Try to put well in practice what you already know; and in so doing, you will in good time, discover the hidden things which you now inquire about. Practice what you know, and it will help to make clear what now you do not know. (Rembrandt)
I sit at a keyboard with no letters.
I light a cigarette.
I stare at the venomous screen.
So much to say.
So little pushes through.
So far, I am in the…in-between.
Strong as my back is…built upon years of slaying dragons and their flies.
Far as my gaze can reach…daytime bats, the blue-jays, frolic and distort all that I wish to see.
And, of course, the pitter-patter of a fifteen year old, eighteen pound cat, he knows exactly where my mind is at.
He taunts me like a catholic mother.
Guilt ridden, I am side tracked…insight, will never just hover.
What a show to behold!
Therefore, I always embrace it.
For it is with certainty, recollections will fade…imagery will be less bold.
We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.
But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.
Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.
All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit—it isn’t there yet—
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.
I have learned to be…
that is where I place a frown.
I have learned to…
speak my mind
look for my own interpretation of kind.
Listen to what I say…
do not hold hate
do not plan to act on a different date
I maybe nearing the end of a frayed rope…
but even with all these splits ends…
LOVE must be the only message that I send.
Hate crimes on the rise! Homegrown terrorists…on the rise. Hate speech from our elected officials…on the rise. Children who are more accustomed to having their heads in the wi-fi sand than in a physical book, on the rise. The list goes on and on and on.
We should not be at a point in this nation where witnessing acts of pure, unadulterated, disdain, with our morning coffee…is commonplace.
Cartoons of particular notions not being televised because it may disturb the family balance.
Children being torn away from their parents and placed in nothing more than 2019’s version of concentration camps.
And, so it goes?
Now our elected officials have up’d their game! And have come up with a new and improved manner in which to show off the vulgarity of hate!
The Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) has announced plans to roll back Obama-era protections for transgender people who are experiencing homelessness. The change would allow shelters to turn people away by claiming a “religious” exemption.
So-called “religious freedom” exemptions have become popular with the religious right as evangelicals attempt to use it as a license to discriminate against LGBTQ people and women. The federal law was not intended to be used as a get-out-of-jail-free card for civil rights violations.
Christianity is based off the belief that Jesus Christ was a benevolent savior. He repeatedly taught that his followers should help the homeless and destitute without judgement. That would be the opposite of what modern evangelical Christians seek to do under the law.
Trump administration will give homeless shelters the right to turn away transgender people
read more at :LGBTQnation.com
The change would allow shelters to turn people away by claiming a “religious” exemption.By Bil Browning Wednesday, May 22, 2019
I tell what should be on the rise…Everyday People saying something! Everyday People who do not like what they are seeing.
What is that saying,
If you see something that’s not right! Say something!
I like a good, wah-wah! I do it often! I wave it about like the human right’s flag that is attached to the helmet trunk of my moped.
- I’m tired
- I’m too old for this shit!
- I know you have a headache! But its been almost a month!
- My tattoo’s are sagging!
On and on, and on and on.
For a small example, I offer up yesterday…and, bits and pieces of today!
My wife drove on a semi flat tire with ‘my car’…it immediately went beyond flat and the hubcap fell off. My dog, my buddy, tore his ACL! As if that was not bad enough. Life went on and after surgery, the Doc texted me and said,
‘Bogie, has Lyme!’
Eventually, after the cow manure and dust settled, we took my wife’s car to pick the dog up. By this point, I had the car towed for an exorbitant amount of money. By this point, I slipped in dog shit scattered about the yard. By this point, I had attempted to steady myself from fallin’ from said, dog pile…and, put my hand in cat vomit.
By this point!? I had found myself willing to offer up several, Hail Mary’s and the rosary!
Eventually…after the day from hell. We got in the wife’s car, a very beat up Volvo with a half a million miles on it, and the only light that on?
Urgent, urgent, transmission service needed!
Now, I am a fan of sayings. Such like the ones in gold and blue velvet placed on the walls of AA meetings.
- Pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth
- Be part of the solution, not the problem
And…the saying/quote I always love to despise!
- Fake it till you make it
I am a non functional, politically incorrect, cynical, Buddhist! Therefore, I do not always practice what I preach.
After a journey into New Hampshire’s deep seated beauty: Emerald greens, Canary yellows, Cardinal reds and Indigo Girl’s purple…I came to!
I came to realize that…
I have a moped. And, even if it appears I have no way in which to maneuver around a rural area…in actuality, I do.
So, screw you bad day…
‘If these bad incidents you offer are the worst things I encounter today! My day is not that bad!’
Bright Side of Life
Cheer up, Brian.
You know what they say;
Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse,
When you’re chewing on life’s gristle,
Don’t grumble, give a whistle,
And this’ll help things turn out for the best, hey,
Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the light side of life,
If life seems jolly rotten,
There’s something you’ve forgotten,
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you’re feeling in the dumps,
Don’t be silly chumps,
Just purse you’re lips and whistle,
That’s the thing.
And, always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,
For life is quite absurd,
An. death’s the final word,
You must always face the curtain with a bow,
Forget about your sin,
give the audience a grin,
Enjoy it, it’s you last chance of the hour.
So, always look on the bright side of death,
Just before you draw your terminal breath,
Life’s a piece o’ sh*t,
When you look at it,
Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke it’s true,
You’ll see it’s all a show,
Keep ’em laughing as you go,
Remember that the last laugh is on you.
And, always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,
Come on, Brian cheer up,
Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,
Worse things happen at sea, you know,
Always look on the bright side of life,
I mean, what do you have to lose?
You come from nothing,
You go back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!
Always look on the bright side of life.
I walked over and looked closer at the statue of the goddess. She was wearing a headdress with a skull and a cobra and a crescent moon. Maybe this is what peace of mind was all about: having a poisonous snake on your head and smiling anyway.
Accept what people offer. Drink their milkshakes. Take their love.
If you can’t make it better, you can laugh at it.
In two decades I’ve lost a total of 789 pounds. I should be hanging from a charm bracelet.
It is better to be small, colorful, sexy, careless, and peaceful..
In the end, perhaps we should simply imagine a joke; a long joke that’s continually retold in an accent too thick and strange to ever be completely understood. Life is that joke my friends. The soul is the punch line.
Would you understand if we did not hold hands today?
Loving would be simpler, if I did not stumble over the words…I am afraid to say.
You see, the madness pepper sprays the sanity.
The sanity…handcuffs honesty.
Honesty in the end, uses her nails, sharp as a coyote’s pointed tooth, to pull wallflowers off the wall.
You see, I am not feeling myself today.
Something, I am sure you already knew.
Madness is just something I go through.
Life fades as if a watercolor sunrise
purple and blue, crying together
red and orange infuse onto green’s meticulous tapestries.
An iron wrought with delicate seams.
Imagery that never quite becomes…caught.
Chasing the tail of struggles for what is not always sought.
All of the above, coloring book fights that have been previously, fought.
A spectacle of speckles and freckles within the calamity of just one thought.
It would not matter the words I shout, groovy or sick, to the patchwork hills.
Indulgence, demons and reprieve, a masquerade of cheap thrills.
An inter-sanctum where I live…
not for you
Platitudes and platitudes of discourse
I cringe, though not a one will know
The gifts you’ve given come with an interpreter’s silent force.
Hell’s yard sale from below.
One that marks another in brotherly love of those who remain…
with often a valedictorian refrain
I could hold your hands from outside the wired gate
When those above us reflect on human quakes.
I am but a precious mistake
You asked, ‘I do not understand…this pageantry for hate…’
And, more so, I heard the question…’really?’
As if, in disgust over how peace could be what I may have been feeling.
In an instant, the night raged on…doubt deep.
My fitful sleep…to keep.
Thus, I had lingered on your words today.
Watching as the roots, the limbs, the earth…felt the anger of our decay.
Avenging angels dressed up in their poetic make believe.
Babes with pacifiers, made of leather and recycled politically correct discussions.
Nibbling little infants feeding on store bought garden variety weeds.
Oh, the young, filling the void not the need.
Drifting back from the path in which I came.
The grove of 3 leaf clover, recoiled and fluttered
Nature blew about your sake, your self sanctimonious title…your fiery heart’s name.
My footing wavered over stone and ledge.
Focus, on good, focus, focus…
I began my pledge.
Death is spoiled on the old…or, so I am told.
Perhaps, I am just beyond bold.
Yet, I could not shake what might be easier if displayed.
Storms set deep inside the soul.
Rumbles of angst upon the horizon.
Wolves parading in opaque fur.
Screams in the night awaiting to be heard.
All of this and more, my dear.
As humiliating as stumbling down a wooden path.
Old and used…forgetting where you began at.
Letting bad karma take the lead…
down a road of… nature’s way of showing off our misdeeds.
There are lines to this scarcity.
Hidden obstacles filled with joyless doubt.
Now that I am in…the dead air is coming out!
A covert world we all must go thru…
and, the question remains…
‘Will I have the courage to go without you?’
The grass beaded with dew and the…aromatic earth…
does not quench my soul as it used to.
Lying and dying have become art forms.
A certain style giving unto…laughing…crying.
Courage in the blinding light of day can whisk the unthinkable webs away.
Nonetheless, the night…with its sporadic fits of sleep…
Still begs for valor’s retreat.
Trouble, the further, the faster, I run from it…
the closer, dire straits and her finish-line.
Some of us, much more maniacal, by design.
Some of us, inherently, stick our big toe in questionable mud…just to draw the line.
Some of, masons in glass trailer parks.
Base ass, tossing rocks.
‘god may not give with both hands…but trouble certainly does!’
I have been looking so long at these pictures of you…that I almost believe that they are real. I have been living so long with my pictures of you…that I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel. Remembering you standing quiet in the rain as I ran to your heart to be near. And, we kissed as the sky fell in…holding you close. How I always held close in your fear.
Remembering you running soft through the night. You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow and, screamed at the make believe. screamed at the sky. And, you finally found all your courage to let it all go.
Remembering you falling into my arms. Crying for the death of your heart. You were stone white! So delicate…lost in the cold. You were always so lost in the dark.
Remembering you…how you used to be. Slow drowned…you were angels. So much more than everything.
Hold for the last time then slip away. Open my eyes. But I never see anything.
If only I had thought of the right words. I could have held on to your heart. If only I had thought of the right words…I would not be breaking apart…all my pictures of you.
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you
This constant search and agreement that the road carries on.
This bond with nature is bittersweet.
A constant gnawing.
A scratching at an evergreen door.
And, the earth fine as elderberry wine.
Another indulgence that never quite wets…my lips.
Such a drunkard am I!
I drink in the rainbow of flavors with a guzzle…not a sip.
An inebriated understanding…I am so small.
Mother Nature, the only beverage I drink in.
A seduction to which it is certain…I will fall.
I have had many cats over the years. Each one of them have been fastidious in their…potty routine! I took a survey among the felines that live in our happy abode, current day and the response was the same.
“Momma, that funny looking, motorized, cabinet…scares the shit out of us!”
Perhaps, that is what the product was designed to do!
I discovered my vows in the bottom of a box
Scribbled, smooth as silk….yellow, red, purple…
of love and such.
With tannery hands,
I brushed away the
I gently blew away the dust.
Endearment’s endeavors had been so young…way back when.
Impasse coupled with miracles…a constant friend.
Years of having worn my heart on my sleeve…lavished me in self proclaimed, misery.
It is only now, by virtue of, love’s vows…
I see the greatest gift of all.
‘You have taught me to take life less seriously.’
Funny, odd, queer, with its anger.
Ham fist-ed jokes never given in moderation.
Frisbee’s tight lipped and tainted black for playing at night.
Puns? A lead pipe to encourage all players to…think twice
The, I Was Only Joking, trophy, next to Home, Sweet, Home, place-mats, to adorn the holes in the wall.
Mad Jester, the biggest joker of us all.
Pastime of full contact Slap Jack.
Paperbacks left in the rain.
Simon Says, it is a never ending riddle.
Wisecracking those who wish to remain sane.
Hot are the embers to my open eyes
Always as I await
grounded turkey’s looking for flight
fist-ed fiddle-heads and ferns, as they unleash their plight.
I await for life to cross Shingle Camp Road.
Even though, infinitely, critical of how I am smitten…
Attempts are plain…
the beaver’s chew
the No-See- Um’s bleak journey for flowers…old and new.
I abide the noisy splendor of live free or die.
All creatures, great and small, renegades when movement collides.
The Dog had been forlorn-ed…as of late. He had been made sooty from rolling in the spring mud! Mud that held a similar odor to…damp socks kept in a glove compartment with an open Slim Jim.
People were avoiding the Dog. With his jowls hanging lower than low, his royal heritage waving good bye in the winds of fresh laid manure…the Dog had no choice but to turn to the wise one!
Sauntering up to the Cat with all the pride of a winning scratch ticket that went through the wash…
“What is righteousness? I seem to have lost the compass on that one!”
“If there is to be pureness of heart! It should not matter your coat looks like it came from the dime store!”
spoke the Cat.
The Dog hung his tongue about the outside of his muzzle in such away…anything edible would be collected. He pondered the Cats assumption and asked…
“What about beauty? All those pedigrees down at the dog park…quaffed, manicured, wearing fancy collars! They strut about with the grace of a well hung Great Dane!”
“Worry is unnecessary! Character and strong constitution builds harmony in the dog house!”
“This harmony…can I buy it at Chewy.com?”
The Cat has held much patience with the Dog. She always had…from kitten-hood to senior living, she had tolerated the Dog and his waggish behavior.
“When you harvest unity everyone, two legged and four…will find peace within and peace in the world.”
But…the Cat had more to pass along to the Dog…more wisdom, more tranquility…more grooming techniques…
“Let me put it as politely rude…as I can…”
‘the Dog who knows and knows that He knows…is a wise dog. The Dog who knows not and knows not that he knows…is a fool at the dog park.’
But the Dog had not witnessed the Cat’s last pearls of wisdom. As he is easily distracted and went about his business…rubbing his nastiness all over the newly purchased couch.
The matters of survival…came minus a note. It arrived with no fanfare…Teasing me…so, perhaps, I would not know it was there. The tactics did not grasp at straws. It was kindred to a hungry, stray dog…giving to a constant gnaw. Eating and thriving …Instincts purposeful and raw. By happenstance, my strategy began under covers. I stuck my head in a sand of cotton. Instead of waking up…I came to. All but the pain had been forgotten. And, thus I began my infinite walk towards survival. Yet, I have never been a fan of the games people play. Always had to do things my own way. Discovering…long ago, when walking alone, there is no deceiving with the faces we portray.
The Mrs has been hanging around on the deck…as of late! We do not know where the Mrs. comes from. But the whole household is aware of the Mrs…
I don’t care cat-attitude!
This sexy and savvy feline has caught the eye of our sometimes…misguided, Bernie.
With the Bern not having opposing thumbs, I offered to put down on paper a personal ad:
I have been tired of my litter-mate! We’d been together almost all of our 9 lives. Like a worn down recording of Stay Cat Strut! One of my most favorite songs! So while she cat napped in the sun, I had my human read me the Cat Scratch Gazette…while I lay in the bed.
And, though my human isn’t the pick of the liter…she did suggest I take out a personal ad
- If you like warm milk on a cold night and chasing tail
- If you can clean your privates while standing up
- If you hold the human race with disdain
- If you like making love even after you’re spayed
Then I’m the love that you’ve looked for, write to me and escape
Now cats aren’t made to be followers. We follow our own path. I gave no thought to my old lady. Cats are insensitive and tire quickly of the same old boring routine.
And, lo and behold, the Mrs…though nobody’s poet…wrote back.
Why do you think I keep stopping by your house? Yes, I like warm milk. Yes, my human is stupid. I’m not into Greenies but I am inclined to Temptations. Piss or get out of the liter-box, Bernie! Let’s cut through this red tape. Meet me down by the bird feeder and we’ll plan our escape.
Summer is coming soon and fuck knows…the Mrs will be crowded with admirers. So I strutted with high hopes as she walked about…tail in the air and full of grace.
I knew her smirk in and instant. I knew the curves of her luscious whiskers. It was my own lovely lady. **I’ve been telling the human, at 15 years old…my sight was not that great.
The Mrs., said,
Oh, its you!
And,with a Cheshire grin, I said,
After all these years…I never knew!
A long and arduous journey…getting to the bottom of words.
those that are remembered
those that I have written down
those jumbled in sleepy positions…only to waken us with cold sweat.
One has to be curious…have my sentences…changed my world?
I pitch a tent, repeatedly, at the godforsaken, blasphemous, bolted door.
But words never take off her shoes…
she never promises to stay.
My words rush out in a horribly, organized, chaotic…state.
Massive…this war on word!
I shove letter upon letter onto an empty, paper plate.
And, my compromised, composition, kneels shoulder to shoulder at the church of lost faith.
the Cool cat
The cool cat,
is just standing there.
The cool cat,
doesn’t even glare.
The cool cat,
thinks he’s so hot.
The cool cat,
doesn’t give a snot.
The cool cat,
doesn’t listen in class.
The cool cat,
thinks his better than the rest.
The cool cat,
really has no friends.
The cool cat,
smokes after school.
The cool cat,
left his family.
The cool cat,
is a player.
The cool cat,
has no prayers.
The cool cat,
has no savers.
The cool cat,
is one tough dude.
The cool cat,
is one big fool. #Jasmine Aira
Here, there and everywhere, an acceptance of things I cannot change
the way the sun carries forth my soul
the way my hound…impeaches practicability like a troll.
Woeful lay…my expectations under an open sky.
Nonetheless…this is not a hike toward deep rooted, bulky…control.
Speaking to the glow on my skin…
Never in that…the questioning tone…
How I am made to feel unpredictable?
And in the ardor of freedom…am I remiss to ask,
Here, there and, everywhere…complacency will sit alone for the briefest of moments.
Seated at the right hand of a whistling southerly, breeze.
Hounds commence to frolic and play.
An aroma of roasted clover rises up.
Tomfoolery…lights the way.
In these days of changing ways. So called liberated days. A story comes to mind of a friend of mine.
Georgie boy was gay…I guess. Nothing more or nothing less. The kindest guy I ever knew. His mother’s tears fell in vain the afternoon George tried to explain…he needed love like all the rest.
There must be a mistake. How can my son not be straight? After all I’ve said and done for him?
Leaving home on a Greyhound bus. Cast out by the ones he love. A victim of these ‘gay days’ it seems. Georgie went to New York town. Where he quickly settled down. And soon became the toast of the great white way.
Accepted by Manhattan’s elite in all the places that were chic. No party was complete without George. Along the boulevards he’d cruise. And all the old queens blew a fuse. Everybody loved Georgie boy.
The last time I saw George alive?
Was in the summer of ’75! He said he was in love…
George attended the opening night of another Broadway hype. But before the final curtain fell, deciding to take a short cut home. Arm and arm they meant no wrong. A gentle breeze blew down Fifth Avenue. Out of a darkened side street came a New Jersey gang with just one aim…to roll some innocent passer-by. There ensued a fearful fight. Screams rang out in the night. Georgie’s head hit a sidewalk cornerstone. A leather kid, a switchblade knife. The sight of blood dispersed the gang. A crowd gathered…the police came. An ambulance screamed to a half on Fifty-Third and Third.
Georgie’s life ended there! But I ask who really cares?
George once said to me…and, I quote…
Never wait or hesitate. Get in kid before it’s too late. You may never get another chance. Cause youth is a mask…but it don’t last. Live it long, Live it fast.
Georgie was a friend of mine!
Four victims of ‘gay purge’ in Chechnya reveal the horrific torture they endured
All four of the men said they were tortured for other information on gay men, and one of them said when he was handed back to his family the officer implied that they should kill him. Read more at…https://www.gaytimes.co.uk/community/118273/heres-everything-you-need-to-know-about-chechnyas-gay-purge/
Forgive me, friend, I had been skipping rocks from the beginning.
Another cursed devotee from childhood.
As they say,
I have become comfortably…numb.
My yellow-brick road…stands brittle with sand and gravel.
I seesaw between what is and what has been done.
I cherish amid the drawn lines…every campfire song…sung.
Ghost tales reduced by the midday’s sun.
Our gossip, rusty from the probability of love.
Every flung red Chuck…now faint from hanging onto wire…too long.
I have sometime back, given up on…
Voodoo dolls with no style…
Holy Rollers with crooked smiles.
I have not been a perfect person.
And, similar to a child, I wear a yellow slicker around my heart.
Miles have aged what I do,
the games I have played
and the wars I have waged.
Forgive me friend, a glass of Dandelion wine begs me to stray.
I saw the Sign! And, oddly enough, it has bitten me in the ass many a time.
What sign am I talking about?
How a stereotypical middle aged lesbian steps out onto the earthy carpet…
What is the latest addition of androgonist wardrobe come from?
I am not certain how I feel about this new way to carry dog poop bags in my shoes. That being said, Croc-beams and its introduction, led me to assess my ‘closet.’
How to Spot a Lesbian?
- The obvious…Vagatarian t-shirt! Typical with sleeves cut off and stained with Mother Nature’s girth
- Rainbow Converse and/or rainbow shoelaces **this is an obvious giveaway
- Pantsuits! Sorry Hillary! That is just the way it goes.
- Sporty bras under blazers! Sorry Elizabeth Warren!
- Wallets with chains
- Comfortable shoes! For example, work boots, sandals with dull colors, bare and dirty feet.
- Flannel shirts with a hole where the nail gun shot through
- Tattoo! Tattoo! Where is the Lesbian!
- A pair of linen pants for summer weddings
- A pair of dress shoes (as unassuming as a sedan) for fall funerals
- Lots O Jewelry or none at all
- A Wife-beater dyed pink because your wife washed it with her rainbow knit hat
This list is a small example of a small subject group! Myself and my wife’s closet. We are both well into adulthood so adjustments can and should be made!
- A pair of shoes that either latch or have Velcro. Easy enough to slip on and off
- Karma bead bracelet. A sign to other lesbians, baby dykes, letting them know your vagina has been there done that. And, you are old and proud enough to wave it around
- Cargo shorts with a shitload of pockets. Goddess knows…lesbians have a bad habit of picking things up off the road
Finally, and this is vastly important, the ‘wedding ring.’ A true sign of how far we have come. A reminder of how far we have yet to go!
It is a worry
the circling of many a crow
I cannot avoid the chaos maneuvering…
just below the surface
Vast, mingling, elements casting spells seamlessly
without a sound
Though my actions be deliberate and quiet
Most observations are eager
So much so,
I yearn for the simplicity of a clown
Why is it…
I cannot scratch a basic itch when no evidence found
And, still be invoked to chewing gum while helping turtles destined to go…
where they are bound
Fascinating! Unbelievable! True and sad! Mondays!
Why don’t you like Mondays?
- Showdown with weekend hair?
- Right foot does not feel like it did…Sunday night?
- Blissful Wizard had a higher THC ratio then recommended?
- Date night sex was sooo…good. Monday should be the ‘layover’ flight to climaxing, again…on Tuesday?
I have my reasons for disliking Mondays. Mostly, incendiary thoughts and punitive puns that I have been getting away with for more years than I care to admit.
But Monday can have many meanings for many people. Take the Bob Geldof and Brenda Spencer! One would think these two…
Bob Geldof…Band-Aid, Live-Aid, political activist and all around…good guy
Brenda Spencer…arguably, America’s first…mass shooter. Or, perhaps, better put, America’s first High Profile, Homegrown…Wack-job, who just did not like Mondays!
**On Monday, Jan. 29, 1979, a journalist from The San Diego Union Tribune got the quote of a lifetime from 17-year-old Brenda Ann Spencer.
“I don’t like Mondays,” she said. “This livens up the day.”
The “this,” she had been referring to was the fact that she had just fired 30 rounds of ammunition into an elementary school, and was now barricaded inside her home.
A little before 8 a.m. that morning, children began to line up outside Grover Cleveland Elementary School in San Diego, California. They were waiting for their principal to open up the gates so they could head inside.
Across the street, Brenda Ann Spencer was watching them from her home, a ramshackle house filled with empty alcohol bottles and a single mattress she shared with her father. As the children lined up outside the gate, Spencer took out the Ruger 10/22 semi-automatic .22 caliber rifle that she’d gotten as a Christmas gift. Then, she aimed it out the window and began firing.
The principal of the school, Burton Wragg was killed as he was trying to help the kids through the gates. A custodian, Mike Suchar was killed trying to pull a student to safety.
With little or no collaboration, Bob and Brenda, had a bond. And, that bond became the most horrifyingly, disgusting, panic stricken day of the week…Monday
Say, Brenda, ‘Tell Me Why You Don’t Like Mondays!’
The silicon chip inside her head gets switched to overload. And nobody’s gonna go to school today. She’s going to make them stay home.
And daddy doesn’t understand it.
He always said,
She is as good as gold.
And he can see no reason ’cause there are no reasons!
What reason do you need to be shown?
I don’t like Mondays! What other reason do you need to be shown?
The telex machine is kept so clean. And it types to a waiting world. Her mother feels so shocked. Father’s world is rocked! And their thoughts turn to their own little girl. Sweet 16 ain’t that peachy keen. No, it ain’t so neat to admit defeat. And all the playing has stopped in the playground now. She wants to play with the toys…awhile. And school is out early. Soon we will be learning the lesson today…
is how to die!
And then a bullhorn crackles and the captain tackles with the problems and the hows and the whys…
He can see no reason…No reason why…What reason does one need to die?
And, she says…she will speak her truth one more time..
I Do Not like…unequivocally…I Hate…Mondays!
I have wept for those who suffer long. But how I weep for those who’ve gone into rooms of grief and questioned wrong.
But keep on killing! It is in the soul to feel such things.
But weak to watch without speaking!
Oh, what mercy sadness brings.
If god be willing. There is a train that is heading straight to heaven’s gate. And, on the way, child and man and woman wait, watch and wait…
For Redemption Day!
Fire rages in the streets and swallows everything it meets. It is just an image often seen on television.
Come leaders, come you women and men of great. Let us hear you pontificate! Your many virtues laid to waste. And, we are not listening! What do you have for us today? Throw us a bone but save the plate on why we waited ’til so late. Was there no oil to excavate? No riches in trade for the fate of every person who died in hate?
There is a train that is heading straight to heaven’s gate. And on the way, child and man and woman wait, watch and wait…
For Redemption Day.
It is buried in the countryside. It is exploding in the shells at night. It is everywhere a baby cries…
- Johnny Cash/redemption day
If you follow the money and, the Untied States of America, will invade most anywhere!
Americans well-earned their reputation for “Yankee imperialism” through more than a century of military intervention in Latin America. Skeptics of Washington’s purported humanitarian intentions point to Venezuela’s 301 billion barrel oil reserves as a rich prize for American companies. https://www.cato.org/people/doug-bandow
In order to stay well oiled: Will America trade her pride of constitution…? Swapping it for her need to suffer nations?
Secretary of State and later President John Quincy Adams appeared to foresee our world when he warned Americans not to go “abroad, in search of monsters to destroy” lest they risk their nation’s soul. The U.S. “might become the dictatress of the world” and “be no longer the ruler of her own spirit.” Which would be too high a price to pay.
Mold growing on mold
What a souvenir
I light a Marlboro Red and pretend to disappear into the seams of late show talk
On the screen, puppets for complacency dance…ever so near
I could fluff the pillow to a higher state
However comfortable, I could also, puncture what it is…
I stand for
in and out
out and about of this,
A catatonic, petrified
be safe…leave no trace
Bare ass, I lay down to stay up late
Searching the cushions for loose change to purchase an empty plate
With Naked Gardening day, tomorrow…I discovered I had more time on my hands. Particularly, now that I don’t have to pick an outfit out!
To be honest, I have been particularly obsessed with these days of wine, roses and too much time on our hands.
Thus, like Leonard Nimoy, I went in search of! In search of all things, paranormal, strange and unique. After all…May 3rd is National Paranormal day.
As luck would have it…while walking the dog in dark forbidden forests…I have found my own ‘ghost’ and my dog…did the same.
Below is photographic evidence of what we encountered:
**Most of us believe that the ghost of Christmas Past will come a knockin’ long before, E.T., stops by for a visit.
If you were obliged to hunt ghosts. Such as I do on a rainy, damp night, sleeping the back of my Honda Element. Just myself, the Dog and strange noises in the night. Resting uneasily at the free campsites offered by Park Rangers, along the Lost River highway.
If you are just as…curiously, freaky, as I am…
There are rules one must pay attention to:
- Get to know your ghost
- Ask permission to be there. Personally, I have a bad habit of entering abandoned houses for some good pictures. Next time I need to remember to ask if I can upload to instagram! This is their house! Not mine!
- Be curious but Be safe! If it says, do not trespass…do so with caution!
- Carry with you and this is very important, a 1/4 ounce to offer up as a sacrifice, a poop bad (for when you get the shit scared out of you) an a Ghost Pro Meter for beginners!
In the end, after my first encounter in the forests so dark and deep, I have discovered some key phrases to communicate with the dead.
Give the new friend…the benefit of the doubt!
Oh, hey, strange finding you out of here! I’m staring at you…not because you’re a ghost! But whomever does your hair…make sure to give ’em a tip.
Keep it simple, stupid! I found that cutting to the chase is the best way to go!
This is where I go to pee in the woods. It isn’t far from the site and I don’t have to stumble around in the dark for bathroom handles. So…
this is my spot and it bothers me when you are around all the time. Would you please leave?
Sometimes, these wood sprites wish to want to just sit down and talk. They haven’t had any real communication since the battles at Fort Constitution!
I always begin this sketchy conversation in a friendly manner:
Do you know you’re dead (sometimes, like us, ghosts are not quick on the upswing.)
Do you want a rum and coke? Ghosts have wants too!
Here is the last and vital tip:
Let them know you are of the physical world. This is your crib…not theirs! Madonna comes in handy for this exchange:
I am a material girl
You know that we are living in a material world
And I am a material girl
Get ready for the Annual World Naked Gardening Day (WNGD)! People across the globe are encouraged, on the first Saturday of May, to tend their portion of the world’s garden unclothed as nature intended.
Gardening has a timeless quality, and anyone can do it: young and old, singles or groups, the fit and infirm, urban and rural. An elderly lady in a Manhattan apartment can plant new annuals in her window box. Families can rake leaves in their back yard. Freehikers can pull invasive weeds along their favorite stretch of trail. More daring groups can make rapid clothes-free sorties into public parks to do community-friendly stealth cleanups.
Why garden naked? First of all, it’s fun! Second only to swimming, gardening is at the top of the list of family-friendly activities people are most ready to consider doing nude. Moreover, our culture needs to move toward a healthy sense of both body acceptance and our relation to the natural environment. Gardening naked is not only a simple joy, it reminds us–even if only for those few sunkissed minutes–that we can be honest with who we are as humans and as part of this planet.
https://twitter.com/hashtag/wngd ##WNGD Share your Experience
I have already found some ‘fault’ with this holiday. As many of us are situated in such places that do not provide ‘shelter from the storm’…per-say!
-severe allergy to poison ivy
-thorny bushes that dot the New Hampshire landscape
-Irish skin exposed to elements such as,
-humidity the same level as the temperature
-encounters with Sasquatch
-New Hampshire’s personal…on steroids, mosquito
Then there are also…physical obstacles…
-bladder control problems
-where to hang the mp3 player
-where to place the All Eyes are on You…phone
‘Why am I looking at that?’
When the floods come there is nothing a body can do.
find higher ground
pull up a dry rock
sit around and…speculate.
Seated in vestments…
a question or two…
‘can you keep a good dog down?’
‘why is it…truly bad thoughts…never go without sacred vows?’
Low visibility hinders my train of beaten trails.
Shiftless misogynistic barriers fear no mother.
For if loneliness can go…I could take my hand for a lover.
cremation’s cauldron will saturate by flood’s fury.
Solid mossy root will relocate
all a navigator can do…
is ‘sit and wait.’
I will break this segment up in two phases:
Fighting with spouse…do’s and don’ts
What to do when naked?
Word has it on the ‘street’…Kaitlin Adderley, firmly believed that by taking her clothes off…piece by thong piece…she would show the world…and her boyfriend, just what they are missing!
According to a probable cause statement, Adderley was dressed when police arrived, but she made a statement to officers saying she had taken her clothes off during an argument with her boyfriend.
You knew what this was
I don’t want you anymore
I warned you before, I warned you before
Well I coulda sworn I told you I was mean
First and loathing-ly, I admit to having pulled some ‘stunts’…when semi single.
“Let me out of this car now!”
“I don’t care that we are in the middle of traffic hour, we are both menstruating or that we are driving in the galaxy of bad drivers (Mass-holes!)
Back beyond our first ‘date’. I say, first date, because everyone knows…
a lesbian’s second date requires moving in together.
Way back when my wife and I called arguments..discussions. Just to make life a little less like our parents.
Way back when, I felt she did not need another pair of…Croc’s from the Croc factory…to add to her, Imelda Marcos , collection.
One thing led to another, potty mouths, potty words, bringing up dysfunctional past behaviors and correlating it with current days…shit! On and on, it went. Until I found myself walking down route 128…north out of Boston!
I learned terribly quickly that as much as I found myself fighting like my passive-aggressive mother…I can always change.
Alright so poor, Kaitlin, got busted! But busted naked! This trans-formative way of ‘fighting’ with significant others…encouraged me to look into,
How do we use our naked-ness…to get our way?
Texting naked! Encouraging someone on the other end to loose track of reality and…put one out! Right there in the damn car!
There were a sundry of other misdemeanors…
-plain old driving naked
-going to church naked
-home burglary…while naked
On and on…again!
In all honesty, this one brought me back. Naked! Naked! What have I done…nude? And, why?
In college, when my parent’s with minus function, had thought it a good idea to move from the city to the country.
Pissed off! Newly egocentric! Longing for tarred roads! I thought it a good idea to…iron…naked!
That is right. In my fragile mind and blooming body, an ‘all body’ tan, was needed. Not only a physique without tan lines but clothes…freshly ironed, pressed and clean scented.
One thing led to another down a dirt and sodden road…Canterbury; I soon learned that ‘vehicles’ travel with a certain carcinogenic noise. And, everyone else (employees of my mother who live nearby) travel by horse. Horses are nice and quiet and generally do not alert naked college students doing their ironing on the back deck…of their approach.
Wake me from this revolting riddle
My island…tartan from the toil
Every moment in slumber…I am submerged on faraway soil
Outings of yesteryear, swirl and wane from folly’s foil
Though I stack cords of oak to guard against my enemies
I fear tomorrow it will topple and the pond shall boil
Had I not known Friendly Strangers when young.
My reduced everything would have remained under constraint of younger guns
Now, only another Castaway…
Friendly Stranger wake me with your beat…
a distant and different kind of drum
Crazy Cat Lady?
No, I’ve never been referred to as a, lady.
Yes, I have been known to be madly…antagonistic.
And, I have my fair share of CATS!
Perhaps, more accurately…I am a Crazy Cat Lesbian!
For myself, and others like me, Cats are a mystery that will never be completely solved.
For myself and others like me,
I have been pried awake from a dead sleep to…bitchy, always open, resting…eyes!
It is an unsettling feeling. Invisibly hypnotic emerald eyes, dilated and magnificent in color, from a darkened room, not seen but felt.
Like a scary movie where you know for certain something will be jumping out of creepy corner…and, time and time again, an un-containable scream.
Let us be honest…The Cat is out to get its owner. There are only two questions the Cat Lover should be asking herself:
Is the un-examined life really worth living…?
Why is my Cat such a bitch?
Well, I discovered through very little research (as I don’t believe in the whole…understanding is knowledge thing) that many of us suffer from being…Pussy Whipped!
And, like good Cat Lovers do, we down grade aggressiveness to being…feisty and unpredictable.
I took some ‘terms’ and posed them against my family of feline’s behavior:
-Does the Cat swat?
Does the Cat scratch on your great grandmother’s kitchen table that survived the ‘Great Depression?’
When another the Cat walks into the living-room does the first Diva…
growl, hiss, posture or pull her ears back?
Does the Cat stalk the Human as if they were…prey? Particularly if the dish is dry, the box is dusty, attention is wanted and/or they want to go out and maim little field mice!
Does the Cat stick her ass in one of at least two faces, yours or the next door neighbor’s, balls have dropped, Tom Cat?
Can the Cat Lover…un-Bitch her cat?
I took an online quiz to get to the bottom of this issue. Not really sure why. Being educated but lacking the depth of the Cat, I will never solve the mystery. But my the Cat…scored a 90! Just another item to add to the Bitchy Cat resume!
Little known fact:
Lizzie Borden loved the Cat!
Lizzie and Emma Borden were among the top donors to animal-welfare groups in Fall River. In her will, Lizzie left $30,000 to the Animal Rescue League of Fall River. That bequest continues to help animals today.
A bud then a leaf will live on a down’d tree
Oh, the misery
Pines will pine for sun’s tranquility
Oh, the bluster and posturing
to outgrow destiny
Birch and her kin will paper the earth when parched
Oh, if only to take such liberty
Hate has no home here!
Can We live without the Death Penalty?
Are none of us as…we appear?
From country meadow to north country butchers…who dare not sleep…to urban sheep.
I could place argyle socks over history…
I cannot disguise my cruel feet.
When I pigtail my banner…’does all good intention freckle my deceit?’
Do not answer me, the signature will hurt.
For me to petition diversity…rancor must have no common ground.
Do not advise me to…not Act Up.
To do so would hurt.
Every good intention…a twilight to conventional curse.
vanishing a toe into the surface waters
I have reached another plane
coming-to, from this a fitful union
a cow…feasting upon hay
nothing but a nervous, deliberate, ploy
constant combat towards dreamy imps
who exploit any attempts at joy
I allot to carry slurping, acidic, pails of tears until the willingness comes
until I am turned from friend to foe
I am not the water girl for original sin
nor a sorceress with chimes of time to ring
just a nervous barefoot pallbearer…
mistakenly trying to soak up the other side
Pieces of Me –
I wish I could leave my skin
For just one day.
See if with me
The hurt would stay.
Change my name,
Forget my past.
See if with me
The pain would last.
Trade this life
For fortune and fame.
Stop crying these tears
And bleeding my pain.
Speak my voice
And have it heard.
Have ‘love’ mean
More than just a word.
Not stress over school,
Or worry about home.
Not feel so smothered,
Yet look so alone.
If not for you,
I’d find no reason to live.
I constantly take,
And hardly give.
The emotion is ‘pathetic’
That hovers in my air.
Tarnishes my blue eyes,
Taints my blonde hair.
Such an individual
Holds a reason to cry.
Locks the memories away,
Stores her yearning to die.
I remember those eyes
So full of lust.
Using my love
While gaining my trust.
I can still feel her hand
As our fingers entwine.
She stole that precious moment
I thought was just mine.
‘All’s fair in love and war’,
Or so the saying goes.
All my battle scars
Reflect the path that I chose…
Recently, I have been reminded how fortunate…WE are. My wife’s adult life (up to recently) had been filled with hospital stays. Not medical stays but institutional admissions. In what was commonly known as; mental asylums.
She has held strong through strange visits to strange hotels…sitting an dissecting the merits of lime Jell-O.
Scary moments where as her spouse…I never knew what I would be coming home to after a days work.
Times where I refused to believe her beliefs…in reality.
- The self harm…
- The fifty benadryl a day….
- Emergency Room visits with charcoal milkshakes and unknown doctors.
After years of both forced incarceration and voluntary. Megan has come out the other side. Though I do understand paranoid schizophrenia to be a chronic illness and this upswing may just be a fleeting moment.
I also understand that when she had voluntarily sought solace in these institutions. She, I, US, battled many a stranger/therapist on what meds were working. And, which ones that offered serious and dire consequences.
I say WE are fortunate because many still suffer. They suffer in silence. They suffer from being over medicated. More importantly, they suffer from not trusting their doctors. This lack of trust often centers around the doctor not taking the time to acknowledge that many psych patients are fully capable of understanding the side effects of medications or their recourse.
And, for that, many of us can thank, Eleanor Rise –
Eleanor Riese was diagnosed with schizophrenia when she was 25. At the time of the trial in 1989, she was 44, and had been in and out of psychiatric hospitals for several years preceding her case. During her stay at St. Mary’s Hospital in San Fransisco, Riese’s lawyers argued she developed physical symptoms caused by antipsychotic medication she did not consent to.
Lawyers representing Riese argued; argued, “People most likely to be treated with the drugs in a short-term care situation were either those experiencing a crisis such as suicidal feelings, or chronic patients, many of whom are among the homeless population, who can make decisions about their treatment even though they may be delusional.”
A victory short lived…
Eleanor had been killed by the medication she had been forced to take.
Professor Peter Kinderman
This informed consent triumph in California offered/offers hope to those who struggle mental health maladies…and, physical disability directly related to their medications.
Informed consent in relation to voluntary admission into hospital is state to state. Often the patient will find his or herself fighting in court. Leaving decisions up to judge and jury.
pastures of juniper, poplar, beech and alike
oxygen snatches for the modest
impoverished by city lights…
wall flowers grow difficult to define
as lumbering, celestial, equine
steady in constitution
nevertheless an uncut, honesty… simple to mock
albeit their outcries to barking giants…awaiting in the night
A preacher’s hands, faded from dust and copper.
An orator’s trade loud with the sounds of rustling hearts.
“Let you love now…
For you knew not love before.
If you love now.
“For love is never doomed to be mourned.”
The violets had been bought for the green-eyed lady.
However, I had arrived beyond late…
Within moments, she reigned upon my mind…
And, later, she had gone.
Such as forgotten words to her favorite song.
Soon I began to misplace her solemn heirlooms.
stories and tales the green-eyed lady had gifted me.
Then ashes turned to ashes.
Dust to dust.
Nothing had been worth remembering.
Stone turned to rust.
Flipping of a coin from tail to head.
cart-wheels on the beach.
Drag Queen working the beat on Commercial street.
Bare-footing, on the sultry tar.
Hidden seaport cemeteries overgrown with unknown kin.
Performed like a well manicured dance from centuries ago.
Gentle Journeymen and Women with unease being the common goal.
A sense of unique sadness for each seeker.
Respectively, all grinding down to the marrow.
Sure as there is salt in the blood.
And, annoyance from the misread.
If I could prosper my soul in this secret search.
I would unleash all that I have.
But cannot be bought.
I would rather stay a seeker.
Romanizing tales of lost love…
And, her deceivers.
In Mother’s Nature…
She keeps me gentle
She keeps me sapient
She keeps me legitimate
She keeps me with timeless tests
She keeps me with flesh
She keeps me with dignity
She keeps me shady
She keeps me with chemistry
She keeps me with fragile, breakable reverie
She keeps me
She keeps me
…a most indulgent mother, has placed her best gifts out in the open, like air, water and the earth itself; vain and unprofitable things she has hidden away in remote places.