addicts.

That’s everybody else. The folks in the programs know and do. The addicts in the addictions know and do, too. They just know it’s wrong and they do it anyway. Everybody else doesn’t even know they are addicts. I hope they wake up before we all end up in their nightmare. The boozers, shooters, and tweakers are nothing compared to what the other folks can do. The ones that don’t even know they are addicted. Most of them have approved addictions. Addictions that are encouraged and advertised and rewarded. Those fuckers could kill us all.

Drunk with power. High on having stuff. All dockered up and beeming around suburbia like their shit doesn’t stink. They can afford it. Sometimes they can but they have good credit. Need it now. Gotta be better than the Jones and the Jonesing. My title is bigger that your title and my windows have a better view than yours. I am not sure what makes me happy but I am better than you and that’s makes me happy. Kinda. See you at the mall.

Step on up. Use your brother’s back if needed. He should have moved faster. Speed kills. Kills the slow fuckers that can’t keep up. It’s the latest. It’s the greatest. That is sooooo yesterday. Get with it. Gotta have it. Gonna have it. Haven’t been there. Let’s go there. Everyone is. Shit. How’d we miss that boat? Cruising along with the latest line and the coolest gadget. Don’t act surprised. I think they saw me in that. Need something new. Something subtle that gets their attention. What will they say? Hope it is good. Who cares what they say? They don’t know anyway. Only they matter. Not them. Can’t we move closer? Why not? You can figure it out. Everyone has two mortgages, four cars, and credit cards to the max. It’s life. Let’s live it up!

They make the tough choices. Tough in how much harder it gets to fool themselves as they go along. They begin to wonder. They go inside and ask the hard questions. The ones they ask at night under the moon. The ones the addicts asked in the bottle or when riding the rush. They ask themselves because the family will not know. The church will not know. No body will fucking know. They ask through tears, in fears, and without cheer.

Did I run away from the right things? Did I choose the right things? Did I really need all this stuff? Did it really make me happy or did it just help me pretend I was not sad? Did I really get answers or did I merely stop asking questions? Did I? Did I? What did I did?

Then they face the two words they hate. The two words they planned around, avoided, denied, and just hoped would go away. What if?

What if? Sometimes it begins sooner but too often it begins later. Later than they wished, sooner than they wanted. It begins when their kids have kids and they are just like they was when they had kids and their parents had that look on their face. The look of “you don’t have any idea of what to do so do what you are told.” Then there are the losers. The ones that made the other choices. The wrong choices. The ones that did what they hell they wanted. The examples of what not to be become the Sears Wish Book of would if I coulds.

Would if I could but there are the kids now. Would if I could but the company really needs me. Would if I could but no one in the family would understand. Would if I could but my church says that is wrong. Would if I could but I can’t. Wish I could. I just can’t. I just can’t. Really. I just can’t.

Say it a lot. I just can’t. Say until you believe it. I just can’t. Say it and maybe it will be true. I just can’t. Should not even be thinking about it. I just can’t. Doesn’t feel right to like it. I just can’t. Please help me forget how much it excites me. I just can’t. Binge. I just can’t. Purge. I just can’t. Deny. I just can’t. Bless me, father, for I have sinned. I just can’t. Dammit. Why can’t I? I just can’t.

The sigh is the sign. The sign of surrender. The sigh of giving up. The sigh of accepting that what you really want to do is wrong. The sigh of just giving up. It feels good. The family will be better off. The church will be better off. It means more time for the job and that means more money and that means more stuff and that means more fun and that means more vacation time and that means I am happy. So sigh a little. Close the lids choices and fucking die. Get it over with.

Choice

It’s your choice. It always has been. Hide where you are told to hide. Be what you are told to be. It is your choice. Good boy. Sundays here. Take this train. Read this paper. Vote this way. Good people don’t do that. Good people don’t have those. Good people don’t and don’t and don’t until they don’t even know they 're don’ting. Choose. Be good like you have been told. Be good for you? Your own version of good? Your own version of joy? That is selfish. You are better than that. You are good.

Wake up. The alarm went off and you slept through it. The world is on fire. Let’s buy a new couch. How about a big screen TV? There is a sale. We can figure out how to pay for it later. We have to buy it now. Think about the savings. Re-decorate. Re-finance. Re-energize. We can’t afford not to save this much money!

The Want Ads are full of ways to pay. I will move from the bad news to the sales news to the death news and be there before I finish this cup of coffee. Can read the rest on the train.

The train is good. Lots of the same folks every day. Every day folks. I am one of them. I am somebody on that train. I am the guy that finishes the paper while he drinks his coffee and looks all serious and stuff. Plus, I wear a hat. I pull it down over my eyes a bit and enjoy my coffee. The girl at the coffee thing at the station knows just how I like it. I usually get a cup before I take the train. I make a point of it. She knows how I like my coffee. She has nice tits and a pretty smile. She likes me. So I tip her. The more she likes me, the more I tip her. She likes me a little more each day. She even flirts with me. One time, there was only her and me. It was like a date. Sweet. Arousing. Sinful. I wanted to miss the train and take her to a hotel and be with her and love her and fuck her and hold her and cry and be somewhere with someone that just wanted to be with me and nowhere else in the world. I think she wanted it too. Wished she had asked me. Then the train came and I had to get to work. Had to go to that meeting and do that important briefing. I am somebody there, too. Just a different somebody. Not the somebody who loves the gal at the coffee wagon. Somebody else. Somebody that does not do those kinda things. Somebody good.

She is not there in the evenings. She gets off at 11, picks her kid from school, and then heads home. She lives on the other side of town. Rents a place but keeps it nice. The coffee place closes after lunch or something. How would I know? It just ain’t open late. Not much demand for coffee by the time I get back to the empty station, get into the empty car in the almost empty parking lot, and take the pretty much empty back roads home. Sometimes I have to stop at the store. Don’t like that but I do it. Sometimes I have to put out the garbage cans. Don’t like that but I do it. Sometimes I get home and have to go back out to some dinner or Church thing or family thing or some fucking other thing. Don’t like that but I do it. I am somebody good. Gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

Sometimes I have to stay in town and work late. More than sometimes but not as much as I do. Sometimes the office is empty and but not as empty as that train station, that car, the parking lot, or those roads. Sometimes I get the stuff done I stayed to do. Sometimes I do other things. Read things. Go on the computer and look at things. Think about stuff. Lots of stuff. Sometimes it is good to be alone. Sometimes it is sad to be alone. I don’t care. Sad alone is easier that sad with company. Sad alone is quiet. Sad with company is noisy. I like quiet. Sometimes.

Lives of quiet desperation? Fuck quiet. There are millions of me’s out there. Millions doing the right things and saying the right things and pleasing everyone and everything while we die each damn day, inch by inch and second by second. I shall not go quietly into that not so good night. I wanna live! Let’s put on some shoulder pads and fight over a damn pigskin. That will help. Keep your goddamn penalties, put them in a box, and slap shoot them into your mother-in-law’s face. Let’s get some really, really big guns and blow the living shit outta something. I got bills to pay and somebody has to pay like I pay cause I pay big. The bigger the bomb, the better. We need really, really big bombs. We must help those that suffer and crush those that make them suffer. We must police the world. Let’s jam the American dream right down their throats. Ready or not, here we fucking come! Ack-ack. Attack. Tora fucking Tora. Alle-alle-in-free. You’re it. You’re in my fucking way. You’re different. You’re doing shit I wish I could do and I can’t do it so you can’t do it either. Fuck you. I hate you. Tell me more about yourself, please. Don’t let anyone know I asked. Just between you and me. I need to know. Make it quick, please. I have a train to catch. I was supposed to be home a long time ago. Can we talk tomorrow, please? I will have to work late so we can talk for hours. Maybe we can meet for coffee? I like coffee. I’ll pay.