You'll only arrive at this house through
the woods we grew with purpose
Those birches dance
in costumes curled & fringed
Lights wink between the two
still flirting with the handsome oak next door
While below graped canopy
four chairs collect deep shade
emptied now of long-awaited guests
Sensitive ferns beside smooth purple stones
focused on this visitation
Heavy, cool air, fuels the spreading greenness
embedded in every surface, as if footsteps
you might fit your sole into each morning
and trace, still sleepy, a path older than ants.
"Yonder in Ethiopia are the Antipodes, men that have their feet against our feet." ~ Bartholemus Anglicus
Even the bereft take advantage of a window's uncostly function -
But no transparent choice guarantees an apparent outcome.
Through crust & core, shovels hammer in hopes of riches and great escapes -
Those wounds never heal. When a women's mantle is disturbed - she'll leak her innermost secrets - so don't be too hasty.
Bide your time, taking away slowly spoonfuls of dirt.
If you leave your perceived Siberia in haste just to pop up in Antarctica,
You deserve a penguin's sour upbraiding. To not be kitted for the occasion -
Is to be vestigial, tuxless & fucked.
If it could be written in words, all of it - the clearing of the woods down the gorge wouldn't provide enough paper - but there are so many things worth writing:
The woven nest whose tendrils snake the rafters that fat-bottomed bee she bores the beams and rails
Sun and shadow mutate from mid-day dapples to six o'clock streaks and stripes Regularly, the blue-jays terrorize the robins, "Cheer, cheer!" A cardinal, to spite its weaker song fans the braver fire of its plumage against which the robin's pale orange blush is shamed.
Will there be a roast tonight? Will those broken cords be put to use - cut loose into a crackling moonlight sonata while we are still able to hear it and while the woods around are still audience?
Beech twigs at daybreak clears the palate - coffee pulls the shades open Spatters of separating forms evolve in God's country the oddly mittened sassafras, orange & ribboned mushrooms - the companions of coal. Animated wood smoke tests memory's rafters - recalls California or Maine? Suddenly, I am ten, with Betty on a stone beach.
Or that visit with Ben Franklin which yielded little, But called to mind: "If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write something worth reading or do things worth the writing." I have done so little of either lately, I reflect - I've missed you, my friend, and it's my fault, really.
What becomes of the world emptied of the wild and woolly? The incorrigible flirt of birds - their inexhaustible metallic twitters; What song accompanied Adam's expulsion from that first forest? The retreating and silenced hemlocks, their crushed needles evoke poisons and potions. The dimming of the lanterns, the wetting of the coals... What soft smell will be registered by our human exit?
Sheets shook of sand We fold into the wind We are the salt & sun we’ve absorbed But we do not grow
Basics of tasting Palates of blues & citrus candy Burnt into crystalline entries
An arrangement of stones The constellations on my back Weigh little – elliptical allusions The ebb & flow of my confidence. And my confidantes: Weak as our strangest link.
Our laughs and loves Great wines and deep hurts All held in escrow by An institution which draws little interest But which suffers perpetual withdrawals.
I’ve created this little world. What obligations are here to maintain it? To sustain its law & order – To not move on as the world in which I was created finds itself Short on the upkeep by its creator?
What do angels know? They have no memories For they travel at the speed of light Dancing at the tips of its original rays. Its always exactly yesterday When you met them And they smile & wink as if They've known you since birth Because in some sense, They knew you at your birth But even now barely register Your face for the reflection of Their own light in your wrinkling eyes And besides they are already Well into tomorrow - witnessing another newborn While your greying hair and gnarling hands Though tired - even now are too fast & agitated For an angel's full attention. They will know you again The very moment you slow down enough to stop. In that moment - finally able to catch up with you They will pick you up and say your name again.
Your universal truths are long in the tooth well-worn, not fit for chewing on tougher meats it's satisfaction worn down to softer dough & doughnuts and me just a tip of the iceberg to show fathom my form classic, pure chilly magic flowing cool over the desert casting soft & ankle deep a fog for effect - you could file your dental work back into shape or spend thousands on a replacement pair but you'll never outswim this shark with rows & rows of waiting teeth to spare.
Is Morocco spicy? I'd say it is. And could it ever have cowboys? On camels, maybe yes - with names like whispers or shifting sands again - it's quite possible dunes, beaches, grasses, wind, fog, mule deer; this place has room.
Youse talkin' to me? So up came the topic of Pride's possible irrelevance, and I can say - I DID read the rant (loosely termed 'article') that the link led me to.
And I read it again - and still - this is a writer who wants an excuse to celebrate 'being gay'. And wants Pride to be the thing he enjoys and the parade that no one poops on.
Well, I step up to fling my poo.
"Why don't the papers ever show the NORMAL gay people? Where are the bankers and lawyers? Why must all the coverage be drag queens and leather freaks in ass-less chaps?" I don't enjoy "Pride" - either as a political statement (which I don't believe it is any longer) or a 'celebration' (which I don't find very amusing or festive). So I don't attend - and I leave it to those that are seeking a chance to just let loose and express their individuality.
Knock yourselves out. No really.
I don't care if Pride survives or dries up completely in its current state. To me, it is irrelevant. But to me so is Styx or Huey Lewis & The News when they are on tour. I'm not buying tickets to sit through those performances - even if I hum along with their tunes.
Lisa Simpson: "You're here every year. We ARE used to it."
When there is a gay event (or any sort of event) that resonates with me, I will be there to show my support and my individuality in spades. Just as I have done, every day of my life, with friends, family, and sometimes complete strangers. No need for special occasions, thousands of bodies massed around me chanting, or autos wrapped in chicken wire and tucked with tissue paper.
Jew/Holocaust/Worn Out Cliches aside - this side says - "ooh icky drag queens and leather bears" - that side says "ooh boring yuppy gays with normal yuppy lives" - and each side hisses and spits at the other.
"They wish we were invisible. We're not. Let's dance.
Well, then dance - every day, in front of everyone you know. And ask them to dance with you. And dance with the people you want to dance with - whether they are your people/your tribe or not.
The lovely Kethrai introduced me to a quote a long time ago: "If you can walk you can dance. If you can talk you can sing." - Zimbabwe Proverb
A bit of a collection of recent rants - specifically about being gay, in the military (or like field), where gay isn't wanted:
Why did I go into the military?
[x] Parents divorced [x] Living situation sucked [x] No money for college [x] Grew up fast and learned a lot
All of the above here.
I would never undo my time in the military. I learned too much, grew a lot as a person - and met some of my truest friends. BUT, I can't imagine having enlisted for another 4 yrs.
Making sure you have a strong ring around you is important.
I guess - you just have to find a group of folks that can be balanced and impartial - yet, at the same time give a gentle nudge, slap or kick as needed when you're feeling low.
My friends and family have always provided - in abundance.
As for the 'why did you enlist?', 'why do you stay?', 'have you lost all sense of reason and dignity?' type questions and comments: PIFFLE.
These are the questions you are strapped with already. Folks either have to be open to the fact you are there - or - well, zip it.
Whether the military is the most choice place to be as a homosexual or not - but for bending the rules, but for breaking into areas where folks would prefer you just don't go - it just holds everybody down.
There are so many things that someone has to do - and someone might be gay or straight - and if someone gay goes into the military, and succeeds daily despite all of the weight and obstacles that can trip that person up - don't knock that person down.
Salute them. Support them.
Some folks seem to find it incredibly easy to say - 'it's all or nothing' - come out or keep quiet.
A quote from one such folk:"What I am saying is that you are not powerless over your situation.
You have choices, and as always there is a consequence to every choice. Its life."
And as such - a person has the right to ask for help and support from other folks.
If the idea is that no one should ever approach something that's unattainable - or that a person should only do the things that allow them to be who they want to be, when they want to be, without any 'filtering' or without any weight for the consequences of their actions, what a friggin' scary place the world would be. Or may be becoming.
I would ask these free-wheeling folks, what is your life experience - your age, what you do for a living, where you live, etc. Those things have an impact on how you relate to the world. And may make it very black & white for you with regards to your sexuality.
One of the things I sometimes find perplexing about change in society is how slowly and then quickly and then slowly it occurs. And how sometimes it occurs without people realizing it. And sometimes it takes very sudden and unexpected slides backwards.
SO - that so many folks today can say they are out - to spoon in theatres, to check out other guys in malls, etc. - how many gay people in the previous generation(s) had to filter, had to slip into roles that required a little alteration of personality - and then had to come out to the right people at the right time?
And how about those who remain firmly in place on 'fronts' where they were unexpected, undesired, or not permitted - silent and waiting: agents of change.
On the supposed "assimilation of gay culture into mainstream society..."
Borg? Where?
The idea that cultures move closer and further apart - is a constant theme in America. I see things that amuse and frustrate me to no end in how people strive to be different and cry for acceptance.
- Straight guys that dress as gay or gayer than any gay guy - adopting fashions, hairstyles, shoes that many gay men would shy away from. Of course, I sometimes suspect their girlfriends had a hand in this.- A black subculture in our country that has moved further from mainstream - creating its own vocabulary, music and idealogy. Very successfully. Only to find itself adopted and emulated.- Immigrant cultures that fear the loss of their own languages and customs as their children strive to melt into the culture which surrounds them. And watching as the culture which surrounds them adopts and emulates food, music, styles, etc. from the incomers.
Sexuality is integral to my being. But it is the least of the things that affect those I work with and socialize with. And it is the final thing I purposefully reveal - it is mine to do with what I will. It is not who I am. And should not be the thing by which I am weighed and measured.
I believe this is why - in polite society and company - it is customary to shake hands at meeting and not some other appendage.
Gay culture is a part of the world - threading itself neatly in and out of favor and in and out of history. Within the gay subset - individuals have found and will continue to find ways to reinvent and redefine themselves - over and over again.
Folks in the world will continue to see a thing they like - and in an effort to set themselves apart - they will adopt and emulate the things they see that they find pleasing or unique. Some social butterfly effect, a pebble dropped in a pond...
Whether I would be the marrying type or not - everytime I see this bumper sticker:
I want to just slam my car into the back of the car the sticker is on, shoving the bumper right up the arse of the hunch-backed, coke-bottle wearing, zit-squeezing "Defender of Marriage" with stray facial hair nervously gripping the steering wheel.
*With apologies to any non-Defenders who may be hunch-backed, coke-bottle wearing, or zit-squeezing. As for facial hair: razor, tweezer, wax - you decide.
A chum of mine sends incessant Spam. Rarely an actual e-mail - but two or three a day come jokes, photos, comic strips, etc. He also has no notion to BCC the 100 or so names on each e-mail.
So this morning - I see a reply from one of the recipients. And it's that reply that I often dream of sending myself - but... can't bring myself to:
"B,
Although I like your twisted humor, please remove my email address from the humor mailing list.
J"
Of course, this Spam was obviously going to J's work address. And J hit reply to everyone.
But - even better - a second reply comes from J,
"J would like to recall the message ... "
So, there was that moment of remorse.
Alas, that recall feature doesn't work as smartly as some would like.
People have been talking at work - and someone asked how I was holding up with everything that's just happened and I was like -
"What are you talking about? Who?"
I was only relieved for that old man that he was released from the grip from all the folks so desperate to keep him functioning - propping him up in front of windows sock-puppet style for the last several months.
"Well I love that man, Pope John Paul the 3rd I love him probably more than he deserves. Okay, so he persecutes homosexuals, does not believe in abortion, visits with Kurt Waldheim and tells us not to take the pill ... There’s still a certain je ne sais quoi – Some peace, some love, some goodwill. Yeah, the pope, pope, pope, pope, pope. We all here to see the pope, pope, pope, pope, pope..."
Meantime, back at the ranch, I keep wondering:
"How many Catholics does it take to install a Pope?"
I've been in long-term relationships. I've been in short-term ... engagements.
If you meet somebody and you *click* - and you are together with an understanding b/t the two of you (or three or four) - that's a [spiritual] union. And if that lasts 2 weeks or 80 years, it's your life and choice.
The LEGAL allowances and protections inherent to the Married. I think that is the aim. And these are things that are so quickly denied or stripped away.
The UNION decision is b/t the parties involved - and/or their friends & family they invite to witness their connection. And who support them. And if you are involved in a faith - and your faith embraces your Union - fantastic.
Of course... I have never been inclined towards the fanciness of marriage. And sometimes, witnessing folks that are desperate to achieve marriage - and then are made so unhappy by it - I wonder:
"Why would you wish this on anyone?"
AND when I see a couple skipping through the aisles of Target, zapping merchandise into their registry with the merchandise stun gun - I am emotionally overwhelmed with
An urge to slap their heads together Stooges-style.
But that's me - and I am Gay. But not as Gay as some others in my Tribe.
A quadrillion
Varying forms of hydrogen or oxygen
A quintillion
Water molecules
A septillion
Snowflakes fall every winter
In North America
You and I are
Asymptotes
The harder I look at You –
The more the differences between us vanish.
If I worry the page
With ‘I love you.’
One million times squared –
Would you read each rendition
And feel my need in each pass of the pen?
Although I lived my life a long time before you came along –
Would you know how much I ache
When you are away?
How I can’t wait for you to return again
So I can watch your eyes and hands
And listen to your lyric voice
Play a story for me?
My friend and lover
No one thing illustrates Forever
But when you’re spooned against me
So many nights over these several years
Our history is a sum greater than the parts
Whose result defines what Forever is:
Losing count
After one.
This aubergine democracy
Of spongelike texture
And disagreeable taste
Noise experts – tut-tutting without wind
Still blowing out candles
Poor traits to pass along
The struggle to survive
Withering intelligence by degrees
By moonlight this fruit seems hardened to the world
But it won’t last the winter
Without the song of the frog & cricket
Pixie – your trick too late realized -
Lost on a familiar road
A fine environment for thinking
Surrounded by the purple night,
Silently, I breathe out.
In the years before I came to live here
There was fool’s gold in plastic cards
Little promise of things to come…
No regard for bombs, hatred,
And a world at war,
Today is an outdoor brightness:
A day of lapis skies
The world
An emerald tablet.
Have I come to my master work –
Each moment spent
A delicate liquid-solid,
Each passing lifetime
Measured by the people
I spend it with?
For now, I am here
At the soul of the world
Challenged to speak
So much less than I listen,
To stay still and tune in to my heart
While my legs and arms are itching to dance.
So here's today's episode - Mr. Ireland's Mum and Brother are staying over for a few weeks:
Akethan: Did i tell you about the bird juice?
Sister: uuugh
Sister: bird juice?
Akethan: Mr. Ireland's brother - K - said he needed a few things from the store - crispix, milk, white grape juice... so I picked 'em up and they were here for him when he got here
Akethan: after the first day or so - he finished the white grape juice off
Sister: ok
Akethan: everytime he goes for juice - he gets a new glass - at the end of each day there are glasses all over the house.... i keep
Sister: <~~~skerred
Akethan: collecting them and washing them and putting them away
Akethan: then -- yesterday i noticed they all had a red juice left in them
Akethan: i looked around and couldn't figure out where this red juice was coming from
Akethan: so when they were all sitting in the living room (Mr. Ireland, Mum, K)
Akethan: i asked - "Hey, what is this red juice - ?"
Akethan: everyone just sat there and then K got up and came over to look
Akethan: i asked - "Where is this coming from?"
Akethan: he stuttered that it was juice he found in a jar in the fridge
Sister: oh no
Sister: hummingbird food?
Akethan: puzzled i walked over to the fridge and looked inside and then bust out laughing
Akethan: he had finished off a gallon of hummingbird juice
Sister: oh my lord
Akethan: *can we have a 'grandma f memorial moment'*?
Sister: uhuh
Akethan: we were all in tears. he's mildly Rain Man - and got a bit flustered.
Sister: when do they leave?
Akethan: i said - now K, it's just sugar and water - no harm to you - don't get yer feathers ruffled.
Sister: i would say poor man but cant bring my self to quit laughing
Footnote = Grandma F - a dear soul who liked to sit on the sofa for days watching PRICE IS RIGHT - was found munching serenely on dogfood which my mom kept stored in an old Charles Chips can. She didn't bat and eyelash when I told her that wasn't a snackfood but kibble. She lived through the Depression, she informed me.
Rainstorm
A spray of cologne
On the skin
What summer smells like
Afternoon storms
My love for you
Again & again & again
A strip – a tester
Holds the spores
So fine & fragrant
Slipped in a breast pocket
A return ticket
The transport – a nose
We’re back in summer
Cold rain on a hot wind
Our hands & lips
Again & again & again.
In patterns on your back
Your fingers outsides
Left gaps in sunscreen
With no rhyme or reason –
Just where your reach
Couldn’t achieve complete coverage.
Somehow the sun designed
A dolphin.
***
At the end of a cloud-stretching tether
Dangles a tourist…
White-legged, white knuckled.
***
Those braids, darling –
Vacationary nightmare
Temporary tattoos
Allow the traveler
To cut loose.
The Mexican sun is a crazy star
With an untamed whirling mane
And the maddest, laughing eyes
The most beautiful part of any flower
To my eye, a burning calyx.
Neck-lace
Is an ugly word
Hard and soft in all the wrong places
Chopped loudly from the throats
Of wandering vendors –
They follow, expectant faces
Like boats I tow behind me.
This sun and these words,
Things that bite and sting,
This skin that burns:
An afternoon in all it’s complicity.
We are not terrible enough
To qualify for godhood.
Maybe for minor demons
we could pass...
As we go our bad proliferates:
A willingness to
Drink entire oceans,
Push under entire lands.
Prerequisites to the trade:
Letting in a little good -
Mercy versus a change of mind.
So, divinity evades.
If I were Queen... I would smite some folks - and verily.
> The hands-free headset in-duh-viduals. They who wear their hands-free "safe as houses" headsets while they drive - but still, they are holding the cellphone in one hand as if it were a communicator pad or they're triangulating. Use headset. Place phone in lap. Hands on wheel. Drive. Talk. Stop it!
I've had some weird moments in stores standing next to someone who bursts into laughter or asks a question out loud -- the first thing I look for is that wire snaking from their ear into a pocket.
> "My kingdom for your cracker!" Yesterday a woman zigged into my lane and I into the shoulder lane. Then she zagged back into her own lane and then slightly back my way again. She was reaching for something in the passenger seat. As I drew up next to her, it was to see that she was wrestling with a sleeve of saltines to get a cracker free to munch on.
As for the Defense of Marriage - what the heck are people thinking anymore? It's all very separate - your state can approve/disapprove your legal union; your church can approve/disapprove your spiritual union. You make your choices accordingly - pick your church; vote your state into your way of thinking. In theory - right? In a Democracy - right?
A friend sent this to me today - and I thought I'd add it here:
*Ronald Reagan - divorced the mother of two of his children to marry Nancy Reagan who bore him a daughter only 7 months after the marriage.
*Bob Dole - divorced the mother of his child, who had nursed him through the long recovery from his war wounds.
*Newt Gingrich - divorced his wife who was dying of cancer.
*Dick Armey - House Majority Leader - divorced
*Sen. Phil Gramm of Texas - divorced
*Gov. John Engler of Michigan - divorced
*Gov. Pete Wilson of California - divorced
*George Will - divorced
*Sen. Lauch Faircloth - divorced
*Rush Limbaugh - Rush and his current wife Marta have six marriages and four divorces between them.
*Rep. Bob Barr of Georgia - Barr, not yet 50 years old, has been married three times. Barr had the audacity to author and push the "Defense of Marriage Act." The current joke making the rounds on Capitol Hill is "BobBarr...WHICH marriage are you defending?!?
*Sen. Alfonse D'Amato of New York - divorced
*Sen. John Warner of Virginia - divorced (once married to Liz Taylor.)
*Gov. George Allen of Virginia - divorced
*Henry Kissinger - divorced
*Rep. Helen Chenoweth of Idaho - divorced
*Sen. John McCain of Arizonia - divorced
*Rep. John Kasich of Ohio - divorced
*Rep. Susan Molinari of New York - Republican National Convention Keynote Speaker - divorced
I may not be the marryin' kind - I like it out there on the open prairie (?) - but if I wanted to marry one day or form a legal union with a consenting partner - WHY DOES IT FRIGGIN' MATTER TO ANYONE ELSE?
I am in the neck
from my last life
of wide horizons
into my next
it being endless
in its possibilities.
I am in the neck
pressure building
toward an awaited spasm
an excruciating anticipation
of future, of fear
of the letting go.
I am in the neck
much like other
pinches of past
and premonition
I will recall
the width and hours
my mark will be left
my skull reshaped
inside & out - reborn
into my next tenure.
I had this boss - a fairly good-looking 50-something gentleman... balding, wrinkles, normal wear-n-tear.
He went on a two month "vacation".
He returned with a blondish-orange crew-cut rug. He returned with raised cheek bones, a slightly hooked aquiline nose, a be-dimpled chin. And he returned with eyebrows raised to the heavens. Some kind of tattoing process?
He never mentioned it. He acted like we couldn't tell and as if he'd always looked this way.
To me, he had lost his character. And - it actually felt like a bit of his soul, too. He was obviously concious of his changes, but really carried on as if this was the set of features he'd been born with.
So I always wonder... at the age o' 33... what would I do? What will I feel about myself as I age? Will it be easier than it seems or harder than it ought to be?
And at most given moments, I just try to go with the flow, take care of myself: exercise, eat, sleep, learn, and laugh as hard as I can everytime the opportunity presents itself.
I read today that "the recipe for a mouse is much the same as the recipe for an elepant."
Yet they differ.
Some in my family speak racism with comfort and ease.
I ask if my discomfort stems from my disagreement with their views or an echoic sympathetic twinge - an acknowledgement that this is the stock I am from; so is racism a part of who I am?
If someone's dander is raised at the lowering of another confederate flag, a flag stitched in haste to represent a potential new nation whose core philosophy was an independent will to preserve its historic industries. At the cost of human life and dignity. This new nation's flag was intended to wave high its own beliefs, its separate strengths and disparate weaknesses. And it's right to dominate the beliefs and strengths of another people.
It is a waste of fabric to continue to sew this flag in this day and age. It is only a "tradition" in its deliberate perpetuation.
And if you're angry that the general public cries, "Take it down and put it away."
Take it down and put it away.
"It's just something else that THEY'VE taken from us."
What is being taken from you? Your heritage? Something to be proud of?
Something I should be proud of?
I love you and admire you. I aspire to be like you.
Six o’clock this morning when Death caught up with us and decided the whole world would go untouched but for you my tawny friend
I think Death was a little spiteful since we’d snatched seven hours from yesterday when he arrived where you should have been to find I’d stolen you away
Unbound you lay by my side at home my belly against your back breathing soft, purring low my fingers across your pain
Six o’clock this morning when I heard a small chime ring – I woke in time to watch you steal away again.
I thought you needed my help waiting for my shining moment to don armor, to mount steed, to heroically jump in…
Don’t worry – I’ll let you know when.
I waited a long time to hear you ask your eyes raised to mine a brow in curled question an honest second of bit of hope a word: Help.
Don’t worry – I’ll let you know when.
I’ve worried myself into bitterness: I wouldn’t spit on you now if flame burst from your head and hair. I might even applaud and yes, I would stare – and if ever I could play fiddle, I would, then and there.
New year comes on eight legs and lifts them to test the air and taste the wintermoth - but the moth is a sweet moon dancer... and spider a starving lurker, or worse, a hungry walker.
With dusty fluttering wings in my ears – no, its not the wind it’s the foolery of the short-lived as they make their mark early and quick flying fiercely at the moon or sun at dizzy heights to be crisped and ruined – to land – they come – to ends again – landing softly in outstretched webs.
I wait safe & sound: a personal guarantee to live long. Cocooned in a stringy nest, ravenous.
I heard this on the radio - and it made me go, "Hmmmmm."
I see three sides on this coin - two as a business and an employer. I have several times been amazed at how 1 individual's needs can bend an entire company. I am not talking sweeping changes that can accomodate many needs (ramps, automatic doors, etc.).
I also know personally friends whose needs have or have not been met by employers and how a change in their lifestyle and a lack of bend on the part of the employer truly CAN effect the person's daily life so the ruling seems to miss that fine point - that state of employment for most of the population goes hand-in-hand with daily life.
...the law only covers impairments that affect a person's daily life and does not apply to conditions that prevent a worker from performing a specific job-related task...
Case-by-case things should still be considered and weighed. I hope this doesn't give businesses the opinion that they don't have to even consider making changes/accomodations because the law says that they aren't required to.
And that works as long as the individual in need understands that an employer can only make so many accomodations to allow them to continue doing their job.
In tentacles of shade hyphae dark and narrow tunnels underneath the forest floor a fairy ring in mushrooms a web of eyeless parasites supply a mouth or opening at the cavern’s edge a firefly lights a lamp in meadows to mark the dancing of fairy-folk hy·pae·thral under the open sky without roof temple asexual spores interested in or engaging in sexual activity to an abnormal extent blessed with an exquisite gift of touch like squid in the water oidium like the worst writing in the best of ink - come the elemental basics into the sylvan soil they deeply sink - a threadlike part of the vegetative portion of a fungus to touch infrequent visitors with a forever leisurely life and soothing lines of decompose.
If I didn't like you, I'd replace your voice with the ticking of my watch - held romantically close to my ear, covering the meaningless conversation on my right with a metronomic awareness of wasted time in flight - a comodity more romantically precious to me at moments than you are, my dear.
The safest place in the whole wide world for something that you’ve wanted to hide: your mind, floating in its impervious tank, waiting for your secrets, waiting for your truths.
It’s sleekly coiled barriers, it’s rippled shank are proof your mind has a pocket for everything it’s told for safe-keeping, finders, keepers, to have and to hold no burglary to brace against, no need for wires or defense
No thief has ever returned from the burning darkness.
Go and drop every unbearable memory in its well, it waits – lips expectantly rolled, wide, down in the mouth white stones, like teeth, wait for terrible things to happen. Each one stands straight, each one a sentinel, bright and cold.
Why do so many people have an inherent need to destroy and dissemble every view point that is not their own?
I have been a member of a community group for nearly three years that is somewhat grass-roots.
And they have just sent out their latest newsletter with an article lambasting (word?) another local organization for supporting the Boy Scouts - or in actuality, permitting the Scouts to meet.
Supporting the Scouts is discrimination.
Tearing the Scouts out by the root is apparently not.
A witch hunt is a witch hunt. Even if it is a bunch of frustrated members of a minority group performing the task.
Ugly is.
More on this later...
~10:50pm
I'm starting to think more about all of it - and sometimes it makes my head hurt.
1) The operators of the community center make a space available to those who pay for their time - there are rules, I am sure - still, the BSA are welcome, the GLBT (gay-lesbian-bi-trans) group is welcome.
2) The GLBT group I belong to is attacking the community center for making the space available to the BSA. The BSA doesn't protest the GLBT group using the space. The GLBT group is not going to stop using the space and find a new home. They suddenly want the community center to eject the BSA (both have been there for a number of years).
3) The BSA believes a certain thing. The GLBT believes a certain thing. They don't believe the same thing. GLBT is encouraging a public pressure on the community center.
4) Does anybody get to win?
I don't like hate/exclusion/archery or its propagation. I spent my time in the Navy and don't understand the hooplah about Gays in the military. I don't get what the BSA thinks its ban on gays accomplishes. If they're there, they're there. Some of the young scouts are about the age where they will just be coming aware of their sexual yen.
I am just curious what others think, too. My initial reaction to the letter was, "My GLBT group is a bunch of Plugs."
However, what others have said to me today resonates on a different plane than I was thinking on - so I am stepping back and thinking about it...
I guess the pressure thing is what it is - it works, it fails, it frustrates.
~ 08.12.01
I believe in a way I am glad that someone is choosing this battle -
But it took me off guard to find that a group I have identified with very well, and seen eye-to-eye with on so many issues is the group raising the battle cry.
And I find myself suddenly feeling outside the group.
My people. My tribe.
I think that writing this out has helped me see it is that really from which my initial reaction comes.
I work in a company that is all about customers and their personal issues and the things they will confide in over the phone, in their anonymity.
Some of my favorites phone calls:
1) My husband is having an affair and if I don't lose weight he will leave me for good.
2) I like large women, and there are two I am in a relationship with. There is nothing better than being in bed with them together, but I am concerned for their health. What would you consider too large?
3) I have Syndrome X and Disease Y and because of the medication I am on, I can't eat certain foods because they give me the runs. Oh, and sometimes my urine burns.
4) Yes, I am looking to start a diet plan of some kind and, oh, hold on a moment - [person then takes the phone away from their mouth and begins screaming BLOODY murder and all kind of heinous threats and inappropriate things at her child in the other room and then returns, sweet as candy to the phone] - sorry about that, sometimes that kid makes me --- Goddamnit you little bastard!!! *click*
That last call made me wish I could have gotten her address and called the authorities in quickly. I watched the news for her for a few days.
And their are always assorted nose blowings, chunky burps, and toilet flushings that have always made me glad to be on the other end of the phone. Urp, indeed.
Just wanted to type some random thoughts... my diary was getting lonely. Feeling neglected.
It's Friday the 13th.
- ooo ooo ooo -
Be very afraid.
I haven't noticed anything too peculiar about today. Traffic was hideous. I drove all over hell and creation with jobs today, returned to the office, and my reminder popped up on my calendar (that I snoozed this morning) - I didn't do the ONE most important thing I was supposed to do on my drive around the Beltway.
duh.
Dinner with friends this evening, and maybe a movie. Nice party to go to tomorrow evening.
Rudeness, it's not just directed at ladies anymore. It happens to us little guys, too.
Returning from Key West, in Miami SubSpace Station and Airport, Mr. Ireland and I decided a coffee was needed. I spied a Starbucks and scooted over to join the line. Mr. Ireland tells me what he wants and turns to go sit down.
As I am standing there, tall-white-haired-tweed-coat-corduroy-patches-with-glasses authoritatively takes a haughty stance in FRONT of me, joining the line ahead of me, and making no eye contact with me.
I said, "Excuse me, sir."
No response, no turning, no blinking.
I said, "Excuse me, sir."
No response, no turning, no blinking.
I pick up my carry-on bag, squeeze into the spare inches between him and the person who was in front of me before he came along.
I take my own authoritative, slightly shaking stance facing him, back to the line.
He continues to look up at the menu board, looks down at his watch, yawns, and then walks away from the Starbucks and me, heading off as if to find a faster coffeeplace somewhere else.
Seconds later, he reappears around the corner, money in hand, sees me in line, looks at his watch and goes to sit in a chair at one of the gates, reading a newspaper.
I wanted justice.
But really what peeved me is that he never even acknowledged my award-winning performance as a waiting-in-line-person done wrong.
Is society really growing increasingly selfish and rude, or is it just a coincidence that more and more of these types of things seem to happen everyday?
What a good idea that can go so very bad. Pay a person just enough that they will show up for work, and then allow the customer to determine what the service was worth - good if the customer isn't a cheap bastard and good if the waitstaff isn't as dumb as a post.
No offense to posts intended.
I tip 20% in almost every case. But my litmus for service is typically the closing of the meal, namely the delivery and retrieval of the bill with payment.
Restaurants use one of two methods, the open plate on which rests the receipt (face down is best), or the secretive bill-fold in which hides the bill. This is a little more distinctive, but tends to lend itself to a question I cannot abide, "Would you like change?"
WOULD I LIKE CHANGE?
Don't ever ask me this. Tip goes directly to ZERO and cannot be resuscitated, no matter how sweet you may have been during the entire meal. DOA.
Such an ignorant question - so presumptuous and rude. How about, "I will be right back with your receipt/change/what-have-you."? How about that? That gives me the option to say, "That would be nice, thank you," or perhaps, "No change, thank you." That is my option to exercise, not the waitstaff to assume.
Have you met the victims of assumptions? Always the last to know.
WOULD I LIKE CHANGE?
Grrrr... that question burns me. Bad question. Bad.
Then, let's just say we have survived this test, here's the second part which you must be clever enough to dodge: You are bringing me change, this change will be used to make a tip, don't make me have to ask you to break the change in to smaller change so that I may tip appropriately.
If the change is fifty bucks from one hundred, don't bring me a ten and two twenties. That is an assumption that you are due a 20% tip. It irks me. It makes me want to leave you the metal coins and a handwritten note to your parents about their rearing techniques. Maybe even the need to finally wean you.
How about a twenty, two tens, a five, and five ones. That is respactable and earns you your 20% for not being an ass.umer.
Have you met the victims of assumptions? Always the last to know.
I guess this is really asking a lot of a wait person. I really am good for the 20%. I know a lot of people I eat with are clueless and tip poorly; I attempt to educate where I can. I was educated by a friend who waits tables for a living. And MAKES a living at it. I understand it better, though I only waited tables for one evening in my life. That one evening was all it took to convince me not to do it again. And that a wait person, even some of the worst, work very hard to keep it all together and not plunge a steak knife in the heart of an aggressive diner.
Feeling angry last night and today. No reason in particular. Just angry. Then I get angry because I feel angry.
Came directly home from work and soaked in the hottest tub o' bubbles. Then did a whole scrub and mud mask thing trying to purge the mood. Alleviated it just a mite.
Up at 5:30am today - laundry, library, etc.
Thinking things - reading THE CONFESSIONS OF NAT TURNER. It's moving my mind, a little. The whole slavery thing repulses me - a feeling like turning inside-out. The reasoning logics laid by the white characters in the book as to why this institution was noble, and should remain intact, are amazing. How thoroughly we delude ourselves with the things that surround us. Comfort and laziness easily domineer a sense of right.
I have reached a point in the book at which the author points directly at Christianity as the base cause of so much that mangles society's best and brightest. It's a thought that is in my mind frequently - how much blind acceptance, and some words in a very thick, very old book written by mere men leads to so many of the most hateful acts against other people. Even others who believe in these doctrines just the same.
It boggles my mind. And then I was attacked the other day for saying to someone who is in a tough strait, "I'll keep you in my prayers."
You see, sirs, I am no Christian. Not even of the lowest demeanor.
And apparently there is a patent application longstanding that is pending to place the term "PRAYER" safely under the protection of its inventors: Christians.
I await the receipt of my cease & desist order. Until then I pray as I please.
And in Nat Turner, the character Gray brought this to a fine point to me this morning. He has been Nat's confessor prior to the trial. Nat's faith in the Bible gave him the conviction to begin his rebellion and uprising. He illustrates the galaxy, which is truly bigger than most minds can really wrap themselves around.
"Fancy that! Millions and even billions of stars all floatin' around in the vastness of space, separated by distances the mind can't even conceive of. Why, Reverend, the light we see from some of these stars must of left years before man hisself ever dwelt on earth! A millions years before Jesus Christ! How do you square that with your Christianity? How do you square that with God?"
Every-so-often a light comes on – it’s a brief success in the history of illumination, but its brilliance is unscalable and when a light comes on every-so-often everything that is Past is burned.
• • •
The sweet chastity of the flowerless fades when exposed to constant bloom as birds cavort in seedy baths as pistils & stamens let bees impale – fungi set their spores asail, wide-eyed, the unflowering sisterhood observes in shocked silence.
But the expressions on their sweet faces and the gleam in their eyes sparkles like a pure Christmas morning as initiates presented Nature’s sexy violence.
• • •
Nervously, she looks offstage and asks, “How am I doing for time?”
Immense globe heedless curve catches the eye as it rests on the backs of sleeping cats a ball borne by the swimming circus seal clouds a pandering iguanadon drops its spin with squeals now the screen of a gypsy’s spangled curtain perfumed with smoke the migration of every lost tribe fixed to follow the wild globe unbreak the broken.
Under the coming promise of velvet night Reality lets cautiously loose As sunset's frail wings Neatly clasp to the ocean's, firm In union, perfection, collaboration As if any old sunset would do.
Rival evenings, lost from memory If either eye saw more beauty Pale now, paler still Holding soft hand to strong At sunset's iridescent cue Every star lets its dance begin Under the looming curfew of dawn Stand beside me, dance with me, too.
History finds safety in the color of a mirror - maintaining every image, every passing scene in silver. As compared to the originals, it’s near-match perfection avoids detection. But there’s a mocking turn and a pervasive ripple in each offering, each reflection. When pushed into a corner, so defensive it becomes! It repeats itself as far as the eye can section, a possible infinity in each direction.
So, I am just a grain of sand
washing away at the feet of space
and time
and softened and fading more with
each turn of the tide -
Is that it?
You push your foot down
and my little sketches,
and my secret language become as
shadowed
as the seas on the moon -
There’s a big, empty glass -
it’s not half-full -
I said it is a big, empty glass -
and you have to put the big rocks in
first or they will never, ever fit when
all the smaller debris starts to fall in
place -
It was only supposed to be a
dissertation on time management
but it led to deeper, more disturbing
thoughts of life management -
where life equals crisis and satisfying
moments,
Where I equal the sand that slips in
between those first-come, first-served
rocks that pushed their way into the
big, empty glass...
But, it is important to remember
that sand was once one of these big
rocks that takes the space up now
and in time
(managed or unmanaged)
the rocks will come to know this
humbleness
as their newfound tiny-ness has them
sink and tumble
between their former peers
and settle on the bottom of the glass
to keep me company.
Meantime, in the sand,
inside your footprints
unimaginably smaller things
make their way
inside my little sketches
and learn my secret language.
The first one fell without remorse a hint of smile on its facet it was never alone even on impact its undirected course the only felony incurred: the stealing of the autumn lawn and the untintended ankle sprained at indelicate landfall askew, but only the first one knew the exhilaration, the acceleration. If one will do it the others will too, that for all the friends who jump off bridges because the other friend, too, knew- it takes an eon to reach the ground... as if each tiny hand to another’s hand was sewn, then blown from that high cloudy precipice to precipitate. The first one fell and the million followers, too small white crystal lemmings so close, their bodies on the autumn lawn- not a peak was left, just white and on they lay so close together as if each tiny hand to another’s hand was sewn.
I will die of many things long before I’d die of loneliness. I will die one million times before solitude will be the infection, that raging sore- I have reached out and perhaps over-defined nevermind- It is the foil to unaccompaniment: this soul never feels alone, without music to support the principal voice. Will death diminish this impact or effectiveness? I would die before I’d see this so- and never know nevermind, let it go. Sometimes high- I see over all these things and into the pure heart of the matter- so that when low and the crowd of things grows thick and fatter, keep at the top of memory the finer oils, the lighter things afloat. Easy to find, familiar haunts- Will I be born a million times and still find these concomitants?
When the finger snapped off- it was clearly too cold- we should know better than to walk into the wind- but - its the only way to hear it sing. Walking away from anything is safe, but silent. There's no song in retreat, not even a hum. So, with fingers tingling we lay them on the panel of the wind and mightily play its keys- 'til the finger snaps, again.
